When Vern moved in, I transferred over to the master bedroom. It's going to be a hassle to describe it, but I face two closets on opposite ends of the room. If you open the closet, the door folds outwards. There are mirrors on the door. When I fold both mirrors at a certain point, I can sit on my bed and look at myself at angles I usually can't. I can basically see how people see me, because I'm not looking directly at myself. I watch myself eat, paying close attention to my jowls and how my jaw moves at each chew. I can pinpoint potential bald spots. I notice bad posture. I see how weird it looks when I sit in my inverted Indian-style position. I am stalking myself.

Outside my window is construction work. You see dudes burning the midnight oil to finish a building. There is a large light that illuminates towards my room from their direction. They have finally become parallel to my floor level. I sometimes forget this. I also forget that I leave the window open when I shower. This causes awkwardness when I walk out of the bathroom naked. I feel as if I would be more comfortable in those awkward naked situations if my penis was a little bigger.

I slept on my neighbor's floor last night. When I woke up, I noticed I had a couple cuts on my knuckles. It was from punching a tree that was in my way as I walked back to the car. I want to apologize to that tree, but I would understand if it didn't forgive me.

"Why would you do it if you knew you would be sorry? I don't believe you. I have no say in where I am placed. I have no say in the fact that I am surrounded by cement and smoke and annoying people talking about their self-absorbed faggot-ass selves. I have no say in having to hear god-awful house music pounding every night. Although I must say "Ever After" by Bonnie Bailey has grown on me. Hey motherfucker with legs, apology not accepted!"

"If it makes you feel any better, which it won't. My hand hurts like hell. I really am sorry. I had too much to drink last night."

"Yeah, I noticed that is constant in our passing. You should really cut down. Although I haven't seen you around lately."

"Well yeah, understandably so. Everyone here is pretty drunk when they pass by you."

"Alright. Well just don't do it again."

"Thanks, let me get you some water."
AND... SCENE.

This is, of course, assuming the tree prefers speaking English over Tagalog. And he uses the word "faggot-ass" and dislikes most house music. Is it prejudiced to think that trees would prefer folk or 70's singer-songwriter stuff? Far be it for me to think that they won't sway to some Salt-N-Pepa.

I seem to be on a roll meeting wonderful people everyday lately.

I have the urge to publicly comment on my brother's myspace "GANGS ARE BAD YOU ARE IN THE AWESOMEST GANG IN THE WORLD ALREADY THE BAUTISTA GANG! P.S. DON'T DO DRUGS UNLESS YOU DO THE PROPER RESEARCH AND WHEN YOUR BRAIN IS FULLY DEVELOPED. LOVE, UPTIGHT BIG BROTHER"

I ease my concern about his potential gang affiliation by telling myself that at least he's not a furry. Heaven knows he can hopefully get over a "creating trouble and drama, co-opting violence from people that live less privileged lives than him just for suburban kicks" phase than a "Dress up as a cat, go to a convention and get mounted by someone in a female wolf costume but underneath the female wolf costume is a pimply-faced 19-year old male" phase a lot easier.