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So it’s Christmas eve. And life… is good? I guess it goes like Carter put it: it’s odd to be back in Cheyenne. Cheyenne truely is timeless, which is to say unchanging, stagnant, dead. And I feel myself sliding back into “Cheyenne life.” So it’s Chistmas eve, and I still have shopping to do. It’s warmer outside today; it was well below zero last night. Last night? Crazy times. Hell, good times.

The point of this is for me to try to post something upbeat and happy. Somehow I seem to be failing. So let me just say sucks to all this superflous blather and say:
1. I miss some of the people from Bozeman.
2. Until I have a permanent address, Cheyenne will always be “home.”
3. My abs hurt.
4. I’m eternally confused and conflicted.
5. I’m having a good time.
6. I’m… unable to bring myself to type “I’m happy.” Instead: I’m happier now than I’ve been for a long time. I feel like I say that a lot, almost as though I’m trying to convince myself.
7. I have shopping left to do.
8. I want orange juice.
9. I feel like I should round this out with ten things.
10. (your emotion here)

So I guess I post less with slow internet. Dial-up: a perfect hell.

I want to go to bed now, so I’ll just paste a portion of an email I wrote earlier tonight in lieu of some real substance:

Somehow even at my most sober I guess I could say that I feel half-intoxicated– so much of the world around us seems to be reeling and nonsensical. The pursuit of an illusory “god,” the pursuit of material possessions, the pursuit of other people, of ideals, of dreams, hopes… the unspeakable inhumanity present in the world, juxtaposed to overwhelming kindness or the breathtaking beauty of the evening silhouette of the Spanish Peaks. Cities, buildings, people, art, families, pollution, crime. The nagging sensation that there should be more than “the microcosmal reality of day-to-day routine” but no one to tell you what it is. And yet (at times) I find myself feeling inexplicably happy. It doesn’t make any sense, but I’m smiling. Just like being drunk.

The tickets for the Goo Goo Dolls show are sold out. Sure, there was nothing on the website to indicate they were, and it was only half-way through the purchase process that they bothered to mention it, but why should I be mad at them for getting my hopes up so high?

“Show me the man who’s happiness is anything but illusion / followed by disillusion.” ~Sophecles

Ug. It’s late. And I need to be up early. But that’s ok, because I’m going to the Goo Goo Dolls show in San Diego w/ Sqeak and Mark Schadd. More details to follow. This is completely stupid, and I’m just terribly excited for it!

I’m home, and scared to death of the next three weeks. I’m scared of the isolationism, the hopelessness, the memories… I’ll make it: sure, I’ll make it. What else can I do. There’s a Goo Goo Dolls concert in San Diego on New Year’s Eve. I might go. I can’t even describe how I feel. Everything has taken a turn for the surreal, and I feel suddenly radically disconnected from everything around me. Jenny is no longer engaged. Sagar’s parents will probably announce their official divorce tomorrow. Carter… fuck. Me? Good god. How does the Cheyenne Mark resolve the Bozeman Mark? What life? What value? What significance? What enjoyment? What happiness? What despair? These next few weeks will be trying. Amazing. Trying. What are you thinking? / what thinking? / what?

The music’s loud but it doesn’t fill the silence. The silence of my house. The silence of… being alone? Am I lonely? Yeah, maybe I am. Or maybe I just want to cry, to live, to love…

I’m not doing so well with the Holidays this year. I’ve never been fond: I don’t think I was especially excited about Christmas as a young kid. Now? Go sing a Christmas carol. Sing your heart out. I’ll sing “Misery is the River of the World.” Why? Do I want to be miserable? AM I miserable? Do I want to extend my misery to those around me? I’ve done better with the holidays in years past, but looking back have I ever had a Christmas worth remembering? Of significance? C’mon Mark: one happy Christmas memory. Hell, one Christmas memory at all… Nothing comes to mind. Not a single one.

God DAMN this is a lot of angst. Go me. Looks like I’m still not “in the clear.” If only I could cry…