Wednesday, November 27

beauty
I stood and watched, agape as the birds lifted from the trees in unison. They were flying in group patterns. Their wings would beat in unison, a small flutter of a thousand feathers to turn, a long swoop, glide, flutter, turn. There were hundreds of them, the sky was filled with birds turning in patterns, merging and separating.

They were dancing, riding the wind just above ground, whirling and pivoting. A thousand bodies in unison.

I wonder how they know which way to go.

This is the Thanksgiving Hiatus! I hope the Holidays find you with family and some good, home cooked fud. I won't be back till Sunday or Monday. Blessed be.

hypocrite!
I'm writing this article on image acceptance and image rejection. It's about the social "image norm" and whether it's healthier to accept to reject it. I've been interviewing people from the Fat Liberation movement and in the Pro-ana communities for their stories on why they feel the way they feel about their bodies and why they accept or reject their weights.

It has the potential to be a terrific article. If I could put my heart into it, I'm sure I could get it printed in a major publication.

You know, it's interesting, though, I just realized how much I support the Fat Lib movement now that I know more about it. But strangely, even though I don't support pro-anorexia, I do believe that people have the right to do stupid things to their bodies in their self-loathing, just as smokers have the right to smoke.

It sounds callous to say, "we all pick our own poisons," but it seems undeniably true. Despite the fact that anorexia is a stupid, deadly practice to have, there's no reason anyone should be told to "just get better" when it won't work. Even (Especially) the anorexics know that.

So I guess I'm for Fat Lib and changing the image standards but I'm also pro-choice. Your body is yours, and the only solution to the problem of negative self esteem is for fat and thin people to feel good about themselves... by changing the body standard.

Tuesday, November 26

frost
This morning, the cold broke and shattered all over the ground. It was first frost this morning, crisp and cold. The world was white wrapped in white, the mist still rising from the warm streams and rivers and blanketing the valley in cloud. On the ground, the slight slick of ice coated every blade of grass. The spiderwebs hung ruined from the pillars of the bridge, their delicate strands frozen into mineature icicles.

Another cold, clear day. Someone up there above the mist likes me and is sending us the late fall weather from the Midwest. Yum.

Monday, November 25

circular logic
I don't know if I actually want to go abroad. Stories from people who've been on the Waseda program are starting to scare me.

But, moreover, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm not using the whole extended travel scenario as an excuse to push the reset button on my social life. This time, I have SO much to lose. I really ought to just work with what I have and maybe someday I'll get where I need to be without hurting anyone else.

don't call me
I jus realized recently that I have a deep aversion to talking on the phone.

I think it stems from my four years in long distance relationships where maintenance came primarily from phone conversations. At first, I had a sort of juvenile fascination with the emotive capabilities of talking on the phone... compared to chat, I suppose they're far superior (though I almost would say differently now, it really depends on the capability of one to express themselves in writing). BUT, as these things go, the phone fascination just kind of petered out and left me entertaining annoying silences and feeling like I was spending time on the phone while I could be doing something else.

Getting out of phone conversations was never more difficult than a "now isn't the time" but I still felt/feel obligated to chat up the person on the other line. Still, after spending countless evenings on the phone, I just came to hate the demanding ring.

I remember when I was thirteen and I would leap to the phone, hoping it was for me. Those were the days I could spend hours talking to someone about nothing in particular and somehow be infinitely enriched by it. Ah, the wonders of growing a personality. I remember, even recently, times when I was so low and so lonely I would wait for the phone to ring so I could hear someone tell me it was OK. Often, those calls never came. Now I'm swamped with meaningless phone calls that all demand something of me: when are we meeting? are you free? did you do this? what's up with this? AAAARRGH.

I think the problem is that I've come to associate the phone with a demand for attention and I'm so often busy that hearing the shrill RING! from the other room just makes me ill. I hate having to part with whatever I'm doing, derail my brain, exchange trite pleasantries, and then try to go back. Now whenever I hear the phone ring I just want to throw things at it. I rarely answer it and I always dread that it will be for me, even if it's a friend.

I'm pretty sure I sound busy/disgusted/rude whenever I pick up the phone. To a certain extent it's true. I don't hate the person on the other line, just that they've snapped me out of whatever I was doing to answer.

It may be that I hate interruptions for silly little things. It may be that I just spent one too many nights falling asleep on that phone.

The only phone conversations I can tolerate now are those that are short, sweet, and to the point. I like the guts and glory of conversation to be saved for face-to-face dialogue or written confessionals. Granted, there are a few exceptions I'll make for long phone talk: that with relatives far away, that with old friends, mandatory interviews and... phone sex (my good old, long gone friend).

Sigh.

I don't know; I didn't used to have anything against phone conversations. But god, I hate them now.

Just.... don't call me.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Updated archive files to fix annoying 503 error today. Yipee! Please let me know if the Java pulldown menu on the left doesn't work for you.]

echoes of sighs
The mist creeps into my room through a crack in the window and whispers obscenities in my ear.

It gives me dreams that are the echoes of sighs.

But where in life all words are removed, dreams speak volumes of impossible things.

I wake wrapped in a blanket of fog and the world is a living memory.

My weekend
Should be an easy week. No Reporting I, No one to check on me and see that I haven't started writing my feature. Have a stupid Japanese "oral performance" (*snicker*) on Weds but other than that... in the clear.

I accomplished nothing and a half this weekend. And it was lovely. But the whole time there were things I COULD be doing or SHOULD be doing so I felt a bit disconcerted and empty doing otherwise. I've got a co-dependent relationship with my workload. How dysfunctional.

Friday night Justin and I went not-dancing at the ballroom club. We went to sign ourselves in and ended up talking to a couple we met at the Fetish party. Afterwards, Charles taught me to salsa. It was worth going for the hour we stayed.

Annnnnd I SLEPT. A lot. A lot of Friday night and more last night. I ran a few errands on Saturday and started my Xmas shopping.

It's strange, this year is the first holiday season in almost three winters that I haven't been affected by SAD. I wonder if I'm getting used to it here. It makes it much easier not to be a scrooge even though I still resent capitalist consumerism and the stupid gift-centric holiday imagery. I'm actually getting into the holiday spirit.

But I keep having the gut urge to go back to Montana. I've spent the last three new years there in the dry snow getting nosebleeds and cozying in front of fireplaces. I LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT. And I want to go back to that house on Rodney street and sit at the top of the hill looking at the solstice moon. Last year Bev and I spent a good hour talking in the sauna and then went out on the porch under the full moon and did yoga naked in the snow for as long as we could take it. It was bliss!

Things change, and it might be a while before I see Bev again. And winter montana, especially if I go abroad. Sad. I guess sacrifices have to be made.

Not that I don't want to go to the tropics; I do! But I'm unable to convince myself that I'm ACTUALLY going. All I know is that my stomach is pulling me back to Montana saying eagerly, "it's that time of year!"

So, the point is, I started my Christmas shopping and did a bit of it at the Holiday Market in the Fairgrounds.

Saturday night I got ceremoniously trashed at Raechel's party. I don't think I've been that drunk in a while... or ever.... but I can recall one other incident where I was drinking out of a vodka bottle without tasting it. Acckkk, I'm such a lush when given the (rarely appealing/ occurring) opportunity. I hope I didn't hump anyone.

Someone shot 5 gigs worth of video of the party. I just remember yelling, "I'M NOT ASHAMED!!!" But I can't think what I might have been talking about. Uh oh.

In any case, it was well into the night before Justin and I were sober enough to come home to our bed. I had to sleep at the party for a bit to detox and people were warm and accomodating. It's nice to have safe friends :)

All told, I slept for a good three hours between 12 and 4 AM and got home at 4 to find myself not the only one awake on ICQ. So I didn't come to bed for another 45 minutes and then slept till noon.WhenI woke up I was still pretty hung over so Justin and I laid around for an hour and a half, then got up and ate something. While he took a shower, I went back to sleep...Till 3PM. Ahhh. YUM.

And today I actually accomplished SOME things. Went to a Voice meeting, finished some shopping. Talked to people. Made dinner. Good enough for me but I feel strangely empty without volumes of homework.

Oh well, sometimes slacking is a good thing. Now, to bed before the hour is too late.

Saturday, November 23

The prodigal daugter
My whole family hates me. Whatever I am is wrong. Whoever I am, I should be someone different.

I'm a terrible, selfish person with no investment in the world around me. Yet, I'm not trying hard enough.

Someone tell me who I should be to make them happy.

I'll never be good enough.

I wish I didn't have any family.

Thursday, November 21

the mist rises
It's the time of year when the fog comes. It shrouds the world in a thick, white coat of silence. In a way, it's Oregon's sexy version of snow. It pours off the river basin and through the woods; winds through campus and up to the hills. Looking down from the top of the butte, the world is a sea of white, a sea of quiet cloud.

On Monday, the night the mists rose, Justin and I woke up at 2:30 to crane our necks upward at the remains of the Leonid showers. The sky was still crystal clear, as it had been all day, but the moon was up, making it too bright to see. The mist had begun to creep up from the ground, late as it does on its first night, and was only to the tops of the trees when we went out. It circled the sky like an ethereal halo, not quite blocking out the stars but obscuring the black of the sky with the faint haze of dew.

These nights, going over the Bridge is a true crossing between worlds. The world fades away over the arc of the incline until there is just the hush of fog and water dotted with the growing lights of the northern shore. I always feel as if I'm crossing a sea to some nameless foreign shore. I've been convinced that, recently, as the mist grows thicker, I can hear music filtering out from the woods. At the apex of the bridge, I'm never sure if where I'm going is where I think I'll end up. My head grows lighter, thick with the fog and something in my mind tells me that if I don't focus on where I'm going and where I've been, I will not escape the mist.

The last night I've been particularly vulnerable to the crossing. Last night I was weak with hunger, blood sugar at a critical low. When we crossed the bridge, Justin and I, I thought that I could see the lights of ships ahead of me, a darkening harbor. I heard the low call of flutes. My head pulled me far away. Straining after him, I followed down the other side. I have a feeling if he hadn't been there, I might have been lost.

Tonight, I heard the flutes again, soft and calling. But I was tailing another cyclist, my guide and grace, who had a light mounted on the front of his bike that held back the darkness.

It's a shame, I'd love to embrace the mist and to find my way lost into it. I think I need to take Alex on a crossing and see if we two can't find the gates through to the echoes of this other place I'm seeing. But now I'm not ready, I'm in the wrong state of mind, I'm weak and tired and angry.

I've been feeling more and more lately that college is running my life rather than enriching it. I used to think I'd come here to enjoy myself and now I feel as if my classes are just using me. I guess I forget that I'm in control of choosing them. Regardless, I know what I want to major in and how I need to do it and the requirements are just... packed... into my schedule. I keep telling myself that I can't afford to stay here another year. I can only go abroad if I get it funded by scholarships. I have too many loans.

I wish college were less expensive.

And I wish it weren't about requirements and tests and standadization and money and bureaucracy and hoops. I thought it was supposed to be about experience.

Personally, I don't feel alive. I fee like a tool. I feel like a cog. I can't BELIEVE how much I have to do just to get by.

And I know I'm an overachiever. I've always known that. But I've been able to enjoy it in the past. And to do it without killing myself. Perhaps it's just that there's too much here for me. Too many paths to go down at once. I really feel like I can combine everything I'm doing into a fulfilling lifestyle but right now I'm required to maintain these things separately and I just can't juggle that much. I want to BREAK the status quo but I don't want to do it by dropping everything and running away to some pseudo-grassroots existence. I want to break it by conquering. I know I'm smart enough.... I just don't know if I'm strong enough.

I don't have self-esteem issues anymore. This overachievement is my self destruction and also my self enrichment.

I need to find a way to simultaneously nurture the body and the soul.

There are two things that really bother me. The first is being a walking zombie. I'm so tired I don't know what to do with myself. The lack of sleep really kills... and I just don't know how to make the day shorter and my sleep longer. (NOTE: this is taking 3 academic classes and next term I'm in 4) And it's not that I can't physically function without sleep, cos I know I can. It's that I'm emotionally broken.

I'm entirely a horrible person without sleep. It's not that I'm openly a bitch. It's that I withdraw into myself and take myself as far away from people as possible. I don't get in anyone's face or instigate bad situations, I'm simply awful to talk to. All I do is grunt and kvetch and take things the wrong way. It's easy to make social relationships degrade pretty fast like that.

That's what I've been feeling like lately. Everyone just pisses me off even though I know I really like them. And it's making it difficult for people to be around me it's all me, me, me. I'm sorry, everyone.

I hate this feeling of volatility. I hate feeling despondent and fed up with my life. But even more I hate the feeling that I know there should be no reason for it. It's like that strip from Cat and Girl, "oh, you poor little middle class liberal arts student."

Yes. POOOOOOOR me. I have the life of which so many dream. I CAN choose my path. I'm here learning. I'm being enriched. I'm making things happen. I'm being paid. I can eat and I can sleep safely. I have friends. I'm in love. My cat is the best every. Na na na na naaaa..... and so on.

So what? Why do I feel like crying? My life isn't empty, it's too full.

I want simplicity. I want everyone to stop asking so much of me so I don't have to work so hard to defy expectation. But why should I care about defying expectation anyway? Bah. What DO I WANT????

Sleep, I guess.

These people from Road Trip Nation came to campus yesterday and talked about how they went on this road trip to meet exceptional people cos they had no clue what to do after they graduated. They were motivational, yes, but it raised questions as to WHAT DEFINES SUCCESS.

They're also trying to get 3 more groups of students on the road this summer to film their own documentary of the people they'd meet. I'd love to do it but again it comes back to the issue of sleep. I'm rather stupid without it. And everyone would just hate me in the end!

Yarrr... I think I need some starbucks tonight. Some nice, decaf milkified coffee. MMMm...

Some self-maintenance. So I don't look like a zombie tomorrow in those photos.

Today I got myself a present and bought the new Tori Amos CD, Scarlet's Walk. Depending how much I get paid for the shoot tomorrow, I'll buy tickets to the Portland show. I have that to look forward to.

That and writing my feature for reporting, which I'm actually enjoying. I'm writing on self image acceptance and rejection and the social extremes-- i.e. Fat Liberation and Pro-anorexia. I've done a few interviews on both sides of the story and even talked to a published author for the Fat Lib movement today. She was wonderful! Flabulous, if I do say so myself. But more on that later. What I'm really looking forward to is winter break and BELIZE.

Ten days in Belize. MMMMM. AAAHHHHHH. Scuba diving and exploring tropica ruins. Good food and good people. And $1000 of budget money in my pocket. That's right. Tim (hi Tim!), Justin's dad, is giving each of us our $1,000 trip allotment to budget as we see fit so we can plan our own outings. WHAAAAA!!!

That's it, I really have nothing to moan about. I'm a spoiled brat. But... all things considered... I still need sleep.

Stupid Ticketmaster
Just HAPPENED to not list the PORTLAND concert on the 11th. But I found it in the complete tour list today and tickets are being sold through fasttixx.com.

It's on Wednesday. The day after my final. In a place and at a time I can get up and back and still work the whole week.

That's it. There's no excuse not to go.

Who wants to come with me?

Wednesday, November 20

My mind is going. I can feeeeel it.
It's 11PM and I have a shitload of work to do. All I want to do is sleep.

I have an article to write, a portfolio to put together, and a presentation to create all for tomorrow. And that's just the MANDATORY stuff.

I still need to write interview questions for my Fat Liberation interview and compose a letter of enorsement for the dean of the JSchool to sign.

Every day it's the same. Work nonstop on campus from 9 till 5. Come home, work till I drop into bed at 1:30, get up at 7:45, repeat.

Without time to stop and unwind.

Something's Gone Awry...
Funny story....

Just and I were sitting at the dinner table last night eating our broiled salmon and cous cous. Suddenly it occured to me that we haven't used our barbecue for salmon yet, only the occasional flank steak and some barbecued chicken. So I suggest we use it. The following conversation ensues:

Me: Hey, we should use the barbecue for salmon sometime, I keep forgetting we have it.
Justin: I dunno
Me: C'mon, barbecuing fish is easy!
Justin: When I do it, it always goes ahwree.
Me: (thinking: it what?) *pretending I didn't hear him* What?
Justin: It goes ahwree.
Me: (now I have no fucking CLUE what he's talking about) It goes WHAT?
Justin: AHWREE!
Me: What? Ahwree? Oh, AWRY! What the FUCK, Justin, did you forget how to talk? I thought you were talking about some weird kind of barbecue style that I'd never heard of or like some way for fish to get charred. I was like, what the HELL?
Justin: yeah... um... I kind of just.... well, I didn't think it sounded right.
Me: AHWREE? Where the hell did you get AHWREE? *laughing my ass off*
Justin: I dunno... I just... forgot....

It was so funny. I mean yeah, you had to be there... but for one of us liberal arts students, just forgetting a word is pretty fucking weird.
The real kicker though is what he said next...

"Did I ever tell you about the time I forgot how to ....?" (yeah, I told him I wouldn't post it even though it was so damn funny. Now I'm leaving it blank so you all can wonder and fill in the grossest things you can think of even though they're probably far from it)

OOH, OOH, he caved and let me embarrass him, he said:

"Did I ever tell you about the time I forgot how to go to the bathroom?"

OK, we all had some experience as stupid as that when we were a kid...

But Man. I tell ya, sometimes I really wonder.

Live! In Concert
Hmm... so I've found out that I can get out of my Japanese final by taking it on Wednesday. That means that, theoretically I could drive up to Seattle on Tuesday, go see Tori on Tuesday night, and drive back Wednesday morning. Possible? Yes. Plausible? Yes. Reasonable? Uhhh....

Well, let's see. The PROs are I'd get to see Tori Amos, my one goddess of music. And I suppose you only live once. But I'd have to spend $36 on tickets and about $40 on gas. That WOULD be covered by the cash I'll make doing this second photo shool but I SHOULD really use that to put into savings and for Christmas shopping. BUT my family really isn't doing a big christmas this year.... STILL, driving up and back would be a LOT of stress and would probably inhibit me from studying for Japanese very much because I'd still have to GET BACK in time for the makeup final that's time is still TBA. I also FEEL BAD lying to my professors that I'm going up to Seattle on "family business." What if they find out?

So.... god... fuck... I dunno. How do I weight the opportunity cost of going to see Tori against the dissapointment of not doing it?

I don't think it would change my life to NOT see her in concert again. I didn't even know she had a new CD or was going to be in concert until I read about it on someone's LJ and downloaded the CD.

However, it *might* change my life to see her in concert. She was AMAZING the first time I saw her. Like nothing else. Sigh.

What should I do? It's so much time and so much money... but... it's Tori....

Wah.

Oh yeah!
Happy birthday, blog!! One year old!

As a celebration of surreality, here is the most disturbing thing ever.

Tuesday, November 19

I WILL NOT BE SILENT!!
"I almost got kicked out of the EMU today,"

My ears perk up. Three guys are sitting in the cubicle next to the Voice office. I think they're with Chi Alpha, the Christian Frat.

They're talking about women.

Specifically, that one of them believes with all his heart that they should "be silent and know their place."

Apparently, he was almost removed from the EMU but a rather insistent female because of his offensive expressions. This, I do not agree with. Personally, I think that if he was having a private conversation and offended someone with his freedom of expression, he should not have to revoke his words. But... after listening to him myself... PERSONALLY (and I mean that in the most intimate sense) this man needs to be castrated.

He. Should. Not. Breed.

I've gathered that this bigot is a member of the Assembly of God, which I believe is a Protestant sect. I've also gathered that he's a fundamentalist and believes in living his life by the Book. This can be a good or a bad thing because living By the Book is a matter of interpretation.

I was raised in a Christian family, I know the bible as well as the next lapsed christian. I studied it for seven years. I respect it as a philosophical work and a phenomenal piece of literature. I refuse to be angered by dead scripture or to discredit good Christians based on the ignorance of someone declaring faith. I KNOW that it does say in the book that women should be reserved and repressed. It also says that right now, because I'm on my period, I should be exiled to the limits of society and not spoken to until I'm cleansed for a week. [yes, this is Old Testament vs. New Testament...my grandmother tells me that the Old went out when the New came in but apparently some people don't think so.] Most Christians are educated enough to realize that the bible says some PRETTY LUDICRIOUS STUFF that doesn't apply to modern life.

The bible is a translated text. It was also written by a number of people over a thousand years ago. Times, in a sense, have changed. Some morals will always stay the same (these, I believe, are the fundamental teachings of Christ) and others will become defunct. Reading the bible is a matter of selecting what you think still holds true and applying it to live. Unfortunately, some people use the more defunct scriptures as ammo to fuel their personal hatred and insecurity. Bigot here is one of those guys.

He has managed to pick out misogynistic, racist, and anti-christian doctrine from amidst the message of "love thy neighbor."

I cannot believe the ignorance I am hearing. This guy passionately believes in the repression of the female gender. Thankfully, he's limiting his misogyny to talking about women in ministry, despite the egging on of another guy in the office. This Guy #2 is accusing him of ignorance and trying to shoot him down. Kudos to Guy #2 ... but I do NOT want to have to listen to him fully defend his theological bullshit because I will reach over this four-foot wall and strangle the living daylights out of the bastard. I don't care how much you truly believe the lie. I don't care what RIGHT you have to believe the lie.

I. WILL. NOT. BE. SILENT.

And this is what I WANT TO SAY:
You fucking testosterone driven bigot, take your COCK and SHOVE IT. Your God gave women a brain to go with their tits and labia, thank you very much.

It's always seemed to me that God loves his children, women AND men, black AND white and loves the land he gave to them. I've read the bible and I don't see how fucks like this guy can use the same scripture to justify racism, sexism, and the wasteful use of our resources. I fail to understand how Christ's "love all" message can equate to "love all except anyone but people like you"? EDUCATED people believe this. This is why I left the church. Too many contradictions.

I want to scream at this guy and kick him. But I know it'll only reinforce his belief. So I reinforce it all by myself. I am silent.

He leaves the office, explaining he has to read up for a seminar he's teaching tonight at Northwest Christian College. Great. Even if he can't breed, people are willing to let him perpetuate his beliefs.

"I would never speak up on something I don't believe passionately about," he says.

He's standing right next to me. This fist is curled.

He walks by and out the door. As he's leaving, he says, "I'm going to run for president some day!"

"I'll bet you will," says the other christian guy.

"And I'm gonna win!" The bigot says.

GOD, SAVE US FROM YOUR FOLLOWERS.


Addendum:

Thankfully, neither the Alpha Chi coordinator nor the other guy in the office seem to believe the bigot. The other guy is absolutely livid. It's a shame, he says, that Bigot can be so narrow-minded. He gives a bad name to Christians. Beliefs like hs turn off nonbelievers and it offend Christians.

I'm thankful to hear his condemnation. I guess there's some hope for the religious right... it's a shame that so many use Christianity to perpetuate racism and sexism.

"Ignorance breeds ignorance, man," Guy #2 is saying, "and I hope he doesn't have any kids."

Rawk on.

Monday, November 18

Just call me T-2000
I just got callbacks from the sample shoot I did modeling for gym guy D's bank catalogue. I've no complaints. It's $50 an hour and he wants an hour and a half. Last time he paid me $35 for 25 minutes of my time.

I really hope the surplus doesn't mean he expects me to pay up in sexual favors. I've been very clear that I'm not interested in him. I'm not leading him on in any way unless he's simple minded enough to consider pleasantries and conversation a sign that I want to sleep with him.

And ye gads, I'd never even let the thought enter my mind. Aside from that he's almost old enough to be my dad I don't really like his personal philosophy. He's has a nagging aura of close-minded chauvenism about him like most grown-up jocks. From his quips, I've gathered that he objectifies women, gays, and non-christians. Alas, I am, in some way, all three and the only thing he cares of me is that I have tits and I'm a looker. If only he knew.

I went with him to the football game on Saturday because it was the last of the season and I'd never been. I was fairly blunt that it was in no way a date. Still, he wasn't doing a good job of convincing me that we were just there to watch football-- but he didn't try anything either. He's just one of those rather creepy people who seems to get in a pat on the back and make it seem too personal. (I had a math teacher like that once...) I had to keep dodging his little shoulder taps all day. And he insisted on buying me lunch and a "souvenir" even though I played it off. I don't think he's the kind to take the hint.

The again, I'm not the kind to take the SHIT either. So if he tries anything I'm ready with a loud mouth and a closed fist.

In any case, he makes me uncomfortable but not insecure. I just don't know how to tell him he's acting mildly inappropriately without insulting him. I don't think he intends malice, I just think that's the way he IS.

I guess I can stand to have some more pictures taken of me, even if it makes me feel ludicrous. I'll sell the image of my body but I won't sell my integrity. I just wish I didn't have the suspicion that this might eventually threaten to cross that line.

But... I really doubt it will will... he just seems bent on fenageling his way into my heart. Grr.

Ugh.

No.

untouchable face
I feel a bit emotionally bruised. Not so much a stress hangover from last night but a lingering tenderness.

I'm lonely. Weird.

I want a Holy Moment. I want a philosophical conversation until six in the morning.

(I so envy you guys)

I want real affirmation. I want real emotion. I want real people.

I have these things.

I have friends that I love and a boyfriend who loves me. I have hopes and dreams and the will to fly.

I'm going somewhere.

braaaaiinnnnnnsssss
I..... must.... have.... brains.....

CLICK HERE!!! IT WILL NOT MAKE YOU A ZOMBIE, REALLY!!

Braaaaaiiinnnnsssss.....

Sunday, November 17

total recall
Bloody brutal self-honesty.

I ran into an old friend today on Instant Messanger. Haven't talked to her since this summer which was the first time I'd seen her in two years. And two years before that she was my best friend of eight years. My soulmate. The fire to my water. And it was happenstance that we talked today. It was the strangest, surreal memory. And then she was gone and I was back to my daily existence.

But instead of continuing to idle, my brain turned inside out.

I'm not sure if it was the warm milk, the philosophy paper, or talking to my best friend of eight years who lives states and nations away.

But suddenly I'm upside down. I'm inverted. I'm breathing nostalgia, except today it hurts.

Simply put, I'm missing my past.

I miss having a best friend. I miss hanging out with Sian and ridiculing my sisters. I miss slumber parties and malted milk balls. I miss making fun of boys and staying up late with Lesley watching Escaflowne. I miss Palace and talking to people who seemed to know me better than myself. I miss the bottomless and eternal passion that the smallest spark could incite in me. I miss being awake and being horny twenty-four hours a day. I miss being with Alex and really trusting someone. I miss not trusting myself. I miss hating the way I look and being suspicious of other people. I miss trite conversations that went on for hours. I miss being a child to my parents, to myself, to others. I miss not having to pay bills and having someone cook for me. I miss being the center of a circle of friends. I miss the drama and the instability. The stability and the stagnancy. The light and the darkness. I miss winter and my paper route. I miss writing poetry and seeing music. I miss sex being exciting. I miss eating and not wondering when to stop. I miss sleeping past nine and not feeling guilty. I miss liking american cartoons. I miss that stupid couch. I miss talking on the phone with people and enjoying it. I miss wondering what the "real world" was like and not knowing.

I miss discovery.
I miss being open.

Something tells me that this is what I'm supposed to be doing right now: discovering things, talking, learning. But everything is so... normal... so... mundane... so grey.
Give me back the black and the white.

Damn catalysts. It's time for drama. If I were more up to it, I might rip my world to shreds just to feel something. But I've changed. I'm tempered. I'm docile.Or maybe I'm just considerate. So I won't. I'm not going to fuck with you and I'm not going to fuck with me.
I'll just sit here and do my work.

I'll sit here and feel old.

I'll sit here and worry about boyfriends and bills and homework and deadlines and stupid grades and sleep and breakfast and working out.

I'll sit here and sit here and sit here

And miss my old life.

Saturday, November 16

patterns

"A thousand years is but an instant. There's nothing new, nothing different. Same pattern, over and over. The same clouds, the same music, the same as I felt an hour or an eternity ago. There's nothing here for me now, nothing at all. Now I remember, this happened to me before, this is why I left. You have begun to find your answers. Although it will seem difficult, the rewards will be great. Exercise your human mind as fully as possible, knowing that it is only an exercise. Build beautiful artifacts, solve problems, explore the secrets of the physical universe, savor the input from all the senses, feel the joy, and sorrow, the laughter, the empathy, compassion, and tuck these emotional memories in your travel bag. I remember where I came from, and how I became a human, why I hung around. And now, my final departure schedule: this way out, escaping velocity, not just eternity, but infinity..."

Weekend
Harry Potter last night and football today. It's the weekend.

Too bad the movie wasn't that great and the ducks lost. Alas.

Well, it's time to buckle down and do some homework. But first a nap in front of the fireplace. YUM.

Friday, November 15

Body Blog
So many ladies. So many pretty bodies.

Yes, we're all plenty more than who we are on the outside. I'll be the first one to say that given what most people think about me (hey, that dumb blonde!). But there's something about the body that's just wonderous. Every one is unique. And it's true, the personality makes the person, but the body tells so much in addition to what we can only imagine.

I'm a voyeur and I'm proud of it. Every day I'm at the rec center, I take a moment to watch the women around me and learn.

Tall. Short. Young. Old. Fat. Thin. Hard. Soft. I have complete respect for each and every figure I see.

We have something in common in the Women's locker room. We're all there to take care of our bodies, to learn from them, to improve ourselves. Even the young and anorexic, the old and obese, we all look to each other as sisters-at-arms, competition, or role models. We are conscious of our bodies and use them as a vessel for our minds.

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

At the far end of the locker room are the staff lockers. The older women cluster there, gossiping. I sneak a peek sometimes and imagine what my body will be like when I'm 45 or 60. It's hard to picture. Some of them have gone soft with age. Some are thin and fragile. Some are wrinkly, some obese. But most are a happy, healthy build with soft curves and the slight wrinkle of graceful age.

The girls around me are younger, more self conscious. I am one of the few who doesn't insist on covering myself when I change or hiding myself beneath a towel when I'm going to shower. Sometimes I think I make a few of them nervous with my candid exhibitionism. For the most part, I ignore this with a chuckle, proud to love who I am beneath the brand labels.

Most of the regulars are short and slim, their bodies hardening from their efforts. Some are works in progress, their bellies plump and pleasant. They hide themselves under hands and towels...

can such a thing be despised?

With varying degrees of modesty, we regard each other from the shower stalls, looking and comparing when backs are turned.

I never knew the variety of colors and textures in skin, breasts, hair. This voyeurism is one of the highlights of my day.

Most of the girls and women are lovely, built into their bodies like they are comfortable and planning to stay. Some are self-conscious to the point of the extreme, unwilling to strip off their bathing suits until the moment before they step into a towel. Once, I saw a modest asian girl get into the shower in her underwear before undressing.

I think they are like me, looking at others through shaded eyes, not acknowledging curiosity or admiration. I glance and I wonder. Is that what I look like? Is that my stomach? My breasts?

Breasts. These amaze me the most.

The color, the texture, the variety. What we're shown in ads and pornography is some homogonized ideal, some gentleman's preference that became the standard. I'm offended by the lack of real breasts in the media. We avoid looking at the large, soft breast or the small pointed ones and portray only those few that seem to defy gravity. Apples and oranges. Are these things real?

To see a breast so unlike my own on another woman is a wonderous thing. They are snowflakes, markings unique to the individual. So many so much more round or pointed, low or firm, pink, red, and brown. It amazes me. I love them all.

But there are some women I don't like to look at and wonder why.

[I swear, a few girls in there have really hairy backs.]

These others... Are they too extreme? Is their mottled and unhealthy? Do they carry themselves strangely? Do they make me nervous?

Sometimes one of the larger women showers opposite of me. I don't pity her and I don't find her ugly or even unattractive. But I do often wonder what it's like to have skin that rolls upon itself and to have to walk carrying all the weight. Her body sags and yet she is so young.

This summer, I often saw a woman so thin it pained me to look at her. She would come into the showers while I was washing and take the stall across from me. I would avert my eyes, not so much in respect but in sickness. Her body was wasted to a point near oblivion, every rib visible, her elbows knots of flesh and sinew, her buttocks mere skin over bones. She had no breasts.

Some part of me wondered if she were fragile from surgery or disease, the yellow bruises on her skin from medication. But her gauntness seemed that of a painful starvation. After a while, I stopped being able to look at her. If I came to shower and she was in my line of sight, I moved away to another stall so I couldn't see her twisted body or even her body ankles below the stall wall. Too fragile. Too painful.

And

There are a few girls I've "met" in the locker room whose bodies I've absolutely fallen in love with. They come and go, the built, voluptuous ones who make me stare too long. I wish I knew their names so I could write them on a list and title it, simply, GIRLS WHO MAKE ME WET.

Yum.

********************
I think looking at women like this has made me love myself more. Not because I'm better than them. But because, though I'm different, I am a woman and I have a fabulously womanly body. I am proud to be a woman. The strengths that come with it so outnumber the weaknesses.

I wish that all these girls who I ogle loved themselves for what they are. I don't think they do.

I wonder what they're thinking as they look at me when my back is turned.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not objectifying women. I don't check out people on the street or undress them with my eyes. I don't want to demean anyone or rate them by their body only.

I just love the female figure, my own especially.

What I really wish is that I had a hidden camera and could collect these bodies, line them up and wonder at them.

So many beautiful women. So many beautiful shapes.

Wednesday, November 13

A Declaration of Independence

For a Weight Obsessed World.

journalistic perfectionism
Damn. I finally write an article my Reporting Prof likes and I've already published it in the Voice. She recommended I submit it to Chow! (printed through the Eugene Weekly). So I thought it was worth a shot and called them this morning but the director of the food pub says they book it a while beforehand. That, and they've already published a review of Sushi Station in the EW. Ehhh. Well, I'll submit it anyway just to bug them. They pay 10cents and inch (err, only 5 for student published and classwork tho). But to imagine actually being paid for my efforts? BLISS! Sigh.

I wonder what it'll be like to have journalism as a career. It's so dynamic, but you can never leave your work"at work." It follows you everywhere. I could grow to love it or learn to hate it. It's a thin line I'm walking here. Hmm. Hope I've made a good choice.

To all of us who proudly call the Northwest HOME...
Murray sent me this.


You might be from the Pacific Northwest if you:

1. Know the state flower (Mildew).

2. You feel guilty throwing aluminum cans or paper in the trash.

3. Use the statement "sun break" and know what it means.

4. Know more than 10 ways to order coffee.

5. Know more people who own boats than air conditioners.

6. Feel overdressed wearing a suit to a nice restaurant.

7. Stand on a deserted corner in the rain waiting for the "Walk" signal.

8. Consider that if it has no snow or has not recently erupted, it is not a real mountain.

9. Can taste the difference between Starbucks, Seattle 's Best and Craven's.

10. Know the difference between Chinook, Coho and Sockeye salmon.

11. Know how to pronounce Sequim, Puyallup , Issaquah , Oregon and Willamette .

12. Consider swimming an indoor sport.

13. Can tell the difference between Japanese, Chinese and Thai food.

14. In winter, go to work in the dark and come home in the dark - while only working eight hour days.

15. Never go camping without waterproof matches and a poncho.

16. Are not fazed by "Today's forecast: showers followed by rain," and "Tomorrow's forecast: rain followed by showers."

17. You cannot wait for a day with "showers and sun breaks."

18. Have no concept of humidity without precipitation.

19. Know that Boring is a town in Oregon and not just a state of mind.

20. Can point to at least two volcanoes, even if you cannot see through the cloud cover.

21. You exclaim "the mountain is out" when it is a pretty day and you can actually see it.

22. Put on your shorts when the temperature gets above 50, but still wear your hiking boots & parka.

23. Switch to your sandals when it gets about 60, but keep the socks on.

24. Have actually used your mountain bike on a mountain.

25. Think people who use umbrellas are either wimps or tourists.

26. Knew immediately that the view out of Frazier's window was fake.

27. Buy new sunglasses every year, because you can't find the old ones after such a long time.

28. You measure distance in hours.

29. You often switch from "heat" to "a/c" in the same day.

30. You use a down comforter in the summer.

31. You carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them.

32. You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit under a raincoat.

33. You know all the important seasons: Almost Winter, Winter, Still Raining (spring), Road Construction (summer), Deer & Elk season (fall).

34. You actually understand these jokes and forward them to all your friends in the Northwest or those who used to live here!

Tuesday, November 12

Oh Tori
ARRRRRRRRRRRGGGHHH.

Tori Amos is playing at the Key Arena December 10th.


AARRRRRRRGHHH!!!

Cock-sucking university ... fksing finals week.... only final.... ON.... TUESDAY..... EVENING.....

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHhhhh.....

*whimperwhine*

sleep
Boy do I feel like shit. So tired. Just...so... tired.

Every night I tell myself, "Oh, I'll get done with this stuff so I can go to bed early." But do I ever? NOOOOOO.

To bed at 12:30, 1:00, 1:30. A little earlier some nights than others but with the time it's taking me recently to wind down in bed, all bedtimes are approximately equal. It's been hard for me to get to sleep due to the fact that I've been doing work UP UNTIL I go to bed. Then I drop it and flee, leaving the unfinished mess (there always is some) until the next day. So when I finally crawl into bed, everything is still flying around my head.

And what am I doing up until bedtime? Something fun? Something I enjoy? BAH! HOMEWORK!! Five hours of it on average. I can't even watch teh pr0n I've downloaded recently. So much for prioritizing.

I tell you, college is evil.

I really need a nap.

Monday, November 11

Who should we be?

And furthermore, how should we live?

I've found the easy answer to that one.

Eat lots, pile into warm blankets with cozy people, hibernate all winter.

Yup. That's the plan.

Care to join me?

Das is mein computey
I finally finished fixing (ffffff....fffffftttppphh) Frederick this weekend. Reloaded XP so that there weren't two partitions to be annoyed with and fixed the sound. Fancy that,, it DOESN'T work if the onboard sound is on too. HAHAHAHA. Oops.

Life's slowly improving as I learn to pull myself out of some of the mire that surrounds me. Taking it one day at a time, one interaction at a time seems to be working. Sometimes I still have panic attacks, like when everyone IMs me at once or when I realize I've forgotten to do something or when the chores pile up and pile up and pile up. But the gray static insanity is no longer playing at the edges of my vision. Actually, I think some of the lesser craziness has permanently integrated itself into my already wacky personality. O well, it's enjoyable and mildly pleasant.

I wish it were easier for me to relax. I always feel like such a bitch when I'm stressed. I've got no time for Shennanigans, NO TIME!! Eh, well, I've rented a movie and I'm going to watch it, by gar!! And I'm gonna read Nausicaa cos Alex entrusted the box set to me. MUAHAHA. Blackmail.

Er... m...

Ah, whatthefuck, I give up. Something more coherent later. I'm too busy still trying to organize my brain.

Regroup, regoup, regroup. Happy Monday!

Sunday, November 10

joy ride
Before I could drive I never understood the concept of the joy ride. It was always a "terror" ride as a passenger, wondering if blaring music and high speed would somehow explode into imminent death.

Now that I can drive, well... I'm just glad I haven't gotten a ticket.

Really, I don't often go more than ten over. But I turn up the music and just glide.

Nothing is more freeing.

********************
Alex and I just watched Waking Life and spent a good deal of the night talking about it in the context of our life philosophies.

I'm struck suddenly by two things.

First, how blessed I am to connect with someone on this level

and

Secondly, how damn impressed I am with this movie.

I first saw it last year at the Bijou with friends. It was a weeknight and I was tired. I caught a lot of the dialogue but was distracted by the visuals and too tired to really listen to what was being said. Honestly, it came off as pretentious and artsy-fartsy. I was impressed but dubious of its value. I still feel the film is a bit pretentious but it raises some phenomenally important questions.

We were watching it on DVD and it struck me, about halfway through the fourth sketch or so, how convenient it would be to stop the disc to discuss thoughts since there is a break between each segment.

Coincidentally, Alex had the same idea so we spent a few minutes every now and then with the film stopped so we could talk about the philosophies of the speakers. It made the movie a lot more comprehesible than the first time I saw it.

And it seemed to have more of a story to it. The life-cycle of a dream.

I really think they ought to offer a class based around this movie. Like, each class session watch a segment and stop the tape to discuss. Move on. Repeat.

There are just so many amazing segments in the film. Even if they are a bit overdone when all strung together, they stand well by themselves. You can read most of the dialogue here. But I highly recommend seeing the movie because the most stunning aspect of it is the dream-like visuals.

This is one of my favorite clips, the bridge scene with Speed Levitch.

You can watch most of this clip at the movie website-- tho the closing sentences, which are my fave, are cut out.

************************
Speed:
On this bridge, Lorca warns: Life is not a dream, BEWARE!
and beware,
and
beware.

And so many think because THEN happened, NOW isn't.

But didn't I mention? the ongoing *WOW* is happening right now.

We are all co-authors of this dancing exuberance, for even our inabilities are having a roast.
We are the authors of ourselves, co-authoring a gigantic Dostoevsky novel starring clowns.

This entire thing we're involved with called the world is an opportunity to exhibit how EXCITING alienation can be.

Life is a matter of a miracle that is collected over time by moments flabbergasted to be in each others' presence.

The world is an exam, to see if we can rise into the direct experiences. Our eyesight is here as a test, to see if we can see beyond it. Matter is here as a test for our curiosity. Doubt is here as an exam for our vitality.

Thomas Mann wrote that he would rather participate in life than write a hundred stories. Giacometti was once run down by a car, and he recalled falling into a lucid faint - a sudden exhiliration as he realized at last, SOMETHING was happening to him.

An assumption developed that you cannot understand life and live life simultaneously. I do not agree entirely,
which is to say, I do not exactly disagree.
I would say that life understood is life lived.

But, the paradoxes bug me, and I can learn to love and make love to the paradoxes that bug me, and on really romantic evenings of self, I go salsa dancing with my confusion.

Before you drift off, don't forget,
which is to say REMEMBER, because remembering is so much more a psychotic activity than forgeting:
Lorca, in that same poem, said that the Iguana will bite those who do not dream, and as one realizes that one is a dream figure in another person's dream....
THAT is self-awareness!


*********************
My other favorite clips:
The Blonde Girl
The Self-Destructive Man
The Old Man
Professor Louis Mackey
The Dream Guy
And the last clip-- wherein Wiley talks with the film's director, Richard Linklater-- really has to be listened to to get the nuances.

Friday, November 8

zero to 10K in 365
Today I hit 10,000.

Another week and a half and this journal celebrates its anniversary. I have been living a transparent life for one year and it has been an blessed feeling, truly the most amazing and liberating experience I can imagine.

(except maybe going to Burning Man, dammit)

I'm thinking of giving the blog a new face. A new layout (unless I'm voted down). I want.... ORIGINAL ART!!! So, come all ye artistes and friends. I'm looking for a caricature of me... in schoolgirl mode. Anime-esque or naughty catholic is appropriate but my pictured image is something more bookworm-ish and collegiate. After all, I'm not REALLY a catholic schoolgirl, tho one year I may be a japanese schoolgirl. ; )

STRESS MONKEYS
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! AAAAHH!! AHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!

Thursday, November 7

faith of a pagan
I felt I should write more in this, though I briefly mentioned it in a recent entry. I kind of want to get all of my thoughts of it down on paper before it is gone.

I'd hesitant to write about it because I'm afraid of being persecuted. Not so much by others, but by my own doubt. By writing something like this, I take it out of the realm of the mind and make it real by integrating it with the world. It's like disempowering the dream but it affects me in a negative way.

To take a fantasy, an intangible (nightmare or blessing) and give it form is to try to craft it into life. Sometimes, when I do this, I find that the crafting makes the subject seem trite, unreal, doubtful. So I'm scared of writing my magikal experiences for fear that externalizing them will weaken them.

I've kept them almost all inside until now. But this one give me hope. It is, somehow, not as fragile.

As I said, Justin was sick until recently. But on Halloween... I think I made (helped, rather) him get better.

I was doing a small ritual and prayer at the altar and couldn't take the sad, coarse, sound of his groaning and coughing any more. I thought about it and felt that if I tried, I could push this black, unnatural, lingering sickness out of him.

So I gathered my essence, reached into the mirror, pulled out the silver, brightest healing light and raised it into myself. I took the incense from the burner and moved it below the open mouth of the Dragon effigy above the altar, making the mouth Justin's mouth. The incense flowed into the dragon like with the intake of breath. I focused the energy. I spoke the words, though I don't remember what they were. I waited.

After a few minutes, I heard his groaning grow softer. After a few more minutes, I felt the energy waning.

I thanked the deities, released the elements, grounded myself and closed the circle. But I kept a bit of the silver light within me to give directly to him. When I blew out the candles and got into bed, he was still groaning softly and I could hear the congestion rising in him. I crawled under the covers and he turned in his sleep, his back spooned to me.

I put my hands on him below his shoulders, and pushed the light into him, through his lungs and out his mouth. I felt it flow out of me, imagined I saw it, let it all go. And when I finished he was quiet. He had slept the whole time I was at the altar and through my touches. I was glad he hadn't woken up. I wondered what he would have thought...

Drained, I immediately fell asleep. I didn't hear a thing till morning.

When we awoke, he told me that he'd slept terribly. He'd woken up after I fell asleep and coughed so long and so hard he had a bloody nose. I thought nothing of it, except that what I'd tried hadn't worked. It's not that I expected it to fail. In fact, I'd done the whole ritual with calm, complacent belief. But I wasn't surprised that I might not have been successful.

That night, we went to Portland and he told his mom, a nurse practitioner, that he'd been having horrible night coughs. She listened to his chest, humming and hawing. He waited for the cough to start in full, as it usually did around 10PM. We went to bed that night expecting the same as nights before. It had been two weeks with no improvement. He thought he might have pnemonia.

Justin laid awake waiting for the cough, afraid that every intake of breath would lead to a spasm. But it didn't. Not once.

The next day, nothing except a few dry day coughs.

Since that night, he's been healthy.

Did somethingwork? Did I believe enough to help him? I'm thankful for whatever it was, even if it was just that he simply "got better" after weeks of stasis. But I'd like to believe that I brought the black mass within him to the surface and gave him the strength to push it out.

I'd like to think that I can truly believe in magik.

I'm skeptical, giddy, afraid and pleased at the same time.

Thank you, goddess.

zen
D00d, the guy from iMood.com finally added the mood I suggested (twice). It was, as the title indicates, "zen." Zen isn't "technically" a mood but I do think it's very possible to feel "zen." Now I can represent it in my little iMood thing. Yay, I made a difference on the Internet. w00t.

Too bad I don't feel zen much lately.

The sky is falling
Today the rains begin. I do not think they will stop for almost six months.

They were ushered in by a tremendous wind storm in the early, dark hours of the morning. I woke up, warm and secure, to hear the breath of the earth tearing the dry leaves from the trees. The wind howled like a beast outside the window.

I could feel it creeping into the room.

When I rose, the sun was out. Deceptive and peculiar. The air was humid and the wind still whipped about. Outside the apartment, an inches thick layer of needles from the giant cedar out front covered the walkway. An old man was sweeping them up as I left for school.

"Don't study too hard!" he called after me.

Thanks. I think I won't.

Wednesday, November 6

damage control
After the nightmare this morning I wanted to get up. I wanted to write down the dream, take it out of my mind and make it a part of the real world. This always seems to take away a dream's power over me. But it was too early, and we had a guest slumbering on the couch so I stayed in bed. I'm glad I wrote the dream here though, even if it is personal and revealing.

I feel much better after a good workout. Nothing like channeling that energy!

And I have lots of energy. I ate a big dinner last night with Justin and Jason and Beppe and Gianni's. Jason is Justin's old friend who came to stay the night on his way up from the bay to Seattle. He's going to London in two weeks and then to Africa for two years to do Jesuit teaching work. I feel his fear and also his excitement. I can honestly say I'm both envious and sad for him. What a huge change!

Some of my anxiety has been caused by the possibility of my going abroad. I made the promise to myself that whenever I travelled for long periods alone, I would be single. Not to be unfaithful or to "experience" but just because I'm not comfortable with that anchor. Justin and I have been talking about this the past few days. I've been feeling ashamed for even mentioning it, afraid that talking about this unexplainable feeling really cheapens our relationship. Does it? Should I follow this feeling or compromise? Am I ready to take the "no contact" committment? It just makes me feel like the logical next step is MARRIAGE and I'm sure as HELL not ready for that. I feel guilty for my suggestions and my immature fear of distance commitment. Some part of me just doesn't want to cope with it any more. And with the breakup of Alex's roomate (whom I know only distantly) and his two-year girlfriend, some old feelings have surfaced.

Where am I going?

Well, I do feel a bit better. There is hope for the day. I talked to my journalism prof about her class policies during our meeting today. I still resent having to do everything twice, even if I know it's how a real editor would do it, but I understand her philosophy a bit more. She's also decided not to give us grades on our assignments. Bad grades coupled with "rewrite" are the ultimate discoragement to students. So she's simply giving us the experience of working to write something RIGHT. Granted, RIGHT is her opinion which I don't neccesarily agree with, but it's better than failing. She also told me I'm one of the best writers in the class and that I don't really need to worry about my grade... just to work on my verbs (I need to write more actively) and in building a solid story focus (I try to do too much at once). I think I can do that. And no, I really don't hate the woman, just her policies. But now that all our work is paring down to the feature, I think life will be more manageable.

I've realized that this class COMBINED with the Voice is what's taking me down. I can handle one or the other individually but together... deadly combination. One day at a time. Almost there!

And I seem to be able to make more and more time to see friends and relax. Tonight Justin and I are going to another BBQ. I have some things to do but not too much.

I've gotta work out the rest of this tension. So the plan for the evening iiiiiisss....
-do homework
-see friends
-get laid
-go to bed early

I just hope nothing comes up. Something always does. Be positive, Kat... be positive!

THERE IS HOPE, OREGON HAS A DEMOCRATIC GOVERNOR!! Thank god for the power of the vote, even if the republicans have our senate seat and the rest of the friggin country.

The black arrow
I had the most god awful nightmare last night. It wasn't one of those reoccuring dreams, it didn't have the same sense. But it was horrible, terrible.

Why am I suddenly so afraid?

Why am I suddenly so insecure?


Justin and I had just moved into a house with several other girls, none of whom I knew well. They all looked vapid and somewhat "pretty" though not at all the kind of girl *I* find attractive. They were Justin's type.

We had just arrived at the house and I was upset that we were starting to live here instead of staying in our apartment. I still wanted to live on our apartment but for some reasn we couldn't. The house was cheaper but I was forced to pay more than the other girls who had their own room even though I was staying in a room with two others.

After we'd been there for a while, I realized that I didn't like or know any of the girls. They were all profiled in my mind, like sorority girls, and I had them each marked with what I thought of them. I didn't feel safe or at home where I was. In fact, I was terrified of conflict and lonely. Justin and I hadn't spent any time together in days.

This house had a fire escape that ran up to the flat roof and overlooked a patio. One night, I was on the roof and came down the stairs above the patio. Below me, I could see Justin (who for some reason looked much older) and another girl on the patio. She was in his lap kissing him. My heart stopped in my chest. I screamed his name and she fled into the recesses of the "sorority" house.

Suddenly, he and I were alone on the fire escape, which seemed to be surrounded on all sides by sky. I was furious, the anger rising in the back of my neck like barbed hackles.

"Why didn't you SAY anything?" I demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't answer.

"It's over, isn't it? You've been cheating on me." I knew he hadn't been faithful for a while. He had needed something I couldn't give and he hadn't had the guts to tell me.

"Yes." He said,

"Well, that's it." I said. "FUCK YOU. I want you to get the FUCK out of my life. But first you owe it to me to tell me what you did with her. Did you fuck her?"

And then he told me. He told me what hurts the most ashamed, secret part of me.

"Yeah I slept with her. She just seems so happy, so eager, she actually enjoys herself." So she was an on-demand orgasm machine.

My anger turned into bioling, suicidal, murderous rage. I saw her profile in my head. Her name was Bethany. I wanted her to burn.

"She was good." he said.

My world went red and then black.

"I never want to see you again." The words were forced from my mouth, cold and hard like lead.

I wanted to kill him.

The feeling was rising in my gut, the conviction that he had to die for his indiscretion. I knew how it had to be done. I left the fire escape and left him behind. He looked older, stronger, stoic. I felt tattered and hopeless and was beyond the point of breaking. Enraged beyond all recognition of sanity.

The image formed in my mind, a black longbow and a black arrow. That was the fate of his death. Time passed slowly and quickly, the way it does when insanity is the world. Somehow I had the bow, an automatic hunting device rigged with a trigger, not quite the elegant elvish weapon I imagined. The arrow was thicker than I thought, striped with white and tipped in razor sharp silver, black feathers bristing from the end. I held these things sacred to me.

It was night. I stood in a high hallway over an open ballroom. He was standing below with *her* and I hated them both. I was ready.

But someone came and saw me hiding there with the black bow case empty and the weapon in my hands. I set down the bow and tried to hide it, to talk to her. But she tripped the bow accidentally and set it off, firing it through the case and impaling the wall.

I suddenly had the image of the arrow piercing Justin, going through him, tearing him in half. And I was horrified. He would die, I would kill him. I was shaking with fear and sickness. I would go to jail. The rest of MY life would be taken away from me. Suddenly, some sense of reality returned. I couldn't kill him. I would go to jail. I would go to jail.

I put away the bow, contemplating revenge. Something slow and sweet that would take forever.

I put away the arrow, contemplating lonliness. I would never love again. I could never love again. But I was alone, so alone.

Maybe I could find someone to love me? I thought, for a moment, that Alex might have some trace of love for me left in his heart. "Stupid," I told myself for considering it.

This was the very rage he felt.

And then, in the blackness of my heart, I gave up hope. I knew I could live no longer.


I woke up, sweating and near tears. My mouth was dry from calling out, silently.

It was 7:20. My head was on his shoulder, I could hear his heartbeat. I recoiled. What was I doing here?

I whimpered.

"Bad dream, sweetie?" he said.

It took all my effort not to say, get away from me. I rolled over to my side of the bed and curled up into a little ball.

It's funny, the remnants these dreams leave.

Tuesday, November 5

Fey
this morning
i saw a boy sitting on the railing of the bridge
facing east
gazing at the sun on the water
his face was a pale pure white
his hair a tangled mass of gold
he looked young
almost unbearably young
new and golden
but old beyond all memory

something fey screamed in my gut
the echoes of a hidden name followed
as i passed across the bridge
the lust for magik and adventure
rising, roiled in my chest
a voice inside me whispers
he is here, the satyr, reaching out
to know you

i craned my head behind me
fighting the urge to turn and stop
he was not looking but remained
more than a figment, still and golden
gazing
but i moved on to
assignments, obligations
though i was desperate to know him

i want him in the way one wants
something they cannot resist
the desire, the power
of a dream
the tearing brightness of
the light within me
in a moment of no contact
there is a touch between us
a connecction, name to name
immortal

i see not his face but i know him
in the very way
i know myself
and for a moment
i am drawn thin to the edge of resistance
if only to sit
on the bridge and gaze
eastward
toward the sunrise.

Monday, November 4

Stop, thief!!
We were unlocking our bikes outside McKenzie hall when I looked down and saw the mutilated cable lock.

Oooh, someone' mega-lock got cut.

I pick it up and sure enough, it's been shorn through.

I wonder if they cut it because they lost the key... or maybe public safety took it away.

Or, the unspoken, it was stolen. I had parked my bike there a little over two hours ago and at that time there had been no broken lock. Could someone really have had the gall to steal a bike in broad daylight between the hours of 3 and 5 PM?

I toyed with the lock in my hands as one of my coworkers came up behind me.

Dude, look, someone's-- I'm cut off

Lemme see!! he takes the lock from me and pulls out his keys.

What is he doing? Trying to show me that they have a universal key? Playing with the lock? I'm so naive the possibility doesn't cross my mind until he opens it.

That's... your lock?

he nods.

shit.. um... what happened to it?

he looks at me like I'm stupid.

uh... where's your bike?????

And the truth: it's gone. Sometime between the two hours I was at Micro, his bike was jacked. In broad daylight, ten feet from the windows of occipied offices of professors and faculty. He is deadpan.

I guess I'd better go to Public Safety.

He takes the cable lock and wanders off. I still don't believe it.

Was he serious??

He seemed so... ok... so.... nonchalant. Maybe he was shocked. I know what you would have gotten out of ME in the same situation.

AAAAAUUUGH!!! Where the FUCK is my BIKE????

VOTE!!!
YARRRRR!!! VOOOOOOTE!!!
VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE!!! VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE!!!!!
VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE !!!! VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE !!!!

Internal Monologue
I have a complaint. A SERIOUS COMPLAINT!
The woman is upset, teetering on the verge of waterworks, her voice shaking with emotion.

I'm an all As student. I can't be getting this grade. I want my money back!!
For a moment, she stops, perhaps wondering if she sounds stupid, knowing she does. But the emotion wins over.

This book is CRAP. I'm learning nothing. The teacher can't teach! This is unacceptable!!
She's standing at the desk insisting upon speaking to the department head. I'm not her but I may as well be. And the class I'm in may as well be her math class.

It's going to give me a NERVOUS BREAKDOWN!!!!
She looks as if she's on the edge of one. I feel the same thing, inside.

But the difference between her and I is that I haven't gone so far as to externalize this monologue. It simply boils in me, over and over again, threatening to rise into hysteria and insanity. Threatening to murder my professor.

They call it Reporting I. I suppose it should more accurately be called "And Introduction to Rolling Over and Taking it in the Ass."

I'm getting nothing out of it, being enriched in no way and learning only to feel miserable about my own capabilities as a writer. The instructor seems to thrive on assigning huge amounts of homework (some of it busywork, some serious) and then only collecting random assignments. It's impossible to keep track of what she's assigned and in what format she wants it. There's no positive feedback if something isn't right, only circles and a note:

REWRITE FOR GRADE

TRY AGAIN

DO OVER

NOT QUITE...

OK. FINE. Except that I have other things to do. Like work. Homework. Being a person. Doing the same assignment three times with no feedback makes me feel like a fucking workwhore. I can understand her desire to be the awful editor and make us all sweat. But THIS IS NOT A JOB. THIS IS A UNIVERSITY. I am here to learn and, frankly, she isn't teaching. She's being a taskmaster, nothing more. She's speaking under her breath, and the words are

failure...
failure.....
failure.........

And guess what? She was shipped up from Honolulu to be a professor for a term. And she's going home at the beginning of December. Lucky her. WHY DID THEY BRING HER HERE?

She's too nice a lady to hate but CHRIST, if only I could. In fact, I do. I despise her and what she stands for. I despise her teaching methods and what she is doing to my mind. This class is killing me. I can't get anything else done for the writes and rewrites we have to do. I feel panicked and confused. Every time I enter the class my mind fills with cotton. This is what's closing in on me.

If I didn't know I could write and if I didn't know what I wanted to do and that I can do it well, this course would change my mind. This is why we HATE the journalism program. Does ANYONE like it or does everyone just put everyone up against the wall? I know some of you in the class read this. Does it KILL you too? Does it make you feel like you're a failure?

Right now I'm sitting in the Math Office listening to a grown woman cry to the Department Head because she can't handle math 112. She's frantic and nearly hyperventilating. Normally I might shake my head with a sort of sad sympathy but my hands are almost trembling because I empathize so much. She's absolutely coming undone. At her wits' end. And I know that feeling. I'm embarrassed for her because her efforts are so futile, because they sound so trite. Her voice is pitched on edge, hysteric, angry. She's teeming because she can't keep up, because she can't understand, because she SHOULD and because she's failing even though she's trying. And I'm scared because that's me. That's the voice in my head. That's my anger toward this teacher coming out.

This class is worthless. If it's any indication, this program is worthless. It makes me feel like shit, like a fucking cog, like an inhuman machine. But I'll take it. Because I'm better than this.

And now this woman, whose hysteria so echoes my inner monologue (even the trite concerns like "I'm an all A student, I can't be given a D!!!") has been removed from the math office by the department head kicking and screaming, her calling him an asshole and he threatening to call public safety. She's beyond her wits' end, she's into the deep end. Is this where I'm headed? Is this what's to become of me?

Her words are running like diarrhea out of her mouth. She can no longer control this thing inside her. The emotion possesses her, her fear and anger are a black beast. I feel the urge to vomit rise within me. I feel my guts twist with fear and recognition, my breakfast boiling in my bowels, the words of a thousand essays and articles spinning through my head. Every time I've felt like a failure has made it closer to the truth. She will fail. I will fail. We are doomed to break.

No, I won't. I won't break. Because, someday my professor, in her cozy little Hawaiian nest, will be reading about MY FUCKING PULITZER PRIZE.

I hate you, SOJC!!!! I hate you for making me hate journalism! I HATE YOU!!!!

Don't send me an ex-writer whose only weapon is opinion. I'll send her back to you with her eyes bloodied and a broken nose.

Send me a teacher who wants to teach. Then we'll talk.

Sunday, November 3

ZZZ...
Kat is tired.

Being awake (even if only semi) until 4 Am and inebriated with copious amounts of run, vodka, and sangra (the aforementioned hard A being done only in shots) has made Kat a very, very, exhausted girl.

Oh, wait, I forgot to mention that my arse is still slightly sore from the paddling I recieved from a girl with a makeshift ninetails around 1AM. Oh, and then later from Justin. Yeesh. Thank God for safety words.

Last night was Katie and Murray's fetish party. It went off very well ... tho I've been told that some people are bitter because I'm a thin blonde... god... FUCK... you'd think I'm one of THOSE girls. I've always been on the other side of the mirror. Hating someone because they're pretty. But now I've grown into my skin and found that if I believe in myself, I, too, can be beautiful. And now people hate me for it. Cheh. What does it mean?

To be quite honest, I actually got sick of taking complements after the millionth flattering statement/feelup. Thanks, really, I'm flattered but... I just can't deal with the exposure... no, I don't model. No, I don't want to. Yes, I have a nice figure. Thank you. Thank you. I remember a time when people wondered more about my mind.

Granted, I was lounging mostly or completely naked on the couch and meandering among equally undressed individuals so the complements were running thick in all directions-- it's really the only way to make a group of naked acquaintances feel comfortable around each other. And, well, it was a party where the premise was appearance and extremes, so I don't fault anyone for looking. The point was to display. I think, really, complements just spark a greater dissent within me. A repressed insecurity, a loating of self-image and of facing the self.

I was still comfortable at the party but I feel like a bit of a lamer. I was too tired to be as drunk as I was and it just conked me out. Alas, I turned down too many good playmates just because I was too exhausted to be horny. I was really quite impressed by everyone there. People are so strange! Give them the opportunity to be wild and just watch them run with it...

I brought the camera but decided against photographs given that they would probably be blackmail material.

In any case, the party was great fun even if I was detached and even if there were a few "squares" there. They all left the later it god. Alas, I fell asleep the later it got.

I propose we have another wild, polyamorous party! New Years! Valentines Day! St. Patty's! Hell, who needs an excuse. Count me in!