A · little · slice · of · highly · charged · mediocrity

I can say this without exaggeration, embellishment, or hyperbole: I don't think i've ever been happier, in my entire life.
If I have been, it was certainly a simpler time, where some toys and a warm chocolate chip cookie or two was sheer happiness.

I've weathered much, experienced plenty, and learned a bit.

I deserve this, as does she.  Ah, sigh. 

So, links. here.

here
Pretty stupid, but it's a start.  Probably NSFW, because of banners and whatnot.

here
Some Russian parkour.  (Parkour is a French sport, otherwise known as freerunning. Wiki here.

here
Same people as below, but different.

here
probably my favorite.

here
An honorary entry, the ninjaness of old people, perhaps?

So, I have my first piano lesson tomorrow, and the more I think about it, the more I realize my excitement regarding it. I feel like I have a limited pool of socially marketable skills, since wrestling, 1337 gaming, and reciting the first ~50 digits of pi don't do a whole lot for most people.  Most. 

Now, i'm not doing this to perpetuate the previously prominent problem of personality that I so predominantly posses; perhaps piano piques my preoccupation with pondering the production of practicable propriety.  Pedantic? Possibly.

Came across some more links.

Shining trailer.
West Side Story trailer.
Eveyone else has had more sex than me.
Sand sculptures.
An article from The Economist about video games & society.
Dinosaur comics. (Kate's fav)
Blog entries of a Japanese school teacher, on the JET program.  < Very funny.

Now I can clean out a bookmark folder of random crap that i've forgotten about.

Cheers.

There's not a man I meet but doth salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me; some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy:
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And therewithal took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

I feel particularly grateful of the people I have managed to surround myself with, they are generally a giving sort. Whether it's some of the students bringing me food from a wing dinner while I'm toiling away in the office, or link upon intriguing link from a half a dozen different people. Copies of movies, of soundtracks, book suggestions.  Advice, counsel, caring, consideration, love.  I hope that I deserve such things, since I sometimes seem to recieve them in spades.  I also hope that the return on others' investments in myself is equitable.

I wake up, put on a pair of my usual socks, and pull a shirt on. Walking to my desk, the bastion of time-worn effort and many idle hours, I see a message from the ether:

good morning

I look at it, smile with an unintentionally Cheshire magnitude, and realize that i'm marginally cold.  Turning on the heat behind the desk, the guts of the rumbling beast churn to life. 
Still, I think, there's no accounting for the slight shaking that's taken my form. 

I sit, and with the progression of a few clicks, peruse my email.  And I read.  This correspondence, more of note than letter, presents a link to yet another page.  Undeniably curious, I venture on.

Damn, I must be cold.  But... no.  I'm just shaking a little more.  And cold can't account correctly for this. 
So, I read, turn down whatever randomized song was piping itself to me, and reread.  Ingest, assimilate, absorb. 
And read again.

Only after several minutes of recounting it, rolling it around in my noggin, do I stop moving so fitfully.
So I put fake pen to fake paper, and reflect.  Thoughts abound.

If 50 people in your age group were selected randomly, how many do you think you would find leading a happier life than yours?
One, maybe two.  For where i'm "at", for plenty of reasons, and now for another, I'm happy.

Friends, those who've I disclosed little to nothing, be patient.  I'm not keeping you in the dark, but I may be emerging from it myself. 

P.S.  here, and here.   I think he's named Pepper now, but i'm not sure. 

87 years ago, WWI ended.

A few hours ago, another, infinitely less important conflict formally ended.
The one within myself.

It is my intention, from this point on, to cut any and all ties, from one Victoria Nicole Green.
I am quite calm upon writing this, something that has been less than true of late.
Things have come full circle for me, but I won't follow the same path again.
I will forgive her, but I will never forget why.

Danielle, Hayley, Tejas, Archangel, thanks for talking to me, both online and on the phone; in chat conferences and phone conferences.
Thank you for your support, your care. I appreciate the guild invite from the highest levels, the kind words, the guidance.
You've been friends when I have done nothing for you, or only marginally know you.
I have no doubt we'll speak again; say hi in a few months, i'm not hard to find.
Dani, you've been a caring, bottomless well of empathy. I seemed to test your patience only by apologizing for pestering you too much.

Though I know you know, appreciation is due to others as well. Mom, Jon, Laura, Fran, Sarah, Kurt, Kate, Doug. Whether it be a minute online, or several hours on the phone, you've been supportive, and I thank you.

Jeromy. I've talked to you for more hours these few days than I can count, and you are always there for me. You hold no punches, you slight no thought. Discussion after discussion, even telling me things over and over if I needed it, you've helped an indescribable amount. Laying bare those things hidden to me in plain sight, while challenging me to decide things for myself. Thanks.

I am a good person, a great friend, and a wonderful companion.
I am quite fallable, but I am never vindictive.
I am many things, and I am still learning what those are.
I am.

...and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for
love; very near this. I'll speak to him again.
What do you read, my lord?

So, I wrote this and this.

She wrote this.

I wrote this later, for what it's worth.

I brought the book with me when i saw her, and said that if she's betrayed me, the things she wrote here, are lies.
She has it now, her claiming at the time, tearful and apparently exasperated, that she spoke true.
Tell me, how can it be true, after so much falsehood?
As a corollary, if it is true, where's the line? Where did the girl that cared so deeply, stop caring. 
Did she never care? It sound preposterous, but i guess i'll never know.

Victoria, you are a coward.  You couldn't face me, and assuming it's true, tell me you don't love me.

There's a million things worth telling you about yourself, but you won't listen to them coming from me anyway.
Ask those that care about you, whom you still listen to.  Ask them the things that I expect they know about you, that worry them about you.
I'm not sure what they'll say, but I can guess.  You need help, and a love interest from Belgium isn't the solution. 
I don't care if you marry the poor sap, if won't solve the problems that you have.

Things happen for a reason, but I'll be damned if i understand any of this.

So, last week I applied to a position here.   The next day, they called, to set up a phone interview.  After the interview, I was asked to come on campus to interview, which I did the next day.  After the on-campus interview, they offered me the position, which I accepted.  I drove home, then packed and moved in the next day to start work

Whew.

Things happen for a reason, certainly.  After a hell of a jobless summer, I land an exceptional job at a wonderful place, working with absolutely great people.  I'm one lucky SOB, and i'm enjoying it already.