I finally moved out. The past month has been full of changes, for me at least- as far as I know, you're still floating around. There's this movie and it said something like this: we're just pieces of stars. Only it went a lot better than anything I could have said. It was a good movie considering I was forced to watch it in my biology class. I told you about it, and then three days later, as I stared up at the sky, you died. Really, at this point I'm just being needlessly morbid. It's happened less and less actually. It turns out when you don't live with a dead man in your apartment, all his belongings in the spare bedroom, you think about dead men a great deal less.

I sent the first of the letters off today. They'll arrive in a few days I suppose. I don't regret letting them go- I just wish they honored your memory a little more truly. Instead they're just pieces of my own little monologues, whenever a piece of paper and a pen happened to be handy. I think this is ridiculous, but no less ridiculous than your mother visiting the place where they dumped your ashes every Sunday after Mass and praying to God that you are well and by his side.

The manager of the bar I work at is getting married. It's happening this week in fact. He's marrying the new owner of the bar. I said I wouldn't mention death quite so much, but this is coincidence. The old owner died, he lived overseas in his villa most of the time so it's not like I ever met the guy. He left his grand-nephew the bar in his will; the manager and him met, nearly came to blows, slowly fell in love, etc., etc., and now they're going to Canada to get married. I'm bringing this up only because I'll be running the bar in their absence while they have sex on their two-week honeymoon. Rather than feeling bitter, I'm actually a bit relieved. They'll act lovesick somewhere else, I get a temporary pay raise at the bar, I get paid to water their plants, and I'll still be doing landscaping during the day. Of course, for the next month or so I'll hardly be able to take a breath between two full-time jobs, but come winter I'll have a bit saved up. Landscaping was only ever a seasonal job, besides that, I don't need two full-time jobs.

Sadly, I won't be able to escape the near-constant flirting. I heard about a trick to get rid of unwanted attention. Buy a blatant and gaudy gold plated ring, put it on your left ring finger, and flaunt it as if you're already taken. I already bought a ring, but I'll only wear it at the bar. I really don't desire a tan mark on my ring finger.

I know you would be pissed off- beyond pissed off- to know this, but I'm not going to college. I'll go when I can pay for it myself. And while that sounds far fetched, I really mean it. Most people who wait a year never go on to college, but I have the financial freedom to do so. I own my own car and it runs fine. I have paid this month's rent, and even if I get laid off from both my jobs tomorrow, I have enough money to pay for three month's rent. The manager at the bar likes cooking, so when he's around he feeds me new recipes before he's willing to feed them to his partner, and the single mom in 3A pays me by doing my laundry and giving me food to tutor her kid. I don't need new clothes anytime soon because I've stopped growing taller. So let's see, I don't pay for clothes, food, and I don't have to deal with a car loan. As far as I'm concerned, I can take a few years off and save up. It wouldn't be unreasonable to just take a few summer courses during the time I'm saving up either. Not this year though. I don't even really want to go to college. It's just seems like the thing to do. And hey, you can't even roll around in your grave, you don't even have one. I'm a little tired so I should probably just go to bed already.

Actually, never mind, I want to shower. I just finished locking up the bar, and I feel gross from being so close to everyone who was there. Like I said, Once in a Blue Moon isn't a rave bar, but it does pretty warm when two hundred and fifty couples slow dance for a few hours. Today I have to be at the land site by five o'clock, so I can't exactly go to sleep; it's already four-thirty. I can sleep this afternoon. I get off work around one o'clock and take a shower, crash for four hours and then set up the bar. This may sound juvenile, or perhaps closer to senile, but I don't sleep- I take naps. Two four hours naps or just a half hour whenever I can grab it is enough to keep me going.

I think I'll go take a shower now; and here's to hoping that I don't fall asleep. After all, I have to be at work in less than half an hour.