Not much of a show here for a man supposedly switching priorities to place writing over all other things. But then, according to the Washington State labor code, even if I qualify for unemployment, my "misconduct" by gross disregard for the will of my employer means I have to not only wait ten weeks extra to start getting my stipend, but also earn ten times my stipend at some kind of employment before that. That is if I do qualify, and/or have to appeal which tacks on another month, and try to find someone who worked with me and is willing to risk their own job to testify against management. Ah, the political mind. Logic is apparently reserved for anyone with a law degree or political connections. This basically means I have the chance of a Grand Dragon at the Sammy Davis Jr. Bodybuilding Memorial to get anything decent when I start hunting for work, even if I am trying something relatively new, which is to trust in The Big Plan, that I will benefit from believing that I am following the Blueprint. It's hard because I tend to fry to buy, but so far, in retrospect, it's been a truth in my life. Gauntlet of fire and all that. Anyways, when I consulted my supra-instinct through the runes, that is basically the message I delivered to myself. Get ready to get pummelled again, but that's what is necessary. It goes against what I thought I was working toward, finding a way to make the gains without the brutality of crisis, since only I can be bringing this down on myself by the choices I make, but I'm wondering if those choices had to be made. Still, it's hard to lean on that without calling it some kind of dramatic self-induced predetermination, justifying the difficulties brought on by Ego reliance, in an after-the-factness. It's too soon to tell, really. It's always that way with a future than only exists in probabilities of memory and stimulus combined to drive the engine of choice. Mostly, I'm tired of second-guessing myself, which keeps my head from fulling percieving the choices needed now, so that I limit my possibilities, and definitely lengthen the journey on the unscenic route.
Anyway, I am at a coffeehouse on University Avenue, thinking about my future again, because I just came from the university campus where I went through some advisement on transfer enrollment. I have a chance. The big question mark rests in getting into the creative writing program which is has competitive admissions, meaning I will have to prove my moxie before they will let me in, even if I get general acceptance to the university. My parents are on my ass about how undefined I am about what I will do in college, but I'm less undefined in that idea than I am on finding a way to make it working shit jobs on the outside, and selling chunks of my soul wholesale. It is a bitch when not only your best friend (The Ghetto Superstar,) but your mother catches you on your shit. She truthfully noted that if I was really serious about writing, I would have taken opportunities past to write and submit for publication. GS is closer in the end, noting that I should start now, and not wait for university, while my mother is not understanding, as she and father never understood, that none of that was really possible before I proved to myself that I can be my own person. With identity, can come purpose. And trust. I'm sweating by the gallon now, trying to understand this, and put it into action, but the more I work at what to do next, the more I know that philosophy makes the room for environment, not the other way around. This is Heeb thinking passed onto me by my folks, that I am unwilling to reject. Just as I am unwilling to truly reject my parents as the core axis of my life. I'm beginning to wonder if there is a way to keep them in my life like I seemingly want, taking their help, and at the same time, seperate my identity from their acceptance, and push past the ideal of always playing it safe. I'm really not sure.
Whatever needs to be done, I know I am still not doing it, that is for certain. In some ways, I am trying to hold onto life as usual, desiring what I feel is best in my life without paying for its cost. Worst is that I am clearly risking the increased pleasure I have in the house and its denizens I live with. I feel like a total ass for how little I appreciated and failed to enrich myself fully of the experience of just sharing my life with others in simple ways. Last night I had 75% of the house in my room to watch The Daily Show, most of them on my bed. I try to understand that who I have been made me as blind as I was, that I still can't see this was the kind of thing I desired so greatly when I lived alone, that it would ball myself up on the bed and weep for the want of it. I have to summate my life into a powerful statement application essay, and I know I can't because I can't see the power in my life. Yet, because I am asking these questions, I am stripping away the blind spots, and when I strip all of them away, I pray to no God in particular, that I will fall apart. Imagine that you were confronted with a million piece jigsaw puzzle, that you know you have all the pieces for, but you can't do more than great the borders from the flat-edges because you lack the key totality on the front of the box holding the puzzle. This is how I feel just about everyday. This may be a flawed metaphor, in that only I can make the image that the puzzle will create when put together as I go, but either way, I ache for the solution.

But for now.... chop wood, carry water. I think I might walk home.