reversion

It's been more difficult than usual for me to function these past few days; I've been trying to chalk it up to a myriad of different factors, but I've realized slowly that I am actually sick.  The sore throat was the only disabling symptom and I wanted to leave it at that, but the feeling really tired and generally blah is now making sense.  

I was just about to write how I feel like I'm in a state of flux again, but then I tried to think back to a time when I didn't feel this way, and I can't.  It might be the nature of the mood, or maybe being a maturing creature of comfort means that I'll never feel settled.  If you were to chart a calendar of my mental life it would just be a long line studded with a series of goals, as minute as "have a drink here in a little bit" and as large as "graduate," tangible as a beverage and intangible as the final goal, The Big One, at the end of the line.  At each of these points I am altered slightly; offered choices.  They are important because they are things I want to do, or, rather, things set in motion by me.  In between these points on the line are all of the unforseens and obstacles, the things I have to react to as opposed to an action.  The points are the things that make me feel good, and the inbetweens shake me up, though they are necessary.  Feeling in-between all the time might really be a lack of important goals.  I need to think about this more.

If you just read all that I'm sorry, here's a picture of Hitler-chan for your trouble.

colored

When we got our papers back for my sociology class the other day, my professor made the following announcement:

"While reading these, I noticed a lot of you, when describing African-Americans, used the term 'colored people.'  This is... not okay.  You need to change your terminology."

I knew I was taking a kind of cattle-call soc class but... what.

valerian root:

y'all are missing out.  I like plants that do things to the body.  Also chemicals.  Things that do things.  We cultivate them en masse, a leftover primitive impulse refined and humanized in that innumerable-strings-attached way.  I like having control over my body.  Losing it is a fear.

I need to stop this birthday indulgence; already it's a day stale and I'm still letting myself eat all the cheese I want because "hey, birthday."  

But I really didn't do anything on my birthday, except get a wicked sore throat that's persisted.  

ammonia

Yesterday I was walking the three blocks from my car to work, and it was like those scenes in Shaun of the Dead where it's completely obvious that something jacked-up is going on (i.e. zombie infestation), but the main character is so wrapped up in his own life that he fails to notice for way too long.  

So, there were emergency vehicles.  Fire trucks, police cars, "hazardous material" lorries.  I passed a fire truck and kind of though "Huh," then as I approached I realized that I was there were more people than usual milling around.  Then I saw that the street had actually been blocked off, and a pissed-looking police lady was yelling that everybody needed to go get in the alley by the Rosa Parks Way viaduct.  Firemen and police personnel were walking about nervously, some with gas masks, talking into their radios.  The activity seemed centered around the building next to the one I work in, but when I asked the police lady if I could go in that one, she said "NO" so I fell in line with the group of developmentally disabled people who apparently work in the other building and walked to the alley.  There I sat, feeling confused but not at all panicked, in a crowd of friendly 'tards.  I called the office and my coworker said nothing seemed amiss.  What?

Finally, after sitting for about 15 minutes, I asked one of the other (non-disabled) people what was going on, and she told me there'd been an ammonia leak in the building next to mine.  

The buildings are snug against each other, but not connected in any way, so I took my chances with deadly deadly ammonia and snuck around the block to the front of the building, where I got in no problem.  

It was just a very odd thing, sitting there in the pigeon-feathered, scrubby grass and not knowing whether there was a bomb or a gunman or poison gas or what, and not really caring.  It was a nice day outside and I didn't really want to be at work.

same old

My cable being turned off almost 2 weeks ago has actually turned out to be refreshing.  I've been downloading torrents of the shows I really want to see, and in effect have filtered out all the shit that I'd put on for "background noise."  

I drank a lot of red wine and had crazy dreams about poetry last night; a "new style" I invented where the letters and words dance across the page not in straight lines, but bobbing gently up and down, mimicking vocal patterns.  This takes the question out of inflection, this gives substance to the abstract un-spokenness.  Etc.  I've been reading aloud for hours and hours at work this week, and have been focusing on my ability to dictate to my (blind) boss in a way so he knows if my vocal pause is a comma, period, parenthetical, heading, etc.  

Thinking about it, it's probably been done before.  In my dream, typesetting was a problem, and I got stressed about cutting and pasting hundreds of tiny letters into these patterns in it and thought "I'll deal with this later," then cruised off to another vignette of dreamland wheeeee.

I have the social problem where, if I don't have an actual, interesting conversation with someone I tend to forget their name and/or face.  It doesn't have to be a conversation; maybe something about the person that catches my attention (a piercing, hairstyle, etc.)  This causes awkwardness, especially in the case of neighbors, or people whom I've had a class with who talk to me outside of the class.  I mention this because I was just in the hallway here and these dudes walked by and said "how's it going" and I was so worried about whether or not I was supposed to know them I just kind of oozed out "It's... ooooh-kayyyy..."  Faces of people I don't know look so generic.  For me, to know someone well enough to remember them is to love them, in a way.  I can only handle loving so much.

wonderful wonderful wonderful

had an excellent birthday dinner at Parthenon with mom & dad.  The waiter was sweet as fuck and, after he accidentally gave me a regular gyro instead of a gyro supreme, bought me a shot of ouzo for my birthday.  :)

My mom gave me some new, nice work-type shirts which I was in dire need of, and some random girly bath/candle things.  So nice, everything was so nice and good.

Now I'm going to chill and watch the newest Project Runway on my computer.  Everything is nice, and everything is good.

I'm fbook-stalking the girl who lives in my building whose internet I am leeching.  She is hell of cute.  I saw her name on her shared folder on the network.  She has decided to steal "my" parking space, so I feel justified in this.  

A transgendered (ftm) dude is coming to talk to my soc class tomorrow; excited.  Gender queers are the coolest.  I would date an FtM in a heartbeat if everything else was right.  I don't care, I'm not ashamed in the least to announce that to the world.  

I should point out

that I am a generally merry and laid back person.  This internet-based corner often shoulders the burden of everything I don't want to talk about in real life; a medium for the crazy.  So if you read all of my semi-coherent obsessing and think "Shit, bitch," this is all well and good, just remember to think it gently, gently.

paranoias

Pretty soon most of my clothes are going to be my little sister's hand-me-downs.  Ups?  The rest of my clothes will be stuff I've had since high school.  I have seen the future, and it is piecemeal fashion.

I've felt "safe" most of my life, you know, just a general feeling that I'm not going to be killed at any moment, things may be shitty but I'm not in mortal peril, etc.  But lately I've got this creeping feeling of "not safe."  I know I'm not going to get stabbed and raped or anything, but thinking  to go to bars gives me ill feelings because I don't want to deal with dudes trying awkwardly to be suave with me, or yelling stuff at me, or looking hard at me.  I know I'm not special.  I just don't want to deal with it.  I want to be able to take a walk by myself in the evening in Lincoln and not have like three separate incidences of creepers either saying shit to me from their porch or following me in their cars.  I have seen the future, and I will be complaining about the opposite thing when I'm old and a cat lady.  

   

Thinking about "Politics" lately pert near gives me panic attacks.  I will not feel safe with those people in office.  I do not feel safe now.  There is no money, there is only the idea of money, there is negative ideas of money.  There are the wealthy and the elite and there is me, and I don't feel safe.  I have seen the future, the creeping toxic mold.  I do not feel safe.   

thought i heard music

Just a minute ago, sitting here in my living room, I was zoning out and really digging on this nice, hell of chill ambient music that was playing.  Then I realized there wasn't any music playing, and I'd started hearing high and low droning, like singing glass, amidst the wind in the trees and the crickets and the low wail of distant trains.

I'd say something like "man gotta lay off the drugs" but it's actually much nicer over here on this side.  

Man,

all I really want is a tattoo.  I've been wanting another for years, and it was my "summer goal" before I lent out and spent the hundreds, woosh, there it goes, poor, destitute, no cable, leeching internet.  

I have this notion that I'll feel much better once I get it.

I will.

My computer's really hot on my lap.

I haven't eaten today.

What.

Whaaaaat.  This is stupid, shut up sarah.

Good news: My J-Candy order has shipped!  :D  Minus the Green Pea Pretz and Gummy Ramune! D:  It's okay, though.  I told them to just cancel things that were unavailable and it saves me some $$z ("dollaz").

Oop.

Got a little ahead of myself, thinking maybe I was cool, maybe I could change.

Am not can not.

Be decent and good and shrivel with boredom.

Be awful and odd and hate yourself.

Make them love you, but maybe not the right ones, not in the right ways.

He's gone for a week and I'm throwing up again.

Bizarre throat-masturbation, feels so good, animal rush, then you stand up sweaty and are alone.

((( )))

There's drama here, will it be here later, can I be her later, can I eat there later, there are her terrible dramas, later there, her lasting loss.

  

it is going to be

an interesting night

the mints

in the freezer

they were so cold

they were so

cold

If nobody makes me this cake on my birthday, I will imagine it anyway.

tony tony tony or: my most triumphant hour

This isn't going to be very eloquent or classy, but I've got to get it out of me.  

I've been close to shitting myself ever since I found out Anthony Bourdain was coming to UNL for a book signing.  I bought tickets the same day I saw the poster, and for the next three weeks or so I was going through various stages of euphoric anxiety, desperation, and arousal.  

I showed up at 6:00 when the show started at 7:30, because a friend-of-friend relayed that a line was forming already.  I'd intended to meet up with one of four groups of people who were going, but one of the groups couldn't get last-minute tickets, and when I made a mad dash for a front-row, center seat, I wasn't moving for anybody.  

He gave a roughly 2-hour speech about his job and his philosophies, with a vaguely embarrassing Q&A, and the packed auditorium laughed uproariously and fawned unabashedly.  I was seated directly in front of him the whole time.  As I told Jennifer: "If I'd have stood up, I could have fellated him."  I'm sorry for having said/written that, but it is illustrative.  

I waited in line, clutching my Les Halles cookbook, for around an hour.  I was killing myself over having forgotten my camera, but in a sweet turn of fate a former co-worker was in line next to me, and offered to take the photo and send it to me.  

My turn at his table was very literally like dreaming, my mind went on auto-pilot as I approached and was greeted by one of my biggest heroes and crushes.  I said, "Hello, Mr. Bourdain."  I handed him my book, and he asked me to whom he should inscribe it.  I said, "Sarah with an 'h,' please," then asked if I could have a photo.  As I scooted next to him behind the table, my hand slipped into my purse to my secret weapon, and I asked, "Would you like some bourbon?"  He didn't hesitate in the slightest: "Yes."  I slid my flask of Maker's Mark to him, and he made to grab a cup or something to put it in, then decided to just drink from the flask while everybody hooted and snapped photos.  He laughed and said "Thank you!" and I thanked him and told him to have a good night.  As I floated away, an angry UPC supervisor was yelling "Can we not do that?!" over and over, but I didn't care, it didn't matter, and I took a hearty swig of sweet whiskey, covert mission accomplished.  

   

I couldn't have imagined a more perfect encounter with someone I truly admire.  I haven't been able to stop smiling.  

elevator & balloons

Today as I was taking the parking garage elevator to the 6th floor, the girl getting off at the 5th floor turned her face to me, smiled, and slowly said "Have a good Monday."  

I smiled back and said, "Thank you, you too."  

I don't know why I haven't been able to get this out of my head.  Did I do something to provoke this small, unexpected kindness?  Did she like how I looked?  My camouflage jacket, which I feel kind of like a douche in sometimes but wear anyway because it fits me and it is cool?  Did she like how I eeped out "Oh sorry sorry sorry!" when she was trying to push the 5th floor button and I was standing in the way because the elevator was crowded with 3rd and 4th floor people?  Was she amused by the chorus of jangling, rattling, paper-crinkly noises when I dug too long in my purse for my keys?  Is she in one of my classes?  Did she also enjoy the kind of juice I was drinking?  

Or is she just the kind of girl who goes around saying "Have a nice _______" to random people.  Or maybe only when she's leaving you alone on an elevator, uplifted.

I remember a flash of teeth on a pale face.  She might have been wearing gray.

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

Today I found myself spying on people in my apartment building's parking lot, lying on the floor with my face to the screen door at cat-eye level (I know this is a fact because I was flanked by cats at that time).

There were about seven of them but they rode in on about five motor-cycles.  Tied to each of the motor-cycles were big clusters of colorful helium balloons.  

It was not my intention to be a voyeur today, but it just sort of happened, since I had left my knitting on the porch and was too scared to go out and get it while they were there, waiting for them to leave turned into watching, and I became entranced.  I tried to decipher their personalities from their friendly interactions; their overheard cellphone conversations.  I imagined that their faces were familiar, and how they would speak to me if we were friends.  They hung around for about 20 minutes, two of the guys briefly trying in vain to pop balloons by smashing them between two fists like a giant jaw clamping.  Then, they got on their motor-cycles and left, the balloons fluttering crazy and lit-up with the glow of taillights.

the past

Inspired by r.wolfe I opened up the earliest entries in my Livejournal I kept from 2003 until I started this blog thing, and started reading. I've actually kept a Livejournal since about 1999, but I had teenage freakouts and deleted most of the accounts; I really wish I hadn't, for hilarity's sake.
I thought it would make me scream and turn inside-out with embarrassment, but I wasn't so bad. An attention whore, a nerd, and kidding myself, but sometimes funny and creative. I'm the same person, but in hundreds of ways I'm definitely not that person anymore at all.

Here's an average entry from December 2003 (I changed names 'cause I'm a pussy):
"Hurray for not updating.

I have literally barely been on the computer, lately. Well, I guess I was almost all day today.

Finals this coming week. Lots of shit to get done this coming week. Fuckin' yay. >XP

This weekend was interesting. Boyfriend and Friendface ended up spending the night on Friday because OtherFriend ditched them - told them to spend the night at his house, then called and said not to come around 11:30. My parents didn't find out until the morning, however, and then we made up some story about OtherFriend having to milk(ha ha) freakishly early and Boyfriend being locked out and them just crashing here.
On Saturday, the three of us went sledding. :D! It was fun. Strangely. Friendface got a bloody nose for no reason. The blood looked really cool on the snow. Friendface's parents were bitches and made us all have to go back after only about an hour because he had to pick up his grandma for his parents' big Christmas party thing.

Then we dressed up as the gay mafia and went to BK and WalMart. And as we were driving back by Friendface's house, we were like, "Man, I hope the cops stop at your parent's party, Friendface." Because all their guests were parked on both sides of the street when there were no parking signs all the heck over. And as we were saying that, a cop car turns down his street in front of us. We totally freak out and follow him, and sure enough, he drives through all the cars, whips around, and turns on his lights. >XD Nobody got in trouble, though... they just had to move. Aw.

So then we watched "The Wall" at my house. Then Friendface had to go pick up his grandma, and while he was gone Boyfriend and I did some fun stuff that I'm sure you all care about. Then eventually they went home and I went to bed.

Weekends go by too damn fast.

I've been okay lately. A little sad and frustrated with my world - mainly the dumb cunts who I have to deal with in it.
Thursday I had some sort of freaking mental breakdown in which I had to leave school because I started crying and couldn't stop. When I got to my car after being yelled at and treated like an idiot for 'interrupting' Mr. Martin's class to tell Boyfriend I couldn't take him home, I just started BAWLING and screaming uncontrollably. It was crazy.

I painted an awesome chair for Bauman.

Things should feel better once school lets out for the semester. I just have to get through this."

I forgot about the gay mafia. God we were weird.

commercials

Some commercials that make me angry:

Ore-Ida "Steam n' Mash" Potatoes.  This product is pre-peeled and cut potato chunks, frozen in a bag, that you steam in the microwave and mash yourself to make the mythical gourmet treat: mashed potatoes.  Show me someone who does not know how to peel, boil, and mash some fucking potatoes without this space-age technology, and you will be showing me someone I will punch in the face.

"Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist," a new teen-targeted movie starring Michael Cera, the formerly-charming, now-ubiquitous young stoner.  I just want to know what the fuck this has to do with William Powell and Myrna Loy.  Is it an homage, or just lazy recycling?  Either case makes me infinitely sad.  

_________________

Being busy all the time means that when I'm faced with an afternoon with nothing to do, I find myself bored and anxious.  

Get'chu some.

well-well

I have two weeks to myself, let's see how long it takes before I get trapped in a mind-vortex and never return.

I've been having what I call "random lucid memories" lately, and it's something I've not experienced before.  For the past few weeks certain triggers will set off these memories in my head -- a smell, a location, a song, the way the light hits something, a word, etc. -- and I'm suddenly flooded with something from my past I haven't thought about in years, like weathered flotsam beaching itself briefly on the shores of my mind.  

It's different, though, than just remembering something.  It consumes me for a moment, like I sort of mentally "walk into" the vision and can bring up details and textures and emotions.  I usually enjoy them briefly then move on, but I'm feeling increasing pressure to collect them, somehow, as they slip away.  

I just wonder if this is normal, and adulthood is a slow catalogue.  Maybe everybody's life replays for them in this form, and it speeds up as you near death.  

it's been a long week, folks. let's talk about vaginas.

"Beetle creates dangerous car traffic situation in Los Angeles."

I saw this link from Megan on Alexis's wall.  I don't even have commentary for you, really.  Just... there it is.  Vagina-car.  I am fully supportive, except that it makes me imagine vaginas talking with German accents, and puppetry/comedy surrounding anthropomorphic genitals generally weirds me out.  

A link from the article:

"1500 Names for Female Anatomy."  

My favorites include: "hairy axe wound," "mossy cottage," "pink velvet sausage wallet;" "standing room for one."  

Terms I plan to use as soon and as often as possible: "ace of spades," "fig," "bajingo," "deer hoof," "the ineffable," "whisker biscuit;" "magpie's nest."   

candy update

I got a confirmation e-mail from Jlist saying 

"We have not yet shipped your order as some of the products are temporarily out of stock.  Your order will be shipped when we receive the items from our suppliers." 

Thing is, I remember getting this exact message last time I bought candy.  And I replied to it, asking if it would take longer than a few weeks, since it was a birthday gift (... mine).  I received a reply the next day, saying my order had shipped.  

I have a wonderful mental image of some poor Japanese guy with a printout of my order in a local deli-market, searching for the right candy.   

locust trees

They're cutting down the locust trees by the parking lot next to the Union, the one that's going to be turned into a construction site for a "Multi-cultural Center" for the next few years.
I shouldn't really care, I did not in particular love those locust trees; they were part of my view out of Selleck when I lived there, along with the parking lot, I love the parking lot. I have walked through it times, for years; it's a nice place to park when you're late for a final exam and don't care if you get ticketed. It is a nice place to see that the food for the Chinese restaurant arrives in a giant semi-truck with a red dragon on the side, which is probably why it tastes just like every other cheap Chinese place's food, even though you'll eat it anyway when you've had dreams about crab rangoons again.
I guess projecting my anger onto the Multi-cultural project, which, if I understand correctly, will consist of a computer area/lounge and some offices. If somebody could please explain to me how this will help make things more "Multi-cultural" or help "Multi-cultural" persons in a way the University cannot currently provide, I would very much appreciate it. I think I would be less confused if they had just called it a "Union Expansion."
But anyway, it's strumming my nerves like a lute, drones of depression and high tittering melodies of anxiety.
I hate the pale sour tears in bark. I hate the ferny leaves hanging unnatural, like broken fingers.

buh

I'm tired of people.  No, not you, just everyone else.  It seems like every time I turn around I have to deal with someone acting like an ass, and the dealing makes me act like an ass, and I feel undignified and exasperated.  I'm tired of feeling my brain atrophy when I have to try and make sense to these people.    

I JUST REALLY DON'T CARE.  

So I cut.

snip.

It feels good.  

J-list

QTY DESCRIPTION

3 Mentos--Grapefruit

1 Kanro Pure Gummy--Blueberry Flavor

1 Green Pea Pretz

1 Sakuma Drops Candy

1 Meiji 100% Juice Gummy with a Juicy Center -- Red Grape & Chardonnay

1 Funyo Gummy -- Ramune & Peach Flavor

1 Meiji 100% Juice Gummy -- Golden Pineapple

1 Fuwarinka Gum Rose Flavor

Economy Air (SAL) Shipping $11.55

Total $27.85

This is a problem I have, where I buy too much Japanese candy online.  I'll let you know how it goes; they didn't even have Juntsuyu, which is what I was looking for, but I hear the Grapefruit Mentos are to die for and you can't get them in the U.S.  

Grapefruit is the only flavor where I like the candy but not really the real fruit.  

This order is my birthday present to myself, by the way.  I think it's the same present I gave myself last year?  I guess September gives me hell of cravings for fine Japanese sweets and oddly flavored crunchbits.

Moms

All these Moms from Beatrice are getting Facebook, and it's really starting to creep me out.  

I guess they have a right to have Facebook.

I guess I just hear the gossip train clucking down those high rails.  

I guess something in me snapped and I'm full of fight and fire.

"Go away, Moms, this is not your domain."

If you see me ripping something or someone to shreds later just tell me I did good good good, like a puppy, and I'll wag my tail and be on my way.  

a fight

with a friend, friend-no-more, the first fight in recent memory. 

It felt childish, the way I only ever feel about politics anymore, when the other person's opinion just makes you want to laugh with disbelief.

Because you're so right.

I'm so right.

I'm alright.

This apathy may be alcohol.

In truth there was no saving it.

Drugs and time and circles can make a brain go soft and deviate;

replace fondness with disdain.

And this friend, this peripheral,

fuck it.

What's it done for you, lately?

dream

After some bizarre "classes" in incomplete rooms placed randomly in an outdoor park, one of which filled with water, I flitted off for an adventure with confidence.

It was suddenly a New York-type city and I entered this skyscraper and took an elevator way up to an "Art College."  But the art college was more like a secret clan or something because I knew I wasn't supposed to be there.  Everyone was immensely classy and knew what they were doing, and I almost ran away but a thin, dark-haired girl approached me enthusiastically and said "You must be Sarah!" and before I could stop myself I went along with it and got a name tag.  Apparently a girl with my exact name was supposed to be there and hadn't shown up.  I was seated at a table and given expensive food, while an older man talked to me about my credentials and I lied and lied and lied, waiting for my chance to escape.  Whenever I took a bite of the food I somehow bit off way too much and felt like an idiot trying to chew the giant mouthful.  

Finally, when I thought attention was off of me, I bolted for the elevators, but they all had strange signs I didn't understand, so I found the stairs and started sprinting down the spiral staircase, desperate to escape.  I passed a woman holding a baby who cackled, "You think the walls aren't transparent?  They can see you!" and she just laughed and laughed but I somehow made it through the foyer and onto the front steps of the building, where I woke up.  

Some things about my eyes.

My right eye felt odd all day yesterday.  I put in a brand new contact lens today, and it still feels funny, like I'm wearing a contact with a tear in it.  But I'm not.

Also now my left eye is slightly blurry.

Sometimes I think about how fucked I'd be if I had been born before corrective lenses were invented.  I would be very fucked.

I remember taking out my contacts on acid, WOO BOY that was fun.  I had fly-vision; the world was millions of tiny vibrations in mosaic.  

Because I'm near-sighted, when I don't have contacts in or glasses on I am able to view things extremely close with startling clarity.  This is useful when I'm say plucking my eyebrows or examining my pores, and freaking myself out on acid.

My eyes are kind of a mossy slate blue, like cold water, but can look different depending.

Depending.

squirrel

Today when I was driving, almost home, I approached this "thing" in the road that turned out to be a freshly-hit squirrel, flopping sickeningly with a twisted, crushed neck.  I had a split second to decide whether I should drive over him and end his misery, or swerve around and leave him to suffer to death.  

I swerved, bit my lip, crossed myself, and whispered that I'd forget about it in a minute; I'd move on with my life.  I hate squirrels, well, I used to, when they'd leap onto my mom's birdfeeders when I was young and chew them open to eat all of the seed, and I'd throw my dad's shoes at them while they clucked angrily at me from high branches.  Earlier today, though, I was walking to my car and saw a funny little squirrel fellow go up a flight of stairs that only led to a door.  I peered around the corner of the cement stairway to see he'd jumped onto a windowsill at about eye-height and was peering likewise at me.  

I am becoming more sentimental with age.  (?)  I view everything I love with such fondness, particularly animals and nature, and the people I like in secret ways, documenting their features in a mental museum I can peruse when I daydream.  Sometimes it feels like my whole life is a desperate quest for a new art to describe my love, and words dutifully fill in while I'm looking.  

complainery

I feel like shit.  I hate academia for the sake of academia.  I HATE IT SO FUCKING MUCH.

I hate the cunts who leave their trash in front of the dumpster.  SO FUCKING MUCH.

I hate myself for never being able to get anything done on time and doing a half-assed job because I think the assignment is lame, or, whatever.  I hate being optimistic about my semester and having it start out just like any other, with me being confused by what the fuck most of my teachers are trying to teach me and annoyed at their relative incompetence.  

If I have to hear one more person either sucking Palin's dick or talking about how much they hate her, I think I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.  I AM SERIOUSLY ON SOME KIND OF EDGE HERE.

My secret place.

On campus.

I've started having nightmares.  I'll have an unsettling dream once in awhile but not the clawing terrors I've been getting for the past week or so.  Even when I'm miserable for extended periods in the waking world dreams have largely been pleasant for me.  Even tragic scenes had a tint of fun and fantasy and desire.  

They're fears like I've never felt.  Instead of the usual "chased by monsters" or "friend hates me" nightmares I'll feel locked down and clouded for the rest of the day.  In one I remember I was looking out a window at the house next door and these white people kept coming to the windows and staring at me.  Not "white people" like caucasian but white, just no coloration in their skin or hair or clothing.  Three or so of them would come up at a time and stare with wide-open eyes and mouths, then they'd turn away and three more would come to a different window and my entire body tensed in silent screams.  

I'm wet already.

news news news

Let's get down to business.  

I quit Russ's Market Bakery.  

I'm very, very pleased with my decision, but went through some odd sadnesses that I always get when I leave a zone of comfort and routine.  Everybody was surprisingly emotional to see me go; R. got all choked up and told me I was "real."  Lisa made me the little cake above which made me verklempt; it was about the size of a softball and late that night I ate the entire thing in a disgusting frenzy and threw up.  It was a bizarre cleansing ritual, especially as I don't like the cake/frosting we sold.  

I haven't been back to visit yet and I don't miss the work at all, which illustrates the deadly quicksand that is complacency.

my computer is back.

Every semester I've taken seems to take on a sort of accidental "theme," where all of the classes I take complement each other on a certain vein that was previously invisible.  This is then layered with my personal emotions or circumstances.  There was a Gay Semester, a Women Semester, Old Semester, Drugs Semester, etc. etc.  I thought this time it was going to be "Nature," but after consideration I've decided it is the "Dichotomy Semester."  

I guess it's just being aware of the chasms and gaps and betweenness of betweens.

Academic vs. Animal

Culture vs. Nature

Love vs. Need

Me vs. You

Me vs. Me

etc.