Death and Taxes
So I owe those fuckers in the government $440 this year. I suppose it's my fault for having listed too many exemptions on my W4 (it still had "2" from when I was working multiple jobs) but I'd never had a problem with it yet. All this because my parents STILL insist on listing me as a dependent so THEY can save money. Wait a minute here... how is it that the fat cat bureaucrats are pocketing money from their dividends while I, the poor student without even $440 to my name, is expected to pay up? This makes no sense! Now, on the other hand, if I were listed as an INDEPENDENT, not only would the federal taxes I owe drop to a negligible amount ($3 vs. $340) but I would be eligible for a full refund of all taxes I PAID ($330) which would be more than enough to pay off the $160 I owe the state. Why did everyone tell me I would get a refund from the state? Liars!!!

Christ, out of an income of $11,225, the feds want $670 and the state wants $685. Thanks, guys, that's great. Really great. I'm glad I can work for a fucking living.

Vanished!
Um, sorry for no major weekend updates. It was mostly maintenance work done this weekend... errands, shopping, filing taxes, etc. I've been feeling much better, especially because it decided to go straight from winter to summer here. It was shorts-and-tank-top weather here the last few days! I also lucked out and got some great shirts at Emporium for cheap because they're going completely out-of-business. You can even buy store TORSOS on sale. Creepy. And I had some, erm, misadventures with socks at the Gap but I'll spare you the epic story (although it is greatly comic and tragic) and just say that I ended up with some awesome socks for really freaking cheap and a pair of jeans (that I'll probably exchange anyway) for $10 off. Yay, shopping. (I hate it...)

So what's really up with me? I'm getting back into being balanced, which means I won't be as moody. I'm probably going to swing by open hours at the counseling center anyway and get some help before I get so stressed again. Until then, I'll cope with Ice Cream.

I've also been working on SENDMEABROAD.COM, my super-uber-panhandling website. Yes, that's right, I'm a pathetic, whiney... um... except, really, I'm not. It's just like applying for a scholarship, except with the general public! It's not finished yet; far from it... but It's getting a little more done. Tell your friends. Give me a dollar!!!!!!!!

Oh La DI dah
At the risk of sounding like a complete goober.... spring has SPRUNG! I is taking off as many clothes as possible and going outside to read a book. Screw taxes, they can wait. Nyar.

the word i want to remember

closure

Once upon a time I was falling in love...
now I'm only falling apart
No, nope, same thing this morning. I Woke up and didn't want to leave, even after the awful, hour-long, "face-it" conversation I had last night with Justin about the demise of our relationship. No matter how hard it is for me to imagine a permanent future for us, a large part of me doesn't want to end the relationship now or even ever. I want to make it work, it just feels like I'm setting us up to fail. I want him to be someone he isn't, for the sake of salvaging my dreams. He just wants me to be happy. So, despite the fact that I have a valid desire in wanting my needs and wants affirmed, it always comes down to seeming like our misery is my fault. Where is the happy-go-lucky girl who.... wait, dammit, I must not be talking about me.... I don't think I've ever been happy-go-lucky.

Erm, well, I guess I used to be a bit more zen than I am now. I'm always a bucket-o-moods, on an epic scale. But there have been times in my life when I have this unsurmountable appreciation for the world, a cosmic wonder about the way of things. Then something always comes along to ruin it... usually the stupidity of other people. I guess I never learned to cope very well with things outside myself--- their influence on me is always too profound and too intimate for me to remain functional when they turn against my expectations. Maybe I need to build the wall that other people seem to have between themselves and the world. Maybe I need to learn to expect less.

I'm the one that needs to stop, because I'm damning myself to being unhappy until I can figure out a way to unwind and distance myself from the things that posess me. I let everything bother me too much. I'm too fucking serious. But at the same time, I need to learn to want things all the way instead of halfway so that when I make a choice I'm not either talking myself into or out of something. I want to either feel like I'm not missing anything or that I what I'm missing isn't important to me being me. I want to love what I've got and love it above all else. I'm going to work on that because if I can wake up in the morning and still want to make this last, I can at least spend the next six months feeling good about it.

I'm not going to let today unwind me. I'm going to feel good all day.

she runs away
I woke up this morning and though, I don't really want to go to Japan, I want to be happy with what I have. The problem is... that I'm not. And I'm not going to be happy because I've set myself up to fail. I cannot simply be happy by thinking happy thoughts, I'll only be talking myself into something that I've been talking myself into for the last two years. As much as I love it here and I don't want to leave, I'm stuck in the middle of a really nasty web and I'm not ever going to be anything but torn to pieces unless something changes.

So yes, I do love what I have. I love my friendsand I love my lifestyle.I'm comfortable but I'm not fulfilled. This place that I'm in keeps convincing me to stay and killing me at the same time. I'm confused as all hell. And I'm too afraid-- terrified-- to change.

Things aren't how they need to be. They need to change but I don't want them to because I know how scared and lonely I'll be. But maybe, just maybe, that will be better than how I feel now.

I'm tired of playing this role and being a pawn to my own emotions. I'm too deep in this game. And fuck it all, it's time to stop. I don't know how to get out of it but I will. I love myself too much for this. No one seems to realize how much it's killing me. I can't bend this way without breaking.

I'm sorry, but there can be no more rules. The time to be honest is at hand.

Sara's right, sometimes there's nothing wrong with running away. But I'd rather own up to what I'm doing first.

one weird night
Around 9:50 we drove across town to Sara and Brad's to watch South Park. On the way down the freeway exit from Beltline highway we saw the lights of flares. The exit onto Jefferson was blocked by police, a fire truck, and an ambulance. Oh, and a half-crushed sedan next to a sideways SUV. Yes, the SUV was on its side, completely tipped over. It's the only time I've ever wanted to be stuck at that light just so I could ogle. But for once, the light was green.

We drove around, went down a few blocks and back up tenth street. There were two cars stopped at the red light. A woman, dressed like she was just getting off work, was getting out of one car. I'm not sure if the other car was involved or just sitting at the light behind her. On the sidewalk was a group of punk kids, some of them with bikes, about our age. The woman looked like she was motioning to a girl to get into the car, or maybe she was guesturing at one of the guys. In any case, the guy was screaming at her and being held back by his friends. The woman looked exasperated. I rolled down the window and we considered driving back up Jefferson to get the police but by that point the light had turned green and South Park was about to start.

Can't let real life get in the way of Christopher Reeve sucking stem cells out of a fetus. Nope.

sofishticated tastes
EEEEEEW. Oh my gross god. Did you know that they have to DYE farm-raised salmon pink or else its flesh is WHITE? That wild salmon is naturally reddish-hued but all other salmon is fed dye in its food pellets? That's SICK!!! I've been eating dyed fish??!?!?! Argh. Oh puke. Like I needed something else to contribute to my stupidly (read: not budget friendly) yuppie food tastes. Guess I'm eating salmon seasonally from now on. Ugh. Yuck. I don't care if they genetically modify food as long as they tell me about it, it just don't make sense to lie about the color it's supposed to be. Blergh. You don't believe me?!?! Read all about it. Where's my REAL food? I want happy, RED salmon! More like we had tonight.... mmmm..... eleven dollars a pound.....

spiral
so tired.... so tired of feeling like crap... so tired of feeling sorry for myself and feeling anxious and guilty.... don't know how to stop.

Baghdad Blog
A reader sent me a link to this blog, written by a fellow who lives in Baghdad. As he said, it's interesting, to say the least. Check it out.

wawawawawawawawawing on water
I�m going to leave that title, if just because it�s EXACTLY what this computer input for me typing �walking on water� while it was still trying to boot. I�ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to get this damn machine to stop crashing on me and my eyes are almost bleeding from watching the �Windows 99�(<- yes, I actually wrote that without noticing the year was wrong) splash screen come up OVER and OVER again. I don�t care if they got a new monitor. I still HATE this computer. I can�t run anything; the Java script for ICQ lite even crashes it. Thank god I wasn�t more than a sentence into this entry. Oh, and that�s another thing. The new keyboard they have SUCKS. Something wrong with the layout that makes typos inevitable. Oh, and it�s USB� makes it useless for getting out of scandisk or trying to cancel entry into safe mode. ARRRRGH. Fuck you, you piece of prehistoric garbage! Someday I�ll go Office Space on yo� ass and you�ll be sorry those retards over at Hewlett Packard ever made you!!!!!!11111 *saves document*

Ahem�. And now back to your regularly scheduled entry.

walking on water
Today was a strange day of half-reflection. The family decided to go on an outing to Whidbey Island, a place I haven�t been for several years. As usual, it took us all of a good two or two-and-a-half hours to get going.

We drove in the gloom and the rain up 405 toward Mukilteo. For some reason, this drive holds a sense of startling and eerie clarity for me. I�ve only made it twice or maybe three times; maybe a few more. But it was one of the few trips I made up the freeway right after I moved here, on an outing that seemed so emotionally important to me that I �landmarked� every single feature of the highway to remember the trip. And I still remember every stupid detail of that road, down to the turn you take to get to the Bivins� house. I think I only made that particular drive once; I don�t even know if they still live there. For some reason the particular significance that my brain gave to Mukilteo over three years ago has stayed with it ever since. Even hearing the name of the town makes me feel weird. It�s like listening to a song on the radio that meant a lot to you in middle school and being taken right back. In a way, that�s what all of being at home here feels like, in a weird and uncomfortable way. But Mukilteo. What a trip.

We went through Mukilteo to get to the Whidbey ferry. I was looking out the window and feeling mellow. There was the Burger King. There was the gas station. There was the furry in a tiger suit waving at me. Um, what? Double-take. Oh, OK. The poor fool getting his fur wet in the rain is getting paid to advertise for Exxon� Makes more sense now. Thought I�d really entered the twilight zone for a second. Where is my mind these days?

We eat Ivars on the ferry; the first Ivars and the first ferry ride I�ve had since Justin and I made those trips up to Orcas two summers ago. It makes me miss the ocean and miss ferry rides most of all. I�m too hungry to stand on the deck�eating chowder in the wind isn�t practical�so I miss all but the last two minutes of the short ride. It�s been too long since I�ve stood on the deck of one of those boats and let the wind tangle my hair into a big golden knot. I dunno though, I have mixed feelings about the ferries. So many memories on those big boats. I�m never sure whether being on them makes me feel glee, loneliness, or more of a mournful introspection. I think it�s mostly the last one, which is sort of a masochistic combination of the two feelings.

At least what�s nice about Whidbey Island is that it�s in what�s called the �rain shadow.� Meaning, you�re only likely to be rained on about 70% of the time it�s shitty in Seattle. Today we lucked out. As we pulled up to the first state park beach, the sun was just coming out. It was still cold as hell and windy, but a nice day for a walk. Being near the ocean always makes me feel philosophical but being near my family makes me feel quite the opposite. So I sort of just picked my way along the beach until Allie started talking to me about my life and my relationship and I sort of opened up. The whole time I was on the beach, though, I had a weird feeling that I had been there before. Or somewhere like it. And I was recalling a particular conversation on a particular trail but couldn�t quite place where it was.

We left the beach after an hour or so and drove to another one. Before we got out of the car, my parents suggested that maybe I�d been there before, a while ago. I told them I couldn�t remember without seeing the beach, but I knew I�d know as soon as I got out along the water. Funny thing was, this was the beach I�d been having deja-vu about only half an hour ago. And I had been there, once, over three years ago. But not to walk, just to sit on the piles of driftwood and feel mournfully reflective, as I often felt back then. Funny thing was, two nights ago, I�d picked through pictures of this beach while sorting out my photographs from the last ten or so years. And I don�t remember much from that day except the logs, and some kind-of-faded conversation about identifications with elements. At least, I think it was that day and that beach. I could be wrong.

Sometimes, this is why I hate coming home. Because it�s so easy for my brain to get tied in knots over memories that I�m not sure are real or not. For me, memory is an evocation of emotion, like scent or song, that ties me up in it. And this place is not a place of comfortable memory. It�s a place of intensity and alienation. And I�m never quite sure whether I love or I hate the emotive associations with it but they own me. Every cell.

Deeper into the state park where the Memory beach was located, there was a military bunker and gun battery. The parents swore to me we�d never been there before, but I know we have. I remember the plains below the bunker that stretch to the sea cliffs. And I remember climbing down the roped-off ladder into the hidden lookout station below. I don�t even know when I came there, but it was a good place to remember. And it was/ is insanely beautiful. The sun was just starting to set while we were there and that sort of amber twilight was just bathing the sea cliffs in iridescence. The sisters and I spent a good twenty minutes exploring the pitch-black caverns of the bunkers with a flashlight, probing into the empty rooms and making loud noises to scare out the ghosts and amorous couples. It was worth a couple of good laughs when we found a makeshift cross in one of the darker doorways; two twigs held together with a bit of leather twine. I held it in one hand in front of me and the flashlight in the other, X-files style. I forgot I was carrying the cross after a while and must have looked like an idiot to the couple I came across while detouring onto a hiking trail. I think I waved it at them. On the way back to the car, I remembered I was carrying the cross and went to return it to the caverns for someone else to find. It was worth even more laughs when I realized that my sisters were in the bunker at the same time as me and hid behind a steel door to jump out at them in the pitch black as they came around a corner. Liz almost peed herself. Then I walked into my dad in the dark and almost did the same.

We took the �long� route home, over Deception Pass and into Anacortes. Stopped at the bridge just in time for sunset and walked out onto the thin walkway to look at the deep channel below. It was really cold over the water. For a moment I entertained the thought that if I ever decided to kill myself, Deception Pass would be the place to do it. It�s a morbidly beautiful place, ramped on either side by huge cliffs, treacherously high over a channel with a dangerous current. An incredible view. Practically no railing. Over a hundred feet of free-fall into the ocean. Perfect for the final moments before a dramatic suicide.

It was almost night. We passed through Anacortes and stopped at a Greek restaurant on main street, someplace I swear I may have been before (if it were ever an Italian restaurant in the past) but can�t seem to confirm. What is it with me and deja-vu this weekend? Why can't I remember anything clearly? Do I still have so much blockage? Is it just the way my brain is?

I fell asleep in the car on the way back to the house and had random, uninvolved dreams. I woke up frantic; couldn�t remember where I was going or where my luggage was. It took me a few seconds to figure out what on earth I was doing.

I guess I�m grateful for a normal, if stressful day. It was good to be outside, to talk, to think, to remember. I made a few important realizations on the way home; things best between me and the person for whom they are intended. Good things. Intentions. Movings forward. Yeah, I�m ready to go home.

stranger in a strange land
I was at the grocery store with my dad this evening, one of the more enjoyable experiences I've had since coming home. We were shopping for produce at Safeway when we crossed paths with what appeared to be a host mother and her exchange student. The girl was Japanese (most likely) and I had the distinct impression that she was new to the states because her host mother was taking her around to all the fruits and vegetables and asking "do you like this? do you like this?" and the girl was saying "yes, I do like that." It was almost amusing except that it frightened me to picture myself in the same position of awkward communication with a host family in the fall. I was really tempted to approach the girl and ask her where she was from and tell her I was thinking of traveling to Japan in the fall, but the situation seemed too forced to try it although I regretted it later. My dad seemed to think I should have talked to her. Oh well... I can't be spastic and outgoing all the time.

From talking to my family it looks like I have the go-ahead on study abroad. It also looks like I may be able to get them to put some of their damn parents loans into my name so they can stop fucking hassling me about how much debt I'm accruing. Like it's my fault I don't qualify for any scholarships because I'm white, female, middle-class, not part of any weird organization, with a relatively bland background and not seeking some absurdly professionally-oriented career. Yeesh. Ok, so that last one's my fault. But don't blame me for the rest.

Anyway, they told me that they took the loans to "alleviate" some of my financial burden. So why did they end up taking so much? No clue. Really, if they WANT to pay it off, great! No skin off my back. But I don't think they should what with three other kids who are college-bound and equally unqualified for scholarships. I especially don't think they should if they're just going to make me feel so damn guilty all the time. Christ, what did they want me to do, finish school in three years???

It looks like I may be able to get them to leave me alone after all. Someday. I hope.

I just also want to say that I don't think I've seen a group of people more miserable and unhappy with themselves and each other than my family. Except possibly the Israelis and Palestians. It pains me to be here. It gives me brain cramps. It makes me depressed and hopeless about the future. Is this my destiny? It's no wonder I have a fear of careers, of children, of marriage, of commitment. I'd rather die than end up in a life like this.

If my words had wings, they would fly to you every day
I remember back in Freshman year, after I got over a huge fight with my mom, when I would actually get homesick and look forward to coming back to Bellevue. That all changed after spending my first college summer back at home living and working. After that I knew I had to move out. There's nothing more oppressive than coming back to a noisy, chaotic, anxious house full of bickering people. Like I said; I love them all individually, just not together. I can't deal with the sheer noise level of this place... it gives me a constant stress headache. My one coping mechanism is to sleep, and I'm doing a lot of it. I took a two hour nap yesterday afternoon and slept for nine hours (I know, yay me) last night.

The only real problem with sleeping here is that it makes those damn Dreams come back. At least my parents have replaced the god-awful air mattress in my "room" with a futon. Thank God I can sleep well, even if I wake up kind of weirdly haunted. I dunno though, what can I say? I went through my closet last night because I have to move some more stuff out of my room, and I unloaded about two hundred photos from a box and went through them. My God. I've really, and I mean REALLY, changed.

Really.

I took a shower this morning and used some of my family's Pantene Pro-V shampoo. They say there's no inducer of memory as strong as scent. I haven't worn this shampoo for at least three years and I used to wear it every day. All day I've been smelling my hair and having sensory deja-vu. It's very strange.

It's good to see my sisters again, and to know that my mom and dad are doing OK. Things are different here than the last time I was home. The deck has been completely redone; my parents have started a garden; my "room" (dad's study) is completely different. Why is it that they waited until I moved out to start making this place a home? Why is it that I only ever feel half-welcome here? Why is it that whenever I come I regress to old habits and old emotions? I feel trapped and stifled, cotton on the brain, content to sit and look out the window and stare.

I'm half a person when I'm with my family... the half they made. The only time I'm whole is when I'm building my own life. Here that doesn't seem to matter. It doesn't make any difference that I've accomplished as much as I have, that I do as much as I do. Half the time I'm here no one asks me anything about my life, the other half I'm picked apart and hyper-criticized. That half of me that is completely my own goes into hiding, comotose and cocooned deep in my brain.

Everything's so fuzzy. Music is more poignant here. There's no clarity in this house or with this family. It's all a muddled dream. Reality is outside waking life. Bring on the Dreams.

Weekend
Is going to be spent at home with the family. Thankfully, they have a new computer monitor-- but I probably won't be using it too much. Anyway, pray for me.

Geek Dreams
Today, an older lady and gentleman came into Microservices. You may know them, in fact; they're the couple that stands each friday opposite Johnson hall in protest of the war. Anyway, the woman wanted to see if she could upgrade her very old email programme on her very old Mac laptop to SSL compatible logins, as the University now requires. Well, the laptop was very cute, but it was ANCIENT. Running OS 7.5 and without enough memory to even run a browser. Needless to say, she wasn't going to be able to upgrade to Eudora 5.1 and even if she could, her computer didn't have the functionality to use SSL. So we dinked around with it a bit, postulated about installing Outlook, hooked it up to the ethernet via FriendlyNet adapter, thought about hooking up a scsi-adapter drive to it, and then decided it was a ridiculous hassle that probably wouldn't work on on obscenely outdated piece of equipement. So, not for lack of trying, we gave them our best suggestion, which was to purchase a low-end 12 inch iBook at an educational discount from the UO bookstore.

They came back not an hour later with a 12 inch iBook. I mean. Wow. This never happens. I wish I could just go out and buy a new computer like that. Sheesh. Why doesn't everyone do that when we tell them? It was such a JOY to help them set it up, just thinking that there was one less person in the world using a piece of shit to do their computing on. That's one less person to come to us when their machine fails and their lose everything. I can't tell you how many times I've seen that. It makes me weep.

Geek dreams do come true.

Hello?
Hey you! Yeah, you! Are you paying attention to me at all? Usually I find out that I'm not giving enough credit where credit's due and that the subtle nuances are understood... but jeeeeezus, give me a break!!

my hand + brick wall= badly bruised knuckles

AIIIEEEEYAAAHH!!!

Feed me
Oh world, how wonderful and amazing and frightening and beautiful and sad you are! I stand in complete awe of all your power, whether it be in magick or in darkness. I am lost in wonder for the complexity of the human condition and I fear being swept away before I find the courage to stand on my own feet.

There's been a lot of food for my archetypes from various sources over the past few days. It's wonderful how a little soul-stimulation can completely change my outlook. What a nice, intense stretch this is for my brain! The problem is that it get a bit overwhelming at times, leaving me scared and confused, in a state where I can retreat into my anxiety. Then I find comfort and safety by reaffirming the very things that normally make me feel stifled.

It's a bit of a roller-coaster ride, this life of mine, and I wouldn't have it any other way. It may not be perfect, but there's a little bit of perfection in every part of it.

Let's Roll
Listen to the REAL State of the Union. If you haven't already.

WAR
I knew something was up when Justin came back from Seattle on Sunday and told me that Knights practice was cancelled. They practice on a military base and a cancellation means only one thing... the base has been mobilized.

He said the parking lot was teeming with army men and vans. They're leaving for somewhere and now we know why. There's no stopping it this time.

Mortal City
Human nature, that confused, fallable emotional paradigm.

Follow the leader. Falling from grace. Lying awake thinking about going blind.

Word cues. Flash cards. Couch sessions. Metaphors. Evolution. Reading between the lines.

Do I know the rules that well? Do I know them at all? Which side am I playing for, anyway?

Nobody wins, we just learn. We learn each other so well that the world falls away into a spinning mass of lines and reality is no more.

Can't hang on- can't let go- stuck in the middle of a web too big to see. Catch 22.


What the hell am I doing? The world is going to war and I'm worried about my interpersonal anxieties. Get the fuck over yourself, Kat. You could die tomorrow.

Looking Back
It is a year ago. I am packing for a spring break trip to West Palm Beach. I have just cut my hair and I hate it. I want my sexiness back. I look in the mirror and feel self-loathing at the ten winter pounds that make me feel awkward in my bathing suit. I'm cursing image stereotyping.

Sunday night before finals week I am doubled over in my room, experiencing the foreshadowing of the bladder infection that will ruin my spring break. I clean out my insides with raw cranberry juice and litres of water, stupidly turning down an offer for preventative antibiotics. Little do I know that in a week I'll be in the emergency room, pissing blood, and barely able to sit down. I don't anticipate spending $120 on antibiotics that will make me burn at the slightest sunlight and make my skin itch enough to madden a wildebeest. I will not admit to myself for a long time that I do not have fun in Palm Beach. I feel too lucky to be going there and everything else is bad enough to make even a vacation stifled by illness seem fun.

I am in the middle of divorcing my roomates. I cannot bear to spend any more time at home since the two girls have moved out and the one guy I know is never at home. I've been left with one red-necked asshole from South-Central Oregon and the looming presence of his hippie-pot-dealing friend who is moving in. I am getting myself out of that house, putting down copious deposits on my present apartment, and breaking a year's lease with my suddenly not-so-friendly landlords. I am out $525 in deposits from breaking my lease and another $800 for the new place.

My boyfriend is moving down from Seattle to live with me. I have to convince myself that this doesn't scare me, but it does. However, anything is better than living where I'm at, in a place I'm scared to leave my bedroom. I tell myself, in either case, that I'm chicken shit. Maybe I am. I want and I fear cohabitation. Cohabitation preceeds marriage. I want and I hate marriage.

I want to stop the dreams. It is springtime and they've been coming since two weeks after September 11th, when I first realized that my life could end. I want to stop the guilt and the pain. I am almost numb. The near-black depression from my bout with Depo-Provera is wearing off. I would feel human again if I weren't so threatened by my living situation.

I am talking on the bridge, playing an archetype, building the castle. It is the second term of Brown-sensei's animation class. Murray and I have just gotten to know each other. I'm flowering again, after a long winter. I'm starting to grow up.

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

Was this my life? Was this the awful, awkward drama that I was living?

I think it was, but sometimes it is as a dream.

I remember watching, from across the room, people that I yearned to connect with. I remember being trapped in my own body, speaking so loudly, not being heard.

This is my voice, and I have found it.

I remember trying so hard to build something, skinning my knuckles, breaking my hands, beating my head against walls of air, waking sweating and alone to phantoms.

These are my castles, I have built them here.

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

In one year I have found and lost myself many times. I have climbed walls only to see more walls on the other sides. But for all the walls I find, I manage to get over or tear down a good part of them. And that makes me proud.

I have so much to be proud of.

I've spent the last year living with my boyfriend, something that now comforts, rather than scares me. Sometimes we're frustrated by our opposing paradigms, sometimes we don't get along, but we live and love in peace and harmony. We're coming up on the BIG THREE now, the "anniversary-o-doom," as I jokingly call it. We wake up in the mornings and are grateful for each other, for every day that is given us, and for a life that has blessed our paths to cross.

I've spent the last year learning; resenting my schoolwork and buying into practical experience. I've gone places and done things, climbed (real) mountains I never thought I would summit. In the last six months I've been to see President Clinton, Tori Amos, and Maya Angelou.

I've spent the last year mending; waking up somewhat surprised at the complexity of my own thought and emotion, finding that I now embrace some of the values that I used to find stupid and unrealistic. Faith, love, honor, spirituality. This leaves me somewhat less cynical and somewhat more frustrated. I'm a softer person, more open, more scared.

I've spent the last year being turned on my head by surprises and rewards. I'm learning the rules. I'm working my id a little bit into my ego. I'm finding that I can still be pleasantly surprised by myself and by others-- that when I learn to have a little faith in love and leave something up to fate, I may actually have a moment of serendipity. It's not a game; it's a dance.

I've spent the last year making new friends, many more than I thought I'd ever again have after the schism in high school. I've spent the last year making peace with old friends and severing ties where needed.

I've spent the last year growing.

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

And now I'm thinking about a year abroad, an unbelieveable expense (atop $36,496 accumulated debt to date) but an insurpassable opportunity. Now the world is on the verge of war. Now I have more to lose than I ever have before, and so much more to gain.

Here's to the coming year, may it be full of surprises.

Every passing day is another chance to turn it all around.

Inedible Delicacies
If any of your parents were in Weight Watchers in the 70s, first tell them how sorry you were, then laugh your ass off.

sister golden hair
This song is the greatest song ever, for so many reasons. Except that there are about fifty songs I think hold that same honor:

America- Sister Golden Hair

Well I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed
That I set my sights on Monday and I got myself undressed
I ain't ready for the altar but I do agree there's times
When a woman sure can be a friend of mine

Well, I keep on thinkin' 'bout you, Sister Golden Hair surprise
And I just can't live without you; can't you see it in my eyes?
I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn't mean you ain't been on my mind

Will you meet me in the middle, will you meet me in the air?
Will you love me just a little, just enough to show you care?
Well I tried to fake it, I don't mind sayin', I just can't make it

(Doo wop doo wop ...)

And can I say, just one more time, that Joni Mitchell is my personal goddess? There's absolutely nothing that woman can't sing about. Jesus she's beautiful. Oh, and Tori Amos. Tori Amos, I love you.

Born in the USA
While at the grocery store I saw two of the saddest, most pathetically American scenes ever.

Scene One:
While we were getting our cart, a relatively overweight little boy was leaving with his mom, whining to her and tugging at her arm. Looked like she rented him some videos to watch at home. On the way out the door, they passed the starbucks stand, which was closing for the night. The chubby little kid stops his mom and pokes his head over the counted to the lady working behind and says, "Oh, Oh, do you have any samples???" His mom tugs him out the door, irate that he's bothering the woman. There obviously aren't any samples.

Without perpetuating the ridiculous stereotype our country has against weight any further, I'd just like to say that this scene did strike an ironic and sadly American chord in both Justin and I. Consumption, overindulgence, gluttony. I feel bad for the kid if he's just cursed with bad genetics (though I didn't get that idea from the mom's figure) but... it was just so dreadfully, awfully, ironically classic.

Scene Two:
The cereal isle. Justin and I are perusing breakfast cereal, forgetting that we have a cupboard full of it at home. D'oh. We're down at the end with the granola bars and the bulk Seattle's Best coffee. It smells so DAMN good down there all the time. God, why must coffee treat me so poorly when I love it's smell and taste so much? Gah.

But I digress. We were looking at some cheap cereal when we hear the sound of something spilling all over the floor and some guy cursing. We look up and what do we see? A man in a button-up shirt and trousers, who HAD been scooping coffee beans into a bag before he dropped them onto the floor. He was now trying to pick them up with his one free hand. The other hand was occupied with his cell phone that he was still relentlessly chattering into.

I had to stop Justin when he saw this one. He started to say, rather loudly, something rude about people who talk on their cell phones all the time but I stopped him. Bad karma, you know. Or maybe I just pitied the poor bastard enough to leave him to collect his caffienated goodness while enjoying the wonders of modern technology. Yeah, right.

And that's not all. I came home, put away the groceries, and ran myself a bath while Justin cooked. I was walking around the apartment in the "European" fashion, as I sometimes do, because my bath was almost ready. I walked into the kitchen to toss something into the garbage under the sink when someone walked by the window. I froze, then doubled over under the counter. Oh, Jesus, I just gave out next-door neighbor a full-on frontal flash. This is me hiding on the kitchen floor.

Funny, that. We'd been trying to get a hold of the neighbors for the past hour to borrow their vacuum-- we have two and neither works-- and they weren't answering the door even though their lights were on. So NOW they chose to bring it over. ARGH.

Justin took the vacuum (consequently letting all the cold air into the house) and I crawled out from under the window to the hall where I was sure Denny wouldn't see me when he left. Justin said the guy didn't even bat an eye.

Boy, I'm never gonna live that one down.

Demolition Crew
It�s over. Winter term is finally over. Fuck finals; I don�t give a damn about them. Classes are over and that�s enough for me. What else can I say but WAHOO!

I spent most of the day yesterday trying and failing to unwind. Even in my final Anusara yoga class I felt a sense of frustration and tension overshadowing the extreme bliss (read: extreme pain) radiating from my body. For two hours after class I worked on implementing the template for my panhandling website. Got any suggestions?

Yes, I will stoop to begging for money to finance my trip to Japan. Maybe it�s not as dramatic as repairing credit debt or getting breast implants but still a worthy cause. Anyway, what are scholarships really but money gotten by begging to �official� sources. I�ll just do some �unofficial� campaigning. No harm done! Err, except the brain damage done to myself after staring at raw HTML, writing mouseover codes and tweaking photoshop images for two hours. Thank God Alex showed up and helped me finish my code; I never would have gotten done with all the mistakes I was making. Fleh.

It took me a good three hours more to finally put my head on straight and stop thinking about school. By that time we�d made up our minds to grab some food at the store and hang out for a while, rather than go our separate ways. The plan was to introduce Nate to wine with some accompanying cheese and bread (and soup for dinner). But Nate didn�t take to wine, so we took to it.

I gotta say; I had a great time. It was nice to hang out with a bunch of guys and not worry too much about the social-politics of large group situations. (And Jan�s funny as hell.) It was fabulous to stop caring about school and duties and obligations for a while. It was worth it just to take the walls down for a while. Sometimes when I open up, I close down even harder afterwards. I could have felt like hell today (emotionally, not physically� I don�t know many more people who hold their liquor better than I) but I don�t. I feel really blessed and loved. I�m so thankful that I have friends and lovers to turn to when I�m falling apart. I�m glad for honesty. I�m not afraid.

I�ll sacrifice myself to the demolition crews; I don�t care if it�s wine or whatever. If the walls can be torn down and if my head survives the roaring noise, I�ll be there waiting and whole in the end.

I felt pretty shitty and guilty after making Justin get up to get me at 1:30 in the morning, but there weren�t any cars (or drivers for that matter) where we were. No regrets though, it was worth it if just to compare with the last time I drank with Alex on his turf last fall during finals week. Boy, neither one of us was ready to talk straight at that point in time. It�s a bit different now. *laugh*

I didn�t go to bed in the best frame of mind. Rather frustrated, in fact. Seems stupid to me that the �best of both worlds� can only ever last an hour or two before whatever altered state I�m in wears off and sends me back into a personal hell. I fell asleep right away anyway and promptly forgot about my potential misery. Drinking a bottle of wine will do that to ya.

Still felt really wiped out (not sick or hung over at all) when I was woken at 8AM. (*insert porno music here*) Went back to sleep until 11 and then felt better. Much better. Wine ain�t the only thing a girl needs. Cheeya!

I dunno why, but today was abso-fucking-lutely fabulous. I feel like Mr. Rogers or something. Won't YOU be my neighbor?

We drove to Keystone for breakfast. Can I just say, OH MY GOD. I�ve been there a few times and I can�t stress how great it is. Breakfast totally needs to be a granola affair and there ain�t no place more GRANOLA than Keystone. Buckwheat-barley pancakes with apples, cinnamon, walnuts, organic maple syrup and butter. Fuuuuck yea! And they have all these omelets and vegan dishes and REALLY AWESOME coffee. It took us a friggin long time to get there because we hit downtown Eugene right as the anti-war march was taking place. I watched those hundreds of people walking down the streets and my heart swelled with love for each of them. God bless Eugene. I love the Lefties. I still feel like the protests won�t make a God damn difference but as long as there are people willing to go to them, they will make a point. After breakfast, we saw the riot squad leaving the downtown area. I wonder if anything happened�

Took a few hours and ran errands to Les Schwab and then down to the International Deli & German Meats store Alex, Jan and I found yesterday while scouting out the Southtowne shops. Bought some yuppie fillings for my sandwiches this week. =D Cured meats and cheeses. God, I have expensive tastes in food�but this stuff is what my grandma used to make our breakfast rolls with. That, and I can remember eating practically everything in that store when I was a kid. They had really decently priced wines as well. Mmmmm.

I love this city. I love it even on my bad days. I think I can live here as long as I need to. And after coming back from Japan, I can see that as being several more years. It has everything I need to make me happy, as long as I can keep all the people I want RIGHT HERE. ; )

So today was another weekend shopping day. I love those! Still need to go to Albertsons later for the week�s groceries. I�m taking the day off from homework just to enjoy this feeling while it lasts. I got some more bagels at Humble Bagel and visited Murray for a while. Had my face put on the Polaroid wall� embarrassingly on the only day I haven�t showered in forever. I always feel weird seeing myself in photographs. I look so thin.

The weather has been spastic all day (bright yellow evening sun right now in a completely cloudy sky) and when we stepped outside there was a huge rainbow spanning the sky. That made my day. I want to dance a bit, while I still feel good. I�m planning on taking a bath later to pamper myself a bit. Maybe I�ll have some more of my Cream Sherry and watch a bad chick flick. Or maybe I�ll just watch porn and dance around to punk music in my underpants. I should probably wait until Justin leaves to do that, though, or he�ll laugh at me. =D

So yeah, how�s that for a ranty, rambly diary entry? How perfect! It�s just how I feel! Smooches, you�re all dears.

news of the weird
So I'm sure you've all read that Elizabeth Smart was "found" after being missing for nine months. Seems she was brainwashed into staying with her captors. Um, ok. Brainwashed? Either that's one TALENTED hippie fanatic or she's one STUPID fifteen year old. I admit it must have been terrifying for her to be taken from her house in the middle of the night (if that's what happened, seems they've now downgraded the "gun" in the scene to a "knife") but to spend nine months IN or AROUND your hometown and not figure out a way to come back? Hum.

OK, I was fifteen not five years ago. At fifteen I was pretty freakin' tenacious. I'll tell you one thing, if some freaky guy had kidnapped me, I would not have tolerated being toted around in public for nine months without trying to walk away. I'd like to think that if my fifteen-year-old sister were kidnapped that she'd have something more to say than "they were with me all the time" if she'd spent nine months as a religious vagabond. Weeeeirrrdd.

I can imagine that it's possible Elizabeth's captors tortured and/or raped her. I suppose they could have broken her will slowly. But to the extent that the media describes her as "happy, healthy, and whole" and from the pictures I've seen of her, I doubt it. She doesn't have the look in her eyes. She looks, as best as I can describe it, stupidly innocent.

Still, I think something's fishy here.

Windstorm
Last night was one of those bad nights. Fortunately, it was preceeded by one of the best nights (--to a point--) that I have had in a long time. Micah and Rachel came over Tuesday night and we ate baked rosemary chicken with carrots, onions, au gratin potatoes, salad and bread. And we drank wine and had fabulous desert all while Ella Fitzgerald sang in the background and an untended DuraLog blazed in the fireplace. Ahh, young yuppiedom.

But then I called my parents. And after that I crashed. I couldn't really study well for Japanese, hence I had a hard time at my "midterm" yesterday, I got all frustrated with them, felt like a failure, fed my anxiety complex and walled myself off. Now I don't even want to go home for spring break. It is, in fact, probably the most stressful thing I can think to do to myself. Ugh. I'm so angry with my family right now it makes it difficult for me to function. And the problem is, I always come off as immature and selfish when I talk to them no matter WHAT I do because a) they simply can't regard me as an adult with feelings (probably because they've repressed their own so much) and b) because I've learned, through 20 years of emotional segregation, to put up a verbal wall when I talk to them, which makes it impossible for me to express myself coherently.

So all that angst was the precursor to yesterday. Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well. I went to bed at 2AM and woke up around 6 after no dreams.

I crashed. Mondays and Wednesdays this term I had four classes. A two hour block from 9-11, two more hours from 12-2, and another hour and a half from 4-5:20. In the middle of these days, people always seemed to convince themselves it was the best time to make me their bitch. Don't ask me why. Anyway, it took most of my strength to get through those days. The last sessions of my CyberJ and International Communication classes were almost unbearable. I could have been celebratory but instead I felt like zombie.

Justin's mom was in town for her Eugene clinic and I was looking forward to her taking us out to dinner. Instead, she did what she usually does, which was to make plans with us and then skip out on them. But she DID bring down a bunch of cheese for us... before cussing out Justin for having long hair and no job, telling him she's cutting off funding for our grocery money and notifying him she's asking his dad to tell his grandpa not to send him checks any more. So Justin bombed, miserably. She gave him the money to go to Supercuts and get his lovely mane shaved off.

Alex caught me after class as I was making my way tiredly home. I vented to him for about an hour before coming home to find Justin waiting at the door for us to go get haircuts. We did. I like my trim. He got his cut ALL off. And yes, he does look about six years younger, but it's nice to be able to feel his head when I pet him. Poor Wolf Pup. He was so dejected. The problem with him being in a foul mood is that he's always in a REALLY foul mood which only serves to amplify my own empathic misery and send me further into the pit of despair. And I don't really consider that fair because while I know he'll be OK in a day or two, it can take me weeks to pull myself out of it.

We went home and decided not to make dinner. I was going to starve myself just to make myself feel worse, but then I realized that I was feeling like I'd hit a brick wall. After smelling the garlic noodles Justin made himself for like an hour, I felt so sorry for myself that I ate some (gross) instant chili and at least felt better. God, moving was such a chore. I couldn't even pull myself off the floor of the study to go get a salad. I couldn't motivate myself to study or to do anything productive. So I didn't, which I suppose is a good thing.

We went over to Ryan and Tara's with the rest of the fabulous dessert that Justin made the night before. God, it smells like bird shit over there from all the thousands of starlings nesting in those trees. And it's creepy to get out of the car at night, not just for the wave of nausea that hits you but for the noise the birds make as they settle into the trees. Ugh. Anyway, a lot of people showed up and everything was so noisy and spastic it just gave me a headache. That was when I realized I was doing really badly and feeling really tired. I couldn't even respond to people when they talked to me; I just wanted to say "shut up!" and cry. I hope everyone can forgive me for being such a bitch.

Yesterday, I was actually surprised when someone in my CyberJ class told me how nice and helpful I was. The whole time I was in that class, I was not only irate at the extreme stupidity of it but also extremely stressed. I was NOT a friendly person. I was, in fact, really closed and almost terse with people. But, whatever, I guess I can pull off "nice" even when I feel like a bitch.

After SP, Justin and I came home, only to run the car into the fucking parking structure. At least I damaged that part of the bumper a few weeks ago when I ran into Luke's station wagon. In any case, I'm sure it didn't make Justin feel any better. I'd been waiting for it to happen for some time. We went to bed miserable and dejected, Justin with his locks shorn in order to get up for an interview in the morning for a job that he will hate, and I with my body beaten and tired, not looking forward in any way to the coming days, weeks and months.

I woke up in the middle of the night to hear the wind howling outside the window as if it would tear the trees apart. In my dream, I had heard it and realized that it was real. I sat up in bed and Justin did the same, and we listened to it together for a few minutes, before falling back asleep. It's funny how nature can be so calming. I had more dreams, where I was performing with the Knights at a show and the crowd was calling my name.

When I got up, I felt that we had both been healed a bit by our sleep. I'm still not looking forward to tomorrow, or the next days, weeks, and months; but at least I don't feel so much like there's nothing to be found along the way. My life has surprised me a lot with changes since I came back from Belize. I guess I feel safe mentioning that it seems sometimes pleasantly absurd to me that I'm now best friends with Alex, when a year ago we were just learning to tolerate speaking to each other again. But aside from striking me as divinely comedic upon occasion, this friendship is probably one of the few reasons that I'm still sane and HAVEN'T sunk into the pit of despair recently. It is strange to have risen from the ashes, but only because it's now so completely natural. I guess life still does give out pleasant surprises.

It's 2:45 PM, and I think that Justin was offered that job he interviewed for this morning since he's not home yet. This is a good thing... it will make him feel much better, even without his hair. (lol) I find myself thinking more and more positively about our future with less emotional baggage on my chest, and I think I'd like to see him here when I come back from Waseda. Someone to come home to. And yes, I've pretty much decided that I want to go to Japan, even if my parents won't support me getting there. I can resort to extreme measures! I think I'll be the next in the wave of famous "web panhandlers" and set up a website on Oatmail (Micah's server) asking the kind, generous, public to have pity on a girl who wants to do something with her life. Maybe those people who got on the case of Karyn for her credit card debt and that little asian girl who wants people to buy her implants will support me in my quest to do something real. Or maybe not. I might have to put up some pictures of my boobs to get the cash. Whatever, I can dig it. Anyway, look for links to that site soon and drop some of your pocket change into my Paypal account. I need $15,000 to get to Japan!!

Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate...
Sometimes I really think there isn't much hope for the world. Between war and bigotry and false beliefs, there's only a mass of stupid people teeming for worthless things. I'm so sick of everything. I'm so tired of the rules. I just want to break it all down and embrace and be embraced without holding back or worrying about a career or a lifestyle or a relationship. I wanna be real.

But I am real.

I am.

I think?

[I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me.-Herman Hesse]

Aliens
My God, sometimes I seriously think I was raised on another planets from my parents. Where in God's name did these people come from? Or, I suppose the better question is, where did *I* come from, after being around *them* for so long? Ugh. Now that I've talked to them about study abroad and heard their indifference (except on a financial level) and listened to them try to convince me that I won't get anything out of going to Japan, the last thing I want to do is go home for spring break and spend time with them. I can't even talk to them. They refuse to entertain me as a person. I'm simply a goal, a career model, an ideal.

Fuck, I don't know why their opinion upsets me so much. Like their advice has any value when I look at them and dread living their lives. When dad tells me that I should be keeping my career path in mind instead of going off on "Adventures," I want to say, "Thanks, dad, I'll keep that in mind the next time I want to end up in a worthless job, clinically depressed about my life, wondering why I never did anything, just like you." NO ONE ELSE I've talked to about study abroad has been so close-minded and unsupportive. Not strangers, not friends, not my partner whom I'm leaving to go on "walkabout." My parents can't even understand and won't discuss my reasons for going. So, mom and dad, while you may not be crack addicts or abusive parents, in my mind you're terrible role models. At least I have you to thank for showing me what not to become. So fucking sorry I don't have a concrete career plan, a spouse picked out, and a white picket fence in mind. I'd rather find something that matters more than (what did dad say?) "making something" of myself. I'm going to be making MYSELF of myself, something the rest of the god damn country has forgotten in their quest to raise the bar for material satisfaction.

Does anyone want to come with me and start a close commune of people who care about finding themselves? A place where people can HAVE jobs they like and LEAVE them at any time? A place where one can buy Pottery Barn furniture OR Good Will gear just because it suits their taste and doesn't really make them feel better about themselves? A place where there's a great big open door for travel and a huge capacity for adventure? A place to come home to after exploring the ends of this great big world? A place to LIVE instead of a place to DIE? A place where children will be happy? Where money is whatever you make of it? A place to love being yourself?

Let's make it happen.

bleary-eyed
Why, why can't I sleep???

frozen solid
I realized this weekend the severity of my problems with stress and anxiety. I was lying in bed, looking over at my stuffed animals on a shelf across the room, and I realized that I could remember a time when I could actually relax and enjoy myself without feeling like I should be doing something productive or could be doing something more enjoyable. I'm a "live for today" sort of person but the problem is that I constantly try to make today the most productive today there is. I can no longer relax at all unless I'm in the middle of yoga or some other intensely physically focusing activity (a paradox right there). I can't make decisions without deliberating over them for a stupidly long period of time. I can no longer NOT feel guilty about chosing one course of action over the other and wondering what would have happened if I'd made the other choice. The littlest things make my mind grind to a screeching halt and stay deadlocked for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes... an hour... a day... a week.

What do I wear? I change three times. Where do I go for dinner? I pick six different places and narrow down the list. I toss back and forth the last two choices for twenty minutes. Anything impulsive is against the rules. Always planning; writing in calendars. Never any time for freedom, always have to make sure obligation is done first.

Whenever someone asks me what I think, I freeze. I'm constantly tense; I can't unwind. My back pops, my neck cracks. I lay in bed awake. I curl up. I stretch out. The walls close in. I start the day planning my course of action. By three in the afternoon I have a stress headache and my vision is blurry. I can't think. Demands make me cry. I hate my job. I hate my classes. I hate writing. I hate people who try to get close to me. I go home. I sit in front of the computer. I do nothing but can only think of what I need to do. I eat to unwind. I eat to stop the headache. I eat because it's comforting. I eat becase I'm not hungry and it feels good to indulge in something. Then I stop eating. I hold back. I starve, I control. I revise, I rewrite, I pare down, I perfect. I make up, I slim down, I consume, I refuse. I sit and wait for someone else to tell me what to do and how to act and how to look and what my god damn syllabus for life should be because I don't know I don't know I can't even make one tiny fucking choice any more. I'm frozen solid.

Christ, at this rate I'll be institutionalized in five years. I just want to be a whole person and actually find enjoyment in one day of my life. How long has it been since I've enjoyed anything in a relaxed, awake state? How long has it been since I've enjoyed food, sex, sleep, nature, conversation, company, accomplishment, interaction, learning, philosophy, spirituality? How long?

I'm not depressed; I'm not destroyed; I'm simply devoid. And that's the crux of it. I just go through the motions, some days remotely pleased with myself, others not so much so. I mark the days of my calendars with a face for my emotions. Some are sad, but most are neutral, a little straight line for a mouth. A dash where my smile should be. Even on my weekends.

I thought to myself, Saturday morning, as I lay in bed and attempted to enjoy a lazy morning (I failed), that it had to stop. I'm telling myself today, as I try to unwind before going to bed, anxious at the things I have not finished, that it is destroying my life. That I need help. Even though I recognize it, I can't do anything for it. I don't know what to do. No one I know can give me impartial advice; not even my closest friend. I should seek help. I should and I want to. But I don't have time. And there's the crux of it. There needs to be a nice little pouch in time just for me. A day or two every week so I can have me time. Me me ME. That's all I want. Stop asking me to do things with you. I don't want to go to coffee. I don't want to go on a motorcycle ride. I don't want to talk to you. I want ME. I want to talk to me. But I'm here, alone, and the words don't come. Because I'm not here with myself, really, at all. I'm here with my fucking day-planner because that's all that's left.

It's true what they say; you can't love anyone else until you love yourself. I had that for a little while... I remember it. But I can't decide how to get back there. Next term, I will make time. I will find someone to help me find me again and unwind this freaking knot in my head. I'll stop being everyone's pawn and playing everyone's game and just get back to my whole, spiritual, self. I will enjoy at least one more day in this life that is MY OWN.

Addendum: Somehow it always seems to come back to the fact that I have $30,000 in loan debt hanging over my head. And that pretty much determines the course of my financial independence. I wonder if I should write about this SHIT on my scholarship essays and if THAT would get those fucking bastards to give me a little money.

Template
I need a new template... something with a graphic. Blah. I wish I could do web design; I wouldn't feel like such a dumbass.

Wanna live with my boyfriend?
Hooooy, Eugenites. Justin and I get a huge break on our lease if we sign for 1 year or 15 months. The only problem is that I'm going abroad for a year in the fall and we don't get as much of a break if we only sign for 6 months. If you're looking to get out of your current housing situation and want to live with a cool guy like Justin starting next fall, let me know! I think he's willing to stay here and job-search, if just because cost-of-living is so much lower than Portland or Seattle.

OV vs. OC
So the Oregon Voice (the magazine I publish) has filed a grievance against the Oregon Commentator (another campus publication), for violation of electronic privacy. You can read all about it in the Oregon Daily Emerald today. Front page. I didn't want to say anything until it made news, I'm already tired enough of all the flak as it is. You can read what happened in the story but I'll give you my version of the events.

The Voice hosts its content on the editor's gladstone site in folders that are obviously intended for staff use. The Commentator went into the site and accessed the content for our UPCOMING issue and "spoofed" in in their Monday issue. While I don't mind them spoofing us; the fact that they're mocking stories that haven't been published yet and were ripped from our website is unsettling to me. Despite being publicly accesible, we did not give permission for them to use those stories. Though they didn't plagiarize our work, they used original titles and altered the stories to contain offensive content. I don't really CARE about the offensive content. I'm one of those people who finds South Park funny... it's just that they laid it on US. And no, no one would have gotten the joke or cared, really. The grievance was filed for the sake of the staff who put hard work into their stories only to have them ripped before they were even published.

So I support the principles of the grievance. I can just see (and dread) this getting bigger than I even want to deal with. So far the editor of the OC has been personable, and I've made it known that I in no way support juvenile retribution on the part of the OC or the Voice. I don't want "work" getting any more into my personal life than it already is. I have enough stuff to worry about that I don't feel like exacerbating with a "cold war" between the Voice and the Commentator. We're not even a political publication, for god's sake! We're just here to give students the opportunity to write and to have a good time!

I'm sure some people would love a little tit-for-tat. But I'm not one of them. I hope we've made known to the Commentator that the methods of their "joke" are unacceptable, but that's the limit to which I wish to take this. I don't want to spend the rest of my career at the Voice editing out people's stupid jabs at the Commentator or looking through their pages to find my name or my publication under some headline. I can tarnish my reputation enough on my own, thanks.

I just don't understand why these people in positions of authority find it so hard to behave like professionals... or even like adults. It really gets my fucking goat. I'm mad that the OC found it neccesary to fuck with the Voice, but I'm also upset at the proportions to which our "response" has grown. I'm sure you'll be seeing more in the papers later. I'll post it here when it comes out. Otherwise, I deign not to talk about it, for my own sake, on this publicly accessible forum.

And no, I don't hate the Commentator. In fact, I read them and sometimes enjoy well-written commentary. It's only when they write offensive and juvenile literature that I'm put off. Like I said, I enjoy South Park, but only because there, everyone's a victim. With the Commentator, they always seem to think their ethics are right and everyone else is wrong. While I'm glad for their freedom of speech as much as I'm glad of my own, it seems reasonable that they should expect someone to respond to being trashed.

I just don't want to get in over my head. People in large groups can do stupid, stupid things. Especially people in the "media." That's not for me. I'd rather be on the sidelines talking diplomacy, thanks.

Join my army!!
God, the internet is dumb.

Do it anyway.

revelation
I have a theory. And my theory will make Christians mad, so I'll just come out and say it:

George W. Bush is the antichrist.

I mean, how perfect would that be? He seems like a good Christian, he quotes the bible left and right. He's got the conservative christians RIGHT where he wants them. Aren't his "black and white" definitions of good and evil appealing? Isn't he free from temptation? Wouldn't it be appropriately ironic if the only people he is "attractive" to are narrow-minded bigots who will find out that they've been following the "wrong side" all these past few years?

And that whole Homeland Security Act and Information Awareness Bureau? *whistles through teeth* Talk about the "mark of the beast"

Now, to the contrary, I can't really imagine Bush as a harbringer of a "7 year peace plan," or someone whom all the world will love and respect for any period of time... especially because he's shown no sign of even temporarily saving the world from economic and social problems as the antichrist is supposed to do. And then there's the fact that half of the world already hates him. But who knows what this whole "war" thing will turn into. Maybe we're farther into armageddon than we imagine.

Come on though, wouldn't he be a perfect antichrist? The irony of that would make the end of the world just SO perfect.

Although some would contend that David Hasselhoff could be the antichrist. This also seems pretty appropriate.

And apparently other people share my theory [and THEIR page has SOUND!!!]... rats. I'm not ingenous.

Isn't it ironic?




The world is going straight to hell... and there's nothing we can do to stop it.

the winter blues
If there's one thing I love to do in winter, it's eat. Sit and eat and eat and eat and get wonderfully, deliciously fat. Ok, so not "fat," but you know what I mean. It's freezing and wet outside and the only way to keep warm and prevent myself from fixating on the darkness is to put a little chocolate in my life. Did I say a little? I meant a lot...

Chocolate and cheese and milk and cream and sugar sweets... cookies and cake and fudge and caramel.... MMMMm..... I just can't get enough. But sooner or later they'll do me in, cavities or otherwise. My increased caloric intake has already axed my super metabolism, and it's about damn time. I was a BIT concerned when I had a body-composition test taken a few weeks ago and measured at only 14% body fat. Yes, FOURTEEN. "Average" is 22-24%, "lean" is 18-20%, 14% is less than most athletes. Only 18.2 pounds of my weight (that includes breasts and thighs) is fat. But...I don't FEEL small. Especially... THAT small.

Well, I'm not anymore. Thankfully. I guess I'm glad that I'm porking up a bit. And I actually AM. By that I don't mean visually noticeably, but it is happening. And for that I'm glad. It was weird being considered 'underweight,' though I found myself more physically contented at "skinny" than I have at any other weight. The only problem is that I looooove sweets so much I'm not gonna want to stop my current bingeing. Then I'll get hard on myself again and I don't want to get back into a self-depricating mindset.

Eh, well, at least I understand my body better than most people understand theirs. I'm aware of what routines will change me. I know what to do to take care of myself; it's just a matter of doing it. And next term I'll be back to working out (cardio/ weights) three days a week, plus alternate days of tai chi, plus all the biking I normally do. That (and the increased light) will wake me right up. ^^

I'm really enoying my "just desserts" for now, though. I managed to eat a whole quart of chocolate sauce by myself since October!!! Well, they say fat intake increases brain activity... And maybe it keeps me from getting so friggin cold all the time. I really do hate going outdoors when it's so blasted chilly. Yeah, I know this is nothing compared to my nine winters in the midwest... but Oregon cold has some weird, wet, pervasive quality to it. I prefer indoors this time of year, thank you!

MMm.... werthers caramels. *muncH*

solace
I feel sad today. Sad but good underneath it all. That's pretty much how I've been feeling these last few weeks-- shitty on a surface level but pretty happy underneath the tired, worn out exterior. The winter is really getting to me... I'm totally blase, unmotivated, uninspired, and bored. I just want to sleep, curled up in front of the fireplace, with my boy and my cat. That would make me content. There's a heaviness to my body that makes me exhausted. It takes effort just to force enough introspection to write these words; there's a calm in this sadness that makes me completely indifferent. It's a time for cocooning and healing-- for things that my body and mind save all their energy.

Thankfully, the people in my fiction writing class liked my twenty-five dollar story. I was worried that they would be hard on me since I'm so infinitely (yet constructively) critical of everyone else's work. But even the professor thought the story worked well. There are still some major elements that need fixing and developing but I don't need to change the whole thing around. I have something to turn in on Friday without much worry. I just don't have the motivation to do any quality work. At least writing fiction is sort of an escape. At least I got back most of the copies I made so I can recycle them and think about my $25 going back into the environment. Fucking kinkos.

Oh, and when my story was being reviewed, I looked out the window and watched a redheaded woodpecker vehemently pecking a tree. He stayed there the whole hour... I wonder if he has a killer headache.

indifference
Sometimes I feel like indifference is a blessing. I spend so much of my time being drawn and quartered by the people and problems in my life that every now and then it's nice to totally not give a shit. In fact, it's fucking fabulous.

I've had these tremendous emotional inconsistencies in my life for the last few years or, really, God knows how long. The headaches of the last few weeks have been caused by one of them working its way out of my system, like air bubbles through the bloodstream. I've had to sequester myself in this mental decompression chamber so I didn't pop and spew guts all over the place.

I'm tired and I'm vulnerable but I'm mostly indifferent. There's no drama but there's no drive, either. I guess that's the price I pay. But I feel really good underneath all this bland tiredness, like I'm finally welcome back into the circle of my own life.

Open arms; it's all about open arms.

Buy me shit!
Ok, all my geeky friends.... I need your ideas on some toys I want to buy before I go abroad. I need three things: a laptop, a camera, and an MP3 player. I I may be able to get a spiffy MP3 player in Japan for a decent price but I'm curious what you think about those too. First, pretend that price is no issue. What kind of laptop would I want? Mac or PC? What brand of PC? What kind of camera? What kind of MP3 player? OK, now be realistic. I'm farking poor. What's the bang-for-your-buck computer, camera, and MP3 player? What shit will I be able to afford to buy that won't break an hour after I get it?

So tell me: CAMERA, LAPTOP, MP3 PLAYER.... expensive and affordable, what are your buys?

Help, help.

reflection
A few minutes ago, I was looking in the mirror in the EMU bathroom, combing my hair and feeling sorry for myself, when a girl came in. She was wearing leather and her hair was shaved off. She washed her hands, shouldered her bag, and walked out. She didn't look twice. She didn't stop and feel sorry for herself. Or, if she did, I couldn't tell.I was just putting on my makeup, covering the circles under my eyes and pushing the hair back off my forehead. As the girl in leather left, I pictured myself inside of her. I saw me with a shaved head in a leather jacket, leading a life confined by an entirely different image demographic. Could that be me, not stopping to look in the mirror? What am I, anyway? A middle-class, intellectual, somewhat vain, wanna-be anorexic, pseudo-spiritual, malcontent liberal-arts student? Is that the extent of my stupid demographic? I can add a few more adjectives but they all just make me more sorry for myself. And more tired. I'm bogged down by the weight of all these words.

Am I only what other people see?

I passed Luis in the stairwell on the way to class. "How's it going?" he asked me. "Oh, OK," I said. But my brain yelled, "It's going SHITTY, Luis, I'm tired of jumping through everyone's fucking hoops and I have no one to thank for all this pissy moodiness but myself." I'm not lying when I say I'm fine, but I'm not telling the truth either. I'm never going to be content with what I'm doing, who I'm with, or where I am. I think the only serenity I find is spoon-fed to me in yoga class and artificial serenity doesn't last too long.

At least there's still irony in my life. Friday I made an ass of myself in front of the professor of my Fiction writing class, of whom I'm not too fond, and when I got home I found out he'd nominated me for a "prestigious university award." Last night, I spent $25 on photocopies for the same stupid class. And the fact that it was my own fault I didn't figure out how much it would cost before I got there or put the effort into doing it a cheaper (or free) way was enough to make me severly depressed. Stupid money. Fucking commerce. I'm so sick of being poor and overworked and tired as hell and never really getting any reward for the shit I put myself through.

And. And. And And and and and and andandandand&&&&&&..... I love that word. It puts all the pieces of the universe together.

I don't feel like writing here any more. I don't feel like waking up.

Writer's Block

Can�t think, brain dumb,
Inspiration won�t come.
Bad Ink. Worse pen.
Best wishes,
Amen

I'm going to bed. I ate so much I think I might burst.