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No more 2 AM entries, Jon.
Friday. 7.15.11 1:11 pm

I had this habit of following clouds during football practice. Between drills, during water breaks, pretty much whenever there was a pause in the action, you'd catch me, and many others, with our oversized helmets tilted all the way back and our eyes monitoring the skies. Waiting.

The thing about Texas that many know but few appreciate is just how discomforting the summer climate can be. Not only does the heat threaten to strangle you every time you step onto the field, but the 105 degree weather (40 celcius) conspires with the sun to melt your eyeballs with how bright it gets.

The good days are the cloudy ones because every once in a while, a cloud will go all Mr. Picollo on the sun and like he did for Gohan vs Nappa. And for a few glorifying seconds the world is a better place. No more strangulation, no more blinding light, no more being baked alive on a grassy field with 50 other combatants waiting to take your head off.

my life is in need of a cloud right about now.

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Who knew trying to get over Zanzi would be so hard?
Thursday. 7.7.11 12:13 pm

"Well, I'd probably just go back to New York.. it's such a great city. There's so much to do there."

"Like what?" I ask.

"Well, you know.. everything!"

"Such as?"

"Anything and everything!"


"Well.. shopping, I guess. I mean, I can find plenty to do there since I'm from the city. I'm a native New Yorken."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm from there. I'm a native New Yorken."

"uh.. do you mean New Yorker?"

"Oh.. well, yeah. You only knew that because you read books a lot of books."

Fast foward

"There? It looks hideous," she says to me.

"Yeah, but it's a great thai restaurant... Don't tell me you're the type to judge a book by its cover."

"Of course you can! I mean, if a place looks bad then the food is probably bad too."


"There used to be a really good coffee shop over there," I point to the lot across the street. "Joe Momma's coffee house."

"Joe Mommas? That's a stupid name."

".. No it isn't. Joe is another word for coffee."

".. I bet a Mexican came up with that."

"What? Why?"

"Because, Jon, everyone knows that coffee comes from Mexico.. mexicans use
their mexican beans to make it then ship it over here."

".... Lets play the quiet game."

Moving on from Zanzipal has been more difficult than I imagined. The other fish in the sea just don't seem that tasty anymore.

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where are you now?
Thursday. 6.9.11 4:57 pm
Her parents are there. Her mother, gripping a martini glass in one hand, and dwindling a few strands of red hair between the fingers of the other, speaks candidly to my own. Our fathers stand beside their wives, amiably carrying on their own conversation.

�She�s really made us proud, your daughter,� I hear my mother say. �I always knew she had it in her. I mean, she�s always been so bright! Where is she anyway?�
�Oh, you know, she�s getting ready for the big move... packing her things. I�m sure she�ll swing by to say goodbye to you two before she leaves for school,� her mom replies. �Besides, I doubt she�d leave without first seeing Jonathan. Those two have always been close�.�

With that, all four of them look at me, then back to each other, smirking.

The whole dream was ludicrous. I�ve never met her parents. Seldom did she volunteer information about them. In fact, it took quite a bit of coaxing on my part for her to tell me much about them.

�Those two are something, aren�t they?� My mother asks I continue my trek away from the foursome, annoyed. I�ve barely made it past the yard and onto the sidewalk when Red pulls up in a car packed with moving boxes. Pulling up along the sidewalk, she rolls down the passenger side window and looks up at me.

�Get in.�

I do. �I hate the way they act sometimes,� I say aloud after closing the door and glancing back at our parents. �Like you�re Joey and I�m Dawson or something,�

�Who?� She says while fiddling with the car stereo.

�You know � Dawson�s Creek. Joey and Dawson? Katie Holmes and � old dude from that Varsity Blues movie?� Red momentarily shifts her eyes from the road and onto me, an eyebrow raised as if to say �what the hell are you talking about?� I shrugged and continued.

�All I�m saying is it gets annoying the way they carry on...� my voice shrinks to a whisper as I grow more and more aware of my surroundings. Her car is filled with boxes of all different sorts: big ones, little ones, thin ones, fat ones. It dawned on me then that she really was leaving in my dream-world.

�It doesn�t bother me much. At all, really. She takes one hand off the steering wheel and places it atop my knee. "Why does it get it you?" Just the sensation of that touch � the always welcoming warmth of her hand unexpectedly penetrating my personal bubble - was enough to make me jump a little in my seat.

I glance up to the rearview mirror, hoping she hadn't noticed. She's staring right back at me.

Is that a smirk I see in her eyes?

�Wha��I start to ask before the weight of both the car and the world itself seemed to dissipate after another car crashes into ours.

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Part of your world
Thursday. 6.2.11 2:56 pm
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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First year of law school: done.
Wednesday. 6.1.11 12:36 pm
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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phoenix down
Tuesday. 3.29.11 10:28 pm
Phoenix down.

Check the phone.
Did I do my readings? Has my roommate confiscated the bathroom? Tengo hambre.. I should get up� on second (fifth?) thought, let�s listen to more Boyz II men.
Check the phone again.
Time: 8:15.
Unlock phone, shutting off alarm.
Grab glasses
Stare at home screen.
RSS feeds:

 Saleh in Yemen,
 mayhem in Abdijan,
 protests in Damascus,
 Nowitzki wins in Dallas.

Shit, shower, shave in some order, perhaps throw in a workout if I�m feeling particularly ambitious.

Teethe, apple/orange/cereal/leftovers from the night before,

Check the phone

Read for morning class.

Check the phone
10:10. Class in 10 minutes.

Tug down shirt, step into pants, slide on zippyhoody, grab hat/beanie, struggle with socks, jam on kicks.

Run down first flight of stairs

Jump. Slap ceiling.

Run down second flight of stairs.

Jump. Pretend I�m dunking when I slap the ceiling.

Walk to school.

Check time

10:19. One minute til class.


Sit down, ask girl beside me how her weekend/night was.
�It was good. How about you--� she starts to say.
�Why? Why was it good?�
�I.. er.. You always do this to me, Jonathan. I don�t really get why, but whatever. I mean, I�.�
I hear but don't always listen.

Thurs/Fri: Sit down, keep headphones on, listen to professor drone.

�International environmental law is bwahbwahbwah wompwompwomp isn�t my irish accent distracting, Jonathan? Why, yes, I do find my class as terrifyingly boring as you do. I�m brilliant � like all your other professors, but most find me less interesting than the subject matter of a Wes Anderson film. (I�ve been more engaged by fortune cookies. i�ve literally written screenplays � albeit horrible ones � while sitting in her class]

Why am I here? I wonder what Alternate Hilo Jon, the alternate reality version of Jonathan who is a staffwriter for a creative literary magazine in Hilo, Hawaii, is doing right about now.

I bet he's painting. And thinking of me.

He probably thinks I'm a sucker.

Hell, I think I'm a sucker.

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