I've got this general, inexplicable feeling of malaise tonight. I have all day and spent a lot of time scribbling in my diary trying to pin down a reason for it.  I'm starting to suspect there isn't one, or if there is it's pretty vague.
 So New Years passed. It's 2001. Despite the fact that I am filled with dreams of flying cars and domed civilizations, I was oddly devoid of sentiment at the changing of calendars. But it was a good time.
 We wound up having a house guest. We had decided to have a little new years shindig. Nothing big, we were only inviting something like three or four people. But one of them had a friend visiting from out of town. Now this person was someone we'd never meÝ, but we were asked if he could crash at our place after the party. I'm pretty wary of strangers and while I'm more than happy to let a friend stay over, I tend to be skeptical about offering my couch to someone I have never atleast gone to coffee with. But New Years is a special occasion, it's a time of drunken debauchery, and so it comes with the territory. So Rob and I agreed.
 It turned out the house guest came into town Saturday though, so it wound up being an extra night. I was a little more wary, being as I'd never met this fellow before. Additionally, we were supposed to go to a movie with said friend and his guest, Chad. The thing is, though, I was really fatigued with a headache and an upset stomach and really didn't feel like going much of anywhere. We were in a quandry. We ordinarily would have explained that I was feeling a bit sickly and rescheduled, but couldn't do so without flaking out as Chad's crash pad. Rob invited them over. I curled up under the blanket on the couch and watched television with them.
And that was how I met Chad.
Now, I'm a fan of trusting my instincts. The first impressions tend to be the lasting ones. I looked at Chad and I knew that I was in the presence of one fucked up puppy.
 Some people struggle with mental illness. Some people cope with mental illness. And some people embrace mental illness, turning it into an identity.
 The latter was Chad. Chad was this fellow from Indiana. He looked for any excuse to talk, in graphic detail, about his psychological diagnosis, every med he has ever been on, the intricacies of his illness and why he is getting on SSI for it. Chad said he had panic disorder. Chad also consumed more pot than any living being I have ever met. I became rather convinced that Chad didn't have such a problem with panic disorder, but in fact had a level of cannabis dependency that had driven him to extreme paranoia and neurosis.
 Chad could only see the Chad who was a fucked up little puppy, had no ambition to be anything but, and wanted everyone to know about how sad and filled with angst his life really was. He spoke of things to casual strangers that should never be spoken to someone whose last name you don't even know.
 Even worse: Chad would not leave. We had explained to him that there was a strict check out time of 1 pm. We had a lot to do the next day and it would be better if there were not guests there. (actually that had been a fail safe I had devised in case this fellow was a twit. It proved to be a wise fail safe to have.) Well, the next day, we got up around 11:30 am and fixed a pot of coffee. Around 12:30, I pointed out the time and reminded Chad of the 1 pm check out. At 1:30 Rob got into the shower. I drew a map for Chad with explicit directions on how to get back to his friend's house. I then left the room and went online. At 2:30 I, much more annoyed, reiterated the fact that he had to leave. I was one step shy of throwing his belongings out a window, so he would go outside and chase after them, thus enabling me to lock the door behind him...but he had his coat on and was finally leaving.
 We went out to lunch and ran some errands, then came home and fixed up the apartment. We then went to pick up my friend Juan before having a few folks over. The drinking commenced, and I did my best to be official pusher of booze and cigarettes, but Rob would have none of it. Jason showed up with Chad, and Chad promptly went to hide in the other room as he was panicking. Ted showed up with tequila in tow, pepe lopez stuff. I was afraid, as my body is very limited in what tequila it will let me ingest, after having abused the privilige years ago. I popped a yellow jacket and was feeling a really nice blend of booze and gas station speed. This led to much pontificating on my part. I am convinced I was absolutely brilliant even if I can't remember most of what I said. Any help by way of quotes in this department would be greatly appreciated.
Midnight arrived. I was engrossed in conversation when it was announced. No one seemed to notice and it would have gone without incident, had Rob not announced it.  Everyone gave a little cheer, then Rob passed around some very nice, very tasty, champagne.
Around three AM (how'd it get to be that late? It seemed like the night just started) I was feeling in much pain from the  yellow jackets and ceased to be anything resembling charming company. I was almost passed out in a chair after watching Casino. I hinted that people should leave. I was feeling sick, and it's something I didn't want to be apparent to guests.
 I spent a lot of the night, after everyone either left or went to sleep, running to the bathroom, thinking I was going to be sick and cursing the fact I couldn't. If I could get some projectile substances to come out, I knew I'd feel a little better. So I spent a lot of time curled up in a ball.
 The next day, we promptly ran Chad out of our abode. It turned out that there was a Law and Order marathon going on, so I spent a lot of time on the couch, being hung over, and enjoying having my brain zapped into the television.
 So here it is today, somewhat groggy still but otherwise okay, realizing that it's 2001. I suppose, all things considered it was a fun time. But I still am wondering where my flying cars are...

 january   pontifications