Dec 30th 2oo2

I'm still depressed. I could just leave it at that but where's the sport in brevity? I went to see "About Schmidt" today. I like going to movies by myself, the whole alone in a crowd watching some universally poignant movie thing apeals to me greatly. Jack Nicholson made me cry today. Thanks Jack. I miss my friend Bob of whom I've become quite dependent. He's in his hometown of Armstrong for another week. Fair Eleanor O'Connor has wormed her way into my heart and her iridescence is proving to be quite life affirming. I spent two days with her in victoria that were very rad. She's the perfect counter piece to my predilection to lethargy. And she's pretty. I want to love her and I guess that's half the battle. The ghosts of past infatuations do still haunt me from time to time. All I want to do is watch movies. Especially movies that glorify the american way; I want to be dazzled by Audrey Hepburn and seduced by Mia Farrow; I want things to work out for the little guy and have the odious villain humiliated in public; I want that tender moment to last a lifetime and for every moment of everyday to be like a first kiss. I'm 23 years old and if I must age I want it to be a glorious affair with my friends by my side and some kind of legacy to be proud of. I miss my Dad, even the act of writing that brings tears to the surface.