All the girls who like me are twelve. eek!

I skateboard to work in a suit and five days a week. So far this hasn't brought me as many questions or strange looks as I thought it would. The only people who seem to notice me are old people and children.
An odd case in point:
This morning I skated past the soccer field at Yorba Middle School and passed a group of girls who were probably out jogging for PE. They were going the opposite direction as me and there was only a chain link fence and a few feet between us, so I made sure to not really look at them as we passed each other because 1). eye contact with strangers can be awkward and 2). Middle school girls!! gross!
But as I skated away, I heard a few catcalls behind me: "Hey, cutie!" "Where ya goin'?!"
"I'm going to WORK," I yelled back as the distance between us increased, "Where are YOU going?" The implied answer was, "school! You're going to school! You're in eight grade! I'm going to work because I'm ten years older than you!"
What is happening to our children???!!
Now I have to admit that I was just a *little* flattered, but that is only because the lady-folk always seem to be far more interested in my friends and roommates, and any time a woman comes close to flirting with me it seems to be some sort of anomaly in gender-relations. This incident was, of course, was the exception that proves the rule:

Apparently, there ARE girls who are interested in me! :D

And they are all twelve. :(

There are two explanations for this. The first, and most probable, is that middle school girls have no concept of what actually makes a male attractive. (Since all the boys their age are four feet tall, high-pitched and pimply, you can't really blame them.)
It's either that, or the female taste in men is evolving, and the women of the future will be fawning all over gangly guys with brillow-pad hair and no fashion sense.
Which would mean I was born TEN YEARS TOO LATE!!

Rainy Sunday

So I feel a little silly, being a native Oregonians and excitedly taking pictures of the rain just because it's raining, but this week we actually had a real downpour for the first time since I got back to California. The roommates bundled up appropriately.



Of course the whole thing lasted maybe fifteen minutes all told, but what a quarter of an hour it was! There was even hail for a few seconds.

I love the rain, though. I think it is a shame that they make dark city streets that are not slick and reflecty with skywater.



And who can resist such poetry as a red bicycle in the rain?? Not Aro, no sir.



Even the highways were slick and splashing as we drove to church. California is a concrete desert, and all the streets seem to flood every time a girl cries or someone leaves the sink running after brushing their teeth.
That is not entirely true. I am not as good at hyperbole as I used to be it seems. Anyway: rain is beautiful, church was great, pictures are fun.

Problema

My mind can be an excited, busy place. If this sounds like fun, it sometimes is. I think it is preferable to a dull, cottony and empty mind. However, it has sometimes hindered --
ok, whatever. Forget the eloquent intro.
Here's the thing.
When I was younger, older people often seemed impressed by the clarity of my dream for Grown-Up Aaron. He would write and tell stories, possibly in the form of movies. It was what he wanted to do, it was what he would be good at, and sometime, somewhere, people might clap, and he would laugh jovially and shake their applause off with a humble wave of his hand and say "my work may be brilliant, but really, what's important is to love each other, you silly masses!" And the silly masses would clap some more. And somewhere, someone might be loved just a little more that night, as a result of Grown-Up Aaron's wise words. And it would be a circle of love and happiness and people would laugh, and there would be good movies and other Things That Are Good and Smart.
When I was younger, I figured that this would just be a simple progression from where I was at the time. Like most children with a dream, I don't think I had much of a conception of quite how much WORK it is to realize a dream. But more than that, I did not realize at all that it would mean making choices.
I have never liked making choices. I don't like giving up on something, and when you make a choice, you have to leave at least on possibility behind. I had a rather significant breakdown in eighth grade, when I made the decision to stop taking piano lessons. I didn't really LIKE taking piano lessons that much, and goodness knows I was not particularly GOOD at it for as long as I had been playing, so I had every reason to quit. But I still didn't like giving up the piano. And every once in great while, I'll STILL wish I'd stuck with it.
I wish that I could do and know everything!
Doesn't everyone?
The problem is that at this point in my life I have very few attachments or obligations, and I really can do just about anything. I could re-learn how to play the piano. I could take yoga. I could study history. I could spend a summer in Alaska. I could become a journalist, a photographer, a teacher. I could go globe-trotting. I could join a mission team and go to the third world. I could write comic books, write screenplays, write novels, make movies, start charities.
And at some point during the day I will feel totally certain that any dozen of my infinite possibilities are what I should concentrate on. I've lost track of how many brilliant projects I've sworn to myself that I would dedicate February towards.
But I can't make up my mind. I am habitually dreaming up more and more brilliant futures that seem more important that what I had previously planned to pursue.
This, of course, is quite self-defeating:
Because I don't want to waste my time on anything that won't work out, I end up wasting on ten thousand things that will never work out.

Clearly, I need to stop listening to myself.
But I talk just so darn loud!!

Wow, this week has gone by quickly!
I have a few updates I'm working on and new things and such, but for now I must go to sleepy. I mean sleep.
For now, though, check out the new Sunday strip at True Tales of Bravery and Honor! It's another extra-long episode, which is one of the benefits of publishing on the web -- we can do whatever the heck we want! Last week's Valentines strips were a lot of fun and seemed to go over pretty well with a lot of people, too.
I'm working on new scripts this week, which is fun and frustrating. It should be easier to come up with silly jokes about penguins, but so far it hasn't been!
Anyway, please continue to read the comic, blah blah blah, this is not clever, I'm going to bed, blah blah blah.
xxxooo