THE LAST FIVE ...

Closing up shop
- Wednesday, Aug. 02, 2006

It may be time for a change
- Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Entry in the air
- Friday, April 21, 2006

Still here
- Thursday, April 20, 2006

Music of the moment
- Wednesday, March 1, 2006

Or ... BE RANDOM!


GOOD READS

101 in 1001
American Road Trip, 1998


OTHER PEOPLE

Chupatintas
Dancing Brave
Fugging It Up
Kitty Sandwich
Mister Zero
Sideways Rain
Ultratart
Velcrometer


THE BASICS

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2001-05-16 - 1:52 a.m.

Torn

Nothing's fine
I'm torn
I'm all out of faith, this is how I feel
I'm cold and I am shamed
Lying naked on the floor
Illusion never changed
Into something real
I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn
You're a little late
I'm already torn

Well, it's not exactly like that, but I'm torn, and that's what's been running through my head lately as I try to decide what to do.

Do I go home with the family on Monday, getting in the car just after sunup and driving all those miles across sad Indiana leaving Notre Dame behind as I did three years ago, only this time watching my sister go through it into Ohio where we'll fight the moronic drivers and on to Pennsylvania endless Pennsylvania that begins as a soothing cruise through the hills, away from the cities and suburbs and strip malls but soon becomes repetetive, long and boring before finally! I-80 crosses the Delaware and we're back in our comfy New Jersey home, winding along the pretty stretch of interstate in the northwest corner of the Garden State. Do I do that?

Or do I take my flight home, the 6 a.m. Tuesday morning South Bend-to-Newark with a stopover in Atlanta Atlanta on Delta, for which I get no miles because I've flown only twice now and have no reason to sign up for the program, or haven't yet anyway. Do I take the flight or possibly call tomorrow to look into changing it to leave from O'Hare and do I instead go into the Windy City, either renting a car and spending Monday there, to return to South Bend at night; or taking the train and spending the day and night and then getting to O'Hare in the morning for the return. Do I take the flight and visit Chicago and meet the friend I've only so far met in magical Diaryland and our little AOL chat box, one Holly Golightly talking to another Paul Varjack, "Moon River" arising softly from some far-off speaker in my mind.

That's my debate. I talked this out with a good college friend last night after returning from my postgame socializing, a few beers in me and a few thoughts escaping me. She, dear Heather, encouraged me to go for it, the Windy City Rendezvous. I said I would. Now I'm again noncommittal. I don't see why this is becoming a tough decision, because it shouldn't be. I want to go to Chicago, but I feel something keeping me from making a decision either way. And there's something right now that's led me to believe it's one thing, one invisible, intangible thing hanging there like an auditor that will judge me on my decision. Maybe it's the akwardness of taking some time for myself on this trip that's happening solely for my sister's graduation. Maybe it's that I'm telling my family Sunday night I'll see them on Tuesday when I land so that I can spend Monday with a new friend.

But then when will I have this chance again? When will I be in Chicago again? When would she come East again? Why, when I want to be all spontaneous and carpe diemnified (whee new words!), am I hesitating at a wonderful once-in-a-lifetime chance to do exactly that? Why do I think that by leaving it all so open I'll be ready to make a decision Sunday night? "OK, Mom, I'm going to take my flight home, so I'll see you later." Or "Yeah, I'll drive home with you guys. Wake me up at 5:30."

Eh, it's not really as bad as it may sound. I'm struggling with this, yes, but it's not a burden. I'm not losing sleep over it, I'm not missing deadlines because of it. I just wanted to get the thoughts out in front of me, to look at them in a different light outside my head. This is, I believe, the first time I've written anything here where I've felt a sense of caution because of those 17 readers a day I get one of them is bound to be Casey. But, no offense to anyone, I've always said (to myself, mostly) that I write here for me. So and I have no idea if she would be, if she would particularly care Casey, there's no need to think this dilemma actual is as large as it may appear in print.

Ack, I'm tired, and most of this is weary babble anyway only a slight change from last night's drunken blabbering, which worked its way into an e-mail or two and that conversation with Heather, who now has the secret code to this location. Where I was once a one-name mediocre pop star of the Diaryland universe, I've now allowed a friend to see backstage and she knows me well, outside the diary pages. Where before there were a select three who knew my name and one who's seen a picture, there now exists an outside agent capable of revealing further secrets, a sexy Fem-bot capable of stealing my cybermojo and revealing the real Dano who sits behind the facade of fascinating writer and journalist living life well along the fabulous New Jersey Shore.

Holy crap I'm tired. Where the fuck did that come from? Damn, I don't think I could've come up with that after six pints of Bass. Ten, maybe.

Off to bed with you!

My inspiration has run dry
That's what's goin' on
Nothings right I'm torn ...

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Next page: Fly me to the Midwest

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Yeah, sorry I have to be all legal on you here, but unless otherwise indicated, all that you read here is mine, mine, mine. But feel free to quote me or make fun of me or borrow what I write and send it out as an e-mail forward to all your friends, family and coworkers. Just don't say it's yours, you know?