Okay. It's been a month or two since my last post and a lot of things have changed. I'm not moving to San Francisco anymore, at least not immediately. I'll be staying in Montana for a while. I figure I can apply to grad school while I'm here and get some money saved up. I can also spend some more time getting to know my family.

I am sitting in Morning Light Coffee shop, chatting with Jenny and drinking coffee. I might start reading soon. I need to find a job and an apartment (so I can get the hell out of my parents' houses).

Maybe I'll write a more elaborate post later.

So, it's Saturday night and I'm doing nothing because I'm in Great Falls, Montana, where I have no friends and even if I did there's nothing I could do with them anyway. I am sitting in my parents' basement listening to Patty Griffin and writing in my neglected online journal. The goal was to send out a million cover letters and resumes today. That could still happen. I just need to get my creative-ambitious juices flowing. I need to get on the horse, the horse of success, the horse of responsiblity, the horse of get-a-real-job-so-you-can-get-the-hell-out-of-this-wretched-state-and-back-to-California.

I'm still working for the grounds maintenance crew. I hate it. It doesn't really like me, either. Well, my coworkers don't. Not that I really regret that--most of my coworkers are homophobic cavemen alcoholics who eat Twinkies and cold pizza and pudding for lunch. The job is fucking hard, which is fine, I don't mind working hard, but I still get treated like a lazy, troublemaker who is just aching for a chance to sit in the shade and hide from the bossman. That's what I hate about these jobs--being treated, always, like someone who is no good and untrustworthy.

California, however, should not gloat. I have not been converted. I still love The Middle. I love the clean air and the open spaces and the simplicity. Well, I love to see the simplicity. Life in the closet is anything but simple. It's tough and it requires a lot of energy. If the cavemen aren't calling each other fags or homos, they're talking about women's body parts, a topic about which I don't have much to contribute. But they don't really talk about women. In fact, I think they might be surprised to learn that "tits" and "pussy" and "ass" are actually parts of a greater whole, called woman. But then, if I told them this, they'd just chuckle. Because I said, "whole."

Jon and Michele are already in San Francisco. I'm so jealous. I am sick of this fucking two month detour. And my parents aren't exactly making it go any smoother.

Montana

Today, while I was with my mom and my grandmother getting some avocados in the grocery store (99c a piece. Jesus. I need to get back to California), my grandmother said hello to an older woman across from us, looking at the onions. I recognized the lady. "Hello, Jerry," my grandmother said. And I knew where I recognized the lady from. I only know two women named Jerry. One of them in L.A. (Jheri, or something) and the other was my music teacher from 1st through 5th grade. It was Mrs. Jerry Evans, who used to play one of these:



while we children sang old American folk songs, like "This Land is Your Land" and "Turn Turn Turn." It was good to see Mrs. Evans.

So I'm in Montana, using my parents' computer. They are upstairs watching a Western movie called Seraphim Falls which stars Liam Neeson (sp?) and Pierce Brosnan. Strange.

Anyway, I got here on Thursday night and it's been mostly boring and stressful. These people (my dad's side) have lost their minds. But I had a nice time staining the deck with my mom, stepdad, brother, and grandparents today.

I went to visit my dad's mom tonight. She asked where I stayed during my trip up here. I said, "Utah," and that I didn't like Utah very much. And she said, "There are a lot of Mexicans there." And I said, "...yeah." She seemed kind of embarrassed after saying that, but she's much too proud to be really embarrassed.

There must be something better to talk about than my grandmother's racism.

I start work at the landscaping company on Monday. I had to buy work boots and jeans today. I'm a little worried about trying to socialize with the manly men who already work there. I've never gotten along with manly men. I talked to my stepdad about it and he said, "Yeah. You'll be hearing a lot of, 'That's gay.'" And I said, "So it's pretty much just like high school." That may have been offensive to him, but it's true. I'm going to miss being around people who I can safely assume know why it's wrong to call something "gay" because you don't like it. In fact, I already miss being around those people.

So there's some racism and homophobia here. Might as well throw in this story: I was trying to make small talk with my dad, because that's pretty much what we do. We sit in the bar. He drinks. I smoke. We make small talk. I told him that I've been reading this book called "No god but God" by Reza Aslan. I said that it's about the history of Islam, and how the religion evolved into what it is today. His response: "Oh, I hope you're not planning on converting to that crap."

Well, I wasn't planning on it. But now it sounds like fun!

I guess that's the risk they run by "allowing" me to run off to California. I might stop being a Montanan. I might become a person of the world. I came home two and a half years ago and said that I wasn't eating meat anymore. They thought it was funny. "You been in California too long, Jason." But now, I think they've accepted it as a serious change in who I am. In fact, I think they are starting to realize that I never really was a Montanan. That all those quiet moments were not actually me being shy. They were me being unable to relate. I have never been aggressive or Christian or proud. I have always been more Californian than Montanan.

And they're the ones who caused it. They're the ones who taught me that violence is bad (even though they're the most violent people I know). They're the ones who taught me to believe firmly, to stand up for what's right, to respect the working class, to respect the earth, to take school seriously, to advance in life. Now, when I come back home, doing or having done all these things, they look at me like I'm a stranger. And I look at them like they are strangers. But we keep up this family-act, as though we all love each other and are happy for each other, and that we're not totally weirded out by each other. But we are. In fact, we can't stand each other.

Okay, that's not true. I kind of like them. I want them to be happy. And they kind of like me. They want me to be happy even though they don't have a clue about what makes me happy.

This is the beginning of a very long and complicated summer. At least I'll build some muscle and get a good tan. And also maybe learn to deal with my family a little more productively.

Utah

I left Los Angeles today, for good. It was a long, trying, but glorious stay. I already miss my friend intensely, and I wish they were somehow here, in Beaver, Utah, so I wouldn't have to sit in my motel room smoking in silence. I suppose I'll just write.

My dog died today. She was a good dog. A great dog. I guess her health took a dramatic turn for the worse yesterday, and they had to put her down as soon as possible because she was suffering. I understand. But I don't. I don't understand suffering, I just hate it. Last time I saw her was December when I was home for winter break. Now I'll never be greeted by her at the door, or pet her, or talk to her ever again. Rest in peace, Bridgette. You meant so so much to us.

So here I am, in Beaver, doing nothing much of anything except smoke and be sad. It was a long drive, but not long enough. I should have gone farther because tomorrow's drive is going to take eleven long hours. I used to love driving out here. Maybe I still do, maybe I'm just too depressed, but the landscape doesn't do anything for me anymore. The open roads don't do anything for me. It's just a long, lonely, empty land, full of strangers and semi trucks.

I used to think the desert was beautiful. I loved the persevering little shrubs and bushes, the blazing sun, the risk. It was like driving across Mars. The big rocky mountains and hills all around seemed so mysterious and untouched. They still seem that way, but I don't care. I just want to get off the road. I want to quit moving around, moving from place to place endlessly, leaving my friends behind. Now Los Angeles is just another Grand Forks or Tampa or Great Falls. Another place I loved for a little while, that was home for a few years while I took care of what needed to be taken care of. I don't know what it's like to remain. I don't know what it's like to be someplace indefinitely, and I'm afraid that that's something I'll never be able to accomplish.

My car is full of my most valued possessions (the things I absolutely could not get rid of in the move, photographs and music and books and miscellaneous memory-items). It's all sitting out in the parking lot of this Super 8, vulnerable. Once in Los Angeles, on the side of the road, I saw a shopping cart full of the belongings of a homeless person. I doubt that the person would have freely abandoned everything. I'm pretty sure he or she was arrested. What must that be like? To lose everything? All the objects that you take with you from place to place, the things that have assumed the value of something or someone that has been left behind.

I can't imagine that. Especially with all the little objects that become representative of all the people and places I have loved and had to leave. I don't think I'd be me anymore. I wish I could park my car in my room. And I wish I weren't alone right now. I wish everyone I've ever loved was here with me. I wish hadn't left Los Angeles. I wish my dog hadn't just died. I wish life were more permanent and less mysterious in its ways.

This Blog

I suppose I am following the lead of Janna in creating this weblog. I have had many over the years - probably well over a dozen - but now I want something a little more permanent, a little more mature, something that can last me for a while, that I can fill with writing that I deem at least partially worthy of publication.

I am a senior at the University of Southern California, a month from graduating with a BA in English - Creative Writing. I don't really have any plans and I'm not going to be a professional writer. At least, not any time soon. I work in a human resources office, which is where I am writing this.

I live in Los Angeles, but I won't be here for very much longer. I am looking for jobs and place to live in San Francisco.

This is not a sufficient introduction to myself but it's all that I'm going to put. If this blog works out, more about me will become apparent.

Have a good day.

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