For Visual Learners Who Are Interested In Pictures From My Recent Trip To Rocky Point, Mexico:

Courtesy of Janell.

For Those Who Have Time To Kill And Thus Are Interested In Long, Rambling Journal Entries:

[Text contained in brackets is from this posting. Writing ends at the moment when everyone else finally arrived.]

5.21.04

Nervous. Excited. I feel as if I'm about to perform on stage for the last time. End of a good run? Perhaps.

Chance favors the prepared mind. Maybe chance will change its mind and favor me this time.

The flowers [that I brought for Angel] said "Freedom" [on a sticker]. I added "is a beautiful thing." Is anyone impressed? Art and Beauty. I don't think they always go hand in hand. Is there beauty in my small intestine? Maybe, if I ate part of a Picasso.

Here I sit in front of Island's Fine Burgers And Drinks. I was worried because I was 10 minutes late. Needlessly, it turns out, because the meal-time has been pushed back to 1 pm instead of the traditional noon.

The man in a brown uniform (distinguishing him as a postal worker) pushed a small, silver dolly loaded with parcels across the mottled concrete path..

Where am I now? I am planning to move to California at the end of the summer. I have found employment with Scottsdale Insurance. I will be a mail-clerk. I'm not sure what my duties are. I will be in an office. I will work diligently up until the moment I decide to hang myself with my necktie.

Ha ha.

Today is beautiful. Today is not for caring about time. Eh. Today is not for worrying about time, stressing about time, or lamenting the passing of time.

This day is for living. This moment is for living. This moment is for the warm sun on my freshly-shorn head and the breeze cooling me just as quickly as the summer's light and my own emotion can heat me up.

Everyone keeps looking at me. Or my roses. Or both. Although, they could be looking at the giant copper rabbit I'm sitting next to.

"Hey Beth," I had said when I had called her. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm already here. I'm sitting by the big rabbits." I think I'll sit here all day just so I can say that to anyone who calls. "What am I doing? OH, I'm just sitting here by the big rabbits. No, I'm the guy with the roses."

The rock I'm sitting on is starting to hurt my butt. I found a comfortable niche, a nice groove, but I have to pull up a knee to write on. I haven't been able to convince anyone walking by to let me use their knee, so I'm forced to use my own. For now.

"You there! Sir! With the knee! May I borrow you for a moment? No, I don't want any spare change, I just want one of your knees. Sir? Come back, sir, hear me out! ...Why hello, Madame! A word, please..."

The life a knee panhandler is rough. I'll bet that if Tom Cruise or Angelina Jolie wanted to write on someone's knee, they could. It must be nice.

Want to know what else is nice? Being a glorious failure. Er, I don't know if I'm glorious or not, but I certainly know I'm not a success.

It is nice. I know that because it isn't one of the many terrible things that it is possible to be. I'm no Jimmy Corrigan. That would be terrible. Or at least very, very stressful.

Sweet! I was just called by Jake and I got to use my rabbit line. Jake frequents Mill Avenue so he knew what I meant.

I remember never wanting to be unique. I never wanted to be pinned down by my character traits. I had no desire to be described as "funny", "smart", "moody", "creative", "cold-hearted", "cynical", "loving", "emotionless", "naive", or "video games". I wanted to be capable of being all those things, to put on traits and abilities the way an actor dons a wig.

But now I'm sitting on a rock next to a fountain and a clutch(?) brace(?) warren(?) [herd] of enormous metal rabbits. Next to me on the rock are a dozen red roses. My stomach is growly and my palms are sweaty and I'm biting my lip as I think of the next word and my sunglasses are so dark that none can see my eyes but I can see them.

An observer. A fellow player in the game of life whom the coach instructed to hit the bench and pay attention to how real people play this game.

"C'mon, coach, put me in! I can do it. The team needs me!" I am told that there is no "Gurg" in "Team" and to pipe down before I get whipped with a wet towel.

"But Coach! OW!"

I said "What's up?" to a guy who came to check out my rabbit. He ignored me. He probably noticed me looking at his knees. Some people are weird. When something happens and they don't expect it, they ignore it. As if their minds need to be prepped with possibility before leaving the house. People are weird.

"I see a bad moon rising."

Well, my brothers are on their way to Mexico. I hope they don't get into too much trouble. People think I'm nuts? Miguel is crazy. Avant-garde crazy. (Funny because he isn't funny.) Donaldo will say whatever is on his mind. I am really the least interesting one of the drinking brothers. Luis didn't go.

It's tempting to lie to myself in this journal. If I still have it in ten years, I'll read through it and find:

"Angel confessed her love to me and how she never wanted to leave my side...for very long."

I'll show this to Angel then and she'll laugh. "That's cute," she'll say, "but it was you who said that to me."

I'll wave my book wildly and shout "The book never lies!" Then I'll run out, find a big, black, permanent marker and write "THIS BOOK NEVER LIES" on the cover. Then, no one can argue with it.

I'm still here by my rabbit. He's a good guy. Quiet. Stoic. Relaxed. Doesn't interrupt me when he sees that I'm writing. If I still had that giant metal carrot, I would give it to him. "Hey, you never had a giant metal carrot!"

Please allow me to refer you to the cover of this book, my dear.

"Just passing through," she sings. "Just being lovely and passing through. Just singing and being lovely and passing through." I strain to listen as our distance grows, hoping the next verse will be an invitation.

A picture is worth a thousand words. Maybe a big picture. A little picture, probably less.

Then again, people might do nothing because they prefer to watch, to be entertained. Much less risk than playing the game, having to train for it, getting sweaty or bruised. Fear pain! Why not, you have to fear something.

"Pain!" is what our body screams when something isn't going as expected, as hoped.

My "y" looks like a renegade "s", slipping away down the page. Looking for a fresh start, a new life on a new line.

Describe a light pole!

Tall, green.

Terrible! Do it again.

An iron willow with an olive helmet, light shining out below like a soldier's fear.