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The following online journal entries are from January 2002.
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TUESDAY. 11:03 AM. Well, look at that: a new year has started (and I just realized that I have to update quite a number of pages on this site to include 2002). Happy new year to everyone! More later.
WEDNESDAY. 6:53 PM. I feel like I have an incredible amount to say, but I have absolutely no motivation to say it. I feel like if I sit here and spend the time to type it all out, it'll just be empty effort. I'm not sure why. I guess I'm having a tough time believing that talking about things will actually help or that someone is actually out there listening. Maybe more later.
FRIDAY. 1:21 PM. I have had a lousy day and I'm hoping to find some evenness before this evening rolls around. Otherwise, I might as well just climb into bed right now and just not wake up until the world stops being a fucked up place. I feel hurt. I feel frustrated. I feel disappointed. I feel taken for granted. I feel sad. And I wonder whether or not if I should just pack up and leave San Francisco. I don't know if the city is causing me distress, but it certainly isn't going out of its way to help. I came to realization on the bus this morning that I have to seriously reconsider the amount of energy I give to people, the amount of time and thought I give to people, and the amount of trust I place in my relationships. Clearly I have been miscalculating the right give and take, the right balance of reciprocity. The chemistry is wrong and I'm on the short end of the bunsen burner. It's time to dump the nay-sayers and the fairweather friends. I just read this. I think my horoscope on my Earthlink start page (from astrology.net) is very fitting: "Taurus: No ordinary friend or group of friends is going to do. What you need now is to surround yourself with people of substance, those who have plenty of style as well as plenty of substance. If you let yourself get caught up in the flow of those who are neither dynamic nor inspired, you'll end up feeling like most of your effort is all for naught. Only the best need apply when you go out looking for companions. Only those who can teach you something will be able to help you."
SUNDAY. 12:14 PM. Well, my third anniversary of moving to San Francisco passed yesterday without much fanfare. On January 5, 1999, I stepped off a plane and officially moved to the City by the Bay. Three years. It's an important number, I think. For most San Franciscans, now is the time that things are supposed to fall into place, that life in the City should become easier or at least more enjoyable. I'm no longer struggling with settling into the grooves and etiquette of SF. I have found shelter, favorite places to eat, visited the famous landmarks, and shed my pilgrim robes. I have proven that I have come to stay. But why then does it feel like I'm about leave? |
It's a strange and bewildering tension in my life. Maybe it's just some cellular memory of the intense emotions of leaving Maryland, of arriving in a completely unknown place, of struggling to make a home here. This time of year has always been bundled with introspection, angst, and melancholy. (Somewhere thrown in are little flecks of hope and optimism.) I don't know. I want to also acknowledge the anniversary of my friend Nick's death this time last year. I hope that all of the lessons and the wonders and the memories conjured by such an intense time are still fresh in all of our minds. And now a year later, life is about our peace and our rest and our moving on. More later.
TUESDAY. 4:02 PM. The day has been pretty mellow. I'm just recovering from the revelry at POW to wish Corey, one of the bar's favorite bartenders, best wishes on his move to Cleveland, OH. Twenty bucks got you in the door and the entire bar was open for the tasting. It was a fantastic party and I wished that I was a few years younger so I could fully take advantage of the bacchanalian abandon. Much libation was had. Since it was a Monday, it was 80s night. Speaking of feeling my age...nothing like hearing Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark or Whitesnake or Duran Duran to make you feel nostalgic (except, some of the people I was with kept saying things like, "Gee, I was 8 when this song came out!"). See pictures to the left. I also saw for the first time the new dance floor section of the bar. I was amazed. It's not huge but it's certainly bigger than I thought it would be. It felt like a good space and I am happy to see such a well-executed transformation. It was a good night. I got to see a few faces I hadn't seen in a while. Friends came at my encouragement (though I'm certain the open bar had some sort of draw, too). Everyone seemed in a positive mood. It will be very different to not have Corey (and his specials) on Friday or Saturday or Monday nights. But since he's making a move that his heart is telling him to do, I'm glad for him. Just before I left for the evening (at a paltry 1 AM...god I'm getting old), I said my goodbyes. He said to me, "Ed, I trust you like no one else." It stuck even in my alcohol-soaked brain. I'm not sure exactly how to decipher its meaning, but it feels good to hear. Good luck, Corey-san!
THURSDAY. 2:20 PM. I am baking a chocolate cake. It's been a really long time since I've baked a cake. It's from a mix...but still. That should be good when it's done. Other than that, I'm just hanging out. I'm going to peek at who's on Rosie today (though the show just hasn't been as entertaining as it was in the first few seasons...I'm glad she's calling it quits to persue other interests). Then I should get busy on some projects of mine. I'm a little concerned about my applications. As far as I know, all of my paperwork is into all of my schools. The only wild cards are my recommendation letters. Two of my recommenders have contacted me and sent me emails saying their letters are done. One of my recommenders has yet to contact me. And my alternate recommender, my fourth, is also out-of-touch. I've tried emails and phone calls and have yet to reach anyone. I hope they're done. They have to be. Geez. |
journal
© 2002 Edmond Y. Chang. All original material. All rights reserved.
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