I had a dream last night that I have had about a hundred times. The one where I am back in college, and I realize that I have completely forgotten to attend a class for an entire semester. I have no idea why this is such a common theme in Dusty’s dreamland, nor do I know why it is so terrifying to me at the time. I have tried to go to those dream interpretation sites, but they suck. “The representation of forgetting to do something important indicates that you fear forgetting to do something important.” Hmm…I suppose that’s a pretty common concern among responsible adults, but what do I know?

The guy sitting across from me at work is physically incapable of chewing with his mouth closed. What’s worse is that he is always snacking on something, and it makes me want to punch him. I fail to understand why it is so damn hard to put your lips together when you chew. The dude loves foods like dried banana chips, granola, and bagels slathered with cream cheese. It sounds like someone just on the other side of the cube wall has a bucket of oatmeal and is stirring it with a shovel. I have tried to tell him to act like an adult, I have threatened to physically harm him, (in response to which he told me to put on headphones so I couldn’t hear it), and finally I have resigned myself to the fact that I have to go to the conference room and work while he eats. The real bitch about it is that he is a cool guy aside from his bovine way of eating. As a passive aggressive response, I get Thai food once a week. He hates the smell, and bitches for an hour while I slowly consume my lunch. I keep telling him that if he can just develop the most basic of table manners, I’ll switch to Chicken wings or something.

Today I read a girl’s diary entry that quoted my new banner ad “Happiness is like wetting your pants- everyone can see it, but only you can feel the warmth.” She had many cool points until she described me as a middle-aged pilot, which I wasn’t sure how to take. Is thirty middle aged? I guess if I only live to be sixty… She also said my stuff was interesting, so I guess she’s alright. Her writing is pretty good, and not nearly as boring as 90% of the crap on this site.

I have been spending a lot of time studying flying stuff lately, and realized that I am not a big studymonger. I guess I do pretty well at it once I get all sat down with the book open to the right page, but getting to that point is like pulling toenails. The ridiculous thing is that I considered looking for guidebooks on how to study, until I realized that I would have to study that in order to learn how to study. I’m not the sort of guy who can go to a public place and learn anything. I’m like a monkey; every noise, movement, or shiny object causes me to scamper off to investigate. Then I fling my own poo at it and screech. Okay, not that much like a monkey.

This girl I work with wants me to go get sushi with her at lunch. We talk a lot about relationships [read: blind leading the blind] and stuff, and I think we learn from each other, but I’m not sure about sushi. She’s really hip and knows all of the cool places around town, lives in the stylish area, refers to her friends as “thirtysomethings”, and a bunch of other stuff that I am not. Not that I dislike those people or anything, but I find the sushi issue a good metaphor for my attitude about that whole scene. I have had sushi several times- everything from the all you can eat sushi bar to the $65 a plate variety that everyone raves about in the underground periodicals. I liked some of it and tried everything that anyone suggested, and I think I ate a lot of it, but I still went home jonesing for a dozen wings. Still, once in a while, sushi calls-

S- Hey Dusty, whatcha’ doing later?

D- Uhh…probably studying a book about how to study, or applying to the department of redundancy department.

S- Wouldn’t you like to come over and try me one more time?

D- I don’t know, the gooey, uncooked texture and the fact that I can’t even pronounce your name sometimes makes me feel oogy and dumb.

S- That’s okay. Just think, though- if you just try me a couple of more times, you’ll know some of the names and stuff, and you can impress all of those midtown women who think they’re better than you…

D- You’re so full of shit, sushi. If a woman thinks she’s better than I am, I don’t feel any need to impress her. I’m a good guy and I know it.

S- Who’s full of shit now?

D- Dammit, sushi. I hate when you do this. The frosted side of me wants to live life as the guy I am now- wearing a flannel shirt, a beat up baseball cap with “Ass” emblazoned on it, and eating jerky for lunch. The whole wheat side wants to be in your world, schmoozing it up, meeting important people and pretending I can stand to be around them. I don’t want that life or the friends it brings, but I am morbidly curious based on what I have seen so far.

S- Shut up. You know plenty of those people and you feel sorry for them. They envy you for your ability to wear a shirt with a picture of a ninja on it, and sit at a stop light singing “King of Pain” at the top of your lungs with the windows rolled down. Just come get a little sushi. You’re not sure you don’t like it. You just said it yourself.

D- Alright. Can I wear my shirt with the nipples glued to the outside?

S- no.

So it is a harmless yet conflicted relationship between me and sushi/hip thirtysomething scene. I don’t have to be anyone but myself, and if that means I direct art during the day, fly airplanes at night, build models on the weekends, draw pictures of faces, wear clothes with stupid sayings on them, and eat sushi, then I guess I just don’t fall into a category. I’d love to end this with a quote about how all of the funniest, smartest, and prettiest people in history were just like me, but I have to work on my chopstickery.

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