Why I don’t try to share anything remotely relating to theatre or literature with my boyfriend:
ME: And so what Juliet’s saying in the monologue I’m trying to do is that she’s embarrassed that Romeo overheard her professing her love, but that she -
ERIK: (holding up the cereal box he was eating out of) Do you think there’s actually a watch in here?? It says there might be one on the box!
Wow. I have never in my life seen someone so enraged about comma splices as my Lit professor was today. In fact, I don’t really think I’ve seen anyone have any sort of rage against comma splices - maybe some annoyance or disappointment - but rage? Seriously. Here’s an excerpt of the 25 minute screaming monologue my class received today:
“How DARE all of you PUT COMMAS SPLICES IN YOUR PAPER when I have TOLD YOU THEY DON’T BELONG THERE! [his face is purple at this point] You should have LEARNED THIS IN HIGH SCHOOL. THIS IS SERIOUS. I AM NOT JOKING.”
At this point, his voice went up about three octaves and I, for some reason finding the whole thing really really funny, had to look down and cover my face with my paper to keep from laughing. Even funnier was his transition from his rage to complete calmness:
” [absolutely screaming] YOU BETTER FIX THIS PROBLEM IN YOUR NEXT PAPERS. I AM NOT JOKING. [face is suddenly a normal colour again and voice is calm] So, I had you read Frankenstein for today, what did you think?”
Wow.
On an entirely different note, I really should be eating something beyond french fries, pizza and coffee. Does someone want to come to my house and cook me something healthy? I’ll be happily obliged to eat it.
Alright, I have a million things to do, but Harry Potter has sat unread on my shelf for a week now, and I need to get to that. After I have another slice of leftover pizza.
Today is Andrew’s 21st birthday. Which means, in the succession of our nerd friends and all, I’m the next to turn 21. Woo! But, happy birthday to Andrew and may he live long and all that jazz.
I have to leave for class in 10 minutes. I just got finished speed-reading Frankenstein and writing a paper on it for my Lit class. I also realized that maybe my stone faced, humourless professor was actually trying to be witty by assigning us Frankenstein right before Halloween.
It’s getting dark at 5:00 now here. That makes me sleepy. I used to love love love nighttime and would whittle away the daytime hours until I could go out and roam the night, but now I’m just wishing it was warm and summer like.
What should I do next summer? I want go somewhere I’ve never been.
Alright, off to class. I’m trying to chug my first cup of coffee of the day ’cause the professor doesn’t allow liquid in the class. !
I didn’t end up volunteering on Friday because I went to this consignment shop to complete my Halloween costume and the lady was kind of snobby and kind of bitchy and wearing a pink angora turtleneck (okay, that had nothing to do with it and I really have nothing against pink angora turtlenecks, it was just a character detail), and I was in the wrong mood, so I stormed out and went home and played with the puppy, who has now since returned to his home, miles from here.
I did, however, go to the theatre party Friday night, as did Erik I think I went as a battered housewife, though that wasn’t necessarily my intention. I just had this 50s housewife robe thingy, with scanty underwear underneath and some fake bruises slapped up on my face and neck. It worked, I guess. I’ll have pictures up later.
Erik actually went to the party because he knew the girl whose house it was at. Usually, he’s scared to death of those parties and I don’t blame him. It was odd having him there; two worlds and colliding and all. I wish I could say something scandalous happened, but nothing really did, despite the fact that Erik got disastrously drunk and suddenly was trying to be best friends with everyone in the place. I ended up not really drinking at all and became a sober cab for the first time in my life. Oh, how fun and exciting it is to drive a huge SUV in the dark to the other side of town with drunk people screaming the back seat. It actually wasn’t that bad, but I think I was so tired by that point that I wasn’t paying attention to my fears.
Last night was the strike for Cabaret, which resulted in me working for an hour, and then pretending to unscrew the same C-Clamp for three hours while listening to gossip. That whole theatre department oozes of scandal and controversy. I did, however, get into a nice a chat about birth control and was horrified to know that one of the girls had gotten a brain tumour from the Depo-Provera shot. So, I don’t think I’ll be trying that anytime soon.
I slept all day today, damn it. And then I tried to go grocery shopping, but I had a minor breakdown because I realized I’m just in a big ol mess, with failing classes and lack of money and no way to get home for Christmas and no food and ahh! ahh! ahh!.
There was a pretty sunset on the way to the grocery store, so that has to count for something. Though the bad point about that is the fact that I woke up just in time to see it. Whoops.
My room is clean. I love it when it’s like this because I feel I can breathe better. When I lived at home-home, my room was always a disaster area and I never minded it and my mother would practically hemorrhage everytime she walked in and ask how I could stand it. Now I know how she feels. I suddenly can’t tolerate any messes. I think I have OCD. Or perhaps I just like order in the physical world when there is no other place for it.
My Speech teacher hates me. This is acknowledged by many people in my class. She’s also the director for Romeo and Juliet, which means I won’t get cast in it, even if I do well in the audition. Whatever. No, not whatever, I want to be in it. I think. I don’t know what I want. Right? Right.
Okay. This weekend, I think I’m going to the Cities with Erik to attend a party at his recording studio, but I’m a little wary because he’ll be engineering bands while he’s at the party and when he’s doing sound stuff, I may as well be a painting on the wall, and I’m really not sure I want to go to a party full of people I don’t know and have my boyfriend ignore me for six hours and ahh! ahh! ahh!
Such petty concerns, right? I’m sure if I was in Kabul, with bombs breaking my home into bits, I wouldn’t care about parties and plays. Perspective is hard to keep when you’re a 20-year-old angst muffin.
I should write a paper, but I’ll probably just make fried potatoes and read Harry Potter because I need some comfort. I need to call my Mom. She probably hates me because I’ve been so uncommunicative lately. My brother called me today, which is an oddity in itself. I was asleep when he called, though, so I hope Virginia didn’t blow up. Wouldn’t that be on the news?
Okay. I’m off. I bought a new book of Rumi poetry the other day, so I’ll leave with you a random poem I just turned to from there:
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It’s snowing, snowing, snowing. It started last night and has been flurrying since then. Everyone says it’s too early for it, but I don’t know. I don’t remember Duluth being too balmy by this time of year last year.
We have a puppy at our house right now! Specifically, Jason’s brother’s puppy. It’s so damn cute, though it’s teething and has left us all with bite marks and nibbles.
What else? Oh, I talked to Nick on the phone last night for three hours or so. Every few months, we just have these marathon phone conversations where we’re both talking non-stop. I really miss him sometimes, and though he thinks we would have a blast if we lived in the same town, I think it would be too dangerous. It’s a miracle we’re friends at all after our rather disastrous break-up and I’m scared that closer contact would kill us off. Erikalways pouts a little when I talk to Nick - mostly because, he says, I sound the happiest he ever hears me. But the reason I’m happy, as I told him, is that Nick and I don’t dare broach any serious subjects that could lead to possible negativity or even a touch of unhappiness. The last half of our relationship was rife with that and I think I’m scared he’ll run away if hears anything remotely sounding negative.
Anyway.
I saw a band tonight - onatangent - at school. There were great, but I wasn’t in the mood to stand around, so I wandered the halls of school and actually ventured into the music practice rooms, where I haven’t been since the days of Vocal Jazz. I sat down at a piano and played for an hour or so. I want to start my own band. Too bad I suck at songwriting and playing piano.
Tomorrow I’m volunteering at the Boys’ and Girl’s Club to help out with their Halloween Haunted House. I have yet to choose a costume and it’s becoming dire because not only is tomorrow my volunteer gig, but it’s also the annual theatre department Halloween party.
I need to go beg my Stagecraft teacher not to fail me. Wish me luck tomorrow.
The new Dave Matthews live album rocks.
Okay. Blabbing. Sleep. Night
Okay, so I have a little rant to write about birth control, so if you’re not really interested in hearing about this pill of Satan, perhaps you want to read somewhere else for now. Here, check out this, the well written and sassy weblog of a girl I just discovered the other day. The weblog was discovered, not the girl. Ha! Misplaced modifier jokes are hilarious.
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Today is my old and dear friend Geoffrey’s birthday. I haven’t seen him in over a year or talked to him much in the past few months, but he’s still on my mind a lot. We were great friends my junior and senior year, but the summer before my senior year we had the type of friendship where you don’t quite know where one person ends and the other begins - full of trains and dark nights in his basement and Ella Fitzgerald and orange cream cakes from Friendly’s and camping on my front lawn.
On an entirely different note, I really wish someone would come and record Erik and I sleeping at night because I think we both lose our minds when we sleep. We both talk in our sleep and neither of us remember what we said in the morning.
Last night, there was a huge thunderstorm and I guess a branch hit the window by the bed. It woke me up, and for some reason (I didn’t realize until this morning that it was probably a branch from the storm; at least, I hope it was a branch from the storm and not a deranged killer), I thought someone was knocking at the window. I tried to shake Erik awake, but he didn’t really wake up fully. Here is the text of our conversation:
Me: Did you hear that noise?
Erik: Yeah.
Me: What the hell was it?
E: Just someone knocking at the window.
Me: Uh, don’t you think that’s extremely scary?
E: Yeah, but that’s okay.
Right.
Erik is in the midst of desperately trying to raise money to get Jimmy Eat World to come to our school. He’s close.
Alright, I’m boring. This week should produce some good stories. Must go
Lazy, lazy weekend. Erik and I had lunch at the new restaurant that opened in town yesterday - and when a new restaurant opens in a town that has a small-town atmosphere such as Duluth, it’s mass chaos. It took us three hours to get in and out. Later that night, we went to the local coffee shop to hear Erik’s best friend from high school’s ex-girlfriend play some guitar and sing. She was alright, but extremely pretentious and the attitude put us all off a bit.
I’m seeing Cabaret again tonight, this time with Erik. I’ve become obsessed with that musical in the past few days. Not necessarily my school’s production of it - just the musical itself. It’s delicious!
I saw the opening night of iCabaret at the school last night. Wonderful. It wasn’t the best acting or singing or whatever, but the vibe of the show was incredible. It could be possibly because I knew the people in it, and I was just damn proud (sniff), but there was just something magical about the show, something that could only be achieved by the director Ann’s touch. She directed Conference of the Birds last semester, which I was in, and she has a definite, recognizable and lovely style.
In my Speech class, we had an 11 person wrestling match - mostly because our regular professor was gone and the TA, who’s our buddy anyway, was trying to teach and it was Friday and we’re all so close and yeah - we wrestled.
More later, because right now my brain is in fifty different places. And it’s Friday night! I’m off to find my adventure.
If someone were to listen to my throat or lungs right now, this is what they would hear: “Plleeassseee . . . help . . . help . . . I’m dying.”
Yup, I feel like the Flu Truck has rammed me (and not a pleasant ramming, either). Mostly I sit in corners and cough pitifully and overdose on orange juice and Vitamin C Cough drops. But I still went to school today - not because I’m above sickness, but mostly because the theatre faculty likes to beat up kids who don’t go to class.
Anyway. The Sunny Wicked acoustic show was great. A very different sound for them - lots of new stuff, lots of variations on old stuff. The place was packed, which is a good sign ’cause that means the venue will probably ask them back and pay them extra. Now if only Sunny Wicked would get some Mp3s up on their site, as I’ve been having a few requests for that.
Thanksgiving is this week, and I most likely will be going home with Erik, though I have to be back by 9:00 AM Saturday for my running crew gig.
What am I reading now, you ask? You really did want to know since I know everyone is as interested in reading as I am. Right? Right. I borrowed a copy of Alice Hoffman’s Practical Magic from Corina, and so far that’s pretty good. Easy reading, while I should be reading 1984 for my Lit class. It’ll happen.
Alright, time to drown myself in more caffeine, full of sugar and cream, things that will definitely aid in getting rid of excess phlegm. Mmm, excess phlegm.
Wooooo, I am a hyper girl right now. I’m so glad our internet is back. It was down for a total of like 8 hours (!)and I got to the point of boredom where I was playing Solitaire on my computer. Solitaire! Eeek!
So, I just returned from seeing the band Alva Star at the school, another band brought to UMD by Erik, Concert Chairperson Extrodanaire. They were great, even though the audience was a little subdued. The guitar player (the guy on the far right in the picture) signed my Drama Titles textbook with the phrase: “I’m glad you were born.” Cute!
Today was a rather happy day, despite the fact that I woke up dead tired and grumpy. I got parking ticket number twelve of the semester, but, hey, I’ll live. I’m thinking the parking lady must think I’m an idiot ’cause my car is pretty distinctive (i.e. out-of-state license plates, and I mean WAY out of state, along with vanity plates), so she has to remember me everytime. I sometimes wish she would put a note on my car that said something along the lines of, “You’re dumb. Why do you do this to yourself?” Because then maybe I would actually try to find a real parking space.
The fall musical opens tomorrow night - Cabaret - though a very different version of it. We have a female emcee, which is not usual, and there’s a lot of cross-gendering going on. Nothing like shaking up Duluth.
Alright, my ears are ringing and I have to read School for Scandal and memorize a whole bunch of lines before tomorrow.
Just for interest’s sake, here’s what I was doing about three years ago, according to my web journal from that time. It’s strange to look back and realize that I’m beginning to repeat the same patterns again.
So, the day started off rather roughly, as I think I provoked a fight with Erik this morning, though it was difficult to tell because I was half asleep and still curled up in bed. He left in a huff, and I haven’t heard from him since, though that’s not necessarily unusual on school days.
Never start mornings off with arguments. Let that be a lesson to you. Argument should be reserved for dark rainy nights, if the proper effect is to be achieved.
Right.
I really wish I could draw or paint. I’m looking out my window at the yellow tree across the street and the shadows against the grass, and I have no way to convey the naturalistic beauty of it, unless I take a picture, which is too easy and obvious. I can describe things with words, but I’d rather paint them, I think.
I kind of wish people I knew didn’t read this. It’s not that I hate you, it’s just that I don’t feel as free to write as much as I really want to. I’ve said that before, I know. Strangely, I wrote much more in depth and with more personalized details in my old web journal from high school then I do here, and it was the same circumstances - as in, tons of people from school read those journals and I wrote about everything anyway. This is different somehow, I don’t know. Maybe I’ve learned the art and gracefulness of privacy.
Jimmy Eat World’s new CD, Bleed American, is fantastic. Everyone should have it. Just a tangent there.
I really wish Erik would come home ’cause I feel bad for being snarky this morning. We’re back to being overly defensive now and aren’t really sources of comfort for each other right now, which can get dangerous.
“Crimson and clover, over and over -”
This encompasses just about everything I feel about the war. I really wish I had the patience and the resolve to sit down and write something this strong and eloquent. It’s an essay by Barbara Kingsolver, who has written one of my top ten favourite books, The Poisonwood Bible. Here’s a particularly strong quotation from the essay:
“I fight it as if I’m drowning. When I get to feeling I am an army of one standing out on the plain waving my ridiculous little flag of hope, I call up a friend or two. We remind ourselves in plain English that the last time we got to elect somebody, the majority of us, by a straight popular-vote count, did not ask for the guy who is currently telling us we will win this war and not be ‘misunderestimated.’ We aren’t standing apart from the crowd, we are the crowd. There are millions of us, surely, who know how to look life in the eye, however awful things get, and still try to love it back.”
You know?
I am overwhelmed with work, but fired with a little more inspiration than I had last week. It’s the little things than can fire me up. I haven’t had anything in terms of karmic counteractance up here lately, so:
It was raining yellow leaves today and the 12-year-old girl next door was dancing without self-conciousness on the sidewalk. I actually accomplished a few homework things, though small. My Mom sent me a package full of good-smelling things. She also was able to reassure me about the state of the world in a way no else has yet. I had possibly the best weekend of the semester because I actually did things, instead of sitting in my room and reading about them. I made a new friend and he makes my heart flutter. Erik is home and the bed will no longer be so huge and cold.
This month is going to be busy, but fun. I bitch about the theatre department so much, yet I never laugh as much anywhere as I do in my classes.
Alright, back to Brecht and his method.
‘night.
::cough:: Um, hi (to use a rebekah.org introduction). So, I was a little inebriated once again last night, hence my cryptic statement below. I knew what I meant, but I don’t really think I meant for the world to know what I meant. Any less cryptic for you?
Since a lot of things have happened this weekend, and my homework list is piling up beside me, I’ll give a little imagery/snapshot summary:
Thursday night: The bathroom mirror falls on Beth’s leg and cuts it to pieces. Deep wound. Fat globules can be seen and everything. We sit in the emergency room for five hours. Stitching it up takes 30 minutes - 12 stitches and I get to watch the process. Fascinating. Beth is fine now, and went home for the weekend.
Friday night: Party at a music person’s house. The household goes, minus Beth and Erik, plus Jesse. We mingle. I meet a lot of people that I’ve seen, but never introduced myself to before. Flowered cushion on the chair. The taste of the Kamikaze Corina made me. Dimples to be had for days. Slinkies. Secret bonds. Making french fries when I come home because I think that will rid me of a hangover the next morning. Trying to read Harry Potter. Failing.
Saturday night: Small get-together at another music person’s house. The household gathers again, minus Beth and Erik, plus Jesse. We get into a rather intense game of quarters. I lose a lot. The taste of soapy beer and scotch. Being almost pulled down the stairs as I’m running up them. Red flannel sheets and business cards. Broken computers. Falling asleep for a few minutes, not really wanting to leave, but leaving anyway. Falling into bed, praying for no hangover.
And here I am, eating Maruchan Instant Lunch, which I have managed to spill all over me, and dreading having to start my homework. Erik comes home today, which will be nice.
“I’ve got you under my skin -”
Oh, no. I’m so obvious about it. And really, once I fall this hard, there’s no turning back.
I’m having a particularly sappy day.
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I do so like to write when I’m a little drunk because I think I give a sense of candidness that I don’t usually put forth. Plus, it’s hell on my spell checker.
So, the party, which I’ll write in more detail tomorrow, was so fun. See, I develop these dumb crushes on people, and they’re very innocent and harmless and never go farther than me giggling and acting stupid in front of the crush-ee, but I do have them. And I don’t mind them because they remind me that I’m young and girlish at heart sometimes. I got to talk to my “crush” for a big chunk of the party and that was awesome. But now I’m home and I miss Erik like hell.
I just tried to start reading the fourth Harry Potter book right this moment and I realized reading comprehension in a state of drunkenness is about zero. I had to read the first page about five times.
I am so exhausted. I need to fall into bed (so big and cold, minus my kid), and wake up tomorrow at any time I chose, because it’s the glorious and crystalline Saturday, where anything can happen.
All hail Friday nights. I needed this. I was so wrought with stress and fear over everything in the world that I thought I would drop by the end of the week. But I’m still here. There’s a survival instinct somewhere in my body.
Goodnight.
Well, we’re heading to a party and I pre-partied a little more than I usually do.
Remind me to tell you of my visit to the emergency room last night with Beth, who had a rather gaping wound that required 12 stitches.
Scotch has made my head swim.
“It would be pleasant to be drunk:
faithless to my tongue and hands,
giving up the boundaries
for the heroic gin.
Dead drunk
is the term I think of,
insensible,
neither c o o l or warm, without
a head or foot.
To be drunk is to be intimate with
a fool.
I will try it shortly.”
— Anne Sextion
So, though I really thought I wouldn’t, but I miss Erik, goshdarnit. Though I don’t like to admit it, he’s my sanity in a lot of ways - he’s so grounded and confident and worry-free that he calms my troubled mind, most of the time.
Homework? Nah. The third Harry Potter book. Reading will be the death of me, or at least my college career.
It was windy and rainy and gray today, a type of weather I usually savour, but today, it made me feel uneasy.
Halcyon, of Cockybastard fame, made an interesting point today, that I whole-heartedly agree with:
“A part of my heart soars whenever I see an American Flag or ‘United We Stand’ scrawled on a sheet hanging from an overpass. But another part of me is scared. I worry about what the flags and American pride mean to people. I like the idea of camaraderie. I like the idea of brotherhood and sisterhood. I don’t like the idea of ‘Our team is the best.’ It is dangerous. Pride is dangerous.”
He put into words what has been nagging me for a month now.
My Adventure-A-Day plan hasn’t quite begun yet, unless you count painting chairs for two hours an adventure. But, hey, that means I actually went to my practicum which is, while not an adventure, a definite accomplishment.
Back to Harry Potter. I believe I’m obsessed.
You know, I’m gonna learn to play guitar and start my own one woman band. So there. I don’t need a crutch.
Woo. I’m in an alright mood, how about that? I just finished The Pilot’s Wife and it was actually incredibly good. I was a little wary of it at first ’cause it seemed a little corny, but it was good good good and I just spent the last hour reading it, while sitting in Erik’s ugly, yet durable blue chair and drinking coffee with a Southern Pecan creamer, which I bought solely for the fact that I was homesick.
You wanted a visual on that ugly blue chair, did you say? Alright, here you go:
Anyway, I’m not going to my 2:00 (Literacy, Technology and Society) class ’cause I didn’t write my paper and I haven’t missed that class once this semester, so I figured it was about time. Never fear, I can turn my paper in late, in case you were tense over my grade, which I’m absolutely sure you were.
Poor Beth. She is sick as a dog and drugged up on cherry-flavoured Alka Seltzer and samples of Aleve.
Erik is going to a conference for the school board he’s on this week. He’ll be gone for five days or so, and while I’ll miss him incredibly much, it’s nice for us to have these mini breaks, I think, especially since I’ve been so fiery these past few days.
I want to have adventures this weekend. Maybe that should be my goal. An adventure a night? Something worthy to write up here for change?
Alright, I must shower, for even though I’m missing my 2:00, I still have to be at school at 3:15 in order to attend my classical dialect tutorial for my Speech class.
Oh, and if you’ve seen Dane’s keys, could you let him know?
First of all, I’m really sorry for all the e-mails that are piling in my inbox that I haven’t gotten back to yet. I promise to write - I’m usually much more prompt about that type of thing and lately, the only thing I seem to do promptly is update this site and read Harry Potter.
So, the bombing, right? Well, again, I never know what to write about the going-ons of my country right now because everyone around me puts their feelings much more eloquently than I can as of late. I’m terrified and sickened and scared out of my mind. I’m angry for my loved ones and I being pulled into something we never asked to be a part of. I feel a little naive and stupid for still feeling that war and violence are unnecessary, that maybe I believe that because I’m young and haven’t experienced great tragedy in my life. Like, 20 years from now, I’ll read these words and shake my head and think, “What a senseless kid.” For now, however, the idea of war sickens me. I’m frightened for everyone I loved and myself, of course, because along with youth comes the strong instinct to self-perserve. I keep thinking of the people in Afghanistan, who didn’t ask for this either, and then, flaky silly me, I think of the pets in Afghanistan that were killed in the bombings. They didn’t ask for this, either. We live in fear because of a group of power-hungry, insane men (maybe women? who knows?), and that group applies to both countries.
But I’m not as eloquent as I used to be, so I’ll keep bottling for a bit.
Tense! For some reason, I’m tense and tense and tense. Everyone in my classes today were tense, but I’m thinking we’re just sick of each other (I have the same 12 people in all of my theatre classes - we all qualified in the program together), and we’re all bickering like family, which has a certain comfort in a way. It means that we don’t take snappish comments seriously because we know we still love each other.
I didn’t go to Stagecraft this morning. Since my big Walk-Out on Friday, I’m a little apprehensive to return. I also didn’t go to my practicum hours for that class this afternoon, even though Erik dragged me to school and told me forcefully to go, which is exactly the way I needed to be told - I always need a kick in the ass to get myself to go to things I hate. Instead, I watched him walk into his class, and then swiftly found myself in the bookstore, where I pulled a random novel from the shelf, bought it, found myself a cup of French Vanilla machine coffee and settled into the lounge, where I read for the two hours I was supposed to be playing with power tools and paint.
This is not a good thing that I’m not attending this class. It is, in fact, a bad thing considering failing it would be horrible since I failed my LAST practicum class, which was Costume Construction. So, I have to go class. I have to put in some extra hours tomorrow and finish my class project. Right? Tell me I have to. Tell me it’s the best thing to do.
Ever feel that you’re just waiting for that one thing to strike and put you over the edge? And once you’ve been pushed, you really feel like you’ll pack up your stuff, shove it into your creaky car and drive and drive and drive until you reach a place that has never heard of plywood and saws and Afghanistan and sinus infections and classical dialect tutorials and sleepless nights? I feel like I am this close to crawling into my bed for fifteen years or so. But, I suppose, I’ve lived long enough to realize these funks pass, and they do.
Alright, I’m just blabbing here, so I’m gonna go find something to eat and then finish the new book I got today (The Pilot’s Wife, Anita Shreve - not bad). I’m waiting for Jason to finish the third Harry Potter so I can read it. Our whole house is obsessed.
Take care, okay?
In the name of peace
They waged the wars
Ain’t they got no shame?
Nikki Giovanni
I feel like a jerk. In fact, I think I am a jerk, a little bit, if evidenced by tonight. Or I’m just in a funk and can’t find my karmic counteractance, and old behavior is starting to resurface, such as becoming insanely jealous and having a temper fuse so short it’s almost non-existent.
I’m back from the concert and the house is empty. My ears are ringing and my fingers are cold and I’m sitting with my back stiff and straight against the chair. I pushed Erik’s hand off my arm when I was leaving. I sat in a corner chair for half the show, though that was because I would have had some sort of massive anxiety attack if I hadn’t removed myself from the glob of hot sweaty people.
And my Mom just called to update me on my Grandmother, who is still doing okay, though this might be her last night. So, I feel bad for bitching now since she was telling me about the patients in the hospice that my Grandmother is in, how strong and at peace they are. I think I need to volunteer at some sort of hospice - I need to be around people, I think, who have some sort of peace. Maybe that’s a selfish reason for volunteering, but it’s more than that, I suppose. If I’m helping someone else, I can un-absorb myself.
I feel like I need to lock myself in my room until I can get over my funk because I start to take it out on other people, namely Erik. I get this way and suddenly the grief he caused me this summer is unforgivable, no matter how loving and sweet he is now. The unanswered e-mails, the nights spent crying into my teddy bear, the sharp words - all of them begin to overshadow the now and I feel like I can’t even be in the same room with him, because how could he? How dare he? And then logic comes into play, and I realize the present is the present and I need to appreciate what I have now, and enjoy that. I can find peace there. But.
I still don’t know how to tell my parents I failed my summer classes.
And now I feel extra bad because Erik just called to apologize for offending me, which he didn’t at all, it was just me being stupid and funkdified. He really is such a sweet person. That’s where the conflict comes from - over a year of sweetness versus two months of jerkiness - what overshadows what?
Okay, I’m gonna find some food and something warm and curl up with the second Harry Potter book, a series I swore never to read because I was absolutely sure I would hate it, but, like everyone else in the world, I love it.
Goodnight.
I have so much work I’m not doing, but that tis the story of my life.
I saw the movie Hearts in Atlantis this weekend ’cause I loved loved loved the Stephen King novel. The movie? I really didn’t like it, for a number of reasons, which I would delve into except I have to get Erik Kool-Aid because he made me a grilled cheese.