Monday, April 30, 2007

wait

This is going to count as my break for tonight. Because. Because I have a freaking list of what I need to get done tonight. A LIST!!!!!!!

Tonight I must:
-finish all notecard analysis of journal articles and primary texts for American Lit paper...and finish writing the actual paper
-write a newsworthy, publishable interview story
-start finding quotes for International Relations book review
-create study sheets and organize all notes and such for Terrorism written exam study group
-pick topic and outline feature story

It really doesn't look like that much. I'm just stressing. I mean, the copious amounts of caffene in my system can't be helping with the stress level...just with keeping me awake.

How pathetic is it that I need to schedule time to sleep? Seriously man. At least I don't have lit tomorow so I can steal an hour of blissful rest...

If anything, that will be what keeps me going through tomorow. Ugh. I think everyone is feeling the advent of Hell Week...hence the widespead bitch fever that hit campus earlier today.

Whatever. It's times like these where we become extremly thankful God invented cigarettes, redbull and stackers.

Just keep the sharp objects out of my reach this week and we'll be fine. Or just don't let them hit lower than the elbows and we got this one wrapped up.

Two weeks than no more Hood drama for three months. Just home drama. Which, at least I know is all my fault (and it'll give me some good anger to get out).

fuck it

recitation is done with...passed. thank god.

lit paper time...
i'm actually having fun with this and i'm trying really hard not to stress but its just not working well and i know i should be able to write a paper without constant help but yeah its not working so well. i had to go to the writing lab earlier and get help with my thesis and i dont know...i cant seem to make any of it flow. and i think my analysis is all wrong in my section on dickinson. and i dont know how to make my part on james work with my thesis without sounding like a moron. and i havent even touched the plath sources yet, much less started writing it. i just really really want to do well. i mean, ok so i got an A on the first paper... so most normal people wouldnt be that worried about this one. but i am. because i got an A before, i know i can do it and i have to do it because otherwise my writing would have declined in quality. and that is just unacceptable.

i need to stop sucking at life...immediatly.

landslide

Recitation at 9 freaking AM baby!!!!!!!!! I thought I would be petrified...but I'm not. I'm ready. I can do this. I know theory better than I know my friend's drinking habits or brand of cigarettes. I am going to rock this.

Honistly...I'm a little scared. But, I'm not going to worry about it. If I stress about it, I'm going to work myself up in all of the wrong ways. As of now, I'm pumped. And I just need to stay positive.

I even felt confident earlier to put down my study sheets and do more work on my lit paper....

I love how with this paper...I thought I was starting out really well but then after rereading my analysis of my Dickinson works...they're probably all bullshit. God. I need to stop sucking at literary analysis...especially if I want to...idk...MAJOR IN ENGLISH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

caffene is my life, mk?

Sunday, April 29, 2007

heaven on stilts

Wow. Just wow. I stumbled upon what is probably the last picture taken of Chandi. She was so beautiful. We were sitting outside during Passover break on my balcony. It was raining, otherwise we should have been at the park or just walking around somewhere. But no, the torrents falling from the sky leant itself to nothing more than simple conversation and snippets of our respective creative medium (Chandi painted while I wrote...she always had all of the talent). Her blonde hair flowing almost to mid-back, cascading over the back of the cerulean blue rocker she sat in, contemplating her next brushstroke. Her white top was one of my old ones...an old cotton men's dress shirt picked up at a thrift store with the sole purpose of just lounging around in it. Unknown to her, just yet, her taupe carpender's pants were lightly spotted with flecks of caramel paint dust from when she opened the first tube. Caramel paint faerie dust. God she was beautiful.

In the photo, Chandi's legs are draped over the armrest of the rocker. Her head is back, neck arched in a way to make her hair just barely touch the hardwood floors of the balcony. For once she was smiling. But, it wasn't one of those "oh great, now I have to smile so let's have it look really fake and cheesy now, shall we?" smiles. No. She looked genuinely happy.

Chandi's smiles were a rareity but when she did smile (and meant it), it would light up the room. Nay, the world. I know it's such a cliche, but they really would.

It's so weird now, her not being here. I feel like a huge part of me is gone. For the longest time, it was Chandi and Lilith, Lilith and Chandi. Albet, others would enter our midst but we were the origional two. Regardless of who we pulled into our little clique, she and I were the only two who followed all of the rules and lived it.

God she was beautiful. God.... I miss her.

save me

I needed a change of scenery from recitation hell (what I'm calling my dorm room till after 9am Monday) so I went over to the Apple Lab with Rae to work on my lit paper. Needless to say, after writing two pages and analyzing like 15 journal articles written by guys using really big words and really big terms that I've never heard of that I needed a cigarette (or three). Went outside and had one on the way back to hell and got some pretty sweet cotton mouth from it. As soon as I get back here, I grab the first (and only) water bottle from my frige. Unbegnounst to me...it's not a water bottle...it's a happy bottle. Happy meaning vodka put in a water bottle so it's socially acceptable for me to bring to class or sit out on the quad with...created especially for those days when being sober just isnt going to cut it. Except I wasn't so happy when I chugged half of it before realizing it wasn't water. Shit.

After debating for all of three minutes what to do about the approximatly six shots I had just unknowingly bequeathed upon myself, I ended up running to the bathroom and sticking my fingers down my throat. I know I said I wouldn't do that anymore but I have a lot of work to do tomorrow...I have to study some more for my recitation and I have to get a rough draft of at least 8 pages out to my lit prof (meaning I have 6 more to write...). I really can't afford to be hungover or even slightly out of my mind. I just don't have time. And I figure, after doing it constantly for six years after everything I put in my body I can't do much more harm to my self.

So after the deed was done (so to speak) I went back to look in my frige for another waterbottle and...whoops...I'm out. Forgot to add it to the list of things to get from Giant Eagle. And all I had in my frige (beverage-wise) are vodka, Mike's Hards, Malibu, some Coronas and half a gallon of soy milk. Alright, I theoretically could have drank some of my soy milk...but I really only like it in my coffee and not to drink just for hydration purposes. This left me in a bit of a dilemma as how to get rid of the nasty cotton mouth plus now barf vibe out off my breath.

Thankfully my hallmate, Jeff, was online. Such a nice guy, he is, he wouldn't object to giving a friend in need a waterbottle. After his affirmative answer via AIM, I ran up two flights of stairs to grab it. Such a good Jeff, that child is. Always taking care of me. Anyways, I explained the situation to him and he instantly paled. Apparantly he had always assumed about my bit of an obsession with Mia and Ana but had never confronted me about it. While neither confirming or denying the goddess' presence in my life, I inquired about what would make him think I was an Ed-child. Jeff rattled off a list of things ranging from my depression (which I like to think of as my cynicism, fuck you very much!) to my obsession with my appearance and the appearance of those around me. From said occourances, he felt it was appropriate to assume that I'm a member of a special little group known as the spawn of the goddesses.

This bothers me for a few reasons:

1. What right does Jeff think he has to assume somthing like that about me. Let's pretend that I didn't have a past with those sorts of things. How would you feel if someone told you they though you had an issue? Not so fantastic, right? Yeah, didn't think so.

2. I don't show that kind of flaw to the world...or at least I didn't think that I did. If he can figure it out, can other people I'm friends with? Can my professers? Can my potential employers or my coworkers?

3. That part of me is really private. This year was the first year that I've been able to admit it to myself that I have an issue with the goddess' control over my life. I cant even say that I have a problem with Ana or Mia. It feels like betrayal to two things that have been the only things to remain constant within my life. I don't want someone who I'm not that close with knowing (or thinking he knows) all about me because he happened to stumble upon two details of my life.

4. I don't want him (or anyone else for that matter) to define me by two elements of my past. I am more than the child of Ana or the child of Mia.

But, I mean, there's not much I can do about it now that he knows. Hopefully he'll have some decency and not display it to the entire campus. People talk enough shit anyways.

Oh...earlier I totally splurged and bought new Molskine notebooks. I'm running a little low in the one I use just for poetry and with the one I use just for prompts and observations I'm almost at the point where I'd need a new one and the one I do my sketches and prose in I'm going to need a new one pretty soon. So I went out and got three more. Yay. But also though, on my little shopping expadition, I got a really cute black tank top with really tiny white pokadots on it. It's a cami with a rouched princess seamed bodace but it's not trashy which is always a plus. And I figure, since it's not that low cut I can wear it to work during the summer with a cardigan over it. And I also snagged this white halter. It's super cute...it has a red scalloped trim and little cherrys all over it. I definatly won't be wearing it to work but I diserve something nice for myself. Somthing cutsey, just a feel-good top for the beach this summer or when I'm hanging out with people.

Ugh. I don't even care if Jeff tells people. It's not like they can't assume shit on their own to begin with. I'm just glad that I won't be here in two weeks. But then, I'll have to deal with a whole different set of people talking crap about me.

I LOVE how people never grow up. Ever.

Shitheads.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

mourir est un art et comme tout d'autre je le fais exceptionnellement bien

I've been working on my recitation stuff all day. But after a while, I decided I needed a break so I started work on my American Lit paper. Albet, my prof was absolutly awesome and said I could have an extention if I need one...but I'm gonna try not to need one. I mean, if i get it solid enough to pass in on Thursday then there really is no excuse for me not to. But, that's only if it's tight. After rocking the first paper (despite my freakouts), I have to do really well on this one....cuz like now my prof knows that I'm not completly incompitant and I'd like to maintain that standard...

Anyways...I'm actually having a lot of fun with this paper. I've realized, if I care about a topic (or if not care, at least am mildly interested in it), its so much easier to write. I found this really cool critic, Janet Buell, who says at one point that Dickinson's fear of death lead her to turn to poetry because its very nature made it immortal. I can see that, I mean her family was deeply religious and the fire & brimstone dogma of the Puritan faith didn't leave any room for questions about the afterlife. The critic goes on to note at one period of Dickinson's poetry, presumibly after the death of her brother, she shifts the focus of a lot of her work towards deathbed manner. Dickinson was able to find beauty in death...even if beauty itself was murderous device.

I didn't really start analyzing my Plath critisisms yet, but just for the hell of it I reread my primary texts. The weirdest thing happened though. As I was looking at Lady Lazarus and got to "Dying/ Is an art, like everything else,/ I do it exceptionally well", in my head, I instantly translated it to the French. Weird. I mean, yay for being fluent but I wasn't even doing anything ieven somewhat related to France earlier today...aside from having a really good glass of Pinot Blanc. Maybe it's just my subconscious telling me that I am in dire need of some Parisian snootyness this summer...if only for a weekend.

Honistly, I haven't even began to look at the criticisms for my third text-- Daisy Miller: A Study by Henry James. I mean, I skimmed them but haven't really delved into them yet. I figure...I'll check them out later and knock out some flashcards for each source. If I have energy or need a break from terrorism theory, I can always write a bit after I have the cards done and somewhat organized. Aim to have at least 3-4pages by 3am to shoot off to my prof for some feedback. Finish up the rest of it tomorow during my recitation breaks. Then just spend the rest of the week focused on the language.

See...I got this. NO FREAKOUTS this time!!!!!

tricycle

I tried to finalize my schedule last night for next semester. I got into Latin, Contemporary Philosophical Topics, Women & Politics, Comparitave Governmental Systems and I'm on the waiting list for Creative Writing and English Rennisance Poetry. But I'm going to talk to the professers of the classes I got waitlisted for and see if they'll let me in. If not, I can add other classes in place but I'm not too worried.

This morning has been...eventful. I got into a really big fight with Katie over absolutly nothing. The girl just loves to try to piss me off. But even if its working, I'm not one to show it. Which I think just makes her more angry. I'm done trying to be nice to her. There is no point when she is constantly trying to bring me down. I dont have the time nor the energy to deal with someone like her...especially not during Hell Week.

As much as I bitch about having to do my recitation, I'm actually really excited for it. If I can do well on it, it just proves that I am not wasting my time here. Last night Michael was helping me study (I know...we're dorks like that!) and he basically was just having me explain different theorum to him, their critisisms and having me apply them to different events....I was doing pretty well. I love the challenge. I love the pressure...standing in front of a lecture hall with 10 sets of glairing eyes belonging to some of the most brilliant minds I've ever met, borring holes in me...waiting for me to crack under the pressure. But that's not going to happen. I am going to rock this.

Because...I have no other option.

Friday, April 27, 2007

bound by love

I'm soooooo excited.

I'm just about to totally dork-ify myself but...my college has a used book sale every year starting on Shakespere's birthday and lasting for a week after. I went the first day and picked up some Dickinson and some theory stuff...nothing major. Didn't really have a ton of time to look, you know?

But, this afternoon I got an email saying they were now letting us fill up a grocery-bag sized sack for $5. As much as we can fit in the bag. So, being the good English major....I went. For $5 I got:
The Study of Literature
Classical Readings in American Politics
Norton Anthology of English Literature
The Awakening
American Literary History
Favorite Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Approaches to the Novel
Zadig/ L'ingenu
Robert Browning-- A Collection
Psychoanalytic Literary Criticism Theory in Practice
American Short Stories
Seventeenth Century Prose and Poetry
English Poetry and Prose of the Romantic Movement
The Literature of the American People
William Faulkner-- Three Decades of Criticism

So for $5 that's really not bad at all. God I love used book sales! The only problem is now I'm not gonna want to do any work. Oh well...reading can be my reward.


danger of the water

Ugggggggg. Last night...bad idea. I needed to study last night for my recitation and work on my lit paper and my polisci book reviews. Fuck. Didn't do that. But, I did manage to go all emo on my arm, burn my thumb, email my prof pasking about a rough draft and using hte most hideous grammar ever, call Alex after he tore any positive self-image I had out with a rusty nail, eat an entire mini chocolate bunny, call Tori and tell her she will never be Mary-Kate or Nicole cuz she's too tall and too imperfect....god the list contines....that was just the "best of lilith drunk off her ass" highlight reel.

I am really fucking impressed with myself. I needed to do work...more than any other fucking night this semester so far and I completly blew it off. I was fucking irresponsible. WHAT THE FUCK IS MY PROBLEM???????????? I'm almost 20. I cannot, under any circomstances, be doing that anymore. Seriously. If i want to be out of college by '09 so I can start my masters program...finish that in a year and a half then jump on my doctorate program and do that in three years--counting my dissertation--I dont have time to be stupid like that.

I think though, as much as I hate to place the blame for my absolute disregard for my plan (and my liver)...what Alex said the other night really fucked with me. Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't know how to love...I don't know what love is...so I make it impossible for people to love me. Maybe I push people away because I'm scared of hurting or losing them so its easier to never have them be a part of my life to begin with. Thats what I did with him. As soon as I started having serious feelings for him, I did everything in my power to erradicate them. But when that didn't work...I started being "crazy, obsessive girlfriend" and freaked him out to the point where he left me.

And the funny thing is...I still care about him, maybe moreso than when we were together. I know I shouldnt talk to him after the other night...but I do (and I actually am right now while I'm writing this). There's somthing about him...I dont know what it is...but it draws me in and makes it impossible to let go. And when we're together, there's this vibe between us that is like nothing I have ever seen before. We completly feed off one another...if we're arguing it gets really bad because we know what the other person is going to say before they do. If we're just talking it's amazing. He gets me. Alex and I are really alike...which is not always a good thing. We know what to say to push the other person's buttons. I know what makes him tick and he knows for me. I dotn know. Maybe I'm scared of letting him get close to me because he's so great, I wouldn't want to lose him.

There's this really strong emotional recall I feel whenever I drink vodka because of Alex. I know it's gonna make me sound really xenophobic but fuck it...I'm gonna say it anways. He's Russian and one time we were just watching movies at his house and he brought out this really good, strong, amazingly smooth Russian vodka. It has to be the best vodka I've ever tasted...and now every time I drink I think of him. It's so weird how you form this bond to ordinary sensory experiances. Like, right now I'm listening to Ashlee Simpson (shuttup, it's on my itunes rotation) and it brought me right back to sophmore year of high school, trying to be everything I'm not. It makes me think of the hours I'd spend, teaching myself how to achieve the perfect "I just rolled out of bed after a long night of partying but still look fucking awesome" look...the MTV awards parties we'd throw...god we were young.

Or like...not even a song can bring you back there...a taste,,,a touch...a smell...anything.

Rosepetal tea and cranberry scones bring me back to long summers in Maine, relaxing with my notebook and my camera on the deck overlooking Penopscot Bay, watching the lobster boats trawl in and out all day, the ferries coming in and going back out like clockwork...blasting their horns as an announcement of their constant presence off the tiny island. I would sit up there for hours...just relaxing with my tea and scones and write. From my deck I could see the main drag of the island and see all of the villagers go about their daily routine. It was comforting to see a society, not too different yet completly contrary to where I lived the other 10 months of the year. On Vinelhaven Isand, as it was called, old men would hold doors open for little girls playing with their friends. The man at the general market would know your name and how you take your coffee and if you would need to borrow a wagon from out front to take your wares home, if it was too far to simply carry....its amazing how just one or two simple tastes brings back such a memory. I really miss Maine. I should try to get away this summer just for a weekend or somthing.

Or, every time I read the first Harry Potter book, I remember falling in love with contemporary children's literature. Yeah, I was in 6th grade when I read it, but I had never been a fan of "kid books". But, Kristen Ryan did a book report on it in my Language Arts (as it was called) class and everyone else knew what she was talking about, I felt like they were in some sort of club and I hadn't recieved the invitation. The next day, a Saturday, it was raining so my dad and I went to the Barnes and Noble. Still reeling off the embarrasment of the previous day, I (for the first time in my life) wandered over to the kids section and picked up Harry Potter and started reading. Instantly I was brought into a world of (for lack of a better word) magic. To this day, I still don't know what it was but I fell in love with J.K. Rowling's writing.

Alex...every time I hear the Cascada song, "Every Time We Touch"...I think of him. It was the club hit last year when we were together and was on the radio when he kissed me for the first time. It was a really mild April night...I was kind of bored so I drove down to visit him at work. He was this security guard at an office building a few towns over. We went outside and started messing around and he just grabbed me and kissed me. Under the stars. I know it's so cliche but whatever.

I need to stop falling for him...again...I really do. I dont have time for this crap.

Welcome to hell, kids. We have cookies.

fuck

i'm drunk

and i just emailed my lit prof

whoops

and i lost my glasses..somewhere in my room

trashed my room looking for them post hoc

burnt my thumb

cut my left arm and hand

drunkdiledmy cousin

yeah........good fucking night

Thursday, April 26, 2007

white daisy passing

So I told my dad earlier that I'm adding an English major to my polisci one and am keeping my writing minor. Needless to say he's pissed. But I don't really care. I am done letting him dictate how I lead my life.

Not just him though. It's everyone. I am completly over worrying about everyone else's happyness at the detriment of my own. I mean, of course I care about my friends and their opinion but that shouldn't be my first concern. And under no circomstances should I be listening (or even taking into advisement) the opinion or wishes of someone who, in effect, is at the root of almost all of my issues.

If being an English major makes me happy, then I should do it. Dont get me wrong, I still love politics and I am never going to stop loving campaign season. But for once, I feel like I've finally found somthing that I'm good at and I want to see where it takes me. Somthing of my own. I don't want to work on the hill...it doesn't do anything for me and life's too short to not be doing what I love. Campaigns and I are fucking fantastic together but I mean...I hate local politics and I'm not good or well-known enough to do a national (or even a statewide) campaign...yet. So until I hit that level (if I ever do), I can only work every two years. For 11 months...if that. And if I really just want to be a speechwriter, than it shouldn't be a problem teaching college literature and writing. I'm a politics junkie and obsess over governmental goings-on anyways so it's not like I'm going to be out of the loop. And a bunch of professers have their little pet projects...mine can just be speechwriting and consulting.

But...somthing that might suck is that I found out...for my English doctorate....I need two languages. I mean, ok. I can do French no problem. But I need another. And it has to be a current language. As in no Latin (but I'm still taking Latin next semester...no worries...it'll help with rhetoric and for origonal polisci texts).

and i make it impossible to love me.

sweet emotion

I am still crazy about Alex. By all accounts, I should hate his guts...but for some crazy, inexplicable reason...I don't. At all.

He and I weren't together that long but he and I both fell fast and hard. It went from just chilling to spending every waking moment together in a period of a week. But...it didn't last.

He found someone else and neglected to tell me. I find out via angry phone call, saying he never wants to hear from me again, after I shoot him a text message...just to make sure he's ok or wahateer.

And we hadn't talked since. Till around a month ago when he IMed me. And then all of the feelings I had for him rushed back. He really hurt me...but he was the first guy who I actually trusted. Ever.

And I still want to be with him. I think. I don't know. He made me so much less tense....almost normal. Maybe I like the idea of him better than the actual him? But...I do know I'm still crazy about him.

He's going to be home this summer too...

And as of tonight, according to him, it would be very easy to love me if i wasnt so fucked up. Whoops. Sorry. Can't really help that one. It's who I am. And it sucks.

It really fucking sucks...because he is way too easy to fall for. And I already feel myself
S
L
I
P
p
I
N
G
back into his grasp.

yeah right i wish


someone just told me i look like sylvia plath.


is it bad that after he said that, i went to my room and started crying because that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. ever.
but i'm 99.99999999999999% sure he was on somthing. because...i just dont see it.
god. she was so intense. i would do anything to be half the poet she was.
anything.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

headlock

I've come to realize that people are really cruel. Really fucking cruel. Some shitheads thought it would be appropriate to trash this guy's car that was parked behind our dorm. I mean...ok...it's not that big of a deal. But seriously, who does that? Not only is it rude and disrespectful as hell but its also fucking disgusting to clean off.

But, as far as days go, I think everyone is having a shitty one. Everyone is just really stressed out, I think, and the fact that hell week starts Monday just makes everything worse. Every little thing that is said that someone could somehow take offense to is making people flip out. Admittadly, I'm not "Little Miss Merry Fucking Sunshine and Joy" but today...everyone is starting to act like me and it's a little disconcerning. I mean...I choose not to be nice. It's my defense mechanisim (or one of them at least). I figure, if people don't like me, they won't get close to me and I won't get hurt. See...it makes sence.

The one good thing today though...my Slyvia Plath dress came today. It's floor-length and cream colored with short sleeves. It makes me look like her...which is perfect. I mean, I am nowhere as perfect as she was...but I can fake it. And tomorow is her day in lit class. So ya'll know what I'll be wearing haha.

I kind of just made a big mistake and did somthing I was not supposed to and that I haven't done in a while that could theoretically abridge my plans for Plath-like attire tomorow. One of my friends has the same problem but she flaunts hers. I'm not cool with that. It's totally her perogative to do so but... I figure, it's my problem and it should not be shared with the world. Like...my issues are MY issues. I need to figure out how to deal with them on my own terms. I tried passing them off to others...thinking it'd help ease the hurt....but it doesnt. When I am ready to get over them...I just have to have faith that I'll have the strength to do so.

But, as of right now...they are the one thing that define me.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

just cant last

I hate humidity.... Seriously. It sucks. Not only do I feel all sticky and gross but also it's making my hair uncooperative. I've flatironed it like four times today and it's still really wavy and not straight. I know I'm really vain and shouldn't care about how my hair looks cuz in the long run, it doesn't really matter...but I do care. And to make matters worse, from the second I got out of bed this morning, I've been really dizzy. I don't know why. I know it's not from not eating or being dehydrated because I ate yesterday and I had a granola bar and an apple after my run this morning and I drink water like it's my job. I really don't have time to be sick right now. I have too much to do.

For the rest of the week...tomorrow I have the College Dems All-American Fundraiser and this activism lecture in the evening, the lit bibliography and the unsc sim thursday, my terrorism resitation monday, book reviews tuesday & wednesday....

the work never ends kiddies.

alone in kyoto

So I'm awake at freaking 5:30. Not that big of a deal cuz ordanarally I'd be up running right now. Except...even though it's not even 6am...it's 72 fucking degrees out. And humid. And it's not even like I can cool off in my dorm because they've yet to put the central air back on. Despite having two really big box fans and a rotating floor fan and a little clip fan thing for next to my bed ITS FUCKING HOT IN HERE. No. I could deal with it being slightly hot but damn...it's uncomfortable. Earlier I was seriously considering taking a blanket out onto the blacony and just sleeping outside but then I realized that's kind of sketchy and if by some miracle I actually fall asleep, I don't want to be woken up by the landscapers staring down my shirt...or worse...by campus security. And being the dicks they are, they'd probably give me a citation for being drunk. Even though I'm stone-cold sober right now. Which, let's be honest, is a problem within itself.

The guy I was talking to over Easter basically called me out yesterday...said I was fake for having some self-respect and not jumping into bed with him. I'm sorry if I did not put myself in a potentially unsafe situation by going over to the appartment of a guy I have never really hung out with outside of class and who nobody I really talk to knows. I'm sure he's a nice guy, albet his severe lack of any social skills whatsoever, but I'm not one to risk it. So he's mad at me, because apparantly by trying to be nice and talking to a guy, I automatically give them permission to regard me as nothing more than a sex object....somthing for them to mess around with for a while till they get bored and move on to somthing else. This guy has the audacity to text me saying that by coming off as confident (yes, I know I'm not confident at all but I fake it really well), that it means that I want to jump into bed with him...two seconds later say he respects me...and a minute after that say he needs someone to snuggle with because he's had a bad day and if I was any type of good person I'd go over there and be with him. I was dumb enough in the begining to think he actually cared about me...but this just proves that all I am and all I will ever be to him is somthing to fuck.

Before I woke up...I had a really bad dream. Yeah, Frank and I have been over for a while and aren't even on speaking terms anymore and I couldn't care less about him or who he hangs out with. But, in my dream, my really good friend--Becca-- and he were dating but didn't want to say anything cuz they knew I'd get upset. I know, it's completly paranoid of me to think this...but what if my subconscience knows somthing that the rest of me doesn't want to admit to myself yet. If Becca and Frank started going out, I don't think I'd be that pissed at them. I mean, they are their own people and can do whatever they want. But, I might have to reevaluate my friendship with Becca...I mean, isn't it like Girl Law #1 or somthing that you don't date your friend's exes without a) at least a two-month waiting period & b) her explicit, unintoxicated permission...

Do you think if I give the atmosphere and my dorm $1 each they'll start listening to me? I'd give more, don't get me wrong, but I'm a poor college student again.

Air's The Virgin Suicides album is amazing. I think I'm in love.

And today is VONNEGUT DAY in my lit class!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sooo excited. I decided last night, I want Vonnegut's children. I don't care if he is (physically) dead...I want them. All of them. And they will be perfect...just like he was.

The perfect damaged goods.

Monday, April 23, 2007

over

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I really dont. I feel like I have no direction anymore except down. Absolutly none. I have no idea what I want to do at all...not just in regards to work and the future but with everything.

The second I think I finally have a plan, somthing happens and it goes to hell. Like with my schedule...didn't get the courses I need for next semester. With work...score an amazing job but can't take it. With my major...think I want to work on the Hill but I'm not "Capital Hill Barbie". With my friends...think we're really good friends and I can trust them with anything and then they go and talk shit about me behind my back. With my schoolwork...I think my papers are somewhat decent and that I'm doing a decent job and then I get a freaking B.

(It's no coincidence that B is the second letter of the alphabet. Second. As in not first...not the best. Substandard.)

People might find a B to be an acceptable grade. But it is not. People don't get into grad school with Bs on their transcript.

I am DONE with this crap.

so long, so long

It's 5:33am and I just finished my terrorism paper on the Chechen situation. I have to say...it's not bad. I mean, for one of my papers, it's well-organized, coheriant, somewhat intelligent, snarky and very much chocked full of facts. But desipte having to cite nearly every other sentence, it still sounds like a "Lilith paper". Like, you can tell I wrote it. I mean, I really did try to remain completly unbiased but MAN it did not work towards the end. Or...maybe it did? I mean, I went off pretty harshly on either side for their egregious human rights abuses and their respective internal disputes that are only prepetuating the conflict further. Regardless, it feels really good to have it done. Especially since it's worth 25% of my grade in that class and the prof doesn't accept late work without a REALLY good excuse (somthing along the lines of an actual death in the family-->pending her reciept of the death certificate, that is).

But, this week is going to be another toughie. I have to run over to the health department at some point to pick up the permit for the College Dems bakesale Wednesday. How stupid is that...the fact that we need to get a permit to sell freaking brownies or whatever? Ugh...people need to stop making everything so rediculous.

And I have my bibliography with my secondary source list due for lit on Thursday...meaning I need to have a rough draft by Friday because the actual paper is due a week from Thursday. Shit.

And next week I have two book reviews due...one for my terrorism class and the other in international relations. It would help if I maybe...I dont know...started ACTUALLY reading the books. Yeah...that might work. I know, it's a novel idea, but I'm in the mood to try somthing different and actually read my course texts for once.

But forget about next week, Tuesday morning I have a proposal due in newswriting for my feature. The feature that I have no idea about the topic yet. I'm probably just going to end up doing a charactor profile of someone...maybe Jailbait. I mean, the kid's 16 and already a rising junior in college. It's like...wtf man. How the hell is the little fucker three years younger than me but still two years my academic senior?

Ugh...I hate that I do this...bitch about my workload. I have no more nor less work than anyone else here. We're in college...we need to grow a set and stop complaining. Cuz lets be honist...

it's not supposed to be easy.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

uggabugga

Not really feeling so great today. Just stress I guess.

Terrorism paper due tomorow. Yeah. On page 3 of at least 15. It's completly facts and almost no analysis...but at this point its more important to just get somthing down. I can worry about the language and all the other good junk after I hit the basic points.

What's really sad though is that I've been working on it all day. Yeah.

Not my fault though...Kadra, Ephiphany and I went out on the quad to work and ended up talking for like six hours. Sorry....my friends are amazing. And it's not like we were gossiping...we were having actual discussions. Like about colonization of African states and the transition from an authoritarian governmental system to a democracy. Smart people are amazing.

And after dinner...Anora, Annie, Kenny and I ended up just walking around campus, enjoying the BEAUTIFUL weather. Springtime has finally come to Frederick, Maryland.

I was really bad last night. I ended up going and buying a new pair of sandals, a sundress, a knee-length denim skirt and a cute top online. I need to not charge anything else to my visacard.

This week is going to suck. But, Kadra, Ephiphany and I decided that either Thursday night or Friday afternoon we're going to treat ourselves to manicures, pedicures and facials at the salon near campus. We need to do somthing for us for once...all of this work and these all-nighters are making us feel old and like we have no life...

But we really need to just suck it up and deal. Our obsession with academia is by our own choice...and with Kadra wanting to go to law school, Ephiphany wanting to get her masters in economic policy and her doctorate in international political economy, and I want my duel masters and duel doctorate in rhetoric and public policy. So pretty much not only are we all going to be poor and in debt for a really long time but also we are gonna be writing papers and pulling all-nighters too. Sweet.

ok...back to getting this paper done. yeah. paper time.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

first instant

Today was the first good day I've had in a while. It was/is so beautiful out...the perfect day for arts festival. But, being the dork I am, I took my Norton Anthology out with me to start rereading my primary texts for my lit paper. I have to say, it was very Emersonian of me. There's this one Dickinson poem that I'm using in my paper....241...and I've always had a problem with it. I could never understand what Emily was trying to say. Albet, I decided to use it in my paper anyways...cuz somthing was telling me it'd work well. So today, I cracked open my anthology and started to analyze it. And for once...I understood it...sort of. I mean, I know her writing is very multidementional but I'd never been able to get anything out of this poem. But, today I did. Which makes me a bit happier than it probably should, but that's ok.

And I was hanging out with a bunch of people...I mean I only knew a couple of them but the ones I didnt I thought they weren't a fan of me. But today we talked and chilled and they are all really cool. It was so funny...Dr. Foys...this lit prof here came over and pretty much admonished me for studying. But, everyone talks so much crap about him...saying his classes are rediculous, that he's arrogant and pretentious and will tear you to pieces if you disagree with him. So...never having talked with the guy, needless to say I was petrified when he came over and started talking with us. But, apparantly he went to school the town over from where I am in Jersey and graduated high school with my uncle. Small world. I actually really like the guy...he seems to be extremly chill and freaking brilliant. Or maybe my unequivical love for everything literary...the texts and scholars alike...makes me a bit biased.

My guy here..Dj...it's his 20th birthday today. So what kind of person would I be if I didn't awknowledge his making it this far on my meak space....Happy Birthday love. 20 beautiful years, with many more to come.

...maybe I should just become an English major? I don't know. I don't like not knowing what I want to do. I love polisci but I'm absolutly entranced by the written word.

Friday, April 20, 2007

loose ends

Wow. My life sucks.

So I finally got cleared to register for classes. Good, right? NO. I get waitlisted for my creative writing and my british romantic poetry class. I'm the first person on the waitlist for both of the classes so hopefully I'll get in to them. Especially since I need the creative writing class for my minor and I need the romantic poetry class for my general ed requirements. Plus, my roomate for next year is in the romantic poetry class and she's not that great at English or literature so we figured, if I took it I could help her with it. And I was going to take this freshman lit class just for fun...somthing to keep me sane, you know...and because I already took a 100-level lit, I'm overqualified for it and all of the spots are gonna go to the incoming freshman. I theoretically could petition the department head but he hates me. I honistly don't know what I did...I mean, I've never met the guy before in my entire life and the only contact I've ever had with him has been via email...but he hates me. But, I mean, I guess it's worth asking him. Maybe...maybe I can see if he'll let me add it when we start back up next semester if there is room and the prof says its ok. And I have the prof now for my lit class and took one with her last semester too so I think I have a bit of a repour with her...so maybe all is not lost. Hopefully not.

And for the polisci major, I need this public policy class. Except they said I don't have the prerequsites for it. Which is complete bullshit. I did AP intro to polisci in high school and got a 3 on it. Usually they dont take anything less than a 4 but because I got two additional credits from a summer program, they we're going to waive the intro polisci class here. But, when I went to register this morning, they said that they never recieved any documentation of either. Which is bullshit. I was assured when I came here that all of my credits would transfer in. I honistly wouldn't have come here if they weren't going to. And now, way after the fact, I find out that they didnt. Complete bullshit on their part. The professer for the policy course isnt here till Monday, so I basically have to deal with the registrar's runaround later today and probably resubmit my scores (which I'm going to have to fucking PAY for cuz it's almost 3 years after the fact) then beg the prof next week. Because, otherwise I can't take the class till my Senior year. And I dont want to have to do that, especially when I'm trying to graduate early and I'm doing a very credit-intensive major and a loaded minor.

We have this saying about Rutgers up in Jersey....you come to learn and love the RU screw. And that's kind of what I feel like I'm getting right now. The constant runaround with administration and the registrar and the department heads. They're making me fight to stay here when they were begging me to come here in the first place.

At least today is my holiday haha. Freaking 4:20 baby! So I can smoke a bit and not feel guilty for once.

But I also have a 15-page paper to write for my terrorism classon the Chechnya situation...yeah haven't started it yet. Whoops. Sorry. And I have to find secondary sources for my lit paper. Ugh.

I need to drink tonight too...it's been that kind of a day so far. And it's not even noon yet.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

clouds up

So. Yeah. Whatever.

After lit today I was talking with this one girl and she said if she went to Virgina Tech, she wouldn't go back after what happened Monday. That really bothers me. I mean, I'd like to think that I would but I don't really know. I probably would. I don't think I would want my college experience to be defined by one senceless act by someone who was very very very disturbed.


Derrick and I left at like 2am from here and went down to VA. His parents are actually taking it much better than I would have expected. They aren't blaming anyone, which I think is good. I don't think Michael would have wanted them to be too upset. It wasn't in his nature. He had such a beautiful spirit. Nobody could hate him. And yes, I know that nobody is happy all of the time, but he was pretty damn close to it. Such a rockstar.

We ended up getting back here around 4, which worked well for both of us. Things to do, you know?

Then I found out that the Intervarsity Christian Fellowship on campus was hosting a memorial service for VTech. Although well-intentioned, I don't think any one group should have sponsored it. I think, if anything, admin should have sponsored it. Said the "Hood Community will be coming together to grieve and memorialize those affected by the VTech massacre" or somthing like that. And it's not like I have anything against IVCF. I mean, I go to meetings and love most of the people in it. But, they try to make it seem like they are the only organization or only group on campus that cares about anything at all. I think that's the main reason I'm not there. I refuse to grieve in front of opportunists. I will not let them see me broken. I will not let them see me cry.

OK. Enough obsessing about them.

I'm actually (gasp) kind of proud of myself...I know...its so uncharacteristic of me. But, I my proposal done & turned in for lit paper numero two. At least I have my theme and my primary works picked out (for the most part). I'm doing it on beauty as corrosive and deadly. Typical me.

But hey, someone told me a really long time ago to write what I know. I know this. I can do this. And I have really fun (read: depressing) sources. I'm doing a bunch of Dickinson poems, Henry James's "Daisy Miller: A Study" & some Sylvia Plath for good measure.

God. I love Plath. She was so beautiful. So intense. "Lady Lazarus"-- despite critics blasting it for its anti-semetic imagery-- is my favorite.

I have done it again.
One year in every ten I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

Yes, yes Herr Professor
It is I.
Can you deny

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone, I may be Japanese.

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.


I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

God. She was so talented. So intense. I would kill to write like her. If sex sells, suicide does better...and she knew that. And she was so beautiful.

All of the greats were....

guess that counts me out then.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

my machete

Just got off the phone with Michael's parents. Derrick, one of my friends from DC who graduated high school with Michael and I are driving down to Virginia later tonight or really early tomorow morning to visit with them. I can't even imagne what they are going through right now. I mean, losing Chandi was like losing a sister but to lose a child... it's not supposed to happen. Especially in such a tragic way.

And I feel hideous about my problems after somthing like this. I mean, at least I'm still alive.

I made a really big mistake last night. I went to my friend's house and ....yeah. Whoops. Sorry. I have no self-respect and I needed SOMTHING to make me feel better. Except, I'm not on the pill anymore cuz it was making me throw up when I didn't really want to be. So when I came back here this morning I had to run over to the health center and grab plan B. All I'm saying is thank God it's over the counter now and campus health centers are allowed to distribute it, if needed. I'm usually not this stupid but...everyone is allowed to fuck up once. Let's just count this one as my major fuck up, k?

So now I feel disgusting because of the plan B. Like I'm going to barf. Except that's a really bad indicator for me cuz I always feel like I'm going to puke. But now I'm exhausted. Which is really unfortionate. I don't have time to feel like this. Derrick and I are gonna leave as soon as I finish my position papers. And I'm just gonna blow off my first two classes tomorow. I mean, he has to be back here for a thing at 430 and I have class at 5pm. So if we leave Virginia by 1 in the afternoon we should be fine. He drives like a maniac. And if we're not I can just email in my work. But I have the Bitch panel at 715. I'm sure I'll be good for that. I mean, I have all of my resarch & statistics together already on notecards so all I'm gonna need to do is toss on a skirt and a blouse and that takes all of five minutes.

Ugh. 13 days till finals week. Not that I'm counting or anything.

before the dawn

I guess...I guess I am greatful that I have copious amounts of schoolwork to occupy so I don't have to think about Virginia Tech.

Michael's parents are doing a private funeral...just family...in a week or so. But we're gonna do a memorial or somthing for him next month when everyone is back in Jersey. He deserves it.

Bitch panel is tomorow night. It should be hilarious, I mean. I get to talk about the social connentation of the word and such. Yay for being outspoken, I guess.

God. Life needs to stop sucking. Right now.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

daylight robbery

I can't even begin to conceptualize what happened at Virginia Tech. Kinsley's sister goes there. Thankfully, she wasn't hurt (and I'm talking about physically, I don't know how someone can recover from that psychological damage...as soon as you think you're safe, you're not) but two of her best friends are in critical care.

One of my friends is dead. Goddamnit. Michael Pohle. He went to Hunterdon Central...graduated in 2002 with a lot of people I knew from Model UN and such. He was an amazing guy...so much fun to be around. He gave the best hugs. Michael was...Michael. He was the one guy who could make everybody laugh. I dont think anybody disliked him at all.

My friends need to stop dying. Immediatly. I can't deal with this right now. At least I know this time it was out of my control. Right?

Monday, April 16, 2007

tangled and dark

...and I'm back.

Sorry about that little freakout before. Honistly though. It's better that if I am going to spazz, that I do so on here and not have a meltdown in front of everyone. I have no problem with people who do, but it's just not in my nature to do so. Earlier I had a mini-breakdown in front of Frank, Josh and Becca. It was really bad. I got to the point where I almost started crying. For me, that's how you know it's bad. I don't cry that often and when I do, it's in my room or somewhere I can be alone. Thankfully I stopped myself before it got to the point of no return...where I am going to have an issue and it is going to suck and there is nothing that can be done to stop it.

Regardless of how I am feeling, I have to put on the happy face every day. I can't let people see how I actually am. I can't put myself out there like that. I know that if I do, I am going to be labeled as the girl who can't deal. Everyone is under a lot of stress and I have no right whatsoever to freak out in pubic. Aside from making me look bad, it stresses out everyone else around me more. Also though, I don't want people to think that I need to be looked after. I'm almost 20 and can take care of myself, fuck you very much.

Ugh. I feel disgusting. It was (and still is) too windy and rainy out to run without dying. As attractive as that option is right now, I just don't have time to die for a while so the running thing wasn't happening this morning. I was going to go out tonight but Kins and I went over to her friend's house for a bit. It was cute...we made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup and just chilled with him and his roomate and his roomate's friends. It was good to get off-campus for a bit. Here...there is no escaping the drama cuz it's such a small school. We live here and go to class here. We see the same people day after day and have to constantly deal with the same immaturity 24/7. You just get to the point where its like...if I don't get out of here I am going to die.

And...like I said...I don't have time to die just yet.

getmeoutofhere

my life is a bad movie. it really is. as soon as i think i have control...it's gone. i can't stand it anymore. there is no fucking reprive from this bullshit.

i mean...i'm not going to do anything stupid. been there, done that...it doesn't work. but, i see why people do it.

and i was going to cut earlier. yeah. p. motherfucking s. i cut myself. or used to. but i didn't. but the only reason i didn't was because i couldn't find my razor or my pocketknife.

i have to fight my parents fucking tooth and nail to uphold the goddamned court order that says they are supposed to pay x dollars a semester of my education and to fill out the fafsa so i can get some aid. they won't fucking do it. not because they cant afford it or in the case of the fafsa dont know how to do it. they can easily afford it but they choose not to. and they refuse to do the fucking fafsa because they just dont feel like it. it's another fucking thing to hold over my fucking head.

and i mean, i very easilly could take them to court again to make them put up the money. but, i'm not that mean. because then my dad would start having issues again and it would be my fault. and it was my fault that he had the issues to begin with. i already have that on my fucking conscience...thanks motherfuckers.

god. i am just so tired of it all. i am tired of being put in the middle of their fucking bickering constantly. i've been in the same position since i was a kid and that is why i escaped to begin with. i can't deal with it anymore.

i'm not that strong.

blood red summer

I don't deal well with complements. And I have no idea how to react to them. I don't know if they're sincere or what.

So it's understandable when this guy that I worked with last summer IMed me out of the blue and starts complementing me. It actually made me really uncomfortable. I mean, the guy and I were friends over the summer but it was always kind of weird cuz I'm a year younger then him but technically I was his boss. But I guess because we were so close in age it just made sence that we'd hang out.

But, check this out...he called me gorgeous. Like multiple times. I just dont know how to take that. I'm not even what you'd concider to be pretty. I mean...I've never been the pretty one. The smart one, the political one, the creative one....but never has anything complementary been said about my appearance. And I'm fine with that. I'm the kind of person, I'd much rather be known for somthing other than being just another pretty face.

So it's understandable that I'm kind of like WTF now.

I dont know how to tell if he's sincere or not. And I dont know where this came from. I mean, is it a newfound revolation or did he think i was gorgeous over the summer? If he thought this back then, why didn't he act on it? I'm actually really shy at work...the one place I should be intimidating I'm not at all...and I come off as being really approachable. So why didn't he?

I dont know. This is why I can't deal with guys my own age. They never know what they want.

Except all guys are like this and never grow up.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

surfing on a rocket

So after everything that happened this week, I decided it was time for a change so I dyed my hair. Yeah, I dye my hair a lot but when I do somthing as drastic as I did today, it's usually to mark a new period in my life. And drastic it was. I went from a medium blonde with bleached out highlights to deep, cool tone brown. Aside from it being a little streaky so I'm going to have to fix it later in the week, I really like it. I was really unsure about it at first...I mean it was a big change and kind of an end of an era for me. I went blonde right after Sarah and I ended it for good. Before that, auburn and medium red highlights after losing in November. Being about to change my hair color is good for me. In a way, it helps me make a fresh start.

When I went blonde, I had just gotten out of a relationship that was doomed from the begining. I was stressed out, strung out and needed to start over. After Linda's race went down the shitter, I needed to become someone else. Hence the red. Yeah...red doesn't work for me. I'm not confident enough to pull it off.

But hopefully with brunette, I can finally stop being seen as the cuteish blonde chic and nothing more. I'd like to be known for somthing other than my appearence, fuck you very much.

pearls on a plate

After yesterday's extreme dissatisfaction over my piece was recognized, I (for once) decided to do somthing about it. I completly redid the intro sketch. I decided that I'm just going to have to do bit by bit to have this turn into the powerful story I know it can be. It's still not that good...but it's a small improvement over the mess it was before. No... I lied. It's still a fucking mess.

The femanazi is a rare breed. While consciously extricating herself from all things masculine, she is often described as that. From her scraggily, unkempt mane to her standard-issue beater and baggy, torn jeans she is easily identified. The femanazi’s mornings begin early at the gym, not in the hopes of becoming more fit, but in search of something more powerful than that. A lot of personal battles are waged and won during her 5am runs. The femanazi is craving the revolution, and when it all goes down, she’ll be out front…taking out any man who dares stand in her way. Her evenings are spent in front of the computer, furiously spreading the gospel of a man-free society, claiming to be in dire need of absolution from testosterone’s oppressive arm. In her mind, she is the sole embodiment of female disenfranchisement and wears it on her sleeve. Nary can a man be found on the feminazi’s iPod. It is all angry fem-rock for her, for that is what she is…angry.

Yeah, I know it needs work. But it's somewhat better than before. Ugh. This is why next semester is going to be good for me...3 English classes. One of which being a creative writing course. I know it's going to be tough for me to workshop some of my more personal pieces, but how can I expect to publish my work if A) I can't deal with sharing it with 15 other people and B) I don't recieve some constructie critism on my writing to make it not suck as bad as it does now.

Ugh. I really want to try to get all of my work done this week because ARTS FESTIVAL!!!!! is next weekend! I'm sooo excited. I'm really not a hippie, nor a member of the artistic community here, but I love this sort of thing. Bands, free expression, poetry... just a time to relax around like-minded, creative folk. A constructive escape before the perils of academia once again consume our souls.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

duality


things come in twos, no? faces in the mirror. tears. emotions. reflections.

scars of the past shown twice over...each displaying their own sentiment. i know i've posted this picture before, but i was going through my pictures, trying to organize my iphoto with one of my friends earlier and he found this one...and just stopped and stared. to him, it doesnt even look like the same person. me. the one on the left...scared. always looking over her sholder. on the right, she's a fighter. that scowl is a perminent fixture. but her eyes...frightening. ready to stab a dagger straight through your heart if you cross her. but both...both with an impermiable shield protecting them from the harsh realities of a world they just dont want to deal with.

i don't remember what was going on that night, but whatever it was...it was working.

letters

I've been working on this piece for a while...I guess it's a short story. I'm not sure. I don't know. But I'm starting to get really frusturated with it. It's not that I'm unhappy with the general plot...just with my presentation of it. As usual. I know that noone is expecting me to become the next great American author or to change the world or anything with this piece. Yet, I want to. I want it to be perfect before I submit it.

Re-reading it (to me at least), it seems very jumbled...like I'm jumping all over the place and don't have a clear point of view. I start out with an expose of the "feminazi" stereotype then shift into the first person voice of our narrorator. In my mind, she's in her early 30s and is reflecting on her youth and her recogniton of her gender. She's successful, a kindergarten teacher in a predominatly Caucasian, upper-middle class suburb of Nashville. I have no problem establishing a backstory or anything for my charactors, it's hard for me to have that come through without going completly array.

I mean, whatever. I'm not that strong of a writer. It's just...I have all of these amazing ideas but I know they will never come to life in the way I envisioned.

Lately, it's not just my prose that has become sucky...it's even affecting my poetry. To the point...to the point where I can't even write. I know, I'm probably just too stressed that my brain wont let me write anything substantitive. But, what if I'm not?

What if I'm permantly tapped out creatively? Then what? I just become one more...one more blank face in the infanite sea of drones, moving mindlessly throughout their lives...never questioning...never really living.

It's thoughts like these that make me need a cigarette. Or three.

Friday, April 13, 2007

what the hell is wrong with us?

What is it that makes us so flawed? We are all irreperably broken. We all have our issues. Not that big of a deal. I mean...since we're all messed up, it shouldn't matter right?

Except it does. People are mean. We pick out the flaws in others and exploit them. Talk about them behind their backs. It's what we do. And it sucks. We should stop. Except. Except by scrutinizing the hell out of everybody else and making everybody else's lives go to shit...it keeps us from having to deal with our own pathetic, trivial issues.

I don't know if we're messed up from the begining or what. If we aren't then what could have or has gone so horribly wrong to poison us? And if we are, then that's just scary.

If we are...then there is no hope. And I don't think I want to believe that. Despite all of the bad in the world, humanity occationally comes together. I mean, even the little things. Opening a door for someone. Letting someone merge into your lane and not flipping them off even if you're in a hurry. To the big things. Volunteering with at-risk kids. Helping to end genocide. It all matters. And if we are so flawed, we wouldnt care about fixing the world.

I know I'm screwed up. I know I have oodles of demons to work through. On paper, I should either be in a mental institution or dead. There is nothing in my past that would make someone think I am or have the possibility of becoming a happy, reasonably well-adjusted person. And yeah, as of this second, I'm not happy or well-adjusted all all. But...at least I'm not about to check out.

I don't want to be known as the girl who couldn't deal with life. I have so much I want to accomplish. I want to be a published author. I want to start a scholarship fund for young women who want to do the school thing on their own terms. I want to see the northern lights, learn to blow glass, visit the Globe theatre. I want to get out of debt, own a home, stop using plastic bags, learn to live sustainably. I want to learn to have fun...do somthing completly insane...like go to the Burning Man festival. I want to see a woman (who I support) elected President. I want to write the State of the Union. I want to hand a hummingbird feeder, have a puppy, dance more. But mostly...

I want to prove them wrong.