Still warm the blood that courses through these veins.

So here's the thing. I have two jobs.

I just started working as a counselor in a rehab facility for adolescents. It's way fun, and very fulfilling (thus far). I make a little better money and have insurance at my old job managing apartments. So, what did I do? Kept them both, of course. 72-80 hour work weeks are something I have done before, but there are other concerns involved at this moment as well.

Suprisingly, almost two months later, it hasn't killed me. I've learned a lot about what my body needs, what it's capable of, and what can help it go. I learned I don't have to get enough sleep for the next 20 hours... just enough for the next 8. I tend to sleep twice a day now, and the total amount is about the same as I used to get, occasionally more. I have learned that eating a little less and drinking more water helps me get through a day better. And I've learned that paychecks from two jobs is better than one.

But still the emptiness persists
Perhaps this is as good as it gets?
Though I've given up fighting, all my awful bad habits
And I try to live deliberately
Or at least with no regrets
Sometimes my life is beautiful
Sometimes I just can't bear it.
Yes is this as good as it gets.

I'm not as smart as I let on sometimes. Ever do something that you know isn't really that good an idea, but you want to do it anyway... and when it blows up in your face... you don't really have anyone but yourself to blame. And you sit down on a curb and say, "well, you're really quite pathetic, aren't you?" It's silly to do the same things and expect different results. It seems to be true that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I don't want it to be, but very rarely have things turned out how I wanted.

Oh yeah, happy birthday to me.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

So it's been a year since I last cut my hair. So I went over to a place on NW 21st and got a little trim. I doubt anyone will notice... they barely took any length off, just a little bit of thickness and got some things evened up. I also asked the girl what she thought I should do with it, and she said that I should keep growing it, definitely, because I have really pretty hair.

Pretty. Hair.

Some things that people say downright amuses me. I never knew I had pretty hair. I bet some people might expect me to be huffy and stuff about how guys can't be pretty, but hey, I'll take any type of compliment where I can get it. I've always thought my hair to be rather boring, but some people seem to like it, and I like that it's not the typical BYU thang. Which fits me better since I'm not the typical BYU thang any more myself.

Right place, right time, never mind.

I remember reading somewhere that over 90% of americans believe that love is essential to their personal happiness. I'd be willing to bet that nearly every single one of them has a different definition of what love is. Plato said that loving someone is a way of appreciating the essence of beauty and goodness within that person. Then again, Dean Martin says that love is "whena the moon hits your eye likea big pizza pie". Maybe they both mean the same thing. Since we started scribbling on paper or drawing on cave walls, we've devoted more energy to defining the essence and spirit of love than almost anything else. Poems, plays, books, paintings, songs, pleading speeches below windows, tattoos we got when we were drunk. Love is perhaps the greatest of human preoccupations.

I love. I seem to be pretty poor at it. It either comes off as this wierd sort of loyal devotion, or this intense lustful codependancy. I've had short relationships, long relationships, passionate relationships, and platonic relationships, but I am now somewhat uncertain if I've had many good relationships. I've been so afraid of what the consequences of love might be that I don't know if I've been stunted or something in my heart's growth. Lately when the topic has arisen, I've kept the conversation factual or intellectual, and now I wonder if I'm denying my heart a voice at times. Nothing good ever came of making emotional scenes, right?

Still I wonder. If I don't really expect someone to be able to love me back... to REALLY love me back, what then do I expect out of life? Then again, maybe I'm fortunate that most people around me have issues of their own, and maybe the topic will stay just a bit under the surface. Maybe I'm lucky that I'm too scared to truly risk everything, because at least I'll never lose. Maybe it's better to be a man, and be content with what is real, and what is possible... and not keep wishing and refusing to admit to myself that I really do wish it. I don't know. Part of me feels like it's silly, and that I might as well accept that my... particular collection of attributes is a little too outlandish to find real love, and that good friendships can be almost as satisfying. Part of me still hopes that I can find the right things to say to unlock my heart and maybe someone else's. Part of me would like a real fruit smoothie.