If he hadn't been here I would have put the container on the floor and poured the water in safely, making sure it only splashed on things that would dry easily, not be damaged. But he was there, and I set the container on an uneven surface of a folder containing his notes for class, next to his digital camera. He watched me as I began to pour. The room was dim and I guess I was feeling reckless. He cautioned me to be careful with the water. I continued to pour, sure that it would be fine. He grabbed the camera just before I splashed an unhealthy amount of liquid. He got upset, I felt indifferent. Anything is fixable, I figure. He accused me of being irresponsible with his things. He's somewhat right. I suppose there are a few reasons why:

1) I can be fairly irresponsible with many "things". I treat them as replaceable. Mostly my things and I guess Dans things are now under the veil of my things, since we share them so often.
2)I must like to rile him up. Not consciously, since I don't like being yelled at, especially if I know I'm mostly wrong and don't have a solid, winning comeback. But we have a pretty calm relationship, and this is something we've talked about before and, aside from not leaving his laptop on the floor(something HE does sometimes, ahem) I haven't tried to make a conscious change.

In conclusion, we fight because he's right. This time.

How to eat

"Where's the can opener" he asked
I popped a piece of pinapple into my mouth "I think it's by the sink."
The pineapple fell out of my mouth. "Oh, oops" I laughed
He made a disgusted face "Jesus, don't eat with your mouth full!"
"Don't eat with my mouth full?" I said, humored "how the hell else am I supposed to eat?"
He stared for a moment "Oh, I...shut up!"

Immigration Complication

Life as of the last 7 months has been webbed back and forth and around from happy to sad to muddled. From positive to confused to definitely not sure. I go from solution to solution and then back to the real problem. Any solution I have ends up sounding vastly complicated.
When I try to peice it out, break it down, keep it simple.It ends up clumped and unlikely.
Should I admit defeat, admit that that isn't a winning solution? It's either break up and go home or stay together and miss school for the next several years?
There are so many variables in the whole dilemma.

Staying here means putting myself at risk insofar as, what if we break up? I don't want to find myself in the same place a year from now, without the relationship and all the promises it holds. Sent packing, back home. At the least, though, if it'd been a year or more, I'd have residency in NZ when I wanted it.

Going home means letting go of a desireable relationship with an actual future and all it's accessories, his family that I've come to love, him, and his big head, the friends I have here, as well as letting go of living abroad.But it also means being in Austin, with the great music and the great friends and the great family and that's great. But a future in the US really sounds shitty. Shootings, no public health care, a general feeling of distrust when it comes to the government...

Whatever decision I make, I have to know I won't regret it. For the last 7 months I haven't been able to picture an outcome I won't regret. And yet I can't stay the way I am, stagnant with a side of restless.
Dan's no help either, god love ya. He can't come up with anything so he always says "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." When I remind him that the bridge is now he replies, sheepishly, "I'd hoped you hadn't noticed that." And then we both ignore it for a few more days.

Normally, when I get these feelings, the indecisive feelings, these mushed up shitty feelings, I look at the scource. Then I look at my options. Then I think about it a hell of a lot, then I make a desicion, then I cut and run. Then I feel better, no regrets. I've thought about it and I made a choice and now I don't have to wonder about it any more.

Comon brain, come up with something good.

We'd been stuck in the glass shelter for days now. There were almost 20 of us, but our anonymity was so intact we might have been a real crowd. Eventually the endless night cleared and we were allowed to make our way out. The ocean hadn't lost its swell though. We each swam up the tunnel but instead of reaching the surface we had to hold breath, squeeze tight our eyes, be propelled upward by a big shot of air. I was nearly the last through so that when I opened my eyes to the frankness of the stormwashed air, I had only a moment to consider what I'd been through or where we were going. I swam to keep up. The sky was greeny blue, sun shining golden down on mountains sitting atop big islands that hung back in the distance. I looked down through the water at the sea life. That was when I noticed a huge cloud of inky pinky jellyfish drifting toward us. Others had noticed as well and someone was yelling. I couldn't hear them, I was too busy trying not to panic.
It seemed nearly impossible that in this peaceful setting, in the calm at the end of the storm, that we should be attacked by anything, much less these fragile floating membranes. I fought my fear and it fought back, rising ever faster as the jellyfish brushed around my legs. They didn't seem to be moving, just hanging around. They felt warm against my skin and when they suctioned all around my body they felt like soft hands just out of a thick glove. I felt confusion, my emotions battled for a place at the front of my heart.
"Don't struggle!" someone yelled from the front "if you struggle they'll swarm you."
I let my body relax, starfished on the surface, sun on my face. I gave in to the warm hands carrying me home.

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