I believe it was Hemmingway who said that if you write a page a day, you're doing well. I'm trying to do that, though it should be fairly obvious that I haven't done so, at least, not so far as these reflections go. However, I do try, and that is what really counts. In fact, the first time I ever sat down at this word processor (25 December 1984), I filled up an entire file, about seven pages +/-. The next day, I did the same thing. The third took me three days, the fourth a week, the fifth a month, the sixth at least two years. Finally, this year, I went back to that book (I've mentioned it before: about my first D&D character) and put in about five files this past quarter while working on everything else. However, I haven't really touched it in about three or four weeks. I'm going to get back to it once I recover from my creative brain-fry from Speech 310: The Fundamentals of Playwriting. That course really did drain me more than I thought it would have. So, obviously, I'm having to wing these entries as I write them, for there's no way in hell I really know where they're going at this stage in the game.

Anyway, I went out to the Mall this evening and became obsessed with the idea that D- would be there. I walked from the Sears entrance down to J.C. Penney's to look for her. I didn't see her, but then I remembered that she still has about two weeks of school left before she gets home for Christmas break. She is probably engaged, though, or something like that, though I haven't heard anything to that purpose. But she is so beautiful that she can't be romantically unattached, especially being in a sorority at UGA- it just doesn't compute if she is single. I don't mean to make that sound at all derogatory; it just seems improbable that she would be unattached with so many people there to become romantically attached to.

Did that last sentence make the least bit of sense whatsoever? I don't really know, so tell me now.

But, I began thinking about all those times I managed to be in her way between classes in high school, then just happening to be at the same restaurant after the football games, etc., etc. It was definitely infatuation and worship that I felt. But it was also very much love, though, admittedly, an unreturned and, quite possibly, unacknowledged love. I don't think I ever came right out and told her I loved her because I was so scared of her. It's funny, though, because I think she was scared of me. I wonder which of us was frightened more; probably me. I know her too well, or at least I did know her well. I can't say that anymore because, frankly, I haven't kept in touch- she didn't write back. I guess I just don't know when to quit, when to give up.

The same can be said for my feelings toward J-. I explicated above in the Thirty-Fourth Installment about as much as I can, and about as openly. There really isn't all that much more that I can say concerning her at this time because there hasn't been any new kind of development. She tends to rub it in when she tells me that she has to leave school early in order to go to Atlanta. There's only one reason for her to go to Atlanta, and that is Frank at the other school. It hurts when she adds that little phrase "go to Atlanta" to the end of a sentence. And what kills me is the fact that I have spent the last eleven weekends in intense hatred for and unrestrained jealousy of someone I haven't even met. I hate that part of me that can do those sorts of things, because I don't feel it is a "real" part of me, though I recognize these feelings as "only human" and "natural." But what am I to do when I hate myself for hating the person J- says she's in love with? I can't hate her and I can't love someone else, not yet, anyway, so that only leaves him and me. I do as much as I can with what I've got to work with. I'm not going to do anything to him or myself, other than just wish for something to happen to one of us to put me out of my misery. However, something just constantly fails to do anything at all, so I write and I hope and I dream and, most of the time, I just wait, hoping she'll call me or write me or do something to let me know that she cares. I sent her flowers twice at the beginning of the quarter and, first, she got mad, then she hated me for a few minutes, then she thought they were pretty and left it at that. Of course they were meant as more than just "Hello, glad you're home," but how else could I attempt to say what I wanted to say without closing her to me forever? She doesn't like the word "love," and even I admit that it's far too casually used today, but there is no other word for the feelings that I feel in the English language. No, it's not lust. I've already discussed the differences and the fact that I can distinguish lust from other emotions. I think the Greeks had the right idea when they created five different words for love. However, I only know one of those, agape, and that only because I am the hypocritical host of a Christian rock music video show at the local Christian TV station. I do the show because it's a lot of fun and it's exposure, albeit small, but it's exposure. So, the Greeks don't help me one damn bit in this situation, except for the fact that they had Eros, the god of love and either brother or son of Aphrodite, and, apparently, he's looking in the other direction right now, the asshole.

Some of you out there in reader-land are saying to yourselves "God, this Scott dude is not only an arrogant, asinine, self-righteous, self-pitying, egocentric, pitiful, bastard son of a bitch, but he's irreverent as hell as well!" Well, you're just now figuring that out? What's taken you so long? Yes, I admit to all of the above, as well as quite a few others, but I'm also sensitive, empathic (meaning I am very aware of others feelings), and extremely warm and generous. I need someone to share everything with, and until I find this goddess, I'll stay an arrogant, asinine, self-righteous, self-pitying, egocentric, pitiful, bastard son of a bitch, as well as one madman in a world gone mad.

But that doesn't really get me anywhere, does it? I really do want to be able to hold someone, to talk to them, to caress them and have them tell me they're happy to be lying next to me. It's not a sexual need; it's an emotional/touching need. I used "touching" as the qualifier because I did not want to use the word "physical" there, though it means the same thing. "Physical" just has too many sexual connotations that I did not want implied there, so I used "touching." There is a difference, though. "Touching" is a hug, a hand-hold, even a look. I would go so far to say a kiss, here, but some of us, including me in some instances, would throw that in with the "physical" category. See the differences, now? My times with J- were really the first times I recognized those differences, and now that I recognize them, I realize that I need those "subtleties" of "touching" in order to be completely and wholly happy. That's my fault, obviously, because I know plenty of guys at school who are happy just to find a girl, any girl, to sleep with, regardless of any emotions that could be involved.

That's something I will never understand, this thing called "casual sex." I can understand why, but I can't understand how. Does that make sense? I don't mean the actual mechanical how, but the emotional and psychological how. How, so to speak, can people make love to people they really have no feelings for whatsoever? I don't, no, I can't understand that. It just seems so wrong to me. I feel that there has to be some sort of empathy between partners in order for either to enjoy the loveplay. Otherwise, it can simply be described as "simultaneous mutual masturbation." A sick term, but the truth. A better term would just be "sex." It's not love, or making love. It is sex. Period. It is man reduced to his primal instincts. However, those instincts are a part of us and they cannot be fully denied. How can I condemn this "casual sex" and still believe in doing what you believe to be right? Very simply, I can get out of that snare, or at least sidestep it: if you feel you want to do it and you feel right about doing it, then it is not for me to criticize you. Have at it. But don't forget what I have said. As Howard Jones says "Those crazy words you fling from your mouth are gonna bounce back on you someday."

So, is it possible now to say something in this Installment which is so missubtitled? Actually, though, the subtitle, as with most of them, was written based upon the thought I had at the time I began writing and, obviously, the thought I had was one concerning Ernest Hemmingway. The thought processes I have previously described then took over and led me into so many other diverse topics as to be almost indecipherable. What can I say? This is the perfect example of a twenty-track mind allowed to run rampant in the fields of, not only imagination, but philosophy and technology and theology and biology (a note to biology teachers: if identical twins have identical DNA and RNA and genetic-stuff, you know, chromosomes, etc., then why aren't their fingerprints identical? Obviously, something isn't as identical as it seems.) and some other not-quite-so-readily defined fields that probably wouldn't interest you in the least until you were allowed to visit them with me and, for reasons that should be quite obvious since I'm not here, you can't, so I will forego any further discussion on them.

My God! I was completely unaware of the fact that I have filled up half a file with this one entry. It is obviously long and has probably long since passed that stage of tolerably good reading. However, I don't quite think I am yet ready to close off this Installment. There is something nagging me at the back of my head (no, it is not a louse) and I don't think it can wait, yet I don't know what it is. But I think it will have to wait. It is getting late and, though I am still thinking quite heavily about J- and D- and some various other females that I have fallen in lust with over the years, I will try to pull this Installment to a close and allow you the luxury of not having to listen to me ramble on. However, if you like my ramble, please feel free to look below at the next Installment. I'm sure it will have a point to make, just as this one does, if I can ever find it.

Simply speaking, I think it is this: these writings don't have to mean anything, as long as it is fun reading and writing, for you and me, respectively. Yet, all of this entry means quite a bit to me. I've said some things that I have not yet dared say, but they needed saying and now that they are said, I can forget them and continue on. I hope you have found these at least entertaining, if not educational as well. Remember that everything we read and write and do is simply adding more knowledge to our minds, those infinitely powerful biological computers inside our heads. It never forgets anything. Everything we see, hear, taste, smell, or touch is permanently etched into our on-board memory scanners and held there for further reference later. Don't put anything in it that doesn't need to be there, unless you feel like living nonsensically for a while, which is a lot of fun if you can handle it. Otherwise, dump the nonsense and input only what you feel is necessary for your enjoyment of life. So, until another time, goodbye as one madman in a world gone mad to another madman.

Howard Scott
27, and the first 25 minutes of 28 November 1987