| 01:30am 10/10/2007 | |||
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First there was the business about HER. I KNOW WHO SHE IS!!! Or at least I think I do. (Maybe?) She's pretty (ish, sort of, in an Evil Queen Mother kind of way). This is okay, because I was envisioning Penelope Cruz. Possibly Eva Longoria. Phew. *** Then. . . *** Maybe it's not really a matter of my hopes not being crushed, or being crushed, or perhaps it doesn't involve my hope at all. It could be that this is what it feels like to really forgive someone. Hum. |
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| Read 2 - Post | |||
| why not write something. . .? | |||
| 10:00pm 05/10/2007 | |||
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Studio/visual art class are teaching to me analyze my audience and 'layers of meaning.' This is an interesting audience: One that, potentially, could be everyone on the planet, and in actuality is no one at all. I've still got stuff to say. . . not as much angst to hurry me along, but I'm getting there. I managed a small humiliation tonight, one year minus one day after that biggest humiliation. The 'things have not changed' bit. That 'kick in the pants' bit. I'm sort of waiting on a bigger kick in the pants now. . . expecting it, even. Things are just going too peachily to last particularly long. The feces will hit the fan (so to speak) when it is noticed that my hope hasn't been entirely crushed. Which is, I realize, ridiculous. On a related but not related subject, I really honestly didn't expect to acquit myself well, so this is probably a self-fulfilling prophecy moment. Probably flipping butter onto my favorite shirt and saying ***k really loudly is not the worst that could have happened, although sitting in awkward silence is never the best plan. It sort of reminded me of Japanese class, actually. Like that feeling when you've only top-of-the-mind memorized something instead of know-it-in-your-bones memorized it, so when the terrifying sensei asks "Daizyoobu des ka?" or something like that, you're paralyzed and hollow-headed (even given that you heard this exchange three times before it was asked of you.) In any case. I had forgotten this about Friday nights. It's a great night for baking, for talking, and a great night to go to bed early. But the going to bed early bit never happens, because I remember me what being alone is. Friday night is a night to pathetically cling. Maybe that's why other people get drunk, so they can give an excuse for doing it besides the isolation of the human condition. Ethanol C-C-OH (?maybe) |
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| Much better | |||
| 02:51am 17/12/2006 | |||
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I'm much better now, and about to have my throat cut by finals. Cheers! |
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| if ever | |||
| 03:27am 11/10/2006 | |||
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If ever was a borderline obsessive-compulsive, it's me. I seem to have to chew on it: Almost faultless on all sides, but for me. . . (well, we knew that) making an (oh ye gods preserve me) assumption: Things are different here. When truly, the physical laws persevere, the heavens do not realign, and things are the same. |
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| BLEEEEOOOAAARRGGH | ||||
| 01:32pm 10/10/2006 | ||||
A bit like (rather like) a whack to the face with a two-by-four: It hurt, a bit. But it didn't hit quite as hard. . . or in quite as tender of an area. . . as I had first supposed. . . I don't believe the two-by-four was cruelly meant, for whatever sense that makes. Everyone needs a kick in the pants at some point. . . |
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recovering| metaphorically speaking | ||||
| 01:49pm 09/10/2006 | ||||
It is, in all senses, like a small wound: Once acquired, one is not quite sure of the severity of it. . . so one pokes and prods and sniffs. 'Is this real?' one asks. 'Did it really penetrate that deep? Perhaps it is only a bug-bite. . . ' One scratches at it. 'Does it hurt? Does it feel like what whoever wrote the book on this subject says it should feel like?' One is a bit embarrassed to show it to anyone and ask if one is really badly hurt---for what if it is a bug-bite, or worse, a paper cut? One waits on it, thinking maybe it is a tender hair follicle, ready to heal without scarring, all the while tapping and rubbing and wondering. So, in the course of things, the wound grows, because it has been irritated and paid constant attention. 'Blast,' one says. 'Drat.' It might have been unreal, a brush on the edge of the nerves, before, but now it certainly hurts. (One is still embarrassed. 'I did this myself,' one says. 'But oh, it stings!' And one attempts to act surreptitiously in acquiring a band-aid, but in doing so shows both the need for a band-aid and the wound itself. So the surreptition is pointless.) Now one has a moderately-sized wound in one's body---under the clothes, though. Or at least partially covered. (It must be covered, if only a bit. It really must.) (For otherwise, the pain that comes from others bumping it. . .reigns both inexplicable and unspeakably cruel.) |
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sad| scraps | ||||
| 10:21pm 04/10/2006 | ||||
Facts are hooks to hold up the truth, handles we hang the truth up on: Pegs in the wall that stretch out the blanket, so we can see the threads and remember the colors. After a bit I had started clicking the plastic buttons like a demented schnauzer snarfing on a squeaky hamburger in a cross-eyed daze. The man in the gnome hat (a felted red cone, for those fantastical philistines) passed me again today. I should like glorious, joyous, insanity-hair that spirals, explodes, sings out of all inches of my heads and dances out from its roots into tremendousness. Coherence is overrated: Shakespeare was not coherent. Damn. I must needs learn me my lines heretofore. I hear it sing i' the wind. |
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| 01:13am 29/09/2006 | ||||
1. I forgot to mention watching Tim wind up his pocket watch. 2. I am not particularly attractive. 3. I hate feeling jealous. 4. I also hate being uncertain of my emotional state but for the fact that I am making an ass of myself. |
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fat| The official college journal | ||||
| 05:38pm 28/09/2006 | ||||
I made a resolution to write two pages a day about five weeks ago. In short: I haven't, and I have missed things, such as the banana-bread brick and the hoop of wisdom (which could perhaps still make an appearance, if I manage to recover it from Omar's room, where I unwisely rolled it.) Also, since I ought to be doing my 18.01 homework, it makes perfect sense to write an extended entry instead. So, to the not-exactly-lilting strains of "Rent" in the background, I embark. Today, after a nondescript morning, I shuttled off to said 18.01 lecture in building 54. The Green Building (aka 54) rises well above any other structure in Cambridge in height and in pure concrete monstrosity. The idea that someone actually paid an architect to design that holey matchbox on stilts makes me both nauseated and optimistic about my future job prospects. I went in. I sat down. My flip-up desk read today, instead of the standard ball-point insignia "I jerk off," rather "Larva." Pardon? Larva of what? Perhaps it was a not-so-clever reference to tools, which are indeed engineer larva. More likely something is growing underneath East Campus. Or possibly in Burton Third's bar. I stayed awake through the whole class, another mixed-emotion accomplishment---I mean, that's a good thing, but a fairly shameful one considering it's notable. The reason resided in this question: if a sphere with radius R is interesected by a flat plane, creating a cap with a base circle of radius r, how can the height h of the cap be defined in terms of R and r? I ran through several badly wrong ideas and am still contemplating. After, I went downstairs and waited for the elevator to take me back up. Since I was motivated by nothing beyond base curiosity and the peculiar psychosis that has been animating me these past days, I didn't click the button for the eighteenth floor fast enough and wound up hastily shuffling off at the seventh in order not to be shunted right back down to where I came. The climb commenced up twelve stories as I looked for a window. The eighteenth floor closed all its doors; I went down one and stared through someone's office into Boston and then into Cambridge. The view's great; what the view is of doesn't inspire. (Still, in spite of the Texas Club, I like Boston better than Houston. I didn't know what MS-13 was, until Tot and Aaron explained it. I am glad for the ignorance of gangs: I am glad for my own disrespect. I'm an arrogant bitch.) On the way down, after a briefly fruitless try at the roof door, I discovered that mc2 does not equal e, 1/2mv2 does not give you k.e., and blabablahblah has ceased to be potential energy. Apparently inflation and East Campus have edited these definitions and published their findings on the building 54 stairwells. (Stare well, my friends.) Then I trotted back. I will avoid discussing my present emotional state, but to say it is happy. |
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hopeful| oh boy, college pictures | ||||
| 01:22am 04/09/2006 | ||||
First, a map.  Now, a smaller map of my suite:  Let us enter.  If one were to glance in, one would see this.  </center> Let us go in a little farther and explore about.  Books. I need more books.  The hub of it all.  Beds. Beds are important.  Closeup!   Now, off the bed and to the storage.    Will post more tomorrow. These are already slightly dated; after all, now I have a CHAIR. Disclaimer: Actually, my roommate is very nice and doesn't take herself too seriously. Erk. I also will try to fix the broken picture links. . .hmm. |
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turn off the @$#% music!| WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH | ||||
| 02:20am 10/08/2006 | ||||
*cries* We watched the first DVD of The Tenth Kingdom together. . .I hadn't seen that in a long while. The cheesy special effects almost killed the magic in the beginning, but once it started rolling the effects lessened and the characterization increased, thus easing this difficulty. I wish we could have finished, but we would have been up until. . .erk. . . five in the morning. Well. I. . . What do you say? I don't know that this was intentional, but upon her desk organizer, she decoupaged the words "Journey" and "Bon Voyage." Indeed. The greatest one we have taken thus far, and we can hope it will turn out well. * * * Great gods, I'm going maudlin in my lemonade. Blast and drat. |
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weepy| bear with me | ||||
| 01:42am 09/08/2006 | ||||
I seem to have discovered a taste for both pecan pie and genuine whipped cream. This is not pleasing. The last thing I need is an affinity for more fattening and death-inducing comestibles. I got mud upon the shin area of my new pants. They are brown pants, but it was light-brown mud. I seem to look fat in the green striped shirt that was so lovely and slimming in the store. I am now in possession of a decoupaged, vaguely Victorian/French-looking box. This would be lovely, but for the fact that the box is very small (greeting-card sized, not the size to carry things in but rather the size to set on one's desk and pitch stray paper clips and miniature- to moderate-sized dust bunnies into) and the other fact that I am moving one or two thousand miles away in the space of the next two weeks, making any extra junk superfluous. (The box isn't junk, mind you, but it still takes up room in the suitcase.) I discovered today that my parents expect to STORE all my exquisite, wonderful books in the cricket-ridden, damp, mildewed playhouse. In plastic storage tubs, yes, with boxes of baking powder, yes, but still, THEY ARE BEING REMOVED FROM THE HOLY SANCTUM OF THE SHELVES. I have hundreds of things to be done, many of which I mentioned in a post yesterday, and I failed to do any of them, occupied as I was by said decoupaged box. Despite my renewed pledge to run, I managed to cleverly keep myself from jogging so much as a quarter of an inch. I spent the afternoon/evening/late evening/late night in company with an individual who knows all of the following: a) her roommate's name b) what her roommate plans to bring to the room c) what she plans to bring to the room d) the colors and decor of this room (cream, brown, black; Parisian/Victorian) e) her classes f) what day she moves in. I know none of these things and am starting to feel rather strained about it. I imposed dreadfully on the previously mentioned individual by hanging about in her house until 1:20 AM or so. She needs to get up early in the morning, too. I had traveled there originally under cover of bringing food (cake, pudding pie, pecan pie, more cake, and more cake), and stayed under the premise of 'helping' her decoupage and cut out her room accents and so forth. It seems like there should be something to say to the person who has been your very closest friend for the past thirteen years. Somehow I could only think of idiotic things. I kept hanging around and hanging around, hoping something would come to me, some laughter or wisdom or beauty, but nothing ever did. Then she reminded me that she had to shower yet and get up at 8:00, so I apologized and left. |
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tired| Also: | |||
| 02:10am 08/08/2006 | |||
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Did I ever mention that I successfully made mozzarella cheese? It tasted like cheese and melted like cheese and everything. It had citric acid in it. I wonder if I should take my citric acid and rennet tablets to college with me? |
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| ahem | |||
| 02:08am 08/08/2006 | |||
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Ahem. Forgot to mention that I went madly shopping yesterday and today, and I now have four more pairs of shoes (one pair of which is a glee-inducing shade of BRIGHT BLUE), as well as various and sundry shirts, belts, pants, and things. I feel pleased but rather shell-shocked. Off to bed. |
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| hallo again | ||||
| 01:43am 08/08/2006 | ||||
hazelnut-cornmeal coffeecake, lemon meringue pie, upside-down pineapple cake, vanilla genoise (cake) with chocolate glaze, pecan pie, and chocolate pudding pie. Perhape tomorrow I will attempt some pictures. (Unfortunately, these are mainly uninspiredly round-type edibles.) Before the end of the summer (two weeks, for me) I hope to make creme brulee (imagine the little dash thingies over the e's), chocolate souffle, cheese souffle, raspberry-chocolate torte, banana cream pie (need to make this week), lemon bars, spiral and checkerboard cookies, apple-caramel pie (can't remember what this is really called at the moment), and sage-onion pizza (weird, but I'm cooking all the remotely possible items in my Williams-Sonoma "Essentials of Baking" book.) This of course is beside making regular, honest whole-wheat bread, Dutch letters, and possibly some pie crusts to freeze for my mom to use later. I have just about resigned myself to meeting virtually none of the goals I set out for myself at the beginning of the summer---neither running nor reading nor arting nor writing nor piano-playing. Sigh. However, I have hope yet to:
Ye gods, this could go on forever. Let us say I am not as yet ready for college. |
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too much turkey| sigh; I am not living up | ||||
| 09:41pm 02/08/2006 | ||||
This activity is never filled with hilarity and enjoyment, but today it was tinged with despair. Why do I have all these crappy t-shirts? I ask myself. Why do I hang on to them? (Why on EARTH does my mother insist on buying me new clothes when I am already bogged down with fabric????) Why are they tinged slightly yellow? And why do they feel a little damp and smell funny? Huh. Sigh. I had a whole list of things to do. . .and didn't. That happens when your alarm goes off at 9:30, you stumble out and turn it off, and sleep immediately regains its hold on you. I have so many things that can't possibly come with me to college. And that begs a question: if I'm not using it, and I'm the one resisting throwing it out, what good is it? The t-shirts are bad; the books are worse. I have twenty days to read uninhibited, and then I need to decide which tomes are worth the effort to haul cross-country on a jet. ---- On a more cheerful note, I just finished the eleven Janet Evanovich/Stephanie Plum novels. I wish I wrote like that. Humor is not precisely my forte. |
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aaaaaugh| stabbety stab stab | ||||
| 04:51pm 19/07/2006 | ||||
On the wall of the county nurse's office, there was a poster: "Rash diseases of children." Second one down was a nasty pic of an arm covered in little white pustules labelled, "SMALLPOX." Digression ahead. * * * Who the heck brings their kid into the county public health office with smallpox? First of all, it's extinct in the United States and the rest of the world (so far as we know) since the 1980s. Second of all, it's extremely contagious and would probably be spread to all the other lovely little tots waiting for their Measles, Mumps, and Rubeola vaccinations. And thirdly, if the child was positively identified with it and the government was alerted, they would probably just firebomb the entire building. * * * Digression over.
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stressed| eyuck | |||
| 02:49pm 18/07/2006 | |||
| Ran 3.35 miles. Am now crabby. | |||
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| I'm so clever | ||||
| 12:32am 18/07/2006 | ||||
I hate books where the foreshadowing is so evident that you can hear blood spurting from the pages held in your right hand (those you haven't reached yet.) |
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contemplative| the library; the artist | |||
| 12:18am 18/07/2006 | |||
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I have been---while pathetic---not an entirely useless lump of lard this last week. I have now finished a lovely watercolor of a gobliny piper person. I have watched the movie Must Love Dogs (which was probably not worth the hour and a half that it took, but oh well.) I have read five books, the most notable of which were Every Boy's Got One by Meg Cabot and Lullaby Town by Robert Crais. (I'm not much of a mystery person. Really. I just like Robert Crais. And Elvis Cole. Hubba---he's in a book, so he has no face, but he has a sense of humor, which forgives most faults.) Somehow I don't think I'm going to get the blogger job. Tomorrow:
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| Read 2 - Post | |||
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douedgareld |
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