Mandatory Null-Zone

As of late, I've been stuck in this weird sort of mandatory null-zone. The film is finished - here's the poster to it, which has since been printed on a legit posterboard, framed, and hung on display outside the local Media Center. I've won my third Academic Pin, though I'm disqualified from a fourth for being an out-of-state transfer, which has also disqualified me from recognition on the Honor Student Listing, which is a mild let-down because it would have looked positively smashing on an application.

Basically, aside from putting on a Tux and walking in on Prom Night, then throwing a green robe over it and walking across a stage to accept a sheet of paper, my secondary education is over. I'm in that Johnny Wander moment, now:

"...Uh, what do we do?"
"Eh, wing it."

The only "lesson" in the following weeks will be my final exams, so with nothing to do, I'm basically socializing, which is very frustrating, because I've nothing to do. It's a mandatory nothing-to-do. A big, red tape null-zone that I'm stuck attending because they won't let me slap $30 in dues onto their table and mark the bubble-sheet they've got to send in. With nothing in the now, and everything sort of looming in the future, I've begun marking out what to do for my last months in Missouri:

I've got to get into more contact with Bud Lemmon; the moving-dates are still rather fluid and are dependent almost solely on when the company can move us. I believe my father will be leaving without us, as his first day of work starts on the 17th, so I'll twist him arm to see if he can get me into New York sooner. While I wait, though, hopefully Bud can get me a job scraping shingles off a roof, cracking tile, or yanking drywall. Paychecks are nice, and I don't mind the mule-work so long as I get to tell somebody that they're getting mail or a meal. I've got to oust my pan and work on a grill more to get Sparrow something slimming - as showy as Jiaozi and such is, when he realizes it's packed full of sesame oil, ginger and ground meat and packs a solid 100 calories a pop or something he won't appreciate it. I should probably try a method of preparation that's lower on the sesame which is where a majority of it comes from - steaming them would be good, but I only have a vegetable-steamer, and it's very low-set so I don't trust it to finish the job in one shot.

I'm sweating my haircut now, too. I had this really long Shannon Hoon imitation going, and I'd tie it back Secretary-Style, but I recently pageboy'd it to look a little more presentable strutting around in a suit, which I've been doing a lot of lately. Pictures some other time, as after I do a portrayal of a coke-addict in a second independent film called "Burn Out", I can shave for the first time in weeks.

Time's narrowing down for me to do a few things, like use the industrial print-lathe to Mofuji Nyabi's heat-pad. I'm also sweating my Gym Membership; I've come to love the guys here at Paul's Stronghouse, and I haven't quite gotten the abs I'd wanted, which leaves a lot of exercise up to my single set of weights and whatever hours I won't be spending packing to move.

I'd never thought that leaving Missouri would be difficult - I'd always been a Military Kid and spent years shuffling in and out of places, states, and even countries but as I look at the people who care about me, and the silly antics of those who are in my same situation, and friends who lament the idea of me going to New York, I realize that I've made more than acquaintances here. It's surprisingly bittersweet, and while I've great hopes for my future, I have this quiet ache floating about my chest with regard to the people I'm leaving here, too.

I just hope I don't cry saying farewell, because I know I might when I say hello in New York, too.
I try not to make a habit of crying, though you couldn't tell it as of late.

You can thank Cat and Hat for all of that.

Rhymes like a motherfucker.