I am not about to neglect this journal when there are actual things to be spoken of and words to be written. I know it's only been like, a day, but I can already feel that apathy creeping in. I've got to stop that.

Yesterday, I had to watch a video on NBC terrorist attacks. When I saw NBC, I thought of the TV network and grew very, very confused. But NBC in this case stands for "nuclear, biological, and chemical". Apparently, everyone employed by the city had to watch this video and sign a piece of paper stating that they had, in fact, watched it. What's scary is this video was made by the government so if you're a federal, state, county or city employee, cross your fingers! You, too, could waste 45 minutes of your life watching poorly made sensationalist bullshit.

It was bad. They had actual actors portraying symptoms like watery eyes and vomiting. And when they actually got to the part where they tell you what to do in case of an attack, guess what they said? Stay calm and call 911. Well no fucking shit. Can you flash that number again? I didn't get a chance to jot it down. Basically, the whole thing was a waste of time and everyone walked out of the room knowing no more than before and kinda freaked out.

What's even worse is whenever they would talk about biology, chemistry or health care, they would switch over to a person wearing goggles or a stethoscope. Not once did the person's name appear at the bottom of the screen, followed by their profession. Which means they didn't even have real biologists, chemists or doctors, just actors with props. Way to exude credibility, yo.

Christ. At least I was on the clock when I watched it.

And now for something completely different.

How do you tell someone exactly how you feel when there's not even a word to describe it? I mean, shit, even that sentence sounds weird. I wish there was a song or a story or even a poem I could send him, so he knows what I'm going through. Except that's kind of cheesy and I don't like relying on other people to speak for me. Unless that person is Charles Bukowski, but I don't think that would be appropriate. Funny, yes, but...no.

He wants to know what I am feeling. He said that I'm good at expressing myself in words, so go for it. Except I don't think of him in words. He doesn't make me feel in words. Images and certain moments in time, yes, but nothing in any known language.

Example- New York. Just after midnight. I was standing in the road in front of my grandmother's house, smoking a cigarette and watching the snow fall. It was quiet. I was quiet. Despite everything, I was happy.

Same day, three hours before then, my dad and I were on our way to pick up pizza after coming back from the hospital. The radio was on and Bruce Springsteen was singing about the badlands. I watched the houses and dead factories fly past the car window and I felt just like I did when I watched Bruce Springsteen perform that song live, not even a month earlier. I remember standing near the top of the arena, my back aching from trying to keep my balance, and hearing thousands upon thousands of people yelling along with The Boss.

I thought about him then, I thought about him in the car, and I thought about him while I watched the snow swirl around the streetlights.

Then on Saturday night, when he was next to me, playing with my hands while I tried really, really hard not to kiss him, I felt the exact same way.

How do I explain that? I've tried to, but nothing works. I cross out more words than I write.

And then there's the Other Thing. The thing where I'm pretty sure I know how he feels, but I don't want to assume anything because that is how I fuck up. And I really don't want to fuck up. If I'm trying to explain how I feel, then he should, too. It's only fair, right?

I'm worried. About what, I don't know. And even though this entry is obscenely long, I don't feel like I've accomplished anything.

Fuck it. Tonight, I will tell duck stories and lewdly proposition myself to Jimmy Fallon. In Pig Latin. Cuz that's sexxxy.

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