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| Why am I getting so many footprints on this account? o_O
Seriously. It's not interesting. Turn around and go the other way. Take My surveys or something.
This is history. Kept open only so I can read it and laugh at Myself later on.
The layout came from CreateBlog, if that's from whence your curiosity stems. (Is that proper grammar? Fuck it.)
If you want the username, just let Me know.
I mean...
Damn.
[goes back to My surveys.] | | |
| So I'm moving the main purpose of this site -- blogging about Myself -- to My own domain.
http://www.loganull.com/blog
Feel free to stop in; I'll be updating that a lot more regularly than I update this because I'm more serious about something that has My name in the URL between "www." and ".com".
I'm not getting rid of this site just yet, because 1) it's a portal to the new site and 2) I might use it for something else in the future, who knows. Besides, I have about six past Xanga accounts that I simply stopped using... they should be deleted first. Shit.
(I mean, check this out. That's just ridiculous. And yes, that was My first Xanga account... [wince.])
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| I seem to be slacking off on this online-journal thing something awful. Most of the time, I simply don't have anything to say. Come to think of it, I think I said the same thing in last entry... Ah well. Moving on.
There were only a few noteworthy events of the past week or so. There was a bit of a debacle here at Sylvia's on New Year's Eve, what with someone getting clocked and five or so others running off at the mouth about clocking said individual for about thirty minutes and having to be physically escorted from the building... et cetera ad nauseum. It wasn't too much fun, I'll put it that way. But that's Sylvia's.
I re-registered at the Ali Forney Center. I'm really anxious to hook up with their affiliated health program, HEAT, because they can provide hormone therapy. I signed up for a project that FIERCE is organizing for February that is centered around activism and leadership. I bought a new phone and am trying prepaid for the first time. I experienced a profound desire to completely ignore what's between My legs (which is impossible considering it insists on being tended to) until it falls into obsolescence when the male hormone is introduced. I saw 'Avatar' and was unimpressed because I could tell you what was going to happen as soon as the movie started (and I was RIGHT). At least I didn't pay for it. I bought a book written by a transman. I briefly mourned the death of James Sullivan, better known as The Rev of Avenged Sevenfold fame.
La di da.
I don't do the whole New Year thing, because first of all, it's only mankind that recognizes such a thing; the concept of a 'new year' -- or a 'year' in general -- isn't universal. For some reason, that bugs Me enough that celebrating a 'new year' doesn't feel right to Me. So what do I expect/want from 2010? ...Nothing. That's not a pessimistic answer, that's just honest.
Whatever happens, happens. I will continue to evolve, continue to try and reconcile who I was and who I am becoming, continue to seek out the resources that will hopefully assist Me in finding out what exactly it is that I want and am passionate about (whatever that is)... but I certainly ain't chalking anything up to a series of four numbers that are different than they were about twenty-four hours ago at this writing.
Meanwhile, I need to think of more things to talk about. >_>
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| I don't know about people who fear flying. To Me, flying back to NYC was the most relaxing thing ever.
Compare to taking Amtrak down to New Orleans, a thirty-hour trek that wreaked havoc on My sleep schedule, My wallet (as in, trying to keep Myself one step ahead of hunger but still trying not to break the bank), and My patience. The four-hour flight journey back to the City was a piece of cake in comparison. Even the security business was a piece of cake -- but maybe because New Orleans International Airport is much, much less hectic than other airports. I think it helps if all of your life's belongings can be contained in one large backpack, too.
The flight itself was actually fun. I loved the anticipation of taxiing down the runway, and the 'whee!' sensation that came with actually lifting off the ground. Seeing the ground pan out underneath us like a town in The Sims was much better than damn Google Earth. And coasting along over the clouds was absolutely conducive for sleeping. It took Me forever to even doze off on Amtrak, but nodding off on US Airways was a cinch.
I basically slept My way back to New York, which is a testament to how easy and relaxing the whole experience was. I can't sleep just everywhere.
So I'm back in the City, and back in 'the system'. Sylvia's Place wasn't exactly My favorite place to be, but fuck it, it's winter. Beggars most definitely cannot be choosers in cold weather. Besides, there is something to be said about being in a place with a bunch of people who wouldn't blink at the word 'genderqueer'. I still don't know about 'asexual'. But never mind that.
I detest New York City. But at least I know New York City. And it's come to My attention that despite My love for all things not of the City, I am a New Yorker. It's in My blood now. You can't escape that once it's a part of you. When you start cussing out the transportation systems of every other place because it's not as superior as the City's, when you start expecting the fast-food restaurants not to have a dollar menu, when you expect to walk into a supermarket and have to duck and dodge and spend forever-and-a-day in line just to buy a jug of milk, when you look at people strangely for saying 'good morning' as they pass you in the street, when you stand damn near in the middle of a busy street to wait for your chance to dart across, when you dress warmer than you should because, well, fuck, it's December and it should be thirty degrees in the noon sunshine... well, fuck, you're a fucking New Yorker.
Might as well accept the unacceptable and move the hell on with My life. That's what we do.
It bothers Me that I seem to have made a mistake. Or, at least I think I did. I still don't quite know if what I did -- dropping everything and hopping a train -- was a learning experience or a really stupid fucking idea. I went in search of happiness and I came back just as resigned to misery as I had been before I decided to take off. What makes Logan happy? If Logan doesn't know, then who the fuck does?
Do some people, people like Me (if such a thing exists), live like this forever? Or do they eventually just off themselves to truncate the goddamn endless line of boredom and futility? Makes one wonder.
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| Haven't been updating because there isn't anything particularly spectacular going on. NOLA is fine -- just really rainy (fucking tropics) and quite roller-coaster with its temperatures. I've been getting low on funds so the compulsive eat-everything-in-sight shit ended really quickly. I went back to role-playing because it was killing Me to stay away, no matter how I tried to rationalize the desire away. I opened a new Xanga account for making surveys to be a companion to My survey-taking site.
Nothing remarkable.
I doubt it is possible for My life to be remarkable. At least it isn't particularly horrible.
Yet.
I feel like I'm teetering on this precipice, and all it takes is a strong gust of wind to knock Me off. Perhaps it's a result of living a life that hasn't been kind to Me, but I'm constantly waiting for the 'next bad thing'. Not consciously, but I can feel the tension and dread in the back of My mind and the pit of My stomach, making Me slightly nauseous, even when I'm having a good time.
Making My own happiness is not as easy as I'd tried to force it to be.
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