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.