What's the gag?

I woke up early this morning in a depressed haze. After 10+ hours in my bed, I knew I had to get up. I attempted to get out my sad state with my favorite distraction: shopping. Despite the dire financial situation I will soon find myself in, I managed to plow thru over 200$ in a little under 2 hrs. If only I could make 100$/hr. And lately, the thought of going back to tittie-bar work has been entertained, unfortunately.

This little experiment the school has of sending us all out like soldiers manning stations across the country is starting to feel a bit like a joke. I'm so lonely here I could, literally, cry. I go to the beach, but there is a reason that people who live by the beach rarely go - its full of tourists, parking's a bitch, over-priced drinks, litter all over the sand. We're such a disgusting species, a step above carrion-birds.

So, I read. All freaking day. I guess I should be ferreting out story ideas but the newspaper biz. has lost its luster. Geez, what's the gag? Why are we all doing this to ourselves? To prove to some journalist god that if we are thrown to the winds we can still produce in-depth coverage in any medium, even as our hearts break with loneliness.

There are 8 weeks left of Florida; I should make the best of it. Or so the optimists would say. There's a Webb Wilder show tonight: 20$. Wish I could go. There's a tropical storm a-brewing in the Bahamas, so its pouring madly here. I can't stand to drive on rainy nights; it feels like a set-up. I guess its back to bed for me.

New job - Day 3

Ok. So there isn't a "day 1" or "day 2", but the world isn't perfect. Well, maybe for Lynn Truss, and thanks to her my punctuation is, like, 70% better. (Notice the comma outside the quotes? Its very complicated, but trust me, correct).

I guess the title of this post is mis-leading since all I want to write about is an odd hour that I just used up looking through MySpace. It sort of crept up on me - I was just sending friends some quick messages and then, I found her. My high school nemesis. This is something that no one prepares you for - the MySpace worm hole. I felt as if I had travelled back in time, all the same apprehension and anger from my angst-y high school days flooded back. These are people I haven't thought about in years, but when I did, they consumed a good amount of my energy.

I say people because its basically a whole fucked up family that just made my life complicated in the most twilight zone kind of way; I'm still reeling. To write down exactly what all that entailed would take too long, and I only have 30 minutes left until this stupid Starbucks closes. But let's just say, I couldn't have a relationship without it somehow crossing with them, in every way, sexually, friends, acquiantances, just driving down the damn street. They are part of the reason I moved as far away from Yarbrough street as I could.

And now, to find them on MySpace. Innocently posing for poorly composed photographs - imitating a black and white profundity that only El Pasoans try to get away with. And they have kids! All of them, a new generation of madness and poverty packed into a crumbly house I somehow always had to sit outside of no matter how much I begged to leave.

But why am I so shaken? Why so much time spent combing through the MySpace pics.? I mean, they are all STILL in El Paso, having kids, doing what? God knows. But they're stuck, right? I wanted to escape. To live big. Travel. Ect. Ect. Those who know me, know that I will wallow in the "what if's" for a lifetime. Here I am, 1,995 miles from Yarbrough St. and yet still feeling the pain.