Muther Wuther!

Elsewhere I Proselytize

2010-09-16T20:29:00.001-04:00

http://confined-spaces.blogspot.com

Unemployment

2009-11-03T18:35:00.001-05:00

sucks ass.

We suck.

2009-09-23T01:54:00.001-04:00

http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2009/09/mannahatta/mannahatta-animation

How can you look at that and think of humanity as anything other than a cancer on the face of the Earth?

Button, button, who's got the button?

2009-07-27T19:35:00.004-04:00

Sometimes, things just bother the shit outta me. As an example, I give you the internet.

Now, in other countries, the internet is pretty much just that. You pay some money, you get a connection, log on, surf porn, enjoy. Over and done with. Yet here in the states, this is not the case.

If you live in the country, just don't bother. You're either stuck with satellite, which is either slow or intermittent at best. If you're in a city, you play games with providers that own the lines and who refuse to let any competition through. They decide when new lines get put down, and if it doesn't sound profitable, they don't do it.

So here we have a tool that is quickly becoming part of our infrastructure the way highways are. Here we have corporations protecting their best interests. And here we have the citizens bent over and constantly being asked to take it hard.

Everything in my day is decided by money. Not necessarily by me and my money, but more often by other people and their money. For instance, where I would've love to have, say, a good internet connection, I'm trapped with embarq because it's the only place in Gun Barrel that you can get hard wired internet from (which also requires you to pay for a phone line; sweet deal they've got going here). I have a 1.5 mb bandwidth cap. The high and mighty United States, useful technology capital of everything everywhere all the time, is falling behind every other industrialized nation in what is everyday a more fundamental part of our lives.

Now, you could say, "Hey now, Amira. Internet isn't everything. Why don't you just go outside and have some fun in the sun." To which I say, fuck you. It's my right as an American to hate sunlight and a hundred-ten degree weather. But more importantly, that's not the point. My point is that they don't run cable lines for internet here. More importantly, we only have one choice for cable here anyway (in this case, I said fuck you to Northland Cable and hello to overpriceDirecTV).

And why is this? Because we allow it. Because money is allowed to rule until it becomes such a menace to the average person's life that people have to speak up. Because if you let money rule, you may get in on the action some day. So where one man sees potential profit in the marginalization of the less financially endowed, I see the downfall of America. Even if it is something that seems as nonessential as connecting to every other person on the planet.

Of course, there are bigger problems. There's the continued and false sense of a need to prop up the companies and institutions that would happily see the ruination of John Q. Public if it meant a greater profit margin. I still believe we should've let them fail, the same way I believe that state's rights foster instability, and that people generally at least think they're good, even if they mostly just group together into mobs which are, generally, retarded (I defy you to find a mob that isn't).

But I don't really get a vote. I only get to pick the asshole that gets to pick another asshole that gets to vote. Which, really, isn't much of a vote at all.

Which is one of the reasons I brought up the internet. Because imagine the possibilities! What if all those shmuks who refuse to vote based on the fact that it might interrupt their day of couch surfing, could just walk two feet to the computer instead? More than that, what if everybody got a vote? That's what democracy is supposed to be. At the very least, stop lying to people. Stop teaching children that that's what we live in. Disillusionment only comes after being lied to. Stop telling kids that their voice counts. Stop telling people they can be anything and do anything with nothing but determination. Quit trying to convince people that the education system works, or there's nothing wrong with health-care, or that trickle-down is real. Stop the outright lying at the podium and then accusing your opponent of the same damn thing.

You can either make the lies real, or at the very least, just be fucking honest. Is that really too much to ask?

Sorry if this is disjointed and stoopid. I haven't been writing much, but I figured I should post something and start getting my head back to a place you might call semi-organized.

Fuck Michael Jackson

2009-07-15T16:30:00.002-04:00

And the dumb cunt who tried to give him a national holiday too. He was a self-loathing kiddie fucker who OD'd. He moved to a country where everybody loved him and probably sold him little boys to diddle.

Even if he was as nice a guy as his fans like to claim, his only achievement is funky dancing. His music is not groundbreaking. His donations weren't groundbreaking (most celebs donate shit to charity). Nothing about him was groundbreaking with the exception of his exceptionally fucked up life. He doesn't deserve government recognition for a god-damned thing.

Sorry, but this is retarded. Farrah Fawcett died too, and you don't see her getting any recognition. And she didn't die of an overdose, did she?

Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged

2009-04-01T11:53:00.002-04:00

There's a poor understanding of that phrase. I've never read the Bible, so I can't really say why. I can only tell you that for every person who uses that phrase to shame hateful people, there's another person who will use it to shame them.

From what I understand, the passage meant that you have to examine your own sins so that you can be a bit more objective when you judge. Because let's face it. You have to make judgment calls all the time, and trying to judge without judging is confusing and difficult. We're human beings, and it's part of what we do.

But the Bible also says to pass judgment on the sin, not the sinner. They say that only God (Jesus, but I used God because Jesus is not God; he was just a man who happened to be pretty tits) can judge whether or not a person is saved. That men may only judge sins based on the word of the Bible.

But of course, if we really followed that, then everything that extreme right-wing Christians do would be utterly useless and irrelevant, and if there's one thing is far-right nutjob hates, it's acknowledging that he's irrelevant. Holding up signs that say "GOD HATES FAGS" is irrelevant. Whether he hates fags or not isn't really up to you. Especially if the sin of faggotry get's washed away by being a Christian (as all sins apparently do; which is something that I guess I can accept).

So maybe I just get caught up in semantics. Maybe they're not saying that God hates the person. Maybe they really are just saying God hates that some dudes like a little dick in their diet. Maybe when they kill gay kids, they're just trying to help them wash the lecherous sins away. But is it really any of their business to judge that I'm a sinner? We're all sinners. What difference does you adding a little hate into the mix make besides being a big fat downer on top of it all?

Life

2009-03-13T21:27:00.003-04:00

So I know that I have been terribly remiss in my duties to update this thing for the one or two people who pay attention to it. I haven't been especially inclined to write anything, as I'm still not sure I have that much to say. That, and I've been spending a lot more time trying to encourage someone else to be a little more creative (without much success).

So here goes.

I don't like to jinx things by saying life's been good, but the fact of the matter is that it has. I know that the last couple of life updates I've posted have been... well, less than inspiring. There was a death in the family, and that was hard. But life rolls on.

Big news would be that I moved. Well, the beginning of big news would be that I got myself a girlfriend. Danielle and I met at Blockbuster, my first job. She was my manager, but she left the company back in June. We were friends before that, but it was sort of an acquaintance kind of thing. Part of the reason she left Blockbuster was another person who is not to be named. I'm ashamed to say that I did my very best to swoop in an pick up the pieces. Long story short, a few months later we were a couple, and a couple months after that.... well, continuing.

Shortly before Travis died, I joined my girlfriend in Gun Barrel City, Texas. It's a small town (population: 5,989, status: Meth capitol of Texas), and options for entertainment are limited. At first, we were living in the spare bedroom of her parents house. That was difficult at best, because Danielle and her mother... well, they have hard time getting along sometimes. Her mother can be a bit of a drama queen, and although Danielle doesn't like to admit it, she can be quite... reactionary. In any case, by Valentine's Day, we were sleeping in our own house. Her Dad had spent the last six months rebuilding a squalid home that Danielle's "Uncle" Gene lived in before moving to a home (he hasn't been doing well lately, but I don't know too much about it). He turned this place, which reeked of old smoke and critter droppings, into a beautiful craftsman home.

This house is on the same street as the homes of her parents, her brother, and her grandmother. We own this street.

Danielle and I have been getting by on basically nothing and credit cards, but that is looking to change soon (fingers crossed, but pretty much a certainty at this point). We have an ailing wiener dog that Danielle rescued from the people at the end of the street (she basically stole him). He has heart worms and emphysema, but we take care of him and he's a sweetie. His name is Kaiser Von WienerDog (actually, we haven given him any official name besides Kaiser, but it doesn't matter because he only responds to "Wiener Dog").

On Valentine's Day we went out to dinner at the local Italian restaurant, which was very good. When we got home, I opened the door to candles and rose petals leading the way to the bedroom. She got down on one knee and asked me to marry her, and my response was a happy yes with very little hesitation. We don't have a date set or anything since we don't really have to money for a proper ceremony yet, but once we've saved up enough, we'll make it a good celebration.

School is still out of reach, since we only just barely have the money to eat, but a good opportunity just popped up, and it looks like it's coming back into the spectrum of a reality.

Things are still a little unsettled. The house hasn't been perfectly set up yet. I haven't really even gotten to unpack yet. But that'll sort itself out.

In the mean time, I'm taking some things with a grain of salt. Yesterday, for instance.

I woke up and found that the wiener had pissed a trail from our bedroom door to the front door. Then, having gotten off to a bad start, Danielle and I decided to go get some cigarettes. This is bad, because we both need to quit (her especially; she's had horrible asthma since she hit puberty, and the smoking definitely makes it worse). I went to check my bank account and credit card to see if I could swing it (our paychecks hadn't come in yet). I was quite upset to see that I was in the red by about $90. I had told Samia a couple of weeks ago to take my debit card off of her Xbox Live account, and she apparently had not. I only had about $2.57 in the account, and was waiting for my check to come in. When the fifty something dollars for the year's subscription was charged, I not only overdrafted, but was immediately charged a $35 fee. I called Samia as soon as I saw this, and bitched her out over the phone, which she did not take lying down, though she did immediately offer to transfer enough money to cover the cost of the subscription and the fee. I'll be honest, I cried a bit.

After that, I had to go to work. That's never fun, especially since they don't give me enough hours, and I'm the only one that actually gives a shit about the store being presentable. When I got there, I spent the entire day reorganizing the Television section (total intake for my till: $98). When I finished about 15 minutes before closing time, I saw that we had accrued a hefty number of movies that were checked in and needed to be run. At this point, I had to tell my manager that next time I was farting around in the sections (which I wasn't actually farting around, I was doing what I was assigned to do), that she ought to feel free to tell me to get my ass up to the front and do what needs doing. It's sad that I have to tell my managers what to tell me, but this store is a sorry excuse for a business. Anyway, all that work having not been done meant that we were still there an hour after closing.

When Danielle picked me up, we stopped at MeMe's place (MeMe is Danielle's grandma) for some goulash and had a nice chat for a while before heading home. When we got home, nothing really special happened except for this one thing.

Danielle was leaning down to give the Wiener Dog some lovin'. They were both on the couch, and I was standing behind it. I leaned down to give her a kiss on the head, and at exactly that moment she sat back up. Very quickly. She knocked me in the nose, which at first didn't seem like much. I was a little dazed, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. Then suddenly it felt like my nose was flooding and Danielle rushed me to the bathroom to stop my nose from bleeding all over the place.

That was a dizzying experience, but nothing was broken, and it was safe to take the frozen bag of mixed veggies off my face withing fifteen or twenty minutes. Danielle made me pudding because she felt bad, even though I repeatedly told her it wasn't her fault that I was an idiot. Then we watched a movie and then went to bed. That was it.

Honestly, after reading all that back, it sounds pretty bad. But it wasn't. If you look at it all together, yesterday sucked. But nothing was left unfixed. Nothing really was a lasting trouble (well, except for the nose bleed; when we were going to bed, I kept getting all queasy and uncomfortable because I couldn't stop thinking about blood vessels in my head breaking and bleeding out of my nostril). So I can't really complain about it too much. The Dude abides, you know?

It's all a part of....

2009-03-13T21:15:00.002-04:00

"Some viruses, like Ebola or the new avian influenza, are basically runaway replicators, effectively burning their own life bridges in the process. But the majority, as Villarreal puts it, strive 'to persist, not make a lot.' Those that do persist eventually become both stable within, and staples of, evolution. The overwhelming majority of viruses are not harmful to their hosts. Each of us is infected with a huge array of viruses. The human genome, considered as a mass, contains more retrovirus sequences than actual genes.

"'They're not doing anything,' says Villarreal. 'They're just persisting. And they were around long before humans evolved. The better part of the human genome is composed of viral DNA. That's true of nearly all eukaryotes, and the more complicated the organisms, the more of those sequences you have. We aren't sure exactly what they all do, but they are part of our genetic identity, this stuff we dismiss as junk. "Junk" and "parasite" are both words that will get you into a fight if you use them improperly. And yet they are where all life's creativity lies—its very origins.'"

-From Unintelligent Design

Bobby Jindal

2009-02-26T14:14:00.000-05:00

Two things ol' Bobby's GOP response did not do for me:

1. Make sense.
2. Stop me from laughing.

The Spaghetti Monster Flies!

2008-12-24T11:13:00.002-05:00

I don't have a problem with religion. When that ridiculous documentary about how oppressed the poor proponents of a made up "theory" that has no empirical evidence to support it (Ben Stein, you've alienated pretty much all of the people who thought you were cool), Mom tried to tell me I was... what did she say? Too logical, or practical. Something like that. Oh. Sorry it makes me angry when people make up a bunch of propaganda (a conspiracy theory put forth by the idiots in power). And maybe I do tend the think logically. But what get's me isn't that they try to insert God into the classroom. It's that they assume that by making some shit up and calling it science, they've made something better than what the world actually is. Look at this place! So many different species created in a process whereby if you just have what it takes to make a baby, you've done your part to keep the species going. Where rock and metal and water are constantly rolling over one another, changing each other over a timescale too long for any human to be able to see. Life covering this planet top to bottom and creeping even in the most unexpected corners. And then there's the fact that there's the out there. The stars and the moon, the planets and the sun, the galaxies and black holes making up the entire universe.

And then there are people down here on Earth with the gall to assume that because they believe in a book written in metaphors, that obviously the way they believe in this world- the one that God has allowed us to be born in- is better than how awesome the world truly is. That it would somehow be more pleasing to God to assume that he made a bunch of shit really fast just for us to be born in, rather than appreciate how amazing it is that the world came to be as it is now from a single point when God touched the universe and we came from that amazing touch. As if we were Schrodinger's cat, existing or not, until God looked down and suddenly the universe was decided and we were there (because quantum physics is how I know with a certainty that God exists). We were certainly there.

Instead, they condense down the process into something that sounds as simple as making a cookie. That is why I don't like Intelligent Design, and that is why I don't like a very large portion of religious people. Because religion isn't about loving God and the world that was given to us. It's about being holier than everyone else and using it for your own political gain.

I'm losing my train, so I gotta go.

There's something missing now....

2008-12-13T18:39:00.002-05:00

Travis Cousins was born April 14th of 1986. He died December 6th of 2008.

Travis was my friend. My sister's love, and so my brother. Some people would say he took the bitch way out. But it's like Mr. Adams said at his funeral. He was an actor, and he fooled us all.

I'm not resentful... He needed help and none of us knew how badly. It's no one's fault, and he made this choice himself. But I miss him.

During the funeral we, his friends, listened to the preacher spout off religious rhetoric about a man he never knew. Kelsi and Melissa amused themselves by imagining what he would've been doing had he been there: standing behind the preacher in his werewolf costume, mimicking sincere words that resonated with the family they were meant for while alienating us, his friends.

Us who could see him there in his werewolf costume, making fun of people putting beliefs in his cold mouth.

Last night we saw comets of color and a halo around the moon. Maybe he was laughing.

Miracles

2008-11-17T02:04:00.002-05:00

It would take a miracle.

Recently I've seen several articles on Digg pointing out that the reason Prop 8 (the proposition in California that effectively banned gay marriage) was passed was largely due to huge contributions from the Mormon church.

I'm not going to call the church evil. I'm not gonna call religion or religious organizations evil. I understand the purpose, I understand the faith. I believe in God, and I would be silly to completely trash an entire institution when there were plenty of things I learned through the example of religion. But what I do believe to be truly evil is the idea than any one group of people's rights should be completely impaled... completely fucking crucified just because their existence makes another group slightly uncomfortable.

There's a horrifying notion that because I am gay, I will make you gay or I will make you gay. What bothers me most is that the same people who say that "we can't allow these people to have the same rights as the straight people because it will teach our children that homosexuality is okay" turn right around and say "but we're not attacking gay people." The hypocrisy of it is ridiculous. How is that no attacking an entire group? I could use the tried and true logical argument that it's the same as telling a black person "I don't hate you, but the color of your skin is wrong." They'll say "Well, there's not any kind of proof of empirical evidence that suggests that being gay is in any way, shape, or form genetic; it's not the same as being black." Ignoring the fact that they're ignoring scads of data that says otherwise, the argument is irrelevant. You could pick anything to compare this denial to and it would be irrelevant.

Because the truth is that even if they work at (and typically succeed) at denying me and those like me the same rights that these straight, God-fearing, bible-thumping, Jesus-loving (and ignoring) people enjoy, it doesn't actually take away what it is that they're trying to steal from us. I support people protesting. It's our right, and I believe this is a cause worth bringing to people's attention. But it's important to keep this in mind: they can't take away our ability to join together before God and before the people who matter. We may have no rights, but neither did the slaves.

When I decide to get hitched, it won't be on their terms. It'll be on mine. Even if the state refuses to recognize us, even if I'm denied the right to visit her in the hospital, denied the married status on my taxes, denied the ability to introduce this woman as "my wife," well.... If it really is as important to God as they say, then I'll be getting married in full view of Him, and may He judge me as He will.

Forever

2008-10-02T17:03:00.002-04:00

Never say forever anymore than never. Not to say things go away, but people change and they decay. We won't be around forever. But hey, that's okay. I'd never say forever, but gladly would I ever spend that time with you.

Brokedown Promise

2008-09-12T02:07:00.004-04:00

I haven't spoken to my father since the artfully worded text message he sent me two days ago as Danielle and I made the journey from her family home in Gun Barrel City to Austin:

U put my face in the dirt by what u put on face book i am very mad cause my family now knows

I made a promise some time ago. When I told my father I was gay, he made me promise to keep it a secret. From his family. It was my secret to keep, but I was told not to tell. At the time, that was fine. What difference did it make? I wasn't in a position where I really cared about how far out my secret went (though it was never much of a secret to begin with). There was no effect on my life. There was no one to hide so there was nothing to hide. Nothing but a theory.

But things change. I fell in love. I found someone important. It was my secret to tell, not his. It was my secret to keep, not his. I promised, but things change. Now his family knows who I am and who I love.

He's angry now. After everything. After absence. After laziness. After letting us be exactly who we were by virtue of never bothering to teach us to be any different. After all that, he has the nerve to ask me to be someone else. To pretend I agree with his new ideals. Because he's become someone different. Someone I don't know. Someone I don't think I really like. Someone who doesn't like the person I've become, no matter how much he "loves" me.

What am I supposed to do with that? I won't hide for him. I won't pretend. I know who I am and how I feel. I know that I have forged this relationship with someone, a love that gets bigger every day, and that he wants me to stop it in its tracks. But I can't do that. I wasn't raised to do that.

I've said it before: when I know someone is bad for me, I'll drop them eventually. But this might be too big. But that means in order to come to terms, one of us must bend in a very fundamental way. In a very painful way. But this just might be a break. The funny thing is, he's the one who feels betrayed and I'm the one that feels guilty. I made a stupid promise, one I knew I might have to break eventually. I made it thinking things wouldn't really change for me. And then I broke it. I posted "In a Relationship" on facebook. That was my fault. That's my cross to bear, and I'm sorry for that.

There's a shadow now over something that fills me with happiness. Someone that fills me with happiness. What am I supposed to do with that?

I can haz grlfrend?

2008-09-04T03:35:00.001-04:00

I haz grlfrend!

(lolcats)

Can we say "presumptuous?"

2008-08-30T15:34:00.002-04:00

Article in Question

Okay, I get it. You don't want to see some guy wankin' it to his freely accessible pr0n while you're trying to enjoy some insipid in-flight movie. Solution? Block all access to the internet. Wait... no... that's not a solution. That's you being presumptuous. That's you assuming that there are people all over who are willing to get made fun of for being too impatient to wait for the security of their hotel room for some self-lovin'.

But that's not the real issue. The real issue is that, while it's understandable that rules should be in place to prevent that kind of situation, the measures that are being asked for are not. It is not reasonable to restrict internet access when the technology has not advanced enough to block out only the kind of information they want to restrict. What they're asking wouldn't just block out porn, it would block out all kinds of legitimate non-pornographic websites. For instance, those kinds of filters usually block access to gay and lesbian websites. While I'm sure they'd love that and would have all sorts of comebacks as to why it would be perfectly legitimate to block out such perversions, average Janes like myself would not be so happy about that. Until it's conceivable to block out pornographic websites specifically, you're just gonna have to settle for punching the oversexed pervtard in the back of the head or being "nice" and asking the flight attendant to do it for you.

2008-07-30T04:00:00.003-04:00

I watched **batteries not included today. When I finished the movie, I went outside to smoke a good night cigarette. As I was smoking I was thinking about the events of the movie and the characters roles. I started thinking about sins and why one sin carried so much more weight than another. Don't ask me how I got to that point, because it's nebulous even to me. Any way, I thought of betrayal. I thought of how betrayal, treachery, is the sin that carries one directly to the deepest pit of hell, to be frozen in a lake of ice, agonizing over your wait for the jaws of Satan to grind you into nothing. How all sins could be forgiven but for this one terrible evil.

And it occurred to me then that the reason was not arbitrary. All other sins can be forgiven because your actions and your remorse can still be trusted for a time. But once you betray, everything you do thereafter is tainted with suspicion. You can never be relied upon again. And because the people who wrote the Bible and The Inferno were surrounded by traitorous people. People seeking to have more without considering the value of those around them. Because that was the sin that could not be stopped. That was the sin that grew with every person betrayed. It's the sin that can be seen throughout all seven deadly sins but cannot be encompassed by any one.

And I was thinking all this. All of this heavy information, the kind that has to be sorted through a thousand times before it can even be presentable to other people. And I was thinking through this and I farted. A good loud one.

And I thought, "Well. Thank God for little miracles."

I'm sorry.

Shakes

2008-07-17T03:04:00.002-04:00

Never have I been made so comfortable in my own skin. Never felt so.... for lack of a better word, sexy. Never wanted so much to be the one she needs.

Just the way she touches me drives my mind in circles. I won't carry this too far. Both of us have been hurt by things we weren't ready for. Things we should have known better.

It's funny that she's afraid she'll hurt me. I'm terrified that I'm already hurting her.

But I can't help feeling utterly right. She's gives me tremors when she's gone. Both the cause and the relief.

Home.

2008-07-14T17:34:00.001-04:00

Kinda.

More eloquent exposition to come.

:|

I always forget...

2008-07-12T00:18:00.001-04:00

When you live in a city where you only have to contend with drivers being stupid, it's always a surprise to go home where drivers are assholes.

I guess those are the only two choices, really. Idiots or assholes. Or both. That's the hidden third option. Oh well.

I'm in Arlington. :)

2008-06-27T15:50:00.004-04:00

I have a hard time being honest with people. When I say that, I don't mean that I lie. I hate lying. When I was younger, I tried to convince myself that this was because honesty is always the best policy, but this is a lie in and of itself. Honesty does not always set things to rights. But no matter how good I am at lying to myself this way, I hate lying to other people.

When I say that I have a hard time being honest, what I mean is that I find it almost impossible to say what's on my mind to the majority of people. I guess it's a general fear of how they will react. I mean, I know it's always best to be honest, but sometimes I feel like what I have to say is too... well, for lack of a better word, cheesy to be considered sincere.

So when a situation like this comes up, all I want to say is that even if things don't work out now with these people, I know that there is someone out there who is just waiting to discover how much they love her. And when they do, they're just going to hope and pray that she can find it in her to love them half as much.

I know she needs honesty more than anything. Hopefully I can find the balls to be more open. Until then, I can offer an open ear and a little company. And where I am inadequate, there are so many other people around that love her and aren't just coming off as patronizing when they try to help.

Lament of Lost Keys and Locked Doors

2008-06-13T08:46:00.003-04:00

There's a door in a room
that stays locked at all times.
My room to be precise.
And perhaps I shouldn't say,
as that may deter the looks of pity,
but this shitty
situation
which I've doomed myself repeat,
is the doing
of none other
than the silly, stupid me.
For you see,
this room stays locked,
and no others do permit
the movement in and out
from this room where I am kept.
Only cracks below the door
let any bits in and out,
shocks of air that carry spring
from a world I must forget.

For you see
the locking wasn't done
out of accident
or spite,
only me
and a key
thrown with force into the night.

A Toast

2008-05-27T02:47:00.001-04:00

To the beautiful woman before me,
and the blush cast on her cheeks.

I'm enamored of you, so speak no more
of shortcomings nonexistent. And if any doubt
cast from your eyes could quell the kiss
that is waiting on my lips, I'd feel no need
to tell you this:

The wit, the charm, the humor, the beauty
are nothing to the spark of you that beckons me
to know. To know you and your skin
within and out. This shine like light through crystal,
glimmering in and out of my vision. This spark
I only wish to see for all of time, because to touch
would mean to die.

But this toast stays on my lips
with its friend the kiss. Appetence denied
by my unskilled eye. Instead a toast to bed,
where all dreams may be fulfilled.

And an aside,
you must not hear,
where my dreams stay filled with you.

With My Own Two Hands

2008-05-17T19:37:00.002-04:00

Listening to Jack Johnson is not conducive to realistic thinking. Still, I like a little optimism every once in a while.

Actually, life's been goin' pretty well as of late. That whole making friends thing? Doin' that. I like hanging out with Samia and Travis and the rest of 'em, but I like having my own people, too.

Work is nice. I mean, I like pretty much everyone I work with, so I actually just feel like I'm going in and goofing off all the time. Which might be because I do goof off a lot, but not... you know. I do my work. It's a little like being back in lit mag (sorry, Haag [Ginger? (I don't know what to call people post-high school)]). I did my shit, but I did a lot of stuff I didn't have any reason to do too. Which is what makes it fun. I want another moment like when Tim (R.I.P., fucker) made that sad little boat man. Only slightly less depressing in retrospect (I don't want to have an metaphors later).

I've kind of put myself in a socially awkward position, but nobody but me knows how awkward it is, so I guess that's not a real issue.

And! I finally got back to the Art Institute.

I've have been putting this off for so long. I don't even know why. I'm not scared. I'm fucking excited. I want to go out and do what I feel right doing. But everyone else is concerned, mostly with the question of how the fuck I'm supposed to afford it. And you know, that's valid. But that's not a reason for me to avoid the act of going to the right school for me. So fuck it. I made the appointment to finish up the application. I've started on exactly one of the ten pieces I need in my portfolio to get into the place. (On that count, to be fair, I lost the requirements sheet. I would've started on the folio earlier, but I only have a vague idea of what needs to be in it.)

Anyway, there it is. That's where I start. Fuck everything behind me, because that is where I start.

Fever

2008-05-16T11:55:00.003-04:00

I have been told that I'm a pessimist when it comes to the human race. I'm a pessimist because I don't think human beings are much different from animals; we've got a bigger ego, but that's pretty much it. We are violent and compassionate; we have different symbiotic relationships with animals (we get what we want and we let them live; how's that for symbiotic?). But for some reason, we must be better than animals, more than animals? I really don't buy it. I don't care about how we've got more frontal lobe activity or any of that mess. That's an evolutionary trait. It gives us an advantage. That doesn't make us any better or worse than animals.

But we are arrogant too. That's why we're in this whole global warming situation. We were arrogant. And this is going to sound stupid. Incredibly, childishly stupid. But it's a bit like we've caused an infection, isn't it? We're an infection and we've caused a fever.

You know the global wildlife population has dropped by over 25%? That's our doing. As a whole, we did that.

When humans have an infection? You get a fever as your body fights off the infection. That's what it seems to me that global warming will do. But I really don't see that as meaning the destruction of the human race or anything. People will go on. The world might not be so friendly anymore (if it ever was to begin with), but it's not like there won't be any tough SOBs that survive and make the rest of us look like little wimps. Or it could be the opposite and a bunch of skinny, l'il dudes survive and make everyone look like even bigger wimps.

Quite honestly, I don't care. People are people, whether they're viruses or animals or the most intelligent being on the planet (cougharrogantcough). I don't really have an outside perspective, so I can't complain too much. I just woke up and had a thought about it.

Make -UP

2008-05-15T16:03:00.002-04:00

I've been doing something lately that is very strange for me.

I'm grooming. I've just had the urge lately. Normally I just do enough to take care of myself. But I've actually started... you know. Grooming. I've actually been using my conditioner, using a skin treatment system (hopefully it clears things up), putting on make up. I've even been shaving my legs progressively more often.

I don't shower every other day anymore. Everyday. But that might have more to do with the muggy heat and my reliance on pedestrian travel.

This could be due to the fact that I've got so much more free time on my hands right now. The test will be whether or not I get bored with it and just stop doing it.

But I like not being told I'm a lazy slob, so we'll see.

Damn.

2008-04-24T23:35:00.000-04:00

Damn? Yeah. That's the word.

I'm not sure why exactly, but I think that might be the reason in itself. So. Damn.

Weird

2008-04-16T13:14:00.002-04:00

I don't get the chance to do a lot of posting, and mostly that seems to be because everything is weird. Bad things, good things, other things. Everything just keeps mixing together in such a way that I find it impossible to expound on any of it.

Yesterday, for instance.

I got my History test back. The test always is always made up so that you choose one essay question of two or three, and five of six short answer questions. On the last test, I did amazing. On this one, not so much. I didn't answer three of the five short answers, and I wasn't really confident about any of my answers anyway. So on my test, the professor wrote "See me after class." So I did. He told me my essays were awesome and asked me what went wrong with this test. I explained how I'd gotten my very first job and that I was adjusting to how much time I had and I'd overestimated myself when giving myself time to study for this test. His response was that I was easily the best student in the class, and that I needed to make sure I got back into my groove before the next test. He said he would adjust my grade too, now that he knew what was going on.

On the one hand, it was disappointing to know that I was not properly able to handle my shit. On the other hand, it was really... uplifting? Uplifting to know that he considered me the smartest person in class, and that even if I didn't really like my answers, he did. Built confidence, you know?

And then I got home and downloaded the new maps for Halo, and actually got the game back, which was nice.

But I also got a call from Kendra Wolfe over at the Art Institute again. Now, I really really really want to go to this school. I do. But I can't. Not right now. When she calls to ask me if I've figured out my plans, I get this guilty, disappointed feeling down in the pit of my stomach. I'd love to call her back and say, "Yes, God, Yes! Sign me up, please!" Except that would be highly irresponsible. I'm not ready to deal with student loans just yet. I'm just barely making my credit card payments. And yet, I have to get up the guts to call her back and say it can't happen yet.

But it's still nice to know that they want me there, you know? She wanted to invite me to the open house that they're having this month.

And then there's this issue with the house. The government went and made the laws about foreclosure even more strict. When Mom moved back to Texas, she moved into the old house on Terrebonne with my ex-step-dad, Mike. They thought it would be a great idea to renovate this shitty house and rent it out. Except that fixing it up would cost so much more than if they had just rented it out in the first place. Because we couldn't really afford to do much of anything with it, and they had gutted the house so badly that it was deemed unlivable, the house had to be let go to foreclosure. It was under mom's name. It's been a few years since then. Mom wanted a house here in Austin, and we finally had all the plans laid out. By the time it would be fully built, the foreclosure would be off her record and we'd all be able to move in and work together to make the payments. Except now that the laws have changed, she can't get a mortgage and we can't move in.

This should be really bad. I mean, it is bad. But it doesn't seem like as big a deal as it should be. Mom's been strong about it. And truthfully, Samia and I couldn't very well have afforded to help much. Staying in the apartment here won't be so bad. Mom's already fixed it up and made it look like a home, and Samia and I will find a way to live with each other.

I really don't feel like I have the time for schoolin' anymore. That's bad. But I'll find a way to get things done. I always do (knock on wood).

So everything's just been... weird.

Pick One

2008-04-14T07:36:00.003-04:00

I do not have time for work and school and sleep. One of these things has got to go. So which one would it actually be possible to do without?

I need money, and without sleep, I'm no good for either of the other two. Huh.

(I just need to hold on for a couple more weeks. School ends in the beginning of May. I just need to hold on, hold on, hold on.)

Deathdays and Birthdays, and the Days In Between

2008-03-27T00:04:00.002-04:00

I'm not certain what to think these days. About my friends or my family or my acquaintances. About school, about work, about life.

In my last post, I said that Tim died. Because, well, he did.

At that moment, I felt unjustified for feeling anything. Tim and I were tentative friends; he hung out with my brother, we partied together once, we saw each other in several classes between junior high and senior year. But we weren't close. And as long as we weren't close, what right did I have to grieve?

Right?

Maybe so. Maybe it's just my excuse not to cry. Or maybe it's my excuse for letting that phone call go by, letting it be a joke so he wouldn't feel so embarrassed (because he was, otherwise he wouldn't have deleted it from my voicemail). If I had really been a friend to Tim, I wouldn't have let that call go as some drunken sobbing over things that aren't real. Or maybe I would've. I wouldn't know.

My birthday was yesterday.

The funny thing about that is I never expected to live this long. Not a day in my life. Being an adult was always something vague and unsettling because somewhere in me I just knew I wouldn't reach that age. I wonder if Tim felt that way too. We all talk about what we're gonna do when we're old or what age we think would be the perfect age to die. But in the end, how many people actually think that those plans will work out exactly as such? Nobody. You never know, and if you do, you lead a very tragic life.

I don't know. Maybe I won't be an adult. Maybe I've already killed the part of me that was supposed to get there. Maybe the concept of adulthood is just a joke played by universe. Or maybe I'm still just a kid, and I'm playing with toys that are too big for me.

2008-03-22T02:12:00.000-04:00

Carissa just called me. Tim is dead.

Sensibly Dense

2008-03-20T18:02:00.002-04:00

All good sense tells me that I should be writing an analysis of an essay from my English textbook right now. The paper is due in it's rough draft form tomorrow. And yet I am not doing any such thing. In fact, I haven't even picked out my essay yet. This is likely because I'm just a procrastination-prone retard who refuses to adhere to any plan or action because, quite frankly, I just don't give a damn.

Which means it's that time of year again.

The mid-point always comes to this. I'm halfway through the semester, and I've reached that point where I don't feel like doing it anymore. I used to think it was by way of exhaustion, but as time goes on, I'm starting to realize that I'm not exhausted by any of it. Not any more than I was back in high school and the same sensation overtook me (and I know I wasn't exhausted then either because I never tried very hard back then either). I think I may just be bored by everything.

That's not a proper excuse for ignoring certain responsibilities which have been bought and paid for (by the government). Maybe once I'm working, I'll get back into the swing of it. Except not likely. I probably really will just be exhausted then.

It's frustrating to know that everything I start will end in mediocrity. Not because I'm incapable. Just because I have a short attention span. I think this may be something I've always known. Maybe even the reason I tend to give up on things in the first place: what's the point?

Part of me thinks that by asking myself this question, I'm just attempting to excuse myself from everything. The rest of me says what difference does that make in the grand scheme of things? Does it just mean that I'm setting myself up for life as a bum? That I'm hardwired and therefore destined to be nothing to the world? Would it be different if I could make myself think different, be different? If I could make myself want to do things? Am I just so incredibly lazy anyway? Have I never felt the motivation to accomplish anything? I know I have. I must have. But did those accomplishments mean anything? No. Not to other people. And what about all the things that I've literally had to force myself into doing, banging my head against walls as punishment for not getting them done? They meant things to other people. They must have, otherwise I wouldn't have pushed so hard. But did they mean anything to me? Not even a little.

And it all just puts me back to the same question: what's the point? What is the god-damned point?

I guess the point is that I don't feel like analyzing an essay.

Friday sucked balls.

2008-03-16T23:19:00.002-04:00

My dog is gone.

Not, like, he ran away because we were being irresponsible (though then I actually wouldn't have felt as bad). Or he died. He didn't. Die, I mean.

Friday, someone knocked on the door and handed me a sheet of paper. "Unauthorized pet" stuck out pretty clearly. Not to mention "Fine of $100 plus $10 per day since the animal arrived" and "$200 pet deposit and $200 pet fee." It was either pay to get my sister's car fixed (it broke down that very morning), or keep the dog.

I felt like I was being served.

So we loaded Chase up into the car along with his dog house and a few other things we had finally gotten hold of. We took him to the Town Lake Animal Center, and they said that because he's such a small, adorable, poodle creature that he would probably get scooped up really fast. He better.

Later that day I got a call from my dad. He told me that he'd been up all night because Molouk passed out in the shower and had to be rushed to the hospital. As it turns out, she has a hole in her heart and extremely low blood pressure. She's out now and they said she'll be fine. They aren't planning any treatments, I don't think.

In any case, I'll be visiting Dad and his people on Friday and staying through the weekend. Joey gets Caed on Sunday so we should be able to see the little baby too.

That devolved pretty quick. I need to go to sleep.

Say hello

2008-03-13T22:24:00.002-05:00

To the newest employee of Blockbuster on Jollyville Road.

I love that the street name of my new job is "Jollyville." That's just fabulous.

So college is easy.

2008-03-04T18:50:00.002-05:00

I'll probably regret saying that, as universe has a big jinx-you-owe-me-a-coke sort of mentality. And yet, I cannot tell a lie: this shit is coming out too easy. English is especially galling. We spent, like, a month on the research paper. I can understand spending a couple classes to sort out MLA bullshit format (seriously, dumbest format evar), and maybe even spending a while on how to properly research and what have you. But you know what? I don't need you taking up my class research time with classes on style guides and peer editing. It only took me a total of maybe a week and a half to write my paper, research and painstaking wordcrafting included. We're in college, so why are you holdin' my hand, teach?

The most annoying part is really just that she assigned a persuasive essay with a final draft due on Friday. Not bad, except that the rough draft is due on Wednesday. What use is turning in a rough draft if you're not going to be able to hand it back to us with notes on what to fix? That may as well be the final draft. Whatever.

My History class makes me feel smart. This is through no fault of the teacher, who is awesome (he's got a perfect voice for narration, as I may have previously stated). I got a 96 on the first test, which was made up of an essay and several short answer questions (short answer being about a paragraph). That's great considering it's just reciting facts. That's made even easier by enjoyment of both the subject and its delivery.

Japanese is my hard class. I mean, it's a whole new language. I'm getting the hang of it, but usually only after I've failed a quiz or done not as well as I would hope on a test (77 is not good enough for me) and promptly shamed myself into remembering the hiragana for "hi" (this may or may not be a specific example). But it's a fun class and I enjoy talking to just about everyone in it.

And then you've got speech, my blow off class. I like my professor, for she is adorable. And it's nice to have a class that I can half-ass it in without worrying that I might be failing. Though I probably should worry. I mean, I shouldn't, I've only missed one assignment, but you know. Whatever.

So yeah. If I'd been put in any of these classes a couple years ago, I would've floundered. I would've just seized up. Funny how after spending four years thinking "I can't do any of this," I think everything I do is easy. But I guess that's life.

In other news about things I didn't think I could do, I have a job interview at Blockbuster on Thursday. I expect that because I'm awesome and the manager already knew that my name means princess, I will be hired. Assuming I don't go for a job at GameStop instead (again, assuming I find time to call them).

TMBG tomorrow! Woo.

(You may have noticed an overflow of good in this entry. Expect more?)

New Apartment

2008-02-26T08:30:00.001-05:00

No nternet. Usng laptop on ACC campus connecton. Row of eys that get lazy and choose not to wor. Hopefully you can tell whch ones they are. Very rrtatng snce all of my passwords use at least one of them.

Lvng wth Mom and Sama s annoyng but pretty much oay. Stll have no job and as such get nagged a lot. Mostly t just means 'm the one dong all the dshes (no "dong" not the word 'm go'n for).

'm not gong to waste tme copyng and pastng mssng letters. Have some puzzle fun.

Ha.

2008-01-31T14:47:00.001-05:00

The one fun thing about all the bullshit. I've let all this anger and stress bubble up to the point that I pretty much just want to kill everyone around me. After I do something like that, there is a saving point.

That fuckin' rant! Once that shit gets unleashed it's like God or the Universe or any of the other names for the great unknown just looks down and goes, "Oh. Whoops. Here you go." The bone gets thrown and I'm in the midst of a fabled "good day."

In spite of not having finished all of my homework for Japanese, I enjoyed being in class. I turned in my paper, which is always proud, though this was even more of an auspicious occasion (in my head) since I actually turned it in on time in spite of the fact that I wrote it last night in a bit of a hurry. I've also found that the information I'm learning in that class is sticking pretty well. At the very least, when she handed out hiragana quiz one by mistake (we were supposed to take quiz 2), I started breezing through it. I failed when she first gave it out. On top of that, we'll begin giving presentations next week. Actually I won't. The professor made me and the person last on our class roster (alphabetically) do a rock paper scissors match to determine whether we would start from the bottom of the list or the top. I won, so I will be going last, which suits me great.

History is always fun for me. I like hearing about it. The class is just reaching the point where the professor asks questions of us, like why indentured servants had a higher mortality rate than actual slaves. I think once everyone is comfortable enough to talk, it'll be a really interesting class. And I like the professor a little more every class. The only thing that makes me sort of cringe is that he always talks about certain practices of the past as though all of us liberal youngsters would be scandalized. For instance, he made a sort of deal about the French being fur traders, joking about how we must all think it's terrible that they just killed all the little animals just for some fur. Which is silly. Leather meant protection and warmth. There's nothing wrong with that and no one is gonna say "Oh, poor bears and beavers!" or whatever he seems to think is going on in our heads.

Well, I wouldn't anyway. In any case, I find it more comical than offensive, so that's just another reason for me to enjoy the class.

So yeah. Props to the universe for not being a total asshole today.

Burden

2008-01-30T21:19:00.001-05:00

It's my fault. My phone is a piece of shit. Sometimes it chooses not to ring. Especially, for some reason, when I'm at my sister's place.

Mom got out of school at what had to be around six. She had told us not to call her because she would be in class, so we didn't. I didn't. I waited and waited, wondering when she would finally be available. I knew she had to be out by seven. I must have known. I looked at the clock and thought, "That's weird. Why hasn't she called or anything? Is she out having a life?" Having a life of her own is very important to my mother. If I ask her for anything, she launches into a rant on how none of us ungrateful kids respect her right to a life of her own. How we keep her from being able to do things she wants to do. More specifically, that I keep her from all the things she wants to do. That I think she's at my beck at call. Nevermind that I never ask her for, um, anything. That I actually wake up so early as to be useless throughout my day. That I don't get home until the same time she does, around eight every night, and have no time to do anything to just relax because I have to do homework. That by the time I finish between nine and ten, I'm so exhausted that it takes only a few moments to fall asleep. But that sleep is still useless to me because I'm not getting enough of it anyway.

She leaves me at the school at seven in the morning. She leaves me to fend for myself until she grudgingly pulls into my sister's driveway. When I finally get into the car, all she does is ask me why my sister doesn't drive all the way out to Manor so that she doesn't have to bother stopping ON THE WAY HOME to get me. She nags me about why I don't have a job yet.

Today, she said she called me five times. But my phone didn't ring. My piece of shit brick phone didn't deign to ring. The voicemail jingle didn't even tear out of the speakers. She was parked in front of the house. But she didn't want to get out of the car and knock on the door. So it's my fault. I didn't call her after she told me not to, so it's my fault. And she'll win. Because if I say anything, I'm ungrateful.

Samia thinks I'm ungrateful too. We got in a fight today over the phone because she didn't want to drive over to pick me up from school. I think she only came to get me because I made her feel guilty for trying to make me seem ungrateful. Whenever I need a ride, I call Travis. Samia always says no. I have never failed to say thank you to Travis. I am not ungrateful.

So what? I knew this kind of shit would happen. It makes me want to take off. But I can't. As much of a burden as I am to everyone around me, I'm still stuck. I've already given up. I haven't cared about anything since I got here. So I'll stay. I'll stick around and be the person they can blame for making everything difficult.

Samia understands, at least. She can be made to see when she hurts. Mom will never know. She can't see that I have a research paper due tomorrow that I haven't even started on because I'm so exhausted all the time from waking up to early and being told to go wander around town until someone feels like maybe they might be okay with coming to get me. That maybe I have things I need to do that require me to sit down in a quiet place where I can think. That doesn't factor in. All that registers is another task that wastes time out of their busy fucking schedules.

I'm sorry, fuckers.

A Week

2008-01-19T19:48:00.001-05:00

The first week of school is over and done with. So how was it?

Things are more disorganized than I expected. My mom has to leave incredibly early in the morning to make it to work on time (it takes around thirty minutes to get from Manor to Austin proper). In order to make sure she's on time, I wake up around 5:45 AM. I think I have to start waking up earlier. Otherwise I'll make her late all the time.

I get to school around 7:00 AM. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday my first class begins at 9:00 AM. This means that I waste two hours walking around the school, or down to the gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes. If I haven't eaten a banana or some toast on the way to school, I'll go to the campus store and buy myself a candy bar or a bag of chips. The cashier who works there is a nice old guy. He always says, "Good morning!" when you walk in and, "Have a nice day!" when you leave.

Tuesday and Thursday have a shorter wait. Japanese begins at 8:00 AM and continues for two hours. After that is an hour and forty-five minute wait for my History class to start. It ends around one, unless the teacher gets into the lecture and doesn't let us go until thirty minutes later.

All this waiting before school even ends is not the end of the waiting. My mom doesn't really give me a breakdown of her schedule unless she's telling me that I'm on her time. This week has been abnormal and next week will be too, but once all this abnormality is over and done with, I'll be waiting at the school until around 8:00 PM. Well, that's technically not true. I'll be walking around town and getting on buses in search of a job. This was my idea, kinda, for some god awful reason. Actually, it's just what I told Mom and Samia when they told me I should switch to evening classes. And truthfully, it probably is for the best. I mean, if I have no options at all, it'll sort of force me to go out and find something to do, right? I think. I hope.

Anyway, on the subject of classes themselves. They're all right. My teachers are all right, and my classmates aren't any better or worse than high school. I like my Speech teacher. She's pretty funny and kind of adorable. She gets the point across pretty easily, and I'm not nervous about giving speeches to this class like I was in my high school speech class.

Actually, most of my teachers are like that. The only one who makes me worry is my History teacher. He's one of those guys that is bent on making sure all the students know on the first day that he's gonna be the hard ass. A former professor at a military academy, he's now lowered himself to the level of public college professor. He was quite disappointed that there were no veterans in the class.

I'm sure I'm going to disagree with a lot of what he says, but he seems to really like his subject and I don't have any trouble following his lectures. Actually, I kind of like listening to him. He has a really interesting voice. Like a movie narrator. Every time I'm in his class, I start thinking about this old cartoon about dinosaurs. That and Colonel Sanders. Combined. Battling the evil Islamic forces in Spain.

So what is my impression of college?

It feels like I've gone back to high school, only this time I'm paying for it and I can't get away with not doing any of my work. Pfffflflflfft.

In other news, apparently the Art Institute is finally opening a school in Austin, the most obvious place for an art school you could possibly think of. I've already sent in for an information packet.

Woah.

2008-01-13T16:03:00.000-05:00

OhmyGodschoolstartsTOMORROW

Shit.

Speechless

2008-01-08T23:53:00.000-05:00

Of the twenty-nine speechless videos, these are my two favorites.

PS: Yay for my one hundredth post?

From the Backseat

2008-01-06T23:29:00.000-05:00

I've essentially been living with Samia since New Years. It's weird how much more comfortable I feel hanging out here with all of my friends than I do at home. I mean, I've been welcome at other friends' homes before, but I never felt like I was more at home there than anywhere else. Which is equally weird considering I didn't feel at home at home back then either.

It's nice.

Anyway, in spite of that niceness, I had a dream the first or second night I was here. It wasn't an unusual dream. In fact, I have it uncomfortably often. If I could replace it with a dream where I'm flying (which I've had exactly once in my entire life) or making out with someone, or any other activity that I would likely find enjoyable, I absolutely would.

In the dream, I'm riding passenger side in a car. Sometimes I'm in the back, sometimes the front, but always in a position where it would be next to impossible to get to the peddles. During the drive I'm concentrating on something. I'm talking to someone or I'm trying to fix something. Whatever it is, I'm not paying attention to the road or the driver. And then the driver just gets out.

In this particular dream, it was Travis, and he had to go help someone real quick. He said, "I'll be right back, just don't stop the car." I was trying to send someone a text or something, but I didn't realize right away that he'd gotten out of the car. And it was speeding down the road, not swerving or anything. And I looked up and realized, "Oh, hey, I'm gonna run into that traffic light. I should maybe drive." So I reached for the wheel with the instinct to stop the car. But I couldn't. Travis said I couldn't, and even if I wanted to (which I did) I couldn't get to the peddles from where I was sitting.

I turned the car and for the moment, it seemed like I was OK. I wasn't stopped or slowed down. I could've maybe done fine. And then the road made an awkward split and I chose one without thinking. It only took a few seconds to realize the fork ended abruptly in a divide with no room to make even a slight turn around. A parking lot was spread out on the other side; I couldn't see any of it.

Like I said, it varies, but the message is the same. I hate that my subconscious feels that way. Especially since it's pretty much how I feel all the time. I don't need any reminders. Why can't my brain project images of nice things that I want or feel good about instead the things I'm afraid of or don't care about? Stupid brain.

Christmas Time Was Here

2007-12-26T01:55:00.000-05:00

Reasons Why This Christmas Has Been Pretty Awesome:

1. Joey got Mallory to bring Caedmon* over on Christmas eve.
2. Jimmy and Joey came back on Christmas day for presents and such fun.
3. I'm an awesome gifter.
4. So is everyone else.
5. Mom said "Let there be pumpkin pie," and so there was. And it was good.**
6. The roast was delicious. Even if Mom forgot to cut the net off.
7. Joey and I sat outside during the sunset making use of the artistic talent that seems to run in the family.
8. While Joey and I did arts, Samia and Jimmy made use of their musical talent.
9. I got the complete series of Firefly on DVD.
10. Even the most awkward moments was pretty fun.
11. After everyone left, Jim, Mom and I watched Fried Green Tomatoes.*** I cried like a baby.

Reasons This Christmas Was Not Awesome:

N/A

*Caedmon is Joey's son. He's over a year old, and Mom has met Caed once before this. This was Samia's first time meeting him. It was a big deal.
**Samia and I made the pies. Because we love pie.
***My gift to Mom. I kinda gifted myself on that one.

The Pity Suit

2007-12-16T13:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I went Christmas shopping with my mother.

I could go on and on about how horrific Christmas shopping is, or how much I hate commercialization, or how tiring it all was, but the fact is, not a one of those things would be true. Well, not in such a way as to make the day itself feel horrible.

Shopping was easy. We were nearly completely finished after only a few hours. Commercialization is sad and leads to the spending of exorbitant amounts of money if you're not careful, but it didn't exactly make it hard to find the right gifts. And yes, I was tired by the end of the day, but I think that was mostly because I stayed up until five in the morning (as I do most nights) and woke up at 9:30 AM as opposed to my usual one or two in the afternoon.

The thing about yesterday, though; I felt bad. Not just bad. Kind of pathetic and slimy.

You see, of my mother's four children, I am the only one without a significant other. Samia's practically married. Joey has a girlfriend who manages to put up with him somehow (as far as I know; that boy never tells us anything). Even Jimmy managed to find someone he could stay with for longer than a couple months. Hell, he and Megan have been going out for, what, almost three years?

And then there's me. The youngest daughter who has never even had a potential girlfriend. Or boyfriend for that matter.

"Well, they'll be getting an extra gift from their girlfriends-"

"And boyfriend."

"So I figure you should get something extra."

I naturally rolled my eyes, but while we were looking for Samia's gift, she told me to try on a suit. And then to try on a shirt that matched it. And then she bought it for me.

She spent the rest of the day trying to get me to pick out more clothes or items that I wanted. I gently said no. And then I tried to explain how pathetic it made me feel, aside from the slimy feeling I always get when I buy things for myself on Christmas. And she kept asking.

"I don't want pity gifts!"

"They're not pity gifts. They're equality gifts."

It wouldn't have bothered me so much if she'd just gone and bought me things without telling me. I want a surprise on Christmas just like everyone else. It would be a much better distraction from my gaping romantic void than a pity gift.

I'm sorry. Equality gift.

The funny bit is that it wasn't as big a deal as I make it out to be. With the exception of a moment in Barnes & Noble where my mother frantically shooed me out of the music and movies department to go find something for Joey (for all intents and purposes, I'm pretending she didn't do any such thing), the day was very calm. There was a lot of walking and going back and forth between stores looking for the right item at a reasonable price, but we arrived too early in the day for the Christmas rush (apparently nobody in Austin wakes up before noon), so we had no reason to run. For a Saturday at the mall less than two weeks before Christmas, it was actually pretty awesome.

Angels

2007-12-05T18:34:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been keeping myself up long hours. In general it hasn't been for any particular reason. But I've noticed I go back to the same project every couple days.

The project I refer to is the invention of a language which I haven't given a name yet. I've gotten further with this language than I've gone with any other, and it's evolving pretty steadily and in its own way. The punctuation is a bit modified (as you'll see), and I'm working out the grammar as I go. Mostly, I'm trying to keep it simple enough to be easily learned.

Here is some bullshit text I made up as an example:

Then we've got some transliteration:

|zegey satethep zeny akyel arages pesat| |baraz'egs varyta, tey arages| |tey arages pesat zegeysathep, selel mamep'egs [God] saoga| |[God] eyna|

I haven't thought up a word for "God" yet. I may just throw props to Phillip Pullman and the concept of "Dust." Except it's really hard to approximate the word "Dust" in a language that doesn't use D and considers the placing of two consonants side by side an illegal move. Maybe... Nope, can't do that. Also, Phillip Pullman hates God. I guess that wouldn't work out real well.

Anyways translation, right? Literal first:

People believe many angel are perfect. Tell to truth, they are. They are perfect people that worship, able love to God best. God only.

And then:

People believe angels are perfect. To tell the truth, they are. They are perfect worshipers, able to love God best. God alone.

Infinitives are fun.

I got it in my head to do a language around the same time that Paul ordered me to make up a religion. I figured I may as well go all out. And I probably will use it to that end (though whatever I come up with, I'm not going to call it a religion), but I've been thinking of putting it to another use lately. A story I've been thinking up that involves aliens, life interference, and the no-return policy on human abduction.

Now that I'm finished with registering for school and junk (yay!), this is pretty much all I do.

Yeah...

2007-11-29T21:11:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what made me think I could write 50,000 words in a month, but I am sure that I didn't. I think the proper phrase would be, "She lacks focus."

PPD*

2007-11-23T23:01:00.000-05:00

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. Turkey and stuffing and green bean casserole. Family and friends, laughter and games, and arctic winds blowing over the back patio, which we had to make time to stand in.

In my family, we've never had a huge tradition of saying what we're thankful for. We should. Most of us need to take the time to remember what's important, what we should be thankful for. But as it happens, we've all got avenues to exploit to that purpose.

It wasn't until after reading Samia's note on facebook that I even remembered this was part of the tradition. But the truth is, I never know what to be thankful for. I'm thankful for having an EFC of 0, and for finding Kings Quest VI. I'm thankful for my purple coat and my iPod. I'm thankful for rummy and spare change. I'm thankful that I don't have any debilitating diseases or injuries and that I don't live in a country that's always at war.

There's a lot of things that I'm glad I live with and without, but most of them seem like background noise. The things I'm most thankful for aren't things, but people. And there are a lot of them.

I'm thankful for my whole family. Dad, for spoiling me to the bone, and for having given me the wisdom to stick to my principles. Mom, for being so neurotic that it forces me to get the ball rolling, and also for teaching me to be open minded. Jimmy, for being the comedic jackass that he's always been, and for letting me watch while he drew pictures that blew my mind. Joey, for buying my cigarettes when I had no ID, and for being a rock I can always turn to. Samia, Sim-Sim, my sister, for being a total brat who lies and always remembers wrong and tries very hard to make sure I don't dress like I'm blind, and for always making sure I'm okay. And then there's Sawsan and Molouk. I talk like they're the most annoying people in the world, but I've had so much fun with them. And I have to be thankful for Jim. I live in his house.

I'm thankful for my friends. Paul, for pestering me about The StrangeLand and Xiggysisklism, and for having weird philosophical conversations with me deep into the night. Geof, for listening to me pine after girls that will never be interested, and for being my soul-brotha. Chance, who "just went into rap mode," for putting on show tunes and singing at the top of his lungs with Samia and me, and for always making conversation. Travis, Samia's boyfriend, for saving my ass in Halo all the time, and for letting me spend the night at their place so often that I practically live there. Stephanie, for trying to set me up with a girl just a bit too late, and for having a car that always stalled, which always meant up to an hour of us just sitting and talking and chilling with each other. And of course Carissa, for a lot of reasons that I've probably gone into detail about so many times it's pathetic.

There are others. There always are. Just about every teacher I've ever had, but more specifically (in general order of appearance), Denise Shipley, Susan West, James Farmer, Amy Crowson, Heather Spiller, Ginger Haag, Raylene Scott, and Jonni Davis. If I'd never been in their classes, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed high school half as much as I did. Also, maybe Mister Hamm's class.

There's always something to be glad you have, but what I'm the most thankful for is that I have so many people to be thankful for.

Oh. And pumpkin pie. That's the second most important.

*Pumpkin Pie Day

Role Reversal and Revenge of the Bitch, or I Slept on the Couch for That?

2007-11-17T23:06:00.000-05:00

Last night, a casual Friday evening. I expected to spend the night fooling around on the computer, avoiding NaNoWriMo (because it's no different than any of the other things in my life I avoid). Maybe do some more animating ( I've finished two walk cycles; neither of them are very good). Then it came to my attention that I could go to my sister's. I gladly went.

I wasn't expecting to spend the night. I had been told by Jim that he would be meeting up with my mom and they would go out and do something and then come pick me up before driving back into Manor (I hate Manor). Then on Saturday morning we would drive to Arlington for Joey's baby's birthday and drive back in the evening. So I go and enjoy myself. I play Halo 3 and we all have some laughs. The usual.

A couple of hours roll by and and I haven't gotten a call yet. I wasn't expecting to be at Samia's for very long. But I'm not worried. If they went out, it's not likely that they'd finish up that fast. So okay.

By this point, Samia has become so restless that she's annoying the crap out of everyone until we go do something. After another hour or so, we finally decide to go to the Shell station to grab supplies and on the way back home, we stop at a coffee shop and get drinks. Now fully stocked, and having nothing else in mind, we start playing rummy. We play for a while, and 10 PM rolls by. I've been at Samia's since six. At this point I am worried.

Mom is not a night owl. She goes to sleep at 8, occasionally 9. She only stays up late when company is over, and even then she starts drifting off. By this time, I've called her several times and she has no answered at all. I call Jim and he informs me that they never met up. He sent her a text, but she never responded. Now I'm really worried. I call Pam to see if mom is with her. Pam does no answer. Okay.

I call Mom one more time and leave a message, "Um, so I've called you, like, four times and you haven't called back at all. And I'm wondering what's going on, so I'd really appreciate it if you call me back so I can stop worrying. Bye."

After another hour, Jim calls me back and says, "Oh, I haven't heard back from your mom, but she mentioned that she was going out with some people from work. She's usually pretty good about checking in by midnight, so don't worry." Well thanks. You couldn't have mentioned she had plans, like, the first time I called? Okay, whatever.

It was an odd reversal of roles. Here I was with a small group of friends, drinking coffee over a game of rummy, and there was Mom, calling in at four past midnight to tell me she was too drunk to drive and that she needed to sober up for a while. "Can you just spend the night at your sister's?"

This would be the place to insert some kind of eye roll.

So everyone went to bed, and I slept on the couch in my jeans, which were too tight to sleep comfortably (they were fine when I just left them unzipped).

In the morning, sleep was fitful. I kept dreaming that it was time to wake up. I weaved in and out of sleep, checking my phone and talking to Mom and listening to Samia mention something about it being six o'clock, or maybe eight and flopping my head back onto the pillow for another five minutes until my alarm finally went off at nine oh nine. I called Mom to ask her to find an item for me, something I was supposed to give back to Geof before I left.

And then she told me that we weren't going. "What?"

As it happens, Mallory canceled the party. Mallory is Joey's baby-mama. Mallory is also a psycho bitch. She canceled five hours before the party was supposed to happen. We hypothesize that this is because she didn't want to be outnumbered by Joey's friends and family. I don't get to see my nephew because she has control issues. Sucks for her. Actually it sucks for the baby. I did a painting for him and now I have no idea when I can give it to them.

So instead, I had three cheese macaroni and Samia's and then went home and played joker with Mom, Jim, and his two older kids. Meh.

The Last Hurdle

2007-11-14T22:25:00.000-05:00

I've sent in the application, the transcript, the test scores. I've sent the FAFSA, the financial aid application, the residency form. I have a clear schedule and a murky goal (animation, if you're wondering). There's only one step left, really.

Making an appointment with the student adviser is the last step in the process. The penultimate, if you want to count the student orientation, although I don't. And it's the step that makes it real. It's the step where everything goes from being a thought on many, many papers to being an active part of my life.

I think this is the part that I've been dreading. I'm not sure why, but somewhere in the back of my head, I know that this is the reason I was so reluctant to go to college in the first place. Going to school before was just something I had to do. I wasn't really required to pay any attention beyond a personal quote. Learn enough to get by, put your energy toward getting by in other ways. Put your energy toward growing, toward living, or at least trying to have a life. It didn't occur to me that the experience of being in school was more important than most of what I put my energy into. And I don't mean learning. That was part of it, of course. I probably should've tried harder, gotten better grades, devoted more time to studying and actually learning to write papers instead of forever half-assing them. But I don't really think it matters in the end. A grade on a paper has only ever been an indicator of my place in some strange competition. It feels good to rank high, but in the end, would that be all I meant to anyone?

I just mean being there, at that time, with those people in my life. The sad part of high school for me was that I never kept a friend more than a few months. At the longest, I had them for a school year, but usually never past a semester. There were two exceptions to this: Paul and David. I'm not sure how Paul scooted under the gate, but he managed, and now I'm stuck with him. Or he's stuck to me, anyway. I'll get to David in a minute.

I don't know that it was anything these short-lived friends did. Sometimes, yes. But not always. So many times, I just remember thinking, "I just don't feel like this is the person." I could laugh and joke with them. But there was nothing there that made me feel like I couldn't live without them. So I lived without them, to a certain extent.

The few times I did find a group of friends that I could really stick with, I was wrong. High school drama reared it's ugly head. Adolescent bull shit came in right after. The first time, it wasn't my fault. I wanted everything to be okay between all of them. But things happened with them that I wasn't any part of, and people can't always forgive. So we let each other go.

The next time, it was me who made the mistake. The whole "wrong crowd" business. David, who will forever be my fucked up, bipolar, druggie buddy. David and his whole crowd. I would walk to his house and we'd sit in his room together, waiting for nightfall. We would prowl the streets with a group of friends, always fucked up on Triple Cs. We'd roam the mall in this same state, enjoying the rickety high and the flashing lights. We tried to get into other drugs, but something always went wrong. Like the time we payed $140 (forty of which I contributed) to get E, only to find out that we'd actually only bought menstrual pills. We'd been had and we were laughed at. But nobody did anything about it. The dealer lost cred and we lost dignity. What could we do? So we just went out and got messed up on something else.

It took me a long time to realize that I couldn't be a part of his crowd. We would have these moments. They would talk about the old days, when they were constantly high on cocaine. How much they wanted it again. And I said no. I said I wouldn't let them. They were my friends, and I wasn't gonna watch them waste away on THAT. And they said shut up. Who are you to tell us how to live? You've never even done it, you don't know what it's like. Damn straight I don't, but I know that shit's bad for you. I know I don't want you guys to do it. Fuck off, they told me. And so I did. I was giving up on the things we did because I knew they were messing me up. But I couldn't do anything for them. And I couldn't watch them.

David and I kept in contact for a while, until he moved to Las Vegas. I don't hear much from him anymore.

It wasn't until the middle of senior year that I found Geof, my new brother. By summer, Paul had joined the group. Paul, who's been around since puberty struck, even when I wasn't paying him any attention.

High school was a series of bad memories, when I think about it. But even with all of that, I can't possibly imagine hating it. Because it wasn't just about the big things. It wasn't about the losses among friends, or the gains among teachers. The grades or the parties. It was in stupid little moments. Ones that just got me through the day. A good joke in first period. A hug in the hallway before class. Taco rolls. Even the dumb ass conversations over AIM after school was over.

Then there was the red-head in creative writing.

I think what finally got me to accept the idea of going to college was those moments. You don't get moments like that sitting around a house. You don't get them watching TV or reading comics on the internet. You get them when you put yourself in a place with other people. And I can no longer stand not being around other people.

So it'll be a good thing I have to go talk to an adviser. Uncomfortable for me, yes. But then I can go out to the real world where other people are.

OH MY GOD I'LL PUNCH YOU NOW

2007-11-09T16:37:00.000-05:00

All of my conversations with Geof are about his girlfriend. This is not a bad thing, talking about girlfriends and such. I would be perfectly happy for him. Except for one eensy-weensy, little, tiny thing.

All he does is complain. And not in such a way as to give the impression of "Oh, I love my girlfriend. I don't care that she cuts her toenails in the living room," complaining. It's more like, "Oh, she withholds fun time relations for no reason, then jumps my bones (in a virginity-intact kind of way), and then later acts like I've repeatedly raped her." Or maybe, "She refused to stop asking me about a past relationship until I told her all the details my sexual history and then locked herself in her room and refused to speak to me, and then comes out and pretends I'm not there and then goes batshit fucking insane. Moreso, anyway."

If the way that I've phrased things sounds amusing, then I have not explained things the same way he has. You see, he complains to me about these things. Often and at great length. But does he ever do shit about it? Noooooooooo. He just takes it. And takes it. And takes it. And those were just two fairly recent examples.

Every time he brings this stuff up, I just want to scream, "BREAK THE FUCK UP WITH HER!" She drives him insane with guilt over things that he has no reason to feel guilty over. She goes crazy and blames it on PMS. Every time she goes on a trip, she comes back not wanting him to touch her at all. She makes up stupid rules that "all decent guys" would supposedly follow, which no one in their right mind would give a flying fuck about, by the way. There's a whole host of other fucked up things that she makes him worry about, and it's like...

Ugh. Get a grip. Man up and tell her that she's being a douche. If I could go up to the black hole of doom and tell her how stupid all the shit she gives him is, how silly her insecurities are, how much she just needs to chill the fuck out, and possibly punch her in the face for giving him so much grief, I would. I really would. But I can't, and I'm not his mother anyway.

Well, I probably wouldn't do that last bit. I mean, I'm pretty sure Jesse would quite properly kick my ass if I tried. Still, when she starts frustrating her boyfriend so much that it sends me into screaming rages...

On another note, Sugar Rush is an awesome show, and the first season was disturbingly easy to relate to in some ways. I'm pissed that it was canceled after only two seasons.

I Metaknow.

2007-11-05T23:43:00.000-05:00

You must know that feeling, when you have a certain word in mind? You can see what it means, the vague shape of the syllables drifting from your lips. You try to bring it out, but it sits at the tip of the tongue, grasping firmly to the sides of your mouth, not ready to leave. You know you know the answer. If you heard it, your only thought would be, "I already knew that!" It's one of those frustrating "Oh" moments.

I feel like that a lot lately. Like I know I know where my life is supposed to go, but I can't find it, no matter far to the edges of my brain I probe. It makes me want to scream, "I see it, I see it, but how do I do it!?"

It makes me ask what to do. And I know this is irritating to the people around me, because they tell me. They tell me what to do and I already know that's not right. Moreover, I know I can't search for it that way.

Lately I've been praying. I haven't been praying on my knees, hands clasped and eyes closed, asking forgiveness and strength. I already asked for those. I've been praying for help to pry this knowledge loose from the edge of the brain and the tip of the tongue, and for the motivation to move toward it. If it worked once...

Of course, I could just be pulling all this out from my frustration over FAFSA and getting all the proper things in order for my college application. I hate bureaucracy.

NaNoWriMo

2007-11-02T19:11:00.000-05:00

I found out about NaNoWriMo when I was about fourteen or fifteen. I always thought it was a cool idea, but this is the first year that I actually remembered in time to sign up for it. I brought Paul in on it too, and now we're both exchanging the stuff we've got. Since I've already posted the first chapter (prologue?) on a new blog, I figured it wouldn't hurt to link from here. From now on, I'll be posting each chapter there as I finish them.

Here's to hoping I can hit 50,000.

Happy Wednesday.

2007-11-01T03:10:00.000-05:00

I won't talk about how every year since I was 12 or 13, Halloween has been either boring, lonely, or excruciatingly painful. Senior year, I decided I wouldn't even bother with it anymore. I backslid by getting excited and wasting money that was not mine on a costume, but, as per usual, Halloween put me in my place. In the reality of my world, no such day exists, and it's certainly not a reason for me to do anything fun. People dress up in horror costumes because the date just happens to be October 31st. That is both weird and morbid.

Instead, I will be telling you about my 31st, which was slightly better than the average Wednesday. I started by waking up at 1:00 in the afternoon (which is not unusual, since I usually stay up until four in the morning). I proceeded to start my laundry and watch Amelie. You can't really do both of those at once, so I put off the laundry, but I managed to get my jeans and my sheets done before my mom got home. She had me call my sister to find out if money was the only reason she didn't want me to come hang out with her and her friends tonight, because if that was it, Mom would give me cash, so I called, and that wasn't it, and then I hung up.

Mom and I were gonna go see a movie, so I got showered and dressed and then, for some weird reason, she comes into my room in a costume that I'm guessing was supposed to be a vampire. She changed into normal people clothes, and we went to Trudy's, where I had enchiladas that are now trying to undigest themselves. I sort of zoned out while we were there. She and Jim were talking about things, and it's very distracting to sit in a restaurant and be surrounded by all these morbid, cartoon skulls and ghosts and other decorations. Some guy was dressed as a bloodied clown with a little buddy clown attached to his stomach (this I did not understand). His head was very shiny. Some other guy was in drag (we hypothesized that it was not his first time in a skirt). Every once in a while, I chimed back into whatever the conversation was, but mostly it was them talking about stuff that I didn't really feel compelled to talk about.

After dinner, Mom and I went and got tickets to Rendition. The movie didn't start until 9:40, so we went to The Container Store (where filing cabinets are cute) and then Whole Foods to pick up a special blend of coffee (mostly because they are too good for regular coffee). We then went back to the theater to enjoy the movie, which was awesome. There were parts that threw me, Reese Witherspoon made my cry harder than I did when I saw the preview, and Meryl Streep was (as usual) awesome.

After that, we went home, and I proceeded to catch up on Grey's Anatomy, Pushing Daisies, and Heroes.

So, yeah. That was the 31st. Just another Wednesday.

This Time Machine

2007-10-26T02:46:00.000-04:00

This short thing is based on a conversation I had last week with my mother's boyfriend. There's a little chunk of the conversation removed, but I'm working on that. Enjoy.

“If you had a time machine and had to pick whether you would go forward or back in time, which would you choose?” Hannah tilted her head to the side and brushed the hair out of her eyes, considering the question for a moment. It was this or that. She hated this or that.
“Neither. I would stay exactly where I am,” She answered as Dennis swung the car left. He glanced over and clicked his tongue.

“No, you can’t stay where you are, you have to pick one. There is no staying.” She groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Why is there no staying?”

“Because it’s a hypothetical question, and I asked you to pick one.”

“Then my answer is the same.” She thought he might reach over to smack her in the back of the head, but instead he mimicked her groan.

“Ok, a bomb is about to explode and the only way to live is to jump through the time machine.”

“I don’t have time to find a way out, but I have time to calibrate the machine to the past or the future?” She could feel him getting frustrated with her, which was a bit of a private joy. Nevertheless, she relented and began thinking of an answer. “Well, I most definitely couldn’t go into the past. Just being there would alter the entire course of humanity.”

“Well, you could just be an objective observer, couldn’t you? Do you have to go back and change things?”

“That is impossible. It’s human nature to connect to the world around us, and so you would have to be heartless, soulless, or a vegetable to go back in time and not affect the world some how. “

“Well, ok, that makes sense. Like if you went to the beaches of Normandy,” she grimaced and gave a little twitch of the head as he continued, “you might alter the course of history by yelling ‘Hey look out’ to a guy who would then become the next big dictator.”

“Something like that. It would be too hard not to get into things some how.”

“So the future would be the lesser of two evils.” She shook her head.

“No, no not the future. I couldn’t go to the future either.” Hannah said as they parked the car in the driveway.

They walked up the front steps. Nonplussed, Dennis asked, “Well, why not the future?”

“Because you’d miss so much!”

“Huhn. I’ve never heard that answer before.”

“That’s because I’m a unique and precious snowflake,” she replied as the front door closed.

Condiment Blues

2007-10-17T21:17:00.000-04:00

There are things that have been happening, but I find that I have no thoughts on them. I went into the DPS and applied for a replacement ID, which arrives two weeks hence. I found out that I can't get a library card because I live in Manor (stupid Manor). I went into Hollywood Video and asked about a job (again), discovered they have a full staff right now but will be hiring seasonally, which I said was perfectly ok with me. I have also been assigned chores since I don't actually have a job yet. The ones I hate (but will do anyway because I hate feeling like a mooch even more). I also finally got fingernail clippers after searching for them in vain the past- since I moved here. I used them to clip my toenails, which have been disgustingly long for about the same amount of time. Today, I drove for the first time on actual roads, and I didn't kill anyone. I drove from Jim's house to the Mexican restaurant about a mile away. This was actually pretty exciting because I did a decent park job (not perfect, of course). I learned from that experience that I am no longer allowed to make fun of Mom for always making jerky stops.

But I still have nothing to really say about any of these things, except that they happened. I have nothing to say because I feel blocked. Even though I'm getting all these things done, I feel like I'm in a rut. My life is moving and that's awesome, but the things I enjoy aren't coming to me right now. I mean, I can play video games and browse around on the internet. That's great. All kinds of fun. But the things I love above everything, writing and drawing. . . I can't get them to work.

I haven't drawn anything worth looking at in months besides TSL, and that doesn't even come easy. I've been trying to write, but mostly all I've done is delete or retool things I've already written. And it's infuriating to feel like everything I do has to be poked and prodded out, like I'm trying to force the last globs of mayonnaise from one of those easy-squeeze tubes.

Austin was supposed to be my new jar of mayo. I'm beginning to feel a little bit cheated.

Buses are Smelly

2007-10-07T01:50:00.000-04:00

I'm not ashamed to admit that I have no interest in getting a job. I'd be happy to laze around whatever dwelling I inhabit and draw or read or write. Yet it is becoming an increasing necessity for me to have one. Not just because I've currently got five dollars and fifty-eight cents in my bank account, but also because I think people are getting annoyed with me being always and forever around. Not in the sense that people don't want me around, but it's nice to not have someone else always footing my bills.

The only problem with this is a lack of transportation.

Of the four children of the old household, I am the only one who was never taught to drive. My dad was an excellent instructor, but by the time my turn came around, he didn't care enough to get the job done, and I wasn't insistent enough to make him. So my instruction will fall to someone else. However, the same problem exists: excuses just keep getting made.

This doesn't bother me. After all, I don't even have a car, so I what do I need to know how to drive for?

Instead, I must rely on other means. Namely, the Austin city bus system.

I woke up early Friday so that my mom's friend Pam could pick me up before she had to drop her car off at the Pink Flamingo mechanic ("Why Pink Flamingo?" we wondered). We spent the day riding around on the bus, going to bookstores, coffee shops, and the library. This being my first foray into bus travel (Arlington lacks any form of public transportation), I learned a couple things.

Buses are smelly. Like stale sweat and people. This is not so bad. I don't like it, but I can live with it. But this doesn't make me any less uncomfortable with sitting around a bunch of strangers. I will admit that while we were riding the Dillo (the free bus system that goes all over downtown Austin), I had a small panic attack. Not the unmanageable, so freaked I literally bang my head into the wall type of panic attack that I am (was) more accustomed to. Just a quiet panic that I pretty much ignored. I may just be confusing it with discomfort. Still, quite uncomfortable.

I also learned that I will not sit on a bus bench if I can manage it. Standing wouldn't bother me so much as long as there was something to hold on to, but I'll be sticking to a regular seat if it's possible. I don't like jouncing around or bracing myself and hoping I don't fall on the guy sitting next to me.

The only problem I have with the bus is that I can't get to it. I don't technically live in Austin. I live in Manor (may-ner). Manor is very close to Austin and home of the water tower from What's Eating Gilbert Grape (as Jim [mom's boyfriend whom we live with] is very fond of pointing out). But Manor is not connected to the bus system. It's not even within walking distance of a bus stop.

This means that I'm going to have to wake up at seven (earlier actually) just so that someone can take me to a bus stop. I guess this is not so bad, except that it is because I hate waking up early.

Correction: I hate waking up unnaturally. This is often the same thing, and as such one is often confused for the other.

To be honest, I could really live without all of this. Mom says that we will be in our own place by January, which really kind of pisses me off since I've only just gotten all of my things moved into her boyfriend's house. But I guess I don't have much room or right to complain. This is
the thing with Mom. She's always in a state of transition, settling and unsettling, unpacking and packing, and even when she says "This is it" it never really is. I knew that when I decided to move in with her, at least in some dusty corner of my brain that I hate going to. So, I'll just have to live with it and hope I can come into a means of supporting myself soon. Because I would really really really love to settle.

The Unholy Word Trio

2007-09-08T01:46:00.001-04:00

"So, what are your goals?"

Uh... Um... Goals?

Goal, as defined in Amira's Mental Dictionary- noun: vague or indistinct ideas about the future; one third of the "Unholy Word Trio" (see "plan" and "expectation")

I'm sorry. I don't have goals, so this is going to turn into a very poor conversation very quickly. Mostly, it will involve me fidgeting, muttering, sputtering, and professing how much of a bum I am. The fact is, I do not have goals. Or rather, I am not goal oriented. My goals do not clearly define themselves until the moment when the opportunity to reach them strikes. Mostly, they are like little balls of swirling consciousness, going around and around in a cone until they reach the little hole in the bottom, where they pass through, resolved into success or failure dependent on how important they were to me. But I do not actively pay attention to them, because they walk a very fine line in which I could possibly define them as "long-term impulses." For that reason, I can not adequately express them when someone asks me that question. For the same reason, I have issues with the other two words in the trio. And this apparently irritates the hell out of everyone else (i.e. my mother).

Planning is something else I'm very bad about. I can make very general plans, but nothing is ever set in stone. More like very wispy and sometimes delicate bits of fiber. Fibers that often, when they do not break outright, get braided into really weird shadows of their former simplicity. But it works for me.

And of course, there are expectations. I do not mind so much having expectations. For me, even when things don't meet my expectations, that's also an expectation. They sort of just roll off each other in this never-ending waterfall of expectations, met and unmet and exceeded, and they so rarely form any sort of pattern that I no longer pay attention to them at all except for very brief acknowledgments that I had them at the time when they were tested.

None of this is any sort of bother to me. I think it's how I've always been. I know, in some vague and distant way, exactly how my life should go. There will be a job involved, some kind of higher education (though this is actually surplus to my personal requirement and mostly an appeasement to everyone else), and submissions of things that I actually invest myself in. Beyond that, I have nothing else to say. I have a strong belief about how my life works (I'll let everyone else worry about their own lives). I don't know how to properly explain it. When I try it sounds like that stupid "Everything happens for a reason" line. It's not fate or the intervention of a invisible pink unicorn. It's just a flow. A natural order of my personality and the world around me interacting to produce the only possible outcome. Maybe a small scale butterfly effect.

This is probably very naive of me.

But it's also what feels right.

All warm and fuzzy.

2007-08-29T00:46:00.000-04:00

I'd like to take this opportunity to link to Wil Wheaton's keynote speech at PAX '07 . It makes me feel a ll warm and fuzzy inside, not to mention it very accurately describes my feelings about videogames and violence/anti-social behavior. Beware, there are many nerdy references to classic arcade games, the Nintendo Entertainment System, and Journey.

Complaints and Regrets

2007-08-26T22:19:00.000-04:00

Black bags of white cheddar litter the room, the desk, the dresser. I'm sitting at a loss, a void where what I need to do should be. I know what it is, but there's no motivation for it. Boxes line one wall, blocking the window. I've been without the sun's rays for weeks. That doesn't matter. That window never let much light in anyway.

My clothes are all dirty. I need to do laundry before I get through everything else. Then it's time to unplug the computer, wrap it in a blanket, keep it safe from the jostling of a moving van. The desk goes next. Screws undone, boards stacked neatly against a wall, cleaned of all the dirty and ash and grime that accumulates so much faster than one would realize.

The closet should be next. Organize the coats and the dresses, slip them in a bag. Maybe I'll iron them or have them dry cleaned when I get where I'm going. That's not the most pressing issue. It's the metal shelf I need to get to. That's gotta be dismantled too, and stacked with its roommate, the desk it didn't know existed.

I've got a good TV, for a tube. When you plug in AV cables, it tends to loosen and disconnect, but if you jiggle the cords right, the sound and pictures will come back. Just takes a little patience. But it needs to be wrapped up too. Wouldn't want that problem to get worse, after all. I'm not that worried though. After that, I'll have to gather all my miscellaneous items, the things I needed to have out and handy. Some will go in bags, some in a box. Whatever's easiest.

Last will be my clothes, my glorious clothes. I need a new wardrobe, but I'll keep all this stuff too. Garbage bags filled with clothes. For some reason, they've never deserved boxes of their own. Once they're out of the way, all the drawers come out of the dresser. Make it easier to lift, to carry down the stairs. My brother was a pack mule, but not everyone wants to carry a full dresser up and down a flight of stairs just to prove they've got the grits.

Beyond that... well, what else is there? I've had boxes and suitcases of things that I never even unpacked when I moved in here. Was it really just a space issue? I don't know. But now I'm out of here, and everything with me. I don't mind really. I had fun here, and I had pain here, and I managed to feel at home here. But really, it's time to go. Just one complaint is all.

I hate packing.

Linux?

2007-08-20T03:36:00.000-04:00

I've never seriously considered using linux on my computer. The idea of downloading and using a free OS, while nice, just seemed daunting. I mean, when you hear about the culture surrounding linux. . . well, I'm not saying I'm not interested, but it's just another one of those things that makes me feel a little inferior.

But! Feeling a little adventurous (and, also, bored), I decided I'd burn an ISO of Knoppix to disk and try it out. I'm still not any kind of super computer geek or anything, but I kind of like the set up. I'll have to do more experimenting to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes (yes, I watched The Matrix recently), but I know that I will definitely be converting this computer to a Linux/Unix based system in the near future. Mostly it depends on whether or not I'm willing to make myself comfortable with the idea of using GIMP over Photoshop.

The most beautiful thing about Linux, though, is that it only takes up about 700 megabytes (which is about 324 megabytes short of a gigabyte) of space on the hard drive. This is in comparison to the 10 gigabytes that Windows XP eats. Why is this an issue for me? My hard drive is only twenty gigabytes.

Normally I'm not very efficient in the things I do, but it would seem this might be a good idea for me to seize hold of.

Well, except for the whole "I need use of Dreamweaver and Painter and all that other crap I like having!"

How disappointing.

2007-08-15T18:22:00.000-04:00

[Don't Quote Me: Playing Politics]

I personally don't know exactly what to think about this. I should, but I really just don't.

The vengeful little part in me is crying out with righteous anger, but the rational part of me just whispers in that calming little way it has, "This is nothing new and not even shocking enough to warrant a petulant pout." Which is even more disappointing.

The worst part is that I understand, more than I wish I did, exactly why this is happening. Or at least I think I do. For all the comparisons gay rights activists make to women's suffrage or racial equality, in the average person's eyes, it will never look that way. It doesn't even look that way to me, and I'm a big ol' lady-lovin' fool.

The generic reasoning is, "How the hell do I know whether being gay is genetic or just a weird twist of the personality or a choice or a 'lifestyle' or something else entirely?" A woman is a woman. Most of the time you can see it right away (naturally, there are exceptions). A black is usually pretty obviously black. Most importantly, there's no question of their genetic difference from everyone else, while at the same time there's no scientific reason to believe that they are less than someone who has a penis or white skin. Hell, it might even be the opposite half the time, for all I know.

But that's not what people see or think when they think of a homosexual. Nobody really knows, or maybe is really willing to believe, that there's some genetic difference between gays and straights. And if there is, people who disagree with the way gays live their lives would just call it a disease. It wouldn't make anyone any less uncomfortable if it was proven. And what if it's not? What if it really is some bizarre choice or some combination of the guiding forces of a person's life that lead them to be gay or straight? The truth is, it doesn't make any difference at all.

Personally, I have no idea which it is. I don't really care. I know myself, and I know how I arrived at the general ideas I have about myself, mostly involving awkward, uncomfortable experiences that often merited, in my mind at those times, a great deal of self-loathing. But when you look at that uncertainty that so many people apparently feel, it's not the least bit surprising. And it's especially unsurprising when you think of all the people who are convinced that all being gay amounts to is a being of lustful sin. It wouldn't really matter how many times I contest that I've always had a thing for the ladies, ever since a little girl named Heather back in kindergarten. People don't care.

So what does it all amount to? I don't know. What worries me is that if it's not genetic or a choice, then all people are getting in a fuss about is other people falling in love. Or even just wanting to feel good and make someone else feel good. And why is that so incredibly wrong? What are they trying to save me from? What are they trying to condemn me for?

This has mostly just been a rambling rant, and I'm not really sure where I'm going with tjis anymore. But I guess I'll savage what I can by saying that the thing that bugs me the most is, if marriage is such a religiously rooted institution, why the fuck is the government still sticking their bloody noses in it instead of just doing the simple solution that Leigh once mentioned over drinks one night:

"I don't believe in gay marriage. Or straight marriage. I say abolish it and make everyone do civil unions. That way nobody's allowed to bitch about it anymore."

I want a playground.

2007-08-11T21:34:00.000-04:00

It must be a testament to how childish I am that the only time I can allow myself to exercise is when we're running around on a playground late at night with nothing better to do.

I can't pull myself across the monkey bars anymore. I haven't been able to do that since I was eight. But if I had my way, I would be able to go to a park every night to throw my arms from bar to bar until I'm strong enough to do it without any real effort.

It's silly, but I've missed jungle gyms for a long time. I moved to Arizona sometime during fourth grade and was appalled to discover that they had no jungle gym. What kind of elementary school doesn't have a jungle gym? Worse, they only had the infamous PE class two days a week (less, probably). How the hell does a growing girl spend energy when we never did anything!?

When I finally moved back to Arlington (and I'm the only person in my family who has ever been happy to move back to Arlington), my parents enrolled me a in a school where the playground was off-limits. It wasn't school property, they said, so we weren't allowed to play on it. I loved four-square quite dearly, but who wants to play it EVERY day?

Well, you get used to it, and none of this really matters anyway. Except to say that if they made a playground, with adult proportions, like the old ones, with jungle gyms and the blacktop and swing-sets galore, I would never feel self-conscious about going to exercise.

My body is 75% cheese.

2007-08-08T03:12:00.000-04:00

Sometimes as I am standing over a boiling pot of water, watching the elbow noodles cascade from a box of Macaroni and Cheese into the beginning of its soggy end, I wonder about the universe. One of those really has nothing to do with the other and one has everything to to with my life in general, and which is which is at your discretion, though who's to say that one can't be both?

Talking in circles is a specialty of mine. In any case, on the occasions that I find myself contemplating the universe, it seems as though the wondering does not come from thoughts about anything otherworldly. I'm not thinking about God or heaven or hell or aliens or demonds* or angels. Sometimes I'm not really thinking of anything, in fact. I could be contemplating politics or social groups, gossip or gratitude, a dream, a nightmare, or the color of my dog's fur. The point is, if I think on any subject long enough, something strange connects in my head and disconnects my body. As my thoughts spiral in patterns on patterns, connecting this mental pathway, discarding another, reconnecting to it maybe even just moments later, and a strange thing happens. For a moment, I feel like I exist outside of my body while retaining full knowledge of its senses. My best explanation is that it feels like my being is seeping out of its mortal container and having a mixer with the world immediately surrounding.

No, I am not on drugs.

But sometimes, I'm universal. Pity in never lasts more than a moment, and all the more that I don't really understand it. But I guess I'm not really supposed to.

* who are the funny cousins of demons**
** and possibly additions to the mythology of Xiggysisklism***, now that I think on it.
*** which shall be explained in due time.

I'm probably a jerk for that.

2007-07-26T02:16:00.000-04:00

I realize that I have not kept up with this blog as I should have, but summer steals my wits away from me, even when there are huge events unfolding (including the return of my brother from limbo). But a recent night was too strange for me not to recount, and I feel that if I don't now, I'll forget it, and all my thoughts with it.

Paul and Geof and myself decided we'd go over to the hookah lounge and just have a relaxing night of it. It was a nice night, and we tend to get light-headed sitting inside where the smoke collects in our lungs and makes our eyes heavy. We sat outside where we could enjoy the breeze along with our shakes. We even got a good ten minutes of average conversation in before it happened. No sooner than our shakes arrived, a woman wandered over to our table from somewhere out in the night, plopped unceremoniously into the seat and said "Mind if I grab a chair. I think the cops are on me."

Paul didn't notice until she informed him that the cup she was holding was a Bloody Mary and the clear liquid in the other convenience store plastic cup was vodka, but I could smell the alcohol oozing from every inch of her before she even sat down. None of us really knew what do say, so Paul rattled off something like "This will probably be interesting" before we gave our consent to let her do what she was already doing.

So she sat and she was determined to know us so that, should cops appear, she could prove she was not with us by the chance that we were young and uncertain of what to do when strange drunken women appeared hoping for a place to hide from a story that didn't seem like something to hide from. She slurred her words and made unintelligible phrases and passes and asked which of the boys I liked better, because both were cute and had such nice teeth, fangs and all. And we laughed and we did our best to be nice, but when she turned her head, we just looked at each other lost and confused. And when she asked if we had phones, I had no minutes and Paul and Geof lacked the communications that were stowed in their pockets.

Other people chanced to sit around us too, and they were not free from her just because she was at our table. She managed to make rounds with everyone, proclaiming "I'm forty-three, and you all know me, right? If anyone asks, you all know me!" She offered to pay everyone's tabs for that. No one took up the offer.

We had come to the hookah lounge a few times. Last time we went, the waitress who served us was cute and nice, and she was working that night too. We had told our waiter, without letting the strange woman catch on, that we had no clue who she was and didn't really know what to do. Waiters and management stayed around to make sure nothing happened. And when this cute waitress, the one that had been our waitress last, ventured out, the woman said to all at our table "She's got a cute ass." She asked the guy sitting at the table behind her, who she had just recently pointed out had his underwear showing, "Doesn't she have a cute ass?" He nodded politely and laughed and said he couldn't see, probably hoping she would drop it. But that wasn't the end of that. A guy was standing in his view, probably a friend of hers or maybe just a patron and she called loudly for him to move. "We're just checking out her ass!"

At this point, I was the one hiding. I had my face in my hands; I couldn't even look, I was so embarrassed. Not just because this woman was yelling to this poor girl for the whole patio to hear what a cute bottom she had, but because I had thought the exact same thing the last time we had enjoyed the house blend at the lounge. I wondered, if I had been drunk, would I have lost so much inhibition as to say the same thing? Drinking always did take me talkative, but I was glad I was enjoying a chocolate shake and not a Cherry Sour. Especially when the waitress ran away. Paul took the time to go inside and apologize for the woman's behavior, but I still feel like I should've been the one saying I'm sorry.

The guy sitting behind us, he and his friend, rushed inside as soon as she took her eyes off of them. When she realized they had run off without even saying goodbye, she went inside after them. The crazy druggie girl who was sitting at the table next to them vouched she had the drunken woman's back, and when she came back from inside, the girl called them jerks and bastards and big meanies.

That was the last straw for the management, I think. They came outside and asked her to stop bothering customers. She ran off not long after that. I guess she was scared they would call the cops on her.

But she wasn't the last person to come to our table. The girl who had defended her came to our table too. She told a story about another crazy drunk woman who was too inebriated to realize her daughter and some dude were getting it on right under her nose (if I remember the story correctly). And then she laid her own offenses out for us. She talked about how she was about to meet five different drug dealers to get her myriad of fixes. She asked if we wanted to join for a toke (a polite no was the response, in case anyone's wondering). And then she told us how she had stolen fifty dollars from some poor sot who had asked her to watch it for him. How she almost wanted to go return it, she felt so guilty. But almost didn't heal the cuts on her arms. Almost wouldn't get her whatever it was she needed to forget them.

The world is filled with broken people. Some are young and some are old. And more people are sitting at tables around them, wishing they would just go away. I used to be one of those broken people. Maybe I still am. It took years for me to realize that much. And when I finally did, I cried and I asked for help. I didn't know what for, but I knew I needed it.

She was mostly harmless. She asked to make a call from one of our phones, and none of us would give her that much. She was drunk. Wherever she is, she probably doesn't remember what happened. She's probably still drunk.

That girl sounded like she was on something already, and she was off to get some more. Maybe she just wanted someone nice to smoke with. Maybe that's all she really needed.

But in the end, they made their choices. Why should I feel guilty? What could I do, really, to help them? And they weren't asking for my help, anyway. Not really. They called attention, that much is true. But they're not ready for the real help, I don't think. Not until they're ready ask for it. And when they are, I hope they ask better people than me.

Ok, I lied.

2007-07-05T02:24:00.000-04:00

So I didn't manage to update directly post a good night's sleep. Unless you would like to believe that I am a robot and simply did not sleep at all. But I did. Anyway, moot point, because I'm updating now.

You know, I don't like anyone being in my bubble. My personal space is for me to enjoy, and no one else. Touching of most kinds makes me all skittery and irritated. So having a dentist or assistant of digging rubber gloved fingers all around my mouth seems like the kind of thing that might bother me. But I was much too curious to know what damage had occurred since my last visit at the age of 6 to worry about that. After getting the old set of chompers x-rayed, I got the requisite probing and hook-jabbery examination, followed by a very intense tooth cleaning (at which point I was made the captive audience to a lecture about proper brushing and flossing habits and the anecdote, "This may sound embarrassing but I usually. . ." followed by examples which were not actually embarrassing at all). On that note, it was pretty interesting to see chunks of what I assumed were bits of my enamel but were actually chunks of food and bacteria that had be solidifying betwixt my precious teeth for the past twelve years. Kind of gross, actually.

Anyway, I have to get a couple teeth filled on Monday, and (BONUS!) I have to get an appointment scheduled to have my wisdom teeth removed.

Beyond that, I spent most of the weekend with Samia. We went over to Travis P's and I watched while they did a test run on the make up for Samia's death scene (Travis is making a horror movie and Samia will be melting to death). It looks pretty awesome, and yes I have pictures, but those are less awesome, and I would also have to upload them, which takes time and batteries.

There was a barbecue slash ginormous feast of my mother and Jim's design, which was delicious. During these festivities, we were all introduced to a very precocious nine year-old by the name of Josh. And when I say precocious, I mean demanding and rude and a little funny. He repeatedly told jokes of questionable taste (and sometimes blasphemous in nature), and pinched people in a very bizarre game involving tricking somebody into look at a hand gesture made below the waistline (it was not dirty the way that just sounded).

And then? Another barbecue! This one took place at Rite and Rhett's house, and mostly involved meat. A lot of meat. A lot of delicious meat.

I had tried to swing staying through Independence Day, but my dad failed to even try looking for a babysitter, and so I was told I would have to come back on Monday. So I did. And my Dad, being the helpful guy he is, called me up and said "Oh, I was gonna tell you, you don't have to come back. Sawsan's not going to work for a few days." Really? Thank you. I'll just tell the train conductor to stop the train and turn around. They'll do that, right?

Anyway, there's more post-Austin events, but I'm tired and hungry and my eyes hurt from my perpetual attachment to glowing screens.

Mika Brzenzinski...

2007-07-03T00:40:00.000-04:00

is my new hero.

News from Austin after a proper night's sleep.

Sleep Deprevation

2007-06-25T13:38:00.000-04:00

I stayed up all night long for no apparent reason. I started reading South of Nowhere episode recaps out of boredom, expecting I'd get tired of it after maybe an hour (as I have tired of just about everything else I do [translation: bitch bitch moan moan wah]) and possibly pass out directly afterward. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was getting into, because I was reading them well into mid-morning. Which actually baffles me because there are only two seasons.

In any case, as it dawned on me that dawn had passed, I got the idea in my head that it would be good to simply forgo sleeping through the afternoon in favor of exhausting myself, thus allowing the ability to pass out at a normal hour of, say, nine or ten. That way, I would finally put myself on a schedule where I could wake up at an hour that doesn't make me feel like an utter layabout.

Unfortunately, the plan is not going. . . as planned. Even as I type, my eye-lids keep drooping down. I've found myself nodding off several times at this point. Even hopping in the shower and getting dressed hasn't helped at all. I fear I will have to relent to my previous sluggish sleep schedule, which will undoubtedly make life very irritating when I have to wake up and get ready for a train-ride come Thursday. Not to mention get even worse by going to sleep at one in the afternoon instead of sleeping until one.

And I'm completely surprised that this was even coherent. I mean, it was, wasn't it?

I sleep at the wrong times.

2007-06-21T20:09:00.000-04:00

Everyday, I manage to wake up around ten in the morning after having gone to bed at somewhere between 3 and 5 AM. Then, finding I have nothing to occupy my time besides existing in my house until around six at night, I go back to sleep until two in the afternoon.

I don't really mean to do this. Fact is, I don't need to be awake any earlier. Babysitting is actually a bit of a joke, because Molouk generally takes care of herself. So what do I do? I sit around until six, when I'm supposedly free to do what I like. But I don't really have anything to do until Paul or Geof or Carissa ring me up and ask if I want to do something (my attempts to call people usually backfire, but one of these people will call me everyday, so I don't really worry for things to do) like sit around one of their respective houses or make an impromptu trip to Barnes & Noble. Usually these calls come around seven or eight. (That's not all we do, of course. We've actually started planning things to do in advance. I don't know when that started happening.)

So then for the next three or four hours, I'm free from the confines of my room. Free to roam the mall for an hour, the bookstore for another, and then. . .

Home, as I've been set to a curfew of 11 PM (sometimes 11:30, but that's pushing it). It would be later, except the lock on the front door of my apartment does not have a keyhole, and my step family is so terrified that a murderer/rapist will kick down the door, they can't bear to leave only the bottom lock turned so that I can come and go as I please.

So I come home at eleven like a good little girl. I sit in my room, unable to fall asleep because there's just no reason to. I sit awake until four or five in the morning.

And then I do the whole bit over again.

As much as I love seeing my friends here, I'm so incredibly tired of this fucked up schedule where I only spend four hours actually doing anything. I think I should've just moved to Austin from the very beginning. At least I'd have a real job right now. One that pays real money for me to get up off my ass and do things.

Speaking of my ass, it has apparently grown exponentially. I'd go out and do things, but I'd probably get yelled at for not being there at my parents beck and call.

I feel a little evangelical.

2007-06-15T12:01:00.000-04:00

I'm not generally that interested in daytime television. I'm even less interested in the various Christian programming that takes place in the morn. Not because it's Christian. That's perfectly acceptable. There was even one minister that I caught one morning last summer whose sermon I found quite inspiring (I would've tuned in again, except we [my mother, sister, and I] couldn't find his regular scheduling and didn't know his name).

But there's one show, Way of the Master, that I find both offensive and, worse still, incredibly unintelligent. It appeals to an audience weak of mind, assuming that by swaying people who do not regularly think about religious or spiritual matter, it is leading people on a path to God. However, the arguments they use, the self-righteousness they display, and the presumptuous way they look at their own work, makes me shake with absolute disdain.

I understand the desire to spread your faith. And by all means, do so. If you feel like that's your calling, far be it from me to condemn you. But don't you dare insult the intelligence of the people you're trying convert by offering the weakest religious proofs you can think of. Paley's argument by design? Really? And not even as eloquently stated. "See that building? Someone made it, right? So obviously, someone had to make the universe too. That's proof of God. " No. If you're gonna learn that argument, at least learn how weak it is.

First of all, if that argument proves anything, it proves that something very powerful, very knowledgeable, and pretty wise, may have gathered together some materials to create the universe. But it does not prove an omnipotent, omniscient, eternal being that so many believe God to be. The being it may or may not prove only brings the question of who created that being. More than that, the argument doesn't really prove anything.

To use Hume's response,
"If we see a house. . . we conclude, with the greatest certainty, that it had an architect or builder, because this is precisely that species of effect, which we have experienced to proceed from that species of cause. But surely you will not affirm, that the universe bears such a resemblance to a house, that we can with the same certainty infer a similar cause, or that the analogy is here entire and perfect. The dissimilitude is so striking, that the utmost you can here pretend to is a guess, a conjecture, a presumption concerning a similar cause; and how that pretension will be received in the world, I leave you to consider."

Moreover, the presentation is ridiculous. Were the flames projected in the background supposed to be some sort of fire-and-brimstone warning of the end? Oh wait, they said out loud "There's not much time left." I guess the fire and hellish decor were just to be edgy. I'm seriously supposed to believe that these guys know when the world is going to end, that it will happen so, and that because of this I'm supposed to listen to everything they have to say?

I don't know why this offends me so much. Maybe it's because the entire show revolves around the idea that people should just take the hosts word for it and never question things themselves. More than that, if the answers one reaches do not coincide with the answers of the hosts themselves, they are stupid or laughable. They mock anyone who admits they don't believe in God or don't think much about the afterlife, and then they turn around and say (essentially), "I want you to believe what I'm about to tell you, so you don't really need to think much about it."

I'm supposed to believe these two guys are judges from a church "exalted by God, just like the moon" sent to sway the tides of moral persuasion. I would expect people exalted by God to be a little smarter than that. I think they're mostly exalted by themselves.

All my Children is more spiritually simulating than this tripe.

(I'm aware that nobody is being forced to watch any of this stuff, myself included, but I still think people should be a little more aware of the fact that there are persons out there seeking to alter your thinking by telling you not to think. I would be happy with the show if the purpose were not tell me I'm going to hell for not thinking as they do, but to inspire me to find those beliefs for myself.

And for God's sake, when will people learn that its nearly impossible prove God to an atheist by pointing out scripture in the Bible? They'll just laugh at you and say "nice poetry.")

(And yes, I'm assuming that other people think about this at some point in their lives. The people on Way of the Master seem to prey upon those who don't or haven't yet. As far as I'm concerned, believing something just because someone told you to isn't really believing at all.)

Bring the PAIN!

2007-06-13T19:13:00.000-04:00

There's nothing like waking up in the morning with the immediate need to rush stumbling to the bathroom, pack of Midol and fresh hygiene products in hand. I don't usually have these attacks of personal hate (I can only assume it's some kind of hate because I don't know why else my body would force me to sit on a toilet for thirty minutes doing nothing because I'm afraid it might hurt just an EEnsy-weensy bit more if I get up). That was something of the past, something that hasn't happened this bad since junior high, when I had to play through PE no matter how much it hurt (because I had the coach that marked down my grade when I refused to play football with a sprained ankle)

I still remember, with a bit of a grin, how in eighth grade I sat through one particular cramp attack for almost an hour and a half before finally getting the courage to go up to my history teacher, Mr. Something-or-other, and say "I'm having girl issues. Can I go to the nurse?" I'm pretty sure he thought I was an idiot because I had sat there crying onto my desk the entire class period (plus the class before that) before finally mentioning I might need to leave (though he said nothing of the sort), but I maintain that he saw me doing this and didn't say anything himself. After that, I sat in the nurses office for another thirty minutes waiting for my mom to come pick me up because they couldn't give me anything for it. By the time she got there it didn't hurt anymore, but I felt I had earned the rest of the day off at that point. So nyah.

So this morning I writhed on the couch, heating pad pressed firmly to my abdomen while repeating in my mind "Since when does this ever happen anymore?" During the moment when I thought, "Finally! The pain is subsiding," I had to remind myself that it was not subsiding at all. I had simply found a position in which it felt that way until I realized that's what it was. Then I had to feel it hit me all over again. YOU BASTARD! And then the Midol started working. I could feel my limbs swaying a little and my head clouding up, but my cramps pressed firmly on, determined to resist the effects of those glorious drugs. If it had been Ibuprofen, I would've passed out and forgotten the pain altogether, but by the time I knew we had any, I was determined not to mix drugs. Damn it.

I don't usually complain about this particular part of my period, but I guess I've still got a soft, bitterly acidic place in my heart for these sorts of things.

PS: I'm not exactly a skeptic of global warming, but I'm not an activist either. Alarmists irritate me as much as the ignorant do. But the guy in this video makes a pretty good argument on the subject. One that's hard to counter.

It knows me better. . .

2007-06-11T00:12:00.000-04:00

Some nights pass away with me in full slumber, breathing evenly, drooling onto my pillow. Each strand of ooze is a sign of contentment.

Other nights I choose, perhaps naively, to open up a book. A couple chapters, and then I'll go to bed. After all, I've got things to do in the morning. A couple chapters pass, and I've forgotten I was supposed to go to sleep at all.

By the time I've looked up from the pages my eyes have been happily dancing across, the clock's numbers are nigh unintelligible. Irregardless (because at this point I've become to dull-witted to remember that's not a word), it occurs to me that I should probably be going to sleep at this point. I'll just finish this paragraph. That's harmless enough.

But it isn't, and my eyes wander beyond the paragraph to which I was meant to confine myself. They wander so far past, they reach the end. By then there's no chance of me making my morning appointments. I feel a little ashamed, but a little enlightened too. So what if I have no self-control? I enjoyed this, at least that, and I took something from it that even dreams can't give me. Because dreams only tell me what I know. Only confirm what's already inside me. Taking this give me dreams. Someone else's. And I'll chase them wherever, at whatever time of day.

We'll chase dreams like gold for greedy hearts. Swallow them whole and shine their light; wave ourselves, torches in the darkness.

I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry...

2007-06-09T11:51:00.000-04:00

"You're so lucky. You get to go back to sleep as soon as you get home. I have to go to work."

You say that, but you're wrong. I'm not lucky. You get to go to work. You get to distract yourself with different tasks while I sit in my room twiddling my thumbs. While I sit watching this repeating image, this thing we did. While thoughts chase circles within circles 'round it, tails wagging off into waves of confusion, of guilt. Not ripples, only waves, that grow in ferocity, in intensity. Waves that bounce off each other, make each other stronger. Waves that bite holes in the side of my head. If waves had mouths, anyway.

No, I'm not lucky.

I would be a horrible soldier.

2007-06-07T00:32:00.000-04:00

Here is me playing laser tag:

This looks like a good spot. I've got a pretty good view. Oh, look, there's one! (Shoots.) Oh, I missed. (Shoots again; misses.) Oh noes, I've been hit! Maybe if I crouch down. (Hit again.) Well that didn't work. I'll just run around a bit. (Hit multiple times while moving.) Maybe if I just hide in a corner. (Stumbles upon player whose back is turned; shoots.) Oh crap, that was my teammate! (Receives friendly-fire.)

According to the stat sheet we received at the end of the game, my effectiveness was 0.74%. My ranking was 15 out of 16. The 6 year-old was better than me (thank God, he was on my team). I think the only person that did worse than me was a girl who actually stood in one spot looking really bored while everyone just shot at her. But hey, I tried. I bet I had a lot more fun than her too.

Anyway, after the two bloodbaths substituting for a friendly laser game, we played a few different machiness in the arcade before heading off for sustenance. Ian used his magical Papa John's employee discount, which allowed for two large pizzas and some pretty delicious cheese sticks (in my haste to consume said cheese sticks I managed to burn the roof of my mouth, but that's not exactly a new experience for me). We ate over at Bicentennial Park. After everyone finished, we started playing on the jungle gyms (because most of us need more excuses like these to revert to our younger days). We all finally split up and started making the night plans, which ended in everyone going home with the exception of Ian and I, who traveled to Geof's to play pool. We passed by the park again after picking up some things from Ian's, and not one but two police SUVs were parked in front of the entrance, apparently ready for some kind of crackdown. I wonder if we were too loud.

After being equally bad at pool, I was taken home where I sit to contemplate nothing in particular and forget anything that might have been meaningful (but I do that a lot anyway).

Embarassing (and kinda scary) Story Time!

2007-06-04T22:44:00.000-04:00

I have never felt like I was dying before. Not in the physical sense. I mean, I've been sick before, doubled over in pain, crying and praying to God to make things stop hurting. But I never actually thought "Oh God, I'm dying!" I've never cried "Please help me!" in that meager voice one uses when one doesn't even have the faculties to scream. Until I got messed up on Saturday night, that is.

Truthfully, I don't know what happened. I hadn't done anything over the top. A Smirnoff and a mixed drink in the span of a couple hours. I've had more in thirty minutes before. But a little while into the night, something happened. At first I just felt really tired. I asked where we'd be sleeping, but the room was not yet available. Colbie offered to let me crash in her room until time was right for me to take my rightful place on. . . the floor of the living room. Which was totally doable.

But I never quite made it to her room. I stood up, but I couldn't walk without someone holding me. That was fine. I'd just go to the room and crash and everything would be all right.

Problem: never got there. I was standing in the kitchen because my sister (who was the one helping me to the room) stopped to talk to my friend's dad. And suddenly, I wasn't standing anymore. I was on the kitchen floor, probably with my eyes rolling into the back of my skull, mind wandering into some dream that I can only guess lasted a few seconds before Samia started screaming for me to wake up.

I was hauled to the couch, where I stared at Chance's dad while reminding myself that falling asleep, no matter how nice it sounded, would not be a good thing. As I was being carried to the car (it had been decided I would go home), I remember begging for someone to help me, help me. I was dying, and someone needed to help me. This, while apologizing for getting messed up and not even knowing how (Chance was happy to remind me that he'd seen people worse off and this was no big deal; thanks Chance).

The funny thing was, I started feeling better as soon as I sat down again. And even better than that after I threw up. It was as I was sitting in the car that Katy asked me "What did you eat today." Maybe that was the problem. What did I eat that day? Some toaster strudel. Chips. Some cookies.

Oh. Whoops. My bad.

I have a disturbing penchant for not eating some days. That thing is, I had only woken up a few hours earlier. I was barely ready for dinner when we got to Chance's place. So it just didn't occur to me to eat. I briefly thought of joining Katy to grab a bite when she said she was ready to get some food, but I didn't feel hungry enough to actually get up and go somewhere to eat, so I didn't say anything. But I guess I should've taken an inventory of what I'd had that day. It wasn't that I hadn't eaten anything. I just ate a lot of crap.

So now what? Well, between proving to my sister that I'm not anorexic (because she always wants to be believe that I'm anorexic, which is not now, nor has it ever been anything close to true) and proving to my dad that I'm not on the fast track to being an alcoholic, I guess I'll just get really fat stay at home playing videogames all day, everyday, so as to eliminate the possibility of being a "party girl."

Although that constitutes the majority of what I do already.

Undocumented Events

2007-05-31T00:54:00.000-04:00

You know, it's so incredibly like me to not remember what cameras are for. Several things happened the past couple of weeks that I completely neglected to get photographic proof of. The kabob's at Haag's were. . . um, delicious. The party was fun too. Then there were the last couple of days of school, which have no pictures either. Oh, and graduation.

I sort of just float around in other people's memories that way. I don't go out of my way to get pictures of people, and they don't generally go out of their way to get pictures of me, so it works out that way.

But that doesn't mean we don't still have fun. Saturday night was spent at Rachel's. It was a combination birthday party for her and Katy, with some celebration of my graduation tacked on to the end. Oddly enough, I do actually have pictures of that night, but I've been too lazy to upload them. In any case, it was a good night. Not to mention several of the people in attendance who did not previously know my romantic leanings said it was a damn shame for men everywhere (or so my sister tells me). That always amuses me.

Graduation night was pretty much awesome. Carissa and I (I know, weird right?) were intent on gallivanting around Arlington in search of grad night parties. Which we found in abundance. We crashed one party that turned out to be a dud (we were refused beverages until the old man inside told his son to provide for us ladies). But the night was not lost. We drifted off to another party where we actually knew more than one person. In fact, we knew pretty much everyone (including the first girl I ever admit having a crush on). It was kind of cool to pal around with people I almost never saw outside of school or school sponsored events. I should hope to party with them all again some time. But we ended up spending the night at Tim's place, which was fun up until he started being an ass. But I won't go into details on that one.

And so summer has begun. I say it was a pretty good start. I can't wait to see what fun these nights will bring.

Hmm.

2007-05-26T12:57:00.000-04:00

I remember when I was still elementary school-aged we had some speaker come to the class. The face and the name of the speaker, and maybe even the reality of the event, have been lost to me (I may have read it in a book or I saw it on TV for all I know). I only remember what they brought with them.

Three large jars lined up on a table. The first jar was filled with sand. The next jar was filled with pebbles. The last jar was filled with stones. The stones were all of the big, important parts of life. The pebbles were smaller, less important, and more could take up the same space as the big stones. But they could never match the stones, even if there were more of them. And then, naturally, came the sand. Tiny little bits of rock and pebble, whittled down. The sand could fill all of the little crevices.

The speaker pulled out a fourth jar, empty. They asked, "What should we put in first?" If you filled the jar with just big rocks, the pebbles and sand would never be able to filter all the way down to the bottom of the jar. They would just sit on the surface. If you filled the jar with just pebbles, you wouldn't have any room for the big stuff, and the sand would never get all the way down either. And if you filled the jar with sand... Well, then you just had a jar full of sand. But if you put them down in layers- the big stones first, then some pebbles, then some sand, rinse and repeat- until you reached the top of the jar, you got something interesting. A balanced kinda thing. The stones sat in their places, with the pebbles filling in the big cracks, and the sand getting into all the spaces in between. It was altogether a lot more pleasing to see. A more complete picture, you could say.

The symbolism was not lost on me, especially since the unrecalled speaker explained what everything meant. Still, I can't help remembering it now. It was something that left a big impression on me, but I never really followed the implied advice. I'm not much of a planner. I don't know how to make room for the big and the little and the in between. That stuff just happens. But I can definitely think of some things I should have made room for.

There's a lot of people I'm going to miss, and many places too. Still, I've only just ended the first layer. And, looking back, I don't think it was too bad.

That's for the birds.

2007-05-23T21:46:00.001-04:00

Some nights I go for walks
when my room's too hot,
and the sky is dancing orange and blue.
The pink cotton-candy clouds
swirling in the wind
as the sky behind turns
to a big blanket of purple.
I wonder what it would be like
to soar that high.
To be like a bird, free
from everything.
But I live here,
feet planted firmly on the ground.
That place up high
is way too grand for me.
My wings haven't even grown yet.
No.
I'll just stay down here
until I have someplace up to get.

Wait a tick.

2007-05-22T20:12:00.000-04:00

Today is Tuesday, correct? Tuesday is one of my favorite days of the week. It's right after Monday, which you've used to build up energy for the week, but right before hump-day, where you've burnt out much of your supply and will have to do a recharge. I would say that Tuesday is my most productive day of the week for that reason. But more than that, Tuesday, for the past. . . what, seven years? For the past seven years, my Tuesdays have been reserved for a show that is, or was, very close to my heart.

I tuned into The CW, formerly the WB, at seven o'clock, my routine for Tuesday nights, to watch the only show on said channel that I still found worth watching, and realized something. It's over. After seven seasons, the final episode of Gilmore Girls ended last Tuesday.

All good things come to an end. I understand that, and you could see it was time in the writing itself. But I'm still sad to see it go. Not only because in the last couple of seasons I began to neglect the show with my sudden conjuration of a life, but because this was one of those shows I could sit down with my family, or rather my mom, and watch. Sometimes, I'd even make people watch it with me, and they usually enjoyed it as much as I did (that, or they were just amused by my fanaticism).

Plus, how will I ogle Alexis Bledel now? (And I say ogle in the most respectful sense of the word . There's a special place in my heart for her, my first celebrity girl crush that didn't turn out to be a big skank *coughLindseyLohancough*, that has lasted seven years.) Oh well. There's still Veronica Mars.

R.I.P. Gilmore Girls; your heartwarming mother daughter relationship, your relentless boy drama, and your witty pop culture references. You will be missed.

Writer Wars

2007-05-19T18:03:00.000-04:00

I feel like writing something. My internal Obi-Wan Kenobi is saying, "Summer approaches and there is much work to do, young padawan." Which is sort of a lie and totally true.

I usually make up a lot of excuses for not working on The StrangeLand, but at this point, I have none. I'm exempt from all of my exams, so I have no studying to do. I don't have a job, unless you count watching Molouk, but that's not even a real job. Mostly I sit in my room and she sits in the living room, and we don't talk unless she comes in to tell me something that probably isn't very interesting or makes no sense or that I just have no patience for because I'm not a big fan of kids. All this until someone comes home and I promptly do the same thing I was doing the whole time I was "watching" her, which is, essentially, nothing.

So, with all this nothing void time, I should be devoting myself to writing out the scripts for TSL. That and, I don't know, applying for scholarships or something.

Is it really over?

2007-05-18T03:04:00.000-04:00

By the time this is posted, it will be past 2 AM. I have just finished my senior scrapbook and done some minor repairs in the way of cleaning my room (although they weren't much help). And I keep thinking, is this really it? Tomorrow (or today, rather) is the last day of the penultimate week of my senior year of high school. After next Friday, there's no more. I won't come back to this school next August. Maybe I'll visit every once in a while. Maybe.

An entire part of my life, the encompassing of several chapters, is about to end. Soon I'll be moving on to the next stage, whatever that may be. And that is entirely horrifying. Will I figure out the place that I wanted to be in? I thought I had some grasp on it, but I don't know anymore. Maybe I'll try doing comics full time. Except I'm not that ambitious (or self-destructive. . . anymore). Or perhaps I'll write and submit to some publication or other.

Maybe I'll just get a job. Try to work through college if I go at all.

I guess I've got a whole summer, plus some, to decide.

Utopian Festival of Scrapbooks

2007-05-16T00:22:00.000-04:00

Last week was all kinds of busy. And the week before that. Everything's just been busy. There was film fest, which was slightly disastrous but still a success, all things considered. There was only one film that we could actually get to play up on the big screen, and the rest had to be watched while crowded around a little computer screen in the corner of the room. I guess I'm not really one to judge how much of a success it was. Everyone in lit mag seemed to think it was horrible, but I didn't notice anyone really complaining or dodging out. I guess that's sort of luck. Most everyone that came were good sports about the whole thing. I can't complain. I was manning concessions and couldn't stop eating.

Then, of course, there was Temporary Utopia. I don't really have any good pictures for either of these events, but I can tell you that Temp U was a lot of fun. Again, I was stuffing my face at the concessions stand, but hey. I had to do my part!

We've been working on scrapbooks a lot lately too. They're due on Friday, so I have to finish it in the next two days. Which sucks because I'm not any good at scrap booking. Bleh.

Next Sunday is graduation. I've lost the ability to concentrate on anything, although I did manage to get two pages up in one week on TSL. W00t?

Hiatus?

2007-05-08T23:32:00.000-04:00

I've been gone a while. I've found life to be very tiring the past several weeks, just barely endurable on all fronts. But I guess I have a couple things to update on (for now). First there was prom.

It’s funny. I spent the weeks leading up to prom in utter disdain for the idea of it. I wanted nothing to do with it. That stuff was for squares and popular people. People who cared. And I was certainly not one of those people. But here I was, preparing for the day, not so that I could enjoy it, but because everyone else told me that I was supposed to. Mom, my sister, my friends. It seemed like the world was against my decision to be at home on prom night. I didn’t want to spend money on a dress. I didn’t want to buy shoes. I didn’t want to get my eyebrows done. I wanted to sit at home, play video games, and maybe watch a little late night TV. Imagine my surprise, my chagrin, when upon the arrival of the nefarious day in question, I was not just pleased; I was giddy. I got into the building with a gaggle of friends or so-called. We mingled and we danced. We got lost in the cavernous room with horrible acoustics. Some of us did awkward dances without the involvement of the feet (mostly poor-timed sways to the music). A lot of people hated the music, but I enjoyed it. It wasn’t the same stupid rap songs over and over again. It was goofy and fun. Thriller, the Macarena? What’s not to enjoy. Yeah, it was corny; yeah, they didn’t play the latest rag from the music industry; yeah, I didn’t get the chance to see my crush (which has nothing to do with previous two; I am aware). Even still, I did eat my words. It was more fun than staying home and playing video games.

MGM I did not enjoy so much. Paranoia is a common trait of the sleep deprived, so it’s a wonder that so many people could be put in a place, expected to remain awake the entire night they’re there, and then subjected to a luck-of-the-draw grand prize picking without becoming suspicious. I think it’s a mark of the character of many seniors present at the event that they did not rush to attack the student that won a laptop and printer and didn’t show so much as a wink of excitement. I myself was particularly angry over the distribution of wealth. It seemed to me and many others that the prizes worth the most were given to those who needed them least. The iPods, the flat screen TVs, the laptop and printer. It was like names were not so much drawn at random as given away to those the drawers knew. One can see how that might induce anger in one who had paid cash money and expected a real chance at something one really wanted. But of course, after a full night’s sleep, these offenses don’t seem so bad (although they still seem perfectly possible). I enjoyed a night at the Blackjack table, betting money in amounts too cautious to be much worth the effort, except for the fun of doing it at all. By the end of the night, I was up by several thousand, an experience in a money machine, and a caricature (although that went home with another), and those are memories I’d prefer to stick up front.

D&D Brings Rain

2007-04-24T23:14:00.000-04:00

This is a law that must never be broken. Without fail, every meeting we've had for Dungeons & Dragons has taken place indoors thanks to the falling water that seems to be incredibly attracted to our fantastic nerd action. Which sucks, because I would love to play outside on a nice sunny day, preferably with sandwiches.

Also, I'm discovering all of my friends are finding addictions, which is a little scary.

Those Muffled Cries You Hear. . .

2007-04-24T00:47:00.000-04:00

Are totally me whining in my pillow. I somehow managed to pass out halfway through the day on Sunday, which led to my inability to fall asleep until two in the morning. The next day (or rather, that day), I did not speak from the time I "woke up" until seventh period, when I finally had class with Ms. Scott and Geof, neither of whom would ever let me not talk unless I really really didn't want to (which, apparently, I did).

So, yeah. I have been in such a funk lately! I really hate that, but I've spent the time I can't spend on sleep reasoning it out and trading metaphysical quips with the big man upstairs (which does not mean the tenant in the apartment above us because there is no apartment above us). I always feel silly when I have to do that, but then I feel silly for feeling silly, because what's so silly about talking to God anyways? Silly.

My philosophies on religion and higher spiritual beings are pretty incoherent. They range from vague notions of cultural need for something more, to actual faithful adherence to certain morals that maybe were given to us by a higher power, and a bunch of other crap that really doesn't mean anything in my everyday. I know what I believe. I believe in God. I believe that if you ask for help, not because you don't want to do anything yourself about it, but because you sincerely don't know how to solve it without, you'll get an answer. I did, anyways. And maybe it wasn't even an answer. Just a little strength.

Just Contradict

2007-04-18T21:28:00.000-04:00

So, everything I've said in regards to prom and all that crap has been a total BS waste of time. In fact, everything has, just like always. Life seems to sneak up on me that way.

I didn't look for a date. I promise you that. But Paul offered since everyone seems determined to have me go to this thing. Oh well. I can deal with that. I'd rather be wanted than ignored. And in any case, I don't even know why I've been so set against going in the first place.

I guess it's just not how I envisioned it. I mean, I've never actively fantasized about prom. But maybe somewhere in the back of my head, I always thought that if I ever went it would be with someone that I actually had a romantic relationship with. But I guess that's sort of silly, now that I think about it. I mean, a relationship with someone isn't exactly something I've ever had an easy time of obtaining. It always seems like the world is against me on that one. But it's a big world. There's a gal out there for me somewhere I'm sure. I'm probably just being picky anyway.

Sorry Ma,

2007-04-14T12:21:00.000-04:00

I'm not going to look for a date to the prom.

I got a very excited call Thursday night from the Madre. She was asking exactly what day prom was. What time? She wanted to know when she would need to make me a hair and make-up appointment.

Previously, I had promised myself not to let her know that I was not going. But all that enthusiasm! I couldn't lie. How exactly would I fake prom if she was going to go all out like that? So, with very little deliberation (I don't think I've ever been one to spare feelings; not one of my better qualities), I informed her that the plan had changed. I would not be going to prom. Her response?

"We have to find you a date!" Uh. . . No? I'm not going to go out of my way just for some "experience." When I look back on this ten years from now and think, "Gosh, I wish I'd done that," she can laugh in my face, but, for now, don't expect much.

Besides, the money that she wanted to spend on a dress (which was confirmed to be "a lot") will now go to something more useful to me. Rather than waiting until August for a phone with a screen that's NOT broken, I will be using that money to get a cheap little cellular device.

It's sort of funny. Whenever there's something comparatively necessary, my parents don't have the money for it. I mean, for a couple months now I've been pointing out the fact that this screen issue is a problem (to be redundant) since the only phone numbers I can remember are my dad's and that of someone that I don't talk to. I've already lost papers with people's numbers on them several times now. But when it's as much for them as it is for me (usually in a mental capacity), they manage to scrounge the cash up from somewhere. Sort of makes you think.

In any case, I'm not going to go out and a find a date, nor am I going to attend as a fifth wheel. Sorry Mom.

So, what I would really like. . .

2007-04-13T16:08:00.000-04:00

I would really like to not be sick. I would like it even more if I didn't feel obligated to do things even when I'm sick, which I really have no right or reason to feel an obligation to. Also, I would really like it if I could make sense right now, because I'm fully aware that nothing I've said the past couple of days has meant much. I'm talkin' soul brothas and a friend-avoiding Arab bombs. Yeah. Get any of that? No? Good. Me neither.

Prom? Pffft.

2007-04-11T23:32:00.000-04:00

This entire year has been spent denouncing the idea of prom. "Are you going?" people would ask me. Dear sweet baby Jesus covered in chocolate poured by God No. Why would I do something like that? First of all, why waste ANY amount of money on a dress that I will likely only wear once to an event that's largely as meaningful as the dances we had back in junior high? Sure, it's a senior thing. Not for me though.

Well, for about two days it was. I would go with a few friends, a casual group thing. We'd hang around, do the whole picture thing, until MGM started so we could wear goofy costumes. I was actually going to take the time to go dress shopping with Marie. I will admit, I even got a little psyched about it.

That is until Geof went and got himself a date and Marie decided to go with Justin. Who, by the way, broke up with his girlfriend? All the drama of the past couple of weeks resolved itself very nicely, although I admit I'm still a little miffed at Marie. I guess I'll get over it though. Not like she did anything to me.

But now that they have formed a nice little foursome, I've taken myself out of the running. "You can still come with us." Yeah. Like I'm gonna spend my time as a fifth wheel. I'd rather stay home and play some good ol' video games.

Call Me Two-Faced

2007-04-11T16:26:00.000-04:00

Sit in class. Do my work. I'll make faces at the teacher that radiate pure loathing. Or better yet, I'll ignore them altogether. Or maybe share the unthought anecdotes, nonsensical spills of words all mixed to sludge. No telling them right. Not ever.

So shy away. Wait for cries to ring shrill on clockwork timers. The young to file out doors, walk like zombies through halls they know in some distant corner, maps imprinted in the brain. Destinations set to schedule, mini maps of mini dungeons. Say hello to the room filled with no one in particular.

But one in particular. Disinterested, she never speaks, not to me, but for the boredom set like stone. Nerves shake from vibrations in her voice, words flop out, a sloppy flow of unformed thoughts screaming to be analyzed. Story forgotten before even being told. But it entertains, I suppose. It did make her laugh in a polite sort of way.

On occasion, something changes. A pattern she found in a few encounters. There's a flash of eyes, a strange look. Something like concern, but not more than half-heart. She begins to ask, but no, I won't. Not to her. Which is not to claim distrust. Simply that I must withhold from the ones I know not well enough to show.

Sudden smile graces face, tell a joke before spiders bite questions in this airtight room. Outlandish stories with awkward results. Did I really just say that? Oh god, I did. Interest flies away like birds from the tossing of a stone. But I wish she wouldn't go.

And yet the pillar movies, the ceiling falls, and I'm engulfed. When the rubble clears I don't worry about awkward encounters. There's just no time for that. Those stupid jokes. That stupid me.

Strange Sickness

2007-04-08T23:22:00.000-04:00

My head feels heavy, my stomach is churning, and, above all, I have disgusting sense of impending doom. I'm guilty. Guilty of dissatisfaction and loafing. I avoided my economics project like the plague, going as far as to skip fifth period so that I wouldn't have to deal with it. I tried to help a friend, pulling strings to get her a second chance. She ignored it the same as I did my endeavor, and now I have to help her finish what she started. I use the words "have to" because I can't not help her. I can't do what she did to me. I can't ignore that she's in trouble, even though I can feel hot venom rising up in my throat every time I talk to her.

Old demons keep coming back to snap dirty inclinations in my brain. I don't know how to make them shut up and take this damn headache away.

Announcing Announcements

2007-04-05T15:25:00.000-04:00

Pick up graduation announcements: check.
Pack for tonight's adventure: check.
Begin working on the next page of TSL: check.
Actually upload the last page of TSL: check.
Add photos section to Apogee Studios: will do soon enough.

Attempt to burn a CD: check, but failed due to lack of a disc.
Work on that stupid effing scrapbook: not even close.
Help friend with her homework and life problems: mreh.
Be home by 1PM tomorrow to babysit the thing: dear sweet Jesus.
Figure out what the hell's been wrong with me lately: I'll get to it.

Tornado Alley, FTW

2007-04-03T23:26:00.000-04:00

You know, stormy weather is not unknown in these parts. I remember when I was very little, we had to hide in a department store while a tornado raged through the area. I remember because it was my first ever reprimand for sitting on the floor. I believe I was in the early single digit ages. Later on, having graduated to the double digits only a year or two earlier, we were enjoying a storm that was most prominent somewhere in Fort Worth. There was some fear because my dad was in that area, but I wasn't scared. Things always turned out all right. Plus, it was entertaining to watch my older sister scurry back and forth between the only closet in the house that was central enough to be a viable safe-room and the back yard door where I was firmly stationed. "It's not safe!" Ha. I laugh in the face of not-safety.

It seems arrogant, but storms don't really scare me. It's not that I'm delusional enough to think that nothing would ever happen. I'm fully aware that the golf-ball sized hail could strike me in the temple, effectively ending my career as class moron (a title that I'm very proud of). It's just that I find them too exciting to just sit around being scared. Big storms mean power lines being knocked out. Yeah, I'd be without my internet and precious television for a while, but the best family histories are relayed by candle-light when there's nothing to stop from talking crap but talking truth.

It's better when my whole family is together. Knowing everyone is safe makes it all the easier to enjoy the claps of thunder and flashes of lighting. Rain falling in sheets that are spotted with clusters of ice just big enough to pop in my mouth (although I never would), or even better, just small enough to enclose my fist around as I would a tennis ball (although those don't show up so often anywhere I've ever lived). But the lighting is best. Powerful and beautiful and greater than anything we could ever hope to create. Flashes so bright, that for an instant the world is lighted up as in full daylight before settling back into the darkness. A mystery revealed for only an instant, and, just like that, it's gone.

This is what we do in Lit Mag.

2007-04-02T17:25:00.000-04:00

I missed the little man beginning his journey. He was carted in his boat across the terrible Gray Bar that blocks the average traveler. But ingenuity is strong in this one. He makes it safely into the murky waters that so few have braved in the past. In the pouring rain, he makes his way through relatively unknown waters to a new world. What a brave little man.

The little man capsizes mid-voyage. But never fear! He manages to right himself and continues his sojourn to the new world. What a brave little man.

Finally, he reaches the other side. But something still seems to be amiss. Perhaps it's the lack of companions. Only the faces of giants look toward him from the far off land that made him.

What a sad little man.

An Open Letter to My Ability to Make Awkward and Incoherent Conversation With My Teachers

2007-03-29T15:55:00.000-04:00

Dear Ability to Make Awkward and Incoherent Conversation With My Teachers,

Normally, I have very little to be unhappy with myself about. I'm pretty confident in my abilities, I know my disabilities, and I'm at peace with both. But you and your friend, Ability to Have Awkward Conversations with Strange New People, are beginning to make me feel a bit incompetent. You pop up exactly when you shouldn't. I wrote the beginnings of a fantasy story and went to my Creative Writing teacher to discuss it and a friend's work. When asked if I had anything I wanted to talk about, you piped up "I'm too arrogant to ask questions about my writing." Those exact words you spoke through my lips.

For the most part, you advise me to ignore my teachers altogether. Is this your pathetic attempt to avoid all those awkward juxtapositions of thought that otherwise litter teacher-student conversation? And you and Ability to Have Awkward Conversations with Strange New People are peculiarly absent in informal social situations. Do you have a friend named Ability to Make a Fool of Myself in a Fun Way to Strangers? I know her. She tells me to talk to people that, say, I meet at a party where alcohol or other substances are involved. She's a little obnoxious sometimes, but lately she's been a better friend than you have.

I like most of my teachers. So why won't you let me talk to any of them in a way that doesn't make me look like an asshole? And next time there's a conversation about school politics, please don't say things like, "I think they should bring back corporal punishment." That's totally not PC.

Sincerely,
Amira Abu-Shawish

(Open Letters to People or Entities Who Are Unlikely to Respond.)

I have the best friends ever.

2007-03-25T16:25:00.000-04:00

My friends are awesome. That's all I have the faculties to say at the moment. I love them. Best friends. Ever.

STRESSSTRESSSTRESSSTRESSSTRESS (and on into infinity)

2007-03-20T22:35:00.000-04:00

H'okay. So the ritual begins.

I don't try to do these things. They just happen. Yeah. I've had this assignment for several weeks. That doesn't mean I'm gonna start it when I'm supposed to. I never do. It would eliminate all the fun. I take a special pleasure in defeating the minions my English teacher sets upon me. The act of cutting through papers, generally with a poorly executed swing, just sets my heart aflutter. I can feel tons lifting off of my shoulders as the last sentence escapes from my fingertips to the screen of my computer.

Usually the stage of battle is the desk in my bedroom. I bring provisions: coffee, soda, chips, lots of paper, and a distraction or two for when my faculties are depleted. Oh. And an alarm clock. Because, undoubtedly, I will tire of all I have set before myself.

Halfway through he assignment, provided I don't fall asleep, I will begin to use the topics to amuse myself. How many words can I rhyme before it becomes obvious? How about some alliteration? Okay, that's done. Now for some observational humor that's only funny at three in the morning and only to me.

A few more hours and the paper is complete. Sleep overtakes me just as my dad is waking up. I amble through a three minute dream before he knocks on the door to remind me that ignoring an assignment I've had for several weeks doesn't exempt me from going to class. Damn.

I float through the first few periods, which last much longer than they should, until I reach English. With a supreme sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, I hand in my paper and beam a grin at whoever is unfortunate enough to be in front of me. I can feel myself floating through the air, wind lashing my face, birds squawking in my ear, the distinct rumble of jet engins. Hello passengers! I hope you're enjoying your flight.

The bell rings. I have passed out from sleep deprivation.

Waambulance.

2007-03-18T23:13:00.000-04:00

God, I whine far more than is necessary. I even whine about whining, which is a bit of a conundrum to think of.

This spring break was in fact pretty awesome. Although I'm quite ready to get back to school, I had a lot of fun. I hung out with Marie and Geof quite a bit, started the character creation process for D&D, had several birthday celebrations, and got snippy with a weirdo.

Katy was a bit of a beast. When CJ crashed the parties (more like "was invited to crash"), there was a bit of a snag in finding places to sleep. Chance and I had been sleeping on the couch and the floor for a good long while, so we were fairly eager to take the futon. Rachel, newly christened McElvany, had only a few people she could sleep with while keeping her dignity in tact. And then Katy. Oh Katy. She was simply selfish. She could easily have solved the whole situation by just sleeping with CJ in the Art room, but she complained and complained, refusing to allow such a simple solution to be viable. She took the futon. Chance and I, who were going to share with whoever was with us, did our best to ignore the whole thing, but neither Katy, the selfish one, nor Rachel, the stubborn one, would let it go. Even with the door closed, we could hear Rachel talkin' smack. Katy freaked about it, so we all went back out into the living room to fight and try to help figure out the sleeping arrangements. When it was clear Katy wouldn't budge, I went back to the futon to sleep, because I didn't really want to deal with it.

Katy came back in, feeling very satisfied with herself. Chance had gone to sleep in the Art room with Eric. CJ was still up playing Wii bowling. But Rachel and Samia were still gabbin' about Katy's selfishness. I went out into the living room to get them to shut up (because otherwise Katy wouldn't either, which meant no sleep for me). They told me not to respond, but that never really helps. So Katy came out of the room before I could get back to bed. She stormed out of the place and went to her sister's (undoubtedly to complain). Rachel was quite happy, although she continued talking about how rude Katy was long after I went to bed.

Katy came back at 9:30 AM to find a book. She basically stormed through the house, waking everyone up before finally leaving. She was not back for the rest of the week.

I personally think they were both being pig headed. Katy is a stubborn ass and so is Rachel. They could've cooperated, but they chose to fight. I guess I'm not surprised. That's how things usually are, with Katy especially. After she left, the group didn't have a lot of problems.

We were set to see the Hudsons live on Thursday, but turns out the schedule we read was at least two weeks out of date. They had canceled their show. Instead of that, we browsed the Waterloo for some nifty tunes. Eric and Chance managed to spot Hyde from That 70s Show, which was pretty awesome. He was just walking around the record store like nothin'. We didn't bother him. Much. Ok. We followed him around until we had finished purchasing a few different CDs.

After coming back from the store, we threw a little fiesta. Barbecued sausages, beef flanks, steaks, macaroni, rolls, and other equally delicious items awaiting consumptions and transformation into our thighs. We were all stuffed after a couple small plates, though when Rite and Rhett arrived, they took out most of what was left. Like vultures. Vultures with excellent taste.

I went to Mom's Friday night. We saw Zodiac- which will keep you awake with thoughts of murderers and unsolved mysteries well into the night. The next day, Samia and Travis joined Mom, Jim, Sam, Max, Mari and I for a some chicken fajitas (Mom may drive me insane, but damn can she cook). I was made fun of for my inability to pick out good tomatoes. Samia was made fun of for her inability to remember it was St. Patrick's day. Everyone else got their jabs when playing bullshit (because apparently, few of us are good at it).

I passed out fairly early, and hopped on the train the next morning, after sitting around in the car with Mom and Jim, shootin' the shit while waiting for the transportation to pull into the station.

All in all, a delectable visit.

Mrah.

2007-03-13T22:39:00.000-04:00

You know, everytime I'm with my mom, I get this indescribable dissatisfaction. "I can't wait for you to move down here." Yeah. I know. Me neither. But I can totally wait on living with her.

I want out of Arlington because I hate my step mother and her spawn. But I don't want to live in Austin with my mom. I have to pick one, but I don't want to do either.

It's not that I hate my mother. I love her. I just don't want to live with her. I've lived with her before, and it's such an unstable to place to be. She moves so often, and I just want to find a place and stay there. And more than that, she's left. Often. She left when I was fourteen to be with a man she had only known for maybe two months, and had only seen once or twice. She divorced him after two years of fighting and blaming and listening to him badmouth us. Now she's already living with her boyfriend of a few months. He's a nice guy. I'll give him that. But it unnerves me that she moves so fast because she always feels trapped. All I want to do is live slow and comfortable. I don't want to get caught in that. Not again.

But at the same time, if I choose not to live with her, I have to endure Sawsan and Molouk. I have to live like a stranger in my own home. At least at Mom's I feel welcome. There's always room with Mom.

I love my Dad. He lets me live at my own pace, whereas Mom makes me go faster than I'm ready for. But I can't live with him as long as Sawsan is around. And I hate that. I hate that I've been backed into this corner. She's become this barrier between me and my dad, and he doesn't really even want her there. He's told me so. So why do I have to drop out of the races?

I can't tell Mom I don't want to live with her. It would probably break her all over again. But I don't want to live with her, and I don't want to live with them.

I know I'm gonna have to talk to them both about this. That or tell some therapist all about it many years into the future. God, I love making life-altering decisions under pressure.

Awkward? Uh. . .

2007-03-10T16:22:00.000-05:00

Ok. So people stare. It's natural right? You're sitting there, and a fresh daydream graces your thoughts. The object of your reverie may change often (or every minute, in my case). Or it may be some continuing story that monopolizes your thoughts so that the outside world becomes mere memory. And you stare. You stare long and vacantly and with no consideration as to what you're staring at. Yeah. I do it often and with great satisfaction.

But quite rarely do I notice anyone else doing it. More specifically, rarely do I notice people staring at ME. And yet it seems to be happening. Often and the same person.

There is a girl. Every time I happen to veer my eyes in her direction, she is gazing intently at me. Not behind me. Not to the boy next to me. At me. And I have no idea what to do about this. We rarely speak to each other. When we do, it's about some assignment. Did you understand Ms. Scott's lesson? Did you do your writing assignment? She once asked for help figuring out the story for her Creative Writing assignment. Like the ass-hat I am, I told her to write it herself. I couldn't help. I really couldn't.

What does that stare mean? Is she thinking of ways to torture me? Or the opposite? Is she just daydreaming and finds it easier to do so when focused on a particular person's face? Does she have something she wants to say to me? Whatever the case, it causes awkward flares in the pit of my stomach. Involuntarily, I give a small smile, but her face is blank, and I can't look her in the eye for more than a few seconds without feeling my face fire up.

I've been led to believe she has a boyfriend. Which has led me to believe she's not interested. So my only real course of action is to talk to her and ask her, in the most polite way I can think of, to not stare at me, or perhaps just why she's staring in the first place. Which is sad, because I sort of like it.

I'm Taking a Pounding Here.

2007-03-07T22:31:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, the same life message feels the need to repeatedly enter my limited scope of the universe. Gather ye rosebuds. Quite frankly, I'm beginning to think someone up there is trying to tell me something. Although I'm not sure being reminded of something I already know and am doing my best to live up to is very helpful. It'd be annoying if I didn't enjoy the subject. It's probably a completely different message altogether.

Admittedly, it's not surprising. Senior in high school. It's the kind of thing at least one of the teachers SHOULD bash into the minds of students who would otherwise be doomed to follow some unfulfilling plan that they never made in the first place. It's in movies (for instance, Stranger Than Fiction, which I just finished watching about ten minutes ago). It's in books. Poems. The world at large.

Live your life because one day it'll be gone. And yeah. Sometimes circumstances are out of our hands. But that's no excuse to be an asshole all the time. Live to the paramount of existence, not the flat plain of dry desert that so many attempt to float above as a vapor, only to have the soaking vigor of life sucked out of the them like a sponge left in the sun. We're not all cacti.

The Carpe Diem mentality will absolutely not leave me alone.