Wednesday, January 30, 2008

let's just blame history...

I really... I don't know. Do you ever get this feeling that everyone else is miles removed from you? Because I guess that's kind of where I am right now. Everyone here is either decades behind me academically and maturity-wise or centuries in front of me. It's like I'm in some sort of weird limbo. And I don't like it. For once I would just kill to be generic. Just for a day, I'd love to not care about the Presidential race or be able to differentiate between early and mid 18th-century American literature. I'd love to wake up, be able to throw on a hoodie, jeans and flipflops and go to class like that. Seriously. That'd rock.

I think my English professor thinks I'm insane. Erin and I basically sit in the back row and make snide remarks the entire time and occasionally say something of substance. I'm sorry. But some people in that class really piss me off. The three adult students sit together and nearly every sentence out of their mouths begins with "I think I can relate to this because when I was your age..." to which, I roll my eyes and pretend to stick a gun in my mouth. Then they need to ask what a foil is or to once again define the very obvious ways the piece we're reading can be classified as a cautionary tale, perfectly set to be the next Lifetime Saturday night movie. And it's not like I'm bored in the class. It's just mundane. I feel like I've sat through so many of the same lectures on the same overall sentiment from the same piece that I have to be going insane.
It really isn't my fault that I'm then spurred to write my daily one page paper on topics of my amusement, not a character or plot analysis that I could do in my sleep. So my one page paper topic turned into that of "male impropriety and the assumption of the female gender as a mere vessel for the undertaking of carnal desire" as shown through the piece we're reading. Much more fun now, no? At least my professor seemed to appreciate it. She used it in every bloody example today on how to write a one page paper. So either that, or chica can write...

I'm more than slightly bummed Edwards dropped out of the race. Basically, I think my worst fears of Obama sweeping the Super Tuesday states is going to happen. And then I'm going to cry and be utterly depressed, almost inconsolable and feel like I've wasted a year of my life. Again.

Yup. That's exactly what's going to happen.


FUCK.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Georgetown

((work in progress))

You never see it coming. You're secretly a little embarrassed because you pride yourself on reading people, on knowing and understanding the human condition, the male condition. You chalk it up to being distracted with your family, with your career, with how insanely happy and self-sufficient you were before he came along. Your roommate tells you that you have your head in the clouds. Your brother tells you that you ought to know better. Your best friend keeps quiet. She knows better than to give you advise on your love life. He blows into your life like a heavy storm, pounding at your resolve like the rain does at old paint. He tells you thins that you know you shouldn't dignify by believing.

"I was hurt before."

"You are unlike anything I've ever known."

"You are beautiful."

"Elusive."

"Incredible."

You are an educated woman. You did the dating circuit in your younger years and you know better than to believe a man. Men lie. Men are only interested in one thing. Don't be a dumb bunny. Remember what the good Lord gave you knees for. Look, but don't touch or taste. If you know it's fire, don't let it burn you. Just say no. Stay in school. Don't be greedy.

You know.

You've always been the one to warn others about getting too caught up in a man... and yet...

"You are unlike anything I've known."

Your paint is chipping. You're shaving your legs every day now, just in case. When you get out of the shower, you put on Victoria's Secret lotion so that you smell like a high class underwear store. Yes, that's exactly what you want him to see you as... high class.

Feminine.

Bold.

You were a smart woman before he came along.

You were a free woman before he came along.

You were independent.

Strong.

In control.

And now... now you are melting. Before him you could have taken the wold on with one of your perfectly manicured hands behind your back, and now... now he is wrapped around every part of you, and you can barely stand upright.

You give in, It's winter which makes it easier to give in. It's always cold and at the first sight of Christmas decorations you run to him. You tell him all the things your roommate told you not to.

"I need you."

"You're all I think about."

"I love you..."

The last part you whisper a little, because that's the way women in the movies always do it, and because you are so exhausted with the strain of wanting him. He stands up and you want more than anything to just bury yourself in him. You aren't free. You aren't independent. You aren't strong. You aren't in control. You are...

You are...

Melting. Melted. You are the seven-year-old girl watching Snow White and dancing to "Some Day My Prince Will Come." You are dancing on your daddy's shoes. You are the 14-year-old girl who just got kissed for the first time. He's tangled in your hair. He's dripping from your skin. He's wrapped up in your legs, and around your arms. He coats your lips like dust on a shelf.

"Do you wanna get some dinner?" he asks. You nod, or maybe... maybe you are brave and you actually say the word 'yes'. You go to dinner. He tells you he is a dog person, and he wants to own a house some day. A house with a yard...

and a fence...

and a fireplace...

and a woman.

You go back to his apartment and do what it is a woman in love does. You eat more meals together. He says you have a beautiful body. He says you make love like an earthquake.

Your roommate says, "He's a bullshitter." That's only fair. You said her last boyfriend was a manipulative bastard, on a daily basis.

One day you ask if he wants to see a movie. He's busy and would rather you just came by later at night. A week later is your brother's birthday.

"I can't go, babe. Take one of your friends or something. Maybe next time?" You smile. He's planning for another year of togetherness. Perhaps he's planning for a house... with a yard...

and a fence...

and a fireplace...

and a woman.

He isn't, though. He's losing interest, or maybe he already has. You spend hours and hours in stores you would never think of spending money in but he absolutely loves, hoping he's there. You make yourself into the epitome of perfection and walk to his favorite cafe, sit down and slowly sipping espresso, waiting for him to show. You go to the bars, he took you to, overtly throwing yourself at men you'd rather not be seen with, praying he saunters into rescue you. Then you realize one sleepless night that he never said "I love you" back, and he stopped calling you...

"just to hear the sound of your voice."

But you resist. He must love you. It's just harder for men to say it is all. Your older brother says that he hates to tell you this, but you were just a conquest. He warned you. Everyone warned you.

This can't be. They just don't understand your love.

You confront him. You cry and scream and he tells you.

"Shh, it's gonna be ok. Calm down." And in a second of absolute clarity you know he believes that. You know he believes in a future with you in it... or someone else. Or any other woman...

Anyone with long hair and pale skin.

"Everything is going to be alright," he tells you. And, you know... for him it will be. You know he'll have that house,

that fence,

that fireplace,

and... that woman.

She'll be crazy about him. He'll be tangled up in her hair, and wrapped up in her legs.

He'll tell her he's a dog person.

She'll make love like an earthquake.

You're smarter than this, but... that doesn't matter. You should have seen this coming, but... you didn't.

You leave. You leave him, and days later you see his scarf draped on your kitchen chair. And you cry. Your roommate tells you to get over it. Your mother asks if you would like to move back home for a little while.

He comes by to reason with you. He kneels at your feet and hugs your calves. You smell the rum on his breath. You tell him to leave. He kisses you, and for a moment you are content with just being one of the many beautiful things he collects. he asks you to move in with him, and you know that he doesn't really love you. He's just trying to make it last a little bit longer...

until the next good thing comes along...

until some equally or exceedingly beautiful butterfly dances in front of his net.

"Goodbye." You whisper. He doesn't hear you. You say it again.

"Goodbye." And he turns,

and he leaves.

And you know it's over.

You wonder if he'll tell the woman from the house that she is...

"unlike anything I've ever known."

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

bleed black

I changed my mind.

Being back here isn't that bad. I guess. I think it's just weird having to be around large numbers of people who I don't really like, for one reason or another. I really thought all of the drama from last semester would have subsided over break, but apparently not. It only festered into a weird looking shape of cruelty and malcontent.

I'm pretty ecstatic that I have my single. I don't think I could have dealt with Jen as a roommate. She's very.... unintelligent and lacking any semblance of creativity or individuality. That's not good for me to be around. I don't mind occasionally being ridiculous with my friends. But constantly... that would probably make me cry. Which is very no bueno.

As for classes thus far, I don't know what to really think. I got roped into taking biology by one of my friends. I took bio in year 9 of high school and it was not the best experience. Bad teacher, bad people in the class, bad case of 13 year old apathy towards everything and anything. Anyway, hopefully this time around won't be nearly as painful. The professor used to teach kindergarten and seems very enthusiastic at making us at least somewhat biologically competent. The only thing I don't really like about him is that he seems to be trying too hard to get us to like him. I kinda wanna be like, "Prof. T, listen... breathe. We're either going to love or hate you. Such is life. Nothing you can do will change that." but that may be just a smidge harsh. The bio class itself though is already kinda hard. It took me two hours last night to read half a chapter. The bloody intro chapter. I had to stop every line or so to look up a term. Pathetic, no?

English this year... what is to be said? I think there's about four of us in the class who have actually picked up a piece of literature in the past year. Case in point; during introductions, Dr. K had us do the general "name, year, favourite author" and 90% of the class freely admitted that they don't read and haven't heard of any of the pieces or authors we're going to be examining. I'm sorry, but how dense do you have to be to not even recognize the name Toni Morrison. Seriously. I think it's also kind of sad. Why aren't these kids reading? Did they have a shitty lit professor in high school that killed it for them? Everybody CAN read... it's just a matter of finding the right things. But whatever. My professor kind of rocks. She just came off leave and is snarky, brilliant and extremely chill. Thank God. I'd heard not so hot things about Dr. K and no lie... I was a little not looking forward to the first lecture. But she's awesome so no worries. And we're reading really awesome pieces, starting with Charlotte Temple. Heck yes! I'll take strong female characters and interesting prose over drug store literature (and I use that term loosely) any day.

The only thing that kind of sucks is that I have to go back to Jersey next weekend for a Hillary fundraiser. I don't mind at all... I love Hillary and will do anything & everything to make sure she's the next president. But on the other hand, I just got here. I want to get back into the swing of things before going home and dealing with that drama.

But it's whatever. At least I'm not doing the TS thing and being extremely unhealthy. Oh wait... Whoops. I am! But I'm ok with that. One can exist on cigarettes and caffeine alone. I swear.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

even the strong won't survive

I'm back at school. It is lame.

I have never ever wanted to be anywhere less than I do right this very second.

At least I'm finally roommate-less for the semester.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

cant get over you...

Hillary won Nevada. Thank God. I'd been mentally preparing myself for a loss all day. But nope... somehow we pulled this one out.
I think the most meaningful sign I saw was this one woman. She must have been 30-35 and she was a shift worker at one of the casinos. It said "I LOVE MY UNION. I LOVE HILLARY." And I think that's just perfect after the two big unions out in Vegas went with Obama.

I'm heading back to school in the morning. I don't quite know how I feel about that. I mean, I know I have to go back. It's just going to suck this semester. 18 credits plus doing Hillary and consulting work 40+ hours a week and living with a chic I've maybe spoken two words to my entire life. Such is life. I can deal. If anything, it'll piss me off enough to write.

I feel like such a bad pseudowriterwannabe. Seriously. Over break, I've maybe edited like two pieces and haven't began anything new. I don't know. There just isn't anywhere I have felt comfortable writing up here. I think I really just need to bust open a bottle of wine when I get back and see what happens. I know there has to be something inside worth writing. Or not worth. Just something that needs to come out.

I don't know why, but I've been thinking a lot about George over the past few days. I know he's not good for me. I know he's just another thing I have distracting me from Hillary and writing and school. But... when he talks to me... I can't help myself. I feel so weak around him.

Maybe I should lock myself in a boys-free bubble. It might help, no?

(youremyheroininthismomentonlyfufillingmydarkestdreams)

Monday, January 14, 2008

((runAWAYfromhere))

My grandmother is dying.

She is dying and there is nothing I can do about it.

She fell the day after NH and has been in the hospital/rehabilitation place since. And she's not getting out.

Florida was NOT fun.

I don't do well with the whole family thing. I left that scene way before it came en vogue to do so. I have no relationship whatsoever with anybody on either side. I guess that's why I didn't really care when I heard my grandmother was sick.

My mother and her cousin were crying hardcore when my grandmother could not feed herself... or even sit upright. And I think that's when my apathy hit. Seeing her like that, it really had no affect on me. I don't know if that makes me a bad person. I'm not that horrible. I guess I'm just desensitized to this sort of thing. I had to go through it with my father's parents (even though I was not --and still am not-- speaking to him). I guess to me...this just feels like the same old routine.

If anything, maybe I pity my grandmother. Weird, no? It can't be normal. To feel pity for someone with whom I have had no substantial relationship with except six days last March and three days now. But she is so helpless... apparantly she had this great mind and now she cannot remember who the president is.

I don't know. The whole situation is sucky. I don't feel anything. And that makes me a bad person.

But it's really not my fault I don't feel anymore. If I let myself feel anything, I would get even more out of control.

Friday, January 11, 2008

winning is AMAZING




Well... WE WON NEW HAMPSHIRE!!!! I'm exhausted. I just got back to Jersey today after leaving the victory party Tuesday night and getting shitty at headquarters with staff and then cleaning out the office & saying goodbye to everyone today.

I'm off to Floriday till Monday night to visit my grandmother which will ultamatly lead to me getting high as a kite and writing freakishly amazing poetry with Angy. Pictures and details of both adventures shall come upon return.