I've had a series of interesting revelations and plans throughout the course of the day, which, for the record, didn't even begin until 4:30pm. The first of which, though not necessarily chronological in occurrence, is about change and style, in a few different combinations. And, as you read this, don't mind whatever internal gaydar you may be running at the moment; if it starts flashing, beeping, or playing some ridiculous pop song at any point in your reading this post, just pay it no mind. It's a false alarm.

I think one of the easiest ways for me to recount past years, and consequently how I've changed in recent years, is in terms of the clothes I wore. My high school "style" was mostly a static one; nothing revolutionary, nothing stylistic, and certainly nothing that would've differentiated me from the rest of the crowd. I mean, we're talking baggy jeans, slightly larger-than-necessary t-shirt, and that's that. I may have started out the school year, or any particular period after an extended break from school, wearing something new, dare I say different, but those styles were quickly put to rest by my unending feelings of self-inadequacy of the times. Though, don't let the language fool you, it's not like anything has really changed in that department with time. Just updated. A newer, more improved, more varied set of self-esteem issues.

Really, this story begins in college. Where things actually did begin to change. At the beginning of my freshman year, I think I was 185-190lbs back in those days, about 6' tall, and at that point had never set foot in a weight-room. Ever. Well, except once, to hide from someone in High School. The clothing of that year was a fairly typical ensemble of jeans that were entirely too baggy, long sleeve t-shirt being the undermesh for an entirely typical t-shirt (or even a button-up t-shirt); maybe, if I was being daring (or if it was simply too damn hot) a Hawaiian t-shirts may have graced my body decorations at some point in time. The beginning of my freshman year my head was filled hopes for changing my High School image. I wanted to be someone different than the person everyone knew me for in High School; I didn't actually know what this difference was, but I knew I didn't want to be known as the "computer guy." The guy everyone goes to about anything computer-related. So when I met all of my new friends, from people in the dorm, to the local bands that grew to liking me (and inviting me to parties... which I never attended because I got lost), to a girl I saw that I knew from High School, the only other person from my school that attended the University of Michigan, who I ended up talking to a lot in those first couple of days. Though, as it ended up, I completely lost track of her in the weeks and months and years to follow (I have absolutely no idea where she even is now... Or even if she still goes here).

And I made the mistake of bringing a copy of my book with me, and having it in my bookshelf. One guy was walking around my room talking to me, saw the book, and just gave me a quizzical look. Isn't this... your name?, he asked. Yeah, I responded, it is. He then threw the book to my bed, in what was probably a joking matter (I believe), but in such a way that I took to mean that he was angry, and slightly jealous. Here I was, a guy that, for the most part, is fairly non-geeky (inside the realms of "real life," anyway), who had accomplished more than him. Way more. Well, either out of spite, jealousy, or simply feeling that someone needed to brag about the book and I sure wasn't going to (I'm just not that kind of person; to this day, I still don't mention anything about its existence to most people), he thought he'd do the honor.

As it happens, this is the same guy that I would later grow to dislike. And who would end up (completely against my will) being my roommate for my sophomore year of college, and would later be one of the only people on the face of the Earth that I actually hate. Though, even that resentment is dying down a little bit (that is, as long as I don't have to live with him).

Anyway, word of the book spread and, of course, I still ended being known as the "computer guy." And, whether I simply hated the partying lifestyle that I tried for the first couple of months or I simply got tired of trying too hard, I ended up spending the rest of the year as an almost complete recluse. Simply gaming, listening to music, watching new TV shows, and, really, not doing a damn thing. Started going to the weight-room though; mostly just lifting, without really knowing what I was doing. That lasted two weeks. I ended my freshman year at 6' tall and 195lbs.

That summer was the summer of my unsuccessful, and very obviously desperate, attempts at romance. The first, very short-lived, endeavor was with a very talkative girl who I met through a friend, and talked to a lot at a party. The night ended with my holding her hair up while she threw-up, and her passing out on a bench, her head on my shoulder, and my thinking I'm glad I held her hair up now; not necessarily because I was close to her, but because it meant I wasn't getting her stomach contents all over myself. The next endeavor involved a certain girl who I had codenamed "punk girl" when I first saw her. And, well, let's say trying to force a relationship through a three-week period of interactions is really not ideal. There's a lot to be said for taking it slow, as it turns out.

When I returned to school, I had lost a bit of the freshman weight from the previous year, and was experimenting with a new type of jeans I had recently grown attached to (an attachment that would span so far into the future that I remain wearing that style of jeans at this very moment, though not that same pair). I also thought I'd try a new, some may say radical, departure in torsowear: the button-up long-sleeve shirt. I started off slow. Nothing too classy, just a brown shirt with a small Volcom logo. I liked it.

Similar to the previous year, I thought the key to having fun was to try my hand at partying again. I failed. Miserably, in fact. It's just a cold, cruel act of nature, a fact lain down far before I was even born (they could've waited, but then it would've just been personal; this was anything but personal, just the result of a mathematical coincidence, if such a thing exists) that whenever people take Trent partying, the parties that night will inevitably suck. Needless to say, my friends quit taking me to parties. Bad aura and all.

My sophomore year of college was… hard. I've already documented it fairly well in previous posts, but there are some quick summaries I want to cover. Firstly, it was when I realized I enjoyed writing more than programming (though that's not to say I hate programming, I just have a hard time giving it the focus it deserves during the average day). It was hell because I never felt like I could relax if my roommate was in the room, and even if he was gone, I had to deal with the hall's ridiculously annoying freshman. I never did manage to get along well with the people in my classes (at least, not like I am during the classes this summer). It was the year of her, and all of the odd feelings she brought about; reminding me what a real, legitimate crush on a girl felt like. It was the year of drinking… and that other stuff. I worked out a lot throughout the year. In the middle of February, I was built like a football player, and weighed in at about 205-210lbs, though I seemed to had also added another to my height. During the last two months of school, and dragging into the summer, I adopted an intense self-motivated workout routine. I ended the year at 6'1" and 190lbs.

And now, leading up into the point where the past joins the present in a shared experience on an equal timeline, it's summer. The clothing of choice is fairly different for me. In my current state of just lounging around my room writing this post at 5:30am on a Monday morning, with my last class for Spring term beginning at 1:00pm, in a grey button-up dress shirt (untucked, of course), with a white t-shirt undermesh. The same style jeans as a year ago, and weighing in at 180lbs at 6'1" tall.

It's the summer of change. The clothes being a gigantic advertisement to the revisions going on below the skin; I've cleaned up. I've straightened up. I'm merging with my more pure, more innocent self that's been in hiding while the rest of me tried various facets of the college life. And now I know what I want, and am prepared to wait for some of it, and I'm already working for the rest of it. Finally ditching some of my bad persistent habits, the massive amounts of caffeine, the bad diet, and getting back into my old workout, with more of a focus on toning that untamed football linebacker-esque muscle that I adopted throughout the last two years.

The story continues.