teh cock
yes, there are pictures. just not in my possesion yet.. and they betta BE in ma posession sometime soon and not VANISH like the deepthroat pics!! BAH!!

So, just got back from a mini-party. Few drinks, way the hell too much food, candy, bad movies, punkin carving and much lasciviousness. And the worst part is that, as usual, I started it. I'm like resident pervert of my friends. I innocently suggest carving a cock in my punkin and all hell breaks loose. Soon, we have a cock punkin, a doggie style punkin, a porn punkin, some boobs that look like cartman, a llama, and cartman. Whack. Then I carved a pentagram for good luck and I put it on my front porch. I figured the neighbors couldn't handle teh cock but they might be able to tolerate a pentagram.

I hope no one smashes it since I just made it and if they do then I automatically get their souls ya.

Ummmm

So Tara, Rachel and I did blowjob shots off our respective boyfriends and once again there are incriminating pictures of ME. Looking like a pr0n meister. Which, it has been determined, I am. It must be the Clinton magic.

Wow, so ya. Um... I'm really tired, not drunk at all, and I do know how to spell pumpkin. I'm burnt out, have had a perpetual headache all day, and have to study for a Japanese midterm (it's 11:15). Soooo all things considered I didn't have THAT much fun b/c I'm so burnt out. Alas. We shall see how the weekend evolves.

Mata ne.

Masks
Just doing my part to piss off the religious right!

I spent the day dressed up in paleopagan garb. This afternoon, in a spur-of-the-moment spendy ($17) decision I went to the Democratic rally with Murray and Gwynne... my big FUCK YOU to conservatives. I shook the hand of former stud-president Bill Clinton. The poor man, he looks so old and run down-- but what an excellent speaker! Bradybury was funny... is funny... he's just sp BIG and GOOFY. Oh, and when Kulingowsky saw Murray and I, whom he met on Tuesday, he said "hi guys!"

So I'm immersed in political liberalism and dressed like a heathen. Go me! Tonight when I'm done killing babies, maybe Satan will have sex with me. Har har. (Stupid Christians)

Today was rather interesting being dressed in garb. Brr. Today was wonderfully, magnificently cold. A beautiful, brisk fall day... just like Michigan. All you wussy Oregonians, this is what you're missing!!! Too bad I wasn't dressed for it either.

I swear, there's something magical about dressing up. I recieved so many complements on my costume and general appearance-- flattering things that people wouldn't normally say. I wonder what it is about being in garb that makes me beautiful. It just fits, y'know?

It kind of saddens me that today's really the only "acceptable" day of the year for me to wear this outfit (wearing a shirt underneath cos it's so friggin COLD) and not get strange looks. One woman at the rally practically ACCOSTED me and told me I should model and that I was an "inspiration." Christ, lady, I'm flattered but what is that supposed to MEAN? Scary.

Aside from being one of very few students in costume and meeting Clinton, the day was otherwise normal. My philosophy class further asserted that it was badass as we spent a good ten or so minutes debating Lord of the Rings. Prior to that, my prof made an excellent and creepy point about religious misconceptions:

How many of you educated people out there could have a conversation of more than three minutes on Islam or Muslim beliefs with your current knowledge? How many of you could educate someone about a religion that holds over a third of the worlds' belief? How many of you were taught the history of Islam in your history classes?

Imagine, then, going to an Islamic country and hearing every day on the radio about the "threat" of Christianity and the "politicization" of Christianity. Imagine living in a country infused with fear and hate toward Christianity but where no one knew who Christ was or what he stood for.

Seem screwed up? Change Christ to Muhammed and Christianity to Islam and you have America. We're militant, ignorant, and claiming to be civilized and educated.

Fuck. I never thought of it that way.

EVERYONE REMEMBER TO VOTE!!!



It's strange, I've been seeing a lot of signs lately. I wonder what-- if anything-- they all mean. On the ride home last week I saw three black birds and one albino on top of a light post. The white bird seemed enveloped in light. The other day along the same stretch I passed a black cat with yellow eyes sitting in a clearing among the bushes just looking at me. When I turned around to talk to the cat, he was gone.

Hmmm....

Superstitions, YEA!

Trick or Treat!
Happy Samhain!
Or hallow'een or All Hallows or whatever you want to call it.

Party hearty and be sure to take a moment to ponder your own mortality as we enter this the darkest days of the year.

And whatever you do, look out for fundamentalist bullshit.

But for your sarcastic enjoyment, please read some of these lovely fundamentalist tracts by Jack Chick.:

-BOO!
-Happy Halloween! (yeah right)
-The Trick (oh jeez, this one is the worst of all. It reminds me of all the crap my grandma sends me warning against paganism. If only she knew... I find it impossible that people are actually ignorant enough to believe that witches have anything to do with satan. What saddens me more is to think that they know that pagans AREN'T about satan and are only trying to convince others of lies.)
-The Nervous Witch (this one bashes Harry Potter!! ACK!)

Wow, what a crock... I'm sad to see such naive people suffer in fear of a day meant to honor the dead and keep back the spirits-- not invite them into our homes.

Blessed be.

selling myself
Whee-haw! I made $35 for 20 minutes of my time and a few photos taken at Sears tonight.

musings of a future world-traveller
I'm going abroad next year. That's it, I'm just doing it.

I've been saying I'll go for a term but I want to go for the whole year. I know if I go for one term that it won't be enough. I'll simply regret coming home without the full language experience and having seen only half the places I want to go.

The program I'm looking at is Waseda University in the heart of Tokyo. It runs Fall semester (Sept 18- Feb 7) and Spring Semester (April 3- June 30th). There's also the option of fall term (Sept 18-Dec 20) but all people I've heard speak of the program say it's too short.

I'm so excited I can't stand it!! ... and I'm scared beyond belief. If I go away for a year, everything will have changed when I come back.Most of my friends will have graduated and will be moving on to new lives. But what about my relationship? Where would I put my STUFF? Would all the people I know now be GONE? So much will have changed and I'll be a different person when I come back. Will I have the same desires? Will I seek out the same people? Will my life be on a different level than everyone I know?

Eh, I know my life will change but the failures and lonliness are probably irrational fears. I can endure distance relationships. I have forever. I have made friends who I will keep with me always. And when I go, I will meet more friends for life and have an experience worth the discomfort of living in a completely alien culture.

My major concerns aren't all psychological. Many are practical and monetary. Simply, If I'm away for a year I'll be stuck at the UO another year longer to complete my journalism major and the honors college. Is it worth the sacrifice? It would bump japanese up to major status giving me a dual major. I just don't know if I could deal with the extra debt accrued from spending another year in school. It costs SO much for me to be here and I refuse to look at it whenever possible. Thankfully, study abroad tuition is *cheaper* for out-of-state students than it is for Oregon residents. Ha!

I think what it comes down to is that I'll consider spending a whole year abroad IF I can get adequate scholarship funding for my trip. I know once I'm there I'm sure to be contracted for colloquial english instruction or modeling, both jobs that demand little time and pay well. I've also been told that the program is language/culture intensive but academically laid back. What I wouldn't do for a travel experience AND a lightened workload! Huzzah! Going abroad to study is too extraordinary a chance to pass up.

I feel like a giddy schoolgirl. It sounds like SO MUCH FUN!!! And I'm so scared... so scared. But it's curious, I'm surprised by how appealing spending a YEAR in another country sounds- and I'm surprised by how reluctant I am to leave the place I've begun to call home.

In any case, the application for the program isn't due until February and, with luck, I should have time to negotiate financial aid and the length of my stay.

*deep breath* I'm going guys, I'm comitting to this and I'm going. Wish me luck.

grunt.
My boyfriend is currently ill.

It's strange because it's the first time he's been sick since I've known him and I feel horrible because I think I gave it to him. Granted, it's not nearly as awful as the time Alex gave my whole family some version of the Black Plague, but it's still annoying. It must have been the stress... of going to class, of being unemployed, of having an awful, self-involved girlfriend. (<= that's me)

I'm sympathetic. I know how terrible it is to be sick after being the "healthy one" for so long. And he hasn't asked for a pity party. A good thing, because I'm too busy to throw him one. I really want to spend time fawning over him, but I haven't any time to dedicate to simple self-maintenance for the moment being.

I haven't even really been getting that much sleep lately. Which brings me to the point of the entry. Since he's been ill, Justin has started doing this THING... this sleeping THING.... that might make my head explode.

Every night, he wanders off to bed some twenty or thirty minutes (or an hour) before I can even begin to think about finishing my homework. It takes him a while to get to sleep most nights, so this often equates to me getting in bed and us falling asleep at about the same time. Since he's been sick, though, he's been zonking out rather quickly.

And that's when it starts. It's a peculiar groaning, a low, almost sympathy-enducing noise. It's endearing in the sort of way that sleeping puppy-grumbles are. But he does it on every exhale. Like a snore, or sleep apnea, except that his breath is just vocally pushed out. So I calm him and poke him and tell him it's ok (since it really is a pathetic, painful noise) but he seems to be at peace, asleep, and not in any pain. Eventually, I give up, roll over, and attempt to sleep. I'm lucky-- I usually succeed.

But it's so weird. He's been groaning for the last week almost, every night like clockwork. He stops, eventually, probably when he goes into REM sleep. But he does it for a while, stopping and starting but mostly a constant inhale....groooooooaaanningexhale.... inhale....

I think it's his body's way of saying "piiiity meeeee." I feel terrible, listening to him cough wrackingly in the evenings, not quite ill enough to see a doctor but not well enough to be getting better, either.

*shakes head* The whole sick boyfriend thing is freaking me out. It's just not natural, I tell you! I must exorcise the demon aliens from Justin's body before they actually start speaking while I'm falling asleep or (god forbid!!) evolve into a SNORE.

a model citizen
I reserve the right to brag
There's been a lot of bantering back and forth between friends about body image lately. And I've been hearing the word model a lot.

Friday, at the Gerlinger dance, I crooned jokingly to Murray, "but am I pretty?" and he replied, with a stern amount of pointed sincerity, "Kat, you look like a supermodel." I do? Hm. Maybe in a way. But I don't like the association with that word. I makes me think stavation of the body and mind. It doesn't make me think beautiful or sexy.

Then, last night when I was standing quite naked in front of the mirror and ogling myself (as I do on occasion, happy to be thrilled with my figure), Justin asked me why I don't consider modeling as a means of cash rather than what I do now. Hmm... because I think it would drive me insane?

Actually, aside from loathing the stereotype, I picture modeling as too large an investment. It's not something that one just DOES. To be a professional, there's modeling school, certification, and portfolio building, all things that take time and money. LOTS of money. It's an investment. Granted, it pays back QUICKLY with success, dollars to the minute. But who has time for an investment like that?

But today, one of my "gym guys", the regional manager of a bank, asked me to do some catalogue modeling for their company merchandise. Uhh... what? You want ME to be all perky and smiley and wear sunglasses and hats with your logo on them?

Fuck yeah, for fifty dollars an hour I'll do that!!

This isn't another Cherrypepper incident and it has no reason to make Justin or I leery. They do the shooting at SEARS for gawd's sake. What can happen at Sears, will the cameraman molest me with a ducky?

"Smile!!"

"Aaaah! Nooo! Get it away!!"

Despite this, I am leery. Said gym guy is very friendly insists on being so despite the fact that he knows I'm practically engaged. Still, I believe him when he says he's regional manager of a bank. I've seen sample merchandise pictures (and they are dorky sears pics) and his business card. Hum. Seems legit. I'll do it, even though I feel unphotogenic and even though it's another commitment. Time is money and money... well, it pays.

I'm feeling sort of ungainly thin having dropped almost ten pounds since going to glacier.

But I'm hard-body and both healthy and fit. Despite initial gawkiness, my opinion of my current shape is that it's better than it's ever been. I'm happy with myself. I love who I am inside and out. I have ever since I began to become an endorphin addict. I love the thrill of doing something good for myself and being rewarded by it.

Still, I would love myself heavier or (god forbid) lighter than I am now. My metabolism is strong and I eat often and enough. In fact, every day I've been whistling through three full meals, snacks, and dessert and scrounging for more. Maybe the stress makes me a machine in more ways than one. Maybe the tension hardens me enough that my thrice-weekly workouts actually have effect. Maybe, but I don't know.

I don't fluxuate easily. I stick at one weight for a long time until, suddenly, there is a change to another plateau. This last one disturbed me in its immediacy. Over the course of a week, my clothes didn't fit right and I was ravenous all the time. I guess it makes sense, though, at that time I was both climbing mountains daily and making a change in my hormone regimen that I'm sure had something to do with it.

Anyway, I was bitching earlier this summer because I wanted to see if I could achieve the "media" body. I like being able to mold myself. I like my body to be malleable. I like being able to decide what face I want to show to the world. So I did it and I guess I'm surprised. Shit, I almost have a six-pack. A six-pack, ME??? Uh, I'm the unattaractive one, remember? The one kids laughed at in high school. The one who wore clothes at the upper end of the women's sizes. Now a size six, in and of itself an impossible achievement, hangs off me. It's obscene, almost.

Alex says I'm too thin. I believe him because he told me when he was drunk. Granted, I don't let other people's opinons get the better of me but strangely, I almost agree. I like fitting into my clothes. I like it when my breasts are full and my hips are round. Being small makes me feel sexy but also androgynous, empowered and frustrated.

I'm not a compulsive excersizer. I'm not anorexic. I am a bit of a health-nut and a control freak. Not working out makes me ancy and bitchy but it's more because I need my "fix" than anything else. And I like showing off, I really do. I like feeling good about myself. I don't like bragging or being fawned over, it embarrases me. But I can take a compliment.

And a fifty-dollar an hour compliment seems worthwhile to me!

night.
my world is night.

dark at three, up before dawn, every waking hour spent inside away from the sun.

the rains began today. if they scarce cease for the next six months i will not be surprised.

i am one obligation after another.

i am tucked inside the smallest corner of myself and have left only room for assignments.

i am a machine.

how quaint, to think that making time for friends could cure me. how strange that it only seems to have taken up the remains of the day.

i will cease to sleep or cease to function. there is simply not enough time for what needs to be done.

i am black. with daylight savings time, the blackness has begun.

i am not an artist. i am not an individual.

goddess, please, someone save me from myself.

someone love me, feed me an emotion besides this awful, consuming, hateful thing.

someone turn me inside out. someone fuck me, hold me, give me anything to cling to.

my life is an endless chore. i want to end it, change it now.

before there is nothing left.

just for the record
This is a private post.

Jellies!!
A long day today. A long drive... for a long walk.

I took Alex to Florence to see the Oregon coast. I can't believe he's never been to the coast out here before. We've only lived here, what, two and a half years??

We walked from the Karl G. Washburn memorial roadside up to the Heceta recreational area. The weather goddess treated us to a nice surprise and gave us bright sun with some rather pretty mist. She blocked out the end of the sunset, though, the sadistic bitch.

We talked for a long time, the most congenial things have ever been, in fact. I think we're both surprised and satusfied to find we can finally be friends without pain and guilt clouding the way. It's funny how a bit of honesty and mutual apreciation can clear a nasty case of denial right up. I think we have a lot to be proud of after the shit we've been though. Just goes to show you that hard work pays off, listening can teach a lot, and trust comes with time.

I learned something today, guys...
it's that hollow rotting sticks do not make good swords and that jellyfish are stupid, stupid animals and trying to save them is a pointless exercise. Oh, and that I can drive stick without stalling and while paying attention to other things. Neener neener.


I told Alex I'd quote him on this because it sounds so terribly cynical out of context:

"If I were religious, I'd just kill myself."

When the day comes, you do that, hon. At least you'll know you're going somewhere. I'm sticking around here for a while. I've got a ways further to walk.

XOXOXOX ==> Away to bed, whee! Too tired for doodling around. (*chuckle*)

.:Ringo:.
OMFG....

The Apple switch ads have infilatrated Japan!!! They will assimilate us with their kawaii demeanor and their sugoi technology.

F33R!! F33R!!!!!!!!

I'm such a reject
Last night after I came out of the OV meeting, I ran in to Ty and Alicia on their way to a film series about Tibet. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Hey guys.
Alicia: Hey Kat. What's up?
Ty: I heard you had a pretty interesting party.
Me: Um... *toe, toe* (searching for an appropriate response) Yeah... yeah I did.
Ty: Yeah, I been meaning to ask you about that.
Me: Oh? *pointedly silent* (wondering what he knows and from whom he heard it, fearing the worse which is... what? that my reputation will be tarnished? oh, wait, I don't care about that. fearing... that somehow he'll invariably hate me for being in any way involved with his ex... I change the subject)
Me: So where are you guys going anyway?
Ty: To see some slides on Tibet.
Me: Oh, Cool. Tibet r0xx0rs.
Alicia: It what? What did you just say?
Me: Tibet? It r0xx0rs?
Alicia: What is that?
Me: Oh... (oh dear. god forbid I've been caught speaking l33t to a n00b.) r0xx0rs... it's like... geek for cool. (god that sounded dumb)
Alicia: How do you SPELL that?
Me: (oh god) Um... r... zero ... x...x... zero... r... s.... It's L33T, like geek speak that makes words with numbers in it. (how the hell do you justify L33T when you think it's stupid yourself?)
Ty: L33T?
Me: You've never heard of it.
Them: No.
Me: I'm such a reject.


Way to make me feel like an absolute NERD. I can't believe I'm actually speaking l33t in public.

OMGZ <3 <3 <3 <333333 (note the blatant sarcasm) Justin and I are going ballroom dancing tonight. YAY! And he said on Wednesday that he actually likes a dance. Which means he likes dancing! Whee! We've also got a party invite afterwards and Gwynne wants to hang out. : )

My sense of sight has not yet returned-- I can feel it coming--- but my speech has come back and given me, as usual, a rather unsavory case of diarrhea of the mouth.

Welcome to my blog, Flatulence.

blondes have more fun...
This morning I was drying my hair in front of the bathroom mirror and caught a glimpse of the hair that's usually hidden at the nape of my neck.

holy moses, I'm a brunette!!

The footsteps of clouds

of academia and senses
OR
why I love to write but have learned to hate it...

I think I'll have some free time this weekend to pay attention to myself and to the people I've been neglecting in my life. Unfortunately, that's pretty much everyone and I don't have THAT much time in my schedule. I'm jealous of my friends, that they can still remain friends during the term. That they have time to support each other and be something meaningful. I'm envious of people with personal bonds. All I have time to do is contemplate and be fearful that when I find myself free, I will be alone.

Yesterday, for the first time in my life I had the irrational fear that my boyfriend will leave me. That I will be too cold or too clingy or too allof and he will get sick of me and leave. I've never felt this before. I've always been in control, independent, strong. I've been the leaver, never the leavee. Of course he loves me and he isn't going to leave me. I don't know why I thought this awful, painful thing and dwelled on it but I did, I went home and clung to him before I buried myself, again, in my work.

Sighs. Despite my approaching "free time," I have to write a pleasant, seven-page paper for Philosophy. PLEASANT?? And seven pages??

Good god, what could she be talking about??

My friends, meet Cheney Ryan, my Philosophy professor. It's a discussion class and so we discuss. We also have three papers, two of this length with an open-ended question provided and a longer, final paper. This is the paper of my dreams right now. Why? Because I get to talk about the philosophy of others on social morality and individual identity while relating it to what kind of person I believe I should become. According to Cheney, more than half the paper is personal opinion and evaluation. Hell, I was going to write a blog entry that IS this paper. It's already written itself! Oh, except I was going to use quotations and page references (because that's what academia has conditioned us to do) but Cheney HATES Quotations. I shall quote him, using irony as a literary device as my high school literature teacher taught me.

"I don't like all this scholarly apparatus," he says, "I think it takes away from thinking about the ideas for yourself." RIGHT ON!!! Let's dedicate some time to just free-writing our interpretation, our opinions and being INTROSPECTIVE for god's sake. Isn't that what learning's about??? When the hell did college turn from accumulation of knowledge and a passion for discovery into this VOCATIONAL TRAINING BEUROCRACY that it is now?? Let's be REAL here! I WANT some time to ACTUALLY learn!

I want to write, openly, like I do here... even in my classes. I want to have time to write fully and well and still have a life. The problem with writing is that it takes so much TIME (she says as she sits blogging instead of completing her homework). Unlike calculus homework, writing can always be revised, improved, changed, molded... forever. It is the supreme amalgamation of endless possibilities. (I must like the word amalgamation, I've used it twice in the last few days) Writing like here in the blog is just SO open and SO free... so much writing-by-association that it can just go on forever. Professional writing is beset by its own dilemmas. First, one must choose a topic. Then, one must refine the topic and decide what angle to have, what voice to use. There are indefinite choices. And one started, the question is... have I made the right choice? The simple addition or replacement of a word, phrase, paragraph and change (improve, devalue) the entire nature of a work. Writing is NEVER FINISHED. And so when I sit for hours in front of the computer looking at my articles and feeling sorry for myself, I am not at fault. I am not a slacker. I am stuck in the hallway of possibility... inspired but afraid to take the wrong direction. I hate it, spending all evening on one thing, trying to make it perfect and never coming close... finally giving up in frustration and stomping to bed. I hate it and I love it. Keep your calculus homework. The word is for me.

It pains me that I love to write and school is teaching me to hate it.

For the last few weeks I've been stifled by this very academia into being spiritually deaf and mute. It came on me suddenly and unexpectedly and I still don't know how. My senses have been broadcasting at the lowest frequency for survival but not recieving. Part of this stems from my perpetual illness, a horrible stress-induced cold I've been carrying around since the first Friday of the term. I'm almost recovered now and the alertness is contributing greatly to my spiritual regeneration.

The other day, I realized I'd lost my sense of smell only when I regained it. Yesterday, with a sudden upsurge of libido, I realized I'd found my sense of touch, too. And today, coming out of the woods by the Willamette and onto the foot bridge, I regained my hearing.

It was quiet but not a hollow, stifled silence-- A quiet that was crisp and clean. Natural. I was hearing the forest. The trees breathed, the earth shifted. Then I heard the soft, whirring rotation of my bicycle tires, spoke after spoke, rubber treads on pavement. Another biker flashed by, the whoosh of air, the exhale of breath. Cresting out of the woods, I heard the river. Not the soft rush of water I usually ignore but the trickles and gurgles and whorls and eddys all running together into one gigantic outpouring. In the distance, a train. Further out and up, the movement of air in the atmosphere, the footsteps of clouds. Above it all, my breath, the whispered inhale-exhale of life!!

And tomorrow, when my sight returns, I shall speak only in adjectives.
GREEN, GREEN, GREEN!!!

(NOTE: see scuba entry below for complete dive stories... oooooohhhh fun fun fun)

Diver Down
completed 10/24/02
ALLLLLL RIGHTY THEN!!

Let's talk about diving. Sorry this is such a long post, I'm trying to get it all down for posterity.


As you know, pics are posted and will be integrated partially into the entry.

Past weekend, Justin and I journeyed to Hoodsport, Washington to complete our Advanced SCUBA certification. Hoodsport is about five hours pretty much straight north of here along the Hood canal. We stayed at Mike's Beach Resort, which, despite the name, was less of a resort and more of a motel with student dorms. And for those of you who may have heard of it, it is the one with the Giant Octopus.

We stayed in bunks built into the wall in a large room with a living area and communal kitchen. I'm glad we were only there for a few days because we forgot to bring a few neccesities. Had I not had my head on straight, we would have been short blankets but as was, we decided to drive instead of ride in the van and went back to our apartment to retrieve blankets and unfortulately forgot towels. I abstain from responsibility given that I never actually ATTENDED class and left it up to Justin, my sub, to find out what we needed to bring with. Hell, I play little housewife most of the day but I can't think of everything. When diving, one needs a towel to wipe salt water and mook off of oneself and we made due with a bedsheet that we called, all weekend long, "Fake Towel."

We got up on Saturday at seven in the morning, a real treat after being up till one the night before. UGH. We were briefed on the dives we were to complete that day: the Search and Recovery dive and the Navigation dive. Both were dives with simple tasks to complete and, unlike in the Basic Open Water class, we were not required to have an instructor with us. I was excited to dive and try my new gear-- snorkel, mask, fins, and boots. I couldn't use my wetsuit because, given that it's a 3mm "temperate" suit, I would have died shortly after getting in the water. As was, we wore two 7mm layers and about thirty pounds of weights to keep us below the surface. Those weights, coupled with the tank weight, meant lifting a total of about seventy-five pounds when standing and getting into the water. Despite this, if only a few pounds UNDERWEIGHT, it was really easy to fly to to surface. Diving may be a recreational and leisure activity but NORTHWEST diving is not for the weak, the sqeamish, or the underinsulated.

Let me just say something about diving in the Pacific Northwest. It is FUCKING COLD. The water during these dives was in the low fifties and during our Deep Dive it reached the thirties at a depth of ninety feet. Northwest Diving, being the only diving I've ever experienced, is certainly not representative of all diving. At least, I hope not, because it fucking SUCKS. I don't hate it. In fact, I love it the same way I love hauling my ass up a mountain but it is very difficult and not very scenic.The difficulty stems from poor visibility (i.e. not being able to see more than five feet in front of your face) and low temperatures.

I was given the pink wetsuit again, much to my dismay. I think it's a joke because I HATE pink, but the guys at the shop insist it's the only one they have in my size.Pssh.

Despite this fact, the wetsuit is actually a few inches too short for MY boots but not the boots that the dive shop supplies. This time I was stuck with my boots and it proved difficult to function.

On the first dive we had to descend and operate a lift bag to levitate a bucket of cement over the bottom, take it 15 feet over and bring it to the surface. Let me just say that lift bags are a pain in the ass. I think I killed more bottom life that day with the bucket-o-rocks than I have my whole life over. Damn buoyancy control.

I, myself, seemed to have no problem with buoyancy on the first dive... which is good cos when buoyancy goes all wacky, the dive is pretty much shot. It's hard to swim around when you're floating or sinking all over the place. But after a few minutes of diving, I knew we'd have a problem. The wetsuit was gapping between the top of my boots and the bottom of the john. And because there was nothing holding up my boots, the zippers were coming undone so they repeatedly flushed with COLD COLD water. I was losing heat through my feet. Despite this, I decided to grin and bear it while we completed the dive. After a while, I found it hard to concentrate. A few minutes later, I was in pain and we had to get out. Standing, I realized my feet were numb and barely tingling and I was in severe emotional duress... my body was NOT happy. I managed to sit down, shaking, and have Justin pull off my boots. We'd been in the water half an hour and my feet were a blotchy whitish-red with light purple flecks. The edges of my toenails were bluish purple. Shit.

I felt nauseous but I couldn't move. I was too cold and in too much shock. I just sat there on the bench on the dock shivering while Justin brought me hot cider to drink, cup after cup. Eventually, one of the Divemasters, Don, a rather jovial and sarcastic guy came over and asked me what was wrong. Instead of laughing off my feet, he hauled me up and shoved me into a hot shower, wetsuit and all, filled my boots with hot water and shoved them back on my feet. That HURT.

After a little while, I started to feel human again but wasn't gung-ho about going back in the water. It had only been the first of five dives and my body was telling me that to go back in the water was a nightmare. I sat on the boat ramp nearly in tears. The first dive, all dive pairs had gone out sans instructor. We wanted to prove we could do it on our own... and now I was distraught and drained and I felt like I'd failed. Don volunteered to come with us on our next dive. I didn't object.

We waited for our air to be refilled, a process that took over an hour. Meanwhile, all the cider that Justin and I had been drinking had gladly accumulated in our bladders. That's the other thing about cold water diving, it makes you have to pee like a MOFO. So we had to waddle off to the restrooms and peel out of our wetsuits. I swear to god it took twenty minutes to pee and get suited again. We were grunting like old people the whole time.

After emptying my bladder, I felt much more open to approaching the water again. The second dive was the Underwater Navigation dive and we had to demonstrate our skill with a compass. No biggie. Don came with us and watched as we completed swimming in a square via counting kick-strokes and taking compass measurements. When I was on the last leg of my square, I stopped dead in the water and watched in awe as a school of tiny, silver fish hovered in front, over, and around me, standing in the current. I knew that everything was going to be OK and that I didn't hate diving after all. After we'd navigated, Don took us on a tour of the artificual reef (read: washing machines, refrigerators, tires, sunken boats, etc) near the dock... it proved useful later to know where this was.

We were out of the water until that night when we would begin our night dive. Another thing about diving: for a "leisure" sport, it is more physically exhausting than even hiking. Perhaps it's the water temp or breathing pressurized air but after a few half-hour dives, everyone was sleeping like bricks, draped all over the dorms. For dinner we ate sausage from Whole Foods in Portland and barbecued fresh oysters... drool... Nothing tastes better after diving than PROTEIN and FAT. I get so hungry I eat a day's worth of food in the evenings after dives and still have room for more.

(Continuations)
Hm, I've decided that I'll never chronical my dives unless I abbreviate them a bit and perhaps summarize... or rather annotate the dives instead of writing volumes on each one.

In any case, I continue...

That night, after everyone slept for a good few hours and stuffed ourselves silly, we regrouped and headed out into the gathering darkness. Actually, it's been getting dark around 7:30 so don't get the impression the dive was late at night or anything. We slapped our gear on, still wet from the morning dives and now excruciatingly COLD. But that's the good thing about 14mm of neoprene on your body, it will be cold putting it on but by the time you're done hiking all the pieces up your chub, you're burning hot again.

It was dark. The mist was rising over the canal and it was just Justin, Don the divemaster, and I. The water was cold but somehow not as cold as during the day. I'm often soothed by doing physical activity at night, there are so many less distractions to take away from focusing on the body. It was this way with the dive.

We witnessed what they call the "changing of the guard" where all the little day animals scurry to their dens and the night animals come out to hunt and feed. We dropped down and turned on our super-uber halogen lamps to be greeted by a sea of little glowing red eyes. The shrimp were out to feed. Don chased a little silver squid, which I never did see, and we almost immediately ran into an octopus slightly larger than both my hands put together... a little baby. As soon as we'd chased that octopus a bit, I found another, about the size of my thumbnail and scooped it up. Don says it's the smallest he's ever seen.

We swam down and looked at the shrimp grazing in the kelp beds. Don grabbed one from behind so has to avoid the spine on it's forehead and passed it to Justin and I. The shrimp are funny little creatures though really not as little as I thought... these were like MEGA PRAWNS, a healthy pink with kooky little eyes and stripes. Their shells are also a helluva lot harder than you'd think by seeing them in the stores. I was chuckling and pretending to eat the shrimp through my regulator when I passed it back to Don. Suddenly, the shrimp who was two seconds ago squirming in my hands was in two pieces and Don was slurping the twitching insides out of one of them. HE ATE IT. HE ATE THE DAMN SHRIMP UNDERWATER. Just broke it in half and... MMMM. Ok, I like sushi more than the next guy and I LOVE amaebi (raw sweet shrimp) but it was traumatic to pick up the poor shrimp's upper half and watch it still twitch while the insides slid into Don's belly. I almost cried. I think I'm going to become a vegetarian.

We swam further into the dark. It was beautiful to see everything just by the glow of our lamps. The colors were brighter, the water clearer and less threatening. The fish were out and schools swam over and under us, ugly Ling Cod peeked out from the artificial reef. We hunted for the giant octopus again but didn't find it.

I had some trouble with buoyancy, almost flying up to the surface and Don hauling me back down ten or so feet. When I'd settled at the bottom, we turned off our lights and witnessed one of the most seriously amazing things I've ever seen. Bioluminescence.

The water was dark but when we moved and where we moved, trails of light formed, little specks and glowing dots danced in currents when we moved our hands. I sped my fingers through the water in the glowing cold. Aside from looking cool, moving kept us warm. Justin threw chi balls at me under water and I could see sparkles running over the surface of my wetsuit. It was amazing.

We ran into a bit of a tangle on the way back. At the end of the dock there were several groups of divers and since many people had been through that way and kicked up the bottom, the visibility was poor. Struggling to get around the herd, I lost control of my buoyancy and divebombed the group then headed spastically for the surface. Oops. No one could tell who was who and my light was starting to go out. Luckily we got it all figured out and luckily it was time to go back in... I was out one halogen lamp and didn't want to run down my backup light.

Thank god for showers and hot tubs. After that, I crawled into Justin's bunk with him and slept like a rock.

The next morning it was up at 7 AM again for the Deep Dive and Underwater Naturalist Dive. Deep Dive is just that. Groups are paired with an instructor and go down to the tremendous depth of one hundred feet. Prior to this, we'd been to sixty feet max... most of us, not even that. The depth limit for recreational divers is 130 feet which really is further than it sounds.

We were nervous and excited both because it would be cold and dark down there and because water under such pressures can do funny things to the body and mind. Divers breathe pressurized air and at depth, the nitrogen in that air infuses the blood stream. In deep water this causes some people to become intoxicated or narked (nitrogen narcosis). Most people jokingly hoped they'd experience it. We've all been told stories of people who tried to give their regulators to fish or who thought they were a giant dinosaur because they were so narked. As it turns out, it's not so pleasant an experience for everyone.

We descended along a reference line, which is basically a float with a rope tied to it and secured to the bottom. There were six of us and I descended second to last. It took forever to descend. And, watching the depth increase and the air in my tank slowly decrease (but faster with depth) I realized what a tremendous strain deep diving puts on the body. A few times I had to stop to re-equalize my ears but most of the descent was steady. Down, down, down. I looked at the rope below me, unable to see the end; the only other visible sight the thousands of tiny bubbles rising from the exhales of the people below me.

Around eight feet, things started to get weird. I stopped to equalize my ears, rose a bit, and dropped back down. Eight-five feet. It was darker, colder. Ninety feet, it was even colder and dark as hell. I felt something below me. Startled, I thought I'd kicked a diver on the line. We weren't at the bottom yet, were we? I thought we were going to one-hundred feet? No, it wasn't a diver below me but a tire to which the rope was tied. I looked at my gauge. Ninety-two feet. It wasn't the bottom. I tried to go around the tire, to find the rope but couldn't. I was confused. Where were we? I kicked the tire and the divemaster above me descended and pointed to my left. There were the other divers.

But it I let go of the rope, I'll float away or fall! You want me to free swim over to them??? We were ninety-four feet under water and I was seriously narked.

She pointed again and I shook my head. Grabbing her hand, she led me over to a platform made of milk cartons that was lashed together on the ocean floor. I couldn't see anything and I could only focus on what was right in front of me. It was like being stoned but I was terrified. I thought I might float away and die, so I let all the air out of my BCD which only succeeded in crushing me to the bottom. I clung to the crates and looked at Justin. He was looking away.

In front of us the passed around a rubber ball, almost imploded from the pressure. Don showed us colored strips of neoprene, black in the darkness and pressed to the thinness of a dive skin. Then he cracked an egg and peeled off the shell. The raw egg floated whole in front of us, neutrally bouyant and surreal.

After a few moments, I reasserted my buoyancy and chased the egg with my hands, swirling the white over the yolk. I was greatly amused. I crushed the yolk between my palms. Every action seemed to take an eternity and took all my focus. I wanted to check my air but my gauge seemed so far away. It was getting colder and colder. I put my trust in the group.

After what seemed like forever, the divemasters signalled to the group to begin the ascent up the bottom contour. I watched Justin pull himself together and we slogged through our mutual narcosis until we reached eighty feet and our heads cleared. Later, he told me that he never wants to dive deep again. To him, the world spun and there was only a whirlpool of disorientation.

After another hour above water comparing stories of narcosis-- we were actually among two of the few who experienced it-- we were free to complete our last dive. Fortunately the premise of the dive was just to dick around and look at wildlife under water. We could stay down until our tanks were empty but were advised not to go below forty feet.

Justin and I searched for the giant octopus after several other groups told us they'd found it. Again, we looked and looked but found nothing. Thankfully, both the disorientation and buoyancy problems had dissipated and we used most of our air wandering about, chasing crabs and fish. So much for a passive interaction with the wildlife. Oh well, we decided we could make a fortune selling the dungeness crab we found wandering the bottom.

Only after we came back up did we realize we exceeded dive limits by fifteen feet making us in the risk area for decompression illness (another ailment caused by nitrogen in the blood). We played it safe and thankfully neither of us died. We are now both advanced divers and will, in all probability, be certified Rescue Divers before we go to Belize in December.

But we were DAMN tired and still had a five hour drive home. We stopped in Portland to eat dinner and didn't make it home till ten o'clock. So much food and so little energy made for one tired couple. I'm glad we can dive together. It makes it worth it. If I didn't have the option of certifying with someone I know, I don't think I could stand Pacific Northwest diving even if it is one of the most rewarding, challenging environments to dive in.


Some choice pics:
This is where we were diving
Divemaster Don
Morning sunshine
Look at that tight butt
Wearing all the dive gear makes one feel a bit like a human penis
OMGZ, I'm a pirate!!
Don't ask... I live this pic
You can be old and crusty and still dive. Look at all that gear!
Lion face, ARRRRR!!! Lemon face, ooooooo!!!

Stormy Waters
initially posted 10:50AM, updated 2:30PM
I feel much better today after an average night's sleep. It's funny, I have something really important to write about but I either can't find time or am not in the right mood. I'll probably lose it but such is the way of things. I really need to catch up blogging. I want to post at least a bit about the dives for posterity, I need to write my thoughts about my current life state, and I want to write up a few recent events so I'll be able to remember them later. Things are changing again.

I've been feeling the threads of insanity curling around my vision lately. It's a grey mist, a sort of static hanging outside the edges of my consciousness. When I'm particularly tired or worn thin it's been moving in closer threatening submersion or lightning. I'm not sure what it will bring when it hits.. it could be murky depression (not again! ugh.), it could be a fantastic breakdown with waterworks and self-violence, or it could be a lovely, disconnected psychotic episode after which I'm only capable of speaking in adjectives. I'm opting for that last one. What it FEELS like when it touches me is static, a jumble of words and images and emotions, all the things which I've capped and controlled in my life to be able to process Too Much Information. When the storm comes, the dam will break and the floodwaters will simultaneously wash away any remains of self while restoring and cleansing the rawest, most utterly naked an spiritual part of my soul. But when that part is raw and exposed... bad, "unacceptable" things happen. I'm not ready for a mental disorder. I've been staving it off with a flaming torch and today I feel better after a night of more subconscious romps through the fields of disturbingly OBVIOUS dreams. But, like I said, it's there... waiting... cresting...

breaking?

Oh well, it's another year and another circus of obligation. It's a GORGEOUS fall day outside and just standing out there makes me close to euphoric. The campus is alive with students and today we even had JESUS-MARKETERS on our very street corner. Ahh, I love the time of year when the zealots come out. I love listening to them spout their message and reveling in the fact that I am one of those they say is "living in rebellion and sin" and I love every minute of it. I am utterly content with my SELF and with the spirit of the world. I am cradled by the diety.

I was listening to them talk for a moment and I realized that I really LIKE it when they're there. I enjoy the energy that antagonistic sermon provides. In fact, I love Christianity and I respect them for believing so strongly in a cause. I admire that. I want to feel that passionate about something. Passionate enough to devote my life to it and ... maybe even make a fool of myself?

In case it isn't obvious, I'm pretty stretched thin right now. It's hard to do really WELL at anything when there's just SO much to do. I'm taking three demanding academic classes (Japanese, Reporting, Philosophy), Ballroom Dancing, and SCUBA (although that's negligible stress and more recreation). Somehow that's all compounded and I don't even know WHY because I usually take FOUR classes. On top of it all, I'm dedicating way too much of my SELF to producing a quality magazine and at least making sure that the business end of things doesn't fall through. Too bad everyone seems to be a MORON about it except me. Well, they do say if you want something done right, do it yourself-- I guess I need to give up on that idea. I'm also working 20 hours a week at the Math department but the time spent in the office (i'm often out running errands) is usually homework time. When I get home it's more business, more homework, then bed. No social interaction whatsoever except the occasional ICQ with Alex, for whose open mind and lended ear I am extremely grateful.

I'm so busy finding things I need to do that I'm unable to do what I LIKE to do well, which is communicate. The irony is that all my obligations demand this of me but I can't devote enough passion to any one of them to make it anything but horrifically boring or tedious. I'm too drained. But I still want to check out all the options. I want to know where I should GO with my skill. I want to try everything. I just don't want to end up in an office isolated from people and from the world... some place where I can't be heard or-- god forbid-- understood. But in doing all this I've accomplished just what I fear. I've spread out all my energy so much that I can't collect it back into myself and just be human. (I want to write more on this later)

Sometimes I feel like I ought to try to step away from myself when I write; that I focus too much on my trite little dilemmas... but right now, being able to devote five minutes to my true self (as opposed to the self I show the world-- the one currently eating up the REST of my time) is the most important thing in the world. I feel "self-centered" but not the way I want to. I want to live a life in which my soul, my self, is the center... but I want to devote my time to developing a perspective about understanding the perspectives of others. I want to write.

Hum.

In case it isn't obvious, I won't be doing NaNoWriMo this year because I don't even have time to contemplate the story of my OWN life. In a way, I wish this Blog were like Parlance and I could practice marvelous, endless fictions. But, I think when it comes down to it, what I write best is LIFE. I'd like to do more of it in poetry but the best I can seem to manage now is public outcry. For some reason it's all running out my ears today and into the Blog. In a way, Blog maintenance is like self-maintenance. This is where I keep a precious little part of my brain.

Diver Down
2nd entry of the day
I've uploaded the diving pictures to the picture directory.

Cowards, all of ye!
I have a lot on my mind today, prepare for multiple posts
At the end of the day today, one of my favorite webjournalists is locking her diary. It was too brutally honest, she says. She hurt people, she says.

I don't know if I buy this backing down that she insists is respectful. Respectful to whom? To the people who couldn't handle honest opinions? Respectful to an open self which is now acquiescing and hiding with the fear that other people can't stand what is said?

Ok, if you're actually being mentally honest and someone can't handle it, I say blow them. However, I do completely agree that writing in anger and in spite (Especially gossiping) for all to see is unacceptable. If you're venting, make sure it's know you're venting. But backing down and covering up an honest emotional expression is crap. Most people never even get that far. Most people write tripe (some of it is at least intelligible). Most people apologize for existing and go back to their humble lives no further enriched from their interaction with the world, with the WORD.

DO YOU HEAR WHAT I AM SAYING?

I am saying that it PISSES me off to hear someone that actually said something that took courage and introspection back down from their voice. Granted, this person may continue to have a voice, as she says, in private but to hear someone retract their voice from the outcry at all still saddens me. No one says anything any more. We're all too afraid to upset the great social calamity that is life.

This is a person I've read and respected for being so honest. Who I could relate to in more ways than one just because she kept an open word. Our lives should be an open book. And now, she says...

"If a magical genie offered me one wish right now, it would be that I could take back all the harm I have caused. Of course I can�t do that. I don�t know whether amends can be made. I truly hope they can. But I have certainly made apologies in the past, have been forgiven, and have fucked up yet again anyway. This time though, I am learning my lesson. The one positive thing this situation has taught me is that I must learn to think about how my behavior might affect others. That I am not just responsible to myself, but to people I care about and I have a responsibility to their trust in me. That is far more important than my own flight of fancy being �honest in the moment.�

"The moment is never really honest anyway. The moment is not the whole picture of things. Not at all. It is fine to be honest with yourself in the moment, to write down in your own paper journal how you are feeling. But I have discovered how wrong it is to say such things publicly. I wish to God I could take it all back. I am appalled and astounded at my own lack of judgement. And I sincerely hope that anyone who reads this is as well. I really really hope that everyone understands exactly how immoral and unfair some of the things I have written here are.

"The way I have behaved is abusive. And cruel. And there is no excuse for it. And for the rest of my life I will have to live with the knowledge that I did something absolutely terrible. And I am sure karma will give me my just desserts."

Fuck this. I want to be honest. I want to hurt and be hurt but more than anything. I want to be REAL.

No one can make me REAL but myself.

Will karma give you your just desserts for speaking out, for being who you wanted to be, for taking a moment to be heard? No. The people who were hurt or offended by your true feelings will take that moment into themselves... perhaps it will change the nature of your relationship but it is up to THEM to cope. If lying or withholding is the only way to keep yourself happy, so be it.

I want an honest voice but I, too, am afraid. We are cowards, all of us, looking for a soulmate in the darkness, too afriad to ask, too afraid to listen. Too afraid to be hurt.

Pain isn't good, especially emotional pain. But it's real. It's better than living in denial.

But this online journal phenomenon is outstandingly confusing. I don't want to be anonymous, I want to be my true self to the people I know and the people I don't know. But I do value the friendships I have over the trite fantasies and amalgamations in my head. I would never publish a private conversation or record a spiteful thought about someone unless that even became so monumentous it was an intgral part of my existence. How do you avoid hurting someone while still remaining true to yourself? It seems simple enough not to gossip but it's also too simple to lie and talk around in circles... I know this already.

I guess that's why I do like locked posts, a sort of neccesary evil. Locked journals I feel are redundant. Keep a paper journal, don't tempt us. And never apologize for your words. Apologize for your hurt but don't revoke your voice.

I guess what I'm trying to say is please those of you who have a voice, never give it up, never censor it. And those of you who are struggling for a voice, speak louder... some of us do want to listen. Some of us do want to understand.

Sigh.

I don't want to end up in that same place, I really don't. I don't want to feel I have to retract my words. (Apologies and forgiveness are another thing entirely; they are wonderful) My voice is here to be heard. Take me or leave me. Love me or hate me. I don't care.

I am. I breathe. I speak.

Hurt me, I dare you. And if I hurt you, I'm sorry, I speak what I feel.


(call me an insensitive bastard, whatever, it's been a long couple of weeks and I'm just craving a fight, a connection, intellectual discourse.. intercourse... anything. And fuck my brain, it's giving me crack dreams again. UGH. Stupid subconscious.)

Smell
I love the smell of industry, of asphalt and gasoline.

But I also love the smell of nature; of leaves and earth and living things.

I don't believe the two can coexist.

I guess that's the True Libra in me, favoring the two extremes. Hmm.

Running the Gamut
Justin and I just got back from our advanced dive certification in Hoodsport, Washington. Lord Jeebus am I tired and slightly sore. For a relatively low-imapct sport, diving sure is extremely exhausting.

It was a satisfying weekend and I'll write more on the dives later. Mostly, I just want to note that it was so nice to get away from the stress of the apartment, classes, work, and all that.

I can't believe how much I've committed myself to this term. Between work, class, and the Voice (not to mention working out, housework, and diving... and excludign all "recreational" activities) I forget how to be a person.

While we were driving this weekend, sometime in the middle of the 5 hour span to Hoodsport as we passed through Portland, I realized that I am actually a human being and not a machine. Honestly, it's a shame because I treat myself like a machine.

As we drove through Portland, it was like a curtain lifted from my soul and I was, for a moment, myself again. I love driving... it's a time when I truly cannot multitask, when I cannot be doing anything else or making excuses about my obligations. It's a time to JUST BE.

We passed into Portland to get dinner and my soul lifted into flight. I LOVE that city. Somehow, even more than Seattle, where I have lived, I belong to Portland and it belongs to me. I am a part of it. I expecially love the Northwest district up by Urban Outfitters and Pottery Barn. There's something about that place that's so kitchy but so ALIVE.

Being there for just that moment rekindled my glamour, rebalanced my ying, refilled my chi.

And the dives were excellent... I think I may have to take Rescue Diver the rest of this term. I must be insane.

Now to bed with unfinished homework and the lingering question: why has Chase again given away our parking spot for the second time in as many months that we've been away more than overnight? Blar...

facelift
a slight one. so far. what do you think?

What lies Beneath
At 7:45 this morning, I turned over, shut off the alarm, and went back to sleep.

I dreamed.

Again, it was a dream of happy, loving, childlike innocence. It's rare for me to feel guilt in my dreams. But often, the things I do in my dreams, though they are done with immense happiness and genuine joy, are not actions acceptible in the scope of my normal social life. My mind defies boundaries.

In the dream, I laid down and went to sleep. Simple, restful sleep. I was not alone.

I became gradually aware of this and, when I opened my eyes, I was in my own bed with my own mate, content, warm, and loved.

It was 8:09.

I always wake up like this, about fifteen minutes after the alarm goes off. I always turn it off and sleep again for a little while longer. But this morning I woke content, a little later than usual but with no hurry.

What is this feeling? Could it be? A good mood???

Now, three hours later I'm a bit tired, a bit worn thin, but the feeling lingers. The catharsis last night was cleansing.

Granted, I do feel horribly guilty for sending my grandmother that email. But It seems diplomatic enough to me... I hope. But what will be will be. And I'm proud I'm assertive enough to stand up for my wounded psyche.

This weekend will be interesting. As of four PM today, I'm off to Hoodsport, Washington to get my advanced diving certification. I won't be near a computer or posting until late Sunday or Monday morning. I shall return!!

The vicious cycle--
Beware the RANT

At least I know it's not the hormones this time. It's the stress and the feeling that whatever I do, it's not good enough. When you have THIS much on your plate, you can either stop doing some things (and thus fail miserably at them) or do everything half-assed forgetting both how to be a reliable source and a well-rounded person. I have no time for myself but everything I do is selfish. I do everything for other people but have no time for the people I care for.

This life is hell.

Have you ever spent a good long hour contemplating suicide?

I don't suggest it.

It sucks.
*****************************

(First, a note: I aplogize that this is so long but take it for what it is, an emotion-laced rant to the diary. I needed to vent, I got it out unproductively here and then productively in a response (also printed at the bottom). I hope the length isn't too unbearable)

Amid the smattering of random, eclectic birthday gifts and cards from family (of course no one asks what I want and so I get things like.. socks and... salad dressing... not that I'm not grateful anyway) there's a letter from my grandparents. These are the grandparents that I LIKE, who are well traveled and pretty liberal. At the bottom, after the general "happy birthdays" and life updates in response to a letter I wrote them-- get this-- two months ago, there was a rather spiteful paragraph directed at ME. WHO I AM. I'd like to share it with you. It reads:

"I'm really sorry you couldn't take time to tal to him (my grandfather). He was quite disappointed and hurt by your lack of interest, particularly since you have always been the light of his life as a granddaughter, (the first born, and all that), and since you evinced an interest in journalism. I think that if you really want to pursue this as a career, it would be well to develop a method of interviewing people, even if it is difficult. You might not know what you are missing if you can't do that. It also is better manners to at least try to be polite to family members and older persons. Well, you are young yet, perhaps you'll learn in time that politeness begins at home... (and on to other "happy birthdays, etc)"

WHAT IN THE LIVING FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN??!?!?! HOW MUCH MROE FUCKING PATRONIZING CNA YOU GET???? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE OR WRONG WITH ME THAT I DESERVE THAT?!?!? HOW THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME FEEL???

I'm sitting here shaking and trying not to cry or cut myself to death thinking about this letter. Allow me to explain.

My grandfather has never been a conversationalist. He is a businessman, a reporter. He never once, even when I was young, sat me down to talk to me about ME or about LIFE. He doesn't connect with people like that. *I* do. It makes for a very awkward lack of connection. But he was old, I was very young, so that sort of thing can go unnoticed. Despite all this, he was an extreme inspiration for me. He was a travel writer and editor of AAA Michigan Living. He got PAID to go around the world, PAID to taste extravagant cuising, PAID to travel on cruise ships... and people cared about his experiences. I always wanted that. I didn't care about the pay, because I know journalism is a frugal job, I cared about the experience and that he loved it so much. I wrote my goddam college entrance essays on this man. And tho I may not feel a "soullike" connection to him, I respect him and he has always been the greatest rolemodel to me.

So when, two years ago, he suffered several major strokes, I was psychologically devastated. I mean, I'd never gotten the chance to talk to him, to know his life, to understand how to get where I wanted to go. And he was struggling to walk, much less find the words to write. Thankfully, he is much improved though still seems very senile and is EXTREMELY hard to talk to. I mean, the man never says a thing!! Despite this, I planned to talk to him when I went back to Michigan this summer and stayed at their house for a week.

But he never said anything. And what do you say to someone you don't really know but who won't answer your question anyway? He just watched a lot of television news and read the paper and that was about it. I asked him, "grandpa, tell me about your journalistic career," and after some deliberation he said "well... what do you want to know...?" and I said "I don't know, anything..." and we pretty much left it at that. It was a house of silence because I didn't know how to talk to him or what to say. So I failed because his age and senility makes me nervous and upset, because I don't have the patience to work a story out of him, because I glean more about his life through osmosis than through conversation.

He didn't really try to talk to me, either.

And the most I got out of him was a tour of his office where he showed me pictures that I'd already seen, images of him with four presidents and various places around the world, bits and pieces of a past life that he can't revisit. I cried myself to sleep that night.

I'M NOT COMPLETELY INSENSITIVE. So I may not be a skilled reporter. They do say never to interview someone you know. I don't know what to say? Gran must be right. I'm a horrible, awful bitch and I deserve to die.

Why doesn't she ask me if it was hard for me? Why does she accuse me of being insensitive? She's lived with the man her whole life and she knows him, perhaps could she have led me in the right direction? He never made an effort to know ME my whole life over... never really showed me I was the "light of his life." Well, I'm "young yet" perhaps I'm a MORON.

How much more insulting can you get than that? Of course I know politeness begins at home. Should gran learn this? Apparently it's not neccesary to consider MY FEELINGs. Oh, happy birthday you whining, greedy, little mouth of a girl.. cares Kat about other people? I think not.

FUCK YOU, Gran, How's that for polite???

And the worst part is, I can't think of any one occasion where I wasn't anything but the politest, most conversational debutante to them. I was my glowingest, winningest self. So I guess it's just not good enough. Suck it up, Kat. Welcome to the real world. People hate you even if you do care. You're not good enough when you try your best and fail.

Well, Gran, Monday I have an interview with a woman whose verbally abusive husband caused her M.S. to set in to a crippling level... am I going to be insentive and crass? no, I'm going to try my best to find the story this woman has to tell.

And if I can't get it out of her, I know it won't be for lack of trying.

SO WHY DO I STILL FEEL LIKE DOWNING A BOTTLE OF WINDEX????

Fuck you, world. you're one ugly son of a bitch.

******************************

Ahh, nothing like standing up for yourself to induce momentary clarity. Thank god gran has email.

Here's the PRODUCTIVE reply:

Dear Gran,

Thank you very much for the birthday package, I just received it today. I appreciate the gifts and the correspondence. I expected to hear from you sooner but I know how busy things can get.

Before I continue with the formalities, there's something I'd really like to address. I was quite taken aback by a paragraph near the closing of your letter and I need to tell you what I think. So, for the moment, I'm giving myself permission to be slightly disrespectful.

The paragraph is as follows:


"I'm really sorry you couldn't take time to talk to him (my grandfather). He was quite disappointed and hurt by your lack of interest, particularly since you have always been the light of his life as a granddaughter, (the first born, and all that), and since you evinced an interest in journalism. I think that if you really want to pursue this as a career, it would be well to develop a method of interviewing people, even if it is difficult. You might not know what you are missing if you can't do that. It also is better manners to at least try to be polite to family members and older persons. Well, you are young yet, perhaps you'll learn in time that politeness begins at home... "

I have to say... pardon me? Do you realize how patronizing this sounds?

Please consider for a moment that you're telling ME politeness begins at home and yet writing something so utterly inconsiderate for my own feelings (and almost spiteful I might add) that it shocked me so much I shook while reading the letter.

I simply find it unacceptable that you would address to me an accusation of this nature without considering how it would make me feel. Did you write the letter with this very statement in mind? If so, a simple note would have sufficed. I'm highly insulted that you didn't consider my capability for mature, adult emotion and that you would patronize me in this way. I am young, but I am not stupid, nor am I a child.

Did you ever consider that I tried to talk to my grandfather and was frustrated when I couldn't seem to start a conversation? It's very difficult for me to talk to him given that I never really got to know him yet feel I know him very well. (In the "business" they do say that interviewing someone you know is the hardest of all.) You know grandpa, you've lived with him most of your life. Yet you still admit we never really even talked when I was young. We connect with people on different levels, in different ways. It does upset me that I failed to understand him but it was not for lack of trying. I'll be honest: I'm saddened by his disabilities and it makes me nervous and awkward while talking to him. I was very frustrated when I didn't get farther than I did. It makes me angry that you would assume I don't care or didn't try.

I cannot think of one occasion while I was a guest in your home that I did not behave with the utmost respect toward you or toward grandpa. If I somehow came off as inconsiderate or disrespectful, I sincerely apologize. The entire visit was stressful and awkward for me trying to place myself in a life that I have long since not been a part of and I sense that my stress came through at time. In spite of this, I always tried to be winning and conversational. I tried to be optimistic when it was heartbreaking to have to face a part of my life that is so distanced from me and family members who are so changed. Did you think I don't have feelings, too?

I want you to understand how reading this made me feel. This is the second letter of this nature I've received from you (the first was concerning a disagreement between my mother and I, also a situation on which you did not ask my opinion or consider my viewpoint) and both have made me extremely upset. I don't feel that my behavior warrants being criticized in this unduly insensitive way.

It's hard enough to live this life filling up my time with things that take away from what I care about. I spend every day doing things for other people and have no time to spend with those I care about. Everything I do in some way seems selfish and yet I have no time left for my "self." When someone tells you that you're not trying, even though you are, and that the attempts you've made are NOT GOOD ENOUGH, it's the WORST THING IN THE WORLD to hear.

Please be more considerate of my emotions in the future. I appreciate all your sage advice and I love hearing from you-- and especially from grandpa despite how difficult it is for us to communicate. I don't want to alienate you further than I probably already have.

I love you both but I cannot accept accusatory remarks of this nature, especially when they are not true.

Please forgive the infringement of conduct. It was, in my book, a necessary thing.

Much love,

Kat

I Quit.
Ugh. It's been a long couple of days.

I'll be a long term.

It seems it's affecting a lot of people this way. We should carry each other through it.

I skipped two classes this morning, slept till ten and got laid, things I can't seem to do during the week and often don't on the weekend.

I woke up at 8 AM anyway, the time that I usually drag myself out of bed. I was on autopilot, groggy but unable to sleep again until at least half an hour went by.

When I finally fell back asleep, I had crack dreams about missing classes, road trips, dusk, sickness, my cat, my boyfriend, my ex, and water. They were very abstract and lucid, full of subconscious imagery that I haven't been let out due to stress and sleep deprivation.

I need to sleep more.

photosynthesis
There's a large tree outside Robinson Theatre next to microservices. Every it buds, flowers, and comes to full leaf. Every year I watch as the leaves turn from green to yellow to orange to red to brown and fall, within the span of days, to the ground.

It struck me today that I've been watching this tree for three autumns now. Every year, unchanging, it goes through the same transformation. And, in a way, I follow it through the seasons, budding, blooming, bright and barren.

It's a beautiful, incredible, phenomenal fall day.

I plan on taking some time to enjoy it.

20 Years

About 20 years ago...
1. I was a bald baby
2. I was an only child
3. I was cute
4. I crapped in my pants a lot

About 10 years ago...
1. I had moved from Ann Arbor to Utah to Germany to Utah to Ann Arbor to Ypsilanti
2. My best friend was Sian Chivers, who is still my bosom buddy
3. I had a crush on the Andrew Vilisides and he never noticed me
4. I discovered my True Name

About 5 years ago...
1. I was in my first of two long term, long-distance relationships
2. I moved across the country from Ypsilanti, Michigan to Seattle
3. I didn't have very many friends
4. I went through a period of intense adolescent angst and I hated my parents

About 2 years ago...
1. I ended one life and began another with and as another person
2. I moved away from home and started at the UO
3. Finally made up with my parents
4. I still didn't have many friends, though I met many of the people I know now

About 1 year ago...
1. I moved from the dorms into my first "house" and felt immensely liberated
2. Was still in a long-distance relationship with Justin. Was lonely.
3. Discovered that I do not play well with others. Was angry.
4. Went through a period of intense depression due in part to Depo-Provera and in part to an awful year and living situation

Yesterday I...
1. Was a teenager for the last day of my life
2. Cried because I take on too much, have too much to do
3. Went out to dinner with people I love
4. Fell asleep next to my mate in the apartment we share

Today I...
1. Have made peace with myself and the past-- I Smile a lot more.
2. Surround myself with good people and good things
3. Do way too much for any one person to handle
4. Wonder if tomorrow will bring good things, too

Turn, Turn, Turn
Ah, I'm all scuba'ed out. Came back from a dive with Justin and even faced the Bitch ex-roomate at the pool session and all was hunky-dory. I'm SO glad I have my own equipment, it made diving INFINITELY more enjoyable.

In other news, in eleven hours I will have spent my first score of years on this earth.

There's still eleven hours for that freak accident to happen. Whoo boy. ;)

I had a bit of a breakdown today from all the stress. Luckily good friends were there to make it all OK.

Uhh... I really need to sit down and write out a locked post about some of my thoughts recently but with all the time I have, that probably won't happen.

Mata ne.

She gave you a flower...
the one that God gave her
Well, since we're all being so candid lately, the subject of tonight's post is Virginity.

More accurately, the "loss" thereof. (damn thing, I think it's somewhere in the closet with my sexuality...)

I'm just curious and I want to do a general survey. How old were you when you "lost" yours? Do you still "have" it? What does all that mean to you? Well, here's a few things to think about... I'll be honest if you are.

I consider myself to have been "deflowered" three times to varying degrees of intimacy.

I first gave myself to someone mentally, emotionally, and all with all the physicality I could manage when I was fourteen. They do say distance makes the heart grow fonder. But Jesus... it took me a few minutes of back counting to acurately determine that fourteen was the right age to write. Granted, it was the end of fourteen and that WAS only six years ago (ONLY six years??????) but... shit... wow...

That emotional and mental connection is "sex" in the most intimate sense of the word I can imagine.

I was sixteen when "fooled around" in way that the church might consider loss of physical virginity but in my book constitutes the kind of discovery one does when the moment seems right but "sex" is still too far away and has "impending Doom" attached to it.

[It's pretty obvious that I don't associate "sex" with "intercourse" in the biblical sense, else I wouldn't include these anecdotes. I think it's plain stupid to exclude the possibility that people aren't "having sex" before they commit the act. I guess I might get that from my uber-christian grandparents... except that I think of it in a POSITIVE light. If your mind and your heart are already there, does it matter if your body is? Doesn't limiting sex limit us? It certainly seems stupid to exclude the possibility of "sex" in a relationship that doesn't involve partners equipped for it in the traditional sense of the word. Giving all the hype to one "act" seems to both give it a lot of added pressure and idealization while stripping it of intimacy and fun associate with these other things.

Stay away from these ideas, they are bad! (unless you think you might be smote for thinking otherwise) ANYWAY...]

I was seventeen when, in all traditional senses of the word, I gave myself away. What can I say? It was just one of those "spend it all or lose it summers." I was about to turn eighteen, to leave everything I knew and face my fears and expectations up close. It's for this reason I have a HUGE affinity for the song Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks.

And after years of deliberating and being generally fearful of hurt, loss, overcommitment and, well, impregnation, I finally reconciled fear with love. And I wouldn't have had it any other way.

And even though I'm glad I'm pagan, I still regret to say that, in my mind, there was some melancholy "loss" associated with giving myself away. But I guess it was like any rite of passage. You're on the outside of the circle and, looking in, there's a world that means something incredible. And when you've been initiated into the circle, the world that was once a Mystery is suddenly Every Day. There isn't any Mystery any more.

No more will the Unicorn seek me in the forest.

This is obviously an overdramatization, given that I've been a lascivious little tart since I was about twelve and discovered masturbation. Then I turned thirteen and discovered the internet. Hoo boy, no end of trouble. But despite my mean dirty streak, I consider myself to be a highly balanced individual with respect for myself, my body, and my partner(s).

I don't think I feel like anything was taken away from me any more. (I still have wild expectations that sex always falls short of but I can't say that I'm not rather fond of it.) However, writing this has made me wonder. Why do we still say the first time is "losing" something or being "deflowered." This seems to be a remnant of the pathetic dogma of guilt instilled by the church sometime three centuries ago. Christ, I don't expect there to be some word for the first time like "Fantazmo!" or something, but how sad is it that I had to struggle to find words for sex that didn't involve something being taken away from me? How disempowering!! It's not LOST or TAKEN. It's not like "oh shit, my virginity, where'd it go??"

Hmm. Basically I started this post with the intent of making it very brief to leave room for comment feedback but surprisingly in writing it, possibly because it's a difficult subject for me to write about while considering my reader demographic (ahem), I discovered several things about myself and had several reactions that were surprising/important to me. Blogger, you have again proved yourself useful!

Not that I don't expect y'all to respond. Hell, if we can talk about masturbation on Emily's blog and lesbians on mine, we can talk about sex. We're all friends here.

So what are your thoughts? C'mon, gimme some feedback... what's the significance of this "virginity" thing, anyway? And don't leave me hanging here or I'll just be embarrassed...

Christ, fucking fourteen.... (pun not intended, har har)

Lyric reference in entry title: Aerosmith- Just Push Play

my apologies if the above post looks fully in any way. I came on to blog tonight and, uh, the entry where the sex post was SUPPOSED to be just said "8" in the blogger console. Still looked normal in the blog but I thought I'd post it again anyway.

Broke into the Wrong Apartment
So Justin and I are sitting in the study minding out own goddam business when we hear someone at the door.

Suddenly, it is apparent that this someone is not just AT the door, they are coming IN the door. What do we do? Well, we just sit there like idiots. Luckily we weren't watching pr0n or anything.

"um... hello?" I say.

Justin, who can see the door from where he's sitting, says "yeah..."

The intruder opens the door (I can't see him, Justin can) and says "oh, god, this is the totally wrong apartment, isn't it?

"Is this 182?"

Well, it's obvious it isn't 182 for two simple reasons. ONE, the door says one-eighty-SIX on it (albeit painted over by the stupid painters but still visible) and TWO, it's obviously the wrong fucking apartment if it looks completely different than the one you were going to and there are DIFFERENT people living there!!!! I mean, what kind of person wanders into an apartment they don't live in if they're not sure it's the right one? And if they do live here an happened to be drunk enough to crash into the apartment one stairs over, WHY DIDN'T THEY NOTICE THE GIANT SPIDER that's NOT next to THEIR door???

"yeah," we say, unfazed, "this is 186."

"sorry..." he mumbles, and leaves the foyer.

Man, he must feel stupid.



We've been waiting over two months for our front window to be fixed and now there are strange men wandering into our apartment. What NEXT?

At least our neighbors let us party.

per aspera ad astra
I would just like to say that my purity test score is down to 39%. That puts me up in the running with Cat and.... STAZE(!!??) tied for first. (Christ, Ryan, I didn't know you were a SuperFreak too...)

And I still cheat by marking "yes" on "have you ever eaten sushi off a naked body" cos, I mean, really, I would and, you know, we've talked about it, there's just never been any sushi AROUND.

Ahem.

I made black bean & chicken enchiladas tonight. They were easy and SUPER tasty. Everyone must come over and eat an enchilada.

Be young, have fun
(screw Pepsi...)
I really ought to be doing homework but here I am being non-productive and insightful as usual.

I was thinking about Friday again and I came to the conclusion that it's good to be foolish and happy and silly. Of course, that makes sense, but I mean it in the way that I'll look back when I'm older and have things that will make me smile in a sort of covert nostalgic way and think, "ah, the things I did when I was young..."

I mean it's nice to laugh while you can, and toast to nothing in particular (who is driving? bear is driving! what you say? that not possible!!). It's nice to pig pile with people and hug everyone, drunk or sober. It's nice to curl up and give all your attention to the person you're talking to but not be so serious that you can't get distracted, forget what you were talking about and have a laugh over stupid things. It's nice to be able to be melancholy and peaceful, then riotous and loud all in one five minute span. It's nice to surround yourself with people who don't neccesarily know each other but who can socialize anyway. It's nice to know that everyone has a fun time and even those who leave before the end aren't going because you're scary or weird.

I hate the social circus but I like my friends cos they generally seem capable of avoiding it. We are our own ringmasters.

Thanks to Sara and Brad (blaze/kilo) for the party hats, toot toots, and Cuisinart (take it home already) for the margaritas!

Thanks to Cat for not hiding behind the counter, you non-conformist, you.

Thanks to Blake for coming even tho you got hit by a truck.

Thanks to Ryan for the margaritas and for making a carbon-ring for my Elmo hat.

Thanks to Katie and Dave for biking all the way over and to Dave for biking to Albertsons for all teh B33r. (ugh, b33r most foul!!)

Thanks to Alex for coming, for talking, and for staying at least most of the time- I was impressed you braved the strangers and Justin for so long. (I would have fled the nekkid people too but hey, I live here and I happened to be the guest of honor ) And thanks for the SHINY!!

Thanks to Gwynne for kidnapping me and making it easier for me to pretend to be surprised. And thanks for staying, you're so tolerant. ;)

Thanks to Murray for sharing the clove- hope your walk was good and you're not really too lonely. Alcohol is a depressant, you know.

Thanks to Peter for showing up, even if you came late, you cad!!

And thanks finally to Justin for throwing me the party! You are a god!! I love you, Wolfers!!
*************

Oh, in other news in Reporting I last Thursday we had a brief mock-interview. Guess who we interviewed?

A gamer.


Like gamers are some weird oddity or alien species we had to question these two guys on what gaming is, what kind of games they play, and how it affects their lives.

I really should have been on the other side of the panel. The people in my class are morons. They're all like "what's an RPG" and "aren't gamers all nerds who never see the light of day"? And, sufficient to say, these guys basically answered their questions but did little to disprove the stereotype. And they had a MAJOR thing agains LARPers (Live Action Role Players). Guess I shouldn't have mentioned I've been doing the faire circuit all summer. Eheh...

One thing I found cool tho was that one of the guys was into board games and other non-network, non-FPS, non-role playing games. I like that. :)

Blake says,"Ow."
I guess that's what happens when you get hit by a truck.



I think I hurt him more....

I'm still alive...
But talk about a self fulfilling prophecy....

So I say tonight we party. I drink myself into a stupor, tell everyone I love them, instigate a gigantorriffic orgy and then kill myself. Not quite twenty. And the world is not enough.

I'd have to say that I've had enough for now anyway. Whew... Um. Yah.

So after several days of suspicious behavior, Justin threw me a surprise birthday party!! Err.. well, it was mostly a surprise. I kind of knew about it but that was mostly cos I'm smart. On the way home from Glacier I threw this huge fit about how my parents never gave me good parties and the ones that they did give me sucked cos I had no friends and nothing to do. And then I whined about how I'd never had a surprise party and I wanted party hats and Toot Toots and now I had friends and there's always something to do (especially if you're drunk and ESPECIALLY-- for some reason-- at our parties). So anyway, I had an inkling cos we were going to "plan" a party but I was too busy to do it and besides, who wants to plan their own b-day party? So I kept needlign Justing to do it and at first he was willing but then became reticent. This was CLUE NUMBER ONE.

CLUE NUMBER TWO was that I knew he was talking to my friends via email. Granted, most of them are his friends now too but it was still fishy. CLUE NUMBER THREE was that Gwynne wanted to go to coffee on friday, set up the time quickly (conveniently changed plans when I wanted to) and when I told Justin he said rather quickly, "you should do that, that would be fun!" So I was set up to be kidnapped. CLUE NUMBER FOUR was that Justin went to the grocery store. He would starve and eat canned goods if it weren't for me so this was HIGHLY abnormal. Oh, cake ingredients, says he. He wants to make me a cake for my b-day. On a time deadline? I organized the kitchen in the first place... it's not like I don't notice new bottles of wine and curious amounts of orange juice and lemonade. ;) CLUE NUMBER FIVE was that on the morning of the kidnapping Gwynne called to confirm and then asked for Justin. When I slyly pressed for details, he was reticent to share. CLUE NUMBER SIX: Gwynne seemed to need to get me home by a specific time. And on the way home, Dave called from my phone number and I picked up the cell phone. Clever ;)

Actually, the loose detective work was just fun. There's only so much I can play dumb when I basically begged to be set up. And let's just say that sometimes, little birds tell little kat secrets. *poke poke* accidentally.

So I got home and there were ALL MY FAVORITE PEOPLE! All my manz and all my bitchez!!! THERE WERE PARTY HATS and TOOT TOOTS!!!! And Alex even came to say hi and he didn't go away!! And Blake came eveen though he got run over by a truck earlier in the day!!! And there were Blaze and Kilo, Dave and Gwynne (pictured together but not "together"), Katie, Cat, Peter, Murray, Ryan, (all of whom evaded the photos) and Damian in a skirt (who was there briefly) and anyone else I forgot stupidly. Cock and Trin are in Cali with the marching band so they didn't come. Boy, did they miss out.

Basically it was the coolest party ever...

And there are pictures!! Not of the end, thank god. Brad was probably one of the only people sober enough to operate the camera and he and Sara left before things got... questionable.

This is the second party we've had here and there seems to be some pattern to their progression... or degredation ... or ... something. I don't know what to say, Justin and I must be the acceptible SuperFreak couple cos we host the only parties I've ever been to where people end up making out and/ or naked. But that's probably cos it's the same group of highly liberal, open minded individuals and, well, I don't go to many other parties.

All told, it was a rather intense and crazzzzyyyy evening.

We ate the fud, drank the drink, caked the cake, and generally became more and more fuzzy until it was suddenly 2AM, a long haul considering people arrived at seven...

And for the part of the party that was PG-- well, that can be best described in photos.

Yes, I was drunk enough to model my new wetsuit and silly enough to cut the 3-layer, devil's food cake with a katana. At least I still had my clothes on at that point.

Mmmmm.... katana frosting...

And I discovered that one cannot play strip poker while drunk if one cannot play poker well. Nor can one teach a group of drunk friends to play strip Munchkin. (I can't do much of anything while drunk.) So I escaped the state of progressive unclothedness to talk to Alex in the solace of the study where, thankfully, I convinced him not to flee long enough for us to have a half-sober but very productive conversation.

For the first time in my life after trying something like this where I attempt to bring all the corners of my scattered life together into a full circle, I have the feeling that in some odd way, I've succeeded. I know a few people felt a little socially awkward last night (myself included) but I don't think there was any animosity. We were all old friends, even those of us who didn't know each other really well.

I don't think I'm going to kill myself, nor do I expect that semi to run me over (maybe blake took the hit meant for me). I'm ready for twenty and I think I can make it through with people like all of you. Let's keep it like this.

Today I woke up and though I was a little groggy and a little embarrassed of myself, I was happy. I think I also knocked at least another five percent off my purity score last night. Alas, we didn't have any sushi for eating off naked bodies, nor were we alert enough to remember the fudge sauce. Sigh.

Oh, and for those of you who haven't seen it as of this morning, take a look at Justin's arm. He was giving plasma on Thursday and they inundated his vein causing the blood to spill into the inside of his skin. That's what that bruise is, pooled blood. As of last night it was a few lines and gruesome track marks. As of this morning, you can see the waffle of our cotton blanket marked in his arm. GROSS!!

I was up until after four and didn't get nearly enough sleep so this level of coherence is all I can manage for now. Perhaps more tomorrow? Please look at the rest of the pictures... they're pretty funny.