On Justified Inebriation

Hello, my name is Ross Llewallyn. I'm currently a student at Georgia Tech, but my home is in East Cobb, where I grew up and went to school. This is my first letter to a representative, so you might guess that the issue I'm writing about is an important one to me. It's important, however, for reasons beyond imbibing alcohol purchased on Sundays.

Yes, I want the prohibition of selling alcohol on Sundays to be brought to local authority and eventually repealed from our community.

But let me be clear: I do not drink alcohol. I have no desire to do so, much less purchase it on any day of the week. Yet I care about this issue because it represents what I consider to be a violation of the separation of church and state. Residual "blue laws", with their origins in Christian principles, should be replaced with universal, secular ones.

I hope that my message and potentially different grounding on this issue demonstrates the multifaceted reasoning as to why this must go local and be repealed.

Thank you,
Ross Llewallyn

On Jet

Jet's first song on their album Shine On is titled "L'esprit de l'escalier". Only today do I decide to look up just what that means. It's a very interesting phrase that revolves around thinking of a great punchline far too late. This is done in the music in the sense that this track is a short sample of the last song on the album. Maybe it's backwards, I don't know.

But leave it to the French to coin a phrase that means this oddly specific scenario. Somehow I find it resonating with me, though a specific example of me experiencing this I just can't find. I think it's on a much more grandiose level. Superficially, when trying to impress, I fancy myself as being quit-witted, verbose, if vapid. For real decisions or discussions I'm a very slow, methodical person.

So perhaps this phrase applies to me not in the quick "punchline" sense, but in the slowest sense. It's almost as if I've turned the phrase over upon itself. Heck, maybe everyone can relate to this phrase, and it's not special to me at all. That's likely.

There's more to this, I know. I'm sure I'll be thinking about it.

On Head & Shoulders

I've got a pretty strong running streak of uninteresting Valentine's Days. Really, I don't get too bothered by the holiday. It's not as if this day is a special marker to breach to ensure happiness. It doesn't hurt any more than any other day, which may be more than I'd like to admit.

The effect it has on others does get to me, however. I used to have potential commiserators, but they're being swooped up right quick.

As usual, I chickened out from asking the tough question on an otherwise upbeat evening. Some part of me wants to cling to this stable position I've got. The other part is this no-consequences, tell-all side that likes to take a backseat in truly stressful situations.

She's going to France for the summer. Is that why? If she was back home, would it be that different? Probably. Being far away from home has a... "liberating" sensation. It's good to leave ties behind and not create ones before you go.

I've experienced that before...

But she's someone I can talk to, someone with which I feel like I'm always on the same level. I get that with some people, but then there are other, smaller things. There are also things I don't know, but for once, I feel like finding out.

People don't often click for me, and she did. This isn't a move a make often. I can count on my hand the number of times. What I'm saying is that I'm serious. This is more than something of annoyance, some nagging responsibility across the pond.

I wonder what she'd think if she read this. It's so silly of me to pine here, alone, hoping for chance to turn in my favor. But if I ask, that somehow makes me weak, desperate. Bit late for that, I guess.

I play such stupid games with myself.

On Dickens and Dominos

It was the best of times and the worst of times, and now I'm somewhere in the middle, back where I was before. There's always that sliver of hope, which I like to leave myself room for, but my enthusiasm is guarded.

I don't know if I've ever not taken "No" for an answer before. I don't know where the lines are between being romantic and being annoying. Between being persistent and being a stalker. Being in love and being obsessed.

Now, of course, let me not get ahead of myself. I haven't done a damn thing. I've spent one day with her and exchanged a dozen text messages. Fretting to this degree must surely be insane. That's another part of it. I could write a substantial amount about how I'm feeling right now, about why I want desperately for someone's mind to change. But we're on entirely different worlds.

I'm struggling to keep it out of my mind. I'm procrastinating on work right now to write this. I force myself not to contact again, because, on the other side... it's nothing. It was a good day. It's a missed meet with a potential friend. It's some guy who really wants to reschedule. To me, it's a series of restless nights; to her, it's a series of 140 characters.

I'm waiting now. Waiting and waiting. The longer it goes, the more vast the differences in perception become. And I just want to ask a few questions, really. Well, to start.

I've got a playlist on my iPod called "Me". It's a bit under 3 hours long. I'm pretty proud of how it captures various aspects of my life and weaves it together with some sense of cohesion. Well, now, there's a new addition to that list: "Layla".

It goes right in-between "Dreams I'll Never See" and "Won't Get Fooled Again". For now.

--- 2 seconds later ---

Response was enthusiastic. At least I'm not a perceived psychopath. I forgot to mention that being friends might be okay, too. We'll see.

On Cardiac Organs as Cufflinks

This is going to be cryptic and a bitch to read for anyone else who doesn't know what's going on. And that's everyone but me.

These past two days have been the most emotionally turbulent that I can possibly remember. What's worse is that I'm jumping to so, so many conclusions. "Cautiously optimistic" just gets thrown out the window. What's the worst is that I know it's me alone doing it to myself.

I'm sitting in class getting goosebumps and chills, flushes and rushes over and over again. I am distracted for large portions of lectures contemplating hypothetical scenarios. I am seething with rage at every second I am held over at this meeting, at every inane question I am needlessly tied down to hear, because I have something to do. I have something to do that is so magnanimous in my mind, but so trivial in reality.

Even the rain won't stop me. I mentally turn it into a positive. I hope for a predicament. I hope my umbrella comes in handy. I hope to make poetic and impressive observations of this downpour and its effects on the human psyche and condition.

I postpone needed work and rush out the door. A glance is all it took to take me from the highest point to the lowest at a rate inversely comparable to commercial car acceleration statistics. "Anticlimactic" doesn't even come close. I read so deeply, so closely that I make assumptions no sane person would.

I've never done this before. This next message will make or break me. She doesn't know the power she wields, and I don't know why I gave it to her.

--- 2 hours later ---

Fuck