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.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
wolves
Aside from it being Friday the 13th...I just knew today was going to suck. I was hoping for some reprive after the last week but it just wasn't in the cards.
I mean. It's only 11:14am and my day has already gone to hell. I had to once again ask for money from my parents so I can pay off this semester's tuition. Cuz otherwise I can't register for classes next week. And it's a lot of money. Freaking $2668. But it was nessecary. Without them loaning me the money, I wouldn't be able to register till the semester was paid off and then I probably wouldn't get the classes that I need for next semester. I hate having to borrow money from them. I should be able to pay tuition myself. I dont want to have to keep asking for help.
And then when I call my father to ask him, he yells at me. Apparantly I'm not doing as well as I should be accademically. Asshole. I haven't seen most of my friends in...I have no idea how long...because I've been doing schoolwork 24/7. I know...Bs don't get you into grad school. Bs are nothing to brag about. I'm sorry. I'm not that smart. I have to work my butt off to get Bs.
Ugh. And. I thought I had two bottles of Merlot left. Nope. Only one bottle of Merlot. The other is a Pinot Noir. Not bad...but not what I want to drink later.
I'm having the worst craving right now for Greek olives and feta cheese. God. I don't know how people eat olives regularly. They are so unhealthy. All of that oil. And cheese is so salty. I'm really not cool with getting sick from eating things like that.
I guess I could just have a slice of pear or somthing...
update...2:21pm. Anora made me eat. Fucking bitch. Apparantly I looked "gaunt". Fuck her. An entire fucking meal. Somebody...please...kill me now.
I thought I was closer to perfection earlier...and now...
it is lost.
I mean. It's only 11:14am and my day has already gone to hell. I had to once again ask for money from my parents so I can pay off this semester's tuition. Cuz otherwise I can't register for classes next week. And it's a lot of money. Freaking $2668. But it was nessecary. Without them loaning me the money, I wouldn't be able to register till the semester was paid off and then I probably wouldn't get the classes that I need for next semester. I hate having to borrow money from them. I should be able to pay tuition myself. I dont want to have to keep asking for help.
And then when I call my father to ask him, he yells at me. Apparantly I'm not doing as well as I should be accademically. Asshole. I haven't seen most of my friends in...I have no idea how long...because I've been doing schoolwork 24/7. I know...Bs don't get you into grad school. Bs are nothing to brag about. I'm sorry. I'm not that smart. I have to work my butt off to get Bs.
Ugh. And. I thought I had two bottles of Merlot left. Nope. Only one bottle of Merlot. The other is a Pinot Noir. Not bad...but not what I want to drink later.
I'm having the worst craving right now for Greek olives and feta cheese. God. I don't know how people eat olives regularly. They are so unhealthy. All of that oil. And cheese is so salty. I'm really not cool with getting sick from eating things like that.
I guess I could just have a slice of pear or somthing...
update...2:21pm. Anora made me eat. Fucking bitch. Apparantly I looked "gaunt". Fuck her. An entire fucking meal. Somebody...please...kill me now.
I thought I was closer to perfection earlier...and now...
it is lost.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
misstep
I am flawed. I am the flaw. The pariah. The imperfection that must be exiled. Shunned. If only...
If only I was perfect. If only I was what I should be. I should have embraced the goddess when I had the chance and now I feel her slipping from me. Her claws grasp my broken form and dig in. But neither she nor I know if it will be enough to once again drape her spell over me...pull me back in. And never let me go.
Last night was the hardest night of my life. I literally held Chandi in the palm of my hand and let the breeze carry her away. Not only did I throw away her life, I let go of what was left. She is gone and I have nothing left of her.
Yeah, I seem frantic...almost manic. I'm not. I'm actually much healthier than I've been in a really long time. Yeah, 99% of the time, all I want to do is dissapear but I'm not going to. Been there, tried that...doesn't work. I'm that much of a failure. But I dont want to be in that place ever again. And I'm not going to do anything stupid otherwise. I need to learn to cope with this in a constructive way...aside from doing what I used to. Which was/is a really distructive way to deal with things. I need to be stronger than that.
Except...when your strength is completly tapped out...it doesn't work so well.
If only I was perfect. If only I was what I should be. I should have embraced the goddess when I had the chance and now I feel her slipping from me. Her claws grasp my broken form and dig in. But neither she nor I know if it will be enough to once again drape her spell over me...pull me back in. And never let me go.
Last night was the hardest night of my life. I literally held Chandi in the palm of my hand and let the breeze carry her away. Not only did I throw away her life, I let go of what was left. She is gone and I have nothing left of her.
Yeah, I seem frantic...almost manic. I'm not. I'm actually much healthier than I've been in a really long time. Yeah, 99% of the time, all I want to do is dissapear but I'm not going to. Been there, tried that...doesn't work. I'm that much of a failure. But I dont want to be in that place ever again. And I'm not going to do anything stupid otherwise. I need to learn to cope with this in a constructive way...aside from doing what I used to. Which was/is a really distructive way to deal with things. I need to be stronger than that.
Except...when your strength is completly tapped out...it doesn't work so well.
war on sound
Ugh. Yeah. It's been one of those days. Actually, I think it has been for everyone.
Sonja made it back up to the city ok after last night. And now she might be going back to Russia for good. Which I understand. Her brother is there. And yeah, we used to be family but there really is no point. I mean, she was going to go back for the summer as usual and with me pretty much living in the DC area for good after this summer, she has noone up there with her. And it's not like she can move down here. She has to be where she can work, and you can't really film documentaries of the second generation relatives of Russian immigrants to NYC who still live in the area from down here. Sonja and I are family, but Chandi was the glue that kept us together. And now that that's over...Whatever.
I think I may have made a huge mistake about an hour ago. My lit prof asked how I was doing after class when I went to ask her about my paper and I told her everything. Yeah. Big fucking mistake. And now I have another person "worried". Which bothers me more. I don't like having people worry about me. It makes me feel dependent which really kills me. I can't stand having people think that I can't take care of myself. I guess from now on...it's back to putting on the "look at me, I'm disgustingly happy and everything is fanfuckintastic" face. At least till this blows over.
I can't stop blaming myself for Chandi. I know deep down that I couldn't have stopped what happened but I can't really accept that. I'm a control freak. It goes with the territory. I feel this insatiable need to control everything and everybody around me, whether it/they can be controlled or not. I had no control over her death and that is frightening. If I do not have control over one thing, I'm afraid that I'll lose control on everything. And then what will I have?
Exactly. Nothing.
Sonja made it back up to the city ok after last night. And now she might be going back to Russia for good. Which I understand. Her brother is there. And yeah, we used to be family but there really is no point. I mean, she was going to go back for the summer as usual and with me pretty much living in the DC area for good after this summer, she has noone up there with her. And it's not like she can move down here. She has to be where she can work, and you can't really film documentaries of the second generation relatives of Russian immigrants to NYC who still live in the area from down here. Sonja and I are family, but Chandi was the glue that kept us together. And now that that's over...Whatever.
I think I may have made a huge mistake about an hour ago. My lit prof asked how I was doing after class when I went to ask her about my paper and I told her everything. Yeah. Big fucking mistake. And now I have another person "worried". Which bothers me more. I don't like having people worry about me. It makes me feel dependent which really kills me. I can't stand having people think that I can't take care of myself. I guess from now on...it's back to putting on the "look at me, I'm disgustingly happy and everything is fanfuckintastic" face. At least till this blows over.
I can't stop blaming myself for Chandi. I know deep down that I couldn't have stopped what happened but I can't really accept that. I'm a control freak. It goes with the territory. I feel this insatiable need to control everything and everybody around me, whether it/they can be controlled or not. I had no control over her death and that is frightening. If I do not have control over one thing, I'm afraid that I'll lose control on everything. And then what will I have?
Exactly. Nothing.
and so it goes...
I took care of it with Sonja. That is all I am going to say about it for now.
But, upon my return and my OCD-infused checking of my email and cnn.com, I found out that Kurt Vonnegut died. Love of my life. The author that after hating English for so long in high school, finally made me pick up a book again.
"How nice-- to feel nothing and still get full credit for being alive."
Slaughterhouse Five. God. I still remember the first time I read it. I was 14 and in Mrs. Percopo's contemporary literature class. We had to break into small groups and each analyze one piece from the era and she just happened to assign my group Slaughterhouse. I don't believe in fate, but I'd like to think it was. Amidst the copious amounts of teenage angst, his skeptisism and (I guess you would call them) freethinking ideas of nothing being off-limits drew me to him. Lines like the epitaph on his self-illustrated headstone, "Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt" got me to stay.
And Vonnegut's prose is so refreshing. I love the modernists, really I do, but after a while they become a bit... dry. He was never dry. I hate to dode on Slaughterhouse, but his satirical and self-depricating humor (especially in the apologetic note to his editor) is hilarious.
"“And I say to Sam now: ‘Sam—here’s the book.’ It’s so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like ‘Poo-tee-weet?”
That's so raw. "Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again." Which, makes sence. I mean, he was forced to hide in a meat locker during the Dresden firebombings during WWII. He saw the hideous nature of humanity, to what extent one group will exert force over another simply to prove a point. Vonnegut recognized that the reader would be confused, switching between Billy Pilgram's time with the Tralfamadorans and the war. But, it works. By being so jumbled, he's reflecting on one of the overall themes of the book...destruction.
But, upon my return and my OCD-infused checking of my email and cnn.com, I found out that Kurt Vonnegut died. Love of my life. The author that after hating English for so long in high school, finally made me pick up a book again.
"How nice-- to feel nothing and still get full credit for being alive."
Slaughterhouse Five. God. I still remember the first time I read it. I was 14 and in Mrs. Percopo's contemporary literature class. We had to break into small groups and each analyze one piece from the era and she just happened to assign my group Slaughterhouse. I don't believe in fate, but I'd like to think it was. Amidst the copious amounts of teenage angst, his skeptisism and (I guess you would call them) freethinking ideas of nothing being off-limits drew me to him. Lines like the epitaph on his self-illustrated headstone, "Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt" got me to stay.
And Vonnegut's prose is so refreshing. I love the modernists, really I do, but after a while they become a bit... dry. He was never dry. I hate to dode on Slaughterhouse, but his satirical and self-depricating humor (especially in the apologetic note to his editor) is hilarious.
"“And I say to Sam now: ‘Sam—here’s the book.’ It’s so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds. And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like ‘Poo-tee-weet?”
That's so raw. "Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again." Which, makes sence. I mean, he was forced to hide in a meat locker during the Dresden firebombings during WWII. He saw the hideous nature of humanity, to what extent one group will exert force over another simply to prove a point. Vonnegut recognized that the reader would be confused, switching between Billy Pilgram's time with the Tralfamadorans and the war. But, it works. By being so jumbled, he's reflecting on one of the overall themes of the book...destruction.
Yeah, it's one of the more obvious themes to pick out from it, but I'd like to think that Vonnegut would appreciate it. I had the absolute pleasure of hearing him lecture at the New School in the city a few years ago, right before we entered the war in Iraq. He was rediculous...so captivating...went off on these tangents against everything he felt was wrong with humanity as a whole.
It's almost fitting that he died now, for me at least. I've always found comfort in the almost mantra-like saying of, "and so it goes..." upon the passing of others. It makes death less of somthing I have to grieve...which isnt my strong point. And now, when I need it the most. It's gone.
Because everything I care about will either die or leave me or just not happen.
I'm just unlucky that way.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
sixes and sevens
Sonja is going to be here at 1am. At 1:30am I am going to walk into the woods and scatter what is left of Chandi. I've said it before and I'll say it again..she saved my life and I couldn't save hers.
There's this void. This hole. I'm constantly thinking about her. Where would I be if she did not come into my life? Would I even be alive? Probably not...either by my own choosing or by external means. She taught me how to...escape. She taught me how to hit rock bottom and keep digging. How to not care. How to put on the mask and fake it while feeling so empty inside. Because we are all worthless, immature, concieted slobs that will amount to nothing so we might as well have fun while it lasts.
Ha. If you can even call it that. What we had wasn't fun. It was a requirement for life. Everything. All of it. Constantly. Without it...we would have had nothing to dissociate us from being there. Absolutly nothing. We couldn't stand being there and were willing to resort to any and all avalible means to just get away.
And Chandi had such a hold on my life. She completly shaped me and I latched myself to every word she said because I was so afraid of losing her. I think that's why I'm having such a problem right now accepting God into my life. By doing so, it feels as if I'm betraying her. I don't even know what I believe.
But I know I'm not strong enough. I dont know If I am going to be able to do this tonight. I feel like I am just going to be leaving my friend out in the woods and by scattering and tossing her ashes away, I'm throwing away everything. I dont know if I can do that.
I just dont know anything anymore.
There's this void. This hole. I'm constantly thinking about her. Where would I be if she did not come into my life? Would I even be alive? Probably not...either by my own choosing or by external means. She taught me how to...escape. She taught me how to hit rock bottom and keep digging. How to not care. How to put on the mask and fake it while feeling so empty inside. Because we are all worthless, immature, concieted slobs that will amount to nothing so we might as well have fun while it lasts.
Ha. If you can even call it that. What we had wasn't fun. It was a requirement for life. Everything. All of it. Constantly. Without it...we would have had nothing to dissociate us from being there. Absolutly nothing. We couldn't stand being there and were willing to resort to any and all avalible means to just get away.
And Chandi had such a hold on my life. She completly shaped me and I latched myself to every word she said because I was so afraid of losing her. I think that's why I'm having such a problem right now accepting God into my life. By doing so, it feels as if I'm betraying her. I don't even know what I believe.
But I know I'm not strong enough. I dont know If I am going to be able to do this tonight. I feel like I am just going to be leaving my friend out in the woods and by scattering and tossing her ashes away, I'm throwing away everything. I dont know if I can do that.
I just dont know anything anymore.
every planet we reach is dead
Ugh. So as soon as I figure out where I want to get my masters, they drop the program. Yup. No more rhetoric program at the only school in the DC area that also had a public policy program. Meaning, unless they reinstate it, I'm going to have to A)find a different school in the area that has a rhetoric program and then do policy at a different school or B)move out of the DC area. Option B really isn't an option though. I need to be down here for work. All of my friends are here. This is where I want to live...after searching for nearly 20 years, this is the one area I really feel at home in. I'm not going to be happy if I have to give up the sence of security I have gained here to work on my masters programs.
And I know I'm stressing out about grad school two years too early but this is what I do. I'm always focused on my next move. I've had the GRE practice books since the begining of first semester...albet they are most likley going to change the exam by the time I sit for it, at least I'll have some idea of what will be expected of me.
And I have a headache. I know it's probably just a morning thing but stil...I think I'm at the point where every little thing is going to get to me.
O fuck. So I just checked my email and the head of the English department said that it's really unlikley that I can get approved for a minor in rhetoric. And I can't do the independant study next semester because I don't have enough credits in 200+ level English classes. So I don't really know where to go from here. I mean. I need to get my masters in Rhetoric. And having it as a minor with my B.A. would not only look good on my transcripts but also give me a solid background going into grad school. Yeah, I've been teaching myself the basic principles for a while now (with flashcards and everything) and if I keep that up for the next few years, I should be ok but it wont be the same as having had an undergrad program in the subject. I guess if they don't let me do the minor in rhetoric, I can just minor in writing...but...yeah.
I guess then for next semester I should just find a 200+level English that will work with the writing minor. That way, just in case they decide to let me do a rhetoric minor, I'll have enough credits for an independent study next spring or any time thereafter. And maybe I can find one that will work for the other part of the English core requirements. Ugh. Whatever. I just feel like such a dumbass. I should have checked out all of the requirements before I shot him an email requesting permission.
...today is just going to be one of those days.
And I know I'm stressing out about grad school two years too early but this is what I do. I'm always focused on my next move. I've had the GRE practice books since the begining of first semester...albet they are most likley going to change the exam by the time I sit for it, at least I'll have some idea of what will be expected of me.
And I have a headache. I know it's probably just a morning thing but stil...I think I'm at the point where every little thing is going to get to me.
O fuck. So I just checked my email and the head of the English department said that it's really unlikley that I can get approved for a minor in rhetoric. And I can't do the independant study next semester because I don't have enough credits in 200+ level English classes. So I don't really know where to go from here. I mean. I need to get my masters in Rhetoric. And having it as a minor with my B.A. would not only look good on my transcripts but also give me a solid background going into grad school. Yeah, I've been teaching myself the basic principles for a while now (with flashcards and everything) and if I keep that up for the next few years, I should be ok but it wont be the same as having had an undergrad program in the subject. I guess if they don't let me do the minor in rhetoric, I can just minor in writing...but...yeah.
I guess then for next semester I should just find a 200+level English that will work with the writing minor. That way, just in case they decide to let me do a rhetoric minor, I'll have enough credits for an independent study next spring or any time thereafter. And maybe I can find one that will work for the other part of the English core requirements. Ugh. Whatever. I just feel like such a dumbass. I should have checked out all of the requirements before I shot him an email requesting permission.
...today is just going to be one of those days.
punkture
I just realized that my room for next year is going to be room of the OCD-ness. My obsessive neatness combined with Kinsley's is going to be rediculous. We're going to be too crazy to function.
But also, living with her, I'm going to have to tone down my issues majorly or at least start hiding them better. If Kins found out that I'm juice fasting (or at least attempting to) again she'd drag me by the hair over to FMH (the hospital next door to campus) and force admit on me cuz she's an EMT and can do that. I'd instantly get a 24-hour hold placed on me and during which, she'd not so kindly inform them of all of my other issues and I'd be stuck there for way longer than the one day.
At least our schedules are going to be as such, if needed, I can say I've eaten or whatever and she wont get suspicious. How pathetic is it that I've become so good in hiding my issues, I know exactly what to do to look "normal"? Yeah, it's sad.
I'm going to be really upset if I don't get all of the classes I want for next fall. One of my friends and I kind of talked our lit prof into advising an independant study on rhetoric next fall for us. I guess it'll be somewhat easier for me to be doing it with someone else. Having him do it with me will hold me accountable for the work and we can, I guess, help each other out if we dont understand anything. Also though, with papers and such, having him doing the same sort of work will give me someone to compete against grade-wise. Yeah, even now I beat myself up over anything less than a 95%, but to have him there as a reference point to...I guess...one-up...can only work in my favor.
But because of the indepenant study, I can only do one of my polisci classes. So I decided to skip out on Modern Political Thought. When it comes down to it, I probably would have ended up withdrawing from either that or Contemporary Philosophical Issues halfway through the semester because I'm kind of dumb. And by kind of dumb...I mean excruciatingly. And I need to do the philosophy course next semester for the core requirements and so I can do History of Philosophy next spring. And, this means that Tuesdays and Thursdays I wont have class till 11:20! Meaning not only will I be able to run in the morning, but I'll have time to do some reading and such. And...Tuesdays are going to be amazing. Because...all I will have will be my lit class and my independant study. Yay!
I'm actually really really excited for the lit class next semester. I'm getting my friends to do it with me...Caryn from my lit class now and Jennie. Caryn and I are just taking it for the credits and we're in lit now together and work really well together. And Jennie lives in my building and actually needs it for her core.
Actually...looking around my lit class today I realized how we sit by "groups". The super artsy kids sit together, as do the sporty kids, the ones who you know were beaten up every day in high school, the traditional english majors, the overachievers who have a serious case of Hermione Granger syndrome and my "group". The "adults" haha. Except out of the three of us, I'm the only non-adult learner. Whatever. I don't like people my own age. I know how to deal with people on the same mental & stress level as me. Which is good. It keeps me from trying to out myself in the middle of class for not knowing half the things that are being referenced haha.
24 hours form now I will be in the woods with Sonja, sprinkiling pieces of Chandi around. There is no way to make tomorrow night easy. It is going to hurt. She was my family. She saved my life.
And I couldn't save hers...
But also, living with her, I'm going to have to tone down my issues majorly or at least start hiding them better. If Kins found out that I'm juice fasting (or at least attempting to) again she'd drag me by the hair over to FMH (the hospital next door to campus) and force admit on me cuz she's an EMT and can do that. I'd instantly get a 24-hour hold placed on me and during which, she'd not so kindly inform them of all of my other issues and I'd be stuck there for way longer than the one day.
At least our schedules are going to be as such, if needed, I can say I've eaten or whatever and she wont get suspicious. How pathetic is it that I've become so good in hiding my issues, I know exactly what to do to look "normal"? Yeah, it's sad.
I'm going to be really upset if I don't get all of the classes I want for next fall. One of my friends and I kind of talked our lit prof into advising an independant study on rhetoric next fall for us. I guess it'll be somewhat easier for me to be doing it with someone else. Having him do it with me will hold me accountable for the work and we can, I guess, help each other out if we dont understand anything. Also though, with papers and such, having him doing the same sort of work will give me someone to compete against grade-wise. Yeah, even now I beat myself up over anything less than a 95%, but to have him there as a reference point to...I guess...one-up...can only work in my favor.
But because of the indepenant study, I can only do one of my polisci classes. So I decided to skip out on Modern Political Thought. When it comes down to it, I probably would have ended up withdrawing from either that or Contemporary Philosophical Issues halfway through the semester because I'm kind of dumb. And by kind of dumb...I mean excruciatingly. And I need to do the philosophy course next semester for the core requirements and so I can do History of Philosophy next spring. And, this means that Tuesdays and Thursdays I wont have class till 11:20! Meaning not only will I be able to run in the morning, but I'll have time to do some reading and such. And...Tuesdays are going to be amazing. Because...all I will have will be my lit class and my independant study. Yay!
I'm actually really really excited for the lit class next semester. I'm getting my friends to do it with me...Caryn from my lit class now and Jennie. Caryn and I are just taking it for the credits and we're in lit now together and work really well together. And Jennie lives in my building and actually needs it for her core.
Actually...looking around my lit class today I realized how we sit by "groups". The super artsy kids sit together, as do the sporty kids, the ones who you know were beaten up every day in high school, the traditional english majors, the overachievers who have a serious case of Hermione Granger syndrome and my "group". The "adults" haha. Except out of the three of us, I'm the only non-adult learner. Whatever. I don't like people my own age. I know how to deal with people on the same mental & stress level as me. Which is good. It keeps me from trying to out myself in the middle of class for not knowing half the things that are being referenced haha.
24 hours form now I will be in the woods with Sonja, sprinkiling pieces of Chandi around. There is no way to make tomorrow night easy. It is going to hurt. She was my family. She saved my life.
And I couldn't save hers...
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
no remorse
Can I be dead yet? Please? No...You Suck!!!
I got my lit mitderm back..I did pretty freaking horrible. 85%. As in a B. What really kills me is that I forgot to recheck my exam before I passed it in because the day I did, Frank and I just had a really big fight and I was really heated when I came to class and checking my exam was the last thing on my mind. And so, I forgot to answer two questions that I skipped. Even though those two questions were only worth two points each, if I had answered them both correctly, that would have given me an 89%. And then, on one of the quote identifications...stupid me I was thinking 1000 steps ahead and wrote "This quote is from chapter 1 of Emerson's WALDEN, titled 'Nature' ". SHIT. I know. Thoreau wrote Walden not Emerson. Bad, stupid Lilith. Seriously, come on. What the hell was I thinking. That's such a...I don't even know...kindergarten mistake. No, not even. Pre-school. I should seriously go back to pre-K and learn how to read again. Because, God knows I'm not doing so well with it now. And then, probably the biggest fuckup of all, on the essay. I forgot to fact-check. I thought that Rowlandson was held captive for 11 months, so I wrote that it was a "nearly year long ordeal" (and yes, I'm aware that there should be a hyphen between year and long...I'm not even going to talk about how poorly written my quote ids and my essay were). Whoops. Rowlandson was only captive for a few months. That major screwup, added to the horribly amatur language and bare-bones analysis landed me a 19 out of 20 on the essay. If I hadn't been lazy, drunk and rushing when I wrote it, I may have gotten a 20 out of 20...thus giving me the extra point for a 90% which is an A. Yes, it's an A- but when the prof runs the numbers when she's figuring out the final grade every little point is going to matter.
I cant believe that a month from now is finals week. And then my first year of college will be over. Ugh. I can't even think about that. My finals are going to be the death of me. For terrorism and international relations, the prof's finals are just 50 multiple choice questions. And not only are they supposed to be bloody hard as hell but I don't test well (as just proven). I second guess myself and end up psyching myself out. And honistly, I would have done MUCH worse on my lit midterm if it wasnt take-home. I'm not an English person. I never learned any of the literary devices, save the really rudimentary ones like alliteration and metaphor. I have to look up all of the skemes and tropes constantly as well as the external literary references people make in class. I'm not that smart. And that class' final is probably going to be similar but with more quote identifications. I'm really not good at those. I mean, show me the quote and I'll recognize it but I most likely wont be able to tell you who wrote it or the importance of the quote. I'm just not that smart. At least for my comm class, the final is just on AP style and the prof is having us write leads and an evolving story. And the music final...whatever. That entire class is bullshit. Sorry if my school district has manditory music "appreciation" classes starting in kindergarten and that in addition I am classically trained.
Ugh. So I'm usually not a cry-er. I don't cry. I don't show any emotion. Tough as nails. Except I cried like four times today.
First, Ashur called me and yelled at me for not telling him Chandi was going to that party. Apparantly, although I've met the guy twice, don't live in NYC/NJ anymore, was down here and didn't know the blow was laced, it's my fault that I didn't protect Chandi. As if I need more people placing blame on me for her dying. It's already consuming me.
Second time was when I talked with mother. My credit didn't go through because she forgot to mail me my credit card bill for the last two months. So now I have late payments on my credit (which was barely acceptable before) and can't buy a car from a dealership to make payments on. Nor can I get a loan to help me throw down the cash for a used car off craigslist or anything. And if I don't have a car...I cant work in Vermont this summer. It's just not going to work. And I need to let my boss know definatly by Friday if I'm going to be there or not. I really dont want to have to tell him that I can't work with him. He's a really nice guy, as is everybody who works up there. I don't want to dissapoint him. And I was really counting on some away-time from all of the home drama to just sit out and write and vent and ruminate on what the hell I'm doing with my life. If I dont have a car, I'm going to either be stuck in Westfield or Montclair, waitressing or working retail (no offence to anyone who does that but I really am not a people person nor am I cool with taking, what would be, a MAJOR pay cut), taking two classes (math and lab) at community college and worst of all living at home. Right in the middle of two lawsuits and an adolecent boy. I haven't been at home for more than a week at a time since I was 13. I honistly don't think I can physically, mentally or emotionally deal with having to be at home for three months. Especially without a car. No freaking escape from any of it. Honistly, even thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach and makes me want to be very very very destructive. I am going to be as strong as I can, but there is a limit to how much one person can take.
Third time was really really stupid. These two girls who I used to be friends with last semester decided to start talking shit about me behind my back. Apparantly they didn't (or maybe they did) realise that everything said about someone in this school eventually gets back to them. And I trusted them and they seemed really genuine last semester. It takes a lot for me to trust people and just the fact that they went and told people I don't even know about things that I'm dealing with and spead really vicious rumors about me really really really stings. It makes me feel like I'm back in high school again. One of the reasons I went to a school where noone knew me was so I could start with a clean slate. Right now I feel like that was completly worthless. If people are going to say the same garbage about me regardless of where I am, then what's the point?
Fourth time was when I realized how petty and vain I am as well as the root for both. I was worrying about my nails chipping and my collarbones not being as good as they were last week when my friend told me she got kicked out of her house. Honistly, what the fuck was I thinking? She has to deal with real problems while I'm freaking out about how I look (not like anyone cares how I look to begin with). But then, I realized that I cannot control most of what is going on in my life right now (and has been going on for quite some time), so I convert all of that energy into focusing on what I can control. I can control my appearance and how I present myself to the world. I am tough as nails and the epitome of what an almost-20-year-old should be. Yeah right.
If they only knew...
Actually...I cried five times today. The last time was rediculous. I didn't realize the calories in a grande green tea latte made with regular milk and two pumps of melon. 270 calories. Yeah. I fucked up big time. And I had a diet Coke before, which isnt bad because it's 0 cals but still. And after I had a diet Rockstar which is 20 cals but I figure since it makes me so figity it's not that bad. But...worst of all...I had two of those little disgusting Peeps things. And a piece of dark chocolate. Albet, it was a small piece but still. What is wrong with me that I can't even do one day on a liquid fast without slipping up. So I had a bit of a major freakout when I found that out. I NEED perfection. Like in sculpture, physical perfection is attained not when there is nothing left to add, but nothing left to take away.
I got my lit mitderm back..I did pretty freaking horrible. 85%. As in a B. What really kills me is that I forgot to recheck my exam before I passed it in because the day I did, Frank and I just had a really big fight and I was really heated when I came to class and checking my exam was the last thing on my mind. And so, I forgot to answer two questions that I skipped. Even though those two questions were only worth two points each, if I had answered them both correctly, that would have given me an 89%. And then, on one of the quote identifications...stupid me I was thinking 1000 steps ahead and wrote "This quote is from chapter 1 of Emerson's WALDEN, titled 'Nature' ". SHIT. I know. Thoreau wrote Walden not Emerson. Bad, stupid Lilith. Seriously, come on. What the hell was I thinking. That's such a...I don't even know...kindergarten mistake. No, not even. Pre-school. I should seriously go back to pre-K and learn how to read again. Because, God knows I'm not doing so well with it now. And then, probably the biggest fuckup of all, on the essay. I forgot to fact-check. I thought that Rowlandson was held captive for 11 months, so I wrote that it was a "nearly year long ordeal" (and yes, I'm aware that there should be a hyphen between year and long...I'm not even going to talk about how poorly written my quote ids and my essay were). Whoops. Rowlandson was only captive for a few months. That major screwup, added to the horribly amatur language and bare-bones analysis landed me a 19 out of 20 on the essay. If I hadn't been lazy, drunk and rushing when I wrote it, I may have gotten a 20 out of 20...thus giving me the extra point for a 90% which is an A. Yes, it's an A- but when the prof runs the numbers when she's figuring out the final grade every little point is going to matter.
I cant believe that a month from now is finals week. And then my first year of college will be over. Ugh. I can't even think about that. My finals are going to be the death of me. For terrorism and international relations, the prof's finals are just 50 multiple choice questions. And not only are they supposed to be bloody hard as hell but I don't test well (as just proven). I second guess myself and end up psyching myself out. And honistly, I would have done MUCH worse on my lit midterm if it wasnt take-home. I'm not an English person. I never learned any of the literary devices, save the really rudimentary ones like alliteration and metaphor. I have to look up all of the skemes and tropes constantly as well as the external literary references people make in class. I'm not that smart. And that class' final is probably going to be similar but with more quote identifications. I'm really not good at those. I mean, show me the quote and I'll recognize it but I most likely wont be able to tell you who wrote it or the importance of the quote. I'm just not that smart. At least for my comm class, the final is just on AP style and the prof is having us write leads and an evolving story. And the music final...whatever. That entire class is bullshit. Sorry if my school district has manditory music "appreciation" classes starting in kindergarten and that in addition I am classically trained.
Ugh. So I'm usually not a cry-er. I don't cry. I don't show any emotion. Tough as nails. Except I cried like four times today.
First, Ashur called me and yelled at me for not telling him Chandi was going to that party. Apparantly, although I've met the guy twice, don't live in NYC/NJ anymore, was down here and didn't know the blow was laced, it's my fault that I didn't protect Chandi. As if I need more people placing blame on me for her dying. It's already consuming me.
Second time was when I talked with mother. My credit didn't go through because she forgot to mail me my credit card bill for the last two months. So now I have late payments on my credit (which was barely acceptable before) and can't buy a car from a dealership to make payments on. Nor can I get a loan to help me throw down the cash for a used car off craigslist or anything. And if I don't have a car...I cant work in Vermont this summer. It's just not going to work. And I need to let my boss know definatly by Friday if I'm going to be there or not. I really dont want to have to tell him that I can't work with him. He's a really nice guy, as is everybody who works up there. I don't want to dissapoint him. And I was really counting on some away-time from all of the home drama to just sit out and write and vent and ruminate on what the hell I'm doing with my life. If I dont have a car, I'm going to either be stuck in Westfield or Montclair, waitressing or working retail (no offence to anyone who does that but I really am not a people person nor am I cool with taking, what would be, a MAJOR pay cut), taking two classes (math and lab) at community college and worst of all living at home. Right in the middle of two lawsuits and an adolecent boy. I haven't been at home for more than a week at a time since I was 13. I honistly don't think I can physically, mentally or emotionally deal with having to be at home for three months. Especially without a car. No freaking escape from any of it. Honistly, even thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach and makes me want to be very very very destructive. I am going to be as strong as I can, but there is a limit to how much one person can take.
Third time was really really stupid. These two girls who I used to be friends with last semester decided to start talking shit about me behind my back. Apparantly they didn't (or maybe they did) realise that everything said about someone in this school eventually gets back to them. And I trusted them and they seemed really genuine last semester. It takes a lot for me to trust people and just the fact that they went and told people I don't even know about things that I'm dealing with and spead really vicious rumors about me really really really stings. It makes me feel like I'm back in high school again. One of the reasons I went to a school where noone knew me was so I could start with a clean slate. Right now I feel like that was completly worthless. If people are going to say the same garbage about me regardless of where I am, then what's the point?
Fourth time was when I realized how petty and vain I am as well as the root for both. I was worrying about my nails chipping and my collarbones not being as good as they were last week when my friend told me she got kicked out of her house. Honistly, what the fuck was I thinking? She has to deal with real problems while I'm freaking out about how I look (not like anyone cares how I look to begin with). But then, I realized that I cannot control most of what is going on in my life right now (and has been going on for quite some time), so I convert all of that energy into focusing on what I can control. I can control my appearance and how I present myself to the world. I am tough as nails and the epitome of what an almost-20-year-old should be. Yeah right.
If they only knew...
Actually...I cried five times today. The last time was rediculous. I didn't realize the calories in a grande green tea latte made with regular milk and two pumps of melon. 270 calories. Yeah. I fucked up big time. And I had a diet Coke before, which isnt bad because it's 0 cals but still. And after I had a diet Rockstar which is 20 cals but I figure since it makes me so figity it's not that bad. But...worst of all...I had two of those little disgusting Peeps things. And a piece of dark chocolate. Albet, it was a small piece but still. What is wrong with me that I can't even do one day on a liquid fast without slipping up. So I had a bit of a major freakout when I found that out. I NEED perfection. Like in sculpture, physical perfection is attained not when there is nothing left to add, but nothing left to take away.
Make that six times...I just sliced my right pinkie finger. It's not that deep but it hurts and is bleeding. After everything...this is the last thing I need.
And, what really kills me is that I know I will never be perfect.
homebird
Funny story...I overdrew my bank account. Again. And since I'm pretty much broke, I had to suck it up and ask for money from my parents. You have no idea how much I hate having to do that. I mean, I'm almost 20. I need to start being more responsible. I'm pretty sure it was my last tuition payment though that did it...I thought it was going to be close but I didn't realize it would have put me over. Damn.
At least I'm getting more work now. I got tapped by two people for some speeches. Just local so I'm not that excited about it but I mean, it's money and it's somthing I'm somewhat adept at. City council and union rep. Easy stuff.
But yeah, so now I feel like just as I was starting to get back to normal after seeing them, I'm right back where I started mentally & emotionally & physically. Every time I even talk to them, I feel like I'm six years old and listening to them talk down to me. It is almost as if in their eyes, I still am incapable of taking care of myself. Sorry. I've been on my own for quite some time now and I think I've almost got the hang of it. And if they really gave a damn, they'd realize I keep overdrawing on my bank account and have hideous credit because I pay for everything...all my college expenses, health insurance, life insurance, little brother's school & tutors, cellphone bill...everything.
I haven't been a manditory expense to them since my thirteenth birthday. I could have been a bitch and just moved out and made them pay for everything still...but I didn't. And it's not like they don't have the money to help me out a bit.
I think what really kills me is that my brother is still stuck there. Yeah, he and I don't get along at all but he's 15 and that's to be expected. At least I care about him. I mean, I pay for private school for him and tutors. When I'm home I take him shopping for such extravagancies like decent clothes to wear for school, a new skateboard and an ipod so he doesn't feel left out. He's in 9th grade...I don't want him to feel like he doesn't have somthing his friends have because of our parents. And they could totally afford it too...but vacation and their incessant lawyer's bills back and forth...arguing over every single item in the house six years after the divorce...those things just get in the way of taking care of their child.
Being told your an accident every day isn't really the best environment in which to grow up. Poor kid. At least I escaped.
At least I'm getting more work now. I got tapped by two people for some speeches. Just local so I'm not that excited about it but I mean, it's money and it's somthing I'm somewhat adept at. City council and union rep. Easy stuff.
But yeah, so now I feel like just as I was starting to get back to normal after seeing them, I'm right back where I started mentally & emotionally & physically. Every time I even talk to them, I feel like I'm six years old and listening to them talk down to me. It is almost as if in their eyes, I still am incapable of taking care of myself. Sorry. I've been on my own for quite some time now and I think I've almost got the hang of it. And if they really gave a damn, they'd realize I keep overdrawing on my bank account and have hideous credit because I pay for everything...all my college expenses, health insurance, life insurance, little brother's school & tutors, cellphone bill...everything.
I haven't been a manditory expense to them since my thirteenth birthday. I could have been a bitch and just moved out and made them pay for everything still...but I didn't. And it's not like they don't have the money to help me out a bit.
I think what really kills me is that my brother is still stuck there. Yeah, he and I don't get along at all but he's 15 and that's to be expected. At least I care about him. I mean, I pay for private school for him and tutors. When I'm home I take him shopping for such extravagancies like decent clothes to wear for school, a new skateboard and an ipod so he doesn't feel left out. He's in 9th grade...I don't want him to feel like he doesn't have somthing his friends have because of our parents. And they could totally afford it too...but vacation and their incessant lawyer's bills back and forth...arguing over every single item in the house six years after the divorce...those things just get in the way of taking care of their child.
Being told your an accident every day isn't really the best environment in which to grow up. Poor kid. At least I escaped.
Monday, April 9, 2007
famillar
I decided that after this weekend, my body needs a full detox. What I would really like to do is a straight fast, just water and vitamins for a month but that's not feasible right now. I guess I'm going to have to resort to doing a liquid fast for a few weeks and see how that goes. When I do these, I only drink dark juices (cranberry, grape, pomigranate)...and I mean the real juices, not that nasty juice cocktail stuff, sugar-free energy drinks (sugar-free redbull, diet rockstar and the like), black coffee, diet coke, red wine and vodka. The juices have antioxidents and vitamins whcih are good for my skin, the coffee, diet coke and drinks keep me awake, the red wine and vodka will help relax me.
These detoxes relax me within themselves...gives me somthing to focus on. Somthing to keep me grounded. Somthing to help me focus on the now. I think that is one of my problems, I'm too concerned with what is going to or what should happen that I forget to take in the present.
Last one I did was around midterm week. Damn...it's been a really long time then. For a while, I used to do these every other week but then, my body was getting used to it and it kind of defeated the purpose. I mean, if my body was just going to store the toxins from week to week then there really is no point.
Quod mi nutrit, mi distruit.
Five words to save and destroy a life.
These detoxes relax me within themselves...gives me somthing to focus on. Somthing to keep me grounded. Somthing to help me focus on the now. I think that is one of my problems, I'm too concerned with what is going to or what should happen that I forget to take in the present.
Last one I did was around midterm week. Damn...it's been a really long time then. For a while, I used to do these every other week but then, my body was getting used to it and it kind of defeated the purpose. I mean, if my body was just going to store the toxins from week to week then there really is no point.
Quod mi nutrit, mi distruit.
Five words to save and destroy a life.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
have you got it in you?
Misery loves company. It has to be true. How many times have you been having the worst day and have wanted to punch every single happy person who dared cross your path really really really hard? We're all guilty of it. The last thing somebody who isn't Miss Merry Fucking Sunshine wants to deal with is a perky little bitch.
We are all in a a constant state of pain. It is what defines us a humans. The eterrnal hurt. Regardless of your heartfelt denials...you wake up every morning disgusted with who you have become. You see your first love, years after the fact, and it breaks you. You hear your friend died. You work your ass off on a paper that you were really proud to pass in and fail. It's all the same. Regardless of what it is, it all hurts.
If we didn't have the pain...what would be the point? It's humbiling to know that we will never be truly happy...that there is always that higher element of happiness that we don't have. If anything, the pain keeps us busy. Gives us somthing concrete to feel.
Dickinson knows what I'm talking about. Check out this out:
[760]
Pain-- has an Element of Blank--
It cannot recollect
When it begun-- or if there were
A time when it was not--
It has no Future-- but itself--
Its Infanite contain
Its Past-- englightened to percieve
New Periods-- of Pain.
Someone once asked me, if we didn't use the westernized clock, how could we measure time. I guess by pain cycles...how much we hurt one second in relation to the next.
Because that is all we really do...
hurt.
We are all in a a constant state of pain. It is what defines us a humans. The eterrnal hurt. Regardless of your heartfelt denials...you wake up every morning disgusted with who you have become. You see your first love, years after the fact, and it breaks you. You hear your friend died. You work your ass off on a paper that you were really proud to pass in and fail. It's all the same. Regardless of what it is, it all hurts.
If we didn't have the pain...what would be the point? It's humbiling to know that we will never be truly happy...that there is always that higher element of happiness that we don't have. If anything, the pain keeps us busy. Gives us somthing concrete to feel.
Dickinson knows what I'm talking about. Check out this out:
[760]
Pain-- has an Element of Blank--
It cannot recollect
When it begun-- or if there were
A time when it was not--
It has no Future-- but itself--
Its Infanite contain
Its Past-- englightened to percieve
New Periods-- of Pain.
Someone once asked me, if we didn't use the westernized clock, how could we measure time. I guess by pain cycles...how much we hurt one second in relation to the next.
Because that is all we really do...
hurt.
nobodies
Cant sleep. Which is not entirely unexpected. I mean, if it were the school week I would have been up for nearly an hour and a half. And I cant get the image of her death out of my mind...I actually am SEEING her exanguanate. How morbid is that? Both the fact that I constantly am replaying the death I didn't witness but should have in my mind and that I cant stop thinking about it.
I think I need to keep going through what I was told had happened to see if there was somthing...anything I could have done. I know there isn't though. I was here...she was there. I didn't give her the blow. I didn't make her do the rails. Hell, I didn't even know she'd be at the party. But also, for me I think by viewing it over and over and over and over...I see her death how I need to see it. I need to see that it happened really fast and she wasn't in pain from all the drugs she had taken and beer she had drank before the fact. I need to see that people stopped fucking around and came over to see what was wrong and when they realized, they called 911. I need to see that somebody...I dont know who...came over and held her and told her to hold on...that she'd be ok. When in reality, she probably felt it and had that "O SHIT" moment after it was too late. People probably thought she was just rolling and had a bad trip and didn't want to call 911 right away, left have them all get busted for posession, etc. And I'm sure they tried to help her, tried to calm her down. But noone knew her like Sonja and I did. They wouldn't know what to say to bring her back down to a place where she could BREATHE.
But, of course, the one who taught me how to live cannot any more.
And I know it's completly selfish and innapropriate to think but I have so much going on this week that now...Chandi is becoming just another thing to deal with. Which is horrible. She was my best friend. I should WANT to take care of what needs to be done. And I'm not saying I don't. It's just...I dont know.
I'm spinning and spinning and spinning and cant stop.
But in terms of schoolwork, I guess I'm in decent shape leading into the last month. I have a position paper for IR and a paper topic outline for lit due the 19th, my terrorisim paper due the 23rd, a works cited page for lit due the 26th, a book review for IR due the 1st, my lit paper due the 3rd and my terrorism book review due the 7th. And that will bring me into finals week.
I have no idea what to do for my lit paper. Scratch that...I have too many ideas and no focus for any of them. I know I want to do somthing different but I dont know what. Maybe track the manifestations of the divine. Or the presence and perception of death. Or beauty as poison. Or gender roles in literature. What I'd REALLY like to do is somthing on the evolution of the poem. But I don't know nearly enough about the different poetic devices or the different forms, etc to do somthing like that. And after my numerous freakouts on the first paper, I'm going to try to make this one as stress-free as possible...yeah right. But at least the prof is having us turn it in in stages so I know I'll at least have to be working on it in some capacity every week for the next month.
My IR position paper is gonna be pretty easy. We're doing a UN Security Council simulation and in preperation the Prof is having us write a position paper on each of the issue's we're disscussing from the standpoint of the nation we're representing. I chose Russian Fed...mainly for veto power...but also because of the internal problems and slow shift into the periphery...it'll be interesting to see how the other nations interact with, and if they resepect its viewpoint. And I was the Model U.N-holic in middle/high school so I shouldn't have any problem with procedure and writing the paper in UN-speak. Yay for being a loser. I think?
As for the terrorism paper, at least I have a topic, an outline and some sources. I'm reserching Chechnya and the prof gave us a list of questions she wanted answered so I guess I'm going to start with that and see what happens. And it doesnt have to be that long, she's expecting 10-12 and takes rough drafts. So what I'm thinking is I'm going to get as much done as I can on that today and tomorrow then email it over to see if I'm on the right track. Because it's a polisci class, the prof is less focused on the language being...well...like a humanities paper...and more on the substance which is good I guess. And she said we don't have to worry about transitions and just to use topic headings to organize it. Thank God. It's really really hard to go from history to financial backing to justification to whatever else she wants done and not have the paper sound choppy.
And the book reviews...whatever. Read them...have notes in the margins. Not due till the first and second weeks of May. I'm not even going to worry about them till I have to. And she doesn't want more than 5 pages on each. So...what's that...like 5 hours each review + editing...so like 8 or 9 hours each. That's completly doable in a weekend.
Except that this Wednesday night, Sonja is coming down with the ashes and we're going to take care of that...So I have to get all my stuff done for Thursday class the night before. Not that bad. Just some newswriting. I figure, if I can get those stories done then I can read for IR after class and if worst comes to worst read for lit after IR. I always feel really guilty reading just before class but you do what you gotta do...and it's not like I'm the only one.
Ugh. Boy problems. The guy from my terrorism class is REALLY into me. To the point where it's becoming a little excessive I think. I dont know how to feel or act around him. I'm really bad at the whole dating/relationship/not being used for sex thing. Which sucks. I mean...I have some self respect. Not much. But it's there. Whatever...I dont have time to date someone. I have to get through this semester and get up to Vermont...work my ass off for three months then come back down here to do it again. Nowhere in my schedule does it say that I have time to see someone. Sorry. No.
Which sucks cuz I really like him...
I think I need to keep going through what I was told had happened to see if there was somthing...anything I could have done. I know there isn't though. I was here...she was there. I didn't give her the blow. I didn't make her do the rails. Hell, I didn't even know she'd be at the party. But also, for me I think by viewing it over and over and over and over...I see her death how I need to see it. I need to see that it happened really fast and she wasn't in pain from all the drugs she had taken and beer she had drank before the fact. I need to see that people stopped fucking around and came over to see what was wrong and when they realized, they called 911. I need to see that somebody...I dont know who...came over and held her and told her to hold on...that she'd be ok. When in reality, she probably felt it and had that "O SHIT" moment after it was too late. People probably thought she was just rolling and had a bad trip and didn't want to call 911 right away, left have them all get busted for posession, etc. And I'm sure they tried to help her, tried to calm her down. But noone knew her like Sonja and I did. They wouldn't know what to say to bring her back down to a place where she could BREATHE.
But, of course, the one who taught me how to live cannot any more.
And I know it's completly selfish and innapropriate to think but I have so much going on this week that now...Chandi is becoming just another thing to deal with. Which is horrible. She was my best friend. I should WANT to take care of what needs to be done. And I'm not saying I don't. It's just...I dont know.
I'm spinning and spinning and spinning and cant stop.
But in terms of schoolwork, I guess I'm in decent shape leading into the last month. I have a position paper for IR and a paper topic outline for lit due the 19th, my terrorisim paper due the 23rd, a works cited page for lit due the 26th, a book review for IR due the 1st, my lit paper due the 3rd and my terrorism book review due the 7th. And that will bring me into finals week.
I have no idea what to do for my lit paper. Scratch that...I have too many ideas and no focus for any of them. I know I want to do somthing different but I dont know what. Maybe track the manifestations of the divine. Or the presence and perception of death. Or beauty as poison. Or gender roles in literature. What I'd REALLY like to do is somthing on the evolution of the poem. But I don't know nearly enough about the different poetic devices or the different forms, etc to do somthing like that. And after my numerous freakouts on the first paper, I'm going to try to make this one as stress-free as possible...yeah right. But at least the prof is having us turn it in in stages so I know I'll at least have to be working on it in some capacity every week for the next month.
My IR position paper is gonna be pretty easy. We're doing a UN Security Council simulation and in preperation the Prof is having us write a position paper on each of the issue's we're disscussing from the standpoint of the nation we're representing. I chose Russian Fed...mainly for veto power...but also because of the internal problems and slow shift into the periphery...it'll be interesting to see how the other nations interact with, and if they resepect its viewpoint. And I was the Model U.N-holic in middle/high school so I shouldn't have any problem with procedure and writing the paper in UN-speak. Yay for being a loser. I think?
As for the terrorism paper, at least I have a topic, an outline and some sources. I'm reserching Chechnya and the prof gave us a list of questions she wanted answered so I guess I'm going to start with that and see what happens. And it doesnt have to be that long, she's expecting 10-12 and takes rough drafts. So what I'm thinking is I'm going to get as much done as I can on that today and tomorrow then email it over to see if I'm on the right track. Because it's a polisci class, the prof is less focused on the language being...well...like a humanities paper...and more on the substance which is good I guess. And she said we don't have to worry about transitions and just to use topic headings to organize it. Thank God. It's really really hard to go from history to financial backing to justification to whatever else she wants done and not have the paper sound choppy.
And the book reviews...whatever. Read them...have notes in the margins. Not due till the first and second weeks of May. I'm not even going to worry about them till I have to. And she doesn't want more than 5 pages on each. So...what's that...like 5 hours each review + editing...so like 8 or 9 hours each. That's completly doable in a weekend.
Except that this Wednesday night, Sonja is coming down with the ashes and we're going to take care of that...So I have to get all my stuff done for Thursday class the night before. Not that bad. Just some newswriting. I figure, if I can get those stories done then I can read for IR after class and if worst comes to worst read for lit after IR. I always feel really guilty reading just before class but you do what you gotta do...and it's not like I'm the only one.
Ugh. Boy problems. The guy from my terrorism class is REALLY into me. To the point where it's becoming a little excessive I think. I dont know how to feel or act around him. I'm really bad at the whole dating/relationship/not being used for sex thing. Which sucks. I mean...I have some self respect. Not much. But it's there. Whatever...I dont have time to date someone. I have to get through this semester and get up to Vermont...work my ass off for three months then come back down here to do it again. Nowhere in my schedule does it say that I have time to see someone. Sorry. No.
Which sucks cuz I really like him...
Saturday, April 7, 2007
wish for
I just got off the phone with Chandi's stepbrother, Ashur. He is the only family who, as he put it, "wants to clean up the mess she made". How lovley and caring he is. Asshole. They all thought she was already dead!!!
Ashur is just going to have her body creamated. That is what she would have wanted, I guess. Actually we were all supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean together but now that's not happening. But he is going to give the ashes to me and Sonja.
There is this cliff off Long Beach Island where we'd all go and mess around when we didn't feel like dealing with things at home. Chandi was really, truly happy there. I think we're going to spread the ashes there. And Sonja heard about these neclaces with little clear urns. I kind of like the idea of getting those...I mean Chandi shaped who we are and even though she is no longer physically here, she is always going to be a part of me. It is only natural that she have a constant physical presence.
I don't know how I am supposed to feel. I don't think it's really hit me yet that Chandi's dead. And that, by all probability that if I had gone back this weekend, I'd be dead too. I would have been right there with her...drunk beyond all comprehension...slicing up the rails and laughing the whole time...then...bam. Yeah.
God. We are reckless.
.......we are addicted and living on sheer will.
Ashur is just going to have her body creamated. That is what she would have wanted, I guess. Actually we were all supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean together but now that's not happening. But he is going to give the ashes to me and Sonja.
There is this cliff off Long Beach Island where we'd all go and mess around when we didn't feel like dealing with things at home. Chandi was really, truly happy there. I think we're going to spread the ashes there. And Sonja heard about these neclaces with little clear urns. I kind of like the idea of getting those...I mean Chandi shaped who we are and even though she is no longer physically here, she is always going to be a part of me. It is only natural that she have a constant physical presence.
I don't know how I am supposed to feel. I don't think it's really hit me yet that Chandi's dead. And that, by all probability that if I had gone back this weekend, I'd be dead too. I would have been right there with her...drunk beyond all comprehension...slicing up the rails and laughing the whole time...then...bam. Yeah.
God. We are reckless.
.......we are addicted and living on sheer will.
the walk
There is a reason Chandi and I haven't talked this week. She's dead.
Sonja...one of the girls we all hung out with...called me at around 4 this morning. From what we know, she went to one of the parties we all used to go to and did some bad blow...probably laced with somthing....and she had a really really bad buzz and she freaked out. Chandi throught there was somthing under her skin and grabbed a knife to try to get it out and ended up slicing her artery and exanguinated in front of everyone.
I know it's not directly my fault but I can't help feeling guilty. I mean...if I hadn't been at school I would most likley have been there with her. I would have done the first line...realized somthing wasn't straight and wouldn't have let her do any. And if she had done one...I would have just held her and stopped her from having such a bad run of it. And if she had grabbed a knife...I would have done anything to get it away from her. But if I couldnt, I would have stopped the bleeding. And she would still be here.
Chandi saved me. She rescued me from the hell of my parents' home and now I couldn't be there to save her. She must have been so scared.
Chandi is the one who taught me everything I know. She basically picked me to be her minion and I willfully accepted. And I feel so...I don't even know.
If we knew what we were doing could kill us, we would have stopped, right?
Numb. I guess I'm numb. Except everything inside of me feels like its taring itself apart. But, I don't want to die. I think. I don't know how to describe it. She was my rock. She was my person. She kept me going...no matter how bad things got she would push me further and further until it was perfect. Whatever "it" was.
Chandi would probably kill me now if she saw me. Appearances were everything. You're not good enough till you can dance between the raindrops and not get wet, walk on top of the snow and leave no footprints and turn sideways and dissappear. She could...she was perfect. I used to be able to and now...far from it. I can still hear her voice yelling at me for shaming the goddess with my disgusting imperfection.
I wonder if her family knows. Or cares. She hasnt talked to them in...what would probably be 12 or 13 years now. We were her family. Lilith, Sonja, Dia and Chandi. The four unstoppable ones. We were supposed to die the same day..same second...all jump off a bridge or a skyscraper...to all FLY together. Reckless. Intense. Fearless. God I miss my girls.
Dia was pretty mad at me for leaving. I mean. We weren't supposed to go to college. We were supposed to open a little vintage clothes store in the Village and go out every night...never marry...travel everywhere together. But it didn't work out like that. Sonja went to NYU. At least she stayed close. I had to be the one to fuck up the plans and come down here.
In a way...I dont think Chandi could stand us leaving her. Dia just dissapeared but she wasnt as committed as Sonja and I were. Sonja was always so busy and I was down here. I think Chandi couldn't stand being alone...I think I killed her. If I had just been there...she would still be here. And it would be perfect.
...this sucks.
People should just stay away from me. I'm serious. Every person I ever get close to either ends up dying or in such bad shape that they wish they would be dead.
I'm poisonous.
Sonja...one of the girls we all hung out with...called me at around 4 this morning. From what we know, she went to one of the parties we all used to go to and did some bad blow...probably laced with somthing....and she had a really really bad buzz and she freaked out. Chandi throught there was somthing under her skin and grabbed a knife to try to get it out and ended up slicing her artery and exanguinated in front of everyone.
I know it's not directly my fault but I can't help feeling guilty. I mean...if I hadn't been at school I would most likley have been there with her. I would have done the first line...realized somthing wasn't straight and wouldn't have let her do any. And if she had done one...I would have just held her and stopped her from having such a bad run of it. And if she had grabbed a knife...I would have done anything to get it away from her. But if I couldnt, I would have stopped the bleeding. And she would still be here.
Chandi saved me. She rescued me from the hell of my parents' home and now I couldn't be there to save her. She must have been so scared.
Chandi is the one who taught me everything I know. She basically picked me to be her minion and I willfully accepted. And I feel so...I don't even know.
If we knew what we were doing could kill us, we would have stopped, right?
Numb. I guess I'm numb. Except everything inside of me feels like its taring itself apart. But, I don't want to die. I think. I don't know how to describe it. She was my rock. She was my person. She kept me going...no matter how bad things got she would push me further and further until it was perfect. Whatever "it" was.
Chandi would probably kill me now if she saw me. Appearances were everything. You're not good enough till you can dance between the raindrops and not get wet, walk on top of the snow and leave no footprints and turn sideways and dissappear. She could...she was perfect. I used to be able to and now...far from it. I can still hear her voice yelling at me for shaming the goddess with my disgusting imperfection.
I wonder if her family knows. Or cares. She hasnt talked to them in...what would probably be 12 or 13 years now. We were her family. Lilith, Sonja, Dia and Chandi. The four unstoppable ones. We were supposed to die the same day..same second...all jump off a bridge or a skyscraper...to all FLY together. Reckless. Intense. Fearless. God I miss my girls.
Dia was pretty mad at me for leaving. I mean. We weren't supposed to go to college. We were supposed to open a little vintage clothes store in the Village and go out every night...never marry...travel everywhere together. But it didn't work out like that. Sonja went to NYU. At least she stayed close. I had to be the one to fuck up the plans and come down here.
In a way...I dont think Chandi could stand us leaving her. Dia just dissapeared but she wasnt as committed as Sonja and I were. Sonja was always so busy and I was down here. I think Chandi couldn't stand being alone...I think I killed her. If I had just been there...she would still be here. And it would be perfect.
...this sucks.
People should just stay away from me. I'm serious. Every person I ever get close to either ends up dying or in such bad shape that they wish they would be dead.
I'm poisonous.
Friday, April 6, 2007
mobscene
So I have another paper to do for lit. The prof's expecting 5-7pgs with 2 sources from the anthology and external sources. Not too bad. And honistly, as much as I bitch about having to do these papers, they're not that bad. I just obsess about my writing....regardless of what form it is in. If I was taking a creative writing class, the freakouts would be the same. The manifestation of my writing doesnt matter as much to me as the actual content. And...I mean...William Cullen Bryant wrote "Thanatopsis" when he was 17. Which makes everything I write so freaking bad. Seriously...freaking 17. When I was 17...I dont even want to think about what I was writing. If I ever ever ever have half the talent that Bryant had at 17 by the time I die I will die happy.
I'm not quite sure what I want to focus my paper on yet. I know I want it to somehow incorperate death. I dont know what about death...but somthing. Maybe how life is cyclical and use "Thanatopsis" and Whitman's "Song of Myself" for primary sources? Or use Dickinson and "Daisy Miller" by Henry James to show how sociatal constraints on feminity will kill them. I know it might be a stretch with "Daisy Miller" and even though James is a naturalist and the mosqueto that killed her was probably meant to be just a mosqueto...I took it as somthing more. As her constant alianation from polite company lead to her eventual downfall and death. Maybe? No? I dont know?
I'm really bad at literary analysis. For me, there is no happy medium. I either overanalyze or dont analyze enough. Which sucks. And I know that most of the time the author wasnt thinking what I am. Example....William Crane Williams. His poems (especially "The Red Wheelbarrow" and "This Is Just To Say") are really simplistic. But, I read so much into them and turn them into somthing they're most likley not. Like, in "This Is Just To Say" (text for the poem can be found here), it reads as if it is an afterthought by the eater of the plums (who is the speaker). And the first time I read it, that is all I thought of it as. But, rereading it now, I began to think...plums. Plums could be somthing more. Plums could be...virginity. Which would completly change the meaning of the poem. If plums are virginity, the speaker is a rapist. And the icebox is the woman. Breakfast would be her lover. It makes sence. Because, in the last stanza, it sounds like a sincere apology. But not.
"Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold."
If plums represent virginity, and the speaker is our rapist, then it's almost like he needed to do what he did. "So sweet" being the initial act, "and so cold" being the realization his actions are not to be reciprocated. But, here is my problem. Williams wasnt thinking rape and virginity...he was thinking fruit. But, not knowing that the reader could congigure up basically anything for the plums to represent. As I just proved.
I think that is why I have such a problem with analyzing literature. There are so many ways to look at everything and unless you're inside the author's head or they provide some commentary on each specific work, then you're going to have no idea what everything is supposed to represent to them. And I know it's a bit of a stretch sometimes to justify the symbolism...but do you ever really know otherwise? And yes, some words imply certain images...like the most basic symbolism of a storm implying a trepaditious situation, but I don't think there can really be a right answer with analysis. I like there to be a right and a wrong. Yet...I hate math.
Actually, I dont know if I like the idea of there always being a definitive answer. I think any answer CAN be right if there is supporting evidence. Or...maybe right isnt the best word to use. Maybe...justified? I don't know what word I'm looking for here...but you get it, right?
I want to try to get somthing published by the time I come back to school in August. Maybe just a poem or a rant-turned-essay or somthing. There's this feminist rag that one of my friends is working with back in Midtown. She always liked my stuff...maybe I'll send some over. And I have this short story (aptly titled, "Femazazi No More") that I've been wanting to do somthing with for a while. I think I almost have it tight enough to where I'd be somewhat ok with submitting it. And yeah, I know I'm probably not going to get published. But, I think I need to take the risk and put my work out there. I mean...I talk so much about wanting to be one of the greats of my generation but how will I or anyone ever know if I am/was unless I take that leap. I'm just going to have to grow a set and get over my immense fear of rejection.
Totally changing gears...I havent heard from Chandi in a while. This girl is amazing. She and I were inseprable from the time I was 11 till I left for Maryland. I hope she's doing ok. I mean...she and I were the kids darting out in the middle of the street and yelling "Fuck YOU!" when drivers would give us dirty looks. We were young and reckless and loved it. She's the kind of girl who will smoke you out but make you take the first hit to make sure its straight. She'll yell at you when you quit drinking but will hold your head over the toilet when it starts coming back up. She taught me how to smoke a cigarette, how to shotgun a beer, how to stop caring and just...
let go.
I'm not quite sure what I want to focus my paper on yet. I know I want it to somehow incorperate death. I dont know what about death...but somthing. Maybe how life is cyclical and use "Thanatopsis" and Whitman's "Song of Myself" for primary sources? Or use Dickinson and "Daisy Miller" by Henry James to show how sociatal constraints on feminity will kill them. I know it might be a stretch with "Daisy Miller" and even though James is a naturalist and the mosqueto that killed her was probably meant to be just a mosqueto...I took it as somthing more. As her constant alianation from polite company lead to her eventual downfall and death. Maybe? No? I dont know?
I'm really bad at literary analysis. For me, there is no happy medium. I either overanalyze or dont analyze enough. Which sucks. And I know that most of the time the author wasnt thinking what I am. Example....William Crane Williams. His poems (especially "The Red Wheelbarrow" and "This Is Just To Say") are really simplistic. But, I read so much into them and turn them into somthing they're most likley not. Like, in "This Is Just To Say" (text for the poem can be found here), it reads as if it is an afterthought by the eater of the plums (who is the speaker). And the first time I read it, that is all I thought of it as. But, rereading it now, I began to think...plums. Plums could be somthing more. Plums could be...virginity. Which would completly change the meaning of the poem. If plums are virginity, the speaker is a rapist. And the icebox is the woman. Breakfast would be her lover. It makes sence. Because, in the last stanza, it sounds like a sincere apology. But not.
"Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold."
If plums represent virginity, and the speaker is our rapist, then it's almost like he needed to do what he did. "So sweet" being the initial act, "and so cold" being the realization his actions are not to be reciprocated. But, here is my problem. Williams wasnt thinking rape and virginity...he was thinking fruit. But, not knowing that the reader could congigure up basically anything for the plums to represent. As I just proved.
I think that is why I have such a problem with analyzing literature. There are so many ways to look at everything and unless you're inside the author's head or they provide some commentary on each specific work, then you're going to have no idea what everything is supposed to represent to them. And I know it's a bit of a stretch sometimes to justify the symbolism...but do you ever really know otherwise? And yes, some words imply certain images...like the most basic symbolism of a storm implying a trepaditious situation, but I don't think there can really be a right answer with analysis. I like there to be a right and a wrong. Yet...I hate math.
Actually, I dont know if I like the idea of there always being a definitive answer. I think any answer CAN be right if there is supporting evidence. Or...maybe right isnt the best word to use. Maybe...justified? I don't know what word I'm looking for here...but you get it, right?
I want to try to get somthing published by the time I come back to school in August. Maybe just a poem or a rant-turned-essay or somthing. There's this feminist rag that one of my friends is working with back in Midtown. She always liked my stuff...maybe I'll send some over. And I have this short story (aptly titled, "Femazazi No More") that I've been wanting to do somthing with for a while. I think I almost have it tight enough to where I'd be somewhat ok with submitting it. And yeah, I know I'm probably not going to get published. But, I think I need to take the risk and put my work out there. I mean...I talk so much about wanting to be one of the greats of my generation but how will I or anyone ever know if I am/was unless I take that leap. I'm just going to have to grow a set and get over my immense fear of rejection.
Totally changing gears...I havent heard from Chandi in a while. This girl is amazing. She and I were inseprable from the time I was 11 till I left for Maryland. I hope she's doing ok. I mean...she and I were the kids darting out in the middle of the street and yelling "Fuck YOU!" when drivers would give us dirty looks. We were young and reckless and loved it. She's the kind of girl who will smoke you out but make you take the first hit to make sure its straight. She'll yell at you when you quit drinking but will hold your head over the toilet when it starts coming back up. She taught me how to smoke a cigarette, how to shotgun a beer, how to stop caring and just...
let go.
get me outta here
Cicero said, "it is a great thing to know our vices." I'm not so sure. But...since I haven't made a good list in a while...I thought I'd make a list of the ones I can think of right now. I know this list is going to be extremly incomplete and unstructured and will probably make no sence so if you think of any more vices and want to add them...go for it. I really wont be offended. Actually, I think it might be good for me to see everything that is wrong with me out there at one time. Kind of like a mental spring cleaning.
1. Materialism. I love...stuff. I love having things. I think by having new, unnessasary things I am becoming closer to the percieved elite. The social elite, not academic. I crave new things....it's really kind of bad actually.
2. Vanity. I constantly worry about looking "right" and about the image I project. This week, my friends and I decided that I'm going to become the next post-rehab Nicole Richie. The sad thing is that I would love to be the next Anna Nicole, but I can't go that porn-star blonde. It'd wash me out. Also, my abhorance to the color pink might get in the way...
3. Shoes. Oh my God. Shoes. (its a Kelly song...dont worry about it if you dont get it). I love shoes. Shoe shopping makes me probably happier than it should. 
But, its nice because your feet never get fat so when you need that little pick-me-up, you can always go and pick out an outragiously amazing pair like these Pedro Garcia satin pumps. And I think with shoes you can have a bit more leeway. Especially at work. I mean, it's important to be professional and wear a suit and I guess dress the part completly (maybe even moreso when you're not considered to be in the majors yet). But, I see no problem if you're wearing a really nice, professional, adult-looking outfit and then having a fun pair of shoes. I think, for me at least, I need that little "me" element in whatever I'm wearing so I don't feel like a complete sellout to my (occationally hideous) fashionista, 20 minutes out of NYC for 18 years, friends who have been signed by Ford, learned to model walk in 5th grade roots.
But, its nice because your feet never get fat so when you need that little pick-me-up, you can always go and pick out an outragiously amazing pair like these Pedro Garcia satin pumps. And I think with shoes you can have a bit more leeway. Especially at work. I mean, it's important to be professional and wear a suit and I guess dress the part completly (maybe even moreso when you're not considered to be in the majors yet). But, I see no problem if you're wearing a really nice, professional, adult-looking outfit and then having a fun pair of shoes. I think, for me at least, I need that little "me" element in whatever I'm wearing so I don't feel like a complete sellout to my (occationally hideous) fashionista, 20 minutes out of NYC for 18 years, friends who have been signed by Ford, learned to model walk in 5th grade roots. 4. Sex. I dont know if its more of the intense need I have for physical contact or my depseration to feel needed or if I'm just a whore....And I know I have no self-respect. But I never had any. So it's not like I'm losing my self-worth every time I get used. And I realize that I am getting used. I'm not ok with that but, I figure it could be worse. I think it's better to have a purpose (albet temporary) than not have one at all.
5. Cigarettes. They taste amazing and I look really good with one. And I know they're going to give me cancer. But, everybody in my family dies from Aazheimer's & Parkinson's. Basically I'm going to lose control of my body but I wont care because my mind will be long gone. And when that happens, I'm not going to want to live. So by smoking, I'm just insuring that I wont have to stick around here when it all goes to hell.
yeah...I know there are more. But...let's just palitate what we've got so far. I'm materialistic, vain, a shoes whore, a slut and I love cigarettes. Pretty good, no?
Maybe...maybe I really am just Eurotrash by any other name.
whisper to a scream
IVCF wasnt bad. actually...i had fun. and the...i guess..leader...natalie. we talked and she's chill. and i was really suprised. she is definatly someone i want to get to know better.
but after...jeff, kara, jenn, laura and i ended up hanging out. which was fun. theyre genuinely nice people. but i dont trust them. theyre too nice. its really disconcerning. they dont look like they've been through the hurt yet. once that happens then maybe but not until then. till then its just trivial.
and laura saw my scars. and asked. i didnt tell. but she saw. and i know its going to come up. except that i am proud of them. i know its sickingly cliche but they define who i am. physically and mentally and emotionally damaged.
i have this theory that we are all inherently damaged. but...we only differ in the manifestations of our damage. i.e. i make myself embrace it and take it head on where some people...dont. they fake the happy thing. and that is just really boring.
and...i ended up not hanging out with the guy tonight. maybe tomorow. maybe. if i feel like being open and fun and friendly.
cuz...i'm usually not.
but after...jeff, kara, jenn, laura and i ended up hanging out. which was fun. theyre genuinely nice people. but i dont trust them. theyre too nice. its really disconcerning. they dont look like they've been through the hurt yet. once that happens then maybe but not until then. till then its just trivial.
and laura saw my scars. and asked. i didnt tell. but she saw. and i know its going to come up. except that i am proud of them. i know its sickingly cliche but they define who i am. physically and mentally and emotionally damaged.
i have this theory that we are all inherently damaged. but...we only differ in the manifestations of our damage. i.e. i make myself embrace it and take it head on where some people...dont. they fake the happy thing. and that is just really boring.
and...i ended up not hanging out with the guy tonight. maybe tomorow. maybe. if i feel like being open and fun and friendly.
cuz...i'm usually not.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
sexy mistake
gah. i fucked up. i'm supposed to "hang out" with him tonight. and yeah...i know. i have NO willpower. arent i supposed to make him work for it? and i'm so awkward around guys i like...it makes my normal awkward level expodentially rise beyond the normal level of acceptedness. and when i just talked to him, i went on a little ramble about my academic insecurity. why is it that i find myself incapible to interact within the socially accepted norms for first time talking to somebody? seriously.
and i feel so disgusting worrying about what to say. i mean...i try to play it off like i'm completly autonomous and dont care about what i'm supposed to do and just do what i want. but i dont and i'm not. i'm extremly dependant and constantly worry about adhering to society's moral code. but that's ok. i can deal with being obsessive.
more later...after IVCF. yeah. i got roped into going to inter varsity christian fellowship. and i'm jewish. its amusing. but tonight they're doing a mock sader and i guess since ive been sitting through these things for 19 years i might have some good talmudic insight. maybe. maybe not. i dont know. whatever.
and i feel so disgusting worrying about what to say. i mean...i try to play it off like i'm completly autonomous and dont care about what i'm supposed to do and just do what i want. but i dont and i'm not. i'm extremly dependant and constantly worry about adhering to society's moral code. but that's ok. i can deal with being obsessive.
more later...after IVCF. yeah. i got roped into going to inter varsity christian fellowship. and i'm jewish. its amusing. but tonight they're doing a mock sader and i guess since ive been sitting through these things for 19 years i might have some good talmudic insight. maybe. maybe not. i dont know. whatever.
grace
so last night i decide...what the heck, let's be confident. and i call the guy. we talk...for a while. about everything. says goodnight to me. actually i think the direct quote was, "sweet dreams, hun".
and then after my run this morning, i come back to a text from him reading, "hope youre not too cold, ill be here to keep you warm babe".
lets keep in mind that this is at 720am.
i mean...i understand he was probably up for ROTC but to text me at an hour when most college students arent even thinking about getting up. seriously. come on now.
and, although most likley he was just trying to be sweet, calling me "babe" and "hun" is not the way to get on my good side.
i'd like to think of myself as being somewhat autonomous and would like to be known and appreciated for more than my physical attributes. i mean, i'm not that pretty (or at least i dont think of myself as being pretty at all) but the guys who usually are attracted to me only think of me as the pretty one. which, whatever...i mean these guys are like 19-20 and only want one thing...and are extremly immature. and the guys i go for are older...intelligent, creative, opinionated...maybe with the hope that the'll be attracted to me on a more profound level. and sometimes they are...saying that i'm too "intense for this world" but then they realize that it would never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever work and end whatever we had. which sucks.
but...i digress...this guy is sweet. which is another reason it would never work. i cant deal with people being nice to me..it freaks me out. i think, because i'm so conditioned to have to stand up for myself and be absolutly brutal and tough as nails, i instantly think if somebody is being nice, they have an agenda. which...lets be honest...is probably true.
like last night...tim and i were talking and i mean, i love the guy to death...but he slipped into parent mode and basically told me that i'm killing myself. it always takes me a few days to get back into a "normal" mental state after being home and he knows that so there was no real reason for him to speak to me the way he did. i'm an adult and i've been dealing with this crap for longer than i'd like to imagine. i know how it makes me feel and i know how to cope with it. i do what i need to and i hit an equilibriam. it's my own little system. and it works for me. i'm really sorry if he thinks what i'm doing is unhealthy or whatever but it's what i need to do, lest do somthing worse.
ugh. today shouldnt suck that badly. i have newswriting with zimmie then IR. apparantly i was missed tuesday in that class. i kind of like that...being missed. i guess, if they're noticing...i have to be doing somthing right. and then lit tonight.
and i really like my horoscope for today:
Even if your friends are normally supportive, they may withhold approval today for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, you are pretty sure that you are right and you're willing to wait for them to come around to your point of view. Don't waste energy trying to convince anyone with words now. Your actions don't need to be bold; they only need to be well-considered.
kind of fits my whole situation, no?
and then after my run this morning, i come back to a text from him reading, "hope youre not too cold, ill be here to keep you warm babe".
lets keep in mind that this is at 720am.
i mean...i understand he was probably up for ROTC but to text me at an hour when most college students arent even thinking about getting up. seriously. come on now.
and, although most likley he was just trying to be sweet, calling me "babe" and "hun" is not the way to get on my good side.
i'd like to think of myself as being somewhat autonomous and would like to be known and appreciated for more than my physical attributes. i mean, i'm not that pretty (or at least i dont think of myself as being pretty at all) but the guys who usually are attracted to me only think of me as the pretty one. which, whatever...i mean these guys are like 19-20 and only want one thing...and are extremly immature. and the guys i go for are older...intelligent, creative, opinionated...maybe with the hope that the'll be attracted to me on a more profound level. and sometimes they are...saying that i'm too "intense for this world" but then they realize that it would never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever work and end whatever we had. which sucks.
but...i digress...this guy is sweet. which is another reason it would never work. i cant deal with people being nice to me..it freaks me out. i think, because i'm so conditioned to have to stand up for myself and be absolutly brutal and tough as nails, i instantly think if somebody is being nice, they have an agenda. which...lets be honest...is probably true.
like last night...tim and i were talking and i mean, i love the guy to death...but he slipped into parent mode and basically told me that i'm killing myself. it always takes me a few days to get back into a "normal" mental state after being home and he knows that so there was no real reason for him to speak to me the way he did. i'm an adult and i've been dealing with this crap for longer than i'd like to imagine. i know how it makes me feel and i know how to cope with it. i do what i need to and i hit an equilibriam. it's my own little system. and it works for me. i'm really sorry if he thinks what i'm doing is unhealthy or whatever but it's what i need to do, lest do somthing worse.
ugh. today shouldnt suck that badly. i have newswriting with zimmie then IR. apparantly i was missed tuesday in that class. i kind of like that...being missed. i guess, if they're noticing...i have to be doing somthing right. and then lit tonight.
and i really like my horoscope for today:
Even if your friends are normally supportive, they may withhold approval today for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, you are pretty sure that you are right and you're willing to wait for them to come around to your point of view. Don't waste energy trying to convince anyone with words now. Your actions don't need to be bold; they only need to be well-considered.
kind of fits my whole situation, no?
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
just for now
the iranian government is supposed to release the british servicepeople they detained around a week ago. apparantly they've already started partying in britian....drinking and such.
except that i have a preminotion that the iranians are bullshitting. and they are going to do somthing insane...like shoot them execution style as they walk up to their mode of departure.
i mean...it's very unlikley that they would do that. but i just have a bad feeling about this. i dont trust ahmadinejad enough to think that after being so convinced that the british were in the wrong...to release them and ask for nothing in return. i dont think it fits his m.o.
and wow.
home. was. hideous.
but i keep going back? someone please explain that to me.
i think it's because i crave the escape. that's me. an escape artist extroidanerre. the houdini of the overtly angst-ridden, obsessive, ritualistic, whoring, indecisive, intelligentsea wannabes.
if only it was that easy.
except that i have a preminotion that the iranians are bullshitting. and they are going to do somthing insane...like shoot them execution style as they walk up to their mode of departure.
i mean...it's very unlikley that they would do that. but i just have a bad feeling about this. i dont trust ahmadinejad enough to think that after being so convinced that the british were in the wrong...to release them and ask for nothing in return. i dont think it fits his m.o.
and wow.
home. was. hideous.
but i keep going back? someone please explain that to me.
i think it's because i crave the escape. that's me. an escape artist extroidanerre. the houdini of the overtly angst-ridden, obsessive, ritualistic, whoring, indecisive, intelligentsea wannabes.
if only it was that easy.
drive in drive out
so yeah...i'm back.
the drive back was amusing. emily and i are exactly the same...cept i refuse to hide my screwed up-ness. i guess i might as well enjoy it.
the final sader wasnt that bad. i mean...zev and i talked a lot and he gets me...which is good. i would kill to be as content as he is. he's graduating in like a month. he's going to be doing the same sort of research...somthing with the center for cognative neuroscience over at upenn. i think he's working on somthing in regards to the conscience/unconscience right now but dont quote me on that. then grad school. i was actually really pleased to hear that kayla is taking a poetry course with her medschool stuff. she was a lit major at harvard and now med school...i mean it works for her but i cant quite make that jump.
my amazing sunglasses came today. theyre perfect. they make me feel like a postrehab rockstar. which...lets be honest...i'm not too far from. i just have that amazing fuck you attitude and look amazing with a cigarette. hell...i figure...everyone already thinks of me as being fucked up, i might as well embrace it.
fake it till you make it bitches.
on the boy front...i come into terrorism today and he and i do the smile thing at each other all though class and after he doesnt even say hi or whatever. guys arent supposed to play hard to get. thats my job! but i shot him a message after class so maybe...i dont know. i'm so bad at this whole dating thing. i've never had the desire to go find a boy. but now...idk. and logically...this guy and i wouldnt work well together. we're polar opposites. he's very family oriented and i'm...not. he's very kind and respectable and i'm...not. he's a republican and i'm...not. see. it doesnt work.
and i mean..i'm not going to be here this summer at all. i'm going straight up to vermont. so i dont know if it even makes sence to get into somthing with somebody now.
and the rest of this semester is going to kick my ass. i have a massive paper due for terrorism on the 23rd, a position paper for IR due the 25th, then two book reviews. and like 4 stories for newswriting. and 3 concert reviews. and another paper & a final for lit. damn.
whatever. i'm a college student. i write papers for a living. it could be much, much worse.
its just that. i think ive hit the point where i dont really care anymore. i am past the point of caring. because i care too much and frankly, its exhausting. i dont know how to pick and choose what i should care about. and i think that i dont mind it that way. i mean...if i'm left to my own devises and have nothing to care about...nothing good will come of that. but i miss having the luxury to let my mind wander. i miss being able to let my guard down and just....
...breathe.
because right now i'm barely holding my head above water.
the drive back was amusing. emily and i are exactly the same...cept i refuse to hide my screwed up-ness. i guess i might as well enjoy it.
the final sader wasnt that bad. i mean...zev and i talked a lot and he gets me...which is good. i would kill to be as content as he is. he's graduating in like a month. he's going to be doing the same sort of research...somthing with the center for cognative neuroscience over at upenn. i think he's working on somthing in regards to the conscience/unconscience right now but dont quote me on that. then grad school. i was actually really pleased to hear that kayla is taking a poetry course with her medschool stuff. she was a lit major at harvard and now med school...i mean it works for her but i cant quite make that jump.
my amazing sunglasses came today. theyre perfect. they make me feel like a postrehab rockstar. which...lets be honest...i'm not too far from. i just have that amazing fuck you attitude and look amazing with a cigarette. hell...i figure...everyone already thinks of me as being fucked up, i might as well embrace it.
fake it till you make it bitches.
on the boy front...i come into terrorism today and he and i do the smile thing at each other all though class and after he doesnt even say hi or whatever. guys arent supposed to play hard to get. thats my job! but i shot him a message after class so maybe...i dont know. i'm so bad at this whole dating thing. i've never had the desire to go find a boy. but now...idk. and logically...this guy and i wouldnt work well together. we're polar opposites. he's very family oriented and i'm...not. he's very kind and respectable and i'm...not. he's a republican and i'm...not. see. it doesnt work.
and i mean..i'm not going to be here this summer at all. i'm going straight up to vermont. so i dont know if it even makes sence to get into somthing with somebody now.
and the rest of this semester is going to kick my ass. i have a massive paper due for terrorism on the 23rd, a position paper for IR due the 25th, then two book reviews. and like 4 stories for newswriting. and 3 concert reviews. and another paper & a final for lit. damn.
whatever. i'm a college student. i write papers for a living. it could be much, much worse.
its just that. i think ive hit the point where i dont really care anymore. i am past the point of caring. because i care too much and frankly, its exhausting. i dont know how to pick and choose what i should care about. and i think that i dont mind it that way. i mean...if i'm left to my own devises and have nothing to care about...nothing good will come of that. but i miss having the luxury to let my mind wander. i miss being able to let my guard down and just....
...breathe.
because right now i'm barely holding my head above water.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
one down...
not that bad last night. cept that my 14 year old stepbro got hammered and i ended up taking care of him. whoops. getting my penance i guess.
one aunts pissed at me for not jumping on the hillary bandwagon. whatever. she needs to get over it. cuz i'm not on anybodys' till they prove to me that they can do it.
actually, i'm kind of dissapointed in all of our candidates...is this really the best we can do?
apparantly, according to my entire family, i look like my mother. shoot me. please.
...but at least my cousins are pretty chill this time around.
tonight's a whole different ballgame with mother being there...elitist hag.
...and one to go.
one aunts pissed at me for not jumping on the hillary bandwagon. whatever. she needs to get over it. cuz i'm not on anybodys' till they prove to me that they can do it.
actually, i'm kind of dissapointed in all of our candidates...is this really the best we can do?
apparantly, according to my entire family, i look like my mother. shoot me. please.
...but at least my cousins are pretty chill this time around.
tonight's a whole different ballgame with mother being there...elitist hag.
...and one to go.
Monday, April 2, 2007
crush on you
no real time to write till wednesday afternoon... but i'm gonna try!
manicures earlier with my stepmom. i know...the idea of having someone literally putting your shoes on for you is perverse and just reinforces the american caste system but its my guilty pleasure. and they make a really good living and are somewhat autonomous at the salon i go to...i mean the family owns the places and they all work there. and it even can be argued that they are providing a nessasary service. i like looking pretty and cant do my nails half as well as they can haha. i'm just not that coordinated.
zen-- my puppy-- is amazing. she tried to read my norton anthology earlier when i went to grab some more coffee. if only she could read the modernist poetry for me, then we'd be all set.
not that i mind reading it, its just that i didnt work as diligantly as i should have last week and so i'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed with work. but it's ok.
i'm going to try to NOT have any more freakouts like i did over the rhetoric paper. they're an unnessasary burden on me, my professers (who have to deal with the 50 billion emails) and everyone who has to be around me.
tonight should be somewhat amusing...17 people. and marco is coming. he's never been to one of these things and we're really intense at the first sader so he's either going to be bored, pissy or enthused. my money is on a combination of bored and pissy but with this kid you never know.
gosh i love codine. seriously. if i can keep up the current level of numbness and dissisoation, i should be able to make it through the next two days without inflicting (serious) harm on myself or others.
but then...who really would care if i did?
manicures earlier with my stepmom. i know...the idea of having someone literally putting your shoes on for you is perverse and just reinforces the american caste system but its my guilty pleasure. and they make a really good living and are somewhat autonomous at the salon i go to...i mean the family owns the places and they all work there. and it even can be argued that they are providing a nessasary service. i like looking pretty and cant do my nails half as well as they can haha. i'm just not that coordinated.
zen-- my puppy-- is amazing. she tried to read my norton anthology earlier when i went to grab some more coffee. if only she could read the modernist poetry for me, then we'd be all set.
not that i mind reading it, its just that i didnt work as diligantly as i should have last week and so i'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed with work. but it's ok.
i'm going to try to NOT have any more freakouts like i did over the rhetoric paper. they're an unnessasary burden on me, my professers (who have to deal with the 50 billion emails) and everyone who has to be around me.
tonight should be somewhat amusing...17 people. and marco is coming. he's never been to one of these things and we're really intense at the first sader so he's either going to be bored, pissy or enthused. my money is on a combination of bored and pissy but with this kid you never know.
gosh i love codine. seriously. if i can keep up the current level of numbness and dissisoation, i should be able to make it through the next two days without inflicting (serious) harm on myself or others.
but then...who really would care if i did?
Sunday, April 1, 2007
and she lived happily ever after...
just kidding. see...i can be funny too.
no. not at all.
the drive back with emily wasnt bad. i mean...she and i grew up 15 minutes from each other in environments (both familial and physical) that were/are extremly similar. it's actually kind of interesting to see how alike we are.
but this afternoon...my mom's belly dancing troupe was performing at this juvinile diabetieis fundraiser so i ended up going to that. it was cute. actually, i was kind of proud of mother for doing it. she's not the performing type. and yeah, it was her first performance and her movements werent as fluid as everyone elses, she seemed really into it. and the group of ladies she dances with are all really nice and outgoing so hopefully being around them will make her more gregarious.
when we got back, i ended up going up to my room and just writing for a while. i mean, i dont have my guitar or my ibook with garage band down at school so it's been really difficult trying to lay down any substantive instrumentals. but i got some solid stuff together today. there's just somthing about sitting on my floor, in the same exact spot where i taught myself how to play and just piecing notes together. to me, it's the most pure form of music.
same with poetry. i mean. i love form and structure and all that good stuff but there is just somthing so raw about reading or writing whatever you have in you. not caring about making it pretty or fitting a certain style or anything.
i dont know. i guess maybe because that is how i think and the place where i feel my best writing comes from...just to sit and write and get everything out on paper...have it be somthing tangible. and then deconstruct it and put it back together to create somthing so powerful...if done right...it'll never leave.
because in the end...don't we all want just to be
forever?
no. not at all.
the drive back with emily wasnt bad. i mean...she and i grew up 15 minutes from each other in environments (both familial and physical) that were/are extremly similar. it's actually kind of interesting to see how alike we are.
but this afternoon...my mom's belly dancing troupe was performing at this juvinile diabetieis fundraiser so i ended up going to that. it was cute. actually, i was kind of proud of mother for doing it. she's not the performing type. and yeah, it was her first performance and her movements werent as fluid as everyone elses, she seemed really into it. and the group of ladies she dances with are all really nice and outgoing so hopefully being around them will make her more gregarious.
when we got back, i ended up going up to my room and just writing for a while. i mean, i dont have my guitar or my ibook with garage band down at school so it's been really difficult trying to lay down any substantive instrumentals. but i got some solid stuff together today. there's just somthing about sitting on my floor, in the same exact spot where i taught myself how to play and just piecing notes together. to me, it's the most pure form of music.
same with poetry. i mean. i love form and structure and all that good stuff but there is just somthing so raw about reading or writing whatever you have in you. not caring about making it pretty or fitting a certain style or anything.
i dont know. i guess maybe because that is how i think and the place where i feel my best writing comes from...just to sit and write and get everything out on paper...have it be somthing tangible. and then deconstruct it and put it back together to create somthing so powerful...if done right...it'll never leave.
because in the end...don't we all want just to be
forever?
one hour and seven minutes
till i start for home. i dont know. whatever. it's somthing i just have to do...regardless of how painful it is going to be.
anyways...i check my horoscope every morning and today's could not be more fitting:
Even if the emotional seas get rough, you'll make it through the day with flying colors. You have worked hard to get ready for this little adventure and now that you are in the midst of it, you know exactly what you need to do. Hold to your present course, but don't ignore the strong waves of feelings that are rising along with winds of change.
i need the good vibes haha.
anyways...i check my horoscope every morning and today's could not be more fitting:
Even if the emotional seas get rough, you'll make it through the day with flying colors. You have worked hard to get ready for this little adventure and now that you are in the midst of it, you know exactly what you need to do. Hold to your present course, but don't ignore the strong waves of feelings that are rising along with winds of change.
i need the good vibes haha.
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