Forgotten, at a train station.

Two hours ago I stepped off a bus from XXXXXX. I've been in the bus station, more or less, since then. My stomach sometimes goes jittery, vibrating and the like. It's the same way I felt before meeting XXXXXX. For her, I was nervous because I had created a mild infatuation inside my head that was later dashed and caused my mind to roll over like a dog wanting to be scratched but getting nothin'. Now I'm just worried. Worry worry worry! Worry is the self-diagnosis of evil based on symptoms that aren't specific to the diagnosis..

My legs are crossed; am I gay? My laptop is resting, raised and tilted. I am not amused at these cold blasts of air that would blast up my ass if I wore a skirt. Pinpoint the problem: Write down possible solutions: Pick best solution. Who the what the fuck? I don't want to pinpoint a problem, I want to avoid having to be embarassed.. Or appearing to embarrass others… it was my damn fault for not CONFIRMING. Let this be my lesson for the next four months: if there are seven letters I must memorize for event-planning, these are them: CONFIRM. Confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm, confirm.

Now to be a productive bastard. I do, after all, want to be done this course by the time I arrive home, and I've not had much production yet. Rediculoso.

Also, there are many unknowns related to the operation of this bus depot. When will it close? Will I eventually be alone? I hardly want to be calling XXXXXX at 11:00 pm, to have her find out THEN that I just spent seven hours in a fucking bus depot. That would be just grand, just grand. That would make it into the books not for its outrageousness, but for its utter lack of anything distinguishable at all for interest's sake. It would be a cloud without silver lining. There is no silver lining to missing out on the big CARNAVAL because I can't get ahold of my friend on her fucking cell phone because it isn't fucking turned on. I am hoping that … time-wise, six or seven-ish, she will turn on her phone because she is at supper or something. That would be good. I don't really know what the fuck else to do, I should leave a humorous message on her phone so that she at least chuckles when she finds out the pig-fucking quandry I've stuck myself into.

The depot is sparsely populated but full of movement. Not hordes, but steady dependable trickles. Trickles that are accompanied by anal-interrogative blasts of cold air.

There are many things one can think of at a time like this, like my brother for instance. As I began to think of XXXXXX, I looked outside and saw the sillouette profile that looked like his. Of course it wasn't. But how funny that the object of mental fixation affected so quickly and specifically just what observations I made about my surroundings. Our minds can be filled up, emptied, mixed. Whatever's in there at any given moment determines what part of the world we observe, and how we observe it. These observations are usually present in linguistic verbal form inside our heads, I think but this may be secondary to a more unconscious level of observation. Maybe we do observe everything, and our ladel of mental soup that's been poured in just determines what is linguisticized (converted into language).

Perhaps she has gone home for lunch. The phone booth in front of me is full, three people on the phone. This must be XXXXXX's time of phone calls. Let us pray that she is reaching for her fucking cell phone right this instant and turning it on, so that I can speak to her voice-to-voice in a few moments notice. Of course to actually do that I am going to have to unplug this laptop and lug my shit to that other wall.

It was comforting to read in that language-book-on-amazon(that-i-am-going-to-buy) that language does not lose its power through the use of curse words. Fucking Great! I will then not feel guilty for calling shit shit, fuck fuck, and ass ass. If only I knew French I would have a multitude of new ways to curse the church, too.

Jesus Fucking Christ, I am so taken aback by the amount of mental refuse that stays around in the sanitation depots of my skull. When I sit in XXXXXX and think and reason and ponder, these sloughs of human waste pop their stinky bubbles at the surface and cause me problems. But WHAT IF I LIVED IN XXXXXX AND HAD AN ACTIVE LIFE INTERACTING WITH OTHER PEOPLE, LEADING THINGS, CAUSING CHANGE, SIFTING SHIT? Would I then have these problems of history? Would I then be focused on the past? I AM FOCUSED ON THE PAST!

I AM FOCUSED ON THE PAST!

I AM FOCUSED ON THE PAST!

I AM FOCUSED ON THE PAST!

I AM FOCUSED ON THE PAST!

I AM FOCUSED ON THE PAST!

ALL THIS MURMURING ABOUT XXXXXX AND FAMILY AND CHRISTIANITY IS FROM THE PAST!

BUT ONE DOESN'T NEED TO LIVE IN THE PAST! ONE CAN LIVE IN THE PRESENT! MOVE TO THE FUCKING PRESENT, X_Hapless Pencilholder_X!

IF THIS TRIP HAS TAUGHT ME ONE THING, I THINK IT IS THAT THERE IS A LIMIT TO THE VALUE OF SITTING AROUND BY ONESSELF CONCENTRATING. PERHAPS IT’S A MARGINAL-UTILITY THING, I DON'T KNOW. THE NEXT THREE MONTHS WILL BE BEARABLE AND USEFUL, BUT I DO NOT THINK THAT I WILL REPEAT THIS SECLUDED LIFESTYLE FOR MUCH LONGER. THERE IS TOO MUCH IN MY HEAD THAT IS GOING TO ROT. ROT ROT ROT.

ROT

ROT

ROT

But, if I am not mistaken, moments of focusing on the past can be easily followed up with intense LIVING, a kind of LIVING that is enhanced by the newly-made-conscious past. Who am I if I cannot face who I am, and who am I if I have not been shaped by my past in ways I've yet to understand?

Is action-in-the-world worth the sacrifice in consciousness? If I am to play a truly invigorating ROLE on this platform, I must forget………………………………………………………. FORGET!

This music was the BEST possible thing I could have chosen for this evening. There are only seven minutes left. Would it be healthy to listen to it all again? Should I talk to that girl with the pink puffy jacket? Will XXXXXX come rescue me from this dungeon or will I need to change myself and become stronger and more daring first? Should I find the winter carnaval? Perhaps?

Aside from the wonderful feeling I have writing in this laptop like it's a real paper journal, I do kind of wish I had left it behind so that I would not have an expensive piece of equipment to worry about while wandering around XXXXXX knowing what kind of area I'm in. Really.

Should've confirmed.

I mean what happens if I never get ahold of her? That would kind of SUCK!

I hope that GOD is conspiring with the black man to have him hang up at the very moment when XXXXXX will be available on the phone. For th elove of God. At least I am, most definitely, in a moment-of-daily-transition right now, where there is a halfways-alright chance that XXXXXX will be doing something NEW and will think to have a quick peek at her cell phone… to see if X_Hapless Pencilholder_X called.

Hi XXXXXX,

This is X_Hapless Pencilholder_X calling again, it's about 6:30 Friday night now and I've got quite a lot of homework done here at the bus station and I've wandered around a little. But I'd still like to see you this evening, and so I'll keep calling every half hour or so to your cell phone and apartment to try and get ahold of you. I think my last email must have not gone through or something confirming that I was coming here now, I was having problems with my internet in XXXXXX. Anyway hope to see you soon.

Does this perchance make me seem helpless, to just wait here at the bus depot? Shouldn't I go somewhere? Maybe there's a good map somewhere. I will go look.