Thursday, 09/09/04 - 9:53 pm.
In my quasipathological rush of last night (that's turned into anxiety by now), about making an essay on Freud's theories, I forgot to mention that Joseph told me the funniest stories about his school years yesterday.
The one I loved was when he was late for mass at school. He couldn't walk in late, but if he was found wandering around he'd be punished. So he found an odd corner in the boys' room and climbed up and got stuck to the ceiling a la Peter Parker (with his arms and legs stretched out), for thirty five minutes. Only a boy saw him, but he didn't say anything to the principal.
I was sitting with Joseph this afternoon, just talking, when my friend Carmen and a friend of his (who's Carmen's classmate) walked by. Look, here comes your friend, Joseph said, and I looked down covering my eyes with my hands, and whispered "God, no". I was rather moody, and I wasn't feeling like seeing her (I just wanted to come up with a goddamned subject for my essay on Freud).
Joseph talked a lot about a bunch of people who hangs out at the mall, near the DDR machine. Carmen was in stitches, listening to Joseph talking. I don't think I've ever mentioned Joseph is one of the best storytellers I've ever met. Not only his stories are funny by their content (like when he sent people to pour acid on someone's luxurious car) but he has a way to make you picture everything.
I was moody, right, but after the ten-fifteen minutes of listening to him talking to Carmen and the other friend, I was in a very good mood. Because he's just so funny. So, so funny. It's your fault, man. My life was fine, I was fine all by myself, fighting the boxing machine, but then you had to come and introduce me to that addictive dancing machine and that bunch of losers.
He saved me from talking to Carmen. Yeah, I'm sorry. I love Carmen, especially when she laughs like she did today, but I never got over the whole 8th grade thing, and basically I never got over the things about her that irk me endlessly. I think she's making friends at the university, though, thanks to Joseph's friend that's introducing her to many people...and to the DDR world, too. When we found them, they were coming from the mall. Carmen had been on the machine.
Speaking of chinese coffee, I think it's safe for me to say now that my book is a fact. Today I sent my stories to my dad's friend (who's a professional writer) to give me suggestions on how to improve them. So, to answer the question of the masses "will The Beatles ever get back together?", I must say that yes, I am publishing a book.
Dad insists it's something I must keep, that I'd be a loser (he said it in other words, though) if I only published one book in my whole life. I don't plan on writing just one, I'm just not sure about the pace.
So guided by the spirit Illpublishabook, I borrowed Fer's digital camera, to take myself a picture for the back cover (oh, this is going to be epic). But I gave it back to him the next minute, because he had taken pictures already, and there was a high probability that I, being the technology-challenged loser I am, deleted them by mistake. Lend it to me when it's empty, I said.
Fer's very nice. Joseph and I approached to him, and Joseph said Fer, we need your camera, do you have it with you right now?. Fer said "sure", took it out of his backpack and gave it to me. He didn't say "take good care of it", or anything. He just handed it to me. I consider that as a proof of his trust in me, and I appreciate it.
Since I gave it back to him, though, he took a picture of Joseph and I kissing. I'm quitting psychology and starting a career in photography, I told Joseph. He said he knew that it'd make me very happy, and that we'd travel around the world. Yes, "we", because he'd carry all my equipment.
I saved the entries of july 2002 last night. God, was I fucked up. And that was just the beggining. Things changed a lot since may which I consider to be my most amusing time at school. Everything went downhill starting in june. I hated Veronica so much I'd cry several times a day, and, worst of all, that's when I started to fall in love with D.
Note to self: ask Veronica why she cried so much in senior high. After all, I was probably just misjudging her (yes, as usual, I am the evil one).