Memory will lay its hands upon your breast/And you will understand my hatred

You no longer speak to me, with me, of me.

I miss you.

You were me, in a mirror. How I could have been, would have been—should have been.

You were a major part of the random bits and pieces we accrue during our lifetimes that round one out and make one a real person.

What happened? Did I do something wrong? Was friendship too much for you? I have to admit, even then I wondered if you had any part in your not returning to uni. As time goes by, I become more and more assured that you did. Why did you lie? Why bother? All things considered, I would have thought you’d have preferred just dropping everything and not looking back—like you do now. Did you realize that consistent dishonesty takes more effort than you were willing to put in?

I should have seen it coming. I do that too often—refuse to see the train behind the oncoming light.

To be honest, the pain has gotten worse, not better. Not only is the pain still there (undiminished), but bitterness and anger have set in, and I’m only barely keeping the hatred at bay. At this rate….well, even in one’s journalings, some things are better left unsaid.

I’m not even sure if I want an answer to the ‘why’ anymore. It would probably put my mind at ease a bit, but it wouldn’t actually help anything. Even with this knowledge, though, I keep wanting to know why you ever bothered since you were only going to screw me over in the end.

As much fun as we had together, I should have realized that it was too much fun to be real. I wish it had never happened. I wish we had never met. I wish many things, but mostly, I wish the same thing will happen to you.


Great is the hand that holds dominion over/Man by a scribbled name

I guess I just feel like letting my thoughts flow out tonight; not really like talking to anyone, just anonymous venting, I suppose.
Five people from Taylor were killed in a car wreck; one arrested for soliciting a minor for sex; one rolled his car 5 times (survived) and many suspect it was a suicide attempt; and one is in the hospital in critical condition from blood clots in bad places. It's been a happy time here at good ol' Taylor U. Sadly, it doesn't really surprise me. Somehow, I get the feeling that this rash of 'bad things' is not done; something has yet to happen. I hope I'm just being paranoid.

I'm not sure how I feel about any of this. Yes, it's tragic and upsetting (and in the case of the arrestee, disgusting), but life does tend to be tragic and upsetting and, in the words of the lovely Amy Watkins, sucky. Yes, those who loved the ones who died have every right to mourn. Those close to the young woman in the hospital ought to be concerned for her welfare, as should those close to the young man who rolled his car. But are those who aren't close to them responsible for maintaining a facade of grief? Don't get me wrong, it would be inappropriate to belittle the mourning and worry of those who love(d) them. What I wonder is, is everyone else also required to mourn? Must they weep over those they never knew?

Many people would say 'yes.' What I ask them is, why then do you not weep even more for those invisible children of Uganda? Of the Sudanese driven from their homes by their own government? The poor, the orphaned, the starving, the dying of the world? If we ought to bewail the loss of those we do not know, then we must equally grieve for all the wrongs of the world.

I propose a balance, a middle ground: do not mourn if you do not need do, forced mourning only cheapens those who truly feel a loss. Instead, support those who are grieving, respect their pain--but do not cheapen it.

This life is short, this world is ugly. True, there is beauty in it--sunsets, waterfalls, music, love, and so on--but truly the decay the world is in will soon overwhelm what little loveliness remains. These reminders of our mortality ought to shake us out of our complacency, remind us that we were not made to sit inside our sterile bubbles, safe from the outside world. After all, everyone dies, it doesn't matter how.

What matters is how you live.


Candy is dandy/But liquor is quicker

I have discovered hell: getting a flat tire in the middle of nowhere with a terrible jack, no cell phone, and a crummy spare while being on the heaviest and worst period of your life.

Hurray, hurray.


I have been one acquainted with the night/I have walked out in rain--and back in rain

Break is over. Sad, but wonderful at the same time. Let me say that one person's behaviour was so reminiscent of a lecherous boy of twelve years that it very nearly ruined my break, as well as someone else's. Not cool.

However, I did have some good times. I bought the World of Warcraft Atlas (awesome), the 'V for Vendetta' soundtrack (almost awesome), 'The Diamond Throne' (awesome), and 'Stardust' (very, very awesome); plus, I was able to sleep a good deal and was fed good food.

It's nice, coming back from break knowing that my hosts like me. I have not really experienced this phenomenon since starting uni, so it was a really nice and pleasant feeling.

I had a good, yet slightly painful talk with Isaac regarding various things in our relationship; hopefully it will help smooth most (if not all) of the major wrinkles.

My mother is coming to visit! I'm ecstatic; I have not seen her since winter break, during most of which I was either asleep or heavily drugged due to that unpleasant surgery. In any case, she comes a week from Friday and I am nearly jumping with glee. Mother and I aren't extremely close, but we get along famously and she is the one I feel closest to in my immediate family. Or my extended family, for that matter. I don't care much for most of my relatives.
James is going blind, which is not good. He has an incurable eye condition that causes his cornea to bulge out, and may need surgery very soon. On the bright side, however, he did reach level sixty with his undead warlock in World of Warcraft. I'm very proud. Especially since I am only level forty-seven.

I'm still hoping against hope that I was wrong, but with every day that passes without word, I feel even more certain (and saddened) that I was right. Why is it that one is usually wrong unless one desperately wants to be so, in which case one is inevitably right? It's a terrible conspiracy on the part of the universe, I'm sure.

And one of my professors apparently is an idiot. According to him, my figurative language (imagery, similes, and so on) are too obscure, esoteric, or just plain unusual for people to understand, and it therefore makes them feel stupid, which he 'feels a lot.' I'm quoting him on that, by the way. I don't understand this, especially since a) I followed his directions to the letter; and b) I dumbed it down.

I hate stupid people, especially stupid people who demand the dumbing-down of all they encounter just so that they do not have to feel stupid.