Inherently Ridiculous

2006-10-14T10:13:00.000-05:00

here is better.

times, they're a changin'

2006-10-08T11:38:00.000-05:00

hello malynne!

how is lovely vienna? i hope you all is well in our world from your perspective and that your class is going fantastic.

i'm writing because i recently went to visit my advisor to make sure i can eventually graduate and she asked me if i intended to minor in something (pick a minor, any minor). i'm not sure you remember, but we had talked last spring about looking at my transcript, doing some shifting, working on a final project, all in the hopes of learning interesting things and me possibly attaining a minor in ISHUM. i'm still very much interested in this if you are. also, it turns out i have four free class slots to learn about anything my heart desires, so this idea seems more likely to come to fruition. i know you're super busy with life, family, class, europe, etc but i'd love to start an email dialogue on all this if you're at all willing. there's also a bunch of paper work that has to be filled out, but i assume we can get to that later when (?) and if this comes to pass. ultimately, even if i don't get a minor, i've been doing a lot of interesting thinking and want to do this project anyway and would adore your help.

what i want to look at is blogging. but in a different sense then, "omg mommy bloggers are awesome look at all the pictures of their kids." the rise of one-touch publishing has given any one the ability to be an author whether in the public domain or by the soft glow of their private websites. i want to look at how this has changed not only the voice of the author but the gaze as well. who is this vast unknowable audience one blogs for? how does the comfort of anonymity change the way we write? yes, there are blogs on just about every topic known to man, but i'm interested in intra-extra-personal ones, like my own.

i'm taking a class with arnold davidson entitled, "spiritual exercises and moral perfectionism." we're reading cavell's "cities of words" as well as Foucault's "the hermeneutics of the subject." other tasty things too. besides being one of the most amazing classes ever, i think what we're working with ties into what i'm interested in. the thrust of moral perfectionism, at least after two weeks of class, is that it's a personal mission, a personal plan and commitment to knowing yourself and being true to said self in all situations. spiritual exercises has been equated with Foucault's idea of technologies of the self. what counts as spiritual exercises is a broad category, ranging from the obvious devotionals to a god to reading a book.

then, here comes blogging. besides revolutionizing the way we look at, approach, and understand writing and its relation to the author, how much of it can be seen as personal spiritual exercises? and what sort of moral guidance does one get from reading the blogs of others? i need to learn more about moral perfectionism and other philosophies that focus on personal transformations to get at this more, but it's a start. a very intriguing start.

as my own project, besides researching these things, talking about them and writing about them, i want to incorporate revamping and upgrading my own blog . i've been keeping one for almost three years now on a free webhost. i think, as part of this and also because i want to (ah! spiritual exercises!) it's time for me to buy space on a server, register my domain, archive, reformat and generally up the level of not only the web appearance but the content is well, recommitting myself to doing the type of writing that davidson's class inspires. for all this, i'm going to have a lot to learn, but i know a couple of programers who have agreed to help me to learn the technical aspects. i'm not very good at the internet, but soon soon that will all change. this part of the project i'm already working on.

so, i'd like to know if you're still willing to work with me on an ISHUM project, and if so, what you think about this one? i know we can't do that much until you get back, but i'd love to email, and would appreciate any advice, reading, etc, you want to throw my way.

again, i hope vienna is splendid. ayse is in your class. she's the oldest and dearest friend i have at the u of c. i stumbled into the dorm room of an acquaintance my freshman year, heart broken and confused, having just called off an ill-guided and worse-fated engagement to someone back home (thank god). she didn't know me at all, but gave me a hug, a drink, and a cigarette anyway, forever cementing our friendship. if you could, i don't know, tease her about being turkish for me, or berate her for smoking enough to qualify as her own small baltic nation-state i'd appreciate it. i miss her and love and am sad i can't tease her my own damn self.

thanks for reading my ramblings,

- mia

not stage fright exactly

2006-09-30T11:13:00.000-05:00

in about two hours, i will be bearing my soul, putting it all out there, trying to make a bunch of strangers laugh in hopes of getting a slot. Auditions. The word alone makes me feel self-conscious and sub-par. i'm not saying that i am, but to feel that way is just as bad.

i'm auditioning for the barrel of monkeys theater troup. they work in public schools doing improv performances for and with kids. this is then used to help prompt creative writing. that's what i'd be doing. sweet huh? then, they take the best of what the kids write and it goes up for many a moon at the Neofuturarium. And i get paid.

yea, i want this so bad i can taste it. not only do i think i'd be pretty freakin' awesome at it, but i remember when theater freeks came to school when i was younger. they were gods. they were infinite. they were funny. i always want to be someone that younger me would be proud of. someone i would have thought was so cool, someone i would have wanted to notice me, share a moments interaction. i think me-of-the-past would be thrilled.

the question is, can i do that? i certainly hope so.

oh, and cheese was fantastic last night. yes, i jammed my face completely off. katherine as well. and more to come tonight! woot woot woot.

so, this one time

2006-09-28T10:02:00.001-05:00

i went to texas. and it was awesome. the end.

there's a lot more to that story, but not enough time in the hours between waking and running-like-mad-to-go-print-a-reading-and-do-it-before-class time.

but! we're getting the internet on friday AT THE HOUSE (i know, gasp!) so there will be much with the updating.

but at least you forgot what this was like while i've been away, you know what i've been thinking about most this morning? the fact that i watched some simpson's with andrew and liz yesterday -- the episode where homer saves the world from a nuclear meltdown, twice. At one point, auto gets out of the bus, walks to quickie mart, HUMMING 'FRANKENSTEIN' by Phish. Yea, I crapped myself. And compulsively made andrew rewind it to make sure. then listened to the song half a dozen time. not compulsively, but because it rocks.

so, this one time

2006-09-28T10:02:00.000-05:00

can't catch me

2006-08-08T21:17:00.000-05:00

so, i've made it to texas.
in fact, i made it to tyler.
i made it to waco.
i made it to college station.

all of these almost entirely without incident.

i decide to follow eric to waco since i don't know where his new place is, leaving him with stern warnings: i will not get pulled over. if you go to fast, i will slow down. the cops and i? no so much.

we drive through chandler.
we drive through athens.
we drive through malakoff.
we drive through bellemead.
we get off the damn interstate and are mear blocks from home when eric decides to make a right. and being that we were in the far left lane, no biggie right? i swerve over, wait for the dude thats in my blind spot to slow down, get over. woot. i made it.

and then the lights come on. i almost side swiped a cop.

oh yea. did you see the stickers on this side? you got your little mag light? good. yea, those are the offensive ones. good. glad you took a look at those.

here's my license. no, that's not a current address.

(meanwhile, THANK THE GODS my goodwill bag had exploded all over Wilson. there's so much random shit in my car, that one bag full of vendable consumables won't be discovered right? or that other bag either? right?)

no sir, i can't find my proof of insurence. yes sir i have it. yes sir, i have a job. no sir, no distractions in cab of the car. i'm visiting a friend and was trying to follow him. no sir, i'm not from around here.

jesushchristBUDDAHlordsweeetmotherofGODwhatthe
fuckOMGshitASSheadinaholeFUCKINGSHIT

well, yes sir. that is a good warning. in fact those are TWO GOOD WARNINGS. well yes sir. thank you sir. i apprecaite you. you have a good night too.

you can't catch me, if you don't know what you've found.

let's obsess shall we?

2006-08-01T10:57:00.000-05:00

6 1/2 hours. that's not too long. that's long enough to write a paper. a shitty paper. maybe i can just sleep until then. no, i'd need to get up in at least 4 hours so i can get ready. and take the 6. but i'm baby sitting. kinda. i'm the worst babysitter ever. why. juice, tv. obsessing. oh getting ready. what to wear. 6 1/2 hours. should i shave? no. yea right. never having sex ever again. ever. maybe something will start again. probably not. or maybe. but i doubt it. he could fall madly in love with me. again? no, it was never that. do i want that. yes. no. yes. no. his face. smile. kisses. but emotionally closed. wish alii was her. why. why. why. he doesn't think enough. shouldn't be able to fake emotional honesty. i could wear that little dress top thing with dark jeans. be natural. that didn't work out as well as one hoped. how's my hair? or right: gross. or maybe it did work out. we'll talk. about real things? maybe i'll just get him drunk. why. maybe he had a change of heart. no, doubt it. you'd have to think about your emotions for that. there'll be answers. or not. well, maybe. probably not. i can say my piece. what is my piece? i think you tripped to hard, i annoyed you and you hung on to that insted of realizing that you're an idiot. maybe that's a bit much. or maybe no. hope i can not be a big bitch. just so damn good looking. why. i miss dad. i want to be in texas now. now. or maybe i should be a little bit of a bitch. or charming. oh so charming. why did this happen? what's the right flirting level? jesus christ mia. don't even start. please, just don't cry. no tears baby. i need a cig. i thought i was going to ride the farris wheel finally. nourish my soul my ass oracle book. it all hinges on what shirt i wear. the red one that's busty? no. tone it down. it's not like he doesn't know what's going on there. it was so nice to have someone to dream with. we fantasy shopped for farms for christs sake. such a waste. why. why. he doesn't believe in god. goddamnit. should i take the time and stress to explain my head and make sure he knows that that's not his fault. does he think it is? does he think about. do i have a right to demand things of his mind and emotions? did i? no. i didn't, nor did i try to. laughing. i can see the lovin' in my baby eyes, lovin' in my baby's eyes. i'll tell you that i'm sure i can, love her better then any othe man. lovin' in my baby's eye. dancing. sundays in bed. not since seventh grade have i been unceremoniously dumped before. shit. that time at the lake. that sunset. those sunrises. held him while he wimpered in his sleep. wisconsin. don't lose faith. hang on girl. i need a cigarette. and another whole in my head. does he remember? care? well, seems the answer to that is no. no tears valdez. did he ever? why? then what changed? nothing in me, except the crazy. maybe i can braid my bangs 4,308 times. that'll be good. the crazy. it sometimes seems to always come back to that. he said he's stable and i could hold on to him if things got bad. right. that worked out real well. appreciate his straightforward honesty. uh huh. sure that's what i'll do. i miss lauren. she doesn't have time or space to be close to me anymore. or the want. or maybe it's just me. probably. haven't seen her sans igor in a month. why. why. why. i know i'm awesome. how'd he forget. adam's coming to tyler? shit. fuck. no, i refuse to believe it. 6.4 hours. and counting. what if one day i have a family. well i probably can't even do that. now i sound like mom. too bad i'm not a lesbian. durkheim. i always have durkheim. maybe i should take a pill before this thing starts. no, then i'll be shitty, downtown, in public, at 4 in the afternoon, with my ex-boyfriend. eww. that's a gross thing to say. so what if i do have a famliy and dad changes his mind. happens. i liked the world better before i thought that it could happen that swiftly. i could wear the new favorite tee-shirt. better figure out if i want him back before i decide. not that wanting makes it so. or does it. no. i don't. maybe. i want answers. why. why. why. then whats the point? why not work for good things? not good of his character. maybe he really is dramatically less mature then i thought. fucking disappointing. i should probably go back to the psychiatrist. i need a beer. and a cigarette.

Soujourn of Truth

2006-07-31T23:00:00.000-05:00

I'm going Home. For the first time in a year and a half, I'm going to spend time with my family and friends. More then a two-day one-night haunt. I can share the fullness of my life with those I love best, not the serial novel version hastily told over beers before I drive off again.

Many terrible, wonderful, confusing, haunting things have happened in the last few weeks, and I desperately need the perspective of Home.

But, to sum:

Paul and me are over. At some point during 10,000 Lakes he had an unexpected, and unexplained complete reversal of feelings. I'm a fun girl, but he doesn't feel that way about me anymore. He doesn't even understand it. But more painfully, isn't interested in trying to figure out what happened, or work for the good we had. I don't fully believe the human heart can do that -- close itself so suddenly, so completely where once loving kindness and beauty reigned. A trippin' head can. We're meeting tomorrow to talk, to find closure. Once I know what's happened, I'm be able to write about it and hopefully not feel needlessly abandoned.

And with perfect timing, I also went crazy. The worst I've ever been. And I came back from the woods with Unhappy Bowels. Who would of thought that getting dumped for no reason, protracting a stomach parasite and have a four-day extended psychotic break would be the easiest diet ever? Not being able to get out of bed because of crippling uncertainly, paranoia, nausea, diabilitating hysterics and lack of any nutrition turns out to a high-energy fat burner? But hey, at least they decided to finally give me the good pills.

May a manifold of blessing rain down upon those who helped me through. Without them, I honestly wouldn't have made it: tall buildings are just too tempting. Bryan, Dad, Alii, Andrew, Ayse, Eric, Adam, Yitz, Igor, Katherine: I thank you with my life.

Again, more about this, and many more things soon soon soon. There will be much sitting on Dad's porch and figuring myself out all over again. And ya know what? I'm due for a good protracted sit-and-think.

When all this started, I asked the Oracle Book for words of wisdom: "It will nourish your soul."

I lost my center somewhere. Or willingly gave it to someone who misunderstood that great wonder he'd been entrusted with. Or maybe he understood only too well. Does understand? I know his feelings were real; I doubt the sincerity and emotional honesty of his hasty change of alliance.

Either way, sometimes you have to go back into the woods. Sometimes you have to go Home.

Not Since Seventh Grade

2006-07-06T15:37:00.000-05:00

The Hookah Lounge
wanting tasty soup. . .
3:12 pm
Thursday, July 6, 2006

Per my annual tradition, I always go in for a little mind-expansion on the Fourth of July. It's such a great thing: you always remember where you were on the Fourth, what you did, how much beer you drank. That is, until you drank too much beer and then things get real fun. It's the one day of the year where it's your constitutional right to be loud and obnoxious, drunk and disorderly. You have the right to persue happiness, so by god, get out there and do it.

Last year, Alii and I had a Indiana Dune adventure. This year, Paul and I decided to indulge the evening of July 3rd so we could watch the sunrise on the 4th and get epically drunk as we come down from our own sweet adventure.

We drove to Hyde Park. We tried to break into my apartment. We had horrible stomach pains: who'd a thought that dropping some acidic chemicals into a stomach full of beer would be a bad call? We tried to set up Ayse with Polish John. We walked. We talked. We wandered around a church. We talked about God. We talked about family. Paul lost his shirt.

We swam in the lake with some naked, drunk girls, whom Paul happened to know. Yeah, awkward as hell. We instinctively walked in the opposite direction from they're hollar, splashing, booby-flopping selves. Wandering in to the deep-blue velvety expanse of forever, the moon shining, skirts swirling, water cold, hand-in-hand. The ripples we make now will some day be waves. Each ridge in this sand bar was made by waves from across the way. Each ripple goes on forever. Paul then picked me up and spun us around in circles, circles, circles until we were too cold to enjoy it anymore, kissing, drenched in moonlight.

After splashing, dunking each other and generally creating a giant hubbubaloo, we emerged dripping. And then! 8,342 cops showed up. Turns out, someone was robbed blocks from the lake and they though all the fucked up people on the beach might have seen something. "What were we doing, officer?" as I wring water from my dress, "Oh, ya know, just reading a book."

As the sun showed signs of rising, we decided to go home, change, NOT GET DISTRACTED, and come back to watch the sunrise. And, glory be, it worked. Tapestry in hand, snacks and beer in a bag, we laid on the deserted beach feeling luck to be alive. After an indeterminate time of staring, looking at things, and general gawking, Paul turned to me.

"So, we've been seeing quite a lot of each other lately."
"I'm pretty okay with that."
"Me too, but uh . . . do you want to date or something?"
"Well, I'm not sure. . . I'll have to ask the Wills, but uh, probably."
" . .. Uh, . . well, you could check it out and let me . ."

That's when I kissed him. Insert a several minute time lapse full of mushy-gushy stuff.

Then I sit up, smile like a demon and say, "Wait, did you just ask me to be your girlfriend? I don't think that's happened since like, seventh grade? Are you serious? That may well be the cutest thing that's ever happened to me."

Then Paul blushed and poked me, tickling me into giggling submission. I've decided I'm going to have to make that whole turning-red-and- being-adorable thing happen as much as possible.

This, this feels good.

Updating-ness

2006-07-06T14:42:00.000-05:00

My House
2:03 am
Sunday, July 2, 2006
Sing it to me John M.
Waiting for Paul . . .

Since the last time I've written so much has happened, yet nothing much really.

I had a job.
It sucked. Specifically, it sucked small portions of my soul from my body each and every time I had to ask someone for money, which was pretty much the extent of my job description. I deeply respect the people who can canvass for a living, but the ups and down, the financial instability inherently dependent on the generosity of the masses: not so much for me.

So, I quit. Well, more specifically, my mom called while I was at work. Ya know, standing on a corner, bothering people. She asked innocently enough, "How's life?" and before you could say "save the planet" it all spilled out. Then, I'm just standing on a street corner crying, wanting my mom to fix everything. And ya know what? She did. The main problem was that I couldn't feasibly afford to be unemployed. Mom may not be the most generous when it comes to fundage, but she came through here.

10 minutes after quitting, I was serandiptiously called with a job offer from the Hookah bar. I of course accepted.

Tonight was our first full night. There's a staff of seven people total, all of them amazing. Three of us, plus the two managers/cooks/owners. I'm the only waitress. And it's a spectacular place to work. I totally sat around and smoked Hookahs for a couple of hours with my bosses, sipping my free latte, loving life.

I completely agree with Alii's sentiments last summer: this is the last official summer I'm going to have for a while, so I might as well do as little as possible. Three months of vacation are hard to come by in the working world I hear.

Don't get me wrong: I've been filling my time well. My personal enterprises are going remarkably well and I drink a lot of beer pretty much every afternoon. Live music as much as possible. Lots of walking miles upon mile around the city, followed sitting by the lake with Paul. I've seen every sunrise for the past three weekends.

Yes, I've been spending a pretty ridiculous amount of time with Paul (aka: pretty much every day and many, many if not most sweet nights) but for the first time since forever, I'm completely okay with that. Ayse likes to be a doom sayer, pointing to her own tragic tendency to spend too much time with boys, completely abandoning her own life and friends. I don't fear that for me. For one, I'm not like that. Two, I'm not deserting my dear Hyde Park hommies. I'm making new friends as well, and you'd suck if you hated on that. Do I not sleep here very often? Yea. Do I chill frequently at the Devon House? Yup. Do I feel bad for finding another amazing group of people who want to do exactly the same things I do and are fantastically not stuck in any sort of Ivory Tower? No, not at all and don't try to convince me otherwise.

So much upcoming dankness. We're heading to Summerfest some time next week. 10KLF is in three weeks. Disco Bisquits and Umphrey's are playing a late night ALL BEATLES COVER SET during Lollapalooza. Woot.

To sum, I love my life.

Family Outing

2006-06-14T12:01:00.000-05:00

As we're watching Animal Planet's "Extreme Couples" this morning . . .

Henry: You know what I've had enough of?
Momma Mia: What?
Henry: Insect larva.
MM: Oh yea? Like in general, or today?
Henry: Thinks . . Thinks . . . then emphatically: In general. I mean, I've had way enough of insect larva. I'm done with insect larva.

Monday, I took the children to aquarium. It was amazing! All I had to do was work the map, make sure they didn't scatter when I wasn't looking and assure them I know EVERYTHING EVER ABOUT EVERY SINGLE SEA CREATURE IN EXISTENCE. I totally got that man. If I don't know, I can just make it up, right? They'll never know.

Honestly though, you have no idea what cute is until you've taken small children to see the dolphins. Let's just ignore the fact that I was so excited I about peed my pants, kay? We were sitting waiting for the show and each time a dolphin would break the surface even a little bit -- flash of fin, splash of tail -- they both would stand up and go, "DAAWWWFFIN! DAWWFIN! LooOOWWWK MEEYAH!" As if I wasn't focused on that pool with every single iota of my being. There was no way I was missing one single dawfin moment.

Caroline crawled into my lap early on claiming she could see better. By "see better" I think she means, "you're hair has much more interesting things to play with then just sitting her screaming about dawfins. I mean, we have a membership here. I see dawfins all the time." She giggled each time I went, "LooOOK CaroLINE! DOLPHIN! Oh, DolPHIN!" squeezing her and pointing. She would roll her eyes as if to say, "Yea, of course. We're at the dawfin SHOW." Meeyah is sooo cool.

After a bit, Henry started scooting closer, and closer. Closer. Then he put his hand on my leg. Then he put his head on my shoulder. Then he put his arm under my arm. Then at the next Dawfin sighting moment, amongst our hootin' and hollarin' (I had to explain what "hollar" meant to Caroline) he made his move, sliding under my arm to nestle into my left side. It was like going on a movie date when you're in middle school: you know he's going to make the yawning-arm-across-the-back move and you want him to hurry up and do it, but you can't jinx it, so you wait and anticipate. Once Henry felt comfy enough to snuggle up to me, I really wasn't too concerned about the dawfins. "LooOOK. There's a HENRY! And he's right here! Oh WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT HUG?!?!"

And all this was before the show even started. Then there was the dolphins and their trainers, the annoying dude mc-ing, then lizards, and sharks, and jelly fish, and pushy crowds, and puffer fish, and eels, and penguins, and sea otters and baby beluga whales and OMG WHERE THE HELL DID HENRY GO? I found him in about 2.3 seconds, we talked (I had to pull out the mommy voice), and soon he was the bestest little-sister wranglin', museum going dude I could ask for. Caroline fell asleep in my lap on the ride home. It was a big day for us all.

As we walked through the museum campus, Caroline stopping to examine flowers, birds, and the occasional shiny piece of garbage I realized something. I walk slower now. My pace has grown accustomed to the legs of small ones, to the need to stop and explore each and every outdoor adventure. As I try to answer all the questions -- what's moss? why doesn't sand compact? what's that thing in your nose? -- I do my best not to rush them. To be patient and kind, leading them towards our destination while allowing for other paths and ideas take us where they may. I don't do anything. We do everything. Want to sit down and look at the clouds and talk to me about chickens and dinosaurs? Sure, I'd love to. Because of them, I take life a little slower. I look around more, trying to find the simplest way to explain the right answers, not satisfied with the easy response. I think about my manners and my mommy. I look forward to lunch more. It's as if, even when there isn't a small hand clutched in mine and a wee one pointing out the wonders of the world, I can feel their hearts anyways. And I want to be worthy of their love.

Beginnings, Ending, and All Sorts In Between

2006-06-12T08:41:00.000-05:00

This weekend. Oh, this weekend. Besides there being 43 people staying in our apartment, attending boring ceremonies, quaffing much wine and not sleeping near enough, it's been an amazing couple of days.

My Reign of Laughter with the Cute Baby is almost to an end. Only one week more of hot dogs, children shows, park trips, tickling, sily songs, and unqualified cuddling. I've gained an unbounded appreciation for patience. I've become a part of this family. I've had an amazing, eye-opening time. Yea, I want children, I want a family, but for now, I'll stick with the giving the back at the end of the variety. Child rearing is rewarding, but much harder then originally anticipated. Will they remember me years from now and the way I used to pick them up, spin them around, and at least try to answer every question they placed before me? Caroline uses the big girl potty all the time now, and I was a part of that. Henry knows about organic chemistry, cock fighting, and the problems of not sleeping enough. Not only are the hours great, and money sweet, but I've been important in the life of a child.

Alii has moved out. Sad! Luckily? since it was during the maddness of Ayse and Lauren moving it, we didn't have time to sit in the living room, drink too much wine and cry. She leave for Portland Tuesday then goes to Mongolia, returning to all of use in the middle of August. Who would I be, what would have happened had I not offered to store her cheese in my fridge second year? (Alii insists I'd probably be barefoot and naked in a field.) The things I've taught her, the things she's taught me are infinite and beautiful. The things we've learned together have enriched my life beyond belief, for which I'm eternally thankful. Because she's got a degree. I couldn't be prouder.

Jesse has had enough of this frozen wasteland and is returning home to his beloved San Fran. And no one blames him. We went on our farewell dinner to Bistro Zinc, where I finally emerged from under the financial burden of my European debt to him. I came to terms with the unsteady terrain of our friendship turned romance turned back again. There are some relationships that solidify only after experiencing their opposite. Yet, realizing the lesson inherent in such personal encounters tend to come too early, too late. Not with Jesse. I have grown because of him, learning to temper my words without sacrificing any of my well-founded beliefs. I've fought with him tooth and nail to maintain my mental integrity, showing him that unstability is kinda sometimes what I'm all about. He taught me to plan for travel, renewed my appreciation for fine food, and gave me the opportunity to live life in large ways that I wouldn't have realized were avaliable. He's a maven and I love that. We were waiting for our table Friday night and he leaned over, squeezed my hand and said, "Once, I would have been super up-tight and anxious about the delay. I've learned to let it go, to relax. I've learned to chill and it's amazing. You're the Queen of Chill and I learned that from you. Thanks!" My work here is done.

Ayse moved in! I'm assuming that after about a week of transition, we'll be back on our first year schedule of excessive drinking and "West Wing" watching within the month. We've had a amazing friendship, like blooms on a cactus since I collapsed in her arms with a destroyed heart that night in the dorm. She told me he wasn't worth it, that I was better than him, reassuring my shattered faith in everything, even though she didn't know me. All this while she expertly lite me a life saving cigarette and made us a couple of necessarily strong drinks. She was my lifeline and I hers. Then insert 2 years of off and on best friendness, many boyfriends that weren't worth the effort of both our hearts, many hang overs and cigarettes, the resolution of a few issues and much human growth, we finally get to live together. I'm sooo glad we've convinced her parents after years of hardwork, that I'm a good influence. Silly parents. Seriously though, I think we're ready for co-habitation, Ayse ready to get out of the dorms. I'm constantly amazed with Ayse for her strenght, resolve and insight. Also, her absolute inability to take any bullshit for me what so ever. She's been dealing with her head in a highly commendable way and maybe with her support and love I can start doing that too. Basically, it's going to be a wine-drenched, dance-party of a good-time this summer. And I'm thankful that I get to spend it with her.

Punkin! She's moved in too! I realized that we're about at the one year point: remember the skinny dipping revelations that lead to our friendship? The wine that got us past our issues? Now that Team Hyde Park has conquored Europe, gone Camping, defeated 3rd year, and consolidated into one place of residence we've got no where to go but up. I'm so lucky to be have her smiling face, inspiring joy in my life day in and day out. AND NOW I CAN CRAWL DRUNKENLY IN HER BED TO TELL HER THE NIGHTS STORIES WITHOUT THE NEED TO RIDE MY BIKE DRUNKENLY ACROSS THE HP? Well, shit son, that's about the best news I've heard all day. Plus, now we'll be able to keep bagels at the house all the time. I'm just saying.

Yitz popped into my life briefly this weekend, as he is wont to do from time to time. Our stolen hours are directly proportional to a steady increase in loving kindness. Yet, with the flucutations of distance, the making of future plans, I become both reassured and deeply skeptical at the same time. Yes, there's the beauty of the now, abundant sunshine and a deep felt connection, sincere loving support, but is that necessarily a constructive way for me to spend my emotional energy? Do I really want to become ensconced in all that bullshit involving other women? NOnononono. I know how I feel about polyamory (okay for ya'll, not so much for me) and defending my reactions, constantly guarding my heart, wondering where I fit in the schema today? How about not. For now, the periphial role seems pleasant enough, my time allocations slight but adequate. The question becomes: to work towards more or coming to accept and appreciate less? I'm inclined towards the later as I craddle my tender heart, looking for love in my own time zone. There are so many things that are so important to me that he's not part of: shows, music, camping. I'm okay with that too.

Let's not forget the Devon house kids. After Blues Fest, there was an Emergency Room trip (Dave cut his hand) turned adventure, beers and laughs, cuddling for warmth as the birds begin to sing. I find it deeply reassuring to discover that it's only Hyde Park that is suffering from a severe lack of Hippies, not the greater Chicagoland area. But there's more too it then that. There's something deeply life pleasing about discoving other people with similar, complimentary, and reciprically-reaffirming interests: a love of music, a dedication to good times, and an easy-going open heart. Shall we jam? "Oh man, this is from Umphrey's on NYE, right? God, that was sick." "OH for real dude. Yea, you were there? Me too. Goddamn." Sometimes it's a fantastically small world inwhich, maybe, I no longer came to get down, alone. Good times.

New job starts Wednesday. Let's not mention the fact that I'm nervous. Nor that I'm worried about my canvassing abilities on days of Mean Reds. How about we focus on someone named Sasha calling me yesterday to confirm when I'm coming in and to tell me that she's genuinely excited about working with me. Let's talk about global warming. Let's save the planet. Last summer was great: musical theatre with children is quite excellent. But it's not direct service. It's not addressing one of the major social justice issues: people will die without affordable housing, not with out musical opportunties as a child. Music is of utmost importance to me, my driving force and I'm oh so thankful for being able to address the problems with arts education in the public school system in a real way. But we all live on this planet. We all need clean water. And now, I'm in a much better position to do something about that then I was in heels, teaching voice less and theater warm-ups. Fun in a different way, hard in a much more rib-sticking way too. I'm up to the challenge.

Ayse claims she'll get us the internet this week since she's not working. We no longer have such constant access to Razor, with his linux-rocking, internet-steal prowress, nor Katherine and her computer magic. So, maybe after that I won't only use the internet at Cute Baby's and write posts that are longer then anyone wants to deal with. Behold the bounty of my mental-verbal-blogtastic out pourings!

With all these beginnings and endings, it's good to remember that life is what happens inbetween.

Plan for The Life. Version 1.1

2006-06-08T11:37:00.000-05:00

There are many of things I want to do with my life. Like most everything I do, it's absolutely necessary that I try to cram as much goodness as possible into each and every second. That's why I sleep with 26 pillow, 2 fans, 2 feather comforters, and one giant stuffed elephants: for maximum dankness. And the occasional visitor. This drive for maximum good -- optimal hedon flow -- is pretty Life consuming and anxiety-producing most of the time, but the fonts of Joy I create are worth the endeavor.

What do I want? I want to work for good. I want to Live the Life I Love. I want to have a family. I want to travel. I want to teach. I want to build a house, commit myself to yoga, eat better, have kids, paint my toe nails and find the time to sing every day. I want to learn to throw pottery, make my children amazing Halloween costumes, sing in public, dance in a field, read fiction, live in France, throw swanky dinner parties, and care for my parents in their old age. I want Love I Can't Live Without, a huge garden full of organic vegetables, and a dog that adores me. It's not the ideas that present the obstacles, but the lack of a plan on how to get there. It's the lack of differentiation between what needs to be done now and what will take preparatory steps to get there that I desperately need. Direction I think the guidance counselor would call it.

I keep a running text document on my desktop that contains the most obsessive-compulsively amazing list of things I need to do in order accomplish my Life. We're talking anywhere from "figure out what I need to graduate" to "shave" and "get goood and drunk." (Or "DUUUUUUUUURNK" as the case may be.) One of the most rewarding features of this To Do List is that it's not on paper. Yet it's always there, fluid and yielding to my rapidly changing schemes and dreams. This allows for the list to morph and grow to encompass my serious addiction to lists. But more importantly, I don't want to box myself in: I can change my plans at any moment. And usually do. It's hell on boys that try to date me. (On another note, why is that they always try but never seem to succeed?)

The only problem is that lately, my life is unstable. I'm unstable. Real unstable. And while that's a whole nother barrel of fish, I will, I WILL get into that at another point. Right now I have another mission that'll help me move pass the uncertainty, while not focusing on the sad. I realized that with the rapid changes in what I want to do, who I want to be, where I want to go, keeping track of the changes of my Master Life Plan of Everything I Want to Do and Accomplish Ever has become rather difficult.

For example, my long standing plan went something like this:
graduate with a degree in sociology
go to graduate school in Austin
get a degree in non-profit business administration
open my own non-profit consulting firm for other non-profits
be a bad ass

Which is pretty non-functional right now. Still valid things that I may do, but not the Life I Love. So, I've decided to start making a Life Plan, and keeping it updated, marking changes, tracking growth.

And thusly, the following.

School

work with Malynne on a Senior Project looking at the changes in what it means to be an "author" with the rise of one-touch web publishing in tangent with the advent of chic-flick type book for smart, capable, independent women. What's the author's gaze? Specifically targeting the evolving relationship between memoir-bloggers and their audience.
Possibly pull a double major in Interdisciplinary Studies in the Humanities? (ISHUM)
Graduate!

And Then . . .

Move Towards Working for Hippie Fest(s) Full Time

Start volunteering this summer with the Chicago Mayor's Office for Special Event Coordination
attend as many festivals as possible

Volunteer at Dunegrass
attend as many shows as possible.

Upcoming:

Umphrey's and Disco Bisquits
Darkstar Orchestra
Xavier Rudd

Recently Attended

Tea Leaf Green
Railroad Earth

Fleeing the Frozen North

Austin, Texas: 3 -4 months
crash with Bryan?
work somewhere fun, inconsequential
continue to be a bad ass

Which Brings me to California?

6 - 8 months after graduation

stay with Vick and Lori?

Check out Berkeley for grad. school
intern in the jam band music industry

Jambase?
SCI Fidelity?

live in a co-op
see Yitz frequently!
work at summer camps?
continue to be a bad ass?

Then maybe back to ATX? Portland? Germany? Somewhere amazing I haven't even dreamed of yet? This list shall tell.

To DO, to WORK TOWARDS, but not immediate . . .

buying another banjo (Seriously, how did my dad manage to lose my banjo?)
learning to play and sing children's songs on the guitar
go see a psychiatrist

try not to get put on lithium

Obviously, there are other issues going on in my life, mostly involving crippling depression, attempts to flee everything, these attempts failing, these attempts succeeding, emotional dishonesty, despair, longing, loneliness, guilt, bursts of manic joy, panic, anxiety . Same ole, same ole. It's been hard to get out of bed. It's been hard to be around those I love. It's been hard not to hurt myself. I'm so full of love and feel I lack adequate outlets. Trying to love those that I do have -- only better -- has working out pretty well for me, but not as good as professional help. Again, more on that later. But, I've been saying that for a long time. Later, I'll deal with being Bi-Polar. Later, I'll find a psychiatrist who doesn't want to med me to death. Later, I'll stop hurting myself. Later, I'll stop being scared. Later, I won't be too anxious to function. Later, I'll be okay. Later, I'll . . .

And later is now. I haven't given up yet. Armed with this Plan for The Life, I figure that whatever happens, I have at least some of the other stuff tentatively figured out in life-affirming bulleted list format. And if that doesn't reassure me that all will be okay, nothing will.

2006-06-05T20:09:00.000-05:00

Dear Prof. Haugeland,

My paper, as you can see, is late. But! for good reason.

When you passed out the final, I protested after class because I was going camping. I spent that Thursday afternoon through Memorial Day evening in Chilicothe, Illinios, dancing in a field. I attended Summer Camp, a music festival 10,000 hippies strong where mind-expanding experiences were had by all.

In short, while I did some reading (and ridiculous heurmenetics) by the campfire, I wasn't able to begin this paper until after classes on Tuesday. And by "begin this paper," I mean finish up all the reading I'd skipped before starting to write.

There's more to my tardiness than that though. Why didn't I just sit down and write the whole thing on Tuesday evening? For one, I am a busy woman who dares to schedule so much into one life it sometimes appears as if I'm consciously planning to be overwhelmed at least once a quarter.

More importantly, though, for two, I wanted to give this paper the time it deserves. As I'm sure you're aware, I didn't do so hot on the mid-term. There are many reasons why this is so, but none of them alters the fact. Not wanting to fail, I also needed to take the time to sit on my porch, drink a beer, and mull over notes and such, a luxury I didn't have the last go round. I've also learned recently that I write much more cogently when I'm not on all sorts of cough medication.

Is this paper worth all that time, effort, thinking, off-handed excuse writing? Possibly. Hopefully. Whatever the outcome of this scholastic endeavor, I want to thank you for your course. I feel I've come out of the experience with a better understanding of some of the overarching ideas presented by Heidegger, and a deep sense of how much I don't yet know. I have been inspired to continue my pursuit to understand Heidegger further because I now understand the reward his work has to offer. Thank you for making Heidegger both accessible and awe-inspiringly difficult.

I hope you have an enjoyable summer.

2006-05-31T11:32:00.000-05:00

This weekend Alii, Lauren, Katherine and I went to Summer Camp. 4 days, 3 nights, 3 stages, 120 bands. And more hippies then you care to count. It was amazing: wonderful people, chillin' to the max, full of substances, and just goddamn beautiful. Did I mention the jams?

It was my third, fourth and fifth time to see moe. and I can honestly say, I'm now a fan. I saw their Halloween show my first year. It was pretty amazing, but I decided not to pass musical judgment because they spent most of the time playing metal covers and generally fucking around. Think costumes and 80s hair wigs. Don't get me wrong: it was spectacular, but not an accurate representation of moe. I saw them again with Karl last year when Alii had the plague. The show was jammin'. So jammin' in fact that I passed out. The strong and handsome Karl swept me up and carried me out of the crowd to minister to my needs, but I missed most of the show. Again, I decided to with hold judgment until I witnessed an entire show sans death metal and managed to stay on my feet the entire time.

This weekend, I had my chance, and OMG -- it was soo good. I know that's a trite way to put it, but OMG. I under estimated them not only as performers, but as musicians as well. The xylophone is a spectacular instrument. And the lights. THE LIGHTS. Enough said. After the first night, I left wanting more. After the second night, I wanted more still. They delivered, making each night a wholly difference yet equally enjoyable musical experience.

That being said, I have some qualms about how they run a festival.

1. Inadequate water sources. 2 spigots. 8,0000 people. No shitting you. Ewww.
2. Having to haul all our shit in from the parking lot. My back = destroyed. And the shuttle didn't run the entire time. Boo.
3. Complete chaos in camping sites. Anarchy!
4. having to get A DIFFERENT TICKET FOR LATE SHOWS FOR $10 A SHOW. I'm sorry Summer Camp, I already paid my money for this weekend and I want more music then I can handle. The shows end at midnight and what, you didn't manage to find the place to get late night tickets? Sorry. No more music for you. Not cool. NOT COOL.

I had a bit of a come-to-Jesus moment while I was there. I realized, while sitting at the moe. show Saturday, that this, THIS is what I want to do with the rest of my life. Camp out, get sweaty, jam at shows, meet random people, enjoy nature, bling. Life the life you love, right? How can I do that?

I'm now looking for a way to organize festivals for a living. Volunteer coordination, large event planning. Something. Hopefully I can find a way to break into the industry this summer and after graduation, disappear into the musical horizon for at least two years. I want that to be my life -- I live from show to show.

What am I doing to make this a reality? Volunteering at festivals this summer to get experience. Doing research into opportunites for after graduation. Jammin' my face off every chance I get. I may try to intern for jambase.com for three months. It's an unpaid internship, but the experience would be life altering and provide just the break I need. If I could be a contributing writer for Jambase, doing festival reviews. Again, OMG. I could live with my aunt and uncle, check out Berkeley, see Yitz. I know this is all a long way off, yet I need something to work towards. Live the Life You Love. No really, do it.

And in other news, I realized that I want to love a boy in a skirt. I could save time and say, "I want to love a boy" but the 'In a skirt" qualifier is extra special. Bryan and I discussed the phenomenon of boys in skirts while at Bonnaroo. At festivals, it's not until the second full day and the first Real Night of Jam that the boys in skirts come out. There has to be a certain level of dankness that's reached, a wanton abandoning of the norms of the outside world, a head-long rushing into the brilliant jumble of the jam before the faithful cargo shorts are abandoned for less constricting garb. Then, once the boys in skirts appear, forgoing pants in a nod to greater comfort, jam mobility and well, looking damn cool, all can rest assured that the weekend is going to be surreal.

And that's what I want. Not just a boy. But a boy in a skirt. He can wear one of mine, hell, and we'll jam till dawn, falling asleep in a field as the sun comes up. It's so heartening to go to fests and see all the hippies with their others: long veterans of golden summers, new loves testing the sound waves, and everything in between. And that's what I want, but I know not how to find it. Yet another motivation for me to fully enter that world, to get out there and meet like minded people, look for love. I figure, somewhere there has to be a hippie as lonely as I.

I've been waiting for love to find me. That hasn't been working. Time for a new course of action.

In other, other news: I didn't think of Adam all weekend. And I'm pretty sure he stopped thinking of me at all a long time ago. And I'm okay with that. The taste of failure is bitter, but I'm not sure whos failure it is. Both of ours possibly. If he were a little stronger, if I were a little weaker. I refuse to be the only one to believe in the possability of a forever as well as the only one willing to work for it.

To quickly change the subject before I think to much and get all weepy: in another attempt to find what I'm looking for without knowing exactly what that entails, I've accepted a job in Chicago this summer. (Camp Duncan decided to fill the Adventure Director with someone already on staff.)

You're reading the blog of the newest Field Manager for Environment Illinois. Yea, we're one of those groups that stands around asking people for donations on the street -- canvassing. But there's more to it for me. We working to fight global warming! I'll be leading trainings, organizing press conferences, writing press releases and grant proposals, as well as canvassing. You know what else they do? Organize camping trips to festivals in Illinois to run tents telling hippies the campaign. Yea, I know. That's a tune I can jam to.

I was a bit hesitant about accepting this job. I mean, seriously, those people that accost you in front of the Art Institute are pretty damn annoying. But on the application it asked me a telling question.

"What, in your opinion, is the greatest problem facing society today, why, and what are you doing to solve it?"

To me, it seems that the greatest problem facing society, especially young intellects like me is the inability to mobilize. That's all good in practice, but what does the theory say? Recognizing the problems is easy. It's the getting off your lazy ass and doing something about it that proves difficult. This year has been a selfish year for me in terms of Saving the World: I should be doing more. I feel it's time to live what I preach. So, environment Illinois, here I come. I'm going to be a student activist. Woot. Truthfully, it's a dream come true.

Besides ideologically, there are other reasons I think that this job is the best one for me. Over the past couple of years, I've become both more judgmental and introverted. At some other point I'll expound on what I gather the reasons for this to be but to sum: the uncertainty of my head makes me hesitant to reach out to others. And this makes me sad. So, how do I combat these new characteristics? By placing myself in a situation where my paycheck depends on my outgoing, persuasive people skills. Yup. It's going to be a challenge.

Bring it on

I'm Trying, Swear to God

2006-05-31T10:07:00.000-05:00

"Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."

-Ranier Maria Rilke

Framing the Alice's

2006-05-26T12:05:00.000-05:00

Yet another response for my Louis Carroll/Alice in Wonderland Class. Snarky snark snark.

Every author has his style, as does every academic and admittedly, some are more pleasing then others. Styles range from pedantic, tedious, and boring to thrilling, exuberant, and irreverent. Sadly, "Framing the Alices” by William A. Madden is much more the former, trying to approach a body of works that is drastically nearer the latter. It is almost tragic that an author so revered for his gaiety and layers of meaning is being subject to the hermeneutic onslaught of someone so lacking in creative spark or even the gift of elegant metaphor.

In the world of academia, many topics are soporific. It is the task of the intellectual to wade through the uninteresting, irrelevant, and inconsequential to reach the islands of stimulating research and joyful understanding. William A. Madden saw the island, but was too distracted by his own posterings and accidentally slipped into a deep muddy pit. While there is some joy in scholastic knowledge for the sheer joy of it in itself, it is hard to focus a message when it lacks readable turn of phrase and is crusty with it is own pedantic ooze.

Madden's aim is to account for the literary import of the poems that frame the Alice works. In his opinion, these bits have not been fully exploited as of yet and he hopes to gleam some intellectual nuggets from their unexplored depths. Firstly, Madden claims to be looking for a cohesive explanation for said poems that does not shore up theories that point to Dodgeson/Carroll's neurosis. Yet, by his stretching and grabbing for interpretations that seem, well over reaching, he seems to fall prey to the same neurosis that plagued Carroll. To quote some ridiculousness:

Thus the wreath embodies the three dimensions of linear time: a reminder of the meaning and identity that derive from memory's link with the past, a token of love that redeems the present and gives it value, and an emblem of an artwork with the power endlessly to renew a timeless present in which it is always next time.

Even out of context, this seems to be stretching it. An item that is mentioned once towards the end of the prefatory poem of Alice in Wonderland? One can take a glancing look at the field of literary criticism that has sprouting from the fertile ground of Carroll’s works and easily see that issues of time abound. Nevertheless, to wrap this nuanced discussion entirely into one brief mentioning? I think not.

I am in no way attempting to slight the findings of Madden, or show disdain for intellectualism at a whole. However, I do decry unwarranted exaggerations of focus. While it seems that Madden has discovered and pointed to some interesting things in Carroll’s framing poems, he pushed it too far. Do they act as frames, as he suggests? Yes. Do they help set the tones of the various interlocking sections? Yes. Do they provide convenient transitions? Yes. Is there unexplored intellectual territory there? Yes, but, “the Wonderland dream tale becomes, in this context, a reminder of the reader of both the need and the possibility of transcending the debilitating decorum of ordinary existence through a renewal of perception that is the central effect of Wonderland itself when the reader fully experiences it.” Again, I think not. Is one really to believe that readers were not able to gain the fully Alice experience before the benevolent Madden came along with his brilliant insight? Still, I think not.

Moreover, it seems to me that this is a problem that plagues the academic world: being able to nurture relevant interpretation and critical commentary and weeding out the crap. As a reader, I may have missed some of the gems that Madden so laboriously worked to free from the mire. Why? Because of his over-falutin’ aim and his lack of readable prose. When you say things like, “[the poems] show the seeds of spiritual death to be latent even in the innocent Alice, ” I have trouble reading the rest of the treatise with a straight face. Madden does prove his most basic claim: that there is unexplored, unappreciated territory in the framing poems, (not that anyone was anywhere close to calling the end to interpretative work on the Alice books) but the style and outlandish quality of the way he does it makes the reader not care. If you are interested in wading into this literary pond, I suggest reading the poems and applying your own intellect, not getting your mental waders covered in unnecessary Madden-colored mud.

25.5 Hours and Counting

2006-05-25T12:28:00.000-05:00

UCSC
Should be researching stuff for work
or reading Heidegger
but instead . . .
12:28 pm
Thursday, May 25, 2006

For Alii's graduation, for fun, for to get away from it all, Alii, Lauren, Katherine and I are all going camping. Camping. Summer Camping.

We're leaving tomorrow at 2:00. Here's all the shite I need to get done between now and then.

class
class
discussion (prolly not)
go to costco
buy food
and a cooler
go to michael's
dread beads
pack
not forget anything
load the car
go see Al?
gangsta shit
hang out with Steiner
two weeks worth of Heidegger
study Heidegger so I don't fail everything
study for Ethics exam so I don't fail everything
paint toe nails
shave
wax dreads
sleep?

Now that I've typed all that, it doesn't seem unachievable. But you see, the problem is that I should spend all weekend studying. Yup, all damn weekend. But no, I think instead I'll dance in a field.

Truth be told: I'M MF-IN' EXCITED

the music. the people. the excitement.the glorywonderhappiness of it all. the jams. the sunrise. the hippies. the lights. the smells. the rain. the love. I'm overdue for a Hippie Church Revival.

It's the official start of the summer. It's Punkin's first hippie fest! Spee! I'm so glad that she has grown to like my music and become a fan in her own right. I love jammin' next to her, going on adventures. It makes me overjoyed and full of love to get to share this part of my life with Punkin. She's the greatest. Not to slight Alii and Katherine: they're dank too. For sure. In short: it's going to be a transplendent weekend festivus.

In other news: a week from now I should be going to camp. I still haven't heard, but they have all of my information and should get back to me later today. I realized last night that if I don't get to go to camp -- and I still think I definitely will -- that wouldn't be the end of the world.

Drinking too much with Ayse. Waitressing somewhere. Or bartending. Lots of independent camping. Movies in Grant Park. Time to paint. Most especially: I'd get to go home to Texas soon and stay for a good while. It's not like I'd have a job to rush back to or anything.

Realizing that has made me less anxious about everything. About the possibility that all of my dreams aren't coming true right this instant. Camp will/would be amazing. But I have faith in my ability to have a bitchin' summer no matter what.

Also, I called and talked to my dad about the possibility of my not doing so hot in Heidegger since I basically failed the mid-term. He reminded me of how important it is to stay balanced while at the same time reassuring me that it's okay for me to be focused on my life as a whole with school as a part instead of obsessing about grades. I love my dad.

I'm no too worried about the repercussions of doing poorly in school. This summer will be awesome regardless. Most of the things that previously seemed beyond management, are in fact, quiet handleable.

Ladies and Gentlemen: the mean reds have moved on.

2006-05-22T23:59:00.000-05:00

my life is in shambles
yes, that's how i roll
being a slacker isn't all it's cracked up to be
eventually you have to do the work
and then you realize that if only if only
little bits of work are easier to deal with then massive
hulking chunks

i've realized that yes
i do work better with too much on my plate
it leaves less room for uncontrolled chaos
i had a paper due today at 3 pm
i started it at 8:30 pm
because i fail life

i want to run away to the woods
and i may just get the chance
ADVENTURE DIRECTOR
no shitting you
that will hopefully be my title this summer at Camp Duncan
B-man: so you're going to camp?
and emerge every day and lead adventure?
then go back into the woods?
wow, you'll be the coolest person ever

but why is that i want to run away?
if only i knew
or do i?

i've been having horrifically beautiful memories of sean lately
like going to bed
and cherished facial expressions
the smooth expanse of his back
and i hate that
and i fear i'm to bitter to find
the pure blissful love i so desperately want
or worse, not brave enough to try

i'm real real REAL unstable right now
and sad sad sad
for no good reason really
except that i don't like me right now very much
that's why they give me a clinical title
duh

how about another definition?
insanity: doing the same thing and expecting different results
sounds like every relationship i've ever had

the mean reds are not because of the objective quality of life
the work load is not unmanagable
the friends good
the weather bearable
the baby cute
the summer imminent
the summer is eminent

why? why? why?
the best way to come apart is at the seems
but wait
wouldn't it be better to just not be broken?

other news: scav hunt was amazing
check out punkin for some mid-Hunt blogging
(woah. just typed 'punkin' in the navigator bar and woah)
(do it! do it!)
yes, i'll write more about it at some point
yes, i may be lying

i wish i'd just settle
i wish i could be more stable
more fulfilled
more involved
i don't do near enough
for anyone, myself included
i'm disappointed in myself for that
deeply, profoundly disappointed

people tell me all the time
you're one of those people:
committed to helping others
making a difference
and i fight the urge to tell them they're wrong

but at the same time, i'm not sure that i can
do more
be more
and that's deeply psychically frustrating
and scary

will i be able to fully function in the real world?
how can i have kids if
sometimes i can't even deal with myself?
to quote my mother
maybe i should worry about keeping a man around
before planning the children
i'm probably not physically capable of bearing

my hopes of being home before midnight were futile
my hopes are futile as well?
i've thought it possible before
and i think so now
it seems the reoccurence of such thoughts
proves its possibility for truth
there is a reason for everything
even this

2006-05-09T12:51:00.000-05:00

UCSC almost time for Heidegger
beautiful day! beautiful day!
with a modicum of dayness
12:50 pm
Tuesday, May 9, 2006

madd skittish

Sunday night, Punkin was over and we were doing work, hanging out, like ya do and I began to tell her about how I'd been having involuntary hallucinations all day. Weird auras around the edges of my vision. Floating, sparkley gold curlicues romping around in my field of sight. (Katherine says she gets these when she holds her breath for two long and is doing physical activity, say weight lifting.) All this as I curl up in the fetal position on the sofa, huddled in a quilt, rocking slowly to myself, pulling at my hair.

The craziness is coming. coooOOOOOMMMmiiinnnggg. The crazy is neigh.

I asked Lauren, "Is it going to be okay when I totally go crazy the fuck during Road Trip?"
"Of course it is hunny. That's why everyone does Scav: to go crazy."

Well, at least I won't be alone.

Why this sudden onslaught of the madd? The tyranny of the obsessive? The heavy hand of doubt and confusion? The increase in THE NOISE in my head? I have some ideas.

I have no idea what I want right now. I say I do. Some people and their goddamn persnickering think they know too. I think we're all wrong. Somewhere along the line, I something in me changed. Come too close and I run! Flee! screaming to myself Why God WHY did I even stick around this long?!?

I woke up yesterday with a strong STRONG desire to fuck my nose up. THAT is never, NEVER EVER anything close to being a good sign about ANYTHING.

Why? I don't want to deal. My solitude, my set-in-my-wayness, my life, my personal Dasein is heavily guarded where once it was abhorred. I learned to be alone. Real well. The idea of having to change my life to let someone in -- Oh the horror! The idea of being "required" or "default obligated" to spend massive amounts of time with someone, automatic kisses, not being alone for my morning ritual. Ghastly. An abomination.

When is it exactly that I became so closed, guarded, distrusting and afraid of my fellow individuals? When did I lose the courage? When did I lose the heart? I'm saddened by this; deeply saddened. I remember I used to jump into these things with what has proved to be a rather reckless, thoughtless abandon. I would almost trade it for this obsessive confusion and over thinking.

And let's not even approach the idea of sex. I don't feel comfortable enough with myself, nor with anyone else. The thought alone makes me so uncomfortable that typing this, my stomach is clenched and it's taking a sheer monstrous will to continue typing. And now that I'm done, I may need to chain smoke.

I did a interpretive reading of the above and Lauren asked, exclaimed really, "WHAT? But you used to like sex, A LOT?" And I guess I still do. But thinking about sex, either theoretically or being faced with the actual prospect fills me mostly with dread. Sheer terror, to be quiet honest. And I don't possess the mental/emotional make-up for one-night stands. Trust me: I've tried. I end up feeling pretty hateful towards ALL OF HUMANITY AND EVERYTHING THEREIN for about three days afterwards. Then I want to crawl in a hole. Except for that one time in France. . . oh tasty French men.

Yet, I do crave love. I do want affection, support, the whole shebang. Hebang. I do want intimacy, someone to be comfortable with, kisses in the morning and dancing in the kitchen.

But I fear, that with The Love the Broke My Heart, the Love That Never Was as It Should Be, and The Love that Beckons from Afar, I may be incapable. At least now. Who's to blame me for being scared and pretty damn unwilling?

What it comes down to is that I'm not sure I have the capacity to go through the requisite bullshit to get to anything else besides said initial bullshit. And that's just it: I don't want to deal with bullshit. At all. A long time ago I decided to keep all bullshit to a minimum, mostly meaning not creating or bringing any into my life if it can be helped. But, dating? I might as well fuck that plan.

Yet that being said, I'm in no way saying I'm done with this whole crazy looking for love-happiness-fufillment-commitment thing. In no way is that true. I'm just whelmed. Whelmed and skittish. Mad skittish. Let it be known.

So, that's where the crazy started. To your bowl of AnxietyPanicDreadHORRORconfusionhope, add a heaping teaspoon of Scav Hunt, a smattering of assignments, a sprinkle of Mother's day, two sick children, and pour into a hallucination-greased pan. Bake at 420 degrees with no sleep, for three days, and you'll get a tort ripe for sharing at the Madd Hatter's Tea Party.

EEEEeeeaaaAAAHHHHHCcccckkkkKKKKKK. the fuck.

2006-05-04T05:22:00.000-05:00

Chillin' with Mable (the couch)
And Punkin!
All the Cool Kids Write Papers
Moby: Play
Heidegger is soooo not my bitch.
In fact, I was pretty much owned.
5:22 am
Thursday, May 4, 2006

I need to come up with a better way for dealing with people. Namely, for specifically dealing with people I don't want to deal with. "Deal with" implies that said persons are already a part of my life, and by doing said action, they will become less so. Currently, whens someone needs to be dealt with, I just cease communicating with them. Entirely. It works suprisingly well, yet I feel it lacks compassionate kindness. Maintaining physical distance while being less then warm and amiable? Not very nice, but what do you do? Really, I ask you, what do you do?

I've been sick sick sick but today! Today! I woke up full of dayness. (By wake - up I mean get off the couch where I'd been dosing while watching Diego with the Cute and Small) You know how sometimes you wake up, realizing that you have 643.8 things to do, all before lunch? And sometimes, that rare, beautiful sometimes (usually positively correlated with the weather and impending springness) you're not whelmed over or under. You stand ready and willing to greet the day, meet the task, give full measure, earn you beer on the porch when all's said and done. You are full of dayness. And today I was.

I got a wonderful note.

Dear Mia --

You just don't know how much a joy it is to get those short phone calls from you. They lighten my day -- and give me a reason to persist. I have to be honest. I have a direction in my life now, however some days those goals seem far away and unattainable. I see how hard you are working to reach yours and it gives me a kick in the ass. Always remember that i love you -- and maintain Balance in all you do.

Love always,

dad

So, with that, without even knowing, my Dad has yet again inspired me to suck less at life -- academia to be specific. These last two weeks have been a waste of the governments money as far as my education goes. What gives? Dad's note made me realize that the Balance has come askew. And, thanks to our fantastic, loving circle of understanding and support, I can see that and work towards correcting it.

Incompetence Rears His Ugly Head

2006-05-03T13:12:00.000-05:00

I accidentally cashed myself Friday night. I just blinged -- blung? -- a little too hard, and woke up Saturday (for work of all things) sad sad sad with the state of affairs. We're talking hacking cough, chills, aches, dizziness, inability to form cohesive thoughts. The not eating for days may have contributed, but hey, whatev. Luckily, I caught a nap on the couch in the lobby like a hobo, and was ready to give my presentation at 1:00. It was odd. I think most of the people just assumed I was some overworked, under rested Med Student, collapsed under the weight of O-Chem and unreal expectations. Freshly enlivened by my nap, I was able to regale the masses with everything they need to know about the Community Service Fund and the Community Service Finance Committe. All with the kind of hangover that just makes you feel stooped.

The night before, when we were all hanging out with Sydney, everyone remembered that I'm secretely a Giant Bureaucrate. Oh the horror! The travesty!! This giant hippie secretly climbs the ladder of bureaucratic bullshit on a regular basis? It was so shocking that Katherine had to go ride her bike. I forget sometimes too. Keep in mind: I'm a bureaucrate for social justice.

Insert three days of sleeping here.

I had this Heidegger midterm that was due Tuesday, right? And I realized very early on that I wasn't going to get in done in time. I'm better now, but only recently. It's a good thing I bought 4,304 doses of NyQuil at Costco because I've been downright loopy on the stuff for days now. So, like the good student I am (Oh shut up, you. Quit your snickering.) I decided to seek an extension as opposed to writing a bunch of drug ridden dribble that would make Heidegger cry. An extension of glory, if you will.

What do you do when you want an extension? You email the T.A., he says yea or nay, and everyone goes about their business. Right? In perfect form, I email home dude on Saturday afternoon, once my condition became startling clear -- that would be right after I feel over trying to get off the couch. His name is Clark Remington. I couldn't make that up, folks.

I don't hear from him.
I don't hear from him.

I get an email MONDAY AFTERNOON saying that my TA is an incompetent idiot and I'm going to have to ask the Prof. This paper is due TUESDAY at 1:30. I ask you, as a T.A., what do you do? What is the point? You hold office hours, lead discussion secition, AND GIVE EXTENSIONS. You don't know if I can have an extension? What is it exactly you do? WHAT GOOD ARE YOU TO ME? Don't get me started on the need for timeliness.

I emerge from my NyQuil fog Tuesday morning long enough to check my email and crawl in bed with Alii.
Still no email. No email. No email.

Then, under the influence, I emailed the Prof, telling him what's been happening. And telling him that he'll have his paper on Thursday. So, yea, I, uh, kinda, uh, gave myself an extension. I hope it worked.

Still no word from either.
Still no paper either.

BUT I'M NOT DOPED UP ON NYQUIL!! I CAN WALK ACROSS THE ROOM WITHOUT FALLING OVER!! HACKING COUGH IS GONE! That's got to count for something. Heidegger paper domination: here I come.

I'm only going to make it to 50% of my classes this week.
Hey, it's up from 33% last week.

would someone, please, just

2006-04-27T12:34:00.000-05:00

i would swallow my pride
i would choke on the rind
but the lack there of would leave me empty inside

swallow my doubt
turn it inside out
find nothing but faith in nothing

want to put my tender heart
in a blender
watch is spin round to a beautiful oblivion

rondez-vous
and i'm through with you?

i hear words
in clips and phrases
i think sick like ginger ale
my stomach turns and I exhale

so careless where my mind stays
but it's not my state of mind
i'm not as ugly sad as you

or am i origami
fold it up and just pretend
demented as the motives in your head

i alone am the one
you don't know you need
take heed feed your ego
make me blind close when your eyes close
sink when you get close
tie me to the bed post

i alone am the one
you don't know you need
you don't know you need me

For Shit's Sake

2006-04-26T13:49:00.000-05:00

Cute Baby's
post-museum visit
hungry!
1:48 pm
Wednesday, April 26, 2006

For Shit's Sake

Remember who my life got all out of control all of a sudden there? No ATM card, not driver's license, and then my phone got turned off, all in the course of 20 hours. Oh, and least we forget that paper I had to write. Boo. Yea, anxiety attacks abounded, heavy drinking ensued.

BUT! Yesterday, instead of going to class, I fixed my life. Went to the bank, went to the Cingular store, found my driver's license, finished my paper. And like any hard working college kid, I decided to reward myself with a trip to the Pub. It was Evan's 22 birthday, so I felt justified.

I woke up this morning, and I can't find my wallet.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! FUCKING GODDAMNIT SON OF A BITCH WHAT THE FUCK??!?! AM I SOME KIND OF IDIOT? WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS WRONG WITH ME?

Okay, Valdez. Deep breaths. Suprisingly, screaming in all caps does make me feel a tiny bit better. And luckily, at this point, I'm not too worried. I figured it all out last time, and I'm 85% sure it's still at the Pub (one of the advantages of shutting the place down). No panic yet.

better

2006-04-25T01:41:00.000-05:00

The Reg
Jammin' to Dave
Almost on done with my ethical paper
Gonna have a work party with punkin
1:41 am
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Happy Birthday Evan!

The paper's coming along. I took a four hour nap instead of going to capoeira, took care of some business, and am well armed with chocolate, sugar-free red bull and Sprite.

I had a super interesting talk with Aaron earlier. He claims that the world is on an upswing. In fact, he posits that we, as a human race are about to break free from our sinusoidal wave of death, destruction, rebirth and revolution. He sees George W. as another push in that direction. As he sees it, the good people are having an easier time of it.

And this from shouting revolution at the end of seeing "V for Vendetta."

While I'm not sure I agree entirely, I do support the view that there is a revolution of sorts happening, at least I hope so. Not the flashy type, full of slogans, angry mobs, regime overthrows and weeping mothers, but a revolution nonetheless. I'm not ready to venture if this is occurring outside of my circle of humanity, the slices of reality that I encounter and modify daily.

It's a revolution of introspection. The growth of the willingness, in fact joy in learning about oneself. Examining motives, change, beauty, love, faith. In short, I've been sensing a renewed effort to question life and our fellow man for the answers they've found to the same frustratingly transcendent riddles. To channel Heidegger for a moment, if you'll excuse me, it's as if we've slowly, almost unpreceiveably become more concerned with what it means to possess Dasein: to be an entity that has being as we attempt to understand what that being is, in itself.

Where do I see this? On the internet explosion of thoughtful, well-written blogs. In the explosion of artistic creation by people who claim they 'can't paint.' Yet they take up the paintbrush nonetheless, exploring a terrain of blank canvas towards a better understanding of self. Hippie Church has many new converts, all eager to explore her mysteries. It's the way we interact with one another, reaching for understanding, and compassionate kindness. It's jammin' in public, doing what feels right, standing by your convictions while being open to heated debate. It's putting band-aids on punkin's bike wounds, Ser Wilheim walking to the Reg to smoke cigarettes with me in a bathrobe and a tie just to make me laugh. It's communal beverages, positive change, quality reflection, honest opinions, and late night talks. Naps in the sun, calling my parents and paying my bills on time. It's asking forgiveness, granting understanding, and expecting so much of a person, and not settling. Ever.

So, yea. I'm doing better. After freaking out a bit, burying my head under the blankets at Cute Baby's for a while, she came up to me and sat by my head, patting the lump of lap throws with her tiny hands. "Bhut whake-up Mee-ah! Wwe haf to gho save bhaby jagwah! And Dhorwa!" And, I sat up, deciding to feed her strawberries while I brushed out her curls, not caring if she got red all over her white shirt or rubbed her sticky face and hands onto me as she snuggled closer.

Whelmed!! Whelmed!

2006-04-24T14:09:00.000-05:00

As I was going to bed last night, I realized that my life has suddenly, secretly, fantastically gotten way out of hand.

I have a paper that was due today at three. Yea, uh huh.
I haven't gotten past page two.
I have to have my driver's license for Scav Hunt.
I haven't been able to find it lately.
I have almost no money in my bank account.
I haven't been able to access it anyways - lost ATM card.
I have an inadequate cell phone plan.
I haven't paid my cell phone bill in two months.
I have a Heidegger midterm to write this weekend.
I haven't done the reading.
I have to present at the Student Leadership Conference this Saturday.
I haven't started working on that.

Bitch moan bitch moan whine moan bitch bitch bitch.

I know I'm a warrior, but I want to crawl in bed and cry. The anxiety rises and I . . . I . . . I know that I can deal, and that things really aren't unmanageable. But, I don't feel as if I have the faculties to do it. I'm tempted to throw myself into the Pit of Dhoom and Despair and just get it done with - it's been too long since I've flipped my shit. I'm about due. If I ask for quarter and mercy, surrender honorably, will I be spared? Or at least given leniency?

But Damnit!

Whelmed. I'm muther fuckin' whelmed folks, and let me tell you, it's lame.

Of the Highest Quality

2006-04-21T08:36:00.000-05:00

Each and every quarter I make resolutions, using the forced restructuring of my life, the counting of the weeks, the planning ahead to spur me into action. As I told Alii the other day, I sometimes feel as if my mission is to continuously become and even bigger bad ass. It's like Cam's New Year's resolution to do everything better, only actively renewed every trimester.

This Spring Quarter I've decided to embrace paradox: chaos and the nap. Focusing on the sides of me that are as in need of cultivation as this mind of mine, yet often not given enough priority. I feel as if I've spent the entirety of my life placing school before and above all and I'm not about to reverse that position. Come on, that would be folly. But well, I don't want all my inner-fun to die. I'm talking more of a shifting of focus while maintaining the foundation, employing the same pieces to slightly different ends -- ends of the highest quality.

Basically, to sum, I'm going to be a giant slacker.

But with purpose! This is my goal! You see, with just a slight tweak I can change the question and not lose all honor and integrity: how much of a slacker can I be, how much fun and personal betterment can I bring into my life (aka: awesome) without compromising my scholastic intents?

I was talking to Punkin about this last week and to quote as I foolishly thought I was going to leave to do work: "Oh, wait. You're only taking three classes. Naw dude. You don't have to start doing work until, like, sixth week. Seriously, you're good." And then we promptly found five dollars. Advice from someone who knows.

Tenants of the 5-Fold Slacker Plan

1. Dreads.
2. Smoothies.
3. Capoeira! CAPOEIRA!
4. Increased gangsta shit.
5. All reading is optional.

Dreads!!
So, after the Keller Show (the one I made it to, goddamnit. More about that ones later.), in a moment of transplendent clarity, I decided to stop washing my hair. Yup. Dreads are something I've been wanting to do, planning on doing, waiting, waiting. But what for? Moving to Austin? Peace Corp? Why not start now? In the greater philosophy that is my life I believe we have fewer valid reasons not to pursue the things we truly want then we like to believe, whether we're conscious of this or not. And in that spirit, I've been submitting myself to some pretty intense hair experiences.

How does this whole thing work? Since my hair is curly, basically all I have to do is stop washing my hair, and let Alii backcomb (read: knotting, tearing, teasing, scrunching, rolling.) the hell out of it. Hey, I have so many cool scarves and now, the perfect reason to wear them constantly. It saves time and worry really. Once they're formed, we're going to color them red and gold and purple, full of beads and awesome. Until then, I have bells because I don't make enough noise anyway.

"Oh, hey, let me check myself out in the mirror. Uh huh. Uh huh. Oh, how's my hair? Oh yea. Gross. Right on."

Smoothies
Don't get me wrong, I didn't miss the smoothie train that slammed into consumer culture about three years ago. I've recently been rediscovering the glory that is healthy food, organic smoothies in the morning and A COSTCO MEMBERSHIP. The combination of these factors has lead oranges to become closely akin to water: something you should have about, share with your friends, and consume as much as possible. There's something pretty glorious about not only walking into to Ethics two minutes late, but GIANT SMOOTHIE IN HAND, bells and bracelets jingling, to promptly sit on the floor, basking in The Splendor and Glory that is Michael Green, everything right and true in the world, moral satisfaction in liquid form.

Capoeira!
I'm getting my ass kicked. No shitting you dude, moving is a whole new abomination, stairs a horror, and I had to repeatedly remind myself that I am in fact a warrior so as to not give up halfway on the walk to campus. But once I got there, I couldn't stop checking out me and my hott bod in all visible reflective surfaces. As my Dad used to tell me when I was weight training and running 2 miles a day back in the Land of Usta-Could, the pain is just the suck leaving your body. To which I would shout: To be filled with AWESOME!

Gangsta Shit: Assundry Things I'm Doing, Like Ya Do

I've finally succumb: I'm doing scavhunt. Roadtrip with the F.I.S.T. w00t.

So, last weekend, we (Punkin, Will the Viking, and I) decided to go the Keller show in Indianapolis. To make a long story short, like always, we brought the horrible weather with us, got foiled by the TIME CHANGE ( I scorn you Indiana), missed the show, and ended up blingin' the fuck at the Hilton all night, thank you Papa Sailor. We did stumble upon the Indiana State museum and their grounds, a swear-to-god-i-can't-make-this-shit-up Talking Bridge. Yea, you wish you'd been there, I know.

I'm gauging my ears. I'm up to 4.11 mm but I want to go to 8.25.

I've also recently taken to holding my ground and speaking my piece/peace. I sleep a lot better at night.

All Reading is Optional
I haven't done work in a few weeks, and that's okay by me. I'm taking amazing classes. Heidegger's "Being and Time", Introduction to Ethics, and Lewis Carroll's "Alice and Wonderland." I have to write a paper this weekend, but such is life. I love all my classes, but with the sunshine and the gangsta shit, I can't seem to find time to read about Utilitarianism. Although I did learn yesterday that Jesus was a Utilitarian! Utilitarianism, or as we call it Ethical Hedonism, says that one should aim for the greatest good for the greatest number of people. To discuss this inside a logical construct Michael Green insists on working terms of Hedons. HEDONS. Yea, you'll get it, and then it'll be hilarious.

Peace, love, and potatoes,

- M

ps. No, the cute baby is not potty trained.
pps. I may still smell of pee.
ppps. Hedon = unit of pleasure
pppps. Happy Holiday!

Well, At Least There's Music

2006-04-14T12:30:00.000-05:00

*I had to write a movie review for my Lewis Carroll class with Malynne. She said we could be as snarky as we want. Enjoy!

Hermeneutics is like crack cocaine: once you start interpreting, you can't stop and the weirder you become. Many a beloved book has been sacrificed to this fickle god, loved before inspection, cast aside upon too much reflection. Was that a Freudian reference? What would Lacan think? According to Nietzche . . . Under a Marxian reading . . . Once you open that Pandora's box of Interpretation sex, booze, Jesus, semiotics, Marxist tendencies, and Freudian slips sprout like wild mushrooms, only much less palatable.

When it comes to making movies, translating the written word into movies: bright shining pictures, talking, moving symbolism, there tends to be something lacking. The witty turn of phrase, the ingenious pun, precise dialogue, breath-taking descriptives, a sweeping scope of narrative all stand side. In their place, we get new fandangled technology, computer animation, and synthetic music.

This means, for me, avoiding movie remakes of books I actually like; avoiding like the plague. (I mean, gawd, did you even see a preview for the abomination that was "Troy"? puh-leeze.) I imagine that for every cherished title, there's an author somewhere who's missing a chunk of their soul, lamenting they day they were seduced by the promise of fat royalty checks. (I ignore the fact that this teeth gnashing is probably happening over a mojito, in the Caribbean due to said checks, but hey, what do you do?) I get a little rush of karma-boosting righteousness as I say to myself, "I am above your shallow adaptations. I will not be lead astray by skin and special effects. To my books, I'll stay true," as I clutch Durkheim to my breast.

Yet, some books ask for it. Beg for it. Wake you up in the middle of the night, asking to be shoddily envisioned, lacklusterly displayed, dispassionately acted, a box office smash. And sadly, "Alice in Wonderland" is one such book.

Recently, I watched a version of Alice that seemed to lack this artistic, hermeneutic drive. Made in the early 90's, it seems to suffer from the opposite problem as it lacks any real interpretive drive. Instead of a turmoil of interpretation, open for discussion, its message is clear:

Growing up is lame. It involves doing lots of crack and becoming a mean, nasty adult, but at least you get to sing songs. Oooh pretty lights!

To make this message entirely clear, this movie throws the original text aside preferring to ad lib then expose their viewers to Carroll’s’ smashing wit, and nonsensical brilliance. Of course, everyone knows that popular culture isn’t supposed to be edifying in any way at all. Silly academics. To begin, an original opening scene was created, which goes a little something like this:
“I wish I was a grown-up.”
“But you’re not so you can’t have tea.”
“Oh, that’s sad.”
“I’m a cruel hearted adult, and don’t really care. Why don’t you go outside?”

Having tea is the ultimate goal of being an adult? The true signs of maturity reside in crumpets and herbal brews? I think not.

Other pretty pointless deviations: Alice falls into a creek the color of feces, not a river of tears. The caucus race doesn’t really happen so much as everyone run around freaking out for no stated purpose. And I’m sure many many more. But, as that’s as far as I’ve gotten in the book. .

Besides the heavy-handed moral, there are songs. Songs of joy? No, no. Remember: adults are not nice, and are mean to children for absolutely no reason and every song serves to shore up this moral. The mouse sings a saucy rap song about hating dogs, the malice clear in every word. Sammy Davis, Jr. sings a song, and does a little dance after hollering at Alice, dressed in lederhosen for no reason whatsoever. Then there’s the hatred song, everyone’s favorite. Then the sad treacle song. (Here’s an interpretation in an otherwise vacuous landscape for hermeneutics: Treacle = cocaine.) Don’t forget Alice’s classic reflective number, “Why is Everyone Crazy?” and who could forget the dictatorship and tyranny song that the Duchess sings?

Let’s go back to talking about drugs. To make this reference abundantly clear, there are the tweaked out birds. Now, it may be that since it was the early 90’s it’s merely a coincidence that all the actors were so very high. Or maybe it was one of the three driven artistic decisions made in the movie. But either way, the movie might as well be sprinkled with a fine white powder, Wonderland a snowy vista. The birds flap, shirking! Yelling! As the camera zooms in on their strained faces, wide glossy eyes. Alice is of course, frightened. Later, the actors must not have been given their allotted dosage as a riot almost ensues in two different scenes as characters chant: “TREACLE” and “PEPPER” respectively, hands shaking, eyes unfocused, looking for a fix.

Another side effect of the drugs is this movie’s preoccupation with their Stellar Technology. I remember when green screens were in vogue. And oh! Shiny flashy light things! And did you see how the Cheshire cat is a person, but half of him disappears? OMG! But the truly wonderful thing about the self-indulgent and conspicuous use of what was then a hot property is the musical clues. Did you hear that synthesized BBLLRRRIINNG noise? Careful kids: there’s some amazing technological moment coming up, don’t be caught unawares.

In the end, Alice falls in a pile of leaves, only to awake in her own yard, in time for tea. After her discoveries that adults are mean and make no sense at all, possibly because of their drug habits, she makes it back in time for tea. Was she anxious to sing moralistic songs herself, admonishing other Alices? Or is she now addicted to Treacle and pretty lights?

Is that what adulthood is? Losing the veil that tells us adults have it all figured out only to pick up a drug habit while straining to sing songs anyways, dancing in step? If so, at least the costumes are colorful and the lights distracting. My one worry: I’m not sure I know the words to the song.

Units of Being

2006-04-12T09:36:00.000-05:00

This past Sunday, we all went and RAGED THE FUCK at the Keller show. Yea, I know. You all wish you were me. It was as awesome as you'd think it'd be. In fact, better. Sydney was in town and helped us rage all the more.

To help ensure that we would be able, at some point, drive home -- the show was in Urbana -- we split into teams, one group indulging on the drive there, the other waiting until we were safely at our destination. Monks of Cool (Katherine and Igor) decided to go first, leaving Team Hyde Park (Lauren and I) to navigate through a tornado warning all by our selves. But! We prevailed!

Then, Team Hyde Park was ready for action. I could spend so much space and time trying to explain all the wonderful, amazing, transcendent, mindblowing things that went on, but I won't. I could never do it justice.

At the set break, we all went out to the car for fresh air, a little regrouping, and a plum. As we emerged from the sweltering, dank venue Katherine and I burst forth! running down the streets of Chambana, arms and voices huge, waving. It was great being outside, but soon, I was about to burstexplodecomeapartahhhh! I remember jumping up and down, braclettes and bells jingliing,

"The show. The show. The show."

And then, in pure Mia fashion, I decided what was more important and did just that. There was nothing I could do for Lauren, who was fine, and standing around wanting to be inside was doing no one any good. So, I left. Inwards! Showards!

It struck a strange paralell: at one time, school was more important, and in pure Mia fashion, I left.

Spending the last half of the show alone was actually quite magnificent. It's amazing the things I decided to ponder. It made me miss Bryan: he would have been right there with me. Adam too. My thoughts spun around Chicago, Hippie Festivi, the point of it all, distance, change. But mostly, I thought about units.

I stood there marveling at all these people there, who were loving the hell out of the Keller show with the other half of their unit. There's a tenuous, striking beauty to when two unique individuals join together, forming a singe unit with it's own characteristic, qualities, and needs. 1 + 1 = 3

Where's my unit? Have I already found it? There's something about our fatalistic, flawed, faithhful belief in us that says, yea, maybe I have. Or that says I'm so very, fundamentally wrong. About a lot of things.

But nonetheless, Woot! I say! Woot! Goddamn KDub! Afterwards, there was an inpromptu dance party when they put on "Jungle Boogie" and suddenly everyone had the room to jam the fuck.

Then we walked around UI-UC's campus for three hours, ate some Jimmie John's, ate some tree, had a good ole time.

At one point, we stummbled into the main quad, and were struck by the space, the size, the gradeur? of University of Illinois, Chambana.

"I wonder what it's like to go here."
"Let's check out this informative plaque and learn about them," as if we were so very different from them because we go to the big ole' school in the city, and well shucks, these kids just don't know.
"We're students. In college. Just not here," as we wonder over to the plaque, hoping to learn about these creatures who must be so different from us. Tell us, Oh Plaque! What of their History? Their Glory?

The plaque was about Corn. Corn.

"Well, that sums it up. That's all you need to learn about UI-CU. Corn. Right on. Like ya do."

Igor was our knight in blingin' armor and drove us home. No sleep for the weary: we got home at 6;15 and I was at Cute Baby's at 7:45.

I talked to Big Blue about all this yesterday, telling him of the hippie reunion I saw again, as I always do. This is when a unit breaks apart, one party jamming a little too far foward, little too much jam until gasp! They look up and they can't see their other half! Oh no! Then, the other party (usually the dude) will spot his lost other, and there's a sweet conclusion to what could have been a scary rest of the show. I pointed out to B-man that maybe I'm so fascinated in this common event because if I wonder/wandered off, there wouldn't necessarily be another half to pull me back. It always makes me a little sad to not have someone's shoulder to rest my weary head on after a particular draining jam, no arms to dream in on the way down. Maybe coming to Chicago was wondering off, and I am getting pulled back, drawn to be a part of my favorite units.

It left me with some questions. Are we aware of the units we place ourselves in? Are these the appropriate units? I feel as if being more aware of the units we invest with the superness that is ourselves, whether they're voluntary or involuntary, is a valuable exercise. What am I creating that's greater then I?

*I also wrote this post a while ago. Stupid free internet that we steal from our neighbors not working. How dare they. More about my general goings on soon.

Going the Distance, Evading the Cycle

2006-04-10T09:52:00.000-05:00

I've been confronted lately the with enormity of space -- the distance between. The closeness of family and friends tumbling into sharp contrast as I count the miles and miles from home, yet no nearer towards it then when I left.

As Dr. Steve poignantly mentioned once: "You gave up a lot of love in moving to Chicago, didn't you?"

I don't grant his premise. I don't think I lost love persay, so much as tempered its mettle. And some loves were too brittle to withstand the strain.

well the hoofers washed off the five o'clock
i fear i'll never find him

While in Texas, I went and found Adam. He decided to shut me out, pass me by, push me aside. So, I showed up at his house. And then it was lovely. And painful. And brillant. And horrible. And lovelier still.

dear john where are you?
i know you're out there somewhere

But, you see, that's the problem right there: he continues to keep me at a distance, pushing me away while whispering that he always wants to hold me close. As if the distance weren't trial enough, I have lost my faith -- there are few objective truths to justify it. It's not grains of salt I take his words with, but giant hulking chunks.

i've got a hurrican in my pocket
but no one wil believe me

Empty promises? Can you really have a fulfilling relationship which lacks faith, trust and honesty?

i poured a bucket of tar on top of a flower
somehow i knew they'd try to find it

When are you leaving me again as you spiral so far down you refuse to let me to follow?

and buy it
or ride it
or style it

We've been here before. Then, at his urging, I was done. Then there was what I deemed impossible: magically, tragically? the mental requirements I made, the reasons I wanted, the change I needed to see all were meet, created, or manifestly presented.

let's go dancing
let's go dancing
to the fireflies
to the hurricane

And it's not as if I every stopped loving. That can't be willfully done.

to the falling rain
to the open flame

As I see the pendelum begin to swing, I want to tell myself this time it'll be different. This time, this time, things will be as they should, as they could, as they would.

how many times?

It doesn't make me question my own personal worth so much as suggest I'm not good at loving. Because that has never stopped, that has never faltered, yet it hasn't been enough in the past, by far. What is to make me think it will be this time? I've remained as steady and honest as I know how to be while offering the best love I know how to give in the sincerest way I can.

i stop a freight train with a grain of sand
can't you hear me crashing?

And for what? A cycle of distance both physical and psychological, hearts colliding to spin off again in the distance, leaving each colder and more poignantly alone then before.

split a mountain in two with a flake of snow
but no one will believe me

I tell myself, no. If he falls off the planet again, I'm done. Too many time have I danced this dance.

the stories were long
the stories were good

But, I'm probably lying. And I hate that.

that's the reason I believe them
what do you know about revolution?

As Eric points out, I'm in it now, again -- as if I was really gone to being with. And I can't turn back. Support, love, kindness are all there. I'm not going to leave.

what do you know about revolution?

And that scares me.

i said, what do you know about revolution

Is this cycle unescapable? Would I really want out if I could? Is this what I've committed myself too forever? Do I want that? Will things change?

all i was taught was patience
or making a statement

I was reading a book of Lauren's, given to her by Yitz, and there's a part of it that's been haunting me. A women who is an expert psychologist specializing in co-dependent relationship states that the the lasting patterns of all relationships are established in the first encounter.

let's go dancing

Gawd, I hope not.

Forever is a promise. So is I love you.

Thursday, I sat in front of Cobb with some people playing Go, smoking, enjoying the soon to be spring. And suddenly, we saw a little old man and a little old wife bycycle by. She was sitting pretty as you please, hands folded in her lap, perched on the cross bar. His arms encircled her as they made their steady, confident way across the quad. One of the kids we were with say, "Wow. I think I just found my new driving purpose in life. I want that."

let's go dancing

And I thought, yes. That's what I want. That's what I have? Is it even a possibility or am I fooling myself, trapping my heart in a cycle of destruction, heartache, and the looming weight of being fundamentally alone? I'm not sure yet.

to the fireflies
to the hurricane

And that scares me too.
I don't like being scared.

sometimes

* Since I wrote this, about two weeks ago -- our internet isn't working -- I've talked to Adam a couple of times. And I'm a little more sure, mildly reassured. But I'm still scared. The problems remain.

But a Blood Pressure Spike Nonetheless

2006-03-28T23:08:00.000-06:00

The Scene: Alii and I, chillin' on the couch, enhancing our educational experience, happy, calm, minding our own business. 9:15 pm

Door Buzzer.

Mia: Hello? Buzzer: Can we check our laundry room? Mia: Excuse me? Uhh? Looks confusedly at Alii
Buzzer: POLICE!!

Alii springs from the couch in terror, looking frantically around. Mia stands there in a moment of indecision as Alii begins to gather things off the table. Mia pushes the button and runs to help. Moments later, they open the door. A bewildered police man is knocking on Sir Neighbor's door.

Mia: Can I help you?
Police: We've gotten reports of someone breaking into your laundry room. Can you show us where it is?
Mia: Uh sure . . .

Mia wanders, stunned, towards the kitchen, grabbing the key off the hook as Alii attempts to magically absorb our fragrant living room smell in through her pores.

Police Office: Don't go outside. They may be out there!

12,394 police officers continue to stream through the apartment and stand bewildered in the courtyard. Mia dares to go outside.

Mia: The laundry room is right here." pointing below the apartment. Then goes back inside.
Alii: So maybe we should hold off on that bowl . . .

They left 20 minutes later, Alii having overheard that they had received another call of a laundry room break in, so were pretty certain it was a prank. (The lack of burglary going on in the laundry room may also have contributed to this conclusion.) My question is: LAUNDRY ROOM? What, are they going to steal the dryer that doesn't work and someone's abandoned underwear? The Laundry Snatchers should feel free to steal the random shit on my back porch while they're at it.

Good to know that the Hyde Park PD was there in force though. We have nothing to fear ladies and gentlemen: your apparel is safe.

Let Me Know, Kay?

2006-03-28T09:51:00.000-06:00

I have 45,304 things to say about Texas, but I also have class. Soon. More later.

But for know, let me say: If I smell like piss let me know, kay?

I walked into work yesterday, tired and homesick, ready to watch "Diego" and eat hot dogs, when Holly say, "Oh, by the way, I bought all these cute underwear for Caroline, so we should start potty training her." And promptly dumps a huge pile of pink Dora the Explorer underwear onto the living room table.

We? WE?

So, Caroline peed her pants twice in 2 hours with yours truely being on pants-changing duty. This is not going to be easy. She doesn't won't use the toilet and all the pink commercialism themed underwear in the world are to no effect.

Oh, and did I mention that since she missed me, Litte Bit has been extra affectionate? (Read: crawling into my lap in an adorable fashion, then promptly attempting to scale Mount Mia.)

I wash her.
I change her pants.
She is piss free.
Therefore, by the power of logic, I shouldn't have piss on me and/or smell like pee

Plan of attack: cease giving her liquid.

The Edge of the World

2006-03-06T15:37:00.000-06:00

The Shaws
6C
9:14 am
Diego! Diego! Go Diego Go!
(it's the penguin episode -- my fav)
Monday, March 6, 2006

The Edge of the World

Chicago is a beautiful, picturesque city, full of surprising vistas, stunning architecture, clear pure sunshine and all the modern beauty of a cosmopolitan town nestled in the heart of the Midwest. When you take the 55 to 90/94, right when you first merge onto 55, all of sudden! Chicago! bursts through the warehouses, the traffic and there it is in all it's towering glory. I remember being greeted by that skyline when I came to prospie, knowing that that view, those buildings would one day mean I was home.

This summer, Lauren, Alii and I were driving North on Lake Shore for reasons unknown when suddenly, we came around a inlet, and we all started hollering. There it was: Chicago skyline, blue sky, Lake Michigan. Perfect summer. So, here we are, driving along, SCREAMING because the beauty was more then we could contain.

But sometimes, Chicago is cold. Chicago is forbidding. And on days like that, the edge of the world becomes apparent and I fight the urge to throw myself off of it. When the fog rolls in, the snow clouds stick around, where there once was the edge of the Lake, there is instead a bank of nothing. A gray, nebulas expanse of the unknown, tempting explorers, intimidating those who are too comfortable in their static existence. Today is one of those days.

As I pretend to write a paper on Leibniz's concept of Space and Time, I gaze out the window of the Cute Baby's apartment window. Six stories up provides a pie slice view between buildings, ending in a bank of ash colored emptiness. Usually I can see the curve of the shore as it continues North, water tumbling over the breaker, cars whizzing by on Lake Shore.

Today, there are trees, the beach. And. Then. Nothing. It's rather difficult to write about the nature of Space and Time when the edge of the world is so close at hand. Explorers have died for it. Heretics have burned for not believing in it. Scientists have wasted away in Purgatory for revolutionizing theories about it.

And me? I throw Cute Baby in the air, pace around the apartment, starting out the window, imagining dashing across the traffic, heedless of the fog to hurl myself into oblivion - spiraling downward, cartwheeling into whatever is next.

(Ignoring the fact that were I to do that, I would in fact, only end up wet.)

But if I did that, who would make hot dogs and turn on Diego? Caroline comes and crawls into my lap, asking why I have Mommy's computer, slapping a damp wad off pink Play-Dough in my hand. Since I can't abandon Cute Baby, I might as well stick around.

That's one of the many luxuries of being three: you're just not threatened by the eminence of the edge of the world.

THE CRISIS IS NOW!!

2006-03-02T10:32:00.000-06:00

So, instead of paying attention in class yesterday, I made a detailed, comprehensive list of what needs to get done for each class to assure that I can leave for Texas in 12 days. And then it hit me:

I LEAVE FOR TEXAS IN TWELVE DAYS!!
I HAVE TO DO ALL THIS SHIT BEFORE THEN!!
HOLY HELL!!

I remember sitting there, calmly outlining my lack of sleep, lack of life, the upcoming self-sacrifice to the Ivory Tower. It looked difficult, strenuous, harrowing and full of suck. Yet, for a few fateful moments, I was able to see it as something foreign to me, something not immediately in my future. Then I realized: IT'S NINTH WEEK!

THE CRISIS IS NOW!!

Time to say good-bye to adequate sleep, well-rested days, manageable amounts of stress, decent food, being prepared for class, and generally not hating life. No, the crisis is nigh!

We were remarking how two weeks seems, theoretically like a long time, and how, generally speaking, two weeks can zoom by in the blink of an eye. 4th week to 6th week? Please. I've napped for longer then that. But then Stef pointed out that the amount of time between 9th week, 10th week, and that fateful finals week is infinitely longer then any other span of time. I think I know why: there is actually more time. Or at least more conscious time. In these coming weeks we will all sleep much less as we desperately try to cram 10 weeks worth of knowledge into our puny little brains. So, there is actually more experienced time between now and then. Boo to that.

Time for a bit of Crisis Relief. Time to buy a box of Chillable Red, lock myself in my apartment to emerge weeks later a much sleepier, alcohol soaked, and hopefully marginally smarter individual. Wish me luck.

Obsessing, Proper

2006-03-01T18:35:00.000-06:00

Obsessing, Proper

(Let's pretend it's yesterday, shall we?)
My House
9:09 am
Tuesday, February 28, 2006

I woke up too anxious to function once I realized I have little to no idea what I'm doing this summer. And by summer, I mean with the rest of my life. So, instead of sleeping for another half hour (gasp! Sleep is like gold around here!) I decided to get out of bed and obsess properly. It went a little something like this.

What the hell am I doing this summer?
No Alii or Lauren. Sad.
Upscale waiting? Email Jesse.
Stupid Ovaries
She got a Boob job? No!
Jason P. is moving to Chicago in Sept! I win!
Did he really graduate from Lee four years ago?
Damn. Who the hell is going to live with me this summer?
Am i going to nanny? For whom?
What am I going to wear?
I accidentally bought a maternity sweater: it will fool the sperm . . .
Pink elephants are sweet.
Why is there are error in joining 'wheresmysupersuit?"
10,000 Lakes is going to be the SHIT
KELLER! KELLER!
Why can't Bryan just move to Chicago for the summer?
Why can't anyone, in fact. . . Lauren?
That would be sweet.
I don't want to read that novel in French. Boo.
The Perfect Show. The Perfect Show.
Breaking Neal's Knees.
I totally went to all my classes last week.
So that means I can skip a lot this week, right?
Oh man, skipping class in high school was hilarious.
Oklahoma City: me, Adam, his family. In a month. Heavy.
So much love, I'm such a luck girl.
I'd rather be a lucky man the a good man.
What is it that's so decadently comfortable about wearing only a shirt and undies?
I wonder what University publication I'm getting interviewed for today?
Stupid Ovaries
I haven't done work since last Thursday.
I should do some work. My head doesn't hurt anymore!! I win!
Man, migraines are lamelameLAME
Oh with the work I have to do now.
What if I had become a famous ballerina?
That would probably suck. Texas in 14 days. OMG!
This is going to be ridiculous.
Alii says it's like meeting characters from a book.
She doesn't think my friends really exist.
Oh they exist all right. Well, as much as any of us exist.
Gauging out my ears is fun! Plugs here I come.
Maybe I want to start my dreads now . . .
Peace Corp dinner tonight. . . That'll help?
Grad School? Peace Corp? Grad School? Peace Corp?
Year off?
California? Austin? California? Austin?
Metaphysics is so cool
Voltaire! Voltaire! Voltaire!
Maybe Wallace can help me find a kick ass summer job.
Oh man.
I'M A GENIUS!! AYSE SHOULD LIVE WITH ME THIS SUMMER!!
That would be super duper.
Do some work, bitch. Seriously.
This is pretty goddamn ridiculous.

Oh, But How Wrong I Was

2006-02-28T14:01:00.000-06:00

So, starting last week and ending Thursday, I wrote a paper. What I thought was a good paper, one that did exactly what papers are supposed to do. It made me consolidate my knowledge in a coherent manner, proving to the world once and for all that, yes, I in fact know some stuff. Woot for me.

I left the library with a feeling of elation: I wrote this paper and it is good.

Oh but I was wrong. I just to the paper back: C+.

The worst: a little note from my TA.

"I think you've just missed the main point of Brewer's piece."

The disappointing part isn't the grade. Luckily, I know live in a time where my happiness and well being is not directly tantamount to my GPA. But, shit. I was happy that I learned some things. Look ma, I wrote a paper. But no.

That'll teach me for putting in extra effort and doing my work before the night before it's due. Ha! See if I'll do that again.

I had a sad realization today while walking to class, before I received my ego-crushing paper.

I'm pretty darn good at being a student, but I'm a really crappy scholar.

Dreams and Headaches

2006-02-27T18:31:00.000-06:00

My House
Chillaxing
Monday, February 27, 2006
6:32 pm

Dreams and Headaches

I had a dream that I had a child. A beautiful, intelligent, amazing little girl. I was older, but still the same me, only with a little one as well. The rest of the dream was pretty uninspiring -- I bought a rug and was rude to my aunt Lori. But the baby! I've been thinking a lot about children lately. I want one, but not today. This child had an amazing father as well. Honest, smart as hell, devoted. And no, it was not the Tall Blonde Biochemist. There is in fact one other person on this planet that can quiet my mind with their mere presence.

Now, this dream was moderately infuriating. Yea subconcious? I want to have a kid? With him? For real? I had no idea.

At one point in the dream, I found a check my mother had given me, like so many checks for monthly expenses. Instead of just the month in the 'memo' space it said:
February: Motherhood

Instantly, two things that she said to me last visit played in my head. "A child's personality solidifies before they're 6, for the most part. You're still the exact same, that's for sure. And you turned out so wonderful because of where your father and I were at that point in our lives. The love, joy, and interesting things for you to do all the time, plus two parents that love the crap out you. Because we were so in love, you were so happy."

As I was telling her about wanting kids one day, "You should work on finding a boyfriend first. You don't to well with that whole dating-people-who-actually-live-near-by thing. Have you noticed that? Are you incapable of forming real relationships? Let's work on that before we start making babies."

Sure, those were filtered through my less-than-perfect moment, but you get the idea. Sigh.

Oh, and it turns out I have migraines. I had a four-day headache, complete with nausea and lots of other lameness. So, they gave me this medicine that you're supposed to take before the thing starts: abortive medication.

The thing with migraines is you get what's called an aura before it hits you. It's basically the same thing that happens to epileptics. This aura can range from weird light patterns, or sensitivity to sound. Or it can be "a general feeling that something is wrong."

So, wait. If I have a general feeling that something is wrong, I'm supposed to take a pill? Yea. Right.

"For Days When Life is More Than a Notion"

2006-02-25T13:52:00.000-06:00

My House
Chillaxing
2:12 pm
I don't feel like working. . .
Saturday, Feb. 24, 2005

"For Days When Life is More than a Notion"

So, it's Saturday and I usually spend these doing work: reading, researching, writing, thinking. And it's generally pretty sweet when you consider that I'm a giant dork. Oh no! I have to sit around and read Leibniz/Foucault/Heidegger all day! Oh, what a tragedy! (Except last Saturday: it was cold beyond all reason and they didn't turn on our heat. Boo.)

But today? Not today. No, I think I'll do other things instead. At least before I even begin to think about the vastness of things I need to learn between now and Monday.

Why? I wasn't doing so well yesterday. I started losing large chunks of time Thursday night, closely followed by not wanting to be around people. Then, I hallucinated the FUCK in mmy grade class, managing to come out of a three hour class with a page of notes. Me not taking notes every second? No continuously reassuring whisp of the pen and jingle of my bracelets? (I'm that kid that's noisy in class, all the time. Sorry about that.) Yea. It was pretty horrid. After standing in front of the Divinity school for about 2o mintues after class, not able unlock my bike because I was so entangled in compulsive, incoherent thought loops, I finally made it home. Not sleeping for several days may or may not have something to do with this suck that was my life for while. My brain was trying to climb out of my skull: LoudloUDloudLOUD.

So, I had to cancel my appointment with Wallace. Now, that's a difficult, silly, obnoixious, soul-tearing email to have to write to someone. I got the most lovely response.

"I will miss ending my week in the glow of your presence. Your energy seems to infect me. I remember riding to Gary in the car sitting next to you and marvelled at how up I felt when we arrived. I attributed that energy directly to you. Sooooo for the energy you have thus far provided... thanks a million. For the days when life is more than a notion, I hope I will become a source of energy for you. Meetings with me should not add to your stress. Have a Wallace kind of weekend."

I love my boss. And I love my life. Ridiculous Head and all, it's pretty bitchin'. So, instead of doing work, I will regale the internet with some gems of knowledge I figured out during the week, because of the week, inspite of the day.

My new calling in life: become a children's pop star. I mean obviously, right? I could be the next Deedee Doodlebop. I watch this show EVERY TIME I BABYSIT. "No Caroline, we can't watch Diego. I'm watching my favorite show." Then, since I know all the words and the dance moves, she soon becomes convinced that a) The Doodlebops are the new light of her life, and b) I may be the coolest or strangest person ever. She hasn't quite decided. Don't get me wrong though: I heart Diego. EXCEPT! HE HAS NO NIPPLES!! There was an episode about blue whales and, woah. It was a lot to take at 8:00 am.

My mom called me the other day to ask for help with music. Specifically, she has bought a new computer, and wanted to know how to organize music. Woot. If there's ever a reason for my mom to call and ask for help, then this is it. It was so fun to tell her to download iTunes immediately: don't even open windows media player. Ever.

POI!! POI!! POI!! I'm an addict. I'm in fact, joining the circus next quarter to learn more. I'm soo cool.

I'm going to learn German this summer at the Goethe Institute. If Lauren isn't biking across America, she's going to learn it with me. I realized that not only does everyone I know speak German, but there's a lot of philosophy that I should read in German. I would say that more than other philosohpers, Germans use their langauge. Exploit it, one could say. And I want it on that.

When Alii moves out after school's over, LAUREN'S MOVING IN. Woot! I'll miss my Alii, but at least I'll live with the world's greatest punkin. I mean, gourd.

Heidegger is really cool. For example:
The nothing is complete negation of the totality of being.
Does not this characterization of teh nothing ultimately provide an indication of the direction from which alone the nothing can come to meet us?
The totalities of beings must be given in advance so as to be able to fall prey straightway to negation -- in which the nothing itself would be be manifest

Road Trip to Texas soon soon soon. Two and half weeks. Suggestions?

I had many more tasty tidbits of thoughts this weekend. More to come.

One Step Closer to Convincing the Greater Chicagoland Area that I am a GIANT LESBIAN

2006-02-20T21:29:00.000-06:00

In a moment of frantic cleaning, I consolidated all our recycling into the silly hand cart, ready to be taken to the Co-Op at any moment. To get it a step or two closer, I even put this monument to hippie-dom on the back porch. Sir Neighbor came over and volunteered to take some of it in for us yesterday.

His reason: "I feel like I live next door to a colony of Lesbian winos."

GODDAMN MF-IN BULLSHIT

2006-02-15T14:51:00.000-06:00

My House
Smoking
About to Nap
Ill
2:56 pm
Wednesday, Februay 15, 2005

GODDAMN MF-IN BULLSHIT

I am not awkward. Nope, never have been. I've been clumsy, anxious, ill-spoken, straight-forward, blunt, bitchy, out of place, uncomfortable, bumbling, confused, distressed and weired out. But AWKWARD? Obviously not. That's how I make other people feel, thank you very much.

But WHAT THE FUCK? I'm "dating" The Awkward One and it's about to drive me batty, if it hasn't already. I was okay with it in the beginning -- every Thing has it's week or so of awkward: do I hold your hand? is it okay to call? where are the boundaries? That I get. But then you move on, and that person becomes who you're comfortable with. Except no. I didn't think there was such thing as too awkward to function, I thought Katherine had the awkward arena pretty much covered, but no. I was wrong. Oh so wrong.

And it's not one thing, or any set of specific things. It's the whole goddamn situation. It feels the way fingers on a chalkboard sound. Being with him is not even fun anymore. The awkward has over stayed it's welcome. I'm tired of feeling as if it's something that I am even remotely in control of. I'm tired of attempting to make all situations as awkward-free as possible, feeling as if it's something that I can control. As if it were my problem, and not his own personal issue.

And we're not even sleeping together, thank God. I figure that would just be another awkward bag of fish that would be impossible to deal with too. And you know what's frustrating? And it's that.

It's not that I don't care for TAO -- I wouldn't still be around if that were the case. But I'm quickly approaching my breaking point: either you decide to let someone in (even if you don't know where that's going to lead), and get over the BULLSHIT (because that's what it is: bullshit) or you don't. And we need to do one or the other, or I'm gonna bail.

He is welcome to insist that I'm not his girlfriend multiple times in one day. Yes, that's right: I'm not his girlfriend. But let it be known that I'm not sure I'd ever want to be. More importantly, I worry that he's not capabale of connecting with someone on a real level, making girlfriendness, not only undesirable but impossible.

And if he reads this, he's going to freak. And by freak, I mean be awkward. More awkward then usual, if that's possible. His head will explode. And you know what? I DON'T CARE BECAUSE THIS IS GODDAMN MF-IN BULLSHIT.

Canasta, Cupid and Being Poked By God

2006-02-14T13:44:00.000-06:00

UCSC
Should be working. . .
1:44 pm
Tuesday, February 14, 2005

Canasta, Cupid, and Being Poked by God

I have safely returned from the Land of Milk and Honey -- or Sourdough Bread and Wine as the case may be. And it was lovely. Beyond lovely. Transcendent, shall we say?

My Aunt Lori is as amazing as ever: insightful, straight forward, hilarious, discombobulated, and full of life. My Uncle Vick learned long ago to hold his tongue in a house full of women, yet retained his ingenious ability to take no shit without being an ass. Aunt Jaynie, as always, was like a sweater for my soul as my Grandma continues to be the sweetest person in the universe. If she were an animal, she would be a bunny rabbit. A baby bunny rabbit.

One day, I will live in San Francisco. This became clear immediately upon arrival. The fact that it's the only place in the world where the quality of food compares with Europe -- that alone made me a goner. Tie that to the ocean, the weather, the friendly people, public transit and a dedicated sense of Doing The Right and Healthy Thing makes it the town for me. A Ph.D in philosophy from the People's Republic of Berkeley. I only hope I'm that lucky. I could focus on Metaphysics. Yea, basically, that's what needs to happen.

"I would rather be a lucky man, then a good man."

Then, after tons of family and food, I played Canasta with Yitz. Let it to suffice to say it was good. The best kind of good I know. We were "those people," after spending ill-begotten funds on glorious wine. We got lost in the Tender Knob, enjoyed amazing view and connected. Connected in a way I haven't connected with another human being in a long time, perhaps ever. And he will show up on my doorstep before too long. I'll keep hoping it's tomorrow, and one day it will be.

Only, when that does happen, I'll probably be in OKC. The TBB is going to fly me to Oklahoma City (hopefully) sometime soon. But I, as always, take that with a gigantic slab of salt. Or heroin, which ever the case may be. This man I love is finally taking the steps needed to put himself in order. A scary step which I respect and admire greatly. Yet, I have a reticence to emotionally invest -- he may disappear tomorrow. So, what do I do? Keep on loving (as if I had a choice) without counting on him for emotional support. And deal with the fact that the Universe enjoys poking me. At least God finds my life entertaining, right?

Last but not least: Valentine's Day. I still feel exactly as I did one year ago today.

"On Valentine's Day though, I have a few thoughts. Why is it that people feel this is the day to express love? Why not Febraury 23? Or March 2? I feel that love is not expressed enough in general, and feeling like Febraury 14 is the day to do it because Hallmark tells you to is lame. I want to show the people I love that I love them more then one day a year. In fact, let's strive for everyday, with small displays of affection, caring, trust -- love. I saw so many people carrying bears and chocolates, flowers and cards, and I said, "That's so expected. Now if someone gave me flowers tomorrow, that would be exciting." Alii did buy me flowers though, since she's my surrogate boyfriend, and they are lovely. It's the principle really -- why should our ideas of love be shaped and controlled by commercial America? People don't touch enough, connect enough, love enough and being forced to do it on this specific day smacks of falsness, of insecurity, of striving for something not quite real. I'll take a quiet walk, a cup of coffee, real conversation and connection with someone worth connecting to anyday, over mandated flowers and chocolate on February 14."

I wish ya'll all the love and joy you deserve. And not just today, everday.

Yea, I'll Be Wearing Flowers in My Hair

2006-02-10T17:09:00.000-06:00

On my couch!
With Lauren
Happy Suicide Prevention Day
2:21 pm
Friday, February 10, 2006

Yes, I'll Be Wearing Flowers in My Hair

I know, you all hate me.

This morning:
"Mostly cloudy with scattered snow flurries and snow showers. Low near 30F. Winds NNW at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of snow 30%"

This Evening:
"Abundant sunshine. High 67F. Winds N at 5 to 10 mph."

Email of "Itinerary and Food Plan" from my Auntie Lori
Cast of Characters: Aunt Lori and Uncle Vick -- my mom's brother and wife who used to be gypsies, Juanita -- Grandma Parks!! Woot! Aunt Jaynie -- my mom's sister. The first word I ever said was Nanie

Friday Daytime – Lori to go around and replace all the regular light bulbs with low, low wattage bulbs instead of running around like a crazed person trying to do all the things she should have done this last month. Vick should be working……………..

Friday Night – Vick and Lori to the airport to pick up Mom and Jaynie. After their luggage has been collected we will probably need to stop and find Juanita an Apple Martini (her favorite) while waiting for Mia to arrive. If Mia’s plane runs late we will leave a message for her to call us in the morning and we will come pick her up after breakfast. There will be the usual odd assortment of grazing opportunities in the fridge for those of us ready for our every 2 to 3 hour feed.

Saturday Daytime – Everyone will have Mia’s birthday cake for breakfast. I guess we really should go pick her up before we cut her cake? We will all have to check our sugar levels and decide then. Vick, Mia, and Jaynie will then tromp thru the City (or somewhere they can have chowder in a bread bowl for lunch) and not come home until dinner. Juanita will stay home with me and make me cookies/nap while I read/ nap then, she can read/nap while I cook dinner/drink wine.

Saturday Night – Mia may, or may not, have dinner with the rest of us before joining her friends for a rousing game of canasta at the local YMCA. Dinner will be: Rack of Pork, Garlic & Parmesan Noodles, Vegetable Melody, and a Green Salad (with sour dough bread or maybe yeast rolls????). Everyone is welcome to whatever is left of Mia’s cake. No one should plan on eating any of Lori’s Sugar Cookies.

Sunday Daytime – We are ALL taking the ferry over to the outdoor produce market at the Ferry Building in the City and we will sample our way thru it. It will be the perfect balance of fresh air, yummy goodies, and exercise to warrant an afternoon of naps/books/snacks until it is time for our very own family crab feed for dinner.

Sunday Night – A Crab Feed free-for-all complete with newspaper spread over the dinner table for easy clean-up.

Monday Daytime – Vick or I will take Mia to the airport at some ungodly hour of the morning. If Mia really loved us she would let us drop her off the night before – after the crab feed, of course. We will negotiate this later. Everyone may have ONE of Lori’s cookies for breakfast. Vick and Jaynie will go play golf while Juanita makes Lori more cookies. Juanita and Lori may go for a walk around the neighborhood. Juanita may want to make Vick some Ranger cookies – if she has time after our walk and before our nap. Vick and Jaynie will come in quietly from golf and take a nap like the rest of us.

I'm going to have the best Suicide Prevention Weekend ever. Woot, I say. Woot.

Quelques Choses que Je Fais

2006-02-07T14:37:00.000-06:00

Mac Lab
Almost French Class Time
2:39 pm
Tuesday, February 7, 2005

Quelques Choses que Je Fais
Some Things That I'm Doing

Writing in French about how you can read Candide as against Liebniz's Optimism. But only because I'm shooting for having amazing arguments to make up for my horrid grammer.
Asking for an extension on my other paper (Uhh. . so I messed up. . . Can I turn it in late? Sure!)
Not wanting to go to French class
Spending TOO much time napping on my new couch!
Not doing laudry
Being happy that it's not cold beyond all reason
Learning that chocolate milk has an amazing calming effect on three year olds
Being excited about going to San Fran this weekend. Spee!
Wishing I had a 27 hour day
Not freaking out about Tall Blond Biochemists dramatically slamming back into my life. I really had let it go this time, damnit.
Trusting in the universe
Wanting to talk to my dad. Stupid non-concurrent schedules
Having no idea how to make a medical claim with my insurance company from seeing Dr. Steve in France
Missing France
Mourning the passing of Chester P. Q. Naglesbee, Earl of Nagle.
Kicking myself for waiting, WAITING for TBB to call. Goddamnit.
Not thinking about the Talk of Dhoom I may have to have with a certain someone else
Not having sex. Damnit.
Not being late for class. I guess.

Signs of Impending Dhoom

2006-01-26T19:04:00.000-06:00

1. increased back lameness
2. irritability
3. weird spotty vision
4. feeling like I'm getting a cold
5. withdrawl from all
6. inability to concentrate fully
7. more sleep need due to physical weariness
8. less food consumed
9. more cigerettes
10. inability to handle people -- needing to be alone
11. jaw tightness
12. chewing holes in my checks
13. wating more psychic space
14. wating more physical space too
15. old memories slamming into my head unbidden, unwanted
16. unspecified self-loathing
17. wanting to throw myself into oncoming traffic, a wall, etc.

Oh, and I have atypical cells on my uterus.

UPSET BECOZ OF UR SHORT DICK? LONGER 2" WITH THIS reading

2006-01-25T22:16:00.000-06:00

music am hard profession,
anything suddenly least sugar similar.
news allow motor evening promised. raise night human yours off commit,
here money already leader different. next allow thus across immediate? social side mischievous,
profession make anybody or? we black pride? night explain miserable pretty.

Yea. Best spam ever.

Screw you AND Stedman too, Oprah

2006-01-21T09:09:00.000-06:00

My Momma's House
ASS-EARLY
Why do old people not sleep? WHY?
About to go to the mall
And therefore filled with dread
10:07 am
Saturday, January 21, 2006

Screw You AND Stedman too, Oprah

I'm going to keep this short or my mom's head will pop off because she's sooo anxious for us to be on our way to the Riverview Mall. Things I didn't miss about America: malls filled with overweight unhappy people and their whiney-ass kids. But, I need a pair of jeans, so venture forth.

Things are pretty good here. It's as if by magically turning 21 Mom has decided to fully value my opinion. It's pretty sweet. We stayed up late (by her standards) and talked about who I might have been had we done ________: stayed in Dallas, been religious, been born in Tyler, etc. And for once, I din't get raging drunk as soon as I got here. I was too sleepy, but Mom helped me out there and drank two glasses of wine for my every one. You know who's a silly drunk? My mother. Not Marie PH silly, but pretty damn entertaining nonetheless.

Joseph cut out an article for me from USA Today saying that people with an MBA start out earning $88,000. He so wanted Daniel to go to Business School, but he's not suited. (He's much happy in the Yukon, scouting old Indian trials with his girlfriend. So if someone ever asks "What exactly do you do with a degree in Geography?" now you know.) I'm rather flattered that he's so excited about my future. Me? I'm going to try to make it through the quarter first hopefully. Today I need to talk to him about investing. I heart Joseph.

So, everything's all super duper family-tastic until I go to bed. After searching this entire house for a highlight (I know! ME! How on Earth did I make it here without at least 1 highlighter?) I settled into bed to read something edifying for school. But no. Instead I started reading Oprah magazine.

Guess which edition? Valentine's Day. Dr. Phil says I'm the type of woman men love, while Oprah has no idea what to do.

Then, I just laid down and cried.

Things I Should Say, Vol. II

2006-01-20T07:36:00.000-06:00

Razor
MF'in EARLY
4 1/2 hours of sleep is pretty goddamn unacceptable
Oh the U of C
Excessive cursing is a side effect of sleep deprivation
Grad Classes are for Lovers? No, for those who hate sleep.
Ehhck.
7:39 am
Friday, January 20, 2006

Things I Should Say, Vol. II

1. You are amazing and I'm feel so lucky to know you. You said I'd still have a home, and you were true to your word. Goddamn you rock my mf'in face off. The late-night snack fairy is a goddamn good cook.

2. Things were a bit weird at Christmas, I know. Why? I can't say, but know that I love you and am constantly thankful that you are in my life. You ever think about some of the odd ways we're rather alike, I mean besides the obvious being-amazing-bad-ass-rockstars-out-to-conquor-the-
world-while-at-the-same-time-always-managing-to-look-spectacular thing?

3. I missed you. Thanks for believing in my ability without drawing attention to the fact that I'm scared shitless. I deeply appreciate your love and support. And your hair is pretty bangin' too.

4. Nope. Went to Europe and you're still creepy as hell and I'm not sure what to do about that. You just make me goddamn uncomfortable and I'm pretty sure that's your fault.

5. Why did a large section of our social circle start sleeping with you? Why, God, why? EWW. I don't think you're good for her. At all. And I worry. My loyalties lie with her.

6. Too bad your new "girlfriend" is lame. I just don't like her: she's not classy. Nor very interesting.

7. Things that can go camping: you. I'm not sure where you came from, but please stay. We might be just what the other needs.

8. I can't wait for the day when you realize your own awesome personal power and become such a powerful, inspiring women that we are all blow away. Not that you aren't so already, I just think we ain't seen nothing yet.

9. Is she really what you want? Or are you afraid to not get what you want while at the same time stepping outside of your comfort zones? You do not get to go camping.

10. Remember that one time, in Europe? I love you! Without you I'd be barefoot and pregnant.

11. So, you're discovered that in fact, you are a sexual being. Woot! Now the hard part: please don't sell out. Or talk about it in my presence. Ever. Oh, and let them be. She's not for you.

12. Hooray! You're slowly starting to become your own person again! I'm not sure I believe it, but I hope it's true. You've saved my life on multiple occassions. It's not fair, nor very nice for you to just disappear like that.

13. Just because I haven't seen anyone seriously in ten months, don't assume I'm gay. I'M NOT GAY!!!! Jesus Christ women. I'M NOT GAY NOR IS ANYONE I'M SEXUALLY INTERESTED IN. NO, THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN ALII AND I. You know why? BECAUSE I'M NOT GAY. I know you're disappointed that I'm not farther along on that whole finding-someone-who'll-
support-me-because-we-all-know-I'm-incompetent thing, but give me a break. I'm still young. Honestly, there are secrets I'm keeping from you, but that's not it.

14. I want to get to know you better -- I feel that that could be good for both of us. Too bad your girlfriend can't decide whether to get up in the morning without someone else's opinion. Yea, it makes you (ya'll) hard to be around and that's a damn shame.

15. You've gotten a lot healthier, grown, having gone through a lot recently. I'm sorry I wasn't here for all of it and always will be. I should have been there for you more then just on AIM. I am so proud of you. Yet, you still lie to yourself, and I still try to tell you the truth, and you still shut your eyes. But, that's what I'm here for, right? On another note, STOP COCK-BLOCKING ME.

16. You are amazing. I deeply respect, apprecaite, and look-up to you and am so touched that you might possibly feel the same. I have a lot to learn about you and from you. Sorry to be a bitch sometimes. I really admire you but I'm also addicted to personal space and gnome time. Don't ever think it's something about you. You're a keeper.

17. I fear that you're a sad human being now. I haven't known you since I was 17, and after an unsuccessful text-message flurrie to attempt to have lunch, you're now sending me stupid "Friends are Special" chain emails? Please.

18. Oh you. Sunday would have been our birthday. Did you remember? I found what you wrote me on my 18th birthday, and what I wrote after we found our love. You fucking bastard.

19. I hope you're still a fat, ugly, uninspiring, stupid bitch without a high school degree, doomed to forever work at Jack in the ox. In this case, I won't take the higher road. You can have him, but no, I don't wish you happiness you filthy cunt. I was the love of his life, and the catch of a lifetime you dirty whore.

20. I love you but worry. Please figure your shit out. It's supposed to be the other way around ya know? It's scary to see the adult "role models" in my life fail on some pretty fundamental levels. Especially you. You're my hero.

21. Too bad you're only good at sex. That's a crying shame.

The Towns People Rejoice: It's NOT Chillable Red

2006-01-18T22:50:00.000-06:00

The Reg
A-Level
je fait un ecriture en francais.
boo.
seemingly lacking a point
sleepy, possibly sick
waiting for the other shoe to drop
10:51 pm
18 January 2006

The Towns People Rejoice: it's NOT Chillable Red

I did not miss the Reg. Nope. Swear to God. And now I'm here again, and it's sad. I'm writing a response on the book I "read" for my French lit class -- Manon Lescaut. Sure, I read the whole thing. Yea, exactly.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, I have lost my spark, drive, motivation. One or all of these things have disappeared from my life and it's making it rather difficult to do anything.

And he made me tremble that one time. That's rather difficult to deal with too. Oh gee.

So, what do I do? Finally succumb to the insidious voice cajoling me in the back of my head: fuck it, just get drunk. It'll be so much easier. Come on. Close up on Lauren and I at the Reg: cube of wine on the table, shoes off, drinking like the rockstars we are. (Merlot. Thank you Katherine for showing me that there is descent wine that comes in convenient packaging.), Two wine glasses and academic achievements abound. No quite Paris, mais il faut que je survive.

I woke up this morning clutching Durkheim to my breast as I've taken to sleeping with a pile of books occupying the opposite side of the Nestivus. Yes, I am that cool and popular. Fast forward to lunch with Stefan.

"I'm not sure whether to be comforted or moderately Freaked the FUCK OUT by all this."
" Yea, it's cool. I've done that. I mean, why worry? Just stick to your books, hold them close to you when the night is cold. There's no need to let real people in your life. They'll just leave you. Durkheim will never leave you."
"Thanks Stef. That's exactly where I was trying not to go. "
"I had to go there didn't I?"

Yes, I guess you did.

At Least if School Doesn't Work Out, I can Legally Become an Alcoholic

2006-01-13T09:14:00.000-06:00

ggrrrrrr.
9:16 am

Last night, around 11:00 pm, I realized that I'd left my super wonderful book (that I was 2 chapters into, sadly) for my Graduate class, "Religion as a Philosophy of the Mind" somwhere on campus. Damnassshitfuckingsonofabitch. My plan was going to be to read that hoe all night, but no.

This morning, I got up in time for class, even thought it's my birthday, but left the house 15 minutes late. And it's raining. Obviously, it's time to drive. Oh, but no. There are NO PARKING SPOTS ON CAMPUS. None. Zilch. Nada. Class: denied.

Being late, or not doing the reading, sure. But both, and on my birthday, I don't think so. Time to email the proffessor and pledge my undying love, I mean, tell him I'm sick and going to office hours. Become a pandering academic whore, basically. It can't be that bad though: he looks like Trey.

So, I've come home to eat chocolate covered strawberries and drink Shiner. Sometimes when you win, you lose. I have faith that things must go up from here. I mean, from now on I can just get drunk. That's sure to solve all my problems.

I Heart UCSC

2006-01-12T14:25:00.000-06:00

Dear XXXXX,

My name is Amelia Valdez and I am a Program Assistant at the University Community Service Center (UCSC). I am writing to invite you to be a panel member for "Faith and Science: Intersections in Everyday Life." This discussion is one of a series hosted by UCSC exploring issues of interest on campus and their impact in Chicago's communities.

The aim of "Faith and Science" is to look more closely at places in everyday life where the seemingly incompatible worlds of scientific knowledge and doctrines of faith collide. As science increases our knowledge about the nature of the world around us, how does one reconcile these emerging facts with faith and a religious life? Since your work brings you into contact with this issue frequently, we hope you will provide could provide insight, opinions and advice based on your own experiences. In the discussion, we will focus on issues like the teaching of evolution, advances in medical technology, death and dying, environmentalism and other issues as they are dealt with by working adults in the real world, outside the theoretical sphere of a university classroom

The discussion will be held in the South Lounge of the Reynolds Club at 5706 S. University Avenue on January 25th, 2006 from 6:30 to 8:00 pm. We are expecting an audience of approximately 40-50 students, staff, and faculty. In addition to yourself, we are inviting 3-4 others whose work deals with both these realms, including journalists, educators, and medical chaplains. Our aim is to foster dialogue among participants and panelists; as such we'd love to have you share your perspective for approximately 10 minutes, followed by a moderated discussion. In our experiences, this format provides an opportunity to both share the expertise and experience of practitioners and allow for in-depth dialogue. I hope that you will be able to participate and share you knowledge with our community. If you have any questions, would like more information, or would like to confirm your attendance please feel free to email me at mia.valdez@gmail.com or call myself or David Hays, UCSC's Assistant Director at 773-753-4483. I sincerely hope you will accept our invitation to become a panelist.

Thank you for your time,

Amelia Valdez

And the Song Remains the Same

2006-01-09T15:31:00.000-06:00

My Living Room
Thank you Razor!
Class at 4:30
"i see the path in ahead of me. In a minute I'll be free. You'll be splashing in the sea. We'll hear a tiny cry as a ship goes slidding by. Frreeeeeeeee." -- Phish

I find it quite shocking how easily my life comfortably slides back into place. It's as if I can actually hear tiny clicking noises as each delicate section of the Mental Construct That is My Life snaps securely into place. Or as if an orchestra were tuning, all searching for that mysterious A when, suddenly! -- out of nowhere the discord lifts and the note sings out, pregnant with harmony, overtones and deepth.

The song remains the same, but remember: like any good Phish song, there are some versions that are danker then others. And this jam my friend: quite danktrillesent.

There are still some sections that could use a bit of extra practice -- we're getting around to that. Overall, it's amazing to be back. Comforting, disturbing, enlightening to find myself almost seemlessly, stubornly flowing back into it all. Only more so now it seems, armed with a deeper appreciation for what it means to be fully me, having experienced several complete expansions and contractions of my entire life singurly and simulateously.

"floating in the brink a lot. feel the feeling I forgot. feel free."

A Family I Can Dance With

2005-12-20T12:55:00.000-06:00

In the fall of my junior year of highschool, my dad hired me to bar tend at an fundraising event that he was coordinating the liquor sales for. This event was to be the culmination of some big hooha that the Tylerites were doing: raising money, playing golf, drinking a lot, all decked out in their finest. Sarah Brighton for the women, diamonds in gaudy gold, big hair and laughter, their daughters standing near by looking blaisee, there hair straight and shiny. The husbands of these beauties and debutants were clustered around their trucks, directly to my left, the bar and I perpendicular to the stage. They clustered around their giant looming proof of manhood, drinking whisky, smoking, discussing God knows what -- being female, I'd never actually entered their midst. Serving at the Laughing Dog, I'd had contact with groups of that sort -- pulled of the high way with their four-wheelers, back from the deer lease -- drinking, smoking, hunting, fishing, their conversations concerned with the enjoyable tasks at hand. That autumn night the conversations were probably the newly opened deer season and football, as they pushed the gravel around with their cowboy boots, or good shoes their wives had picked out. Their sons stood near by, tall and lanky with unruley hair, wearing similar pressed cotton button-shirts, stealing glances as the girls who continuely, yet purposely walked by.

As I was setting up my station I noticed my music theory teacher, Mr. G, dressed in typical cowboy fashion, only for the stage not real life. The check of his shirt was too wide, his hat too big, his fringe too shiney. Then I remembered: the entertainment for the evening was a Pasty Cline tribute. Supposedly, she was a dead ringer, having just finished a play under the same theme for the local civic theater. I invited Mr. G to have a drink. He declined -- you can't play the fiddle, it turns out, when you're drunk -- but said he'd stop by after his show.

Mr. G and I always had a pretty amicable relationship, stemming mutual respect and understanding, I suspect. Music theory was the last class I had Monday/Wednesday/Friday before I finished for the day at the blessed hour of 1:30. Mr. G taughts us music theory, but didn't kid himself that any of us were going to spend too much effort. By sheer lack of knowledge continum, elective status, and position in the school day, not a lot was going to get done. But he was a good guy, and was liberal with the free days, the "music appreciation" days and supported using his class as a study hall when need be. (One "music appreciation day" we'd been listening to Tom Petty when Mr. G comes out of his office, singing along boisterously -- 'let me get to the point, let's roll another joint. Turn the radio . . .' He suddenly realized what he was doing, froze, spun on his heels and disappeared into his office.) I didn't need study time though: I wanted to leave.

I spent the majority of the weekends of my senior year in Denton, Texas, home of the University of North Texas and Sean, my then love. That's a whole different bag of fish. the important point being I liked to leave straight from school if I could get off of work, therefore missing rush hour.

I walk into Mr. G's office, trying to be casual. Come on Mr. G: see me as a person, not a student. I don't want to be in this class today, neither do you, as is evident by your "music appreciation" day declaration while you grade papers in your office.
"Mr. Grinell. I''m going to Denton this weekend. I was going to leave after class, but since we're just listening to music, can I go now? I promise I'll listen to music in the car."
"Why are you going to Denton?" he asks, without turning to face me.
"To visit my boyfriend."
The chair spends around as Mr. Grinell spins in his chair, taking off his glasses. "Do your parents know?"
Oh no! Too far: he's seen me as a person but I forgot that he has a daughter who's my age. Crap.
"Yes, sir. They're fine with it. They've known Sean for years."
"Well, I certainly wouldn't let Amy drive three hours away for the weekend to visit her boyfriend. " he says as he straightens some papers, eyeing me over his glasses.
"Neither would I sir."
Silence. Shit. Shit. Too far Valdez, too far.
"But my parent's let me."
Mr. Grinell smiles. Puts down the papers, takes off his glasses, leans back in his chair. "No, I guess you're not Amy, are you." With a chuckle, "Yes, you can leave early. If you get caught on your way off campus -- I have no idea what you're doing."

I, of course, being silly, run around to the other side of the desk and hug him. Not only had he seen me as a person, but had even looked at me as daughter and still, STILL decided to trust and respect me. I was free.

So, here I am, catering this hoity-toity event, making some cash. Sean's working a mini-bar across the way. I'd told Mr. Grinell he could meet him later. My spot was perfect. The grand-stand stage faced a moderately rolling green, the other three sides of which were rimmed with towering oaks. Stage right was the University of Texas at Tyler building, on the steps of which the barbe-que catering was being served. Stage left was my bar, and the pathway leading to the cars and clandestine meetings in the Oaks. The lawn was strewn with tables and chair, votive candles, Tyler roses, invitations, raffle tickets, empty drink cups, forgotten plates of food, crumpled napkins. The older, more endowed couples were in the back, sitting sedately, as the younger couples danced in the front. Small children ran around, and the women really did sound like Patsy Cline. Mr. Grinell played the fiddle and I danced a bit behind my bar as I served drinks, drinking a bit myself, watching the people.

There was one women in particular. Tall, and trim, wearing just enough make-up for the ocassion. Her sandels were fashionable and cute but neither they nor her belt were Brighton. Nothing she wore seemed to have been stolen from her daughter. She laughed and danced,throwing her black hair back from her shoulders -- one white streak in the front. After a while, a tall cowboy joined her. Not cowboy in the active sense, but culturally. Tall and rugged, button down shirt, cowboy boots, tie, huge flashing smile, large hands, unruley hair, he danced close to her. Their intimacy obvious, they'd danced together many times before and would again, unconscious of any audience. After a while, a boy and a girl who favored them joined, unwillingly at first. The boy was a bit too old be hanging out with his parents being past puberty while the girl was on the other side of that adolescent dividing line, but there were puppies about so she wanted to be off as well. They seemed to want to ask a question, but before they could help it, then entire family was dancing. I could tell that they'd done this before, in their kitchen, on the back porch, in the car singing along. They spun and laughed, mother with son, father with daughter.

After the song, the kids ran off, and the couple approached my bar. Two Whiskey Cokes. I watched them dance the rest of the night, the whiskey taking effect, but not of their bearing or social dignity.

And then I realized: I want that when I get older.

I Wish I Had a Blazabago

2005-12-08T09:43:00.000-06:00

"I said right out back, wherever I stop and pop the top, that where its at. "

Last Class
Jammin' to KDub
OMG OMG NYE OMG!!!!
Seriously, I might crap myself just THINKING about it

I love Keller. KDub. To quote Bryan, "I have come to understand the essence that is KDub. And it is good."

I'm now listening to the Blazabago ---> Cadillac from the March show at the Gypse Tea Room this past March. It was that live Keller show, Will's AIM support and the blingin' Lauren P. made for me last Christmas that pulled me through this paper.

And soon, soon I'll be in Paris, Amsterdam, Europe, sans work, sans school.

But for now, I'm hyper, listening repetatively to a Keller song, wishing against hope that I wasn't in class. I can make it -- then I get to go party on a boat on the Seine. Hooray!

I win life.

Step One

2005-12-07T10:24:00.000-06:00

In Class
Oh Feminism.
17:23
Wednesday, December 7, 2005

Step One

When I was in middle school and I knew everyone. Whenever I think about it, flashed of laughter, gossip and always people people people leap to the forefront. It was the same in high school: cheerleading, theater, clubs, classes. It was glorious.

Then something happened. Someone who I knew turned on me for no reason in particular. She awoke one day and decided to forever change the course of my life. No only did I have to go to a new school, show my mother that I'm not the person she thought I was, but it was the beginning of my Head drama. I was forced to examine my life in the stark relief of what it had become -- new school, I knew no one -- and what it had been. And I was scared. Why should I make new friends when the last time around had been so fantastic?

All of those consequences have passed, each enriching me beyond belief. In fact, I wouldn't change it if I could. I am who I am today -- pretty fucking sweet -- because of that turmoil. I was forced to evaluate my life in the harshest terms and decide if society was wrong, or I. In my opinion, it was the former.

Why this train of thought? I realized last night that the remaining shred of suck from that is that I can do acquaintances, but I never fully engage, always on guard. Sure, once I get to know you a bit, you can't keep my heart closed. But until then, I'm weary. Very weary. Who knows: maybe that unknown person will have an attack of conscience one day and pull the floor out of my life yet again? I'm not sure I'd weather that well a second time around -- I've already learned those lessons.

But I'm not sure I like that. I want to feel comfortable around people I don't know. To not pre-judge people before I know to them to decide if they're worth my time and trust. I want to sparkle in the middle of a group again. I want to be surrounded by friends and laughter, joy and glee. To go to parties and not uncomfortably see people I don't know. I want to see friends I haven't made yet.

Is this not an option due to the overwhelming anxiety that grabs me by the throat? Or am I afraid? Afraid of the anxiety. Afraid of judgment. Afraid of betrayal.

Don't get me wrong: my life is filled with amazing people, laughter, love -- but all these people are time tested, true friends. It's making new ones that's hard.

At the same time, I've never been the type of person to get to know everyone, knowing everyone's business without any of my own, keeping everyone at a distance. I just had a much enlarged group of friends with a much richer diversity of closeness, intimacy, love and trust. Instead of not trusting everyone, I trusted until that proved me wrong. Now, I do the opposite. I don't have the time or inclination to be everyone's buddy -- it's true friendship I'm looking for.

Yet, there are times for acquaintances, times for idle chit chat. And that's what leaves me cold. That I can't do. I don't know what to say, and it's obvious that I don't care. Then I see the group of moderately known people shift and change, leaving me standing by, fighting panic.

Where did my ease with strangers go? When did I decide that I was only in the market for Friends, leaving all other forms of personal interaction at the wayside? Can I change this?

When I'm out, I have trouble making eye contact, don't strike up conversations most of the time. I'll just sit at home, drinking wine, clinging to my tried and true friends.

But then! Then something happens and all I want is people: the more unknown the better. Names, faces, sounds, sights blur as I rush to consume as much of life as possible. And I love it. I feel the light shining from me: I am glorious, I am loved.

Then the mania passes, and I'm stuck wanting to be blithely social without knowing where to start. How? How do I fight the anxiety --- and don't you dare say drugs -- while staying true to myself? What is this self I want to protect? What am I afraid of? If I was betrayed, what would they say, who would they tell?

That's not anywhere near coherent. But it's a start. This is something I want to change. Slowly so as to fight the anxiety, but let's remember that I am the master of my life. And I'm a pretty amazing master at that. I have faith in me, and faith in my ability to know where to draw the friendship line, where to fill in the blanks. Blitheness here I come. So, step one.

Dr. Steve

2005-12-06T11:24:00.000-06:00

In Class
Bored! Shit son.
Have to Write a Paper Tonight
18:42
Tuesday, Decemeber 6, 2005

Dr. Steve

I remember when I first came to France: new faces, new places, new head, new meds. Looking for some help as I struggled to deal with it all while trying to maintain a grip on sanity, I turned to the medical profession. The lovely people at the Center pointed me in the direction of Dr. Steve, flourishing his perfectly polite letter of introduction.

I call him Dr. Steve because I can't pronouce his last name. He's too nice for me to ask, especially after our first session, and I'm too proud by far. He's a nice, gentle mannered man, dressed in button up shirts, subtle sweaters, comfortable shoes. He would sit across from me, nodding along as I ramble on about my life, clear eyes watching, seeing more then I first gave him credit for.

The first day, I had to explain "my condition" to him. He's a psychologist -- not a psychiatrist -- and told me point blank that he has no idea how to deal with me. I appreciated his honesty, and replied that I don't know how to deal with it either, but that it seems a good idea to have someone to talk to. That, that he can be.

And so, once a week I show up a few minutes late, he shakes my hand, and tells me to catch my breath before I begin. He could hear me clacking across the courtyard in my kitten heels, buzzing the door before I buzzed for him. His office is a room in an apartment, filled with books I'd love to read, and tasteful pillows probably supplied by Mrs. Steve, a comfy chair for me and for him. He keeps his appointments in a moleskin, preferes to be paid in cash, notices when I change my hair. I always ask him how he's doing. "Fine," he says, while giving me a look that says, "Not that it matters. This is about you."

And I talk to him. He doens't say much, but when he does, it floors me.

"You lost quite a lot by moving to Chicago, didn't you? You lost a lot of love: Sean, Adam. Is it worth it?"

"You like to think don't you? You enjoy the act of thinking?"

"Why do you like your teacher so much? You think she's like you?"

"Why is it that it interests you, and not the others? Are you that different? What does that mean?"

"Did he really love you then?"

"Would you parents be proud?"

"Do you think it's a matter of miscommunication between Jesse and you or are you purposely misleading? Or accidentally? Why not say no?"

"Why were you crying in the bathroom on Thanksgiving? Why not talk to someone? Why not leave?"

And he laughs. After several sessions, I learned his sense of humor, and hence forth strove to show him the ridiculousness of my life. When he laughed I felt a bit better about my life. If my doctor can laugh then so can I.

He gave me his home number, his cell phone number, his office number with the time old statement, "If you ever need to, feel free to call. Anytime." The only problem with that is, when exactly is it appropriate to call your doctor on the cell phone? Is it when the panic attack starts? When the edges of my vision go? When I lose the abilty to form complete coherent thoughts? How do you make that call? How do you interrupt someone's dinner to say, "So, umm. . I'm um. . " I'm what exactly? And if I did, what good what it do? But knowing that I could call -- that's enough.

Every time I sat down in my chair, after I took off my coat, I have a moment of life constriction -- suddenly I have to account for my last week. What do I talk about? But then I begin, and before I know it, I've run my mouth for an hour, going over the time, late for class: what I've been doing, where I'm going, my family, my friends, my hopes, dreams, future. Not my head. We never once, except for the first time, talked about my head -- he never once pointed to it as a reason for anything. For that, I am thankful.

And Dr. Steve laces his fingers together, nods gently, tells me to continue.

Today was our last session. He says next time I'm in Paris, I have to stop by. Have a good life. One last hand shake, one last troop down the dark flights of stairs, through three courtyards, two door ways, one cross walk towards the bus. Today, I walked home.

Did it help? Am I better for the time I spent with Dr. Steve? Possibly. Maybe not dramatically so, but I'm a lot more stable here. Is that because of him? Regardless, every week, I sat in his chair and evaluated my life, shared bits of myself with a virtual stranger, weeding out the good bits, looking for humor, insight. I often realized things I hadn't even thought of, new perspectives -- one that is not my own. And that's good for me.

Thank you Dr. Steve. Sorry I don't know your last name.

Deflated

2005-12-01T06:19:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, I feel empty. Instead of becoming filled to bursting with emotion, joy, sadness, grief, accomplishment, security and hope I get nothing. It as if I were a child, watching with glee as someone fills a shiny red balloon for me. They fill it, and I'm filled with joy and sadness: soon it will be mine! But I know that just as quickly, it will lose it's magic, and slump to the floor behind the couch for my mom to find weeks later. They're about to hand it to me when it deflates, leaving a sad, wrinkled shell behind. And turns out they're now out of helium. Holding my husk of what would have been a child's dream, I have to walk away. Only now, I don't have my Dad's huge hand covering mine to make the loss less exquisite.

My mind sometimes makes the command decision to give me nothing in hopes of retaining a semblance of normality, as opposed to succumbing to the tumultuous hurricane of thoughts for fear of drowning. And I'm left without the not even a scrap of emotional honesty to wrap my life around.

I'm not sure what worse: an accidental emotional onslaught that leaves me shaky, confused, tears standing in my eyes, refuting the urge to crawl into a small dark quiet places or the sudden feeling of it all evaporating, flees leaving me reaching, thrusting for at least one of the feelings that grabbed at my brain mere moments before, even more empty and alone then before.

General Life Update

2005-11-30T13:51:00.000-06:00

My Room
12:36
Just woke up, lazy bum
Need coffee, cigs, among other things
Ireland this weekend, Amsterdam the next
I know, I know, but can really you blame me for going back?

General Life Update

It's been too too long since I've just unloaded my mind, taken the time to think seriously and in writing about my life. Now's the time Part of that was NaNoWriMo, part of it being moderately sick, part of it my computer's well needed sojourn to the Mac store. But now, all my excuses have fallen to the floor as I remember the times when I updated almost every day. I know I kid myself that there is anything resembling an "audience" that reads this with any sort of regularity or alacrity. If there is, I apologize for my lack of posting: sometimes you have to live life -- it demands no less! -- not write about it.

I have coffee. I have a hand rolled cig. I have pajamas, lots of homework, and appropriate music for musings. Let's begin

NaNoWriMo. Okay, so I only wrote about 2,500, which is lame by most standards. But more importantly, I not only realized but accepted and began to actualize the hidden literary wants of my soul. I want to write a book, and I found a format in which to do it. I'm going to continue to twirl my memories and current events into chapters. Not only have I received many lovely compliments and hopes for more, but it feels good to me. I have so many multi-faceted memories that deserve to be see something else but the inside of my head. Writing what I did showed me that I have areas that need work: personal descriptions, dialogue. All in all, I say NaNoWriMo was successful.

I have $16.34 in my back account. That' s in dollars so I can't even get 10 euros from the machine. My mom said she was sending me money, but I am yet to see it. Damnnit. You know what's frustrating? Not only having to ask your parents for money, but until that happens, being ass broke IN EUROPE. I've been financially independent, minus school expenses, since I was 16. To not have a job -- two for that matter -- is so disconcerting. I remember when I got my last paycheck of the summer thinking, "For the next 4 months, all I'm going to be doing is spend money, with none coming in." It floored me then, and floors me now. I want income. Maybe I secretly have a Protestant work ethic, but shit son. I may also be looking at getting another loan when I get back. When you already have $12,000 debt, what' another $10,000 right?

On that note, I'll be working at the University Community Service Center. The people that work there, that organization in general, have had a profound impact in my life. I walked in there my first year wanting to give back: there were so many people who helped me get into college, maybe I could help someone else. Not only did David Hayes personally help me find job listing, write a resume and cover letter, but took the time to get to know me personally. Who would of thought that that interaction would lead me to devote my life to service? Now, I can't imagine doing anything else. I'll only 5 hours a week for Winter Quarter, then possibly more in the Spring, but I'm glad that it's not much at first. That gives me the time to start a tutoring company at Merit, which also fails me with glee. I've worked for some poorly run tutoring companies, and being able to start my own taking the good and the not so much from my old less then stellar jobs is exciting. Creating a organization that helps children learn, get into college. What an awesome responsibility. And, I was offered a bar tending job at Jimmy's before I left. That might have been because that dude wanted to sleep with me. But then I cashed out his register for him, and I think I won him over. Alii and I will have to get all dolled up and go back and see if I can become gainfully employed. I miss the food service industry. The people, the easy cash, the havoc of it all. I need a bit of that in my life: it's the absolute best outlet for mania.

Dublin this weekend. You know what that means? IRISH WHISKEY. Oh, shit son. It's going to be ridiculous. Lauren and I realized that it's the best of both worlds: she can drink he gross dark beers, and I can drink whiskey! Oh god bless the Irish. Plus we can speak English when we're drunk. Not that we'll be able to understand the Irish accents, but that DOESN'T MATTER. Just talk to me Irish Boy, just talk. Wait, let me drink more whiskey. . .

I miss the states. I do, I do. Europe is a little to cold, to old, to settled in her ways. Consequently, I'm calmer, more introspective here under the weight of history. But that's not what I want forever. At least not yet. I want to eat a taco, hug my dad, speak English, go back to real school, cuddle with my roommate, sleep in my huge bed. Don't get me wrong, Paris and all therein has been amazing, and I know I'll be back. But there's something about home. In fact, I even miss Tyler. I haven't missed it for one solitary minute since I fled two years ago, but now I'm looking forward to the three days I'll be there at Christmas. Longer then that might lead to an untimely death. Not of me, but let someone tells me I'm going to hell for my Subversive SUV and I WILL KILL.

I'm changing my major. Philosophy. This may come as a shock to some, but in truth, it's been a long time coming. I took philosophy classes in high school, then again my first year. Coming to Paris, studying the Enlightenment again, finding myself lecturing about Rousseau to Lauren, I decided to face the facts. I've wanted to do this for a long time, so why deny it? Why fight it? Why not? I still want to save the world -- my life plans haven't changed, it's just a question of what do I want to do with the next year and a half of my life. In some ways it feels a bit selfish -- studying the theories of life of brilliant past philosophers instead of studying society with an aim to better it. Since the Summer of My Head, I've been questioning the world, not being able to accept it on surface appearances. This search for meaning as I learn to live with the possibility that any day I could Lose My Mind has lead me back to philosophy. If I want to solve the big problems, I need to learn to ask the big questions. Plus Logic classes! Classes on Reasoning! Oh joy! I'm going to attempt to swing a minor in French as well. I only need another four classes, which seems doable. And they offer lit classes in what has caused this life shift: le Lumieres. So, for the third time and fourth times, this winter I'll be studying Enlightenment philosophy in French, and English.

I have a date tonight. I went all the way to France to date a dude from Ohio. It's kinda like that time I drove 300 miles to make-out with a dude who graduated from my high school. But, he's sweet and moderately dorky, and doesn't have his shit completely together. Sounds like my type exactly, right? He's also lived here for so long that he speaks English like a Frenchman, which is quite possibly the cutest thing imaginable. And it makes me feel better about my French: it's badness is endearing, n'est pas? We were supposed to go out last night, but he thought we'd said Wednesday. I have the text message that he sent that says Tuesday, but I decided to not be my mother and forward it to him. I hate hate HATE dating. The tension, the awkwardness, the anticipation. Yuck. But it could be worth it, one day hopefully it will be worth it. I just sincerely doubt that I'm going to fall in love with someone I meet randomly at a bar -- it just insults my sense of aesthetics.

The other night, Jesse, Lauren and I hung out with Jesse's friend Heather. We were in my room, drinking, talking, etc. I decided to change the mood, and switched from whatever the hell Jesse had on to some of my favorite music: The Hudsons, Problem Song. All of a sudden, Heather freaks out. SHE KNOWS THE HUDSONS. In fact, she loves them. She heard them randomly at some party (she didn't remember who) and found some for herself. She even sent them email asking them to come to Chicago. I of course earned major cool points when I told her about the time we all got drunk at Emo's and that other time when they had a keg of Shiner. What a small musical world. Lauren: TELL THE HUDSONS! They've got loyal fans, even as far away as Paris.

And HARRY POTTER IS TONIGHT AT MIDNIGHT. I know, this is not news to ya'll. I'm sure some of you have seen it multiple times by now, but you can kiss my ass. It comes out at midnight tonight here and I am so excited. And I get to see it in Paris, so there.

I called my dad last night, and I quote, "I keep watching the riot footage, because I figured I'd see you standing in the back ground, smoking a cigarette, flashing a peace sign." I love my Daddy; he knows me oh so well.

Chapter 2: The Horizon

2005-11-10T10:35:00.000-06:00

Chapter 2
The Horizon

In the Lobby of the Cité Universitaire
Should Go Meet with my Prof
But, well . . .

I should be in class. Or at least heading that way -- even taking advantage of the flexible relationship the French have with time, it would be in my best interest to meet with Professor Barash.

Jeffery Adam Barash, professor of French History and Philosophy, US ex-patriat, generally given to rambling until the point that one ceases to pay attention. Then, if you manage to hang on, he makes brillant succint statements about horribly complex arguments, and with that one small shift, the entire metaphysical structure will shift perfectly into place. It's as if the Enlightenment everyone seems to be clamoring about can be seen clearly and distinctly for a short, brief moment. Yes, I should go have tea with this kindliy grandfatherly man -- not mine, but someone else's, complete with plaid sweater vests, glasses and kind eyes.

Always ready to give out travel information, taking long strings of lost American students on winding walks through the streets of Paris to the homes of earth shattering writers, or snaking along a canal in search of water lillies in the North of France. Either way, we trail along like ducklings as he forgets his point, rambles around to it again, finishing his location specific lectures just as the last of his brood catches up, while J.A. Barash moves on. He seems to be followed by confused students asking each other, "Wait, what was that? Was that important?"

Because of this soft-spoken, genuinely engaged man, I am being thrown into a bit of an existential crisis.

Once, long ago, at least emotionally speaking, I thought I had the mental clarity, fortitude and inclination to be a philosopher. I at least had a strong desire to figure out what I believe and studying the thought structures of others seems the most efficient way to do this.

But then, I may have changed my mind.

Society seems more important. Groups of people more in need of guidance, understanding and my time then figuring out a seemly perspective, conviently label for my personal belief system. Waiting to enact change, this seems the most direct way to do so.

But then the edges of my reality flitter.

But then I find myself again searching for my own answers in the pages of revolutionary text, devouring their conclusions, weighing their rationality against mine in the a modern context.

Same questions, deeper insight. And now, the same desire.

What could I discover by burying myself for the next two years in the metaphysical terrain hiked by these thinkers? For me, classes haven't been boring, irrelevant, or outdated. They've been life changing. Maybe.

For the first time in years, I'm not certain which way to lead my life, comme de faire ma vie. The end results haven't changed, but I may take a different route, evvn if it feels a bit selfish at first.

If I want to solve the big problems, shouldn't I attempt to ask the hard questions, seeking my own answers?

This weekend, Lauren and I went to Cannes, carrying a bounty of Western Thought in our baggage, setting up a miny library of revolutionary literature in our tiny sea-side hotel room: Locke, Hobbes, Rousseau, Leibniz, Spinoza, Kant.

As I sat on the end of an eddy, surrounded by the vesiteges of the yearly envasion of the Rich and Pretensious, contrasted to the Great Unknown, I thought about these questions, my own constant search for Enlightenment.

It suddenly hit me:

" I won't sit with my back to a room if I can help it: the not seeing of the life around me makes me feel anxious, unknowing, ill informed, and therefore jumpy. Yet, I gladly turn my back on all of humanity to peer into the unknown, the uncharted horizon." -- from my pocket notebook

I'm water seeking. Always have been. Maybe it was the small stream we bordered the back of my lawn as a child and my daily adventures on it's banks. The Beach, the Creek, the Pond, the Rain -- all of these form one entity in my mind, as complete, real, well known and multi-faceted as the brother or sister I could have had. Water: sans corporal body, yet just as changing, continuous, influencial as any solid entity, my dear personal confident.

Lauren and I are in our favorite snack shop near the university center -- not meeting with Barash today it seems. I'm glad it got my lazy ass out of the house. I should be working, but something about sitting in a cafe, drinking coffee and talking about philosophy already seems a bit much. I won't add more to it by expounding on Rousseau to Lauren. She's heard it enough and no one else cares.

Lauren goes to buy a coke. They're expensive here and once a common commodity is now a precious resource. "For after I finish reading, " she announces, setting goals and providing self reward. I finish my coffee, smile at the man who works there -- he knows me and my ham sandwiches by now, pain au chocolat. Diet cokes for me too on the hard to endure days.

My mom loves to sail, and as she was the figure head of the ship of our family, her need for the open space of water, momentarily controlled and harnessed far more close then I or my father would ever be.

I remember our first boat as idyllic. Once, we sailed on a Sunday, leaving our house early, having to trailer our 15 foot Hobie-Catamaran to the nearest worthy body of water. My dad raised the mast, as I stayed out of the way, marveling at his strength, searching for sparkling pieces of broken glass on the burning asphalt of the boat ramp parking lot. Bit of green, teal, amber. Fragments of startlingly clear bottles, contents now gone. The rare blue bit, reflecting the color of the water. My mom asked why I was gathering what to her were potential injuries, while my dad handed me more jewels for my collection. Worn smooth from the sun, feets, water and time, I would cup my small handfuls in my hand, feeling the run over each other, watching them reflect the sun.

With our diet cokes, sandwiches and red delicious apples, long sleeve white tee-shirts, unfashionable hats, and faded shorts, we climbed onto the boat as Mom steered us away from shore.

Et maintenant, I still go to water for solace, for comfort, trying to find a sense of direction. Cannes was perfectly timed, the le mèr deeply needed.

From then, the memories of sailing -- all the hundreds of time -- became wrapped in one over all impression of wind, light, water and pure joy. Small snatches move forward, only placeable in time by the progression of yearly swim wear fashion.

I remember once, before it became old hat, before my family broke, before we
moved, I hit puberty, or anything remotely fundamental changed, I once slept. I had curled up after a lunch of warm, somewhat soggy tuna sandwiches, pillowing my head on orange life jackets. I remember the lullaby the water mad as it slapped the hulls, hot Texas wind and blinding sun encircling my body better then any quilt. My parents talked as I watched the lines move against the mast, the water rush past through the lacing of the my canvas bed.

I awoke later, wrapped in the smell of my fathers shirt, still warm from the setting sun, with a drowsie certainty that I was the luckiest, safest little girl in the whole world.

Cannes in the off-season is beautiful and quaint with an air of a pointless existence. No rich people to photograph, no whiny movie-types judging everything on "aesthetics," everyone trying to out cool everyone else. No, it's small chapels, markets with glorious fruit pilled like a pirate bounty, sand beaches full of fashionable tanned Europeans, gently sloping hills light up like a movie producers offensive portrayal of a uninhabited island, and the horizon.

When I was even younger, my dad and I would go the beach when it rained to watch my two favorite forces of nature either play to disccoradant symphony or a harmonious hymn. He'd push me on the swing, my parka saving me from the cool air, or we'd walk near the water. I would always become wetter then we had forseen, Dad always weary of Mom's insistence of certain pneumonia.

Mom never understood our rainy day trips to the beach, our fall sejourns to empty stretches of sand, lonely gulls, sweatshirts required. Yet, when I think of the beach I think of that, perfering the beauty, the raw power and magnitude of the Future to the known existence of sand castles and body surfing. I think my dad felt it too

Our first night in Cannes, after devouring much Fruit du Mer, Lauren and I walked through a storm. The kind of storm that isn't malicious, and spiteful, only intent on it's purpose: getting everything completely wet. We wound our way drunkenly through cobble stone streets that twist and turn upon themselves, splitting and meeting like water drops running down a window sills. The edges of the narrow streets slant down towards the edges of the shops and restaurants, creating tiny white water rapids and a serious hazard for the ankles of drunk, clumsy girls in fashionable shoes.

And now? Now I still crave the water. The unknown. Finding myself standing on deserted beaches in abandoned life guarding towers, learning the moods of Lake Michigan. How humble we American are; were it Europe, it would be a sea.

Lauren and I stood in the street amongst the awning, raining pouring down, coursing down my back, pooling in my poor unfortunate mocassins. My feet were green for days. Despite the seeming bad luck, the wetness we'd later regret, we stopped, craning our necks, soaking up the water and the quaintness of it all. Lauren says, "It's pouring, but everything is adorable. " Unbearable adorable as I strive to not destroy my ankles in the gutter or my dignity by walking barefoot.

My last day in Chicago after my first fateful, half-wasted year in the Ivory Tower, Ayse and I headed to the Point. I made iced tea which we used to hide the whiskey. Moving out of the dorms had meant I was obliged to finish the remnants of my liquor store. For some reason unknown or at least unacknowledged, others asked me to help them finish theirs as well: jewish passover wine, sips of shitty vodka, cherished saved swallows my tennessee whiskey, the odd imported beer. As if this wasn't enough, I'd a celebratory bottle of wine and Dirty Tim, in typical fashion, had come over to be in the way, bringing Olde Style as always.

I'm in my classroom, and hour early. The others mill around, searching for food, being overly excited by abandoned bread, promises of coffee or wine. I type, well equiped with a thermos and the apples I will forever associate with the fall in Europe. I have to go buy cigs.

After the last drinks, the good byes, the rediscovery of lost sock, pens, previous lives, Ayse and I burst forth, stumbling towards the water. I had visited all year, and now nous allons.

We reach the inland sea, drunkenly making our way onto the broken concert slabs that serve as break waters, doing our best to not fall. The waves roared -- a storm was coming -- and we yelled back, asserting our existance, claiming our lives. In response, the waves rose, soaking our lower bodies and covering us in laughter as we threaded our way back to land, shivering, but happy.

As I sat on the peer, contemplating my future, not flashes of insight struck me, not brillant revelations, not clarity of understanding. Yet, I'm happy. Yet, I'm not worried, assured that no matter what, the horizon will be there, waiting for me. No matter how loud my head is, how uncertain my immediate future, I can always find comfort in the unwavering security of the unknown.

Chapter I: Yellow Notebook

2005-11-03T07:32:00.000-06:00

Chez Moi
Coffee Brewing
Bowl Loading
Story Writing
NaNoWriMo: Chapter I

Yellow Notebook

Everyone has opinions about writing: what is glorious, life changing, what is shit. Popular culture tells us we can learn anything is we find the right written manual. Attempting to get a liberal arts education is like being a mountain climber, scaling mountains of past thought, in book form of course, eating shitty food, not sleeping enough, hoping to emerge on an unknown peek to newfound world fame.

Some say write what you know. Write what you don't know. Be plot driven. Character development. Set the scene. Some advise to steer clear of the whole thing, prefeering their prepackaged television reality.

In kindergarten, I always sat at the special table. At least that's what I called it. : Special in the very best way possible. When you walked into the door of Sunny Side Up Kindergarten and Day Care, there was a row of book shelves to the right of the make-shift hallway, crammed with the paraphenalia of childhood: books, blocks, blankets, puzzles, parkas, and hand-drawn pictures of the highest quality. A few feet down, there was an alcove near the big picture window that looked over the emense yard. A few feet farther, the bookshelves fell away, opening into the kindergarten room, leaving the walker two steps from another hallway leading to the rest of the Future of the World, in descending age order. Babies were the very back of the converted Victorian House.

But who are these writers? These people that have the awesome task of recording the present for the future, for providing guidance, humor, insight to the world we live it. What makes a classic? A NYT bestseller? Oprah's Book Club? What makes some books grab you by the heart, the throat, the life -- and refuse to let go. Others get mentally grouped as "generic fiction" and forgotten, found again in the free book box outside Powell's.

Every morning, we had to journal. I remember my digging my yellow spiral out of the heap, running to the table by the window on my stubby toddler legs, waiting for the day's assignment, my mind racing.
What were you for Halloween?
What's your favorite thing to do with you Daddy?

Since I and whatever friends were able to join me couldn't see the date written on the board, Ms. Katie would bring us a slip of paper to situate us in time. Fat pencil in hand, I would concentrate on trying to make the letters perfect -- towering Ns for cold Novembers, looping Js for January -- always my favorite, festive Ys for sunny Mays. I watched the seasons change as surely as the retirement of my favorite pink snow suit after the first big melt.

Each day had a topic to "write" about, our literary exercise consisting mainly of, shall we say, a more picturesque portrayal. Yet, at the end of our morning contemplation routine, Ms. Joanne would come over and ask us about our drawings, and write subtitles, Titles, commentary, descriptions on our daily masterpieces. Sometimes, if I was extra adorable, Ms. Joanne would write my request -- even then a bit wordy and sometimes purposely obtuse -- on the slip near the date, allowing me to write myself.

My signature is proudly under the proclamations I wrote myself.

To this day, I still love to watch my hands form letters, fly over keys, hold the paint brush, disembodying myself from the words being produced instead focusing on the process itself.

My signature still looks the same. Exactly. The. Same.

And by God, how do Writers, capital W, do it without being trite, cliche, escape entrapment in the discarded journal of every teenage girl who thought, one day, I'll tell the truth, I'll write a book?

Can I?

When I moved out, my mother loosened her annal retentive grip on my life just enough to give me precious vestiges of the Life of Her Only Child, with strict warning that if I fucked these memories up (like I do with everything, right Mom?) I would one day be sorry. I didn't really listen, partially because I've heard it all before and still think most of it blatant slander of my good name, but also because I spotted it.

Again, I dug out the now battered, still holy yellow notebook, abounding with dreams, ideas, words, signatures of me.

Upon rereading the masterpiece, I discovered that we're all very much the same as we were at the age of 6. Maybe the edges get blurred, sharpened, extended but the secrets of the heart, desires, goal, life view: a lot of that solidifies at 6 between naps and snack time.
At least that's how it is for me. It's all there in the Yellow Notebook.

"If you would stop and notice how we number everyday, but allow the many moments left uncounted slip away. You don't have to count them, just enjoy them one by one, and things will take a different hue and sparkle in the sun."

Phish seems to have some advice for my nostalgic ass.
A Point? Yes, I swear I have one.

I want to be a writer. Always have. I''m the dock keeper of unique harbor full of secret desires. I think one day, someone will publish my journals, kidding myself that many people read this very blog. You know how at the bottom of long editions of Kant, Rousseau, anything old and highly studied really -- there are miles of tiny type talking about nothing in particular, needing a code to fully decipher the abundance of abreviations. There you'll find it: numbers and dates saying that this this bit of wisdom, insight, glory came from the personal correspondences of Mr. Genuis to Mr. History Forgot. One day, that'll happen to me, to me, to me whisper the tiny waves that lap the quite boats in my harbor.

What better place to be self indulgent, then Paris.
What month better suited for contemplation of personal history the November.
Some may say that I'm too young to write a Memoir, or a travelogue of any worth, of lasting integrity. And they may be right.

Let's see, shall we?

Making it to Mannheim

2005-10-31T09:46:00.000-06:00

Making it to Mannhiem

"Don't worry, about a thing, 'cause everything, everything's gonna be alright."

When Lauren and I embarked on our Holiday to Berlin, we harbored whimsical, fantastic dreams of doing our paper on Friday, begin done with it, with only minor editing for the return overnight train.

"I'm really excited with about this!" Lauren bursts out as she plays with her new water bottle toy, going to stand near the window.

Before our many mini adventures, we believed in such notions, but such did not prove the case. We, needless to say, didn't get much real work on our papers done.

Sunday night. Sunday we'll stay up all night, work on our papers and it'll be awesome. And it was. We finally met up with one of Kristin's good, close personal friend, shall we say while getting the quick tour of Berlin. It was really sweet. We went to a huge park near the parlement building before running like hell through the train station worry about German efficiency.

Lauren shifts her pillow mountain making faces at me. I watch.

Lauren and I thought briefly about bringing baggage and runing around Gard de Nord for absolutly no reason but exercise. It was pretty entertaining and more then I've run in a long time, but I somehow think we lack the motivation to do it without real impetus.

Our couchettes we better this time, if solely for us both being on the top bunk, being kinda high, and getting to watch our fellow cabin mates. There was a English guy below Lauren who was too determined to go to bed, goddamnit, that he couldn't be bothered to put on pants to go to the bathroom or find his ticket and deal with the conductor. Watching him try to understand and install his seamed sleeping-bag style chouchette sheet was like watching small children playing with those toys where you have to match differently shaped blocks with their corresponding cut-out shape. If I just push, and twist, push again, maybe. . um. . how about this?

Under him was a French women. She reminded me off one of those old Southern women I secretly want to be like: well dressed, well accessorized, completely competant and in charge of the situation, yet elegant. Somehow ruling over the entire situation, but with a certain grace. Only our woman out shown most Southern examples because she had a more style, a quieter more self-assured air. No need for matching brighton luggage here, I can choose quality better. She may be the only person I've seen who can wear a long sweater, skirt, and an over sized belt and make it look good, not moderately out of place.

After momentairly thinking we were on the wrong train as the conductor rattled on in German over the speakers. Then, eventually repeated himself in very polite and too the point English. It was endearing and I reflected on how I've really grown a soft place in my heart for Germany -- they're not as openly friendly as the French, walking just this of cold, but curtoiusly so.

I didn't fall directly in love with Berlin at large and Germans as Lauren did. The duck out of water feeling is always a bit unsettling for me. I abhor not being able to understand the ambient noise around me: random snatchs of conversation, automatically responding with the proper common curtisies, and the like. The most bizzare and unexpected little thing that I soon missed was compulsively reading everything.

I'm a compulsive reader. I read the book of "Soaptoothpasteointmenthaircolorfloss" whenever I'm in the bathroom. I read the book of "Ingredientsdirectionsrecipesservingspromotions" on food packaging. I love reading the advertisement, street signs, flyers, graffiti, ticket stubs, napkins, wrappers. Anything. If I can see text, I'm going to read it.

I couldn't do that in Germany. It's not as easy as I'd like sometimes in France -- I don't understand their written humor well, yet. But Duetch? I can't even pretend to know what's going on. I was happy to be returning to a place with readable ambivalent, text.

After settling in we decide to explore the train. I grab stuff to work on my paper with -- namely my Bag O' Life. I hope to one day complete the turtle hippie-kit, but this one pretty damn nifty, and above all sturdy and good for carrying around Europe.

We forged through sleeper cars. We trommped through suits, me secretly hoping to one day take one. We traversed the smoking are and emerged in -- low and behold! -- the bar.

Right on. We obtain some drinks, and chill out for a while, smoking too many cigarettes. It was rather rude: when Lauren wen to the restroom these two Germans leaned across her vacated space and made fun of us. I don't speak German, so I didn't know exactly what they said, but it seemed not overly friendly, mildly condescending. and involved several hand gestures specifically in our direction, but whatev.

Finishing our refreshing beverages, we festivused onward. Eventually we reach the end of the train and settle on going two cars back to the bike storage room.

Why? We could sprawl out on the floor, take naps if needed, and talk without waking up our delightful cabin companions. More importantly, a power plug. I only had two hours of charge on my computer. Hooray!

We settle and Lauren decides to journey back to the hither homeland to get more supplies: her computer, coffee, maybe a pillow, my jacket, etc. It was about 11:20 and it was going to be a long night. We had a paper to write.

Lauren leaves, I get started. After a little while a young German approaches and said something like:

"Germangerman gERMangerm. German geman german GERMAN GERMAN?
"Ich spreche kein Deutsch."
"Can I use the?" as he gestures to what must obviously be the only exposed, random plug in the train. Perfect for charging computers, one of which he carried

"What do the french say for camera?"
"Appariel photo."
"That's ridiculous. They litterally say photo device. That's likes saying, oh that photo doohickie," as she gestures disdainfully towards the chair. Very french, I must say. She looks the word up in the dictionary, attempts to pronounce it, disdaining my pronounciation, proceeds to ask me about shoes. Most of her music seems fleetingly sad, a tad meloncholy, but beautiful sung. At least the Sufjan Steven. I change the music.

Young German sits down, plugs in his computer, and low and behold, speaks English. We explain random bits of our lives to each other, the random trading of facts people tend to make in situations where you're sitting a little closer then personal bubbles like. Still an island in space, yet politiness demands that we interact in some fashion. So, huddled around the power source, separated by powercords, we swap idle chit chat. We were overly polite, carefully choosing our words, crossing the language barrier hesitantly. Luckily, his English is better then my French.

"Yea, I was in Berlin for the weekend, but I study in Paris."
"You were on Holiday?"
"Yes,my friend is here too, she should be coming back. Hence the stuff everywhere." I'm moderately embarassed so encamped without Lauren.
"She's coming back?"
"Yes, we have a sleeper car. She just went to get her computer, we have to be back in Paris tomorrow for class."
"How was Berlin?"
"It was great. But I don't speak German," as I make a face to show the difficulty of this. I think it looked kinda like I was unsure, and possibly nauseaus. I think he got the point. We type for a while.
"But where are you going now?"
"Oh,Paris. Lauren should be . . ." Young German just looks at me for a moment through the bars of a bike rack dividing line.
"No. No, you're not. This train is going to Zurick."

My heart stops.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, um, I'm pretty sure they split at Hannover."
"SPLIT?"
"Um. . .yes. . .I. . "

I'm not listening as I cram our camp in to my Life, scrambling to my feet. Young German yells good luck, as I flee the way I came.

I haul ass through the cars, passing the dinning hall, then the train, just stops.

No couchettes.
No suites.
No Lauren.

I force the panic attack to resceed, at least momentairely and approach the nearest conductor. Hands shaking, I pull out a cigarette.

"Ich spreche kein Deutsch." as I point to Paris. I try French, it fails. I hand him my ticket, light a cigarette, grabbing the information booth to save me from dropping through the hole of the world. How did this happen? More importantly, why does this happen to me? Shit. I have a paper due in less then 12 hours. Shit.

No, I will not have a nutty for the entertainment of my fellow passengers. I excuse myself, deciding to let the nice Germans decide my fate and high tail it to the nearest bathroom, which proves just big enough me for me, my bag (barely), and the pieces that I soon become.

I emerge 20 minutes later, face washed, hair pulled back, hands shaking, go straight to the smoking car, get a cup of coffee and let my mind reel. I've become quite Zooey -esque: cigarettes providing much ballast.

I've also not slept properly in going on three days.

Not only do I not know where I'm going, I have no idea where I am. If you handed me a map, I'd be at a loss.

"Umm, I think I'm somewhere. . . well, maybe . . . " as I swirl my finger in even broadening circles in the general vicinity of Europe.

To distract my mind I "read" French poetry. Not really concentrating, all it gives off is profound insight, but so coupled with much despairing sadness that soon I can't deal. Back to task one: smoking cigarettes hoping someone will eventually tell me where THE HELL ON THE FUCKING EUROPEAN CONTINENT I'M CURRENTLY SPEEDING TO?!?

And while I'm at it WHERE THE FUCK WERE THE SIGNS? TRAINS SHOULD JUST SPLIT. THEY SHOULD NOT DO THAT.

After mentally yelling for a while, a conductor comes and offers several ways for me to make it back to Paris - Oh! Paris! -- all with the magic of a small handheld miracle worker.

Plan A: Current train makes emergency stop. I take a taxi ride to GermangermanGERMangermanGERMAN. Do I have €40? GErmaNGerman.

I look confused, so we move on to Plan 2.

Plan 2 means I can sleep in coach for 2 hours, after which they're wake me. Then I get off the train, wait three hours to catch another 5 hours train to Paris. Hopefully.

The conductor checks his pocket sized magic machine, write some things in German on the back of my ticket, then sends me to bed. There, I sit up for another hour convinced that their not really going to wake me up, afraid to go to sleep and wake up in Australia. Obviously, I'm not writing a paper.

5:00 AM: Mannheim, Germany.

I'm not German, and I may be a little prejudiced by my less-then awesome evening. Mannhiem is about the equivalent of early-fuck nowhere. Only German. And it's cold. Canada cold -- they're pretty equivalent on latitude. At least I was wearing my favorite jeans and tee-shirt. And birks. I longingly thought of my favorite Texas hoodie.

Then! The young German who told me about the whole SNAFU gets of the trains and heads my direction. Keep in mind that in order to not freeze to death, I'm huddled with a peach pashimina thing wrapped around me in a hilarious (come on, say it with the British accent) fashion.

He matter of factly, offers me his coat, finds out when exactly me next train leaves, speaks lots of German, and invites me to spend the three hours at his house, which is conviently five minutes away from the station. He's my age, a computer scientist with long hair. I figure that since he's from Dussledorf, he's not likely to murder/rape/eat me.

So, off we go. His name is Mattieu. Then comes the nice part of the story: there was not romantic fling, no soul searching discoveries.

No, I sat on his futon, wrote my paper, emailed my husband! and was warm. Mattieu was a super guy, and we got along, but it was more of a human to human connection then anything.

Here is a person, having a problem, and I can help, so I shall.

At 8:00 am, he walks me to the train station, after buying me the most AMAZING GERMAN PASTRY THING EEEVVVVEEERRR. I get on the train, back off into the world. Mattieu showed me where Mannheim is on a map. I felt much more capable on this train.

After that, there was lots of sleeping akwardly for hour stints until my neck said NO. I meet a nice Texan who who traded playing cards -- since his had Texas flags -- with the most adorable French kids imaginable. They were brother and sister, going somewhere exciting. I wanted to go too.

I of course tell my fellow Texan of my origin, and we have a perfectly Southern conversation where I tell him about my heritage, upbringing, and what I plan to do with it in the span of 6.23 minutes. The generic display of pedigree, so to speak.

I stumble into Paris at 1:00 pm, tearing up as I get body slammed by gratitude at being able to speak the language, and happiness at my return. It was glorious.

On the way to the RER B, I bought some shoes. Then I found five Euros.

One More Important Point

2005-10-19T09:26:00.000-05:00

The U of C Center
Not looking at the Keyboard or my Head Will Explode
4:20
Wednesday, October 19, 2005

One More Important Point

The crucial point of that lovely story I told in the previous point, which I conviently forgot to mention is that that nice Tylerite man called me a heretic. To. My. Face.

So, hence the soul searching.

Another point: when I say I'll never take meds again, I'm being a bit overdramatic. I will never take anti-depressants again as a way to deal with my head, but if it comes down to it -- which it already has before -- I wouldn't be opposed to something else. Lithium anyone?

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

2005-10-17T10:02:00.000-05:00

Started Writing: 3:30 am, yesterday
Smoking with Lauren
Rearranging My Room

Posted/Edited: 17:32, today.
In Class

"She's the Balance Beam, and I keep, falling all around her fairy tale. I want to sing to you." Sounds like my life.

Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

In class we've been traveling through time, focusing on medieval ideas of religion at the time, through the dramatic change of the rise of individuality. Incidentally, I'm writing my paper on heretics. Specifically, what it meant to be a heretic and therefore against God, the then all encompassing soul/sole purpose of a world without personal choice. And, it somehow seems fitting.

Why mince words? I've stopped taking my meds, and I doubt I'll ever start again.

In some ways I feel as if I'm making yet another heretical decision, in a long stream of paganism. But not paganism is the consumer capitalistic sense it's come to embody but in its true historical sense: someone who purposefully goes against the sociopolitical, moral way of life in the most direct, fundamental way. It was just easier to label then as all aspects of life were summarily contained in the catholic Catholic Church.

I've had some realization lately as I've scoured my mind for pros and cons, do and don't, seeking moral, philosophic, personal justification for either or. I've been struggling with the vastness of the world, and my place therein, how I feel about divinity, and Why, God Why is my brain different.

As always, when looking for answers, I take refuge in books: "Franny and Zooey," "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," and Portable Nietzsche my constant companions, sorely missing "Awakening the Buddha Within." (Hint Alii, hint HINT!) I'm still pondering the same questions I always have.

Where is all this coming from? Let's take a short trip down memory lane, shall we? My junior year of high school, I worked at a local gym, K and H Fitness. I've known Kelly, the propriater for a long long time. I worked out with my dad there, and they're good biking buddies. My job basically consisted of answering the phone, being personable, in shape, and knowledgable about how all the equipment worked. Generally secretary stuff, minor cleaning, and all my dad's teachings about the correct way to persue personal fitness. Oh, and making sure to clean the machines every thirty minutes, and doing all three local crosswords, secretly craving fast food.

I generally worked the afternoon shift since I finished with school at 1:00. It was easy, and I knew most of the clients after a while. It was easy and convient to get in 20 hours a week. Eventually I picked up a couple of night shifts for other people, which I learned to be bad and good. No one there, so I could read without recompense from Kelley but I also had to clean the entire place before I left. I also didn't know the evening crowd

So, here I am in my fashionable athletic gear, already having had cheerleading practice, and probably running that day or meeting my dad to work out, 16, and reading a book. "Awakening the Buddah Within," mostly bought on a whim, but quickly proving otherwise. My life is being quickly changed as I discover another way to say what I already believe when your typical middle-aged Tylerite approaches. He asks what I'm reading, making general happy, Southern conversation as he waits for his wife. I show him, and tell him I find it very interesting. He then begins to rant about how unfortunate it is that when kids go to college they start to think for themselves, and oh no! possibly stop being the world most perfect Christain, at least by Tyler standards. He tells me that my parents need to take me to Church.

Let's all take a moment and imagine my face. Like, woah. Out of nowhere, this man I don't know begins to undermine my entire being, making sure to bring in my upbringing and family while he's at it. I'm a tad pissed, to say the least, and as always, a bit punchy.

I flip through the book, answer the phone as it rings, answer a question, hang up, still flipping. Then I find it: "The Kingdom of Heaven is Within." (Luke 17:20-21). Right there in the Bible, quoted in the introduction of the my new book. (Already highlighted to be sure.) I read it aloud, telling him that it's the same idea as Buddhism, at least in one respect.

The divine is within us all.

I've been thinking about that moment lately. It seems to be a turning point in my life -- the point when I decided, yet again only more forcefully to go against the norm in what ever way necessary. Okay, so I'm not Christian, but more specifically deciding to live my life in whatever way I see fit -- in the way that is most true to my divine nature.

We are all Seymore's Fat Lady. So, maybe the divine within me shines a bit too bright on times. Maybe for me, Hippie Church is everywhere. I see that even if others don't, and the overwhelming presence of it all can at times, be overwhelming. It's too much sometime -- such as when I throw myself against walls. But in general, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Shine on you crazy diamond.
Or in the parlence of the time, to quote Bryan. "Bling on. Don't cash yourself."

Things You Should Know

2005-10-11T07:11:00.000-05:00

I stole this idea from Lauren who can do this in a much more abreviated fashion. 20 Things You Should Say to 20 Differnt People. These are things that I should say to people, have said to people, things they should know. Some of them already know, some don't. Some I haven't had the opportunity to express myself and never will. For some, I just don't have the heart.

Is one of them for you?

20 things I should say

1. You never deserved me, and I thought I deserved you. We were both wrong. But you’ll have that tattoo forever, bitch. That’s my revenge.

2. You’re stronger then you think you are. I wish you could see that. But as always, you’re welcome to lean on me. If you hurt yourself, I’d have to hurt myself as well.

3. You are amaze and inspire me, but I worry that you’ll abandon me and I’ll go crazy and they’re be no one to chase away the madness. I don’t like needing someone that much, but if that’s they way it’s going to be, at least it’s you.

4. Sometimes I love you to death, sometime you drive me crazy. Sometimes I wish I could crawl in you lap and stay there awhile, fall in love with being surrounded by your fortitude.

5. You were supposed to be the true one, but then you changed your mind. And that’s lame. You say you’re not strong enough, but that’s just you giving up. I’m disappointed in you for that. That is what I won’t forgive.

6. You are the most amazing man I know, and I’m secretly in love with you. I harbor secret dreams of marrying you, but I know it’s not meant to be.

7. I was a little unfair to you, and for that I apologize. Sometimes I think it was for the best, but then I wake up and want you near me and wonder what could of happened, will happen?

8. Maybe one day I’ll forgive you for the horribleness that you inflicted on me. Maybe. That day is not today, though we’re slowly moving in that direction.

9. I love you more then anyone else I’ve ever loved. Ever. I worry about you and sometimes think that I have my life is more in control then yours. Now you need me more then I need you. Sorry I’m never going to really come home.

10. You are an amazing, fantastic strong women who keeps inspiring me. Thanks for realizing that I was all alone and doing something about it. Sorry we don’t get to spend enough time together. Perhaps one day. Don’t ever think I take your friendship for granted.

11. I know your secret. You don’t think I do. I’m hurt that you didn’t tell me, but also touched that you don’t want to burden me. At the same time, I’d like to be there emotionally for you, but for that you’d have to let me in. I mourn for you.

12. I’m so happy to have you in my life. You’re so warm, caring, open. I want to be more like you. I feel like you haven’t really let me all the way in, that we’re not a close as we could be but there’s time. There’s time.

13. You are sketchy. Deep down, I don’t really like you. I say I do, but when you get down to it, you kinda suck, but I know you can’t help it.

14. Oh you! You are the light of my life, the joy of my heart and the breathe of my soul! If you weren’t you, and I wasn’t me, we’d have to have a torrid love affair. I try many days to be more like you.

15. Why are you such a condescending punk? I want to be you friend, but you make it rather difficult. I promise hun, you’re not that fantastic.

16. I didn’t mean when I said I liked you, which I know you know because of gossip. I was drunk, okay? So can we get over it and be friends?

17. You should have called. It could have been nice.

18. I love the fact that I have nothing to say to you that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, haven’t said to your face. I may be closer to you then to anyone else.

19. I wish I could save you from your self-destructive self, but I can’t. And neither can he.

20. I miss you in more ways then one. You used to be such a rock for me, until you put your head up her ass so far you can’t see the light of day. I’m glad your happy with her, but why does that mean that you can’t be your own person? You used to be amazing, now you’re both kinda lame.

Where's My Money?

2005-10-10T06:40:00.000-05:00

U of C Center
13:41
October 10, 2005

Where's My Money?

Okay, so before I left the States, I went to the Financial Aid Office and checked to see what kind of refund check I was going to get. We did some math and it seemed like I was going to get $10,000. I was like, Sweet!

She totally lied to me. In fact, I owe the University $2,000.

So now I'm trying to do exactly what I hoped wouldn't happen: secure a loan from across the pond. Goddamn. I don't care that I have to get a loan: I'd already accustomed myself to that fact, it's just annoying. If I had known, I would have taken care of it before I left.

I heart Buraucracy, but shit son, this is ridiculous. I mean, this is that chicks job. How many other people has she misinformed? She wasn't just a little off, she WAY OFF. Damn. This is annoying. I wonder if this is going to get her karmetically. Ahh this is annoying

So, now I'm doing loan shit online, and Citibank is being a bit stupid. It says I've been approved, but won't tell me what to do next to get my money. I signed it electronically, etc, etc. GIVE ME MY MONEY CITIBANK OR I WILL KILL.

Paris is expensive, and I'm so broke.
Dude, where's my money?

Oh, and just a side note: I totally bedded a really hot French dude. Yea, I win life. Here's to my first one-night stand?

I Itch All Over

2005-10-05T00:37:00.000-05:00

My Room
Smoking a Cig
Not Reading
About to go to Bed
0:37 ( I sware to you -- I will learn 24 h time)
Wednesday, October 5, 2005

I Itch All Over

I've developed a pretty horrible rash. Itchy welts on my upper thighs, spreading to my abdomn. I went to the pharmacy (where they can prescribe you meds here) and got some drugs today, so all I have to do is wait.

But until then: I ITCH LIKE A MUTHER FUCKER.

I'm talking huge welts all over my thighs. Huge itchy welts that are making nasty, white-head looking things. 'Tis pretty gross, I won't lie.

Now that that's out of the way I can tell you about how I'm doing.

** insert 5 minute break while I smoke a cig, instead of letting it burn

I emailed my physciatrist today to report on my head. It's not good.

I've lost my ability to be truly happy.
I'm not compulsive in the way I like to be.
It's a problem
I want to stay in bed all day, not meet people, not go out and explore Paris.

What the hell is wrong with me? Oh, wait, I know.

I'm going to see someone on Friday, so there is hope.

More tomorrow. I'm a bit drunk, and sleepy, and I have to be somewhere for a tour at 9h15 tomorrow, while being responsible for waking several people up tomorrow.

I can't even begin to digest all that's happened either in actuality or in my head. I'll give it my best shot a demain. Je promette.

Here's some random quotes I found in a file appropriatly titled, "I'd Drunk." I found it entertaining, so I put it here for you enjoyment. If I remember correctly, this is from this summer when Lauren was getting fucked around by a douche bag.

“I’m drunk. Damn, I have to go the library.” Me
“I have to go to work still.” Alii
“I have to go eat a lot of meat.” Lauren Frosty

“I mean, it’s the perfect time for Krazy Bitches Coming Out of the Woodwork Day.” Me
“It’s Krazy Bitch breeding season.” Alii
“Which is why she calls you at shit o’clock saying she’s fucking your boyfriend, which is obviously false.” Katherine

Ridiculous Shit:

Good ideas:

lighting a fire in a raminkin, to set a pencil on fire, so that you can light the highlighter pipe to . . .wait for it, wait for it . . . smoke some resin.

Before that fantastic idea, it was also the best plan ever to attempt to light the bowl with inscense. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. Just so you know: it doesn’t work.

Taking two lunch breaks, as to have a liquid lunch, for four hours. Then go to the library to do research. Yea right.

Randoming sleeping with people, then hoping. Forgetting how I don’t do casual sex.

“Even the gnomes are lonely.”
“But you and the gnomes have each other at least.” Alii
“Great. That’s comforting: if all else fails, I’ll could just be crazy with myself.” Me

Bullshitting, Bryan, and Rice Pudding

2005-09-27T14:42:00.000-05:00

Eric's Living Room Floor
Music Swapping
Waco, Texas
2:42 pm
Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Bull Shitting, Bryan and Rice Pudding

Those not luck enough to have been born into Southern Culture and Heritage seem to lack an appropriate sense of awe, wonder, and astonishment for The Art of Bullshitting. There is a special grace, manner and appropriate demeanor needed to Bullshit correctly. Like most things of pure quality, I can't exactly define it but I know it when I see it. Standing around on the porch, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, talking shit to the hurricane. Heckling each other, telling outrageous stories, all while being generally loud and disorderly. But there's more to it then that. It's indicative of a whole way of life, an ease and gayety coupled with a spirit of endurance, hardworking, loyalty. It's stopping by at a neighbors, chit-chatting, shoo ing the breeze, bullshitting, then you're on your way. Maybe drinking a beer, catching up about people you used to know, talking about the future. It's a pervasive characteristic of the South thatsubtlysubtley ingrained into all aspects of social discourse that I almost missed it. As Bryan puts it, I am good at communicating. Sure, I'll communicate with you. Why the fuck not?

When I made it to Texas, Texarkana to be exact, stopped at a gas station just to be in Texas for a moment. I stretched my legs, bought some cigarettes, and got a soda. I decided to buy Texas shot glass, and ended up having a pleasant conversation with the attendant while she wrapped my purchase carefully. No sense of hurriedness, no sense of unfamiliarity, distance, alienation from those around you. I like that.

And Bryan has proved to me, yet again, that he's the most amazing man I know, outside my father. As I told him, I'd like to get to know his parents because they did an fabulous job raising him. Damn, I'm thankful to have him in my life. Dad said he's my Betsy, and that makes my heart smile. He's coming to Chicago with me after Paris for New Years. We're going to catch a show, good bands with standing. Who's with me?

We met up with Sydney Friday night, and Bryan and I stayed up all night watching Rita. It was good times, let us catch up, listen to music, bull shit. After that lovely encounter with the existential, Bryan (complete with Phish beanie), Phillip (hung-over, fantastic roommate), and I (in my hippie dress, forgot my bra) go to Bennagin's to eat and drink Margaritas. Yes, Bryan and I are still a bit off, but it's all good. As we're eating our appetizer, I happen to over-hear this man at another table. Try as I might I can't help but listen, and trust me, it was the most boring story ever. His companions seemed inraptured by his telling of this supposedly amazing rice pudding he once had.

Jesus Christ. I told Bryan, and he listened. This guy just kept going on and on, leading us back to a conversation we'd had earlier that night/morning. We were talking about people that aren't interesting, who fail to add to conversation, provide pleasant company. Bryan said that he finds himself interesting, and that as long as he can say that, he figures he's coming out all right. I agreed. At Bennagin's that I've had some pretty dank rice pudding, but that's not the point. The point is, I have other more interesting things to talk about, be it bullshitting about the Goddamn Hurricane (my new catch phrase), or discussing plans for graduate school and financial planning.

I then realized I know some people who tell Rice Pudding stories, and I wonder, Do I Tell Them?

The question goes far beyond me merely not wanting to hear rambling about inconsequential, inane shit. I know these people, people I love and respect have more worthwhile topics for conversation. How do you say, Dude, I don't give a shit about [insert inane comment here]. Can we please talk about something worth engaging about? And for some people I know it makes me wonder why they fell the have to fill every second with something, no matter who trivial, which besides being annoying, makes me wonder: what are you afraid of? Why can't you be silent. Lord knows my head is loud, but I can be quiet. I can listen.

That's it for stunning, brilllent observations for this evening. More about Austin, etc later.

Technology Break

2005-09-23T01:03:00.000-05:00

Bryan's Living Room
College Station, Texas
About to go Play Frisbee
Or Go to the Titty Bar
Rita's A'Comin'

I haven't been on the internet in almost a week. Egads! God Bless Bryan and his wifi. I've been writing over the vacation, so make sure to check those out. Therefore, I'll keep it brief.

Bryan realized that he couldn't get out of College Station without sitting in his car for 6,302 hours, so he stayed. I figured I'd come and keep him company. We're looking forward to it. Excited you could say.

They've declared the right to protect the streets in Houston and Galveston. What does that mean? Licensed gun owners have the right to protect their own property and that of their friends and neighbors. The police will not be there. God Bless Texas.

I'm seeing Adam on Sunday.

I'm pretty manic. Good times. Now to go play Frisbee!

The Eye of the Storm

2005-09-22T11:25:00.000-05:00

Jaynie’s House
About to go eat Lunch
Thursday, September 22, 2005
11:25 am

The Eye of the Storm

The original plan was for me to go to College Station this weekend to Bling with Bryan, then Austin, then Waco, then Dallas, then Paris.

But Rita thinks differently.

Instead of beginning my Wirlhwind Texas Tour, I’m going back to Tyler. Bryan and Eric will be there, but it’s still Tyler.

So, I’ve decided to let Kelsey’s mom do my new tattoo, and I’m going to call Andrew, who I ran into at the Laughing Dog the other day and see if he wants to go out. Yes, I may ask a young gentleman out, even being the Southern Bell that I am. I know, it’s intense, but I blame the southern heat going to my head. And the mind-numbing horribleness that is Tyler. Plus, he’s legal and I need someone to go drink with. Alii would be so proud. Maybe I can call her and she’ll ask him out for me.

I met Andrew at Church when I was in sixth grade. He was my boyfriend, and we used to have our parents pick us up later then choir practice actually finished so we could explore the catacomb of tunnels under the church and make out. Once I started going to Lee, he was a friend – we said hello when we ran into each other, small idle talk. He also helped me procure certain, needed things from time to time, if you get my drift. I have a picture with him from prom – where he sported patchwork corderoy pants and a Grateful Dead shirt. He still has tons of curly blond hair, dimples, broad shoulders and height. Tasty.

In truth, Bryan and I really want to go to College Station and ride the storm out. Just imagine: we’re all huddled up in the bathroom with the windows boarded up, smoking bowls, yelling at the hurricane, singing Phish songs.

I know that it’s a insane idea, but in truth I don’t care. When else am I going to have the chance to challenge Mother Nature? Shout at the wind, emerge as a shining example of humanity triumphing over disaster, chaos and rain.

But no.

They think it’ll be a category 2 when it hits College Station – three hours away from the coast.
Bryan’s roof is shit, and will probably come off.
They’re expecting many, many tornados.
Bryan’s parents have demanded he come home.

So, to Tyler I go.

Get Over Yourself Already

2005-09-20T17:48:00.000-05:00

Dad’s Couch
Watching “West Wing”
(I’m not that lame – it comes on Bravo all the damn time.)
5:48 pm
Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Get Over Yourself Already

So, I was talking to my dad this morning, and he shared a very interesting story with me. It’s going to take a bit of back story, but trust me when I say it’s worth it.

For those of you who don’t know, I’m from a small town, deep in the heart of Texas. Tyler, population 80,000 with the “metropolitian area” reaching 120,000. But, let me put those numbers in perspective.

*Side note: I just had to go get my hoodie. It’s a 100 out there. God Bless Central Air.

Back to Perspective: Tyler is the closest thing in 90 miles that even begins to qualify as a city, which I claim is a stretch. There are many inhabited places, tiny clusters of humanity, large enough to merit a gas station, a grocery store and the most beautiful country on earth. The entire time I was in high school we had one mall, and one movie theater. We jokingly (jokingly?) say that there was nothing to do in Tyler except drugs.

Sociologically, it’s a strange anomaly – very characteristic of a tiny backwoods town, only large and with money. It’s segregated too. The north side is poor and mostly African American or Hispanic with the south side. Two high school with a strong, passionahttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifte rivalry that I stood on both sides of. Churches at every corner ranging from Primitive Baptist to the lone Unitarian, with the scary ass, huge monstrosity of indoctrination I personally attended, affectionately referred to as the Baptadome. (They STILL SEND ME DONATION EVALOPES. IT WAS TEN YEARS AGO AND I DIDN’T GIVE YOU MONEY THEN.) As Tyler is the only thing in The Piney Woods of Beautiful East Texas all roads lead there. I used to live on the Azeala Trail

As I was driving into Tyler, the closer I got, the more billboards advertising Virginity I saw. “Life is about Choices” and “Everyone deserves a Second Chance.”

It was out Old Jacksonville Highway, FM 2419 that I had my first and longest held job: hostessing, waitressing, and bartending from ages 15 – 20. I now live right off Old Jacksonville, minutes from the bar. In fact, my dad and I are meeting friends there later this evening. It’s $2.50 drink night!

It was in Tyler that I feel in love with Sean, and it was here that it was ended. That is a story for a different time. The relevant point being that I got him a job as a cook at the Dog. I also encouraged him escape the Curse of Tyler (leaving, then coming back and getting stuck. Here. For. Ever. ), which he tragically succumbed to.

Tyler is absurd in the fact that despite the size, Tyler remains a small town. Everyone knows everyone else, and their business. The order of get-to-know you questions is What’s your name? Where does your daddy work? What church do you go to?

While discussing possible root causes for my rampant liberalism, as my dad will be driving the SSUV (Subversive SUV), my dad informed me that he and my mother purposely tried to not indoctrinate me. Which left me in a, shall we say, ackward position in fifth grade when I had no answer to the latter inquiry. I claim it’s Tyler’s smallness in combination with the ultra right wing Christianity being shoved down my throat causing me to run screaming in the other dirction, but I digress.

My dad and I spent the day together and we were talking of the mutual people we know and he was telling me about people who are still in Tyler. I asked about if he’d seen Sean. He said, yes he had, but not spoken to him. I’m glad to know he’s alive, and wouldn’t mind looking him in the face, but no driving desire to talk to him. I’m done with that. This is my train of thought when Dad bursts out,

“Damn, Sean’s mom’s a bitch. I may have to kick her ass.”

Hehehe. Now, yes. It’s true, she is a big fat bitch, but she’s also an amazing lady whom I respect but deeply dislike. I always wanted her to like me, but she never did, even before I dated Sean. Yes, I was rather horrific for while there, but I grew up. Long, long ago, I stopped looking for Pam’s approval, before Sean and I tore each other’s soul out and stomped on them for a while.

But the interesting thing is she was just randomly bitching about how much I suck and how her Darling Son’s “downfall” is MY FAULT. She shot her mouth off to someone who just happens to know my dad and I.

OVER A YEAR LATER SHE STILL HASN’T GOTTEN OVER IT – NOT THAT I DID ANYTHING TO HER IN THE GODDAMN FIRST PLACE. HER PRECIOUS SON SLEPT WITH HIS ROOMATE, THEREFORE CHEATING ON ME HIS FUCKING FIANCEE.

Obviously your life is rather sad if this thing that happened in your son’s life long ago is all you have to ramble drunkenly about to some random chick at the bar.– Yes, it was transforming, and soul-sucking, and beautiful and twisted, and tragic but FOR SEAN.

So, please, for fucks sack Pam, get over yourself.

I really do hate Tyler where, so it seems, people are still talking shit about me. I’m going to go chain smoke.

Now, I'm Just Too Cool for Tyler

2005-09-19T20:12:00.000-05:00

My Dad’s House
God Bless Texas
Watching West Wing
Chillin’ with Spartacus
8:12 pm
Monday, September 19, 2005

Now, I'm Just Too Cool for Tyler

It’s always starting how some things are unitarily constant while others refuse to take on a solid form, the only constant being the change itself.

Oh Tyler, you still make me chain smoke.

My heart still thrills just by entering the Piney Woods. The way the sun peeks through the pastures, horse farms scattered in amongst the faded towns, produce stands, slow speech patterns, soft fragrant breezes and my zooming through the dips and slow curves of state highways.

I left Evansville at the ungodly hour of 6:30 am, took a nap at a rest stop in Arkansas, pulling into Smith county at 5:00 pm, perfect for catching dusk for the last 30 minutes of my drive.

Dad had a date, but will return soon with BBQ. Fantastic.

Hello Good Bye

2005-09-18T11:48:00.000-05:00

Ayse's House
About to go to a Hippie Commune
11:48 am
Sunday, August 18, 2005

Hello Good Bye

My epic journey has begun. After my amazing transcendental experience Tuesday, then a party on Friday, I am on my way.

I drove to Evansville last night, and am currently at Ayse's. Damn, I love her. Yes, she's got issues, but don't we all? Never have I met someone with such a big heart, so much fire, determination.

I feel we understand each other in a way that goes beyond words and deeds. Sometimes she punches walls, when I throw myself into them. But in the end, we'll cry, rub each others back with flat palms, and fix ourselves drinks as a reward for facing one more day. Having someone else who understands the sheer difficulty in everday activities sometimes, and who doesn't require an explaination -- that's a blessing.

I told her about Alii and I's plan to retreat into the woods once a year to go off our meds and drink a lot. She's totally there.

I arrive in Texas tomorrow, so let the good times begin. Looks like I'm going to College Station next weekend, with Austin and Waco thrown in there somewhere. Woot!

I'm going to continue posting here, mostly about what's happening in my head. But for up-to-the-minute info about my exploits in Paris check out . . . And Then I Found Five Euros.

The Score: Full Cycle 1, Mia 2

2005-09-13T12:24:00.000-05:00

The Reg
About to Paint my Ceiling
Sleepy!
12:34 pm
Tuesday, August 13, 2005

The Score

Full Cycle 1
Mia 2

This weekend was rough. I was down and out Friday and Saturday, only to rally in the 8th round Sunday, capped off by crashing last night. Full Cycle in one single weekend! I win!

It was intense.

Yea, so I'm on drugs for the purpose of making the swings less sever, less out of control. That hasn't really happened yet. The Dr. said I have to give it a month.
But until then, damn this was kinda fun.

Except for the part where I couldn't get out of bed for fear of failure. That was lame.

Having the bartender get Alii, Katherine and I drunk was pretty entertaining though, as was blinging too hard for my crappy psychologist to handle.

How to Tell if Someone is Manic:
(And by someone I mean me)

chain smoking
drinking A LOT
rapid speech
rocking back and forth
lack of sleep
wide eyed, eyebrows raised look
irrationality
back problems
putting my face in my hands
fucked up WILD hair
pulling my hair
impulsiveness
inability to concentrate
increased sexual promiscuity
doing absolutely absurd, ridiculous shit

At some points, I think it feels like the end of a two day coke binge, only it won't go away.

At some points I think it's the most amazing thing in the world, and I'm the most amazing thing therein. Radiating intensity, energy, fully capable of anything.

Oh this head of mine.

I warn you gentle reader: I'm going to talk about what's going in there rather frequently for the next few weeks. I need to document this. It's been the Summer of My Head, and there are still things I need to work out. Also, it something the vast majority of people don't want to talk or thing about, surruptiously avoiding in conversation.

I think it should be talked about, understood and examined. And that's what I intend to do.

Twice the Fun

2005-09-08T15:31:00.000-05:00

Merit!
Volunteers are good lovers.
3:33 pm
Wednesday, September 8, 2005

Twice the Fun

They/we/I/the doctor decided to double my medication dosage. Good times? As far as my Disappearing Libido, he thinks that's a manifestation of the depressive side of my chemical goop of a brain. Maybe, but either way it sucks a lot.

Can we all hear God laughing at me? I can. As Alii says, I go from no one, to everyone, purely because God finds my life entertaining. Hey, I do what I can.

I'm going out twice tonight, that's how cool I am. I'm meeting Vincent for drinks at the top of the Hancock tower, then dinner with Jesse. Then Alyssa's 21st Birthday Cocktail party. Goodness!

Vincent's pretty awesome. He organized Musical Chairs for Tsunami Relief, which is how we know each other: I restructured the rules for them. (What they originally had was crap.) Then, earlier this summer I had lunch with alums, and he was there, so we chit chatted, said we should hang out. And now we are. I win.

I wish I could pause my life sometimes. Just press the pause button and calm everything down for a few minutes. Silence, peace. Things to do, people to see, places to go. And sometimes I feel like I can't take a breath, or take the proper time to stop and appreciate where I am, or correctly absorb all that I'm a part of it. It's frustrating. I'm tempted to cancel my dates and go home. Alone time is needed. As Jesse reminded me last night, I'm committed to spending time (specifically, with him only. He's selfish, so he claims.), going here, doing that.

Sometimes I don't care. Just don't care.

This new dosage scares me, but at the same time makes sense. But am I really ready to give up panic attacks and the manic swings? Maybe. We'll see. Or I'll be like most mental patients and go off the meds on occassion. I'm betting my money with option 2, but secretly hoping I'm strong enough for option 1. There's already a little part of me that feels like a big failure for even stepping foot into the SCRC, whcih constantly wars with that other little part of me that's so damn proud of me for getting help.

I wish they'd both shut the fuck up. Oh, wait, they're giving me drugs for that.

World: Accomplished

2005-09-07T16:23:00.000-05:00

The Sunroom
Happy 4:20!
Kittens are the cutest.

World: Accomplished

Today, I accomplished many things. I burst forth (at 1:00 pm) to conquor the campus, preparing for my near departure. Financial Aid Office: check. Bursar's Office: check. Citibank: check. Hummus in the grass with Lauren: check.

I also went to the University Community Service Center and talked to Wallace. They are looking at restructuring their office, and I may be a part of that. Talking to Wallace reminded me what a huge impact the SCC has had on my life. David Hayes helped me make a resume, send out a cover later, choose a job. Serving on the Community Service Finance Committee, and now Summer Links. SO much of what I am, what I believe in, the kind of person I attempt to be everyday are tied up there, or are embodied by people who work there. I am inspired by the entire staff there.

I told Wallace about wanting to own my secret desire to own my own 503(c). He says I could do it by 25. I think he's right. Probably means I'll be staying in Chicago for a bit? City living somwehere, that's for damn sure. Austin, Portland, St. Paul, Palo Alto. Who knows.

I think that's what I love about the UCSC. Every time I have interaction with them, I come out re-examining my life, looking at my priorities, rearranging them. What do I believe in? Where is my life going? What am I going to do with this life, with the amazing possibilities that are before me? How am I going to help? How am I going to positively impact life? And a place that can do that, people that can do that over and over again, and keep me coming back for more. To work there, be a part of that would be amazing.

And now, "My Summer" lays before me. This summer has been an amazing experience, but not blissful and full of nothing. I haven't played enough guitar on the porch, taken enough naps, or had no plans. That's what the next few weeks are all about.

Then Paris bound.
Days till Texas: 9?

Your Mom Goes to the State Fair

2005-09-06T19:54:00.000-05:00

Lauren's Hizzy
About to Wine and Dine Alii's Mom
Sleepy!
7:54 pm
Tuesday, August 6 2005

Your Mom Goes to the Fair

Lauren, Jesse and I spent the past weekend in the beautiful Twin Cities. It was fantastic. I lack the time or capacity to go into full detail at the moment, but it will come.

We went to the State Fair, accidentally got drunk, sang in public, stayed with Joan, hung out with Elissa (who is super cool, by the way), went to the Mall of America to ride a rollar coster, hung out in Madison and helped the Beer Market. Good times.

More later me amigos.
Days till Texas: 10?

Tidbits of Thought

2005-09-01T14:42:00.000-05:00

This post was/is being written while I call 75,603 kids asking them why we haven't received their returning TfC applications. Hence the randomness.

Giving away pianos is a fantastic experience. People who love what they do are better at it. If I could teach musical theater to kids for the rest of my life, I would. In a heart beat. But the there's the possibility that I turn in to Ms. Ryan. Ouch.

The people of Louisianna are in my thoughts and prayers. As are the people who have to suffer under oppression and tyranny despite the weather. It always erks me when after a national tragedy, there's an major out pouring of support. Yes, fine. Good. New Orleans needs all the aid it can get, both physically, spiritually, and monetarily. But before the flooding, what were all these hundreds of thousands of donors doing to make the world better in general? I feel like people forget that there is profound suffering going on everyday, and it's up to me,(and the 29 other Summer Linkers), it's up to us, to save the world. The people of Darfur and the Sudan can't catch a bus to the Astro Dome.

I'm cleaning out my desk, right? There are, not shitting you:
1 yellow to-go coffee cup with a screw on lid (Alii's)
1 purple to-go coffee cup with a screw on lid (Mine)
1 MAB to-go coffee mug, huge
1 ceramic coffee mug with sail boats on it
1 small thermos, silver with red
1 large thermos, silver with handle
1 1.5 liter water bottle
1 pink water cup
1 nalgeen
1 bag of pistachios
1 half eated jar of peanut butter
2 pouches of microwave popcorn
64 kinds of tea
7 scarves (none of which I wore)
5 pens (that I brough from home)
720 packets of sweeten low
1 red blanket
1 black cardagin
1 picture of my daddy and me

Not bad for 10 weeks. I'm impressed by the display of coffee holding aparatus that I seem to own, acquire and generally keep around myself. Too bad all of those containers hold coffee at the moment, and are going to have to be washed before they make their pilgramage home.

Meter parking in the West Loop: the best place is on Sangamon street. The secret is: they're not really two hour parking meters. THEY'RE SIX HOURS. Damn you Mayor Daley with you shift meter signs. Just keep putting quarters it, it'll work. I just went to feed the meter and there was an abandoned, sad, lonely, unopened snack pack on the sidewalk. It made me sad thinking of the person somewhere out there who's really missing that pudding delight.

When is it that guys think, "Damn, that girls hot. If I slow down a bit a hollar at her out of the window my truck, she's sure to like me." Trust me, it doesn't work,and I'm not even sure it's flattering. For some reason, I guess the 30-year old-with-kids look is working for me today. (That's what Alii calls my unofficial uniform -- moderatly stretchy pant, cuffed into capris with a button down tailor shirt, sleeves rolled up, comfy flats)

This weekend, I'm going to the Minnesota State Fair. Whoopee! Hello Road Trip with Jesse, Lauren S. and one of Jesse's roomates. It should be good times. Supposedly, there's a Butter Queen, and they carve a bust of her out of butter. Yea, I almost creamed my pants as I typed that.

I will also get to see Elissa while I'm in the big MN. She goes to Macalester. Oh damn did we do sweet group projects together in middle school and high school. I'm glad that she continues to be a part of my life

And now I'm donw with my last task at Merit. Maybe I get to go home early on my last day. This has been a great job, but I'm ready for two weeks of vacation here, then bling in Texas. Then Paris. Geez, life is great.

At What Point Do I . . .

2005-08-31T16:48:00.000-05:00

Realize he's not going to call?
Stop caring that he's abandoned me emotionally, yet again?
Deal with the fact that this may be unforgivable?
Quit wanting his opinion?
Not miss him?
Stop kicking myself for not holding grudges?
Stop thinking about our "future"?
Stop turning to him for emotional support?
Come to terms with him not being the man I thought he was/is?
Stop feeling foolish?
Stop loving him?

It's been too long since I've ranted about Tall Blond Biochemists, ultimately.

Observations 3.1, 3.2, 3.3

2005-08-31T12:10:00.000-05:00

My Office
Two Days of Work Left
Fall Faculty Meeting in Full Swing
Full of Greek Food
12:11 pm
Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Observation 3.1

Jesse and I had a conversation that went something like this yesterday as we walked home from the #6 stop.

"My head's getting loud. Goddamnnit. Maybe I'll eat 64 Tylonol when I get home."
"Loud? What do you mean?"
"Well, you know how everyone has an internal dialogue?"
"You mean, monologue?"
"You see, that's my point exactly."

I talk to myself, in my head, all the time. I carry on a non-stop conversation, with myself pretty much constantly. And I find it soothing.

Most mornings I chit-chat to myself about how beautiful Hyde Park is, or how lucky I am to be alive. There's always one side declaring, pontificating, exclaiming, while the other listens, contemplates, rearranges.

Sometimes I get very upset with myself, and then things get loud. This is a problem. It started to happened yesterday, but instead of flipping my shit, I got a headache, and felt light-headed, spacey, and a bit nauseous. It seems as if my head was trying to do one thing and the drugs said no. Odd.

Also odd to think that most people have a monologue with them all the time. Don't they need someone to talk to? Doesn't it get lonely? I would much rather talk with myself, then at myself, or at no one at all.

Observation 3.2

Every bus driver has their own unique system of passing out transfer cards. Some keep them in their pockets, some on the window sill, some have a stack with their time chart. How long did it take them to figure out that this system, the one that was used on me this morning is the most quality system?

Observation 3.3

When my internal dialogue is at it's best, it tends to be witty banter, with a soothing cadence and a listing lilt. I think that that's the appeal of France: the French language, especially when it's not in the forefront of my mind sounds exactly like the best form of company I give myself on occassion.

Alii doesn't hallucinate in Mongolia, maybe I'm less odd in France.

As for Hippie Fest, I'll keep the highlights coming over the next few days.

Top 5 Saying from Hippie Fest

5. God Bless Victor Wooten.
4. Wake Up Hippies!
3. I haven't looked over there in a long time!
2. This is going to work out really well for me.
1. The best way to get rid of things is to swallow.

5. The phrase of praise when things just got too good to be believed.
4. Mofro took to the stage Saturday morning extolling the Hippies to get out of bed and start their day. It was pretty funny. We were within sight of the main stage.
3. Igor, when we released his inner 8 year old girl, when we collapsed into a silly heap on the side of the hill. The we ate the woods, found Nevada, and collapsed into a silly heap all over again.
2. Katherine, moments before she ate a hard boiled egg, covered in Nutella. Yea, she swore it was tasty. The next day, she realized our problem with the whole eating combination, namely that of egg and Nutella are not meant to go together. Eww.
1. I'm sitting there with Red Fury on my tongue when Alii hands me a tasty fungal snack. Tasty, yet gross, I'm having difficulty finishing, so Igor offers his oh so candid advice.

God Bless Victor Wooten

Observation II

2005-08-25T15:39:00.000-05:00

This taking medication thing is going to be harder then I think it is.

The Blue Pills Look Familiar

2005-08-25T15:11:00.000-05:00

At the Office
Full of Pasta Salad
Damn My Feet Hurt
3:11 pm
Thursday, August 25, 2005

The Blue Pills Look Familiar

Today was the ever dreaded, always need Psychiatric Evaluation. I meet with the world's most sterotypical mental health doctor ever: small boned, well dressed in muted tones, nice shoes, trendy glasses, calming voice, direct answers. And, I guess that works for him because I was more honest then I've ever been.

For the first part of the session, he repeatedly said things like, "Tell me about your 'manic' episodes. I'm going to shy away from diagnosing that right off." "So, these 'panic attacks' are different from the 'manic episdoes how exactly?"

An hour later, he's telling me about Bi-Polar disorder, putting me one meds again and telling me to get used to the idea that I may have to medicate myself for the rest of my life. I guess I'm a pretty convincing crazy lady.

So, he says he'll give me a sample pack of the same meds I used to take, and says, "I don't think I'll put you on lithium. At least not yet." So, while he goes to retrieve these pharmacutical wonders, I wait in the waiting room. Then in struts Dr. Barrier, brandishing this medication. He comes over, and explains how to take them, because obviously I'm illiterate, and says, "Stop when you get to the Blue Pills. Those look familiar don't they?" Smile. Shake my hand. Leave. Meanwhile, I'm being eyed by the others in the waiting room.

I burst forth from the SCRC and almost scream. But I didn't because they put you on lithium for things like that.

Observation I

2005-08-23T16:06:00.000-05:00

I feel I've been a bit trite here lately. I'm not sure the root cause, but the branches show pretty under nourished fruit. Flippant, cursory, partially invested.

That will stop now.

I Live for This Shit

2005-08-23T11:12:00.000-05:00

Animal Crackers Taste Like Happy
Work
Lunch soon. . .
11:13 am
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
38 Days Till Paris

I Life for This Shit

As the weekend quickly approaches, I am once again struck by how fundamental music is to my well being. Playing it, singing it, listening to it, creating it, jamming out to it, teaching it. All of these things and so much more impact my life in a multitude of ways each day, creating my soundtrack.

Why do I go on? Hippie Fest is this weekend. Three days of camping, in the woods, with friends, and funky ass jams. Am I excited?

Last night, we're all chillin' on Jesse's veranda, and I was sooSOOSSOSSooo happy, I rocked back and forth, heart racing ready ready ready. Bring it on. I live for this shit. There is nothing more profound, real, true, trascendent, powerful, uplifting, clarifying, amazing then festivus.

I know it won't be Bonnaroo -- nothing ever will be. But there will be gnomes this time, and sillyness, and no little bitches who can't hang. Oh hooray for Krunchie Hippies.

Other then that, life is swell. The four day party has ended, alas. No prob though. "Star Wars" in Grant Park tonight with Jesse? "Anyone Can Whistle" with Pattie LeBelle!! and JC on Thursday.

Good Times

2005-08-22T11:08:00.000-05:00

Work
Not a whole hell of a lot going on
11:08 am
Monday, August 22, 2005

Good Times

This past week and weekend have been great. So fun that I've lost the sense of when I did what, or where but the fact remains: fun was had.

This morning I had another Good Times experience, in a manner of speaking. I finally faced the fear and put myself back in therapy. Oh so scary. As Eric so candidly pointed out, we do have one of the best counseling centers/systems because of, well the fucked-upness that this school fosters. But that's a double edged sword. I don't know anyone directly to whom this has happened, but it's well know that the Student Counseling Center (Scc) can fuck with your shit. Declare you mentally unfit, bar your ability to go to class, force meds on you, keep in therapy when you feel you're done, etc etc. Am I worried about these things? Yes, most definately. Am I hoping that the good out weighs the bad? Yes.

The intake session today went well. I met with the man who is now my therapist and told him a little about my head. He thinks I just have a pretty serious anxiety disorder, but he isn't sure about the mania/bi-polar. In the same breath reminding me that he's a psychologist, not a psyciatrist. So, I'm meetting with a psychiatrist on Thursday for a meds evaluation. Good times?

As Alii and I have talked about many times before: we're never going to go through all this initial bullshit when we're actually flipping our shit. All I can do is set this up now, start developing a reltionship with John, and have that resource there next time I feel the planet slip.

Since I am so superly okay right now, I feel that I didn't do my head justice explaining it. How do you tell someone that the edges of my world rattle and glow red and yellow sometimes? How do you tell them about uncontrollable figeting, racing thoughts, then hours of comatose? Especially someone you just met, at 8:00 o'clock in the goddamn AM? Oh, and it's only Monday.

But all's well and good. I'm going to sushi tonight with a herd of people to celebrate Alii and Katherine's triumphant return from the NC. Then Thursday, Jeremy and I are taking in some theater, possibly a movie in the park Tuesday. Hippie Fest this weekend. Hooray! Good times indeed.

Alive and Well

2005-08-20T00:45:00.000-05:00

The Smoking room
Drinking Wine
Chillaxing. heheh
Kittens!
Lauren's
12:46 am
Saturday, August 20, 2005

Alive and Well

I don't have the strength, will or desire to go into all the things that I've done this past week. Let it surmise to say it was fantastic. I'll say more later.

To sum the recent: my car got broken into last night while I was seeing the DMB cover band (which was SOO fun. Damn, we were SOO cool.)but all they stole was my cell phone.

Which is pain in the ass. Mom's here, and I'm dealing with it tomorrow. Anywho. Yea.

I've realized several things. I've managed to meet some fantastic people this week. I totally win. I'm so happy to be having fun with different groups of people. Don't get me wrong: I love my other friends, but these friend rock.

Not having a cell phone makes me a lot more a victim to the whims of the universe. So, be assured that yes, I'm okay, but I can't really confirm that. All is well.

It's absurd how addicted to cell phones this universe has become. What did we do before we were able to call each other every 10 seconds to ask what's taking you so long to _______. I don't know any phone numbers. I think I'll survive.

Generally I get on here with a purpose, plan, or at least general idea where I'm going. Now, none. I have much to say, but I'm to chill to say it now.

I wish you all the best of weekends. Be safe, don't die.

Lot O' Laurens

2005-08-17T11:55:00.000-05:00

Worky McWork
About to go to Lunch
So good!
Clean! Healthy! Happy!
12:02 pm
Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Lots O' Laurens

There are a lot of Lauren's in my life, I've raelized. And they're all awesome and unique in their own way. Yet, there's a spark, a gaity that's in all of them. Pretty super to think about how my life's been effected by Laurens

The Original LP
My first friend @ Lee. And that time she scared herself with her own hand! Shoe polishing our cars, driving to Houston, getting lost in The Woods (Excuse me, do you know how to get to the Cynthia Mitchell Pavillion? Oh sure, it's right off of Spring Dale Glen Trail Forest Park Place Corner Lane Way Stream Hill Nut Street Avenue Boulevard. Court. Right next to the Indian Spring Village of Dhoom!) So many good times, so many belly laughs. No where have I ever found someone who has so much Faith, and in whom I have so much faith because of that. Lover of life, holder of big dream. LP, you inspire me.

Slutty Lauren
What can I say? While she may be kinda slutty, she has a love of life that's infectious. Can I ever forgive her for fucking with one of the few Good Men I know, probably not. But, damn did we have fun. "Bathtub Gin" at the top of our lungs, watching the thunderstorm roll in, outside my house because I was too altered to open the front door, having convinced myself that the keys didn't work. Good times. I mean, she's friends with a guy who will look you straght in the face and say, "Call me Fizzle." How can that be wrong?

Lauren F.
I won't pretend that I know her well, but what I do know is pretty sweet. Open, warm hearted, zeasty, full of life. Caring, considerate, a good listener. She's coming with me to see Trippin' Billies tomorow, and she got stuck in Jimmie's with Alii and I last Thursday, and you gotta love that. She a true, honest individual living her life the best she knows how. I respect that.

Lauren S.
The newest Lauren is pretty fantastic. She came over last night and we talked, and chilled, and crafted, and it was super. She's eager: about life, about friends, and everything. Enthusiastic, without being annoying or overwhelming, with a touch of self-doubt. She reminds me of me, or of how I hope to be sometimes. I'm glad to know her, and glad that she's going to Paris with me, glad we're going to TB tomorrow too. She offered to help me clean my apartment for when my mom gets her, so I have to like her. Sure, there's some weirdness (as she used to sleep with Igor? Still is?) but that's ultimately their business, not mine. Might as well be friends. She's crazy, zany, and tons of fun. Oh, Paris is going to be ridiculous, I can feel it know. Good to know this new Lauren.

Yea, so I'm blessed with Laurens. Hooray for me.

As I Got Ready this Morning, II

2005-08-16T16:38:00.000-05:00

Things I thought of:

damn i need a new toothbrush
where are my shoes?
why WHY is there STILL sand in my bed?
why do spiders live between window panes?
maybe buying a spider vac wouldn't be that stupid
oh, wait, yea it is
what if I just didn't come to work
shaving
maybe i could live alone
people who don't shave
people who don't shave, and get blobs of deoderent stuck in their EWWW
chocolate croissants
coffee
piles of books
is the other intern "better" then me?
Alii and NC
Alii and Katherine dancing at my wedding
Wedding?!?! Wedding?
Katherine: Chocolate covered strawberries? Why didn't you marry this man?
Me: I sure as hell tried.
Ouch.
bed bed bed
alone in bed
not alone in bed
is he still sleeping with her?
if so, what the fuck's up with that?
does she care?
should i care?
do I care?
no.
where's the bowl?
does that make me a slut?
but goddamnit that was a lovely date
leave it alone valdez
children
ring tailed lemurs
jeremy cohan
i need to clean the mirrors
where'd I park my car?
when I wander around looking for my car do other people know that i'm wandering around aimlessly?
damn i look good?
wine whine wine
hope LP's doing okay (See! I thought of you!)
maybe i'll see the Cute Commute Guy today
how dirty it feels to flirt with only your eyes on the train
god bless clint redfern
i need to learn to stir fry
bowl
i miss my daddy
I should talk to Eric
when will these damned bruises go away
oh but they were worth it
maybe i'll go swimming tonight
elephants in the bedroom
katherine eating kittens for breakfast
sunglasses, check.
what about the voices in my head I don't listen to
do they deserve to be heard?

Stuff and Things

2005-08-15T13:09:00.000-05:00

Lunch Breaks = Awesome
Work
Eating a Cookie
1:10 pm
Monday, August 15, 2005

Stuff and Things

This was a good weekend. A great, stupendous, feather pillow filled with giggles of a good weekend. Right up there with mac n cheese, toaster strudel, daisies, shoe sales, and honking geese.

Why you may ask? The absolutely right leve of Stuff and Things.

Let me elabomarate.

Friday
Ravinia. Oh the glory that is Ravinia! They were showing "The Wizard of Oz," while the CSO played the music. Ingenious! Consquently, there were 6,403 small, adorable children running around in costume . Yes, it was so cute I almost vomited. Jeremy went with Alii and I, and cuddled with me, so all's was peaceful in my world. I feel asleep curled up between two of my top 10 favorite people, in the damp grass, with the sounds of Judy Garland and Children in my ears. It was supurb.

I realized that since I was very, very small, I've been sleeping through the last third of that movie. It went something like this, "Oh, I love this song! Oh, I love this song! Oh, this one is fantastic. Wait, now they're out of the Emerald City. That's no fun: I should take a nap." Dad says that I tune out when they get to the real life part about taking care of responsibilities. I don't think he's right, exactly but I can't find where he's exactly wrong.

Afterwards, I went Lauren S.'s birthday bash. Good times my friends. It was the first time in a long time that I didn't get trashed at a large social event of that kind. Was it because of the strange level of anxiety I felt, or the lack of alcohol, I don't know. Igor claimed me for Saturday night to do "stuff and things."

I told Dad about doing "Stuff and Things" and he said that he'd once asked that girl to do the very same thing. He had a super big crush on this girl when he was a sophomore in high school, and couldn't think of anything to do. So, he asked her to do ya know, stuff and, uhh. . things. What did they do? They went to the park, and made kites and flew them. Yea, my dad is a Super Pimp. That must be where I get it form. Turn out he still knows this women: she married another mutual friend from high school. He saw her recently at Tio Joe's funeral, and she said she remembered the day of Stuff and Things. It was one of the best dates she'd ever been on. Yea, big pimpin'.

Saturday
Not a goddamn thing. I woke up early to talk to LP about The Jerk. She was bamboozled, absolutely bamboozled, and it pains my heart. I told her I'd come to Texas and KillkillkillKILL but she said I'm too pretty to go to jail.

I decided to take a Mental Health Day and not go to Indiana for training. You know what I've been too, it's a lot of county fairs. I don't think I need to go to another one. It had been too long since I'd done absolutely nothing on a Saturday. And it was fantastic beyond belief.

I drank coffee with Alii, ate an entire coffee cake, and we watched West Wing. Good times. Katherine and her are going to North Caroline this week to visit the Duke Primate Center. Hooray for filming monkey chewing frequency, I suppose. They left at 3:00, and I continued my stretch of not doing a damn thing. I went and visited The Man, stopped at the bank, and then bought myself some flowers. I win.

Then came the several hours of a glass of wine, a bowl, young adult fiction/fantasy, and Ray Charles. Beautiful. I dozed in the papazaan chair, I got mildly tipsy. Then, it was time to do Stuff and Things.

This turned out to be dinner with Igor at the Snail, and a hooka and kittens for dessert. Tasty. Around 11:00, we got restless.

"Well, we could drive to see the stars."
"I've been way out west, past O'Hare. You can't see them."
"Of course not silly, you have to go south. To Indiana."
"Do you know how to get there?"
"Yes, kinda. Do you have change for the tolls?"
"No, but we can get that when we stop and get beer."

And we were off. Took us a little longer then I thougth it would, being that I have little sense of time, or time/space corralations. After we got lost in the boonies, after we passed 43 seperate strip joints in the middle of nowhere, each with a distinctly horrible name, after getting lost, after dead ends, after on and off on and off the highway, we made it. To the exact same place Alii and I went for the Fourth.

Hooray! Then there were stars, and running in the waves, fending of the cold via Igor, wrenching my knee, kisses, fear of getting towed, and moonlight.

Sunday meant sleeping till 1:00, then Igor made a blingtastic omelette. After his eventual departure, I indulged in six hours of West Wing. (Okay, I'm a big fat loser. Sue me.)

Oh, what a blissful existance I lead sometimes. Hooray for possessing the mental clarity to appreciate it all. It wasn't only the fulfilling things I did this weekend, but the things I didn't do. The sitting, hanging out. Cleaning, resting, waiting, thinking. That's what my head needed.

In other news, I did it. I called the Student Counseling Center today. Appointment made. Sanity here I come? At what point do I tell my parents about this wonderful chemical imbalance I call my life? What if they fuck me over? What if they claim I'm not crazy and I'm stuck with the realization that no matter how fucked up things get I can't turn to the mental health profession? Ouch. Here's to having faith.

Well, it's Thursday

2005-08-11T17:33:00.000-05:00

A-Level
Comforting to Be Back
Kinda Drunk
5:33 pm
Thursday, August 11, 2005

Well, it's Thursday

I took today off of work, kinda, to work on an independent research paper. Then instead, Alii and I went to Jimmy's for lunch, and three pitchers of Sam Adams later, I'm not only drunk, but drunk and lonely.

Here I sit in the library, happily spending my time learning the effect of education in music on the rest of a child's educatioon. Good times, right? Only sad part being that when I'm done, there's no one to go home to talk to it about.

Alii and I spent last night driving up and down lakeshore, drinking, and discussing various life issues. It was pretty fantastic, but didn't solve anything ultimately. She promises I'm not going to be fucked (hyperbolically speaking, of course) but it doesn't feel that way.

I always forget how I don't do casual sex. It makes all the lies my mother told me about myself come true.

But what do you do, honestly? Forsake physical comfort? Stop hoping that the other person will realize how awesome I am and begin to forsake the others? Or conversely, hold out for someone so far away? Where is that delicate line to be walked, and how do I learn to have better balance upon it?

It's great to have my best friend back, but I hate sleeping alone.

Swapped Crazy for Kookie

2005-08-10T14:20:00.000-05:00

Work
2:21 pm
Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Swapped Crazy for Kookie

I'm do a little better now. My grasp is still tenuous, and it's taking conscious effort to maintain a semblance of sanity at the moment, but no more dramatic manic episodes. Hooray

And now, I'm just tired.

Tired of:
not sleeping
sleeping alone
noises in my head
the heat
being in this office
Summer Links training sessions
Talking about social issues
being alone

Alii doesn't turn to me for emotional support anymore; she has Katherine. Don't get me wrong: I'm so completely happy for her. Katherine is amazing, and of course that's who she should turn to. Alii deserves nothing less.

But at the same time, where does that leave me? I don't feel comfortable talking to her anymore, as she doesn't talk to me. Is that wrong? Am I being a selfish bitch? probably, but I miss my best friend. I miss the days when one of us would flip our shit, while the other makes sure the world keeps spinning, keeping us safe. Now, Alii goes to Katherine, and I huddle alone on a damp edge of the picnic blanket, sobbing as Beethoven crashes aound me, mimicing the emotional turmoil in my head. It was nice to be crazy with someone else, while now she latches on to Katherine's emotional stability. Not that I blame her, it just leaves me completely unbound.

But what is a body to do? Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar, oh don't ask why, oh don't ask why. See what I mean about the Kookie?

Appropriate? We Shall See

2005-08-09T13:25:00.000-05:00

I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone

I am much too alone in this world, yet no alone enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet no small enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Bad Head, Good Head

2005-08-08T16:08:00.000-05:00

Office
Coffee!!
4:08 pm
Monday, August 8, 2005
Happy Birthday Daddy

Bad Head, Good Head

I flipped my shit, slowly, on Friday. I'm talking full out, had to go home, on the floor the living room floor shaking, curled in the fetal position. No, don't you dare touch me, I will scream. Couldn't park the car, hearing things, jumpy, panic-stricken, babbling. Yea, it was bad.

Then we went to Ravinia, and I drank a lot. And it was good. Brahms has an uncanny power over me, it turns out. Supreme.

You know what's great at making the crazy subside? Sex. Lots and lots of amazing, fantastic Oh-My-God-How'd-You-Do-That-DON'T-STOP sex. Turns that's a major component of what keeps me stable.

But, of course, a lady never tells. If you're lucky, I might post pictures of the unbelievable bruises I received in the process. I just told everyone my girlfriend beats me.

Ps. Igor gives good head.

Great America?

2005-08-04T14:38:00.000-05:00

Work
Bored
2:39 pm
Thursday, August 3, 2005

Great America?

Yesterday, the Summer Links Crew went to Six Flags Great America. I had more fun then I originally anticipated. I entered the situation realizing that I'm not super duper good friends with any of these people, no one with whom I had planned to spend the day with. I was a little worried about this, I won't lie. So, I brought a book and planned on spending the majority of the day at Hurricane Harbor, sunning, alone if necessary. Good times, right?

But I learned something: I may not be best friends with another Linker, but I'm a part of a group, a family you could say. I hung out with many different people, in several combinations, depending on amusement park preferences. And all of it was fun. I got to know some people better then I knew them before, while also beginning relationships with others.

There was much more singing and dancing then I anticipated, and as we all know, that means I'm going to enjoy myself greatly. David, the director, wanted some of us to record a kareokee CD so that everyone can make fun of us for years to come. I was drafted, and the hilarity ensued. There were five of us, most of us possessing musical know-how. I think our downfall came from choosing to sing a Backstreet Boys song, "I Want it That Way." It was pretty special.

The top moment though was when we were finished, leaving the store, and we heard ourselves. On the intercom, outside the store. Loudly. So, of course, we jamm out to our bad-ass selves, dancing, arms waving, freaking out in the middle of Great America. Dana yells, "I LOVE YOU GUYS!" like a true fan. The we busted out Every Parade Dance You've Ever Seen, in unison. Oh hooray for being ridiculous in public, surrounded by over weight mid-western families who look on, confused, sure they've missed something important.

The water park was fun as well. It was partially a self-esteem booster, and part reality check. It was so nice to not be in middle school again. I started thinking about going to water parks when I was younger, barely post-pubescent. Petrified of my own body, convinced I looked so fat/gross/stupid/unstylish in my swimsuit, yet spending all my energy on either a) getting a stupendous tan to make up for the fat or b) trying to get stupid teenage boys to notice said tan.

This time, we just had fun. We rode rides, we danced and sang in line. I busted out some balance/stretching moves from cheerleading, and the people in line behind us,not in my group clapped. Weird. Jamil had never been to a water park before, and he can't swim. At first he was hesitant about the whole water slide thing.

After one ride, he was hooked.

So, now he's excited, ecstatic about this new joy: WATER!! He's laughing, jumping, running to the next ride, freaking out. And of course, I am too.

It was pretty crazy. Me and him finish the second slide, and just set off towards the kids castle. It's a four/five story tower structure, based on a pirate ship. There's water coming out everywhere: guns, streams, jet, buckets, sprays, splashes. There's platforms, levels, stairs, slides, and water, water, water. It's standing in 2 feet of water, with more just splashing, dripping, spewing, kids jumping, yelling, laughing. So, here come Jamil and I, completely uncontained, running mad-dash, helter skelter through the thing. It was blissful.

Today at work, I got to give away pianos. I called students families' who were recommended by their teachers, and I gave them pianos. The joy in their voices! It was amazing. I heard the mother's tear up, so proud, thankful that their children are going to have an even greater opportunity to advance themselves thanks to Merit, and thanks to music. Damn I love my job. I think I'm going to be taking a couple of days off of work soon to write a research paper for Merit. It should be good times. It's been two longs since I've lost a large chunk of my time to the Reg.

Hooray for being an adult, kinda. Hooray for giving away pianos. Hooray for being a part of a group. Hooray.

In sadder news, my Tio Joe died this week. I knew him, and Tia Rica well when I was younger -- I have some pretty funny memories of my family playing Bingo at their house, and Tia Rica dancing. She died a few years back, and I think Tio Joe is happier with her now, then he was here. I thought about him a lot, and I think he'd be proud of me, was proud me, is proud of me. It's made me think of my Dad's mortality, which is something I never, ever want to face. I wish I could be in Texas with my family, supporting them, loving them right now. I do all that from here, but it's a little less apparent.

God Bless Tio Joe, may be rest in peace.

Old Friends, New Problems

2005-08-02T13:21:00.000-05:00

My Office
About to have Yet Another Meeting
1:22 pm
Tuesday, August 1, 2005

Old Friends, New Problems

I love Lauren. I feel like we have grown apart a bit this summer, what with her being in New York, me in Chicago, and both being so fantastically fabulous all the time, we haven't had much time to talk. I called her last week and we caught up. Oh the joy and peace in friendships that don't hold time or distance against each other. We hadn't talked in months, but no one could tell.

She called me this morning, kinda freaking out, and I did my best to offer advice, solace, a listening ear, a proverbial shoulder. And I was flattered. I didn't think that I would be the person that she would call in such a situation. Me? You're asking me for relationship advice? Or more aptly, reaching out for someone who can help you make sense of it all, and I'm the one your went with?

Thank you for having that much faith in my abilities, life experiences and for thinking that I'll be able to help. Have some faith in him too, kiddo.

After that eventful, advice laden commute to work today, I was also thankful for one more aspect of it: companionship.

I'm lonely. Okay, point taken. I'm also having to reevaluated my ideas of love. I spent a large portion of Sunday night talking about all this, and that, and Tall Blond Biochemists with Alii on Friday. While that was a conversation that I greatly needed, and am immensely grateful for, I still felt alone. As if no one has ever been as lonely as I -- knowing I'm self-centered to feel that way.

So, when Lauren called to say someone else didn't call, I was thankful that the universe decided to show me that I'm not alone, while giving me the chance to say thing that I too need to hear. I almost feel as if, after Lauren and I not talking for so long, then coming together over a mutual grievance, we've taken a larger step towards cementing our friendship against the changes of time. And that's conforting.

Maybe neither of us will ever get the calls we're waiting for. Maybe we've both been huge, horrible judges in character. Maybe we've both been lied to this entire time. Maybe our hearts were exposed fresh, new, with a courage that we fought so hard to achieve, only to be shunned by those who tenderness we most expressly asked for. But at least if that is the case, (which I objectively don't think it is, especially for Lauren) we can at least always call each other.

Uncontained

2005-07-29T09:19:00.000-05:00

Work
9:19 am
Friday, July 29, 2005

Uncontained.

I'm not doing so well, mentally that is. I realized today that my life has made a perfect metaphor to paralel the noise in my head.

You see, I keep a rather large amount of shit in my car, 95% of which is highly useful. 3 Cd cases, paper towels, tool box, caboodle of necessity, incense, blanket, festivus, etc etc. (The Caboodle of Necessity is filled with band-aids, deoderent, cards, pencils, plastic bags, tape, markers, matches, safty pins, etc etc.)

Now the problem with these highly useful things as if that some of them have taken to sliding around on the floor boards of my car. Thanks to the fantastically utilitarian design of my vehicle, the floorboards are covered in durable plastic, no carpet, and the back is elevated about two inches from the front, the seats are high as well. Result: the CoN and the toolbox slide around, under the seats, across the back, eventually slamming into the back of my seat.

At first it was innoccous. Randoms slides every once in a while. Since Detroit, it's been getting worse. Last weekend, it was pretty constant, and Alii laughed at me saying that if I don't do something (bungee cords?) then the tool box is going to burst open, spraying sprockets everywhere.

Now, they slide every where, spawning other loud things that slam around startling me. Metaphorically, the same is true in my head.

Does that mean that I'm about to flip my shit, spewing the sprockets of my life all over the place, spending the next month trying to gather myself? My mom's idea of putting carpet down to quite the noise being medication, Alii's suggestion of bungee cords has yet to produce it's metaphorical other in real life, but I'm waiting.

I'm having an existential crises of sorts. No the type that would make Nietzche or Jeremy proud. About to flip my shit, in other words? I'm almost too anxious to drive, not really eating, trouble concentrating. All the classic signs. I had to stop this morning for both coffee and cigarettes to strap myself more securly to the earth. Momentarily, I was afraid I'd slip through the cracks in the universe.

Mostly though, it's lonliness. Deep seeded, bone-numbing, heart-wrenchingly alone. The kind of thing that would have put me in bed crying were I in high school, but now makes me stoic. I won't cry now with out 1) a reason, 2) the next step figured out. Now? Well now I don't know. Reread "Franny and Zoe" for the 84th time? Whiskey? The beach? Spending money? Painting? Jumping into some manic as quickly as possible in hopes to leave this behind in exchange for crazy?

No.

How did this happen? What brought me here? The magic of theater. We had our performance for the musical theater camp I'm teaching at last evening. Alii was there all day, ran our lights, and as I told her afterwards, if it weren't for her, I'd be lost on so many different levels. It was her birthday too, only she didn't tell me. (She doesn't celebrate them. I took her to Keller earlier this year to celebrate her existence, so it's all good.) But friendship, no matter how strong, or how sweet isn't the same.

But after the bows, and the cheers, and the intense dose of theater crack that comes from a show, I realized I was alone. Summer Linkers came, God bless them for it, and co-worker congradulated me, children hugged me, I went to the bar.

There wasn't someone who was there just to watch me, just to see my work, be proud of my successes, clapping for me, loving me, standing with me through the parent introductions, hugging me afterwards, letting me light up their life.

The problem: I'm losing hope. Lauren finds love over hundreds of miles, via the telephone, and all I get is voicemail.

Too [Blank] to [Blank]

2005-07-26T09:43:00.000-05:00

Office
Sick
Sleepy
9:44 am
Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Too [Blank] to [Blank]

It has been too hot to function lately. Seriously. I don't have air conditioning, and it's been in the 100s. Yuck. I spent the weekend sitting down, doing as little as possible, making sure that my skin was in no way in contact with any other skin, my own included. It's been miserable.

I'm too sore/yucky to function properly. I think I'm getting ill. My back's been hurting really badly for the past few days -- I had to leave work early yesterday -- and that's a pretty good indicator that I'm getting ill. Especially now, as the soreness has spread all over my body. Concentration is hard and I'm kinda nauseated. Woo hoo.

Other then that life's fine, I guess. Still lonely, though it's good to have Alii back. I fear the Tall-Blond Biochemist is falling off the planet, or consciously shutting me out of his life, or both. And I feel silly for feeling that way. And it's hot, and my back hurts.

Too insecure to wait/trust/hope/dream?

Too young to date me?
I bought a drum this weekend, where I got hit on by the dude at the music store. Swear to God, he goes "So, care if I call you in a couple of days and see how that drum's working out for you?" Smooth. Does that line work? I think Alii would laugh herself retarded if he actually calls, which I doubt he will. I'm guessing he's just out of high school, moved to the burbs to get away from the parents, and has no idea what he's about. I could be wrong, but probably not. We'll see when he calls won't we?

I'm so very close to finishing Bryan's painting -- so watch the mail. It's pretty bling-tastic if I don't say so myself. Next, Eric's.

Ehhck. I have to go sing with kids. If only they knew that it hurts to exist. At least we have air at work.

Home Alone!

2005-07-18T13:55:00.000-05:00

Work
Kinda Bored
Soon to be Cat Free!
1:55 pm
Monday, July 18, 2005

Home Alone!

After throwing a fit to Alii on Friday, Katherine has agreed to take the kittens. Thank goodness! I just cannot deal anymore. I'll miss Sappho, but God in Heaven will it be lovely to breathe properly in my own home again.

This weekend was pretty chill. I went to Michigan but we didn't sail. The weather refused to cooperate, so I read Harry Potter on their couch all weekend. Lovely lovely. While I would of done practically the same thing had I been home, it was nicer to do it there, be taken care of, do laundry, and sleep in the air conditioning.

My mother and I get along better now. I think that a large part of it is that I know where I'm going in my life now, which I didn't when I was in high school. Don't get me wrong: there are still many parts of who I am that I keep hidden from her as I'm 99% she'll judge me for it, but things are no longer the horribleness they were for so long. No deep intellectually or emotional discussions, but no yelling either.

I had a rather profound realization on the drive there too, which was much needed. I've become too content in my life, to okay with my sitution. I've got things sweet, I'm not going to lie, but I let that sweep me into idleness. Not allowed on my life long quest for betterment. Don't get me wrong: many, most areas of my life are continuing to truck along, getttin better all the time. It's the personally, internal betterment that's been stalling out. What have I been doing personally, inside, to make myself a better friend, citizen, person? Not a damn thing actively. Yes, I am being bettered, learning, growing thanks to Summer Links, but I haven't been taking personal stock, putting forth extra effort, activly striving.

It reminds me of Erik B. this Spring Quarter. His personal goal was to be better hydrated that quarter, and succeed he did. He told me that sometimes you have to achieve small goals, but important goals, and I completly agree.

So here I am, driving along, making personal goals. And I think it worked. Good times.

Other then that, not a lot going on. I'm cooking for 35 people Wednesday night, so that's something to prepare for. Tasty Southern Food. I miss Alii, as she's in Portland, and am SO DAMN HAPPY TO HAVE THOSE GOD FORSAKEN CATS OUT OF MY HOUSE!

Word.