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.