I managed to make substantial headway on both my math homework and take-home test. I did so well I was thrown into an odd fit of ecstatic working-on-things, and so I catch myself feeling pretty groovy. Yea, working makes me feel groovy.

For several months now I have been talking about my story on the Mayor of Wichita, and after a conversation with him and several with his assistant, I believe we finally have a plan hashed out.  The conclusion after today’s conversation seems to be my photographer and I will tag along with him on his less-Mayoral escapades, getting to know him and his element.

I did laundry today, and the odd thing is that it didn’t really need done. Of course, my definition of “needing done” surely rivals many’s definition of “disaster” or “time to call FEMA.” Regardless, I made a preemptive strike on the laundry. Now me and mine wait in anticipation for the inevitable counter-strike.

One of the most exciting developments of the day has been the break in programmer’s block (or designer’s block, not sure) that I have been experiencing in putting together my Web site. The site, complete with blog, resume and portfolio, has been vexing me for a hot minute now. But today alone I have managed to do more with it than I have in the past two months.

Yes, there are other things, but this is the point in the post where we realize a tangible example of mine problem: I have forgotten all the other productive things I did today.

Fret not readers, for the effects of the actions will linger, and if you are of the faithful ilk, then the evidence of movement alone and the passionate utterings of its witness shall tell you truthfully and accurately of the degree of displacement the movement has caused.

Consider it substantial but unsubstantiated.

“Freedom,” the May issue of Naked City, has just hit stands and my two articles in this months issue are spectacular, if I may say so. And I do.

The year in school has closed and is soon to reopen with summer classes, a thought that surprisingly doesn’t bother me, save for perhaps on principle. It seems strange, and also lacking in propriety: it’s like a guest that doesn’t overstay its welcome so as to know that it can barge back in days later without feeling terribly guilty. And as I gracious host I will keep my mouth shut.

Anyways, this way I maintain momentum, hoping in the back of my mind that top speed is not too soon to come. History has told me that continuity after critical mass, though real and apparent, finds something of an edge and a subsequent violent slope.

I have earned a new position at Naked City, that of “Junior Culture Editor.” What this really means for now is that I am my bosses assistant, so to speak. At least until September when the mag reaches critical mass and explodes onto the Manhattan and Lawrence scenes, at which time my training will be complete. If all goes well I will no longer be a grasshopper, but… well, a super-gnarly insect of some kind I guess.

I also have two new jobs at the Sunflower News. I am no longer a copy editor, but now a page designer. I have also taken up the job of sales rep, in my scheme to obtain the position of ad manager at the beginning of the fall semester. So far, the plan to reach that goal seems well-lain, but you never know. The best-laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz.

The ever-elusive “they” say that my generation will hold between 12 and 15 jobs in our lifetimes. And so I am well on my way to and past success, as I am somewhere just above my 15th job at this point.

So with three summer classes, two vacations, and three jobs this summer… you know where I’m going with this. It’s gonna be awesome.

Well, this week is officially the week from hell, the sequel. I can’t wait until school is over with for the summer.

Admittedly, that won’t be as sweet as years prior, as I will be taking at least one summer course.

I am sort of rethinking my life at this point, as I am not sure how satisfied I am with the prescribed course, even if I’m the one who prescribed it.

It has been an interesting, albeit unsatisfying, couple of days these past ones, and if there’s one thing I know (there’s a million) it’s that I am the only one who can change that.

No, not these past couple of days. I can’t change those, but I can change where they’re taking me, or I suppose where I’m taking them.

Dissatisfaction has been a motif of my life, but one that I am satisfied with. Periodically I have these bouts of wondering what I’m doing, only to right my path or rechart my course.

Academically, I think that I need to reconsider what I’m doing, or at least how I’m doing it. I have come to the conclusion that a Communication major with an emphasis in Print Journalism is fairly useless to me.

Perhaps I will minor in IMC, thereby not wasting what credit I have in the Comm School, and then redeclaring my major as Entrepreneurship or Marketing.

My mood is pensive, and today I am fighting against the breeze, though it usually blows in the direction that I am going.

Tomorrow, if I am more certain, you will know. I won’t blog in that case.

Comfort, I guess.

I don’t much consider myself someone who needs security and comfort. I certainly don’t fear change in any form.

In fact, I love change. It excites me. I embrace it, perhaps to an unusual degree. Boredom is the bane of my existence.

And here I find myself, back in the ICT and bored. This week should have been more productive but it wasn’t. I spent most of it with my chief distraction.

She’s a good one though.

Anyway, Spring Break approaches and I don’t have any real plans. I need to make up work but it seems like all my free time belongs to make-up and work. So I guess it’s not free after all.

I would like to go ride horses at my grandfather’s house, or at least get out the four wheeler.

As our boat needs maintenance wakeboarding is out of the question.

This transmission is another short one, full of intro’s and enough body, but very little in the form of a conclusion save for a question. Or the notion of a question, no so much lacking an answer, but a voice with which to ask.

Fun! Not really though. I am waiting for the conference to start, messing around on the laptop.

Last night we went to an amazing restaurant and I had the swordfish and lots of… beverages.

Then we went back to the hotel and crashed… or something. Anyways… more in… Nashville, the sequel.

Greetings reader. How are you? 

Personally, I am decent. I had lunch today with my mom and girlfriend, which was fun and tasty.

After that Candice and I went to the Hookah Cafe so she could interview someone for a story and I could write a review. Both went well, though the subject of her interview was a quiet one.

I made amends with my cafe-owner buddies for having burned their carpet after accidently knocking over a hookah on Saturday. Good times.

Currently I am at work, waiting for more stories to come in so I can copy edit and leave. There are those around here who don’t take deadlines seriously.

But that’s OK. Or something.

I have made arrangements for getting to the airport for the newspaper trip to Nashville. Looks like my mom is taking us.  Work, to be honest, is getting on my nerves. There is someone who is constantly riding me about stuff that they are equally guilty of.

This person has given me grief about copy editing, only to run mistakes in the next issue. The mistakes, the only ones in the issue, were in the one story that I didn’t edit.

Nice.

Oh well, whatever. I am still an asset, one of the biggest, to the paper, and I know this. It’s not cockiness, but I do a lot of work, pick up a lot of slack and do my work well. 

Anyway, enough about me; let’s talk about you. 

Brandon is at a coffee shop, the Riverside Perk.

I’ve been tapping my foot for about an hour now, snuffing out unfelt or untold frustrations.

A little digital clock strikes, or slides, on to the next note. A high-pitched 34 after 9 p.m.

Surprisingly, there are children everywhere, milling about with as much or little direction as the conversation.

Outside on the patio, playing, they seem to be growing toward it, and us, in this hub of addiction.

Flint snaps punctuate non-fluencies, enunciating iterations both spoken and untold.

This iteration is called skepticism.

This iteration is called self-deprecation.

This iteration is not called humble.

 You are currently engaged in the act of viewing my blog. I know this cause. . . well, you know, trees falling in hearer-less forests. Ahem.

As you read this I am unaccounted for. As I type this, I am at the perk, not doing homework. I’m not, in fact, entirely blogging, for there is this beautiful girl across from me who is quite distracting.

I have found myself tonight burnt out, which is the wrong direction to be burnt in. Startling, as I was not looking for myself in the first place.

Alas, here I am and there you are.

Homework is not much of a priority, at least not so much as blogging and drinking lots of coffee. 

As you have shown up here, queued up for blogtasms, I will give you the skinny.

I am happy, but not too happy. I find that too happy gets overwhelming, and leads to false expectations.

Work life is good, though I fear for some it is not. I still love what I am doing and the people with whom I am doing it.

I love my girlfriend, which is a very strange thing to say, but not strange in an I-drunkenly-stumbled-into-the-girls-restroom sort of way. Just strange.

At home, my family is most likely collectively bipolar. It appears to be an unusual (no, I will call it parausual) form of synchronicity. I fear that the collective consciousness may be crumbling into madness.

Regardless, rarely do they bother me. They are a novel, if inconsequential, variable in my life. Well, perhaps cursory is a better word. There are bigger things afoot.

More and more as the days go on I worry primarily for my dogs mental well-being. She moaps  constantly and has a horrid sleep schedule. She lacks routine and worse yet, she may be irreversibly addicted to potato chips.

All this on top of school, on top of life. Actually, it’s a bit of a layer cake, but my tastes are versatile (a dare not venture to eclecticism), and so it can be dealt with.

School itself worries me little, but I am not convinced this is by any virtue of mine. Time will tell, or at least tell more. We hope as the conversation flows language barriers desist.

This transmission is reaching an end, but more will broadcast. 

I am glad we shared this. You are a good listener. And so handsome.