Nixing the 'nix

It's been a couple of days since I last posted. I probably should apologize. There where times when I could've sat down and wrote something, but the drive wasn't there. I mean, how can I define what this week was to me? Too many things happened and I find myself sitting here trying to fathom what to make of it all. These things take time, I suppose, but time and I have never gotten along well. I do have that missive on my wrist reminding me to mind the time, but never mind the time and time keeps ticking on, or was that, slipping, slipping, into the future? I'll try to sum up my thoughts in the next few days, but I'm not sure exactly what kind of summation will ferment. In any case, I leave Phoenix in four hours and head back to a place where I really don't want to be right now.

It's just so cold there, in many ways; cold, dreary, ugly, tedious, monotonous, depressing, noxious, and other adjectives. It's warm and sunny here, and I think I just might have a future.

I had a job interview at the local school for the deaf. It went rather well, I think, and although I can't formally apply for my position until I have a degree, all indications received at present promise a job upon graduation. So, I'll be teaching after all. Not only will I be teaching, but I'll also be helping coach a variety of sports. Congratulations, Mr. Henner. The future is yours, and yours to corrupt. Really, I mean, this is a job that can potentially manifest as a career. I'll be in the real world, and working at that. This is quite unnerving for me. I'm not used to thinking beyond the weekend. Now, I've got to plan years ahead. I might even get a 401k and talk about retiring some day.

The last time I seriously thought about what would happen when I was old, I was talking to a very inebriated German on Rue de Bourbon, New Orleans. That was quite an interesting conversation. If I recall correctly, it involved saggy nuts, a fire in the crotch, and perky nurse asses. I probably should tell the whole story some time.

Luckily, the people I'll be working with are very friendly and are near my age. I'll be the youngest on staff, but not quite that young. Most of the people near my age live in Tempe, which is where ASU is located. I know some people who attend school at ASU, and I'm slowly making friends in the Phoenix area. I might have a shirt and tie job, but my nights will be exciting as always. I can promise myself that. And, I'll certainly enjoy the people there.

But, wow, adulthood? I'm not sure I want to be an adult yet. That's one of the reasons I broke off with J.. Relationships are far too complicated and constrict me to a degree that I cannot bear, and once a relationship reaches a certain point, it forces you to assume adult roles - like thinking of the other person's future as well as your own. I can barely think of my own future without breaking out in hives. How can I very well think of another’s?

I do believe I'd rather think of drink and women than of something sensible, like 401ks, but I'm going to have to change that shortly.

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The other day, my Uncle was talking to me about Hedge funds. This was the first time I've seen him in about four years. I think we get along better than we'd like to admit. We're very similar, in a lot of ways. I believe he notices that and that’s what compels him to talk to me, even after such a long absence.

There's really no point to that blurb. I just wanted to mention that we talked for a long time about hedge funds. Isn't that so fucking adult-like and scary-ish?

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I turned 22 yesterday. I left my walker at home, but I managed to get drunk and have a good time. This morning, I awoke to a family practicing the cusses I apparently taught them last night. It makes me happy, you know, that my family cares enough about me that they want to be able to tell me to fuck off and die in my own language. It's amusing.

I’m afraid that I’m going to have to cut this entry a bit short. Pizza has arrived, and I’m duty-bound to test out the ‘nix area pizzas. It’s deep dish, which makes this perilous task even more necessary. I don’t think I can survive a city that doesn’t have a proper deep dish.

Update

The pizza wasn't too shabby. It came from a Rosati's, which was and is my favorite deep dish chain next to Giordano's. It was, however, missing something. While musing about it between massive bites, I came to the conclusion that the quality of grease was lacking. It's funny that I would moan about the quality of grease, but a properly greasy deep dish is quite satisfying.

My father commented that differences in the water might have something to do with the "off" taste of the pizza. Water does make a difference in baked goods. It's said that water is the reason that New York bagels are just so, and San Francisco Sourdough is especially potent.

Quality of grease aside, I do approve of the deep dish pizza here. 'nix won't be too bad, after all.