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Me
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| February of Fun France "Facts": Fin |
[Feb. 19th, 2008|09:39 pm] |
So, I've obviously fizzled on the "facts" of February front...but just because I've had little to say doesn't mean things haven't been good. These past few weeks, France has been better than it's ever been, and I'm enjoying being here immensely, every day. That said, I'm going...back to Ed for a week because...I don't really know why...but I'm excited about it nonetheless. Importantly, however, while I may be excited to go to Edinburgh, for perhaps the first time ever, I am not desperate to go. So, I'm travelling to Edinburgh on Thursday (via Nimes and Nottingham and it is going to take FOREVER because I choose to live in only the most inconveniently located European cities), and I'm going to shiver for a week, and then I'm going to come back to Montpellier (via London and Marseille which will also take approximately forever) the next Thursday at which point I hope it's very sunny and warm here. And it will all be excellent. And I will write about it, really. I enjoyed the "facts" of February while they lasted, and the France does not stop here; it is, however, going on hiatus for the rest of Feb. |
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| The Surreal Life |
[Dec. 14th, 2007|12:58 am] |
In ways which I am currently too exhausted (from doing what, I could not tell you, but exhausted nonetheless; watching TV and eating baguette is tiring, I guess...) to tell, the past few months of my life have been incredibly, unbelievably surreal. I now, at least, understand why the French love absurdism so much: they dwell in absurdity. And I, I suppose, dwell in its shadows, pretending to be English, wondering if life is really so incomprehensible and unpredictable as all this, or if my French is just too sub-par to understand. While at first, the absurdity was too much to take in and enjoy simultaneously, ever since the end of October, it's been getting better and better, and I've been loving it as much as I've been laughing at it. Or maybe things just got better at the end of October, as it's more or less the last time I regularly attended a class...as one of my professors said "you must have noticed that French University is one of the most depressing places to be in the world" (that was, of course, after he shouted at the militant student/strikers, calling them all cunts). And I would attest, that my specific University - University Montpellier III Paul Valery - is one of the most disheartening, disorganized, overgrown, depressing places I've had to spend more than three consecutive hours in since high school. But, I've kind of grown fond of the surreal life that is etre étudiante at a French University (although mainly, the striking). So, here I am, clinging to the very last vestiges of a month-long era of lighthearted, coffee and wine drinking, entire-TV-series-in-one-day-watching, carefree shopping, house-pants-wearing, utter confusion and insanity, and I'm struggling to capture it before the reality of it slips away. But already, it's gone. I'm going home tomorrow, a week sooner than planned (because of threatened plane strikes, parental begging, and lack of anything better to do), after nearly a year away, and the spell is about to be broken. But I was languishing anyway, wasn't I? Before the countdown closed in on me, and I realized the dream was about to be over. I am incredibly glad to be going home. Since my 19th birthday, I've spent only 12 full days in the Homeland. And while there's a part of me which relishes the verity of that sentence, thinks of it as an achievement, the ever-expanding sentimental part of me doesn't like at all what that implies. For, while I like a bit of distance, I do not want to be distanced from my original home.
So, I'm putting away my proverbial picket, shelving my glass of wine, heading back to America for a month, and very glad for it. |
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| Back to the Suburb |
[Aug. 6th, 2004|11:28 pm] |
I have returned. You are glad. Ten hours is far too long to spend on a train, but I am off the train so it is no longer of consequence. But, as I've not slpet since aroungd 6 Thursday morning, its time to go collapse somewhere. Talk to me. Or not. My AIM is dead. I'll do something about that when something happens and I have a brain? I am so weirded out by all of this English...or...yeah. Goodnight. |
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| "Till mean things put on beauty like a dress" |
[Jan. 21st, 2004|06:09 pm] |
I am so explosively angry. So inexplicably enraged. I am ready to shatter glass.
I want to go away...very far away...where accents are different...
The other day, I was reading this about this children's museum in Sweden. They have this contraption that you can stick your head in (or something) and scream as loud as you like...everyone needs some such entity. |
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| The world as represented by melted, remolded crayons: |
[Oct. 4th, 2003|12:32 am] |
Today, when I was walking home from school, I saw this guy drive by on the opposite side of the road. He was in this antique, boxy powder blue Chevrolet wearing a bowler, tortoise shell plastic glasses and a blazer, and he smoking a cigar. This man is possibly the most glorious thing I've seen in ages. If he happened to be thirty-five years younger, I'd be all over him. Hahaha...it was awesome.
Then, a few yards down the sidewalk, this woman was strolling along with her young child. It waved to me. I didn't know what to do...it was uncomfortable. Why do babies feel that they can wave to whomever they pass in the street? I didn't know this baby or its mother. I don't belong in the suburbs. I need the city where people walk briskly by one another, pretending not to notice that the street is full of people.
I just saw some old version of The Picture of Dorian Gray on TV. It wasn't great but the resemblance between the actor that played Dorian and the image I had of him in my head was uncanny.
Tomorrow, I may or may not get my Vespa-like-entity fixed so that I could, possibly drive it in traffic if I so wished, which I do.
Next weekend is the 215 festival. I really would like to see the Neal Pollack Invasion, but if I cannot, I have alternative 215 plots for Saturday.
So, yes...that was not very cohesive as I did not use anything in the way of transitional words or phrases. I'm too lazy for respectably written journal entries anymore. I'm just too lazy to exist. |
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| At one point, there were a number of people who wished they were like Farrah Fawcett... |
[Aug. 25th, 2003|12:44 am] |
Yesterday, I discovered the importance of plot. It felt so good. I know, the statement is in and of itself absurd. Is plot not always important? I did not think it was, in fact I placed no value in its existence and wrote it off as nothing at all -- a waste of space reserved for trashy novels and fillers. And yet, I was sitting about reading Great Expectations (for, what else do I ever do) and I was struck with insight which was really quite unexpected.
Maybe I shouldn't say I learned of the importance of plot so much as I learned that it could be used well...or something else? I cannot put it into words right now as I am ever so distracted, but even if I could I doubt if it would be of much interest so I leave you with the revelation itself and not details of it. So, I have learned two things this summer and they are as follows:
1. The Importance of Plot
2. How to Take the Ferry
I also learned that I was allowed to go to Germany, but that is not really something one learns so much as a privilege one gains.
On a completely unrelated note, today I cleaned out the garage with mother. There is ample space for the housing of my Vespa(like entity) which is to be purchased on Saturday. I sincerely hope that the store has one available in red.
While cleaning out the garage, we found boxes of old photo albums from my mother's youth which reminded me a bit too much of my own photos for comfort.
And yet I do not know what to do with myself. I wish I had a personality...or I wish I could at least masquerade as a semi-intriguing person whilst I create one. I really need to get up and do something every once in a while. Yet my taste in company changes faster than my choice of country that I wish to visit most. I want to go far away for I think that it may help in my development of human characteristics. I want to shut myself up. I am so rash. My prospects are so uncertain now that it makes me want to scream so loudly that the roof crumbles to nothing due to the immense shrillness of my voice. I feel so spoiled and trivial. While both words describe me quite accurately I wish to be something else as well as those things all at once. I wish to have awful qualities and good ones so long as I have any at all...
The coming weeks bring opportunities for much change. I hope that I will make something of them.
For the time, that is all I have to say. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 5th, 2003|09:07 pm] |
I saw a funeral procession today; it made me happy. Wrong choice of words, but it did. No...not happy. Happy is not right at all, but I grew to appreciate its existence. It was very long. Traffic was backed up for hundreds of yards -- several miles? I cannot accurately describe the distance as I do not have a good concept of space. There were so many people just sitting there in their suits, in their cars, waiting. Most of them looked bored out of their minds, undoubtedly thinking that they had to be somewhere else and they did; these are busy people these funeral-goers. They don't have time to waste haunting funerals all day. There were many of them, but none of them cared -- except this one guy who was staring blankly out of the window of a limousine - a black one without dark windows. He was crying, looked honestly disturbed and upset, but he was the only one. Maybe the others hid it better but maybe they were just bored. Nothing to do with me though, really. Not at this point anyway. It had a minor impact on my day which will in some way affect my life (though to what degree is yet to be seen) which will in some way change (or possibly not change) the course of existence for other human beings. At this point, though none of that can be foretold. It's all too close to be written down. I had it for a moment to contemplate and to burn into my memory and maybe to forget.
At the moment I am (as ever) incoherent and not very lucid at all. Not that I'm complaining, I've been trying to avoid that, for it is not becoming. I don't really know anything so oppressive or upsetting that I should feel the need to complain about it. It has not been a bad week (for me -- I don't know about the people in the funeral procession or perhaps the people that had no funeral procession to join, or the person whose death was being mourned or you, even ). A bit monotonous? Sure, but I've learned to accept it.
Saturday will be good and with any luck, Friday and Sunday will find their own reasons for being. If all else fails, I do have those sixty new pages of Dave Eggers glory to read. They will be delicious, wondrous, better than those that came before them. I will be enlightened and I will forget. Maybe, if the batteries to my brain are returned to me in a timely fashion, I will make some use out of the hours I have before bed. One can only hope. |
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| An Ideal Husband |
[May. 14th, 2003|07:49 pm] |
I haven't been updating, though I'm not surprised - I never do, though I really should. It's stupid for me not to. Just because many days don't fall into the realm of ones I would refer to as ideal doesn't mean they're not important because they are. I will never live them again - no one will. Fucking weird mood. I'm afraid I won't get to Europe - so afraid I'm considering donating my summer to the small and irritating children for minimum wage. At least then it will be an almost guarantee; I need that.
This weekend wasn't too bad. Friday night I ended up Mother's Day shopping with my dad for about four hours. We didn't know what to get and we ended up with a tool belt from Sears tool country. If you're ever looking for a tool belt, Sears is a good place to go (in fact, tool belt acquiring is quite possibly the only thing for which Sears is good). There's a whole wall of them there.
Saturday I attempted to get a lot done, but I didn't accomplish much. I made a flourless chocolate cake. I thought it would taste really awful, but it wasn't too bad. At some point during the evening, Elizabeth phoned and dragged me out of my misery. I ended up at her house, wearing her clothing, watching movies with some other people. It wasn't a bad night.
Sunday was Mother's day. I think my mom liked her present. Kevie and I made breakfast. Eventually, we met up with the rest of the extended family (or most of them) at some little playhouse in Swarthmore to see my Uncle in another of his silly plays. This one (a British farce called Run for Your Wife) was really quite hilarious. We were, as usual, the youngest people there. After intermission, my cousin made me switch seats with her and I ended up trying to hold my breath while laughing hysterically because I found myself seated next to a woman who smelled like un-rinsed glycerin soap and week-old egg noodles. Afterward, some of us went back to my Grandmother's house for the usual holiday being in each other's presence type of thing. When we came home, I put of my Aesthete paper for as long as I possibly could. Kevie and I conversed for a while about our usual topic - Europe. Then, I stayed up for quite a long time writing. I'm not very happy with my paper, but its done and I can't change it now. I might read some of my books now that there's no more pressure to do so. |
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| The goat does not, will not disappear. |
[Feb. 27th, 2003|11:08 pm] |
I just hit my top-right-front-tooth with a mug from which I was drinking. I wonder how many times it will take, gently but persistently tapping at that tooth before it falls out. I suppose the answer will never come to me; that is okay.
Life is uneventful. I barely ever go out, which I don't mind at first, then read Oscar Wilde and take pride in it, then stop reading, feel as though I need to get out of the house, and begin to pace. I fear I am becoming quite as dull as I appear, which doesn't suit me well at all. To add to the madness, I have been reading a good deal about chimpanzees. This is not entirely optional as it was a project assigned to me, but I read a bit more than I had to, and a bit more than I should have liked.
I suppose none of this is relevant. I might like for it to be, but it is not. Maybe it is not "this" that I would like to attain relevancy, but rather I would like to know something worthwhile, which would, in turn, not be "this." There is just this large, infinitesimal blur that is my life, and I am growing weary of it. Time for change, always time for change, but I will never change - at least not at this point. The prelude continues on effortlessly and painfully as I am swept along. |
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| I was green once upon a landfill |
[Dec. 2nd, 2002|08:13 pm] |
nd Monday returns...not that I honestly care. I did quite well last marking period, though I must give up all hopes of an A in chemistry. So, now I will write of the past weekend because I do not want to write my essay for English.
Wednesday.
I lived through school which was quite awful. I toiled away at learning various subjects. Though, inevitably I learned nothing...or very little. I hope one day I will find myself learning quite a lot. I do not pride myself on the fact that I am lazy and undereducated, though this is what I am.
After I got out of school, I walked home with ELizabeth because I deemed the wind too strong and the air too cold to walk the entire road to my house. ELizabeth's mother was home because she was sick and/or wanted to clean up the house for Thanksgiving company. ELizabeth convinced her mother to take us to brew ha ha. Then, ELizabeth persuaded her mother to take us to the Saks Fifth Outlet in the Franklin Mills mall. I have to say, this was one of ELizabeth's more brilliant ideas as well as one of her more ingenious displays of forethought. The purpose behind this brief, yet productive journey was to purchase "Christmas present" for ELizabeth, Alex, and I. [Our Christmas plot is thus: Elizabeth and I split the cost of a Burberry scarf for Alex, Alex and Elizabeth split the cost of a Burberry scarf for me, and Elizabeth and I split the cost of a Burberry scarf for Alex. In end, we all spend sixty dollars and all receive authentic Burberry scarves for Christmas (for those of you wondering how we can get Burberry scarves for the mere price of sixty dollars, I want to inform you that we are purchasing them in an outlet store.)] We wanted to go on Wednesday because we (ELizabeth) figured that they would sell out on Black Friday. So, we went and purchased the Burberry scarves. I believe mine is going to be green. It makes me happy. When I was there, I noticed sales on Marc Jacobs and diesel. I made a note to drag mummy back later. By 3:15 I found myself in a Forest Green Forrester next to a bag that held Burberry scarves (one of which belonged to me) sipping my Chai. When I got home, mummy dragged me right back out. We went on the not-so-long, but oh-so-familiar drive to center city. We drove down the interstate past all of what I fondly remember and refer to as the "urban decay" (whether I dubbed these abandoned buildings and gratified sidewalks correctly, I cannot say). The car carried us away to our destination: hospital at the university of Penn to visit my darling cousin. We visited for a bit, and then left. We ate dinner, and then I dragged mummy back out to the outlet store once again. I acquired Diesel Jeans. They were $40 - almost free. So pretty are my diesel jeans. I have waited long spans of time to own diesel jeans so fantastic as these. The sight of them makes me giggle, as it would you should you own them (maybe not though). When I returned to the place in which I reside, I recall reading a book ::cough::of the fantasy fiction persuasion ::cough:: whose details I shall not go into at the present moment. I believe that I also viewed an inspiring, yet frightening PBS special that night. Eventually, I slept.
Thursday
When my eyes first opened on Thursday, it was thanksgiving. I happened to have slept right through the morning, and the first thing I did that afternoon was wash away the dirt that had settled on my skin and in my hair. Then, I raced down the stairs to the sale ads! I went through them (though less carefully than I have in previous years) and thought of things I might want to go "doorbusting" for. The sale ads were accompanied by Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Eventually I put down the ads and finished getting ready. By three o'clock, I found myself in my grandmother's small rowhome conversing with my cousin about the large amount of smoke that seemed to be streaming from the oven and how it made it hard for us to see. It was s quite amusing.
My cousin left, others arrived, and I found myself hiding (as is tradition) in the stairwell. I was conned into setting the table, etc. Dinner came, slowly. I consumed instant mashed potatoes, stovetop, and corn. Yum. Dinner ended. I found myself at the center of the table while my uncle got out his latest thrift store purchase: a board game known as speedy grafitti. This game had two components - a deck of cards each featuring one of the alphabet's letters, and a timer that ticked when it was on in a cacophonous (?) fashion. Kevin broke the latter of the game's two components. No one could figure out how to play, so they started spelling out words in ebonics. This was the evening's highlight. After that, there were many different games played with the Speedy Graffiti pieces. There was also dessert, more games - none as entertaining as the ebonics one - and then finally, sandwiches. Then, there were some more attempts at merry-making, and then we left. I did not find myself at home until a bit after eleven. This is when we made plans for Friday morning shopping, and I called elizabeth to inform her of them. I watched Changing Rooms and read some more until around two. Then, sleep.
Friday found me rather sleep-deprived a little after five am. I got up, showered, ready, blah, blah. I was at Elizabeth's by six-twentyish and then we went in search of sales. Our first sale-hunting was at Target. We waited in line a bit commenting on how very like herds of cattle we were. Other topics of conversation were how early in the morning it was, how crazy it was, and how weird it was that my mother was conversing with the fanatical ladies behind us. We were quite cold as we stood in line, and quite scared as we tried not to get trampled by crowds on the way in. It was amusing because when we walked leisurely through housewares, there was no one to be seen, but when we looked at electronics, there were stampedes of people hoarding away TVs in their pushcarts and running...well they would have been running should there have been any room for such an activity. After Target we went CD-hunting in the people-filled aisles of Circuit City and we went bra-shopping in Macy's. We were back before noon. I read and slept and had a lazy day for the duration of Friday. (also, it was Hanukkah, so I got my present - issues one through three - and this made me happy...though it didn't seem very holidayesque.)
Saturday found me early as well. Not too much after nine I was in a car with Elizabeth, Alex, and his dad on the way to Lambertsville to go to the Thrift Store that can be found there. The ride there was pleasant because the scenery is nice, but our arrival there wasn't so much. WE found the churchyard to be inhabited by people. They were waiting for the same thing we were: the key. There were two volunteers and several patrons, but no one had the key to open the door, so the store remained closed and we went home. Our next destination was Franklin mills to do some Christmas shopping...or so elizabeth could tell Alex's mother what to buy him for Christmas. Then Goodwill. After this, my mother whisked me away to visit my cousin in hospital again with holiday greetings. Then, back home to more family. We had Hanukkah dinner. I received everything is illuminated and also $50. It was really a rather dull night. We stared at eachother until trading spaces at nine. Then, there was SNL. Eventually sleep.
Sunday
Yet another early day. Sort of. I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. It was ELizabeth ready to pick me up (around 8:30 I think) and I hadn't even gotten out of bed. So, panicked, I showered, dressed, and finished my hair and makeup in the car. I walked into wawa without my glasses on, and had trouble seeing - though not too much trouble. We drove all around and had a great time of it. Drove through Trenton and learned about the Race Riots of the '60s - or was it '70s....i think it was '60s. We went to a flea market were we fought off frost-bite, and we enjoyed it thoroughly, despite the cold...sort of. ELizabeth bought the ever-popular Tiffany's box, and I purchased a ring that is quite hideous. We left and headed for a disgustingly country kitsch diner where we sat in front of trailor-hicks. We are, if we have not previously mentioned, horrible, horrible people that deserve to die. Then, on to Peddler's Village. We wandered and marveled, but the cold eventually beat us. We stopped at Blockbuster and rented what turned out to be the most empty, awful movie either of us had seen in a long time, and concluded the day with conversation that was quite good. I went home and read some. Then, I found myself both awake and asleep feeling good because I knew nothing had to be done. There was no dread, no fear, no weight (except of course that of my chubby little body) - it was really nice. I slept for a long time last night, I got up, brushed my teeth, and then slept some more. |
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| Counting hours proves nothing, but it was entertaining nonetheless. |
[Nov. 14th, 2002|11:20 pm] |
It has been a very strange day. I was in school, which was not surprising. Lunch wasn't disastrously loud...but, this has nothing to do with anything. I went bowling (which I don't believe I will continue to do) and it wasn't awful, but it also wasn't worth it. And, I was reading a book...but not reading it so much as spacing out and pondering while staring idly at the pages. They're all about the things that are lost...every single book...or at least every book that I find worthwhile - there is always desperation, and in the end, no one prevails. There are amazing journeys and delicious adventures, but there is always this on-going theme of trying against all odds, getting so close, and then despite it all, losing and winning at the same time. And, it is fiction. I like the fiction. I prefer it to my own life because I feel it is real. The fiction is nice, this is not. There is magic in the fiction, there is nothing here but dreaming, and times are tough for dreamers - which I wouldn't mind...I don't mind anything actually...just a strange day. Foreboding connotation...I think I may learn from it - should I let myself. There was nothing special about it - except the feeling that these past hours have let on. Blah, blah - same old tale. I've written this essay in different words with different examples and different instances a thousand times before, and yet I write it again. I write it in all confidence, knowing that when it is over, I will be knowledgeable, I will be whole, and I can go back to reading my fiction knowing that one day I will wake up and reach that plateau that doesn't exist.
No, it is not about getting the control...it is a little bit about getting the control, but mainly it is about doing something with what I have...about finding something. It isn't about what could be, in theory, it is about what I want to be. I could be good at math, and I could try harder, and I could force myself to talk to people, yes, this is true, but maybe I'm not going to. Maybe it can't be - maybe not now. Maybe this is what I need now, maybe it is not the same as it has been...nothing is the same, and I love this...I hate this. Optimism. My entire life. I will laugh - now - on my own command. Blah, blah.
Strangest conversation with ELizabeth. She called me (of course) and told me she read all of Mockingbird without noticing. And then, it turns into...not fighting, but anger and what this day has been...but not really. We sort of determined that this day was good. This day will be remembered - we like days like this LATER. But, the whole thing...we were filled with such bitter confusion. We couldn't explain out thoughts to the other because we are so wrapped up in our own thoughts...wherever they lie. It was good though, I think...very, very strange but good...kind of like waiting for a train - or being somewhere you never wanted to be, but then liking it - or superman boots. That part...in YSKOV...the part in which Jack dies...I think about it - haven't in a while, but I was. Mainly while on the phone to Elizabeth earlier, but...it was just so...not "profound" just so true...just so...mmm....i don't know. Read it. it would do you some good...do me some good. very very odd day...
I will remember, later, hopefully, if I can or shall allow. |
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| There is a Very Nice Mint, but You Do Not Yet Know About It...Unless You Do. |
[Nov. 11th, 2002|02:42 pm] |
It has been a while, libeling, but it is finally time to update briefly. In the end, I will have said absolutely nothing.
On Halloween, I dressed as the Tartan Monster, and ELizabeth dressed as the Polka Dot Addict. We were a team of Super-Villans, and oppressors of the Monotone. No one got it, but we were throughly amused, which was why we did it. After school, I managed to catch a bad horror movie on the Sci Fi Channel hosted by William Shatner. The whole production was awful. When it ended, I went outside and gave out candy by the large green cable box. Mary was there, as were some of her friends. There was singing of showtunes and running after wooden shoes from Holland. It was fun, but I was dragged away from the cold, cold air by ELizabeth. I went to her house. People were there. We ended up walking around in the vicinity of ELizabeth's neighborhood. This was not too bad. There was this chair that had a mailbox on it, and on the mailbox, there was a note: "PLEASE DO NOT TAKE." At another point, there was a little girl who walked up to the door, and in an aggravated tone yelled out, "Trick or Treat...MY LEG HURTS!" this had us rolling on the floor laughing as we attempted to shut the door. It wasn't a bad night...could have been much worse. ELizabeth (and her mother) tell me that I was very "good." This meaning I wasn't shy little girl hiding in a corner, not saying anything. I didn't really notice it.
The day after Halloween, there was, of course school. I forget how that went, but I'm sure there was chemistry and I'm even surer I did not enjoy the chemistry. After this, I was at my place of residence for quite some time. Stephanie and Ryon came over to watch movies. We did not see Dancer in the Dark because daddy couldn't find it (we must see it very soon). We watched Ghost World and part of Amelie. Mummy made dinner for Stephanie. They left, and I forget.
That week went on, I don't recall much of that week. I think on Tuesday I went grocery shopping with Elizabeth...and Saturday I went to the city with my blood relatives. On Sunday, I went to brew ha ha with Elizabeth and then, I believe this weekend came (after, of course, Monday, Tuesday - the day in which we went grocery shopping sans makeup, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday at school)
Friday:
I believe I went to the dentist for approximately thirty seconds. There were small children in the the waiting room - annoying and loud. Then, ELizabeth's house. We had dinner with her extended family at the diner, and then she and Alex went to get their hair cut. We were back at ELizabeth's, there were various activities not worth describing, Alex left, we watched Vanilla Sky, blah, blah, talk, sleep...morning.
Saturday:
[Saturday will come later...i need to do my chapter problems] |
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| There's magic happening on the Brooklyn Bridge. |
[Sep. 17th, 2002|11:56 pm] |
Exhibit A: [Irrelevant circle of meaningless words]
I would like very much to just sit about and think forever...ponder infinitely and learn things...new things, things that make me want to think even more, and then, by applying those things slowly to create something resembling a "life" which is whatever I determine life should be. I would like even more to be completely and utterly surprised by whatever does happen and for this not to happen at all. [Exhibit A can be crossed off a list of things relevant in both my life and the lives of everyone else.]
Exhibit B: [Dream is Destiny]
Last night I had a dream. It was strange, as all dreams are and should be. I wrote some of it down, but don't remember much. I really need to make more of an effort, in general. But this is not what concerns me at the present moment.
Exhibit C: [thoughts]
-Do you know that feeling? When you are sitting and watching a clock? And then, you think about the events that will come later in your day as well as the fact that those events will end, and then the fact that you are in the moment you are currently in and no other, but still get the feeling that all of time has already happened and that everything will work out...Like, here I am, it is midnight. I know that Tomorrow, I will wake up and go to school, I will take my daily photos, etc. Right now, I am here, in front of my computer, but Seven and a half hours from now, I'll be in school in front of some lockers, and though the time that I am in now is more so relevant than ever, the time that is about to come is relevant too, and not only is it relevant, but it has already come with me never having experienced it, like, I've been there, but I am here, and though I will be there for hours, there will be time after it too. I have become infatuated with this feeling. I really love it...this strange frame of mind. I tend to induce it more and more often than I used to. Is this merely because I need to pass time, or is this something more? Or is there nothing more?
Exhibit D: [random facts and lists of sorts]
I really feel strongly about the importance of this paragraph:
There is this instant (between now and forever) in which she could not believe that time simply passed, but in which she knew that it lived just as she did, which is to say marvelously, but not very well at all. She just stands there, captured forever in that single pose day after day. Waiting.
-I would really like to go to found magazine on October 18th.
-I have taken to Purple America
-AIR is pure genius.
-I must learn many, many things.
-Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
-I must sleep to dream.
-There is so much more to come.
-For there to be change, there needs to be an oppertunity for change. I don't have one.
-Newspaper began today.
-This is not all, but it is all that I will give. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 13th, 2002|03:24 pm] |
I’m walking home from school…and just as I’m about to turn the corner, There’s this woman walking – she’s in that bridge between middle-aged and elderly – way past overweight. She has spandex pants, a printed shirt, sandals, and short(ish) curly hair…typical. She walks the place where the corner begins, under an overpowering pine tree, and she turns around, walks up the sidewalk, up the driveway, and into a house. She doesn’t give me a foreboding feeling, but almost an unlikely connection – a fresh perspective, something to think about. In front of this house is an old ratty chair with a cheap Mealy's version of what tapestry might look like…I pass it every day. It’s been there for a while, and this feeling of daja-vu hits me. Now, I’m really kind of in this transient state of being…nothing seems to really exist. I ponder the concepts of daja vu, what it means, how often I have it, and I just get the feeling I’ve seen this chair before (though I physically have, and I know it) not only walking home, but in a dream. It’s like when I read A Separate Peace for English, I get this horrible daja-vu because I feel like I read it before, I’ve experienced it, I’ve been there…It’s all utterly fascinating. So, as I walk I wonder weather or not I like the daja-vus I’ve been having frequently…I feel like my subconscious is playing this game with me. I’m at a point where I’ve been trying to become more perceptive of my subconscious, of my dreams, but I’ve been slacking, so it decides to play a game in my vulnerable waking life. I get to a certain turnoff quicker then I thought I would. I feel like I’m walking outside my body, outside this world – like I’m looking at it from a point that’s a little bit above. Messages rooting in Waking Life come to me. I don’t know what I’m doing. However, the grass, the girl walking her dog along the nice suburban street, it all seems too regular…too ordinary. I can’t quite get a hold of anything. I’m outside of my head, but lost in thought, not quite lucid in which I deduce must be a waking state…It’s all so weird just these little triggers…these things that set me off, and then I’m in this place that I can only imagine is one of the greatest, yet most detrimental that a person can find themselves in. I am entirely lost, and I think I love it…or I hate it, I’m not sure which and the feeling is strange. It is not a complication, nor is it anything I’ve ever really experienced before. I decide it must be a dream, I do tests, all of them I can think of, and yet everything tells me I’m awake. I don’t really believe it, but I don’t really doubt it either. I’m lost in this strange purgatory I’ve created within myself full of boundaries and lack thereof. I am not quite sure of anything, but this feeling that I’m watching over everything and everyone, never really participating or forming opinions, never really finding out. It’s this odd setting that I’ve never seen, but is so every-day that I pass it at least twice. I can’t translate, and I can’t be…everything is upside-down, and all is different. I think I like this, but I don’t think I can live with this. So, I guess I’m not dreaming, though I feel I am…I can’t be – all of the “laws” tell me so, and yet, maybe I’m dreaming in another sense, maybe I just figured something out, or will upon reading this over…should I have captured it sufficiently, which I highly doubt I have the capabilities of. Wow. This is all so new, and yet so expected. It’s like I’m exploring pre-mapped terrain. I know that it’s been discovered, it’s mysteries have already been revealed to me, and I was the one to reveal them to myself, but I still don’t believe any of it. Tell me, am I dreaming? |
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| The idea is to remain in a constant state of departure while always arriving-Saves on intros &g'byes |
[Sep. 9th, 2002|11:33 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | materialism, rambling | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | Optimistic, maybe? | ] |
| [ | music |
| | King Cobb Steelie [On a loop. All day, all night.What else?] | ] |
Maybe I need not try, maybe things will happen in general and I won't realise until later when I look back and make connections. Maybe not. Maybe I don't care today.
I own Diane Von Furstenberg pumps (or are they stilettos?). They were in a bag, amoungst other delicious items for $5. How amazing is that? Three days later and I'm still not over it. |
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| Watching through a window. |
[Sep. 5th, 2002|10:24 pm] |
Yesterday, school began. It was not a necissarily bad day nor was it exceptionally good.
Then, came today. I got up extra-early so that I could go to breakfast. Steph's dad ended up taking us. We had this sterotypical waitress with the bleach blonde/gray hair and the pronounced voice. She was wearing a nicotine patch and spilled orange juice. She made me feel optimistic...and giddy. Or was it just the fact that it was entirely too early in the mourning?
I got to school. I went through my random school activities, etc. Personality tests, one minute speeches, typing, chatting, eating, making cardboard sculptures and attempting (sucsessfully) not to cut myself with the exacto knife. Gold paint on my Steward Weitzman boots. Walking home. Getting paint off of boots (which worked quite well.) Daytime TV, journeys to stores. Bad mood, talking, internet, cake, presents, 30 minute meals with Rachel Ray. Happiness.
Overall, I'd say that my day (and birthday in general) was quite appealing. So, I wish to thank you all immensley, unless we've never met, in which case, I commend you for actually reading through this nothingness. Today was a happy day. Maybe I shall create more - and be inspired. |
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| Frightfully long series of words. |
[Aug. 23rd, 2002|12:01 am] |
I could give you words. I could give you lists, and lists that extend for pages of careless little words. They would, of course, not mean anything. Or, I could stop. (and maybe gain some kind of perspective.) I mean, what am I doing, really? Nothing, and a whole lot of it. Quite silly, actually. The way I complain, and drone and go spouting on about thing that hold no relevance. But, this is the way things are. While I don't like "things" the way they have been...(not that there is anything particularly wrong with "things") There is just this sheer fact that I am not getting the right feeling at all. Or maybe it's the fact that there is no feeling at all? I've never been one for emotions. Ha.
I know that all of "this"...all of this Nothingness is here for a reason. I have determined (quite a bit ago) that this reason is: change. I need it, you know I need it because I keep harping on the fact that I need it...and now, it is time to get it. This is not meant to be anything other than what it is.
-I do not want to give off the impression that I have been "empowered"
-I do not want you to feel anything about anything involving any of this nothingness.
-I do not want this to be a case if the cliche little suburban girl unhappy with her "perfect childhood" so, she makes her own misery.
It is simply what it is, and that is the effect of nothing. Why do you read this, anyway? Why do I post here? Why do I care? I don't care. That is what's nice about all of this...I don't care because "things" are as bad as I allow them to become. Only better from here. Not like here is bad. [this should not be posted, and if I weren't in such an odd mood, it would never have been written.] I have grown bored of my own___________[whatever this has been.]
Hmm...on to the the events of my day(which no proper entry would be without!)
I awake. Late. Again. Mourning routine. I read. Pussy, King of the Pirates. It is one of my "random finds" from down the shore. It is ever-so-slightly sexual. The first thirty or so pages were written really, really well. They had potential. But, the rest is quite awful. I am determined to finish, though. I don't know if I will. It really is not a worthwhile book. However, a bit amusing.
After entirely too much trouble, we decide to go to the best buy parking lot, for lack of any other activity. First, we eat dinner. Dinner is "pasta" made out of ricotta cheese. It is like a bowel filled with cheese that has been heated. It is not very good. I do not eat it. I leave. We get Elizabeth. We stop back home, I switch shoes. We get money, we get Lauren. We go to Best Buy parking lot. [I forget how to form compound and complex sentences.] We go to Old Navy to waste Gift Certificate. We find ugly things. We find things that can be worked with. ELizabeth tires said things on. Woman in dressing room is chatty. She is in awe of me (not to be conceited, which I am). She loves my skirt, hair, style in general. She has an annoying accent/mannerism that makes her, to me, seem trashy. She also remarks upon how thin we are with jealousy, several times, this makes for an uncomfortable atmosphere. If she were a haggish, senile English teacher in her early sixties, we would call her Mrs.Wescott. We leave. Ulta! Tony and Tina is fabulous. We are broke. We leave. Barnes and Noble. I look at books. I wish I had books. I am sad for lack of books. Coffee. Chatter. We discuss ambitions. We feel vengeful. We see MaryRose and make polite, yet forced conversation. Moments later an old man comes over to our table, apparently blind to the fact that he is immersed in a setting filled with empty tables. He asks to sit down. We give each other weird glances. He sits. He takes the book he's holding, and puts it in front of ELizabeth. He chooses words. "You see this? I wrote it." It is a book on mental illness. He passes it around the table. I try very hard not to break out into fits of hysterics. My effort is useless. My eyes meet Lauren's. All hope is lost. We awkwardly get up and leave. He is creepy. We walk outside. A worker (and apparently used-to-be friend of Lauren's brother) tells us that he has been banned from the store. She was about to go get a manager to make him leave. We left first. We chat out front until mummy comes to get us.
In the car, there is conversation. Some of it was laughable, but as you were not there, you would not find it funny. My friends leave when the vehicle stops in front of their houses. I return home. We sit about. Then, mummy gets up to make new dinner (as first dinner wasn't very good, and hence not eaten). Daddy and I go to rent a movie. After about forty-five minutes of looking, we rent Curse of the Jade Scorpion. It is not bad. Almost good, actually. I kind of liked it, though it was not amazing. Dinner #2 wasn't great either. I made popcorn. Now, online time. Blah, blah, blah. I have been rather long-winded in my writing. This is not surprising, and I hope that I never change it (before I need to anyway.)
I do not punctuate correctly. I think that I shall learn to. |
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| 5 keys to life: Exercize of (1)Mind, (2)Body, (3)Eyes, (4)Thumbs, and (5)following Eagles football. |
[Aug. 18th, 2002|12:33 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | daily, family, rambling | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | Content. Hopeful. Tired. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | No Doubt...Rock Steady | ] |
Bangs on my door. Voice, "ELizabeth said to tell you Betsey Johnson was on." I get up, and I turn press the "on" button on my Television. I hit it several times. More banging. Voice, "What are you doing." Annoyed voice that resembles my own, "Turning on my TV. Go Away." More hitting TV. It turns on. I switch to channel 57. I realize I am not wearing glasses. I retrieve them. I watch Betsey Johnson.
Chatting with mummy. Then, as I feel disgusting, I shower. I put on clean PJs for lack of wardrobe inspiration. Then, I pace my house, and have various conversations with those that inhabit it as well. Blah, Blah. I read Oscar Wilde. I do not feel good...or very with it.
There are phone conversations. I clean up. I get dressed. Many different shirts, pants, skirts, shoes, socks, fishnets...all for mere seconds changing the person I appear to be before lifted off of my body into the shapeless form they take when thrown carelessly onto a bed. Final decision: Tapestry Pants and H&M button down black shirt. I look kind of good. I style my hair, etc...all of the usual things. I pass the time by staring into space absently. After a while I do makeup, fix some clothes I ripped, and then it is time to leave. We go to the house of my cousins, Aunt and Uncle.
Here, I am forced to sit through the judgmental (this does not imply that I, myself am not judgmental, because I am...and a hypocrite at that, but...) antics of my Cousin's white trash cousin and about her dull little life. I know my life is dull, but I'm glad I am not this girl. Thankfully, after several bad card games and some cake, she left and my cousin and I hung out, which was nice. We were definitely bored though. We ended up playing with the paper dolls' badly fitting clothing in her "Treasure Chest of Ancient Rome" which is one of the most amusing things one can happen upon. Then, we made a charm bracelet out of the ugliest beads we could find - some in the shape of mutton, clams, grapes, and ballet shoes.
We left, came home, and left again. I met ELizabeth, Jon, Stephanie, Alexander, and Eric at the diner. We had a nice time..in the smoking section...I could not breath, Jonathan. I hit him with a spoon. Before we were led in, we were waiting outside for a couple minutes and this girl walks up to me and is like, "Oh my God! I have to tell you something!" She goes into this story about how she was meeting her friend here that looks just like me. She in fact, has the same haircut and pants. So, this girl is led out to meet me, and I can tell by her look, she's thoroughly creeped out, as we not only have the almost-same hair, but she owns every item in the outfit I'm wearing. We converse slightly while we both walk to our tables, which are in the same vicinity.
The food was not great, and we spilled salt all over eachother, but it was a good night overall. If I have forgotten key details in my delirious state, I'm sorry, but I need to get up at 8:00 tomorrow for the art museum. Goodnight. |
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mythematiclife's journal
exhausted
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