All I want is for my life to have meaning. Do you ever find yourself talking to yourself? Kind of makes you feel a little looney.
Often times I am lonely. I HATE feeling lonely. I grew up for the most part as an only child--lonely. I've not had many friends that have been totally able to understand me and therefore I've kept a lot inside--lonely. I recently lost my best friend of 2 1/2 years and the past 6 months have been well, lonely ones. Basically, I'm lonely. That's ok, I know that this will be a common theme in my life and I need to deal with it but it's hard to feel comfortable with the idea of being lonely when the thing you fear the most and hate the most is being lonely.
I have a lot of love to give. But all I ask in return is to be loved. Seems simple, well...it's not. Sometimes my overwhelming need to be loved in return does just the opposite. And thus, I am alone.
So, in an effort to deal with it, I'm writing about it. I think now maybe I'll finish my wine and go to bed, alone.
Good night, all. :)
Friday, December 28, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Rejection
Rejection is sometimes comical and maybe even helpful. But when it's hurtful, that's the worst kind.
Last night, after being rejected by a woman the day before who I had very intense feelings for, I got rejected by another woman at the lesbian bar that I go to in downtown Atlanta. This girl is hot. But she's also a player. I hit on her and she literally walked away from me. Then a half hour later she came over to dance with me. I was my normal witty comical self. She laughed and then walked away again after the dancing was over. Being rejected that many times in one week, is like really shitty. Other than that though I had a fabulous time and made a lot of new friends.
And I suppose the fact that I put myself out there is really healthy, it's just the harsh response that made me feel shitty. So I supposed feeling shitty can be healthy sometimes?
Je ne said pas? C'est la vie.
Last night, after being rejected by a woman the day before who I had very intense feelings for, I got rejected by another woman at the lesbian bar that I go to in downtown Atlanta. This girl is hot. But she's also a player. I hit on her and she literally walked away from me. Then a half hour later she came over to dance with me. I was my normal witty comical self. She laughed and then walked away again after the dancing was over. Being rejected that many times in one week, is like really shitty. Other than that though I had a fabulous time and made a lot of new friends.
And I suppose the fact that I put myself out there is really healthy, it's just the harsh response that made me feel shitty. So I supposed feeling shitty can be healthy sometimes?
Je ne said pas? C'est la vie.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Aching
So, I'm a psychology major at a small liberal arts school in the middle-of-nowhere Tennessee. I recently fell in love with a woman who appreciates me for who I am. (how very Bridget Jones) She did not reciprocate my feelings, and I did not know why, until tonight.
You see, she has her eye on the goal. And the life she leads is this unwavering line that flows straight for that goal. She knows what she wants, whereas I am still defining those goals. I lack the steady hand to draw such a line.
A friendship where each party appreciates one another and values one another without expectation has never occured in my life, with exception to my soul brother back at the university. The fact that this girl is gay and therefore a potential 'mate,' for lack of a better word, caused me to misconstrue her honesty and good intentions. Now, maybe I'm delusional and neurotic and over-analytical in Freudian terms, but the fact that I misconstrued and illusioned to the point that I have really says something to me. It's a wake up call to my existence. I cannot keep doing this to myself.
I am gay. I am 22 years old. I do not have all the answers. I allow myself to get walked all over and I suppose to some extent, I seek out people romantically who will let me need them. I am not perfect. And one of my goals is to not feel guilt, but I do, probably most of the time.
I need to be single, probably for the rest of my life, in order to live that life to the fullest. I want to be able to say and feel what I want and need to whenever I want and need to. I want to get drunk and high and have conversations and not have regrets, ever. And for the past four months, I have been able to do that, and I have grown so much in the past four months--more so than in the two and a half years that preceded the last four months.
I recently took a Cognitive Psychology class at the university. The course was all about Consciousness and Unconsciousness. How the conscious portions of the being think they know everything and really what's going on is the unconscious portions are guiding the conscious portions and so therefore, we, as humans, will never be able to fully understand ourselves. Therefore, we require a community of individuals to help us along our path through life. We require this in order to obtain a full understanding of ourselves. My problem is that I'm alone, with no one to help guide me because a)I'm too stubborn and b)I'm a misconstruer and c)I think I know everything.
So, I am sad and alone and broke and broken and continue to be walked all over. And I don't really know what to do about that. But I feel that my friend, the one that I was in love with on my own, without reciprocity, can help me to find those answers. So my questions are these:
How and when do I go about cultivating that soulful relationship? and how do I say I'm sorry for my misconceptions without feeling ashamed for them? and how do I learn to love her as a friend without the pain of loss for what I thought could have been? and how do I convince my conscious self that this is true, because I know it is, I know that she's a valuable friend that I just happened to meet in a really sticky portion and in a really icky context of my life?
You see, she has her eye on the goal. And the life she leads is this unwavering line that flows straight for that goal. She knows what she wants, whereas I am still defining those goals. I lack the steady hand to draw such a line.
A friendship where each party appreciates one another and values one another without expectation has never occured in my life, with exception to my soul brother back at the university. The fact that this girl is gay and therefore a potential 'mate,' for lack of a better word, caused me to misconstrue her honesty and good intentions. Now, maybe I'm delusional and neurotic and over-analytical in Freudian terms, but the fact that I misconstrued and illusioned to the point that I have really says something to me. It's a wake up call to my existence. I cannot keep doing this to myself.
I am gay. I am 22 years old. I do not have all the answers. I allow myself to get walked all over and I suppose to some extent, I seek out people romantically who will let me need them. I am not perfect. And one of my goals is to not feel guilt, but I do, probably most of the time.
I need to be single, probably for the rest of my life, in order to live that life to the fullest. I want to be able to say and feel what I want and need to whenever I want and need to. I want to get drunk and high and have conversations and not have regrets, ever. And for the past four months, I have been able to do that, and I have grown so much in the past four months--more so than in the two and a half years that preceded the last four months.
I recently took a Cognitive Psychology class at the university. The course was all about Consciousness and Unconsciousness. How the conscious portions of the being think they know everything and really what's going on is the unconscious portions are guiding the conscious portions and so therefore, we, as humans, will never be able to fully understand ourselves. Therefore, we require a community of individuals to help us along our path through life. We require this in order to obtain a full understanding of ourselves. My problem is that I'm alone, with no one to help guide me because a)I'm too stubborn and b)I'm a misconstruer and c)I think I know everything.
So, I am sad and alone and broke and broken and continue to be walked all over. And I don't really know what to do about that. But I feel that my friend, the one that I was in love with on my own, without reciprocity, can help me to find those answers. So my questions are these:
How and when do I go about cultivating that soulful relationship? and how do I say I'm sorry for my misconceptions without feeling ashamed for them? and how do I learn to love her as a friend without the pain of loss for what I thought could have been? and how do I convince my conscious self that this is true, because I know it is, I know that she's a valuable friend that I just happened to meet in a really sticky portion and in a really icky context of my life?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I may just cry
I saw several things today that made me think to myself, or say to someone around me, "I may just cry."
The first occured at the pharmacy. I got several prescriptions filled. I sat in the waiting area and when the blonde-headed lady called my name, "Miss Kennedy!" I'm sure my face gave a wincing expression that could only convey sheer agony. I was anticipating the cost of the medications. "Ok," I told myself, "brace yourself." When she told me the total cost would be $6.18, I let out a little yelp and said the phrase, 'thank you,' like I had just been given a Grammy or something. After I paid, and we were waiting for my receipt to print, I told her, "I'm so happy, I may just cry." She smiled.
The second occured when I found out that Tila Tequila chose Bobby over Dani on "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila." "That fucking whore!" I yelled at the computer screen, when I read about it this morning. "I may just cry, poor Dani."
Then this evening, I was sitting in a Starbucks, quietly enjoying my chai tea and planning my Christmas break. There was this man sitting in front of me sunk into an arm chair. I could see half of his face and he seemed lost and wandering. Sort of sad really, I thought to myself, "I may just cry for him."
And finally, tonight I am watching Castaway on TBS. I love this movie and I also hate it. The part where Chuck is floating along on the raft and Wilson falls off into the ocean, that part is so sad. When he swims out to get Wilson and he can't reach and he has to choose between WIlson and staying alive. The isolation that he must have felt, my god. It is like that of Sala in "Letters to Sala." It brings me to tears everytime. I may just cry.
The first occured at the pharmacy. I got several prescriptions filled. I sat in the waiting area and when the blonde-headed lady called my name, "Miss Kennedy!" I'm sure my face gave a wincing expression that could only convey sheer agony. I was anticipating the cost of the medications. "Ok," I told myself, "brace yourself." When she told me the total cost would be $6.18, I let out a little yelp and said the phrase, 'thank you,' like I had just been given a Grammy or something. After I paid, and we were waiting for my receipt to print, I told her, "I'm so happy, I may just cry." She smiled.
The second occured when I found out that Tila Tequila chose Bobby over Dani on "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila." "That fucking whore!" I yelled at the computer screen, when I read about it this morning. "I may just cry, poor Dani."
Then this evening, I was sitting in a Starbucks, quietly enjoying my chai tea and planning my Christmas break. There was this man sitting in front of me sunk into an arm chair. I could see half of his face and he seemed lost and wandering. Sort of sad really, I thought to myself, "I may just cry for him."
And finally, tonight I am watching Castaway on TBS. I love this movie and I also hate it. The part where Chuck is floating along on the raft and Wilson falls off into the ocean, that part is so sad. When he swims out to get Wilson and he can't reach and he has to choose between WIlson and staying alive. The isolation that he must have felt, my god. It is like that of Sala in "Letters to Sala." It brings me to tears everytime. I may just cry.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Update, because I like to pretend that people care
Because I know you all have been worried sick about my condition. If not, that's ok, you can still send me a get well card. Also, please enclose money--tens and twenties.
I am not dying. Well, I am...but in a more normative sense. Sinus infection--nah. Bronchitis--yes. Bladder infection--nah. What Kate calls 'whohah infection'--yes. (To which she replied, "poor whohah.") What I thought was surely cutaneous staph infection turned out to be poison ivy. Lots of pills and thangs.
Synopsis:
Send money, poor whohah, lots of pills.
Other updates:
1. Countdown til Christmas: 8 days
2. Countdown til I kill my ex for ruining my life: 3 days
3. Countdown til I get the fuck out of here: 21 hours
4. Number of exams left: 1
5. Packing completed: nilch
6. Hours slept last night: 7
7. Pills taken today: 9
7. Number of harassing emails received: 1
Also, I wore flannel to class today. And two people complimented it. :)
I am not dying. Well, I am...but in a more normative sense. Sinus infection--nah. Bronchitis--yes. Bladder infection--nah. What Kate calls 'whohah infection'--yes. (To which she replied, "poor whohah.") What I thought was surely cutaneous staph infection turned out to be poison ivy. Lots of pills and thangs.
Synopsis:
Send money, poor whohah, lots of pills.
Other updates:
1. Countdown til Christmas: 8 days
2. Countdown til I kill my ex for ruining my life: 3 days
3. Countdown til I get the fuck out of here: 21 hours
4. Number of exams left: 1
5. Packing completed: nilch
6. Hours slept last night: 7
7. Pills taken today: 9
7. Number of harassing emails received: 1
Also, I wore flannel to class today. And two people complimented it. :)
Sunday, December 16, 2007
dear mr. president
So, I just re-watched season four of the L Word because I'm sick again, and it seems that's the only time I ever watch L word anymore.
If there's one thing Ilene Chaiken did right this year it was the season finale. Firstly, Pink's Dear Mr. President is amazing. Everyone should youtube it and watch/listen to it.
Secondly, the scene where Shane and Paige are fucking to Before we Begin is oh my god. So Good. I love the contrast of the modern lesbian couple with their tattoos and nipple piercings with that of the suburban white picket fence family of the 1950's. So radical; such a great statement. I was having this same type of discussion with my Women's Studies professor here in Sewanee a few weeks ago. We were talking about lesbians today who want the traditional family lifestyle in the suburbs. I wasn't sure what to say about it then, and I'm still not sure if I have much of an opinion now, but damn...that was a hot scene, thanks Ilene.
If there's one thing Ilene Chaiken did right this year it was the season finale. Firstly, Pink's Dear Mr. President is amazing. Everyone should youtube it and watch/listen to it.
Secondly, the scene where Shane and Paige are fucking to Before we Begin is oh my god. So Good. I love the contrast of the modern lesbian couple with their tattoos and nipple piercings with that of the suburban white picket fence family of the 1950's. So radical; such a great statement. I was having this same type of discussion with my Women's Studies professor here in Sewanee a few weeks ago. We were talking about lesbians today who want the traditional family lifestyle in the suburbs. I wasn't sure what to say about it then, and I'm still not sure if I have much of an opinion now, but damn...that was a hot scene, thanks Ilene.
Dear My Body,
Why do you hate me so? What have I ever done to you that would deserve such irrational responses. So I smoke cigarettes and drink beer ocassionally, is that really all that bad. It helps you to relax. I give you baths regularly and feed you good food like salad and chicken and cucumbers everyday! Why are you sick with four different infections. Not fair. And during exam week. Body, you and I are gonna have to have a chat when all is better. I promise I will smoke less and exercise more. But you have to do your part too. No more invitations to bacteria and the like. Deal?
Love,
Sam
Why do you hate me so? What have I ever done to you that would deserve such irrational responses. So I smoke cigarettes and drink beer ocassionally, is that really all that bad. It helps you to relax. I give you baths regularly and feed you good food like salad and chicken and cucumbers everyday! Why are you sick with four different infections. Not fair. And during exam week. Body, you and I are gonna have to have a chat when all is better. I promise I will smoke less and exercise more. But you have to do your part too. No more invitations to bacteria and the like. Deal?
Love,
Sam
Friday, December 14, 2007
My useless day
So, this morning I was awakened at 7:30 by people in the basement of my building drilling through the walls in the stairwell. The stairwell just happens to be right next to my room, and it echoes big time. Joy.
As soon as I woke up, I wished that I hadn't. My throat screamed and my sinuses ached. I am sick. Also, I started my period. Like, what the fuck, body? Get it together?! I then told my body that today was supposed to be used for studying for my three upcoming exams. One of which is tomorrow. It didn't care. Here's what I did instead:
I went to the bank, I went to the gas station and I went to McDonalds. Then I sat on the big suede chair at the sorority house and watched the ANTM Marathon for 4 hours in my emotional pseudophedrine induced state. Then my mom called me and made me cry. She asked why I went to see a therapist this week. I told her I didn't want to talk about it. Then she decided that it would be best to play twenty questions to see if she could guess why. End result: well, I already mentioned the crying part. After that I went to dinner and had some crap pizza. Then I came home and here I sit, trying to study for my exam. My friend Katie came over to bring me some tea. As we sat talking three other friends came into my room and we were all talking. Then just as soon as I started to feel a little better, the framed poster that hangs above my bed abruptly fell on my head. I screamed "mother fucker!" and then I cried...again...in front of four other people. It was sort of a sob and everyone just kind of stood there awkwardly, except for Katie, who, thank god, became my mom and protected me from the embarassment of it all. I think the worse part of the whole situation was the fact that I firmly believe that when you are in your own bed, nothing bad can happen to you. If you've had a bad day, getting into bed can make it all better. Well..let's just say, I've never had a bad experience in my bed (keep your imaginations in check). But I suppose I've been proven wrong.
I know when I wake up in the morning and the pseudophedrine has worn off, the bump on my head has subsided and the cramps in my lower back are no more...I will laugh at this whole entire day...but until then, I am going to lay here with my box of Fred's brand Kleenex and ignore my studying and probably read some Anne Lamott.
Happy Friday everyone.
As soon as I woke up, I wished that I hadn't. My throat screamed and my sinuses ached. I am sick. Also, I started my period. Like, what the fuck, body? Get it together?! I then told my body that today was supposed to be used for studying for my three upcoming exams. One of which is tomorrow. It didn't care. Here's what I did instead:
I went to the bank, I went to the gas station and I went to McDonalds. Then I sat on the big suede chair at the sorority house and watched the ANTM Marathon for 4 hours in my emotional pseudophedrine induced state. Then my mom called me and made me cry. She asked why I went to see a therapist this week. I told her I didn't want to talk about it. Then she decided that it would be best to play twenty questions to see if she could guess why. End result: well, I already mentioned the crying part. After that I went to dinner and had some crap pizza. Then I came home and here I sit, trying to study for my exam. My friend Katie came over to bring me some tea. As we sat talking three other friends came into my room and we were all talking. Then just as soon as I started to feel a little better, the framed poster that hangs above my bed abruptly fell on my head. I screamed "mother fucker!" and then I cried...again...in front of four other people. It was sort of a sob and everyone just kind of stood there awkwardly, except for Katie, who, thank god, became my mom and protected me from the embarassment of it all. I think the worse part of the whole situation was the fact that I firmly believe that when you are in your own bed, nothing bad can happen to you. If you've had a bad day, getting into bed can make it all better. Well..let's just say, I've never had a bad experience in my bed (keep your imaginations in check). But I suppose I've been proven wrong.
I know when I wake up in the morning and the pseudophedrine has worn off, the bump on my head has subsided and the cramps in my lower back are no more...I will laugh at this whole entire day...but until then, I am going to lay here with my box of Fred's brand Kleenex and ignore my studying and probably read some Anne Lamott.
Happy Friday everyone.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
One of these things is not like the other
Firstly, today has been insanely crazy. It is 8:30 and I am seriously considering going to be in the next hour which, by the way, is totally uncharacteristic of me.
Secondly, Pandora is probably the best invention ever.
I woke up this morning, got to the library (only 10 minutes late) and my boss informs me that I could have waited to come for another hour since it was so slow. I then proceeded to sit there for three hours and basically do nothing except be hungry. Then, I went to lunch.
After that, I went and raked leaves. And then after that I went to clean someone's house. I have calculated it and I earned $61 today. Also, I put out a friend's fire by offering to loan him my computer for the afternoon tomorrow and I cleaned my room. Well, I thought I cleaned my room until 5 minutes ago when I opened my underwear drawer and proceeded to realize that there is no longer any underwear in there. The drawer has been taken over by the following items:
a bag of cotton balls
a bunch of old holey underwear
old bras that I don't wear anymore
a bag of unopened socks that I stole from my mom
a pair of brown tights
five scarves
a pencil
a necklace
and
a beer coozy
Then, I proceeded to start singing "One of these things is not like the other." Currently I am waiting for my clothes to get done in the washing machine so I can walk the four flights of stairs to go put them in the dryer. I am wearing...a skirt and a bath towel, and I'm hungry. Ok, now I feel like I'm just writing about updates of my life. I really want to watch some L&O right now...but I'm too lazy to go to the first floor to watch tv and also, I'm inappropriately dressed to do so as the first floor is inhabited by human beings with penises--gross.
Secondly, Pandora is probably the best invention ever.
I woke up this morning, got to the library (only 10 minutes late) and my boss informs me that I could have waited to come for another hour since it was so slow. I then proceeded to sit there for three hours and basically do nothing except be hungry. Then, I went to lunch.
After that, I went and raked leaves. And then after that I went to clean someone's house. I have calculated it and I earned $61 today. Also, I put out a friend's fire by offering to loan him my computer for the afternoon tomorrow and I cleaned my room. Well, I thought I cleaned my room until 5 minutes ago when I opened my underwear drawer and proceeded to realize that there is no longer any underwear in there. The drawer has been taken over by the following items:
a bag of cotton balls
a bunch of old holey underwear
old bras that I don't wear anymore
a bag of unopened socks that I stole from my mom
a pair of brown tights
five scarves
a pencil
a necklace
and
a beer coozy
Then, I proceeded to start singing "One of these things is not like the other." Currently I am waiting for my clothes to get done in the washing machine so I can walk the four flights of stairs to go put them in the dryer. I am wearing...a skirt and a bath towel, and I'm hungry. Ok, now I feel like I'm just writing about updates of my life. I really want to watch some L&O right now...but I'm too lazy to go to the first floor to watch tv and also, I'm inappropriately dressed to do so as the first floor is inhabited by human beings with penises--gross.
Some ramblings
It's raining a lot of cats and dogs today people. Don't forget your umbrellas and please remember the words of a very wise actress, "Rain is water which does not come out of faucets."
----------------------------
This morning, I lay dozing soundly in my snuggly bed. The quilt wrapped tightly around my body and my mind dreamed wonderful things. With the window half open, fresh cool air drifted in creating a small wind stream through my room. It was lovely. Then, the garbage truck showed up.
Why on earth do they have that siren that turns on when they're backing up. I mean, they're backing up toward a wooden box, I really don't think that box can hear anything. No matter, it was getting to be about half past late, and I needed to get to work.
----------------------------
Yesterday, my little sister in the sorority gave me my first Christmas present of the season; a beautiful shawl made of bright blue, bright fuschia, golden yellow, and black thread. It is probably one of the nicest gifts anyone has ever given me. She said she bought it back in Texas over the summer; she saw it and knew it must be mine. I am wearing it today, even though it is 75 gazillion degrees in the library and I've got a fan blowing on me. I'm wearing it because it feels like a blanky that I can wrap up in, and this week, I definately need to wear blankies.
----------------------------
Yesterday afternoon, I went to see my new therapist. She's way cool. Her waiting room is nice, AND it smells good. The couch is comfortable, and she has these old movie theatre chairs in there, that have been refurbished. Also, there is smell good lotion next to where my paperwork was and nice relaxing music playing when I entered the door. (If I was an inspector of comfort, she'd have received a 100%). In her office, there is a big sign that says "Believe" in rainbow colored letters. She said I'm allowed to discuss God if I want to, and that she's cool with gay people. Mainly, I just swore a lot.
----------------------------
Right now, I am sitting here thinking about two very important women. Both of which I love dearly and both of which I think don't quite know what to make of me or how to deal with me. One of which I had a fight with last night. We caught a ride home from a party and I got in the way of her mack. I seem to do this a lot now-a-days since I'm not getting my mack on, and therefore, have apparently forgotten about how other people might like to. To my lovely friend who I share everything with: I'm sorry about last night. Please have lunch with me at noon?
The other lovely lady I think of often; she makes me smile. I think I may have freaked her out a few months ago. (I think I freaked myself out a few months ago). Anyway, I'm pretty sure you know who you are. And I just want you to know; I miss you. I don't really know what to do with that or the situation right now. But I'd really love to talk to you, and stat. I'll be home next week, if I don't get snowed in up here. Also, you'll never believe what the soup can man did this morning. Holy moly stromboli!
----------------------------
This morning, I lay dozing soundly in my snuggly bed. The quilt wrapped tightly around my body and my mind dreamed wonderful things. With the window half open, fresh cool air drifted in creating a small wind stream through my room. It was lovely. Then, the garbage truck showed up.
Why on earth do they have that siren that turns on when they're backing up. I mean, they're backing up toward a wooden box, I really don't think that box can hear anything. No matter, it was getting to be about half past late, and I needed to get to work.
----------------------------
Yesterday, my little sister in the sorority gave me my first Christmas present of the season; a beautiful shawl made of bright blue, bright fuschia, golden yellow, and black thread. It is probably one of the nicest gifts anyone has ever given me. She said she bought it back in Texas over the summer; she saw it and knew it must be mine. I am wearing it today, even though it is 75 gazillion degrees in the library and I've got a fan blowing on me. I'm wearing it because it feels like a blanky that I can wrap up in, and this week, I definately need to wear blankies.
----------------------------
Yesterday afternoon, I went to see my new therapist. She's way cool. Her waiting room is nice, AND it smells good. The couch is comfortable, and she has these old movie theatre chairs in there, that have been refurbished. Also, there is smell good lotion next to where my paperwork was and nice relaxing music playing when I entered the door. (If I was an inspector of comfort, she'd have received a 100%). In her office, there is a big sign that says "Believe" in rainbow colored letters. She said I'm allowed to discuss God if I want to, and that she's cool with gay people. Mainly, I just swore a lot.
----------------------------
Right now, I am sitting here thinking about two very important women. Both of which I love dearly and both of which I think don't quite know what to make of me or how to deal with me. One of which I had a fight with last night. We caught a ride home from a party and I got in the way of her mack. I seem to do this a lot now-a-days since I'm not getting my mack on, and therefore, have apparently forgotten about how other people might like to. To my lovely friend who I share everything with: I'm sorry about last night. Please have lunch with me at noon?
The other lovely lady I think of often; she makes me smile. I think I may have freaked her out a few months ago. (I think I freaked myself out a few months ago). Anyway, I'm pretty sure you know who you are. And I just want you to know; I miss you. I don't really know what to do with that or the situation right now. But I'd really love to talk to you, and stat. I'll be home next week, if I don't get snowed in up here. Also, you'll never believe what the soup can man did this morning. Holy moly stromboli!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
So, I'm a bad person...
Alright people, listen up. You're about to read about a rare event. I am about to admit fault. (Oh God...I can't believe I'm doing this).
So, I'm sure you all read a previous post entitled, "words from a queer feminist," in which I semi-rant about difference in both a negative and positive light. Well, that 'article' was submitted to the school newspaper and after a little editing back and forth between myself and the editor, it was published. I have since received some twenty or so responses to that article from individuals around campus. I, being the pessimist that I am, have been awaiting and expecting the hate mail to arrive. Today, I received it. I opened the envelope and immediately knew what it was when the phrase, "I believe homosexuality is a sin..." jumped out at me from the middle of the page. I carefully put the letter and enclosed Church pamphlet back into the envelope and decided that enough was enough. This is the fourth letter of that nature that has been delivered to me anonymously here in Sewanee over the past 3 years. I spoke to a friend and she advised me to phone the police. I did so. Thirty minutes later I went to work. I sat down and decided that I would read the letter from beginning to end, just so I knew entirely what I was dealing with. I began reading.
Sam,
I read your editorial in 'The Purple' and it made me think. Although I'm a Christian, I've often said things that Christ would not have endorsed. many Christians and so called Christians often spend more time talking about what they don't believe in rather than what they do believe in, and more importantly who they believe in. I believe homosexuality is a sin but so is hate, lust, greed, and adultery. Your sin is no greater than mine. The Bible states that all have sinned. I Thess 4:3 states we should keep clean from all sexual sin. That includes heterosexual immorality as well, to include lust, which I am guilty of. So for my part, I am sorry for having judged you and people like you. It is not my job.
It may seem strange that I've inclosed a prison ministry newsletter but without Christ we are all slaves to sin and imprisoned by it. may God bless you and keep you.
-In need of a savior like everyone else
Please note the typos were kept in tact.
So, as I was reading the letter, I realized how much of an asshole I am. I jumped to conclusions and judged the anonymous reader before I even heard his/her entire argument. To the reader, thank you for your perspective and the great amount of introspection involved in your response to my thoughts. I truly appreciate it and I'm sorry for having judged you.
Now, I just need to figure out what I'm going to tell the police. :(
So, I'm sure you all read a previous post entitled, "words from a queer feminist," in which I semi-rant about difference in both a negative and positive light. Well, that 'article' was submitted to the school newspaper and after a little editing back and forth between myself and the editor, it was published. I have since received some twenty or so responses to that article from individuals around campus. I, being the pessimist that I am, have been awaiting and expecting the hate mail to arrive. Today, I received it. I opened the envelope and immediately knew what it was when the phrase, "I believe homosexuality is a sin..." jumped out at me from the middle of the page. I carefully put the letter and enclosed Church pamphlet back into the envelope and decided that enough was enough. This is the fourth letter of that nature that has been delivered to me anonymously here in Sewanee over the past 3 years. I spoke to a friend and she advised me to phone the police. I did so. Thirty minutes later I went to work. I sat down and decided that I would read the letter from beginning to end, just so I knew entirely what I was dealing with. I began reading.
Sam,
I read your editorial in 'The Purple' and it made me think. Although I'm a Christian, I've often said things that Christ would not have endorsed. many Christians and so called Christians often spend more time talking about what they don't believe in rather than what they do believe in, and more importantly who they believe in. I believe homosexuality is a sin but so is hate, lust, greed, and adultery. Your sin is no greater than mine. The Bible states that all have sinned. I Thess 4:3 states we should keep clean from all sexual sin. That includes heterosexual immorality as well, to include lust, which I am guilty of. So for my part, I am sorry for having judged you and people like you. It is not my job.
It may seem strange that I've inclosed a prison ministry newsletter but without Christ we are all slaves to sin and imprisoned by it. may God bless you and keep you.
-In need of a savior like everyone else
Please note the typos were kept in tact.
So, as I was reading the letter, I realized how much of an asshole I am. I jumped to conclusions and judged the anonymous reader before I even heard his/her entire argument. To the reader, thank you for your perspective and the great amount of introspection involved in your response to my thoughts. I truly appreciate it and I'm sorry for having judged you.
Now, I just need to figure out what I'm going to tell the police. :(
Saturday, December 8, 2007
this morn
some mornings
you wake
next to a lover
or a friend
a captor
or a wind
this morn
I woke
next to a soggy
low-lying and lovely
cloud that mixes
with the trees
just outside
my window.
It looks like what Halloween's
supposed to look like
when you wake up on the morning
of that all hallows eve.
Or it appears to as you dreamed
it would the first morning
you awake at the Castle called
Hogwarts.
It is so beautiful;
I yearn to do something so that
I may
recall the occasion
I haven't a camera
I can't draw, but I could try.
I want to go play in it,
to feel that moisture on my skin
oh it's been so long.
Fog won't you come back to me
just a little more often?
you wake
next to a lover
or a friend
a captor
or a wind
this morn
I woke
next to a soggy
low-lying and lovely
cloud that mixes
with the trees
just outside
my window.
It looks like what Halloween's
supposed to look like
when you wake up on the morning
of that all hallows eve.
Or it appears to as you dreamed
it would the first morning
you awake at the Castle called
Hogwarts.
It is so beautiful;
I yearn to do something so that
I may
recall the occasion
I haven't a camera
I can't draw, but I could try.
I want to go play in it,
to feel that moisture on my skin
oh it's been so long.
Fog won't you come back to me
just a little more often?
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Letters to Sala
Side note: some of you have been bitching about not being able to post comments. I worked the problem and have fixed it. Comment away!
Last night, I went to the Tennessee Williams Theatre (across the soccer field) to see the play Letters to Sala. It was a formal dress rehearsal where outsiders were allowed to come in and watch the production. The play is about this woman named Sala would survived the Holocaust. Her daughter, Ann, recently published a book called Sala's Gift: My Mother's Holocaust Story. (http://www.salasgift.com/content/index.asp) The script was written by playwright, Beth Lincks. It was pretty much amazing.
Though the story is a sad one, it is a beautiful display of cultural ideology. Favorite line:
"There was a period of time that I didn't want to be Jewish anymore."
Pretty much. I blubbered like a baby from the balcony seats next to some woman who must have thought I was some unstable homeless adolescent with the way my emotions were pouring down my cheeks. There's this one scene where a woman is dragged to the gas chambers and is screaming bloody murder for her life.
There was this other scene where Sala curls up on the ground in the middle of the labor camp and sobs. Her lover has just been sent to a different camp and she is completley alone. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have had everything you owned and everyone you knew (family, friends and your lover) taken away from you. To have every promise ever made to you broken and to have no way access to comfort.
The play is a simple one. Most of the dialogue is from the letters that Sala received and wrote during her 5 1/2 year labor camp stay. I recommend everyone in Sewanee go see the play. I'm also planning to order the book. Also, Sala, the real one-in person, will be here tomorrow!
Also, I really want to plan a trip to Whitwell, TN (between Sewanee and Chattanooga on I-24) to visit the school featured in the documentary Paperclips. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0380615/) If you're intersted in going. Let me know!
Good night to you all.
Last night, I went to the Tennessee Williams Theatre (across the soccer field) to see the play Letters to Sala. It was a formal dress rehearsal where outsiders were allowed to come in and watch the production. The play is about this woman named Sala would survived the Holocaust. Her daughter, Ann, recently published a book called Sala's Gift: My Mother's Holocaust Story. (http://www.salasgift.com/content/index.asp) The script was written by playwright, Beth Lincks. It was pretty much amazing.
Though the story is a sad one, it is a beautiful display of cultural ideology. Favorite line:
"There was a period of time that I didn't want to be Jewish anymore."
Pretty much. I blubbered like a baby from the balcony seats next to some woman who must have thought I was some unstable homeless adolescent with the way my emotions were pouring down my cheeks. There's this one scene where a woman is dragged to the gas chambers and is screaming bloody murder for her life.
There was this other scene where Sala curls up on the ground in the middle of the labor camp and sobs. Her lover has just been sent to a different camp and she is completley alone. I cannot imagine what it would be like to have had everything you owned and everyone you knew (family, friends and your lover) taken away from you. To have every promise ever made to you broken and to have no way access to comfort.
The play is a simple one. Most of the dialogue is from the letters that Sala received and wrote during her 5 1/2 year labor camp stay. I recommend everyone in Sewanee go see the play. I'm also planning to order the book. Also, Sala, the real one-in person, will be here tomorrow!
Also, I really want to plan a trip to Whitwell, TN (between Sewanee and Chattanooga on I-24) to visit the school featured in the documentary Paperclips. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0380615/) If you're intersted in going. Let me know!
Good night to you all.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
I'm stuck.
So, I've been listening to St. Cecelia's Symphony Orchestra a lot lately, the Bach CD. It's incredibly comforting to be walking through central campus and have various random assortments of notes stream through my consciousness. In one way it comforts me in this time of trial and tribulation that is the end of a college semester, and in another it induces desire for a re-connection with a lot of different types of experiences and people.
Nostalgic thoughts:
1. The Chamber Orchestra in which I used to play.
2. That moment you feel the entire orchestra is in sync and everything being produced from the instruments can only be described as beautiful.
3. The first time you heard something so lovely, saw something so breath-taking and the way it made you feel.
4. Freedom of emotion.
5. My friend Heidi Baldwin and the way she played the cello: AMAZING!
6. Tragedies: films, plays and the like.
I could go on and on.
Nostalgic thoughts:
1. The Chamber Orchestra in which I used to play.
2. That moment you feel the entire orchestra is in sync and everything being produced from the instruments can only be described as beautiful.
3. The first time you heard something so lovely, saw something so breath-taking and the way it made you feel.
4. Freedom of emotion.
5. My friend Heidi Baldwin and the way she played the cello: AMAZING!
6. Tragedies: films, plays and the like.
I could go on and on.
Laundry night
If the vending machines in my dorm sold cheesy grits, I would be the happiest lady alive. Unfortunately, they don't so on my way to the creepy basement in my dorm to do laundry I was forced to select the next best thing. And that is Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream. P.S. I like cheese.
It is Tuesday night, that means it's laundry night. Why? because there's no one else doing laundry on Tuesday nights at 2:15 in the morning. Also, because all my clothes smell like frat from the weekend.
Tonight I wrote an internship proposal on impoverished communities. Then I watched two hours of Law and Order. After that I went to the 420 suite (shout outz) where I played silent rounds of Scrabulous on facebook and bitched about my life briefly. (Thanks Ashley).
Updates/Thoughts while I wait on my laundry:
What's currently written on my hand? a babysitting gig, a reminder about a receipt, another reminder about money that I owe someone (surprise...I know), a reminder about community service hours, and a coffee date with a professor. All that on one hand, and a lot of this stuff has been written on there since this morning. I know...I'm impressed too. (Yes, I have been washing my hands after I use the restroom...sick people).
What I miss about being in a relationship: someone to give you back scratches and put lotion on the parts you can't reach.
Number of dollars in my bank account: 6
Number of cigarettes in my last pack: 10
Number of papers left in the semester: 1
Number of exams left in the semester: 3
Number of comps left to write: 6
Number of comps left to edit: 2
Days 'til I go home: 15, how the hell I'm gonna get there is beyond me. I bought two gallons of gas yesterday and I have the aforementioned 6 dollars which will only buy two more. That's like 100 miles worth of driving if I park my car now and don't drive it again 'til I leave for Atlanta. P.S. Home is 150 miles away and I don't own anything short enough to give me any sort of hitch-hiking advantage. Maybe I should buy that book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, only something tells me that that piece of literature has nothing to do with actual hitch-hiking. C'est la vie.
It is Tuesday night, that means it's laundry night. Why? because there's no one else doing laundry on Tuesday nights at 2:15 in the morning. Also, because all my clothes smell like frat from the weekend.
Tonight I wrote an internship proposal on impoverished communities. Then I watched two hours of Law and Order. After that I went to the 420 suite (shout outz) where I played silent rounds of Scrabulous on facebook and bitched about my life briefly. (Thanks Ashley).
Updates/Thoughts while I wait on my laundry:
What's currently written on my hand? a babysitting gig, a reminder about a receipt, another reminder about money that I owe someone (surprise...I know), a reminder about community service hours, and a coffee date with a professor. All that on one hand, and a lot of this stuff has been written on there since this morning. I know...I'm impressed too. (Yes, I have been washing my hands after I use the restroom...sick people).
What I miss about being in a relationship: someone to give you back scratches and put lotion on the parts you can't reach.
Number of dollars in my bank account: 6
Number of cigarettes in my last pack: 10
Number of papers left in the semester: 1
Number of exams left in the semester: 3
Number of comps left to write: 6
Number of comps left to edit: 2
Days 'til I go home: 15, how the hell I'm gonna get there is beyond me. I bought two gallons of gas yesterday and I have the aforementioned 6 dollars which will only buy two more. That's like 100 miles worth of driving if I park my car now and don't drive it again 'til I leave for Atlanta. P.S. Home is 150 miles away and I don't own anything short enough to give me any sort of hitch-hiking advantage. Maybe I should buy that book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, only something tells me that that piece of literature has nothing to do with actual hitch-hiking. C'est la vie.
Monday, December 3, 2007
words from a queer feminist
So, I published this article to the school newspaper and am anxiously awaiting the hate mail. :)
As a neutrally-gendered, queer and feminist female student, my experience here in Sewanee has been an interesting one. We all know Sewanee to be an extremely unique place full of a homogenous group of people. I spent the majority of my time here trying to not fit into those categories of same-ness; the white, male, and heterosexually privileged. I pushed the boundaries of gender when I shaved my head freshman year. I pursued knowledge of feminist and queer theory when I organized and implemented two conferences last semester on various political and social topics. I was alienated and alienated myself when I dated an amazing woman outside of Sewanee, for two and a half years. It is now, on the eve of my last semester here in Sewanee, that I have begun to ponder who it is that I am in relation to this place. In light of my differences, would I have had the opportunities and experiences that I have had if I weren’t a Sewanee student and therefore, given access to Sewanee homogeneity and its privileges?
In Sewanee, everyone is constantly engaged in the pursuit of knowledge. I cannot tell you how many times I have discussed the effects of conservative religious influence on human rights in America at a party. But, here in Sewanee, we know that knowledge comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes truth is in plain sight and other times it remains well hidden. For a while, I was bitter because all I saw were textbook definitions of human inequality. I became angry with Sewanee. I desired exposure to real culture and to real members of what I perceived to be my type of people. I perceived these people and communities to reside outside of the Sewanee bubble. What I did not realize was that I was wasting my years of academic privilege by becoming angry when I interacted with people who were homophobic or anti-feminist. What I have realized more recently is that I have been living in a community that I wish every social activist could experience. If every pro-choice activist had to sit and argue points with a privileged, religiously conservative, political science major from the Sewanee student population, they’d be better off for it. It is through difference and interaction with those differences that one grows. I know I probably did not evoke change in many people here in Sewanee, but at least I have received the opportunity to test my beliefs and attempted to pursue truth within myself. I suppose that is the goal of a student community; to test out and strengthen our own beliefs as well as those around us.
To my friends, both professors and students, who have listened to me rant and rave, cry and scream about discrimination and violation of human rights: thank you for your compassion. To those individuals who have called me a dyke or a faggot or a Femi-Nazi: thank you for your difference. To all those out there who are social activists: keep on fighting the good fight.
As a neutrally-gendered, queer and feminist female student, my experience here in Sewanee has been an interesting one. We all know Sewanee to be an extremely unique place full of a homogenous group of people. I spent the majority of my time here trying to not fit into those categories of same-ness; the white, male, and heterosexually privileged. I pushed the boundaries of gender when I shaved my head freshman year. I pursued knowledge of feminist and queer theory when I organized and implemented two conferences last semester on various political and social topics. I was alienated and alienated myself when I dated an amazing woman outside of Sewanee, for two and a half years. It is now, on the eve of my last semester here in Sewanee, that I have begun to ponder who it is that I am in relation to this place. In light of my differences, would I have had the opportunities and experiences that I have had if I weren’t a Sewanee student and therefore, given access to Sewanee homogeneity and its privileges?
In Sewanee, everyone is constantly engaged in the pursuit of knowledge. I cannot tell you how many times I have discussed the effects of conservative religious influence on human rights in America at a party. But, here in Sewanee, we know that knowledge comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes truth is in plain sight and other times it remains well hidden. For a while, I was bitter because all I saw were textbook definitions of human inequality. I became angry with Sewanee. I desired exposure to real culture and to real members of what I perceived to be my type of people. I perceived these people and communities to reside outside of the Sewanee bubble. What I did not realize was that I was wasting my years of academic privilege by becoming angry when I interacted with people who were homophobic or anti-feminist. What I have realized more recently is that I have been living in a community that I wish every social activist could experience. If every pro-choice activist had to sit and argue points with a privileged, religiously conservative, political science major from the Sewanee student population, they’d be better off for it. It is through difference and interaction with those differences that one grows. I know I probably did not evoke change in many people here in Sewanee, but at least I have received the opportunity to test my beliefs and attempted to pursue truth within myself. I suppose that is the goal of a student community; to test out and strengthen our own beliefs as well as those around us.
To my friends, both professors and students, who have listened to me rant and rave, cry and scream about discrimination and violation of human rights: thank you for your compassion. To those individuals who have called me a dyke or a faggot or a Femi-Nazi: thank you for your difference. To all those out there who are social activists: keep on fighting the good fight.
This Town of Mine
I have never lived in a town to which I felt personally connected. I grew up in a small town in South Carolina. Seneca was just large enough that I did not know everyone and just small enough that I was constantly bored. Then we moved to a new town in Georgia. Cumming is cramped, congested and kind of a 'wannabe' trendy area. It irritates me and again, I know next to no one.
This weekend I came to realize that this town where I go to school, though it is a college town, is a town that I have come to love and to feel connected. Community is a big deal here. Everyone knows everyone else. Professors invite you over dinner and you run into your advisor's five year old child as you leave your 8 AM class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That child knows your name. I realize I'm starting to sound like the theme song to Cheers but seriously, it is a beautiful realization.
Saturday I submitted an article to the school newspaper. It was all about community and the discontents of communities. It was lovely to write and ponder the innerworkings of a community of people of varoius ages and social understandings. When Sunday came along, though I had a lot of work to do, I could not find it in myself to feel anxious or upset about anything.
Sunday night, five minutes after posting a birthday wish to a friend of mine, I ran into him at the library where I was able to actually give him a birthday hug and wishes (only in Sewanee).
This morning, I went to my favorite coffee shop, where all my friends work. My friend, Tim, let me smell the coffee beans so I could pick out which kind of coffee I wanted (I know that wouldn't happen at a Starbucks in downtown Atlanta). Everyone knows everyone, everyone helps everyone, and everyone enables everyone else's learning experiences. I'm glad to call Sewanee my home. It saddens me that I will have to leave this place in less than six months. But for now, I will enjoy it. Thanks Sewanee, you're the best. :)
This weekend I came to realize that this town where I go to school, though it is a college town, is a town that I have come to love and to feel connected. Community is a big deal here. Everyone knows everyone else. Professors invite you over dinner and you run into your advisor's five year old child as you leave your 8 AM class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That child knows your name. I realize I'm starting to sound like the theme song to Cheers but seriously, it is a beautiful realization.
Saturday I submitted an article to the school newspaper. It was all about community and the discontents of communities. It was lovely to write and ponder the innerworkings of a community of people of varoius ages and social understandings. When Sunday came along, though I had a lot of work to do, I could not find it in myself to feel anxious or upset about anything.
Sunday night, five minutes after posting a birthday wish to a friend of mine, I ran into him at the library where I was able to actually give him a birthday hug and wishes (only in Sewanee).
This morning, I went to my favorite coffee shop, where all my friends work. My friend, Tim, let me smell the coffee beans so I could pick out which kind of coffee I wanted (I know that wouldn't happen at a Starbucks in downtown Atlanta). Everyone knows everyone, everyone helps everyone, and everyone enables everyone else's learning experiences. I'm glad to call Sewanee my home. It saddens me that I will have to leave this place in less than six months. But for now, I will enjoy it. Thanks Sewanee, you're the best. :)
Thursday, November 29, 2007
A Fairy Tale
I read this today and thought it was pretty funny:
Once upon a time in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle.
The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: "Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so."
That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sauteed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself: 'I don't freakin think so.'
Once upon a time in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle.
The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: "Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so."
That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sauteed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself: 'I don't freakin think so.'
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Best Day Ever
I woke up late, did not shower, walked into class ten minutes late, and didn't say anything intelligent in class.
But I'll get to the point of it.
After class I ran faster than the Roadrunner being chased by an anvil to the sorority house, grabbed up my debit card and BFF Kate's computer. And then, my flannel shirt and I purchased two tickets in the third row to the Indigo Girls concert in Athens on January 24.
You are reading the blog of one very happy lady.
Get out the map, get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down.
My finger is pointing to Athens, GA with a great amount of excitement!
But I'll get to the point of it.
After class I ran faster than the Roadrunner being chased by an anvil to the sorority house, grabbed up my debit card and BFF Kate's computer. And then, my flannel shirt and I purchased two tickets in the third row to the Indigo Girls concert in Athens on January 24.
You are reading the blog of one very happy lady.
Get out the map, get out the map and lay your finger anywhere down.
My finger is pointing to Athens, GA with a great amount of excitement!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Nausea
Today, I am numb. I am numb, dumb, and a bum.
The alarm goes off at 9:30. That's 9.5 hours of sleep, full of too many dreams, that I did not want to dream. With half the covers off the bed, and my right leg dangling over the edge into the cold room, I want breakfast. The fog seems to drift from outside my closed window into the space between my ears and in front of my eyes. The noise from the hall seeps under my door, a vacuum just outside the piece of material that all too often disconnects me from the world. It reeks of crisp new day, and I desperately want to go back to sleep.
Sluggishly, I sit up and reach for my computer to check my email. A message about a job that I don't even want in the first place, something about a missing cat, and a strategically written note of delayed wishful thinking. Fuck off world, I'm tired of your games. I'm hungry. I'm hungry for feeling and knowledge, intuition and connectivity. But here I lay, starving; so I grab some candy.
To the showers! Like Hitler himself sentences my naked body to the sickeningly cold and smelly tiled room where my bar of soap dries out my skin and my cold, wet hair gives me shivers. They sing and laugh and piss me off in there.
There is a choice between Bob Marley and Melissa Ferrick. I choose Ferrick and with it comes nausea. All the women who had been in that shirt before me. Where that shirt has been and who and what it represents sickens me. All the fucking and fighting, manipulation and unsterile arguments lead me to my window. Jump? No, there's no time for that. Besides, it's noon and I need a cigarette.
The alarm goes off at 9:30. That's 9.5 hours of sleep, full of too many dreams, that I did not want to dream. With half the covers off the bed, and my right leg dangling over the edge into the cold room, I want breakfast. The fog seems to drift from outside my closed window into the space between my ears and in front of my eyes. The noise from the hall seeps under my door, a vacuum just outside the piece of material that all too often disconnects me from the world. It reeks of crisp new day, and I desperately want to go back to sleep.
Sluggishly, I sit up and reach for my computer to check my email. A message about a job that I don't even want in the first place, something about a missing cat, and a strategically written note of delayed wishful thinking. Fuck off world, I'm tired of your games. I'm hungry. I'm hungry for feeling and knowledge, intuition and connectivity. But here I lay, starving; so I grab some candy.
To the showers! Like Hitler himself sentences my naked body to the sickeningly cold and smelly tiled room where my bar of soap dries out my skin and my cold, wet hair gives me shivers. They sing and laugh and piss me off in there.
There is a choice between Bob Marley and Melissa Ferrick. I choose Ferrick and with it comes nausea. All the women who had been in that shirt before me. Where that shirt has been and who and what it represents sickens me. All the fucking and fighting, manipulation and unsterile arguments lead me to my window. Jump? No, there's no time for that. Besides, it's noon and I need a cigarette.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Am I inept?
My initial title for this blog entry was going to be "I am inept." I changed it after writing the entry.>
So, not only have I only just begun preparation for my presentation tomorrow on Cognitive Therapy and Cognitive Restructuring, shout outz to Beck and Meichenbaum--woot!, but my Thanksgiving break was an absurd and ridiculous display of laziness and an inept ability to be a functional lesbian--or so I thought.
Let me explain. I spent my vacation watching Mash Season 6, disc 1, Christmas cartoons, going shopping with my mother for preppy girlie clothing, discussing reality modeling tv, and drinking apple martinis and gin and tonics. I also played a lot of Scrabulous on facebook. I went to bed early and alone on my 22nd birthday. The only 'gay' thing I did was go to my first all-lesbian bar on Saturday night to hang out with my friend Stacey and to hear Lindsay Hinkle sing about a number of relationship issues. At the bar, I was awkward and discussed community psychology and 'duck lip' dance moves with new friends. That makes me not a 'good' lesbian but a nerdy college student.
Thus, I have been pondering my identity as a lesbian and as a queer activist. My identity in Sewanee is almost entirely shaped by my sexual orientation and my place here in this community as an activist. I'm irritable and angry, alone and dissatisfied and I also bitch too much about the aforementioned list of negative characteristics about myself. My poor friend Stephanie reassured me tonight about my awkwardness in relating to women that I'm interested in 'romantically.' She said, "I'm the same way with guys, it's normal. 'The pick,' up here on this mountain, is slim, don't get upset, just do what you have to do and get the fuck out."
Preppy haters, listen up. I'm through being used by you. Take notice: my 'by appointment' sign on my dorm room door, is for serious. I'm no longer your stereotypical gay bitch. I am my own person. I'll wear a dress if I want to. I'll do what I want. Stop making me feel guilty and exiled. I want to be happy, so leave me the fuck alone.
So, not only have I only just begun preparation for my presentation tomorrow on Cognitive Therapy and Cognitive Restructuring, shout outz to Beck and Meichenbaum--woot!, but my Thanksgiving break was an absurd and ridiculous display of laziness and an inept ability to be a functional lesbian--or so I thought.
Let me explain. I spent my vacation watching Mash Season 6, disc 1, Christmas cartoons, going shopping with my mother for preppy girlie clothing, discussing reality modeling tv, and drinking apple martinis and gin and tonics. I also played a lot of Scrabulous on facebook. I went to bed early and alone on my 22nd birthday. The only 'gay' thing I did was go to my first all-lesbian bar on Saturday night to hang out with my friend Stacey and to hear Lindsay Hinkle sing about a number of relationship issues. At the bar, I was awkward and discussed community psychology and 'duck lip' dance moves with new friends. That makes me not a 'good' lesbian but a nerdy college student.
Thus, I have been pondering my identity as a lesbian and as a queer activist. My identity in Sewanee is almost entirely shaped by my sexual orientation and my place here in this community as an activist. I'm irritable and angry, alone and dissatisfied and I also bitch too much about the aforementioned list of negative characteristics about myself. My poor friend Stephanie reassured me tonight about my awkwardness in relating to women that I'm interested in 'romantically.' She said, "I'm the same way with guys, it's normal. 'The pick,' up here on this mountain, is slim, don't get upset, just do what you have to do and get the fuck out."
Preppy haters, listen up. I'm through being used by you. Take notice: my 'by appointment' sign on my dorm room door, is for serious. I'm no longer your stereotypical gay bitch. I am my own person. I'll wear a dress if I want to. I'll do what I want. Stop making me feel guilty and exiled. I want to be happy, so leave me the fuck alone.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Black Friday
Holy God.
My mom and I ventured to North Point Mall today. There were gates placed strategically in an effort to herd the shopping goats, donkeys and horseys to their destinations. Having been raised in Seneca, SC (aka. smallest town ever, highlights were the new Super Wal-Mart '04 and the Cinemax 8, which was upgraded from a 6 in '02), I have never seen anything like it. Of course, it took 15 minutes to find a parking space, and we had to fight a Camry for it. My mom drives a mini-van; we totally won. :)
We got in the mall after having to wait on some guy who was trying to get out of a parking spot in an SUV he totally didn't know how to drive. (Rich people! *gawk*) My first stop, Regis. Mom's first stop, JCPenney's. Me for a haircut, her for an electric blanket. (That! is a sobering comparison.) Anyway, the point of the story and my drunken babbling:
The lady who cut my hair, didn't speak any English. Her name is Salvia, and I'm guessing she's from eastern Europe. Now, I don't know how much you people know about me but. I am VERY particular about my hair. Let's just say, she and I were communicating via a picture and the most elementary form of human communication: facial expressions. I'd smile if I wanted her to cut in one spot and frown for another. It turned out alright, but initially, and for the duration of the hair cutting experience, I wanted to cry.
My mom laughed when she arrived from JCP to get me. Apparently my facial expression was priceless. It was kind of like that deer-in-headlights look, minus the perked up ears. Though I will admit, my hands and legs were tense the entire time and I was more than ecstatic to be walking out of there.
Next was the birthday shopping, I had to fight some lady for the last pair of size *& Classic Fit blue jeans in Gap. Also, I got a really snazzy green sweater, scarf, stripedy shirt, socks, and these really cool sock/slipper things with the no-slip circles on the bottom. All in all, I'd say it was a successful adventure to the mall. I'm really glad to be home, full of Thanksgiving leftovers and with a manageable hair-do.
Watch out Decatur, here I come!
My mom and I ventured to North Point Mall today. There were gates placed strategically in an effort to herd the shopping goats, donkeys and horseys to their destinations. Having been raised in Seneca, SC (aka. smallest town ever, highlights were the new Super Wal-Mart '04 and the Cinemax 8, which was upgraded from a 6 in '02), I have never seen anything like it. Of course, it took 15 minutes to find a parking space, and we had to fight a Camry for it. My mom drives a mini-van; we totally won. :)
We got in the mall after having to wait on some guy who was trying to get out of a parking spot in an SUV he totally didn't know how to drive. (Rich people! *gawk*) My first stop, Regis. Mom's first stop, JCPenney's. Me for a haircut, her for an electric blanket. (That! is a sobering comparison.) Anyway, the point of the story and my drunken babbling:
The lady who cut my hair, didn't speak any English. Her name is Salvia, and I'm guessing she's from eastern Europe. Now, I don't know how much you people know about me but. I am VERY particular about my hair. Let's just say, she and I were communicating via a picture and the most elementary form of human communication: facial expressions. I'd smile if I wanted her to cut in one spot and frown for another. It turned out alright, but initially, and for the duration of the hair cutting experience, I wanted to cry.
My mom laughed when she arrived from JCP to get me. Apparently my facial expression was priceless. It was kind of like that deer-in-headlights look, minus the perked up ears. Though I will admit, my hands and legs were tense the entire time and I was more than ecstatic to be walking out of there.
Next was the birthday shopping, I had to fight some lady for the last pair of size *& Classic Fit blue jeans in Gap. Also, I got a really snazzy green sweater, scarf, stripedy shirt, socks, and these really cool sock/slipper things with the no-slip circles on the bottom. All in all, I'd say it was a successful adventure to the mall. I'm really glad to be home, full of Thanksgiving leftovers and with a manageable hair-do.
Watch out Decatur, here I come!
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving? That's questionable.
What I would first like to share is that I am a member of a blended family. And by blended I mean psycho.
When one is a member of a blended family one must become quite skilled at forgetting previous holiday experiences and hoping with all there is for to hope that each new holiday season will be a beautiful and cherished occasion.
*deep breaths*
I was plucked from bed this morning by my brother. He threw a pillow over my face and said, "Get up butthead. Mom's making breakfast." I told him that I was an adult and that I would get up momentarily and/or when I felt like it. Which translates psychologically to, 'You, as a ten year old child, cannot tell me what to do, but thanks for warning me of Mom's wrath and that there's food to be eaten. I'll be down in a minute.' He understood, as brother's do. I put on my glasses, checked my email and went downstairs.
Breakfast was, you know, great! Bacon, cheesy eggs and grits. Also, mimosas.
After breakfast, I was instructed to "do the dishes."
Then we, being my brother, sister, mom, and myself, stuffed the bird. It was comical. Mom forgot that the giblets are stored in the neck and started freaking out because she sent the other bird to a friends to be teriyakied and didn't take the giblets out. I checked it, the friends removed those giblets for us. :)
Then the kids freaked out when they saw the turkey's organs go into a pot. "Ewww! Gross!"
They were sent to the showers. The step-sister hovered nearby; typical. (For all you non-blended family members, here's where things get interesting.)
I snuck downstairs to have my morning cigarettes. (Usually, I have one in the morning but when I'm forced to sneak about to smoke, one turns into, you know, three.) When I came back upstairs, Mom was throwing dishes around the kitchen. Soap suds lined the countertops and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife, that happened to be in her hand. I took the knife from her and started wiping the counters. "What's up?"
"I can't handle it anymore," she explained, her usual conversation-starting phrase which translates into, 'Please listen to me, because I have no one else to bitch to." I sat down.
After the bombardment of emotion. I hugged her. Offered to take out the garbage and informed her that I was taking a shower. When I went to go upstairs, there was the little devil, seated on the middle of the steps listening to everything. She saw me, scrambled up the stairs, and sought refuge in the bathroom. I wasn't about to let her get away with it. "Please don't listen to other people's conversations on the stairwell," I said. To which she replied, "Okay," in that damn pseudo-angelic voice.
Now I need another cigarette, or, you know, twenty.
When one is a member of a blended family one must become quite skilled at forgetting previous holiday experiences and hoping with all there is for to hope that each new holiday season will be a beautiful and cherished occasion.
*deep breaths*
I was plucked from bed this morning by my brother. He threw a pillow over my face and said, "Get up butthead. Mom's making breakfast." I told him that I was an adult and that I would get up momentarily and/or when I felt like it. Which translates psychologically to, 'You, as a ten year old child, cannot tell me what to do, but thanks for warning me of Mom's wrath and that there's food to be eaten. I'll be down in a minute.' He understood, as brother's do. I put on my glasses, checked my email and went downstairs.
Breakfast was, you know, great! Bacon, cheesy eggs and grits. Also, mimosas.
After breakfast, I was instructed to "do the dishes."
Then we, being my brother, sister, mom, and myself, stuffed the bird. It was comical. Mom forgot that the giblets are stored in the neck and started freaking out because she sent the other bird to a friends to be teriyakied and didn't take the giblets out. I checked it, the friends removed those giblets for us. :)
Then the kids freaked out when they saw the turkey's organs go into a pot. "Ewww! Gross!"
They were sent to the showers. The step-sister hovered nearby; typical. (For all you non-blended family members, here's where things get interesting.)
I snuck downstairs to have my morning cigarettes. (Usually, I have one in the morning but when I'm forced to sneak about to smoke, one turns into, you know, three.) When I came back upstairs, Mom was throwing dishes around the kitchen. Soap suds lined the countertops and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife, that happened to be in her hand. I took the knife from her and started wiping the counters. "What's up?"
"I can't handle it anymore," she explained, her usual conversation-starting phrase which translates into, 'Please listen to me, because I have no one else to bitch to." I sat down.
After the bombardment of emotion. I hugged her. Offered to take out the garbage and informed her that I was taking a shower. When I went to go upstairs, there was the little devil, seated on the middle of the steps listening to everything. She saw me, scrambled up the stairs, and sought refuge in the bathroom. I wasn't about to let her get away with it. "Please don't listen to other people's conversations on the stairwell," I said. To which she replied, "Okay," in that damn pseudo-angelic voice.
Now I need another cigarette, or, you know, twenty.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Lindsey Hinkle + MSR = My very exciting upcoming Saturday night
http://www.myspace.com/lindseyhinklemusic
Simply lovely. Check it out.
Simply lovely. Check it out.
Domestication
I just finished baking my birthday cake with my two sisters. This was a new experience because usually I bake it by myself. I always insist on having birthday cake on Thanksgiving because that's when the whole family is together and also, I hate pie. My mom always gets mad that I want birthday cake instead of pie, so I end up making it myself.
Phoebe measured the water. Taylor measured the cooking oil. I cracked the eggs and orchestrated.
"Could someone please find the wax paper?" I asked.
Taylor would reply, "I will," but would not know where to find it. Phoebe would step in and get it and bring it to me. Oh, kids.
Though I like to bake and cook things, I feel a little bad that I just taught the girls how to bake a cake. Like I may have just instilled traditional gender roles. I'm such a hypocrit.
Betty Friedan, please excuse my behavior.
Phoebe measured the water. Taylor measured the cooking oil. I cracked the eggs and orchestrated.
"Could someone please find the wax paper?" I asked.
Taylor would reply, "I will," but would not know where to find it. Phoebe would step in and get it and bring it to me. Oh, kids.
Though I like to bake and cook things, I feel a little bad that I just taught the girls how to bake a cake. Like I may have just instilled traditional gender roles. I'm such a hypocrit.
Betty Friedan, please excuse my behavior.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Phoebe
It's Thanksgiving break (thank God), and I am home in Atlanta with my family. I walked in the door and was immediately greeted by my sister, Phoebe. She is eight years old going on seventeen and I am completely convinced that she is a miniature version of myself except for the following differences:
1. She is way cooler than I will ever be in dress and peer social status.
2. She is way smarter than I ever was at her age, and will probably end up way smarter than me as an adult.
3. She will probably go to an Ivy League School.
I was eating my home-cooked meal of mac and cheese with tomatoes in it (yum) and green beans when she sat down next to me at the table and began an academic discussion. The discussion began with her thoughts on the book Charlotte's Web which as many of you know is my most favoritest book in the whole wide world. Let me explain this to you with an example. When I filled out the Homecoming Queen Nominee Questionnaire, I answered the question What is your favorite book? not with The Bible but instead with "Charlotte's Web by E.B. White."
(Side note, Marlee Matlin is on Law and Order SVU...*swoon*)
Ok, so, we had a fifteen minute conversation about her gifted class and about Charlotte and Wilbur and art and "interesting discussions" about those subjects. I almost cried, my little sister is so so so smart and I am so proud of her. She has such enthusiasm for academics. Her face lit up just to be able to have an intellectual conversation with me. I really had to choke back the tears because I didn't want to ruin the discussion. The fact that we are so similar was then solidified when our conversation turned to the television program that we were viewing.
A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving was on. My brother asked if Peppermint Patty was a girl or a boy. I answered that she was a sporty girl. I was about to add my speculations about her sexual orientation when Phoebe said, "I'm pretty sure her real name is Sarah."
To which I replied, "Why do you think that?"
When she answered, "That's what Marcy calls her."
I laughed, and said, "Marcy calls her sir."
My brother said, "That's why I wasn't sure if she was a boy or a girl, duh."
Phoebe laughed and I was reminded of my issues with chronic lyricosis. I told her about this and my mom started laughing and talking about how we are the same person.
Chronic lyricosis: when you get the words to songs incorrect and sing them in front of other people who then correct you. This phenomenon has plagued me since I was three years old in the Christmas pageant singing the incorrect lyrics to Silent Night at the top of my lungs. "Round round versibly!" instead of "Round yon virgin." What three year old knows what a virgin is anyway?
Conclusions:
1. Charlotte's Web is the bestest book in the whole wide world that positively shapes bright young girls' minds and gives them an understanding about the world and its concepts, i.e. friendship, love, community, death and life.
2. She will probably attend Yale, Harvard or Princeton AND I'll get to wear a t-shirt that says, "My Sister Goes to Yale."
3. Chronic lyricosis is genetic.
4. My sister is fucking amazing, and I love her, a lot.
1. She is way cooler than I will ever be in dress and peer social status.
2. She is way smarter than I ever was at her age, and will probably end up way smarter than me as an adult.
3. She will probably go to an Ivy League School.
I was eating my home-cooked meal of mac and cheese with tomatoes in it (yum) and green beans when she sat down next to me at the table and began an academic discussion. The discussion began with her thoughts on the book Charlotte's Web which as many of you know is my most favoritest book in the whole wide world. Let me explain this to you with an example. When I filled out the Homecoming Queen Nominee Questionnaire, I answered the question What is your favorite book? not with The Bible but instead with "Charlotte's Web by E.B. White."
(Side note, Marlee Matlin is on Law and Order SVU...*swoon*)
Ok, so, we had a fifteen minute conversation about her gifted class and about Charlotte and Wilbur and art and "interesting discussions" about those subjects. I almost cried, my little sister is so so so smart and I am so proud of her. She has such enthusiasm for academics. Her face lit up just to be able to have an intellectual conversation with me. I really had to choke back the tears because I didn't want to ruin the discussion. The fact that we are so similar was then solidified when our conversation turned to the television program that we were viewing.
A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving was on. My brother asked if Peppermint Patty was a girl or a boy. I answered that she was a sporty girl. I was about to add my speculations about her sexual orientation when Phoebe said, "I'm pretty sure her real name is Sarah."
To which I replied, "Why do you think that?"
When she answered, "That's what Marcy calls her."
I laughed, and said, "Marcy calls her sir."
My brother said, "That's why I wasn't sure if she was a boy or a girl, duh."
Phoebe laughed and I was reminded of my issues with chronic lyricosis. I told her about this and my mom started laughing and talking about how we are the same person.
Chronic lyricosis: when you get the words to songs incorrect and sing them in front of other people who then correct you. This phenomenon has plagued me since I was three years old in the Christmas pageant singing the incorrect lyrics to Silent Night at the top of my lungs. "Round round versibly!" instead of "Round yon virgin." What three year old knows what a virgin is anyway?
Conclusions:
1. Charlotte's Web is the bestest book in the whole wide world that positively shapes bright young girls' minds and gives them an understanding about the world and its concepts, i.e. friendship, love, community, death and life.
2. She will probably attend Yale, Harvard or Princeton AND I'll get to wear a t-shirt that says, "My Sister Goes to Yale."
3. Chronic lyricosis is genetic.
4. My sister is fucking amazing, and I love her, a lot.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
In Passing
Mother always said,
“Mind your P’s and Q’s, my dear.”
Someone should tell her.
There is someone with whom I interact on a semi-frequent basis that for some reason, has the ability to make me fee like shit almost every time I interact with her. Did her mother not raise her to be considerate of other people and their emotions? apparently not.
According to this individual I am "lame and gross." Now, ordinarily I would be completely able to ignore such comments and move on with my life. But you see, these comments only come at me when I'm down. When I'm having a rough day or when I'm really stressed out about something or when I'm really blue. What the hell kind of person would say such things to someone who is hurting?
Well, the "lame" comment occured last night and quite frankly, I'm tired or being emotionally discomforted everytime I see someone who claims to be my friend and in fact has pledged to uphold and care for me through the bonds of sisterhood. If you're reading this, cut it out. If you're hurting, I'm here for you. But please stop hurting me.
“Mind your P’s and Q’s, my dear.”
Someone should tell her.
There is someone with whom I interact on a semi-frequent basis that for some reason, has the ability to make me fee like shit almost every time I interact with her. Did her mother not raise her to be considerate of other people and their emotions? apparently not.
According to this individual I am "lame and gross." Now, ordinarily I would be completely able to ignore such comments and move on with my life. But you see, these comments only come at me when I'm down. When I'm having a rough day or when I'm really stressed out about something or when I'm really blue. What the hell kind of person would say such things to someone who is hurting?
Well, the "lame" comment occured last night and quite frankly, I'm tired or being emotionally discomforted everytime I see someone who claims to be my friend and in fact has pledged to uphold and care for me through the bonds of sisterhood. If you're reading this, cut it out. If you're hurting, I'm here for you. But please stop hurting me.
Friday, November 16, 2007
You jump, I jump
So, on this glorious Friday evening, I am hangin with my home-girl Kate. BFF Kate and I usually hang out most every night, but you see, tonight is different. It's special. Why? you might ask. Because Kate and I have had very important plans all week for this night. I purchased fine chardonnay (Lindeman's Bin 65) at the liquor store, which costs about 3 dollars more than the chardonnay that I normally purchase (Jacob's Creek). Tonight, Kate and I are watching "Titanic" on TNT.
I know, I know. What a lame movie. Well fuck all y'all. This film came out when Kate and I were twelve. We both had huge Leonardo DiCaprio crushes. I kept a Romeo and Juliet poster on my wall until I was sixteen and kissed Leo goodnight, every night. I have seen just about every film he's ever been in. I am an open lesbian, but I would still do him today. I own a collector's La Coeur de la Mer, a Christmas gift from my aunt that I received when I was in jr high school. I walk around saying things like, "I'll teach you to chew tobacco like a man," or I finish people's sentences with the phrase, "...over on the bed. The Couch!" or by yelling, "He does landscapes!" at random people who irritate me. Also, my best friend in jr high school, Emily, and I used to perform live productions of "My Heart Will Go On" for her parents with microphones and all. Let's just say, "Titanic" had a huge impact on my teenage years.
My only qualm with watching this on television is that you don't get to see Kate Winslet's breasts, which Kate had to remind me about on three different occasions this week. You know, I don't know why we don't just watch my copy of the film, I have it on VHS.
I know, I know. What a lame movie. Well fuck all y'all. This film came out when Kate and I were twelve. We both had huge Leonardo DiCaprio crushes. I kept a Romeo and Juliet poster on my wall until I was sixteen and kissed Leo goodnight, every night. I have seen just about every film he's ever been in. I am an open lesbian, but I would still do him today. I own a collector's La Coeur de la Mer, a Christmas gift from my aunt that I received when I was in jr high school. I walk around saying things like, "I'll teach you to chew tobacco like a man," or I finish people's sentences with the phrase, "...over on the bed. The Couch!" or by yelling, "He does landscapes!" at random people who irritate me. Also, my best friend in jr high school, Emily, and I used to perform live productions of "My Heart Will Go On" for her parents with microphones and all. Let's just say, "Titanic" had a huge impact on my teenage years.
My only qualm with watching this on television is that you don't get to see Kate Winslet's breasts, which Kate had to remind me about on three different occasions this week. You know, I don't know why we don't just watch my copy of the film, I have it on VHS.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Friday
Last Friday a very large box arrived for me in the Student Post Office (SPO). I love it when I receive very large boxes in the SPO. Why? Because it's sort of like a huge status symbol to walk out of the building carrying a very large box of who knows what. Mainly it says, someone loves you enough to send you a very large box full of, for all that the preppies know, air.
Anyway, I'm getting off track. The box did not contain anything for me. But what's inside, oh my, is a bridal shower gift for one of my very bestest friends. Though I'm excited about the bridal shower and the wedding and my friend's happiness, I can't help but be perplexed.
My friend who is the same age as me, will be married two weeks before we graduate from college. You can't tell it, but I just paused for a long moment sort of stunned at the previous sentence. Not only is Katie getting married in May, but Marge, Katrina and Amanda are engaged. I am so happy for them, so very happy. But at the same time, so very very shocked, bewildered, dumbfounded (and other synonyms).
Most of my wardrobe is comprised of the color black. I do not own grown up church clothes. My idea of dressing up entails tights and my mom's old scarves from when she was single. Classy, but definitely not married-type-of-people clothing. First order of business over Christmas break: purchase a pants suit and heels that I will not scuff and will be kept in the box and are made of a real adult material, leather perhaps.
I heart you engaged ladies, but you guys are making me purchase kitchen appliances when I feel like I should be doing collegy things for you to celebrate, like taking each of you out for a pitcher at Shenanigan's.
Anyway, I'm getting off track. The box did not contain anything for me. But what's inside, oh my, is a bridal shower gift for one of my very bestest friends. Though I'm excited about the bridal shower and the wedding and my friend's happiness, I can't help but be perplexed.
My friend who is the same age as me, will be married two weeks before we graduate from college. You can't tell it, but I just paused for a long moment sort of stunned at the previous sentence. Not only is Katie getting married in May, but Marge, Katrina and Amanda are engaged. I am so happy for them, so very happy. But at the same time, so very very shocked, bewildered, dumbfounded (and other synonyms).
Most of my wardrobe is comprised of the color black. I do not own grown up church clothes. My idea of dressing up entails tights and my mom's old scarves from when she was single. Classy, but definitely not married-type-of-people clothing. First order of business over Christmas break: purchase a pants suit and heels that I will not scuff and will be kept in the box and are made of a real adult material, leather perhaps.
I heart you engaged ladies, but you guys are making me purchase kitchen appliances when I feel like I should be doing collegy things for you to celebrate, like taking each of you out for a pitcher at Shenanigan's.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
For Melissa Bank, Ashley, Lexi and Robert
Thank you, Melissa Bank, for painting such lovely pictures in my head. They bring back a lot of experiences from which I am now able to draw conclusions.
Thank you, Ashley, for making connections that are sometimes awkward but need to be spoken. Also, thanks for reminding me that locals are cool. You constantly surprise and irk me, but you're such a bad ass and I appreciate you.
Thank you, Lexi, for human connection.
Thank you, Robert, for being a cozy sleeve on which to cry, and for being the one who reminded me that sometimes everyone needs a second chance because as we all know, people change and grow everyday.
:)
Thank you, Ashley, for making connections that are sometimes awkward but need to be spoken. Also, thanks for reminding me that locals are cool. You constantly surprise and irk me, but you're such a bad ass and I appreciate you.
Thank you, Lexi, for human connection.
Thank you, Robert, for being a cozy sleeve on which to cry, and for being the one who reminded me that sometimes everyone needs a second chance because as we all know, people change and grow everyday.
:)
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Books and Class
If there's one thing I've learned from my sorority and from my time here in Sewanee, it's that books and class are important but they shouldn't rule your life:
"Books and class...got myself a fancy pair...when you knock there's someone there...study every night, story of my life."
when combined with...
"Beer and flasks...got myself a fancy pair...when you knock there's no one there...party every night, story of my life."
...seems to be my current dilemma. Let me give you some examples of this phenomena:
1. While saving the world with massive amounts of quiche on Saturday, I drank vodka. Why? because it was there. Also, because I needed to be able to feel at ease when discussing various academic topics with alumnae.
2. Last night, I went to the local bar/restaurant to meet up with my fellow Feminist lady friends. We were combining our knowledge of Feminist theory to produce our "Feminist Pledge" for the graduating class. I seemed to be the only one interested in actually getting the damn thing written so I could leave, but in the process consumed a pitcher of beer.
3. While writing comps, I found it absolutely necessary to consume wine. Why? so that my prefrontal cortex would shut up, thus allowing me to expand my academic horizons.
A wise woman once said, "I have no time to be sober." As a senior 1/2 comped student at Sewanee, I am inclined to agree with her analysis of the Sewanee experience. Thank you Miss Ensor.
"Books and class...got myself a fancy pair...when you knock there's someone there...study every night, story of my life."
when combined with...
"Beer and flasks...got myself a fancy pair...when you knock there's no one there...party every night, story of my life."
...seems to be my current dilemma. Let me give you some examples of this phenomena:
1. While saving the world with massive amounts of quiche on Saturday, I drank vodka. Why? because it was there. Also, because I needed to be able to feel at ease when discussing various academic topics with alumnae.
2. Last night, I went to the local bar/restaurant to meet up with my fellow Feminist lady friends. We were combining our knowledge of Feminist theory to produce our "Feminist Pledge" for the graduating class. I seemed to be the only one interested in actually getting the damn thing written so I could leave, but in the process consumed a pitcher of beer.
3. While writing comps, I found it absolutely necessary to consume wine. Why? so that my prefrontal cortex would shut up, thus allowing me to expand my academic horizons.
A wise woman once said, "I have no time to be sober." As a senior 1/2 comped student at Sewanee, I am inclined to agree with her analysis of the Sewanee experience. Thank you Miss Ensor.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
"life comes at you fast"
"nationwide is on your side..."
What a great campaign ad. I was reminded of this tonight when I received a phone call from one of my good friends. She was, as she said, "wiggin' out man," when I pulled up to pick her up on the side of a random sidewalk on campus.
Life sometimes hands you a grocery-store-sized-bag of food that needs to be hand-selected, washed, sliced, cooked, and eaten. The amateur chef becomes overwhelmed and indescently overcome with emotion. To Do lists can help, friends can listen, fellow cooks can give advice. But sometimes, these coping mechanisms don't do much and you just need your mom. And that, is totally okay.
My dear friend and sister, I heart you.
What a great campaign ad. I was reminded of this tonight when I received a phone call from one of my good friends. She was, as she said, "wiggin' out man," when I pulled up to pick her up on the side of a random sidewalk on campus.
Life sometimes hands you a grocery-store-sized-bag of food that needs to be hand-selected, washed, sliced, cooked, and eaten. The amateur chef becomes overwhelmed and indescently overcome with emotion. To Do lists can help, friends can listen, fellow cooks can give advice. But sometimes, these coping mechanisms don't do much and you just need your mom. And that, is totally okay.
My dear friend and sister, I heart you.
Thank God I'm not a Homecoming Queen
Yesterday, I joined about 30 individuals of both sexes in the promenade across the Sewanee Tigers football field. For all you non-Sewanee folk, drunken smiles, Wellington Capes and ridiculous shoes, the kind with the pointy heels that I wouldn’t be caught dead in, filled the field, if that gives you any sort of perspective. My friend/escort, McLarty, and I took the field, my right arm taken up by a bouquet of assorted flowers and my left arm through his right. I was freaking nervous; thank God I had had that final screwdriver before heading to the field.
When they announced my full name, I felt the same way I did when I was a child and my mom yelled my full name when I was in trouble. Then they declared my hometown, which isn’t actually my hometown. As I walked forward, quite a few people cheered. This made me smile and feel a little bit better about the situation, and less like my mom was accosting my behavior. McLarty's mom snapped pictures. I shook the Vice Chancellor's hand and took my place at the 40 yard line.
The winner's were celebrated, and then I hugged the Queen. After, a few awkward things occurred. First, my ex-boyfriend's mother attacked me and took more pictures, and second, I accidentally flashed someone (and by flashed, I mean, I straddled a ditch to hug someone and this other guy saw my slip and commented on my 'undergarments') in front of numerous parents, including McLarty's mom.
So, in conclusion, I look cute even when my slip is showing and despite the fact that I had been making quiche all morning while drinking vodka. I was totally out of my element, I had a great time, and I am glad I did not win. Why? Because I don’t think I could ever put “Homecoming Queen” on my resume, “nor is it appropriate for anyone else to do so,” says my Feminist mind. Also, I don’t wear ‘appropriate’ pointy homecoming shoes. C’est la vie?
When they announced my full name, I felt the same way I did when I was a child and my mom yelled my full name when I was in trouble. Then they declared my hometown, which isn’t actually my hometown. As I walked forward, quite a few people cheered. This made me smile and feel a little bit better about the situation, and less like my mom was accosting my behavior. McLarty's mom snapped pictures. I shook the Vice Chancellor's hand and took my place at the 40 yard line.
The winner's were celebrated, and then I hugged the Queen. After, a few awkward things occurred. First, my ex-boyfriend's mother attacked me and took more pictures, and second, I accidentally flashed someone (and by flashed, I mean, I straddled a ditch to hug someone and this other guy saw my slip and commented on my 'undergarments') in front of numerous parents, including McLarty's mom.
So, in conclusion, I look cute even when my slip is showing and despite the fact that I had been making quiche all morning while drinking vodka. I was totally out of my element, I had a great time, and I am glad I did not win. Why? Because I don’t think I could ever put “Homecoming Queen” on my resume, “nor is it appropriate for anyone else to do so,” says my Feminist mind. Also, I don’t wear ‘appropriate’ pointy homecoming shoes. C’est la vie?
Friday, November 2, 2007
Surprises
Tonight, I was laying in my bed typing furiously on my laptop. My hunt for psychology articles at the front of my cortex, my prefrontal cortex actively engaged in the judgment required to make each thought a series of keyboard strokes. My hand deep in the front of my hair, feverishly moving fingers...trying to massage my brain.
Progressive relaxation theory. Jacobson. Spiritual alternatives. Stress-induced anxiety. Systematic desentizi... *KNOCK KNOCK*
I leapt from the bed, eyes glazed and feet bare.
I opened the door, "David!"
"Sam!" David replied, embracing me in a big bear hug.
"I didn't know when you'd be here, what's up?"
We chatted for about twenty minutes. Soon my friend Erica walked in, and news of Linda Claire's pending arrival was announced. Three of my very favorite people ever ever EVER!
I love Fridays, and I love Homecoming. But I love sketchy alums even more, especially the ones who I miss so dearly, most of the time.
Friends are hard to come by, and friends who come especially to see you, are even more rare. I heart you guys!
Progressive relaxation theory. Jacobson. Spiritual alternatives. Stress-induced anxiety. Systematic desentizi... *KNOCK KNOCK*
I leapt from the bed, eyes glazed and feet bare.
I opened the door, "David!"
"Sam!" David replied, embracing me in a big bear hug.
"I didn't know when you'd be here, what's up?"
We chatted for about twenty minutes. Soon my friend Erica walked in, and news of Linda Claire's pending arrival was announced. Three of my very favorite people ever ever EVER!
I love Fridays, and I love Homecoming. But I love sketchy alums even more, especially the ones who I miss so dearly, most of the time.
Friends are hard to come by, and friends who come especially to see you, are even more rare. I heart you guys!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Season 4, L Word
So, I have basically spent the last 24 hours in bed watching the fourth season of The L Word, while taking a lot of Sudafed and eating a lot of Chex Mix.
I sighed, laughed, gawked, yelled and cried A LOT.
My conclusions:
I'm still in love with Shane. I still want to be Alice. And I still find Helena annoying. Tina has come back into my safety circle. I trust her again. Bette is definitely a new favorite. I have never liked her until this season. I think Jodi is good for her. Mainly, I'm concerned about Alice, I hope she doesn't have another break down next season. It's okay, Alice, I love you!
Discoveries:
Every time I watch The L Word, I learn something new. This time, I learned some stuff about myself. Mainly, I learned from Shane. What I walked away with basically, is a compilation of feelings and cognitions. I really admire Shane in this season. She walks away from an intense emotional and fucked up situation, does a lot of self-medicating, until she not only sobers up but wises up. She learns to stabilize while taking care of the business in her life and falling in love. If Ilene goes and fucks with her character again, I swear, I might just mail some Anthrax to that bitch.
I sighed, laughed, gawked, yelled and cried A LOT.
My conclusions:
I'm still in love with Shane. I still want to be Alice. And I still find Helena annoying. Tina has come back into my safety circle. I trust her again. Bette is definitely a new favorite. I have never liked her until this season. I think Jodi is good for her. Mainly, I'm concerned about Alice, I hope she doesn't have another break down next season. It's okay, Alice, I love you!
Discoveries:
Every time I watch The L Word, I learn something new. This time, I learned some stuff about myself. Mainly, I learned from Shane. What I walked away with basically, is a compilation of feelings and cognitions. I really admire Shane in this season. She walks away from an intense emotional and fucked up situation, does a lot of self-medicating, until she not only sobers up but wises up. She learns to stabilize while taking care of the business in her life and falling in love. If Ilene goes and fucks with her character again, I swear, I might just mail some Anthrax to that bitch.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
The costume
So, last night I was hanging out with a bunch of my friends at my favorite fraternity house. We were celebrating the freshest engagement of the semester, and by freshest I mean the third engagement in my pledge class, excluding my own--which as we all know was called off approximately six months ago. Not that I'm bitter, there were just more important things on my mind.
One of these more important topics was What should I be for Halloween?
Bff Kate said she was going as a white lie. She said you wear all white and attach sticky notes to yourself that each have a white lie written on it, like Nice haircut. OR Cute baby. Some of my top ideas for my own costume included: a leftover (where you wrap yourself in aluminum foil), a straight girl (?), a farmer (not be confused with a lesbian), a crew rower (because I love spandex), a homecoming queen (too pretentious), and, of course, we can't forget about McLarty's idea, "that blonde-headed guy from Fight Club," (w.t.f.?).
So, I went to sleep last night with ideas of Halloween costumes dancing in my head only to awaken this morning with my Halloween identity assigned to me without my consent. I am to be a Germ this Halloween, as I am sick, and in bed with a fever, having no fun, alone.
Alright, well, I'm not having no fun because I am watching Season 4 of the L Word, and I have a damn good excuse to be in bed. But I am alone, so if anyone out there is also having a sad-alone-Halloween-germ-costume-kind-of-night, give me a call and maybe we can play live Scrabulous.
Happy Halloween!
One of these more important topics was What should I be for Halloween?
Bff Kate said she was going as a white lie. She said you wear all white and attach sticky notes to yourself that each have a white lie written on it, like Nice haircut. OR Cute baby. Some of my top ideas for my own costume included: a leftover (where you wrap yourself in aluminum foil), a straight girl (?), a farmer (not be confused with a lesbian), a crew rower (because I love spandex), a homecoming queen (too pretentious), and, of course, we can't forget about McLarty's idea, "that blonde-headed guy from Fight Club," (w.t.f.?).
So, I went to sleep last night with ideas of Halloween costumes dancing in my head only to awaken this morning with my Halloween identity assigned to me without my consent. I am to be a Germ this Halloween, as I am sick, and in bed with a fever, having no fun, alone.
Alright, well, I'm not having no fun because I am watching Season 4 of the L Word, and I have a damn good excuse to be in bed. But I am alone, so if anyone out there is also having a sad-alone-Halloween-germ-costume-kind-of-night, give me a call and maybe we can play live Scrabulous.
Happy Halloween!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
thoughts on the continuum of myself as bitch
Last year, I posted on a blog for my Intro to Women's Studies class. The post was in reponse to another student's post on the connotation of the word bitch. It went something like this:
"The word bitch may be used in a derogative way by many individuals. The post to which I am responding describes the word bitch as anti-feminist. As it is mainly used by women on women, thus breaking down the bonds of feminist sisterhood. While I acknowledge this argument, I disagree with it. I like to assimilate the word 'bitch' with the word 'dyke.' Though, I'm not a full fledged dyke, when someone calls me a dyke both in a negative way or as a term of acceptance, I feel empowered by it. Many of the greatest lesbian warriors were called dykes, if not for them I couldn't even write this post afterall. Making a dyke feel empowered is often not the goal of the 'dyke caller' and in fact is exactly the opposite of the caller's ambition. When someone calls me a dyke, I am reminded of the great community of strong women that I make love to and to which I identify. It is from this reminder that I usually call back "Breeder!" So, if you look at the word dyke in the context of the lesbian community and then assimilate that to the word bitch and it's role in the feminist community, you have quite some ammunition. If I'm a bitch, so what? But if I'm a woman that's called a bitch, then perhaps I'm a feminist, a mother, sister, lover, dishwasher, telephone maker, etc. and perhaps I'm pissed off about the gender inequality's that these other
terms evoke. But if I own myself as a bitch, then I can better express my
frustration through feminist thought, and thus, bitch evokes my feeling of
feminist community."
Lately, I seem to have lost sight of my role in the communities to which I belong. Becoming self-absorbed, and to some extent, a bitch in normative societal meaning. Last night, I was watching When Harry Met Sally. The thing that I love most about that film, is the education that Sally gives to Harry about women. That woman is fucking awesome, she's like this waterered down version of bitch and by watered down I mean, a softer more appropriate version of bitch. I used to be her to most everyone with whom I came in contact. But as of late, I've been more like Harry and less like Sally. It is difficult become the other side of the spectrum.
My conclusion:
The continuum of bitch is a tricky thing in which to live and breath. Perhaps I need to take some time out to figure this thing out. This thing that I am and this thing that I want to become within the context of this thing that I am becoming.
"The word bitch may be used in a derogative way by many individuals. The post to which I am responding describes the word bitch as anti-feminist. As it is mainly used by women on women, thus breaking down the bonds of feminist sisterhood. While I acknowledge this argument, I disagree with it. I like to assimilate the word 'bitch' with the word 'dyke.' Though, I'm not a full fledged dyke, when someone calls me a dyke both in a negative way or as a term of acceptance, I feel empowered by it. Many of the greatest lesbian warriors were called dykes, if not for them I couldn't even write this post afterall. Making a dyke feel empowered is often not the goal of the 'dyke caller' and in fact is exactly the opposite of the caller's ambition. When someone calls me a dyke, I am reminded of the great community of strong women that I make love to and to which I identify. It is from this reminder that I usually call back "Breeder!" So, if you look at the word dyke in the context of the lesbian community and then assimilate that to the word bitch and it's role in the feminist community, you have quite some ammunition. If I'm a bitch, so what? But if I'm a woman that's called a bitch, then perhaps I'm a feminist, a mother, sister, lover, dishwasher, telephone maker, etc. and perhaps I'm pissed off about the gender inequality's that these other
terms evoke. But if I own myself as a bitch, then I can better express my
frustration through feminist thought, and thus, bitch evokes my feeling of
feminist community."
Lately, I seem to have lost sight of my role in the communities to which I belong. Becoming self-absorbed, and to some extent, a bitch in normative societal meaning. Last night, I was watching When Harry Met Sally. The thing that I love most about that film, is the education that Sally gives to Harry about women. That woman is fucking awesome, she's like this waterered down version of bitch and by watered down I mean, a softer more appropriate version of bitch. I used to be her to most everyone with whom I came in contact. But as of late, I've been more like Harry and less like Sally. It is difficult become the other side of the spectrum.
My conclusion:
The continuum of bitch is a tricky thing in which to live and breath. Perhaps I need to take some time out to figure this thing out. This thing that I am and this thing that I want to become within the context of this thing that I am becoming.
Monday, October 29, 2007
watershed
Last night, bottled up emotional stuff start pouring out of my ears. But seeing how the Internet Gods hate me, I couldn't get online to blog about it.
Then, this morning I had a fit of sudden emotion that ripped me completely out of stagnation. Luckily, I was on my bike so I did a 180 and headed down South Carolina Avenue toward Abbo's Alley.
Abbo's Alley is this wonderfully profound and magical place that reminds me a lot of The Secret Garden.
Upon arrival, I parked my bike, pulled out a cigarette and walked over to the stream that, for no apparent reason, bends around like a question mark. The air was bitter and angry. It was cold out, and my lungs hurt to breath. There were a lot of things that spoke to me. But mainly the clusters of flowers that clung to the edge of the stream even though it's now Autumn, and the leaves settled at the bottom of the stream that swayed with the current were what stuck out the most. There were also some roots growing perpendicular to the flow of the stream. They made continuous ripples below the surface of the water.
"up on the watershed, standing at the fork in the road, you can stand there and agonize til your agony's your heaviest load, when you're learning to face the path at your pace...every choice is what you are"
Then, this morning I had a fit of sudden emotion that ripped me completely out of stagnation. Luckily, I was on my bike so I did a 180 and headed down South Carolina Avenue toward Abbo's Alley.
Abbo's Alley is this wonderfully profound and magical place that reminds me a lot of The Secret Garden.
Upon arrival, I parked my bike, pulled out a cigarette and walked over to the stream that, for no apparent reason, bends around like a question mark. The air was bitter and angry. It was cold out, and my lungs hurt to breath. There were a lot of things that spoke to me. But mainly the clusters of flowers that clung to the edge of the stream even though it's now Autumn, and the leaves settled at the bottom of the stream that swayed with the current were what stuck out the most. There were also some roots growing perpendicular to the flow of the stream. They made continuous ripples below the surface of the water.
"up on the watershed, standing at the fork in the road, you can stand there and agonize til your agony's your heaviest load, when you're learning to face the path at your pace...every choice is what you are"
I want to be the flowers, and for a while I was the leaves. But now, I'm the roots.
I'm at my fork, but I'm not hungry.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
A word, in short
"...businesswoman..I don't think that's a word."
So this afternoon, I was talking to my friend who is a grad student in Charlottesville. We were updating each other on our lives. I used the word stagnate to describe mine. In that I mean, though it stressful and there's a shit ton to do, my emotions about it all are pretty stagnate. She said that "stagnate was too positive a word."
I like to think that I'm really good at describing things and, in general, communicating with people. Sometimes, it takes a few tries, but I always seem to get it right in the end. For me, walking away from a great conversation, is like Christmas or something. I get that warm fuzzy feeling, like I just made a really soulful connection with another person who is floundering around in life, just as I am.
Stagnation should not be the way life is, but sometimes, it just works out that way. I suppose everyone's life could be placed on a continuum of stagnation. Why do I suppose that to be a bad thing? It's not, it's somewhat calm. But it makes me feel like I'm not living or something. Like, I need to get out of this stagnate state.
If people were happy living in states of stagnation, wherein they were to any extent unhappy, there would be no change in the world.
No Civil Rights Movement. No Gay Liberation Movement. No Women's Liberation Movement. No waking up in the morning. No sleeping. No sex.
I don't think I can live in a world like that, but yet I am.
Go on Liz Lemon, be a businesswoman! Damn "the Man."
In short, a word is not always just a word.
So this afternoon, I was talking to my friend who is a grad student in Charlottesville. We were updating each other on our lives. I used the word stagnate to describe mine. In that I mean, though it stressful and there's a shit ton to do, my emotions about it all are pretty stagnate. She said that "stagnate was too positive a word."
I like to think that I'm really good at describing things and, in general, communicating with people. Sometimes, it takes a few tries, but I always seem to get it right in the end. For me, walking away from a great conversation, is like Christmas or something. I get that warm fuzzy feeling, like I just made a really soulful connection with another person who is floundering around in life, just as I am.
Stagnation should not be the way life is, but sometimes, it just works out that way. I suppose everyone's life could be placed on a continuum of stagnation. Why do I suppose that to be a bad thing? It's not, it's somewhat calm. But it makes me feel like I'm not living or something. Like, I need to get out of this stagnate state.
If people were happy living in states of stagnation, wherein they were to any extent unhappy, there would be no change in the world.
No Civil Rights Movement. No Gay Liberation Movement. No Women's Liberation Movement. No waking up in the morning. No sleeping. No sex.
I don't think I can live in a world like that, but yet I am.
Go on Liz Lemon, be a businesswoman! Damn "the Man."
In short, a word is not always just a word.
Her
“What’s the best Sunday you’ve ever had?” She asked, smiling.
“I don’t know?” the other looked off into the distance, taking a drag from her cigarette.
Slouching further into the dirty lawn chair, She mimicked the other, deeply breathing in the sultry smoke that seemed to numb her already anesthetized emotion.
She sat quietly, recalling softly a memory from two years prior. She spoke slowly. "There was this one day," She began, taking another drag, "with my ex," She exhaled. The other listened.
When She was finished describing the delicate arrangement of events, the other smiled.
“I don’t know?” the other looked off into the distance, taking a drag from her cigarette.
Slouching further into the dirty lawn chair, She mimicked the other, deeply breathing in the sultry smoke that seemed to numb her already anesthetized emotion.
She sat quietly, recalling softly a memory from two years prior. She spoke slowly. "There was this one day," She began, taking another drag, "with my ex," She exhaled. The other listened.
When She was finished describing the delicate arrangement of events, the other smiled.
She had lost the ability to smile. More recent memories and feelings of Her filling her mind. She took another drag from her cigarette.
“I wish I could ease the pain,” She said, trying not to think about Her. A tear should have gathered in the corner of her eye, but it didn't.
“Do you miss your ex?” the other asked.
“No,” She replied, snubbing out her cigarette, “I miss Her.”
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Deal
This morning, I rolled out of bed fifteen minutes before my 8 o'clock class. I pulled on some jeans over my pajama long johns and went to brush my teeth. After locating matching socks, quite an accomplishment for the morning, and buttoning my sweater, I placed my smudgy glasses on my unwashed face. Katy and I scrambled to the staircase, the minutes chasing us out of the building.
You see? my friends, foes, muffins and turtles. This is what happens when you are in the middle of comprehensive examinations. All that used to be of the utmost importance, like acne prevention and clean underwear consciousness, all fall to the wayside.
Stats:
Papers written: 4 1/2
Papers to be written: 1 1/2
Sleep: minimal
Food: sufficient, at the moment
Caffeine intake: high
Nicotine intake: high
Nicotine reserves: declining
Socks: matching and clean
Bra: n/a
Energy: high
Irritability: high
Self-esteem: moderate
Emotional state: secondary
Countdown: 6.5 hours
Additionally, I would like to add that random voicemails about procrastination with lovely lounge music in the background are welcome. I will be requiring more nutrients at some point, so if someone has some Ramen they're not eating, feel free to drop it by. Do not be frightened by the "by appointment" signage. Also, BFF, if you could pick me up some cigarettes, that'd be great, and if not, that's ok. This is due to the fact that you provided me with much needed you-being-a-drunken-human-exclamation-point-entertainment last night, when I needed it most.
You see? my friends, foes, muffins and turtles. This is what happens when you are in the middle of comprehensive examinations. All that used to be of the utmost importance, like acne prevention and clean underwear consciousness, all fall to the wayside.
Stats:
Papers written: 4 1/2
Papers to be written: 1 1/2
Sleep: minimal
Food: sufficient, at the moment
Caffeine intake: high
Nicotine intake: high
Nicotine reserves: declining
Socks: matching and clean
Bra: n/a
Energy: high
Irritability: high
Self-esteem: moderate
Emotional state: secondary
Countdown: 6.5 hours
Additionally, I would like to add that random voicemails about procrastination with lovely lounge music in the background are welcome. I will be requiring more nutrients at some point, so if someone has some Ramen they're not eating, feel free to drop it by. Do not be frightened by the "by appointment" signage. Also, BFF, if you could pick me up some cigarettes, that'd be great, and if not, that's ok. This is due to the fact that you provided me with much needed you-being-a-drunken-human-exclamation-point-entertainment last night, when I needed it most.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
homeys and haters
"I need you right now..." *flings gang hand signal*
The world is a complicated place. You meet a lot of people to whom you can relate and a lot you can't. The latter are the kinds of interactions for which I used to hunt.
Lately, the desire of my heart has been to actively seek out those individuals in my life who dwell not only close to my heart, but who also share similar perspective and understanding.
Who are my doctors of philosophy? and why do I need their advice in the first place? And Amy Ray, will I really be closer to fine if I find these people out?
I don't know about all of that, but my hunch is the more stops I take along the road of life, the more I'll not only learn in general, but the more I'll know about myself. However, my problem seems to be that I have a difficult time leaving each pit stop. I don't know if that's necessarily a problem, but it sure does hurt my soul a lot.
I was driving on a sixty mile stretch of interstate in middle Tennesse this weekend on my way to Atlanta. The mountains were so beautiful. Most of the trees were still green but some of them had begun to change probably a week or so prior to my presence there. The ones that had begun their transition were a golden ambery color. The spotty gold among the ever green wonder of the wilderness through which the interstate tears was philosophical enough to make me cry. Then I just wanted to go to a Michaels for craft supplies and innocent child-like art creativity.
Maybe I'll go to Michael's tomorrow. Perhaps I'll pass some more pretty trees or maybe meet some new pit stops?
The world is a complicated place. You meet a lot of people to whom you can relate and a lot you can't. The latter are the kinds of interactions for which I used to hunt.
Lately, the desire of my heart has been to actively seek out those individuals in my life who dwell not only close to my heart, but who also share similar perspective and understanding.
Who are my doctors of philosophy? and why do I need their advice in the first place? And Amy Ray, will I really be closer to fine if I find these people out?
I don't know about all of that, but my hunch is the more stops I take along the road of life, the more I'll not only learn in general, but the more I'll know about myself. However, my problem seems to be that I have a difficult time leaving each pit stop. I don't know if that's necessarily a problem, but it sure does hurt my soul a lot.
I was driving on a sixty mile stretch of interstate in middle Tennesse this weekend on my way to Atlanta. The mountains were so beautiful. Most of the trees were still green but some of them had begun to change probably a week or so prior to my presence there. The ones that had begun their transition were a golden ambery color. The spotty gold among the ever green wonder of the wilderness through which the interstate tears was philosophical enough to make me cry. Then I just wanted to go to a Michaels for craft supplies and innocent child-like art creativity.
Maybe I'll go to Michael's tomorrow. Perhaps I'll pass some more pretty trees or maybe meet some new pit stops?
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