September Tunes

It's Thursday. Thursday night. I'm heavily exhausted, stressed to the point of slight depression - mainly from cycling too hard. I'm taking it easy in preparation for MURAD.
Riding home on Tuesday I got lost finding my way to Rockcreek Parkway, finding myself on 25th and Mass Ave. The Parkway looked nothing like I was used to with a concrete wall on the left with no room for a trail (no park at all), and what I remember as very little forest on my right. I have no idea where I was because I didn't cross the intersection at VA and Rockcreek Pkway near Georgetown, yet highway to the horizon. Asked a few people for directions and joined the traffic rush through the dark park.
Exhausted. Feel lifeless. My play is coming along at 11,000 words, 32 pages, decently interesting, hopefully enough to get me into grad school. My short story is at 6000 words I think, maybe 10 pages. It sucks, honestly, but thematically could be put to good use with tons of revisions. That's going to be tough with 4 jobs (Americorps, Performance, Writing, Cycling) and soon another (Halo 3). I spread myself too thin. What do I really want? Pro cyclist. Backup: writer. Mixed in here is support, mainly a few friends and a loving lady. I have a date tomorrow with Nicole. The way I play it off is like this: "She called me everyday since we went to dinner last week. It's cool and all, but everyday seems a bit excessive. Yeah, a date, whatever. I don't really care. I can't figure her out, if she's an airhead or intelligent because she plays both parts well. Though, I'm skeptical on both accounts: tough." Really, though, I called her a few times. We happened to miss each other a few times so we were calling, she was calling, no one was answering, etc. I'm looking forward to chilling, feeling good in good company, not really a date.
I talked to Jess last night and my only question was, in earnest but nonchalantly, "This date means I have to compliment her all night, huh?" "Yep. Tell her she looks nice tonight and make her feel special.....I can't see you doing that, though.""Why not?" "Because you're the type of person to say, 'Hey, come over and let's play video games.'" Silence. An awkward silence. I don't even know what to say. First off, that's probably true. But what of my demeanor suggests that? I barely play video games and only mention Halo 3 as something I look forward to as a time killer (which isn;t going to be much). It's probably how I talk about cycling (and how I write in my play.) It's serious enough that people don't doubt my goal, but playful enough where I probably come across as a little kid. Hey, I look 19, what more can I say? Life is a game, as long as you got the cash cow on board (Americorps, sucka).I didn't know where to start. I wanted to know what she meant, but was afraid to ask and basically knew what she meant."
Jimmy called me tonight. He has two foot fractures from a 20 mile hike yesterday. He had some time off so he called me, but ironically had to hang up when his drill sergeant came near. I finished "The Blog of War" and was emotionally ripped apart by those soldier's tales. Heroism, suspense, honor, courage, valor, death, surviving, poetry, passion, humanity, etc. Everything about life was revealed; an enlightening, rewarding read about Iraq difficult to remain straightfaced.
I must revise the next 18 pages of my play so I can add more tomorrow. Then americorps, Nicole, date, life, love, fun times, and then the depression when I twist it into a rubberband of bland nonchalance like the twit I am.