Episode LXXXVIII-Self-Realization doesn’t always equal change.

If the first two incidents weren’t obvious enough for my thick skull, the trip to Los Angeles had provided a transparent window to what was occurring in my life. I had gone up with Inteligente to visit Mr. Clean. We arrived on our first night, expecting to head to some classic blowout parties and be shown around the city like visiting pseudo-dignitaries. Instead, we ended up fending off old High School acquaintances in the hallway of Clean’s dorm, and waiting for him to get back from basketball practice. Fortunately – or so I thought at the time, Inteligente remembered that he knew some girls at USC that he had wanted to hang out with. We saddled up in Inteligente’s blue beater of a car, and traveled across the city to see these girls that I had never met before. In my opinion, I was going as Inteligente’s wingman, because I thought the whole visit was for his benefit.

My assumption seemed to be spot on when we met the girls at the exterior gate. It was obvious that Krista had only brought Jenny so she could talk to Inteligente without having to deal with me. I didn’t care that the girls weren’t interested in me because I was sleeping on a dorm floor that night and resided thousands of miles away on a permanent basis. But around the time we drove to dinner, things took a turn for the bizarre. It started innocently enough. Inteligente had seen me move my shoulder gingerly and had recounted my injuries from climbing in a mostly accurate fashion. That had been fine with me; because, after all, I had to have something to talk about.

After we had ordered but before our drinks had arrived, Inteligente launched into another inaccurate version of one my stories. I gently tried to correct his version but failed to steer the conversation away from myself. He kept telling my stories, altered to mythic proportions while I stared at him, completely flummoxed. I would have kicked him if my legs had been long enough. I wanted to pull him away and find out why he was talking about me when he could have easily been talking about himself – or anything else not relating to my life. Unfortunately, the opportunity to have a short one-on-one chat with him never arose, so I kept listening to bits of my life recounted while I stared at him blankly.

By the time dinner ended, the girls were staring at me, visualizing something that didn’t exist. I still had Krista’s e-mail address rattling around some pocket of my jeans. The rest of the trip had been forced. The next day, I hadn’t pulled Inteligente aside, because I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t say what I thought – “Stop telling those exaggerated stories about my life, because it makes us both look like idiots”. As we had sat and watched Hamlet, I had felt myself the one confined within the walnut, but I didn’t feel like any sort of King.

E-mail. I sighed to myself. It had been the root of the problems over the break. I didn’t want to cut it off completely, because it was the last contact I had with my friends. I had known these people for all of my life. Each time I sat down to write a message, I felt like I was back at some imaginary location, having a conversation. It was like some long-lost epic. That was the problem. The “epic” part. As the plane’s wheels rumbled down onto the frozen ground, I resolved that I would keep my messages confined to the facts. That way, people would read them, and would remember that I was just a normal guy, because the facts would speak for themselves. After all, no one could distort facts. I also resolved that I would focus in on studying, because that was what school was about. I was going to go straight back and finish my history final. The only problem with that was that my ride told me about a party, and by the time I made it back to my room, I decided to go to the party. At the party, there was too much drinking, and somehow, I ended up in a mild brawl that left multiple parties unhappy. When I woke the next day, bruised, hung-over, and ready to procrastinate, I opened my e-mail. After reading several forwards, I barely paused before starting my next message.