I can't ever really write about who I am without it sounding ridiculous and laundry-list-esque. But here I am, trying it again, typing while standing upright in the living room of a tiny studio apartment in Seattle. Tell me if my life is cool or not.

My first name is Alfred, but, since my father and I have the same name, I go by my middle name, Darryl, in order to avoid confusion. I was born approximately 22 years and five months ago at the time of this writing in Iowa City, Iowa, after a whirlwind hour-and-a-half car ride in my parents' '79 camaro. At the time, my parents (dad, a tall, huge black football player and my mom, a short, skinny white cross-country runner) were students at Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa, so naturally, they were too poor to pay for the ridiculous costs of delivering a baby. The University hospital in Iowa City, however, delivered them for free, and thus, the story proceeded. I lived in Ames with my parents and younger sister until five days before my 10th birthday; my mom got her Masters and, subsequently, a job as a guidance counselor at Makalapa Elementary school in Honolulu, Hawaii. We lived in nearby Pearl City for just under five years; around one month and thirty days before my 15th birthday, we moved back to Iowa.

We stayed in Ames for a couple months that summer, then, two weeks before my 15th birthday we moved to Ankeny, a smaller town (around 16,000 people at the time) about eight miles north of Des Moines. I was just beginning my sophomore year of high school. My parents still live in Ankeny, and both work in Des Moines (my mom as--you guessed it--an elementary school guidance counselor and my father at the county youth shelter). I finished high school at Ankeny High, surrounded by rich suburbanite white kids, and, like I imagine anyone else is in high school, was completely and utterly miserable. I was on the Debate and Speech teams, did drama, and more or less ran the school newspaper, in which I channeled my contempt for the majority of my classmates into writing. I also played the bass guitar, badly, starting my junior year.

I graduated from high school in the middle of my class, in may of 1998. Three weeks later, I went off to college, following in my father's footsteps as an English major at Iowa State (although, unlike my father, not as a football player.) I joined a horrible pop-punk band. Sophomore year, I started working at the campus radio station. I dated my best friend in high school, a hippie, a nymphomaniac, and the love of my life, in that order. None of those relationships lasted longer than five months. I had way too much unprotected sex. I donated a lot of plasma. I listened to more music than most people do in their entire lives. I met a great girl, and we moved in together, much to the chagrin of my parents, who tend to be a bit conservative.

I graduated from college in May of 2002 with a B average. The great girl came up with the idea of moving to Seattle,and I was too stressed out trying to graduate that I didn't assert my doubts effectively enough. So, memorial day weekend 2002, we moved. I worked in Oregon for two months, then came back to the Seattle area, where I could not find work. I subsequently lost my dignity, my pride, my hope of ever being stable, and the great girl.

Somehow, throughout all of this, I started this diary, picked up the guitar, and grew dreadlocks down to my chin.

Am I forgetting anything? If so, then.....

25.09.2003-Epilogue.

01.09.2003-

30.08.2003-Exeunt, the Moor.

28.08.2003-why?

27.08.2003-Last night, and august in general.