For the past two weeks I've been cycling down to Mexico. Amazingly, I've kept a perfect journal. Every evening before going to bed I'd take note of the events of the day. I probably won't bother transcribing those entries online, but they exist, which is the important thing. I've kept with my New Year's resolution.

Yesterday we woke up on the beach of Bagdad Bay, however that is spelt. There was talk of staying an extra night, which I was not keen on. I had already stayed a day long than I needed and wanted to, and it wasn't a particularly good night, either. Everyone else got drunk and stayed up talking about . . . things that didn't interest me. And then the police accosted us sometime in the early morning, blinding us with two flood lights and aiming MK47s at us. Nothing bad happened, but it was a terrible sight to rouse me.

Anyway, I didn't want to stay an extra night. The decision hinged on whether or not our friends could meet up with us at the beach. While everyone ate their breakfast tacos, I started sending txt messages. It took an hour for them to get back to us, but ultimately the answer was no. We then called a taxi and went back to the border.

I was terrified that they wouldn't let me back across, as all I had was a state ID while what they really wanted was a passport. The building was oppressively short and florescent, and although the designer had made the corridors wide, the space still felt crampt. I waited in line, involuntarily running through my route excuses for why I didn't have a passport. Even then, I knew it was a bad idea to do that, as when I think about a response too much, it develops an inathentic twinge. It sounds like a rehearsed lie--which, I suppose, is exactly what it is.

The man who checked my papers wasn't a native English speaker and spoke under his breath. It was difficult for me to discern his repremindations as anything more than a blur of threatening phrases, "you're suppose to" "since July 1" "back to the other side of the border." He then asked what my business was in a Mexico, and I responded honestly that it was to deliver a bicycle. He seemed utterly unphased by this, and simply handed my ID back to me and gestured for me to proceed. I was so shocked that I asked him if I was suppose to move to the next station, and he nodded curtly, exasperbated by both my inability to understand him and the long line waiting behind me.

The bus ride then followed. I slept. And slept. And slept.

I started the day still sleepy. I'd been up until past three last night, somewhat in an altered state of mind. Very much so, actually. And because I couldn't resist waking up at 10:00 this morning, I was still sleepy. And my thoughts were dark. I was examining my life with a harsh gaze. I looked at the warehouse as an inevitable failure. I saw myself squandering my life. My peers were advancing in ilfe, getting nice white collar jobs. I, meanwhile, was doing nothing. Really, the same old dark thoughts as always.

Adam was here when I got out of bed, and he and Matt and I walked over to HEB. Adam asked if I could jump from one spherical fixture to the next, imagining that deadly watermelons were rolling towards me. I decided that I couldn't, because the leap was too far. We tested it, and surely enough we would die beneath the onslaught of melons.

I had a lot of errans to run today. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Mexico on a bike. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get my community service filed away, but I can do that tomorrow. I then went to the bank to deposit some money and then to the library to get some books for the road.

When I returned I took a long nap and then ate some lentils. I then returned to the site of my addiction and wasted three hours or so. I need to get over that. It's sort of automatic that I look for the quick pleasure.

This is all empty, though. The first entry I wrote in this vein of "journal" entries was honest. Or at the very least, I felt like I was putting something meaningful in words. It was capturing something essential about myself and my day. This, however, is just me drudging up details to fufill an obligation. I can do better than this.

While I was at the library selecting books, I decided to get a book on economics and a book on myth by Joseph Campbell. I found where The Power of Myth was kept, and when I got there, I saw other titles. Books that descussed oriental myth, occential myth, primative myth, modern myth. I had an urge to take them all. I so rarely get a genuine surge of greed, but this was one instance. I wanted them all because they excited me so greatly. I chose my two favorites, in the end, rather than just The Power of Myth.

I joined Matt and his sister at Rio Ritas today. We were all just reading our respective books, but every now and then one of us would look up and talk to the others. I found that she would often look me in the eye when I spoke to her, and I liked that a lot. It was almost like flirting, but clearly not. It was a charge of social energy. It was a jolt of pride and satisfaction, like running a 100 yard sprint and getting a good time.

My breaking point was when I sat down at the computer and couldn't immediately come up with something to do. I knew I was suppose to write an entry for yesterdays journal, but I didn't look forward to that obligation. So I wanted to find something to distract me for a while so I could . . . well, just avoid my responsibilities. Unfortunately, the first thing to come to mind was to check on Dwarf Fortress, which got me thinking about games. Which then led to me playing those terrible online games. Ehh. . . .

But it's those moments. When I get on a computer, I need to start working immediately. I cannot humor distractions in the beginning. Maybe. Or maybe I need them. Maybe it helps clear my mind so I can write clearly. I don't know. It's all really confusing for me still.

I'm also reading this book call Blood, Sweat, and Tears. I need to know more about the history of labor, and this seemed like a good choice. But as I read it, I keep questioning its legitamacy. Is this author just retelling the capitalist myth, or is he getting at something true? Maybe the truth can only be found by reading many books and seeing work in action. History is a fuzzy thing. History, maybe, should never be trusted. But still, I'm curious. This is just my first book on economics. As I read more, I'll begin to have enough scope of information to make reasonable judgements about what's real and what's a fabrication.

Yesterday I woke up feeling terrible. I wanted badly to return mardek, and I even tried, but I had lost all my effort from the night before. Instead, I started moving my stuff from my old room to my new room. Chris Clark showed up an hour later and took me to lunch with his friend.

He works for Microsoft and his life seems to be going extremely well. He's not simply rising in the ranks, but he loves his work. He's found a passion within a corporate structure, and it makes me wonder if working for big businesses is always so bad. Moreover, I wonder if I'm squandering my life trying to do something different. I actually left our meeting feeling somewhat low and at the same time committed to doing something more.

When I returned I was full of energy, which I spent immediately on finishing my move. Within an hour, I had my new office set up. I took a two hour nap, because I've been sleep deprived recently, and then had another meal before going out to work New Years. I made $429. I also saw a spectacular fireworks show, the first one to impress me since I was a seven year old boy. Koala was there, as was Elliot.

My resolution was to write in my journal everyday, and if I couldn't, to catch up the next day.