Phillips will name something after me.

I am a tool. A filthy, horrible, overused tool that just deserves to be tossed into the toolbox in the garage and forgotten about for all eternity. Okay, perhaps I’m being a tad bit melodramatic, but that’s besides the point. While I do not think that I am the biggest tool on the planet, right now I feel as if I’m hanging around somewhere in the Top 5 region.

Now, ever since a relatively disastrous relationship with some crazy Canadian boy that I still have yet to tell you about, I’ve gotten out of the habit of degrading myself simply for the fact that, obviously, it really isn’t all that healthy. I’ve come to realize that as far as people go, I’m really not all that bad, so talking about myself as if I am some kind of deplorable person really isn’t all that effective. So you may be asking now, “Well then, Ty, what’s up with all of this negativity that you’re spewing in my general direction?” Right? Right.

Well, here’s the deal. Remember that pretty boy Dawson I was quite into a while back? After a rather unfortunate disagreement (I suppose that’s really the only way to put it) we parted ways for about a month and a half. Then, on Tuesday, I get this email from him telling me that he wants to send me a gift that he meant to give me decades ago but simply never got around to doing so. I don’t know what compelled me to send him something back. I really fucking don’t. But I did, and we got to talking, and SUDDENLY THE WORLD EXPLODED when we both admitted that we kindasortamaybe missed one another.

Okay. I should be thinking of this as a good thing, right? No. Because despite the fact that Dawson and I make decent enough friends, we don’t work as a couple because of his insane schedule. The only thing that we have truly going for us is our insane level of sexual attraction towards one another. I’m not lying when I say that I have never been more physically attracted to any one person in my life. Every time I saw him I just wanted to tear his pants off and do naughty, naughty things to him. Perhaps it’s just our young libidos going overboard. Either way, we probably enjoy one another’s bodies more than we enjoy each other.

This wouldn’t be so awful if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m going into San Francisco tomorrow to see him. Well, originally I was going because of an anthropology field trip at the de Young Museum, but of course Dawson and I got to talking and found out that he was going to be in the city on Friday as well. Coincidence? Probably. But it certainly is a cruel one.

And I know, I know that if I see him, all that’s going to happen is we’re going to hang out for a while, talk, give each other sly smiles and then go off somewhere to have hot steamy gender-bending sex. I know it. It’s just how we work. And while our sexual attraction to one another may not be the most solid foundation for a real relationship, it’s certainly enough for two eighteen year old kids to make something out off. Teenagers are so resouceful like that.

I have no idea why I’m freaking out. I guess, when I was younger, I thought that I would never have the type of relationship with someone that was based mostly off of sex. Don’t get me wrong, Dawson and I have good conversations when we’re both in the mood to talk. But come on. We’re all semi-adults here; we know what this relationship is.

But then I grew up. And I realized that my morals were not so strict.

Besides, I know that I’m freaking out now, but when I see Dawson tomorrow, I won’t even care. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, I really don’t know.

Decisions, decisions.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always wanted to attend UC Berkeley, although I cannot say for sure that I always had a reason for my desire. In a strange way, I grew up on that campus. Both of my parents graduated from Berkeley when I was about four or five years old, and although I have no recollection of it, my dad tells me that when my parents had no other choice they would take me to their classes and give me crayons and paper to occupy myself with. According to Dad, people were amused at how quiet I was during the lectures.

Because of this, I would assume, I have always known about the existence of UC Berkeley even before I understood the concept of higher education. Since it was never a question in my family of whether or not I would attend college, UC Berkeley was always at the top of the list. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t even think that there was a list. Berkeley was just “it.”

It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that my desire to go to Berkeley began to waver. For a short while I thought about going into graphic design, but when I realized that (like many of my hobbies) it was just a passing love I abandoned the idea to ponder about a career that would keep my happy for longer than a couple of years.

Partly because I had not made up my mind about what I wanted to do and partly because it was simply cheaper, the decision for me to go to community college for a few years was made. Considering that all of my friends in the small, close-knit group I was apart of had also made the decision to go to community college, it wasn’t all too difficult a choice to make. It just seemed right, and unlike many overly ambitious eighteen year old kids I didn’t think that going to community college was shameful or an embarrassment. On the contrary, I thought that it was an incredibly smart decision for someone in my opinion. Why would I want to pay an extra few thousands dollars to take the exact same classes that I would be taking at a community college? And why would I want to waste that money when my major, my goals are unclear?

Lately I have been thinking about my future plans, which is something that I rarely do. I find that the future doesn’t interest me much when it comes to my constant stream of thoughts. I deal with the future when it becomes the present, and while that may not be a plan that I want to implement as I get older, it works well enough for me now. Anyway, I digress. I have been thinking about my “future” and where I want to go to school after I have finished with community college. Of course, UC Berkeley was on the list (yes, there’s actually a list now albeit a short one) along with CSUEB. I started thinking about the pros and cons of going to each university and the longer that I pondered the more I realized that for someone like me, CSUEB might be the better option.

I always wanted to go to UC Berkeley because it was Berkeley. That’s it. I loved the city, loved the urban culture, loved seeing the broke college kids play music on the street corners with their guitar cases open, littered with bits of cash and change. People selling jewelry on makeshift stands on the sidewalk. How can someone not adore that?

But then a some point I realized that when it came to the university itself, Berkeley is filled with super insanely competitive students that went through highschool with 4.37 GPA’s and never took the time to ever have a social life because they spent every free hour of their night and day studying, studying, studying. The majority of the kids that end up going there are so wrapped up in their schoolwork that being with other people probably isn’t on the top of their list. And really, do I want to spend two and a half years in an environment where I am surrounded by psychotic overachievers whose only goal in life is to be the best and thus forsake relationships in their pursuit for academic and eventual professional superiority?

The answer to this highly perplexing inquiry: no.

Then I thought about CSUEB. Still a very good school as far as universities go, with a laid-back factor of about eight compared to UC Berkeley’s -4890234823094234.92. Considering that academics has always taken second to my prioritizing of friends and relationships, it seems like it would be a much better place for me. High-stress environments and Ty do not mix well, my friends, and I’m thinking at this point that going to UC Berkeley would be a mistake. As much as I love the environment, the people (my main concern) would not be the type that would bring me immense amounts of happiness and satisfaction with my life.

I’ve found that I’m much happier with life when my relationships are going well as opposed to when I’m getting straight A’s. Sure, academics are important. I will never deny that fact. And I will do my best to maintain the grades that I have now. But going to a school that would absolutely force me to make academics number one just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

What can I say? I just want to be happy.

Ernüchterung

Even in a state of half consciousness, semi-lucidity
I can still feel the bitterness on the tip of my tongue
Your sociopathic ways are not lost on me
As clever as you are, I can see it in your eyes
After living a lifetime among Dahmers and Bundys
I find that your flavor is that of a Mary Bell
Ten times sweeter and thirty-one percent more deadly
Your gaze is deceptively hollow
Glittering clouded glass
Pretty, but empty
It is easy to hide your problems
Save from those with problems of their own
Cyclical mania is a sleeve dwelling phenomenon
Interspersed with brief moments of sanguine genius
While your own conspicuously neglected cleverness
Rests like a worm below the surface
Wriggling, feeding, fucking, waiting
For the flood of opportunity to force it above ground
And you’ll use it, oh you will
For things not typically considered legal
Unless you are a Donner
But, if that is the case, you’ll just call it a necessity and move on with your day
Should we take the time to study your etiology?
Or just sit and look in the mirror?
‘Tis amusing how you straddle the line
Between uninhibited narcissism and unbridled self-loathing
Two seemingly opposite ends of the spectrum
Just different hours of the day to you
Perhaps with a little encouragement
You’ll pick a team
Just a little pinch of the poor man’s cocaine
Let me find you an eightball
To save you from the fate of a carpet shark
Just don’t drop it
Or you’ll catch a glance of what you will become
Hidden behind a curtain of unnatural black
Adorned with metal in every available appendage
You’re closer to your goal of transforming into a robot
Emotions are not required
Leave them in the gaping hole by the door
I loved the orgasmic metallic cold
Until it burned my flesh
Injecting me with a benign form of adolescent leprosy
No, my heart didn’t fall out of my chest
I just couldn’t feel it when it was cut
And now that I’m cured I’m sitting here thinking
About whether you ever managed to cure yourself
My little tweaker with the muscles built from steoroids
I can’t believe that I ever let you go
Although it’s probably better that I did
Otherwise I’d be proclaiming my German ancestry
Handing out the Nazi dope
And I know you don’t smoke
But admit it
You’d be sucking on me
Like the dick I am
Just to get your fix
Addicted, restricted, aggresive, obsessive
Sorry, your slam ends here
I was never good with resolutions
But maybe a promise would be more concrete
This is the last poem that I will ever write about you.

I could never keep my own secrets.

Sometimes I hate caring.
I don’t want to miss you. I never have before. Not really, anyway.
So what the fuck is so different now?
But as I sit here, I feel like I’m waiting for a train that will never arrive.
I’m dying for your attention.
If I could, I think that I would wrap myself around your arm and never let go.
Cling to you. Just like a little baby orangutan.
I refuse to love you. I do. Because I know that the second I did love you, I would get fucked up.
And although I might not be happy right now, I’m at least sane.
I don’t want to lose my head again.
I think I just want to sleep it all away, pretend that the first 19 years of my life were nothing more than one long lucid dream.

The Mother and the Child.

Everyone has their parental hangups. It is impossible not to have them, no matter how awesome your parents may be. As I’ve matured (slightly) I’ve come to realize that when it comes to parents, I am extremely lucky in the pair that I managed to get. Both my mother and my father (who is technically not my biological father, but still my father nonetheless after everything that he’s done for me) are extremely open, accepting individuals who have the amazing skill of taking both life and people as is. Their cynicism is sometimes disheartening; past experiences have left them extremely guarded and distrusting of people in general. And yet despite that they still manage to be amazing people who continue to love and care for me, which is really what any child could ever ask for.

Amidst all of this inherent awesomeness that my parents possess there are still a few qualities about them that make me sad, the biggest one being my mother’s walled exterior. She is a strange but strong woman, vulgar and yet somehow always managing to be cute no matter what she does. However, showing emotions is not really my mother’s gig, and while I have always known that my mother loves me as any good mother loves her child, I have always wished that she would coddle and hold me as other mothers do. She shows her love for me in the typical motherly way through pet names, but hugs, kisses and “I love you’s” are not usually on the menu.

Tonight, however, something happened that made me feel so loved by my mother that–as ridiculous as it sounds–it almost brought tears to my eyes.

She was telling me about how it was right after I was born, how she was distancing herself from my biological father and just meeting my dad (who, technically, is my stepfather although I have never seen him that way). On her first date with my dad, she brought me along with her. A six month old baby with large blue eyes and a big head, chubby little limbs and pouty lips that are to this day still pouty. My mother told me how she presented the situation to my dad, telling him that we were a package. Could not have one without the other. And then she said something that made me pause for a moment.

“When I was with [your biological father] he was saying, ‘Oh, yeah, we’ll get married,’ although I knew that it wasn’t true. But it didn’t matter much, because I knew that whatever happened I would have you. You were my decision, and I knew that we were always going to be together. It wasn’t even an issue. I had made a commitment to you and I was never going to leave you. You were my baby.”

Just thinking about it now makes me feel teary-eyed, because my mother doesn’t say things like that all that often. She rarely even hugs me for fuck’s sake. Once in a blue moon as the saying goes. It was at that moment, when she was looking at me, that I slightly began to understand just how much my mother loved me then, just how much she loves me now. Only when/if I have children will I understand that love completely, but tonight I felt a glimpse of it and it made me feel like the most important person in the world.

Despite (or maybe because of) all her idiosyncrasies, my mother is an amazing woman. I really am lucky.

I hope she knows just how much I love her.