Entry 11
It's summer, and I'm in California. I'm off-campus for now (renting a small apartment with several people that I met in college, all of whom I've seen eat with real silver silverware, and use liberal amounts of salt when they're doing that) and the classes that I'm taking this term (one is an overview on the major religions of the world, and the other one is about using the internet) aren't hard.
Honestly, I feel good. It kind of kills my manhood to be writing this, but I'm genuinely happy. I made it through an entire term at Stanford, and my grades were much better than I expected them to be, with an "A" in Latin, "B+" in algebra, and an "A" in the creative writing course. The courses weren't as challenging as I expect some of my ones in the future will be, but even if it's only a false sense of security, I get some relief in knowing that I managed to survive as a college kid at all.
My job is going well -I'm now only doing the Klown Korner publicity act on weekends. I work at a waiter there at night, and on some weekdays I have a job working to paint houses -interiors and exteriors, although usually the former. The company hires a lot of college kids, and although the pay isn't that high, all things considered, it helps me to pay my portion of the rent, and it gives me enough to have something extra in my pocket.
It also isn't very difficult work. You just have to be neat when slapping the paint onto the walls. A lot of it is actually just waiting for it to dry in between coats, and that gives me time to study. I almost wish that my classes were more difficult this term.
The guys I'm living with are in similar situations. None of them are working for the painting contractor, but we all have day jobs. Ben works in a movie theater, Dave is working as a personal assistant (or secretary, from what I can tell) for a big-shot that runs an insurance corporation and Brady volunteers at a free clinic. The last one isn't actually a job, but apparently, Brady's parents are rich and he's set for life, and he considers it his personal duty to help out instead of take a job that a more deserving person could use. I'm not protesting -I know a few other people in his situation, and their summers revolve around girls and drinking, so I suppose he's a saint. Or something like that, anyways.
California itself has been, putting it frankly, pretty damn awesome. It's my first time living in this part of the state, and I can't find anything to complain about. The weather is fine by my standards, the people are -well, they're normal people; a decent mixture of the bad and the good- and the supernatural activity has been non-existent since the omens.
On that note, I haven't heard anything from Dean or Dad recently. Shouldn't make me happy, but no news is good news. The silence helps me to distance myself from the past and the present, and that's something that I need to do. I can't say it's easy, but living in a dorm helped me get used to not being able to draw salt lines or devil's traps. I'm still paranoid (living with three people increases the chances that one of them will be possessed and I might not notice as quickly as I would when sharing a room the length of the Impala with only one of them) but it's getting better.
Regardless, I still wonder what they're doing. It makes me feel almost guilty to be happy when I know that they're stuck on the road, risking their lives on a pointless crusade that could end with both of them dead, and me not finding out until months later.
But it's never enough to make me stop taking advantage of a brief streak of fortune. Does that make me a bad person? I left, and I'm not going back. Why should I live in an eternal state of guilt?
Until next time,
Sam Winchester