No iBook. Still stuck with the supid Sony Vaio. I've found that I can't say 'Sony Vaio' without saying 'stupid'. It's actually not that bad. Earlier I found a Zip disk I had a RealPlayer upgrade and WinAmp so I was able to watch porn and now I'm listening to K.D Lang. One of a few MP3's I also had saved on a Zip disk. Who knew! I need music so I'm very happy right now. Tomorrow I'm getting up at 7:30 to go up to White Plains. I'm bitter-sweet about that. I would've had to get up earlier to be there for 8:30 but Richie called and said to come a little after 9. I have just about 12 dollars on me. I know Richie will probably give me 50 bucks for helping out. I've learned to quit saying, "No. You don't have to. It's fine." There's a demin jacket that might still be at the H&M in White Plains that I desperately want. It's only 40 bucks. I could buy it, of course but then I'll only have 10 left to get back to home.

I think that with all the work I do, it shouldn't be like this so often. It's not like I'm not bringing in money. I'm owed for some work I did and getting ready to submit an invoice for illustrations and layout I did for a guide booklet. So... yah, it's not like I'm not bringing in money. I just don't have access to it. Most times, I don't care. And then sometimes it just makes me sad. It makes me feel I'm really not getting anywhere. That nothing's changing. That I'll never be seen as an adult. That my life will always be mapped out by others.

Blah. I don't want to talk about that anymore.

Tonight I found out that the lawyer got a receipt of the letter we sent. My full fate will be revealed in I think, 30 days. I think that's what Norm said over the phone. Honestly, my heart was beating so hard and fast, I couldn't really hear anything else.

I'm going to the Bronx Zoo. Maybe this Saturday. And museums. I'll go to museums next week. I'll start doing stuff I keep saying I'll do. Now while I still have a chance. My chest is heaving right now and my breathing quickening. It's all upsetting and I can't do anything. It just cripples me and makes me so sad. But being sad does nothing ... which in a way is even sadder.

Why can't they just call me in for an interview? The Immigration official will be tired. He'll throw his hands up in the air, look at me and ask, "Angel Boi, do you love living in the New York City metro area?" I'll answer yes, of course. He'll explain that because of the war, that they really can't be bothered deporting anyone who's not a threat to national security. "Do you think you'll ever have the urge to burn an American flag?" he'll ask. I'll answer no, of course. "Would you pay taxes and try not to break the law?" I'll quietly nod before answering yes. He'll sigh and throw his hands in the air again and the say, "Eh, you're a good kid. You like it here. I don't see any reason you shouldn't be able to stay." I'll smile hard and thank him a million times. I'll possibly pounce on him, hugging him, tears streaming down my face as I thank him eternally. And I'll just be able to stay in the U.S.