But now I know, while beauty lives/So long will live my power to grieve

So it's been a long time, but in my defense, my computer died. Plus my computer died. I threw my back out somehow, the "somehow" being the most important part of that statement, since I have no flaming idea why I woke up one morning unable to move due to back Pain. Yes, the capitalisation is intentional. This is major Pain, and therefore entitled to some small degree of honour. The back is still iffy (maybe hurray for physical therapy, maybe not--I'll let you know in 6 weeks).

Other than that, nothing much has changed. Well, except my meds. I'm still taking shovelfuls of pills, don't get me wrong, but the pills themselves have changed. Which is nice, I suppose, since they ("they" being the doctor(s) who prescribed the pills, not the pills themselves) are being consumed with the hope of keeping me alive. Thus far, success, although to be completely honest, the "success" has been marginal at best. So on to the one topic guaranteed to make me feel better: Books.

I'm (hopefully) going to Narnes and Boble tomorrow to blow my recently and (rather sadly, one would think) not ill-gained fortune in N&B gift cards. I prefer it this way, since I firmly believe book shopping should be a full sensory experience. Shopping online seems to carry with it a distinct lack of sensory input, and it's nowhere near as fulfilling. God, I'm rather obsessive, aren't I? Book shopping as fulfilling. But then again, this is me I'm talking about.

Oh, and I kinda sorta got a boyfriend. More on that later, if I'm nice.


A smile that tugs upon my soul/Whispers gently in my ear

Back from Seattle/Dallas. Yes, I'm aware that they're two very different places, but I was nonetheless at both of them in the same week, which happened to be one of the best weeks of my life. . In fact, the only one I can think of that was better was the last time I was out in Seattle. So, all in all, a good time. I ended up going to a wedding, and dancing with a creepy old man, who, oddly enough, no one seemed to know the name of. I also had my first experience with Mongolian barbeque--not bad, but I think I prefer Chinese. But hey, I'm not arguing. Lots of truth-or-dare--fortunately there was no whipped cream or duct tape involved, unlike last year. Lots of hot tubbing, too, which was fun, except for the bits of grass and dirt that were still in there after Andrew's running amok in fresh cut grass. Oh! And I got to play with an AirSoft shotgun, which was great until I accidentally hit Tyler in the face. I still feel bad about that. In all, it was a great time, the only bad part was leaving them to come back here--I refuse to use the world "home", because it's not even close. I don't want to think about tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, because if I do, I'll only burst into tears. It's only been 36 hours or so, and I already miss them.
My keyboard sucks. Or maybe my computer has started sucking even more than it used to, because now there's a delay of at least a second between typing a letter and its appearance on screen. And no, I'm not running anything else at the moment, which is why this REALLY sucks.


If you fear there's something you hear/A heart beating under the floor

Yesterday I met an honest-to-God Head Boy. No joke. Nice guy, too--looked a bit like Mr. Tumnus from the recent Narnia movie (which actually rather sucked, if you ask me. But nobody did, so...)

On a completely different note, I have given up on talking to my parents about anything of substance, since every time I try, they throw it back in my face. Or change the subject.

I made pudding for the first time ever a few days ago. Once I get around to it, I'm going to make the eclairs the pudding is supposed to go in to.

OH! Happy news, I'm going to Seattle again, squee! I'm terribly excited, it's been one of the few bright spots in my life as of late, and I'm looking forward to it. I leave in a week.

It's odd. Last night, and even earlier today, I wanted nothing more than to sit down and write a lengthy entry about a quantity of subjects, but now, I have nothing to say. So later, I suppose.


From Blank to Blank--/A Threadless Way

So apparently a friend of mine got married and never bothered to tell me. I don't think I have to point out how much this hurt, so this entry is mostly a petty bit of revenge and spite on the off-chance that a mutual friend, he, or even his wife, will read this and know who I'm talking about.
So, to the new bride of my friend:
Did you know his ex believes he raped her? Did you know another ex changed her cell number, her email address, and moved 2 hours away to get away from him? Did you know that he desperately wanted to get married to justify his desire to have sex? Did you know he tried to kill his sister?

Sure, he's got his good features. Obviously, he's not a total cretin, or else I wouldn't be friends with him. Actually, considering my track record with cretins, it's entirely possible that I would be friends with him if he was nothing but a cretin. But he isn't. He has his moments.

Like I said, I'm bitter and hurt and upset that apparently a 9-year friendship meant too little to deserve notice, let alone an invite. So in my hurt and anger, I hope she finds out what you're really like.


try as they might/to avoid his gaze

My brother (the younger of the two) and I had a bit of a row today. His dog bit the family dog as it was walking past, and got his head in her jaws and was shaking it (her head) back and forth--with the other dog's head still stuck in her maw. I got mad, as did everyone but my brother, and yelled at Muffin--his dog. He snapped at me, saying she didn't do anything wrong (sure), and put her outside.
After dinner, she started yowling and wouldn't stop. I told her to shut up, and brother once again snapped at me, saying that a) I yell too much, and b) I should just suck it up. Suck what up? I asked. My depression, he said.
Which was the last straw. I'm never in a good mood while on my period, and it's precisely that sort of idiot comment that is best guaranteed to arouse my ire. And it was aroused. I told him, first, that if I could suck it up, as he put it, I would never have come back here, since my intention was to never, ever return to this place (it's my own personal hell), though I planned to call on Christmas and Mother's Day. I then told him that my plans changed, however, because if I hadn't made it down here, I most likely would have died.. This upset him a bit, so he continued to yell at me, repeating his previous comment that I yelled too much. I actually haven't yelled since the second week I've been here, which (for me, at least) is pretty darn impressive. I didn't say this, since I wasn't exactly in the mood for technicalities, so I just told him that he cried too much. Upon which he burst into tears and said that he couldn't help being sensitive. At that point, I wanted to tell him to suck it up, but I didn't. Hooray for improved self-control. He ran off to his room and slammed the door, but not before my mom saw him in tears.
Here's where things REALLY start to make me...irritated. She automatically assumed that I had done something horrific, like told him to hang himself, and came after me in righteous anger. I told her exactly what had happened, and walked away. It's precisely this sort of thing that makes me hate coming 'home.' It's not the only reason, but it's one of them--if someone is upset, it's deemed my fault. I'm not altogether sure why, though I wouldn't be surprised if being the unsatisfactory child has something to do with it. I wanted (and still want) to point this out, along with a million other things, but I managed to keep my mouth shut, which in retrospect is a really good thing. Because even if I had kept my tone and my words benign and non-confrontational, things would only get worse. Because that's what always happens. I tried talking to my dad once, about why I never want to talk to him. I used terms like "I realise you don't intend it to seem this way, but I feel that..." and I got yelled at for being wrong. So now I just don't bother, though it's starting to all bottle up inside of me, and I'm not looking forward to the day when I can't keep quiet any longer and just blow up. Hopefully it won't happen--or at least, happen in a counseling session or something similar. But knowing my luck, I doubt it.

I don't know if I mentioned this before, because it's been so effing long, but since I've been back I've been accused of bulimia, which offended me a LOT, especially since it came from someone I liked and respected and who I thought at least saw me in a fashion on the positive side of indifference. She also thinks I'm a liar and a whore. I wanted to call her a fat cow--because she is, but that's beside the point--but my mom was there, and the woman in question is good friends with my mom, and it would have been all sorts of bad. But if it happens again, I don't care if the woman in question never speaks to any of us again--I'm going to speak my mind. It'll be a release, too, after having to bite my tongue day after day around my family. I'm going more and more insane, staying with them. I'm realising more just how little I have in common with, and how little I like, these people. As soon as possible I'm leaving and not looking back, though I'm tempted to stick it out since they have great insurance and as long as I'm a dependent, I get full coverage.

On a completely different note, I finally got hold of enough cream cheese to try my hand at making cheesecake, which I've heard is a bitch to make, is time-consuming, etc, etc, forever and ever amen. It was surprisingly easy, though, and it turned out wonderfully. I think I was expecting a challenge, though, and so it was a bit disappointing. Maybe I'll try souffle next time, I'm pretty sure there's a souffle dish around here somewhere...


From the molten-golden notes/And all in tune

Today my best friend from high school got married. I wanted to go to the wedding like nothing else, but life conspired against me. But Steve, since you told me you read this thing (much to my surprise, to be honest), I wish you the very best happiness. Send me pictures!

Instead of going to the wedding, I got to baby sit. Kind of. It's convoluted. A friend of my mother's has a daughter who's approximately my age who just had a child. Apparently the father's an absolute cretin and disappeared during the pregnancy, but he's wandering 'round now, hoping to get money. (Like I said, cretin.) But her mother doesn't want her to be alone at any point, so my mom volunteered to spend the day with her. This is where things get a bit sticky.
First, while I'm not a fan of cretins, she chose to sleep with him, and therefore (in my opinion) should have to deal with the outcome, all of it. But apparently my opinion is by far the least popular, for all and sundry have rallied round to support her in the ousting of the jackass.
What, you may ask, has any of this to do with me? Plenty, I would reply, because the night before the day in question, my mom fell ill and announced to me as I was about to retire that I would be going in her stead, and that I was not permitted to argue.
Needless to say, I was not pleased, especially since I was expected to be there by 8 am? Which meant rising by 7:15? I am not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination.

I'm not a baby person either. As in, I can't stand them.

So there I was at 8 am, in a nearly-empty house, expected to be caretaker of a new mother and her small child. Fortunately, I didn't have to. She kept to one part of the house, I kept to another, and all was mostly well.
I had planned on a nap, because 5 hours of sleep isn't enough. But the child in question screamed for all but maybe 45 minutes of my time there. And as anyone who has heard a screaming newborn knows, it's damn near impossible to sleep.
So I read. The house was full of good books (Mrs. Pollifax and Lord of the Flies), so I settled down to some reading. Or I tried to, because a cat decided to walk up and claw at me.
I don't mind cats, as long as they leave me alone. This one, sadly, didn't. I thought seriously about kicking it, but decided against it--after all, I was barefoot and didn't want my foot mangled. So I poured water on it instead. It ran off yowling, and left me alone.
For the most part, anyway. I'm rather allergic to kitty litter (it makes my eyes swell shut), and even if the litter is kept far away, it does get tracked around by cat feet. This was several days ago, and my eyes are still burning.

But it wasn't all bad. Again, I got lots of reading done. Oh! I got a nifty hat in World of Warcraft, that makes me look like I'm surrounded by shadowy clouds that occasionally shoot forks of lightning, which is really cool.

Speaking of WoW, one last anecdote to close out the post. Awhile ago I ran an instance with a group of people I didn't know terribly well, and some people I didn't know at all. Normally that doesn't cause any problems, but...
A 17-year-old dropout decided that I was his "type." He told me all about his hobbies (smoking pot and huffing paint), and said that we should date. I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, sort of, and be nicer to people, so I couldn't really tell him to sod off. I tried to drop hints, but after a week or so I began to suspect that any hints subtler than a load of bricks would be lost on him.
So Tuesday evening rolled around, and sure enough, his name popped up and he started a conversation. By this point, I just wanted him to GO AWAY. So I thought a moment, and decided on a simple lie that would likely be terribly effective: I told him I had just found out I had herpes.

Go figure, I haven't heard from him since. ^.^


She walks in beauty like the night/Of cloudless climes and starry skies

So, this is going to be a post slightly different from those before it; this isn't about me. Well, maybe a little--it's about a specific opinion, and my view of such. The opinion? Beauty.

I've been having problems since January with my weight. Oddly, I was happy the way I was, and then the weight started dropping. No one has been able to figure out how or why it happened, but I lost 20 pounds, which scared me. No one else seemed bothered by it, though. All I got was, "do you know how many girls would kill for that?"
Yes, I do know. And that sucks. It really does. Unless you're literally overweight (BMI of 24+), you DON'T NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT. Guess what? You're supposed to weight at least 2 pounds per inch of height. At LEAST. I'm 5'9" and 130 pounds. My hipbones are visible. I'd like to gain at least 5 pounds back.

I saw a friend in March for the first time since October, and the first thing I heard was, "You've lost weight, you look so good!" I realise it was meant as a compliment, but...does it mean that I didn't look good before? Or just that losing weight equals looking better?

If weight loss is equated with beauty, it's no wonder that anorexia, bulimia, and other disorders are so common. Good god, people. Bones aren't attractive.

A friend of mine is very pretty. She's about 5'5, with great legs, great boobs. She's a size 6. And she wishes she was thinner, because, just like most of America, "thin is in."

It makes me want to cry, it really does. Whatever happened to womanly shape? I mean, good god, beautiful women are CURVY. Catherine Zeta-Jones is a size ten. Marilyn Monroe, in today's sizes, would be an eight. I don't know anyone who thinks razor-sharp collarbones are attractive, but that's all we see! The heroin-chic look is as popular as ever, and it's pissing me off.


...mixing/Memory and desire, stirring/Dull roots with spring rain.

Memories fade as time passes. Things change; they're no longer recorded as how they were, but as we wish they had been. Bitterness, longing, joy, betrayal--every possible emotion colours our memories until they bear only the slightest similarities to the actual event.
That in itself is sad, I think. Even the past is mutable; nothing is set in stone. While that should be relieving, knowing that even mistakes of the worst sort can be forgotten or glossed over, instead it makes me worry a bit. If our memories change the way we see things, how will we ever know what really happened? What was true, what's delusion or wishful thinking?

Sorry, I didn't mean to start on such a downspirited note, but today my friends graduated from university, and I was supposed to be with them. Through a series of events, though, I wasn't even able to finish out the year. While a portion was my fault, and I acknowledge that, an equal portion--though unrelated--was not. Various tests are still being run; they're hoping an endoscopy will show some explanation for the weird weight loss thing that happened back in January and February.

My allergy test results came back. I'm allergic to some simple things; unfortunately, it's not like a gluten allergy that you can actively avoid. Turns out, apart from my happy food allergies, I'm also allergic to dust, pollen, and mold.
Which are kind of everywhere. Fortunately, allergy shots should help. I'm both nervous and excited about this; after all, it will reduce the severity of my allergies a great deal. But at the same time, I don't like injections. I don't scream or cry or anything; I just don't like them. I'm not sure if anyone truly enjoys having an inch-long (or longer) needle inserted into their flesh and having a viscous liquid pushed through said needle into said flesh.
Or it could just be me.

On a completely different note, I got into a blazing row with my parents. I was reminded that I'm a failure and a disappointment, and lectured on being so. I didn't respond well--I don't think that, in a situation like that, it's possible to respond well--, but I didn't yell, cry, or say anything I regret. I thanked them for pointing out my shortcomings; told them that since clearly their opinion of me was so low that they didn't really want my input; and walked out. On the same day, the computer firewall was somehow turned off and the computer was infested with viruses, trojans, and spyware up the wazoo. I'm using my brother's computer right now, since the other one's still not working. I've spent about 3 hours on it at this point, trying to fix the bloody thing. I'm getting there, but it's slow and it makes me want to scream. Or cry. Or kick it.

I'm conflicted right now. I'm not sure how to respond to some things that are going on; well, that was poorly worded. Let me try again. I know how people are expecting me to respond to certain things that are going on, but I don't know if those responses would be best for me. They make sense, they're reasonable and understandable, but not necessarily the best idea. Granted, I'm not exactly the type to sit down and ponder the appropriate answer for hours on end, debating pros and cons with myself until I've reached the inevitable conclusion that Option X is better than Option Y. At best, I go with my gut instinct. At worst, I flip a coin. It's probably a bad thing, my not thinking about my decisions, but my "gut" has rarely told me wrong. It's when I haven't listened to it that I've had problems.

I miss my Seattle guys. And my Taylor and Muskegon friends. Oh, well. I'm here. They're not. We're all sucky correspondents. I guess that's all there is to it, really.

On that note, good night.

oh, P.S. Blizzard, the company that made the highly addictive World of Warcraft, announced last night the release of a new (kind of) game: StarCraft 2. If you're not sure what, if any, significance this has, ask a gamer. They'll tell you all about it, possibly for hours upon hours, forever and ever amen.

P.P.S. I'm a huge fan of Robin McKinley, and in exploring her site recently I read a paragraph she wrote about LotR, and I thought I'd paste it here (from here) to maybe try to explain to some of you people some of the reasons why I don't like Tolkien. At all. So here it is.
"I'm aware, at least some of the time, of his defects: there are no women at all in LOTR, although Galadriel at least has a few lines and Eowyn almost gets to do something (although Merry does it first); everybody speaks Old High Forsoothly, except the hobbits, who incline to Early Public Schoolboy; and there are an awful lot of things that seem to be tall and fair, or as clear as clear water, or that shine like silver, or that are silver and shine like the stars, or that are dusk-silver as water under the stars, or . . . well, if you've read Tolkien, you know what I mean."
If course, I have other reasons, but this is a well-expressed paragraph stating some of why I dislike his writing. So there you are.


Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget/What thou among the leaves hast never known

Several points of potential interest.
1. I have ceased playing World of Warcraft. Again. While it was originally for a positive reason, i.e., I wanted to have enough time for grading and lesson plans and so on, it isn't anymore. Now, I'm quitting out of boredom and lack of income. I'd offer to sell intelligent conversation, but considering the potential clientele (mostly people my parents know), I don't think they would either appreciate or even understand said intelligent conversation. Every time I come back here to C.R. I am once again astounded at my parents' ability to put up with such raging ignorance and stupidity. I just want to smack people. With a 2x4. It has the potential to actually make them smarter. The sad thing is, I'm only exaggerating slightly.
2. I am no longer going to be teaching. Apparently, the students all chose Biodiversity and Puppets. I'm having a hard time believing that, but, well, there it is. Two students signed up, but a minimum of 3 were needed. In any case, it has saved me from a potentially awkward situation--my little brother was one of the people who signed up, and I'm not a fan of nepotism, or even the possibility of nepotism.
Plus, now I don't have to wake up at 6 am every day.
3. My doc took me off the anti-psychotic, which makes #9 or 10 (lost track a couple years ago) on the list of mind-altering meds I've taken at some point. Since it made me incredibly sleepy--I could have easily slept 24-7 while on that stuff--it's probably a good thing that I'm not on it anymore. Apparently it was prescribed in an attempt to make the motion trails I still see--that are getting worse--go away. Obviously, that failed.
Speaking of fail, my parents are looking up long-term residential "facilities" for me. I'm not a fan. I finally conveyed to them that no, I'm not actually any better than I was. It's frustrating how they don't seem to get it, though heaven knows I've tried to explain things. It's starting to drive me up the wall.

I read the latest Jeffrey Deaver novel, The Cold Moon. It wasn't his best effort--too many plot twists and it just became absolutely ridiculously convoluted. There was a nice effect, though, when some characters from The Bone Collector (great book, by the way) make a reappearance. Oh, and I would recommend The Eight, by Katherine Neville--great conspiracy-theory novel from the eighties. Lots of interesting bits about chess in there; any chess nuts reading this, you may enjoy it.

There are junebugs everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. I had one fly down my shirt the other day, as another flew straight into my lamp and clanged off. I know more than one has died in my fan, too; which is really nasty because it's right next to my bed and I'd rather not sleep on a surface littered with bits of butchered junebug all over it. I'm waiting for some to make a nest inside my computer, since that seems like something that could, and would, happen at some point.

I went in for allergy testing--just a blood test--and the results aren't back yet. It was 2 weeks ago. Apparently, the machines broke today so they can't run my sample. Meanwhile, I'm thinking, there's no possible way you could be backed up by 2 weeks for allergy tests. And I ended up seeing the wrong doctor, anyway--instead of an allergist, I somehow wound up at a dermatologist. I wasn't thrilled by any stretch of the imagination that somebody somewhere fucked up royally. The derm was nice, though, and (I'm pretty sure it was out of sympathy) got me some powerful allergy pills that have, thus far, worked rather well. But we'll see how long that lasts; all good things must come to an end, and so on. Right?


Kept beating--beating--till I thought/My Mind was going numb--

So my brain has for all intents and purposes shut itself off. For the past several days, I've barely been able to think, let alone think straight. I keep forgetting what day it is and blank out. My twitching isn't better, either; in fact, it started up on Monday again. The doctor prescribed Ativan for me until the MRI and EEG results get back (which was supposed to be today, but due to hospital bureaucratic procedure, or Latin slowness, or a combination of both, is actually going to be tomorrow), but my parents--being the intelligent people that they are--have yet to fill it. So it's pretty much a moot point now, isn't it?

Yeah, I had an EEG, too, on Monday. I arrived in time for my 3:30 appointment, and after he watched my (conveniently) twitching hand, he packed me off for an electroencephalogram (or EEG, which is infinitely easier and quicker to type), hoping that the electrodes would pick up, I don't know, something. So I came out with my head covered in goo, sorry, gel. Have to use the scientificky terms, right? After the tech pulled off the eight million electrodes, he let me stick my head under a faucet, but by that point I was tired and headachy and feeling incredibly dumb. Not as in, "I'm in an awkward situation and therefore feel uncomfortable," but as in, "I don't know what day it is. Or what time it is. Or what I'm supposed to be doing." That kind of dumb. Now I know what people with bad memories feel like; I could barely remember my own name. I blame the flashing lights; apparently an important part of an EEG is testing responses while exposed to lights flashing on and off at various speeds.
Oh, and at the end of it, I couldn't feel the left side of my face. I think that might be bad, but it might be normal, too. I mean, normal for after an EEG.
In any case, the doc did get a glimpse of my MRI scans and said he doesn't think it's MS. Which means that it could have been, or might still be, and that's a really scary proposition. I'm siding with the doctor on this one; I don't want it to be MS. I'd rather it be some weird psychosomatic thing, although, to be perfectly honest, I really hope it isn't, because then I'd feel, I don't know, really stupid and foolish.

On a completely different note, my siblings' middle/high school (it's combined, since there aren't enough students to merit a separation) has an M-Term, also known as May Term. It's just like Taylor's J-Term, except it's not for college credit and it's in May. And I don't teach at Taylor.
Yeah, you read it right. Teach. Me. Me. The chick who despises children and has zero patience. I'm going to be teaching an elective, so I may actually not be teaching anything at all if no one signs up. I'm kind of hoping that'll be the case, because then I can say, "oh well, at least I offered;" but at the same time, it'd be really embarassing and rather depressing to not have anyone want to be taught by me--even though it's actually quite understandable. Especially given the subject:
Creative Writing.
Now, yeah, I know, I write semi-regularly in a blog and was in a bunch (meaning about 12 credits worth) of writing courses at Uni. But that's all the writing I do. I don't write stories much--I think about them, I plot them out in my head, I'll even tell someone about them if I'm in a really good mood about it, but I almost never write them down. Remember the Ritalin/Ambien incident? That happened because I hadn't written any stories--not one--in over a year.
I don't write for fun. I write for class. I write to keep in touch with people I care about. I write to keep the people I'm supposed to care about but don't up-to-date on my rather bizarre life (hence the blog). I write to vent. I don't write for me, I don't write for other people, I don't write fiction or poetry. I suppose you could call this creative nonfiction, since most of it's true and it's all creative.
I read things. I tell people about the things I read. I write essays and reports about what I read. I tell people what's wrong with their writing after I've read it. I'm a reader. And a critic, I suppose you could say. But I'm not a writer, certainly not a creative one.
So we'll see how this whole thing goes.

Oh, and to close, on a "writing" note, I received a very kind comment about this actual blog not long ago, and it really meant a lot, brought a smile to my face, and other assorted sappy stuff that really does prove I'm not well at all.


There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground/And swallows circling with their shimmering sound

Not in a mood for much, except that this week has been nothing but a waste of my time. Granted, I would argue that my life is nothing but a waste, both of time and everything else; so I'm not sure it's a valid argument. Anyway.

Doc changed his mind. No CAT scan. Just an emergency neuro consult on Monday, right after the MRI.

This sounds like lots of NOT FUN.


His answer trickled through my head/Like water through a sieve

So. I suppose it's been long enough between bitchy ravings, which means (insert fanfare of choice here) you get to read one now!

I went to the library today, because I had nothing else (well, just about--it was either that or watch both Princess Diaries movies) to do. The head librarian was glad to see me, which was nice, though it had more to do with "OMG someone who knows what she's doing and actually understands the concept of shelving books!" than with my existence. It wasn't bad, until I actually got to work, when a raving bitch from hell (read: someone I wouldn't mind seeing spontaneously combust, though that may be too cool of a way to go for me to be pleased with it being wasted on her) walked in with her class.

First thought? Fuck it, I was hoping she wouldn't be here.

The "person" in question is someone I know from high school. You know all those rants about how much I hated high school, and how it was so horrific? Well, she was one of the prime reasons for that. Ever see the movie "Mean Girls"? Think the leader of the nasty popular girls. Except this one has brown hair and a long nose.

In any case, I proceeded with the shelving and as I went back to the circulation desk (ha! It's really just a table with some appropriately-placed circulation notices), she noticed me. Damn.

The only thing I dislike more than bad memories, is the bearer of those bad memories trying to hug me. I'm not a fan of physical contact with people I don't like; in fact, I go through periods where I'm not a fan of physical contact at all. So the hugging thing didn't go over so well. Neither did the used-car salesman smile.

And I know you're all waiting with bated breath to discover what awful thing I said, did, or both said AND did in response. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but (much to my chagrin) I behaved almost nicely. That is to say, I didn't swear at, insult, or take physical action against, her. I wanted to, but I didn't. Mom would have been proud.

I just mumbled something about 'oh, hi,' and 'I hope I can get this done quickly' (the last phrase was accompanied by vague gestures that indicated the entire library as though it was part of some colossal undertaking that had a rapidly approaching deadline). It didn't really work. She kept trying to chat me up with the fake small talk we all know I loathe more than Olson Hall (ooh, bet you didn't see that one coming). How am I supposed to get rid of someone without telling them to just go away and/or leave me alone unless they want me to return to my previous state of being a scary, short-tempered fury? I tried to figure that out all day, and I'm still no closer to an even remotely satisfactory answer.

So now I'm in a bad mood. I haven't been sleeping much since the med change (read: CAN'T SLEEP! I woke up at 5 am, for crying out loud!), and I've had raging headaches for almost a week. I'm not okay with any of this.

And so I close with this, loyal (maybe) readers: I need a way to easily dispose of people I detest without being the bad guy (girl?), and, preferably, without too much effort on my part. This stupid country is pacifistic up the wazoo (they haven't had an army in almost 50 years. Even the Swiss have a fucking army!), so violence is really frowned upon--which means that that option isn't available, either. So a little help would be nice.


I saw an aged, aged man/A-sitting on a gate

So. I'm not in a mood for spilling personal details about my life right now, so this won't be too very long.

Probably not.

It's been weird, being back. It's been a week, and I haven't had a single argument with my parents--or siblings. Dad even apologised for being really harsh and judgmental the last time we had a fight--and Dad never apologises. It was kinda nice.

On a different note, Bruno got completely shaved. He looks like an albino chihuahua; meaning, ugly. No offense (well, not much) intended towards any chihuahua fans out there, but...they're damn ugly. (In case I never mentioned it before, or if you simply forgot--after all, not everybody can have a fantastic memory--Bruno is a dog we're caring for until his owners return from a year in Washington State. He's got a very distorted perception of size, which can be really funny to watch sometimes; but he's old and prone to ticks. Hence the shaving.)

I'm still sleeping a lot, but at least it keeps me out of trouble. I saw Dr. Sancho (my psychiatrist here) this morning--had to wake up at the ungodly hour of seven a.m. to get there on time--and he's taking me off the sleep meds.

So he can put me on antipsychotics. Oh, joy. He also ordered a CAT scan; just to "rule things out." That kinda scares me. Should it? Probably. Oh, well. I'll keep you posted on how that turns out.

D.'s email address was cancelled/voided/whatever the right word is, and I'm almost never online anymore, so I don't have a way to contact him. I probably wouldn't much even if I could, since my apathy has reached astronomical proportions, but there's something about an option no longer being valid that makes one (me, at least) crave using it.

Last note, I had another twitching episode, yesterday. My left hand (again) went nuts, like it had a mind of its own, for something like twelve hours. I've got an appointment with my regular doctor--sorry, "primary care physician"--to get it checked out. I wonder if he'll be able to figure out why.

And that's all.


I'll tell you everything I can/There's little to relate

So, in case you come to realise that I'm not actually around when break ends, it's because...I'm not.
That's right. I finally managed to convey my...level of unwell-ness (I know it's not a word but I'm tired so get over it) to my parents. As in, "I need to get out of here NOW" unwell-ness. So they pulled me out, and now I'm not there anymore. Instead, I'm in Costa Rica. Indefinitely.

Not sure if it'll help or not, but heaven knows I want it to help. If nothing else, I'd like to prove the tight-ass bitch in charge of ResLife (also known as Jill Godorhazy--who, you may be interested to know, has a terrible track record of student interaction. As in, i've never met any student, or even heard of a student, who liked her as ResLife coordinator or even as a person.) that I'm not a hopeless failure. Though I still desperately want to tell her to sod off. Hmm. I may even be able to get away with it now.

I have to admit, though, I feel a bit guilty about leaving Michelle and Austin and my d&d victims. I mean, group members. I'll have to sit down and write out the rest of the story for them, so they at least know if the druid knocked up the pally (no) and who ends up winning the faction war (the Lady). And what happens to Drunk Monk. I'd have mentioned Bekah by name, but I know she doesn't read this, and she's been acting, I don't know how to say it, distant, I guess, for a long time now; "long time" meaning two months, in this case. Up to her, at least I tried. Oh, well. That's life, right? Make a friend, get screwed over, move on, repeat.

Neither my parents nor my siblings have noticed my tongue ring yet, which is a good sign. The longer they go without noticing, the less likely I'll be lectured or sighed at (yeah, sighed at. It's their version of the "we're disappointed in you" speech; it's harder to fight back against a sigh.) because they'll feel a bit ridiculous for not noticing it sooner. I give it another week, max, then I'm off the hook as far as sighing goes. I hope.

I hope.

Going back a ways, the twitching hasn't really been resolved. I'm taking cogentin for it. While it stops most of the twitching, it doesn't completely eliminate it. I'm hoping it'll just go away on its own, I have enough to deal with as it is.

On the bright side, I get to spend time with my puppy now! Well, he's not so much of a puppy anymore, since he's about 7 years old, but, well, you understand. And if you don't, well, you should. And my mom might buy me pants. Yay pants! While my weight finally stopped dropping (I'm about 135 now. Which I haven't been since eighth grade, when I was 3 or 4 inches shorter and barely a B cup), it hasn't come back, even a bit. So my pants are all still way too big. Belts can only do so much, you know? Even my jammy pants are a bit problematic.

Yeah, I know it's weird. I'm probably the only girl on the planet who only has body image problems because she LOST weight. I was perfectly happy the way I was. Now, not so much. I'm not terribly pleased with my shape anymore, and I'm terrified of losing more. If it goes, my curves will most likely go with it, and I'm not okay with that. I like my figure. I liked it even more before it started shrinking. Maybe more junk food and less (ha! like that's really possible) excercise will help. Or not.

And I need to cut my hair, though that has nothing to do with anything at all. But hey, I don't have much to do with anything, either, so I daresay it doesn't really matter much. :P


For this must ever be/A secret, kept from all the rest/Between yourself and me

So I spent a good chunk of Wednesday in a nearby ER. Yes, for myself. No, I didn't fall headlong down some stairs (like I did right before my 21st birthday), nor did I swim or even attempt to swim in Taylor Swamp. Er, lake. Sorry. It started last Thursday, with this weird, uncontrollable spasm thing in my whole body. It wasn't a seizure, because I was conscious and coherent, but it wasn't exactly normal, either. It only lasted fifteen or twenty seconds, and it didn't seem incredibly serious. But various friends insisted I go to the health center, so I did. They didn't know what caused it, but they'd talk to various specialists and such, and would I please come in immediately if it happened again?
Then, two (three, now, since it's officially Saturday) days ago, my left arm started the whole uncontrollable twitchy thing. And it didn't stop. If I held my arm still, or braced it against something, it would stop--but then the twitching would start up somewhere else. Oh, and by 'didn't stop,' I mean virtually non-stop spazzing for five or six hours; it only stopped after being given various meds--including Ativan, which I'd never been on before--and only lasted a few hours. But by that time, I was so wasted from the single Ativan that I was pretty foggy. As in, don't remember much at all.
I twitched a couple times today, too; though they only lasted a second or two, and were pretty localised.
Nobody has any idea what's causing it, which scares me. But then, if you think about it, I've been reasonably healthy for quite a while now, so it only makes sense that I'd end up with something bizarre like this. Go figure, eh?
I screwed up the courage to leave Confusion a message on her blog. Immediately after, I tried to forget that I'd done it, and I succeeded decently well. Imagine my shock when I got a reply from her. I still miss hanging out and reading and swapping books and such, but I daresay that even though it's only been little over a year since we last saw each other, we've both changed so much that we might not have any connection anymore. It's entirely possible; it would be sad, but not horrible.
Damn, speaking of sad. I need to get Austin to fix my headset. Stupid piece of crap. But if Austin can't fix it, then I'll have to get a new one. I don't want to get a new one. New headsets cost money. Money != available to me right now. (Eight million points to anyone who understands what that means, by the way)
I know I had something else to put here, but I'm tired and the meds are kicking in, so I'm going to head to bed.
OH! now I remember. Someone (I won't say who) asked me for a list of all the books I've read. I kinda went blank from shock--I mean, I have no idea as to all the books I've read, but I have a pretty decent guess of the quantity, at least. I told this Someone that it would take awhile, and all they said in response was, "no rush." Am I the only one who finds this a bit disturbing? I mean, good heavens. It's like asking my dad for a comprehensive list of all the people he's worked with since joining the mission field.

But what the hell. It'll take awhile, but I'm hoping to have a reasonably accurate list in another couple of weeks. Hopefully I won't leave out too many titles.

And that's it for now.


And now, if e'er by chance I put/My fingers into glue

Saw those lines and laughed. It's so me...I can just see myself in the ER someday because I accidentally epoxied my fingers together, or my hand to my pants, or something along those lines. What can I say? I'm just brilliant like that.

As for addressing comments raised:
1. Yes, I'm aware that there is a Woman's 1-10 Scale of Female Attractiveness, but in this case, the person in question would rate about a three. So I figured I'd at least use the higher number. And thank you to the same person, for deeming me a female unlikely to dress in a provocative manner. 2. I don't hate men. Not in general. There are some very specific males whom I loathe, but they don't contribute to my positive or negative inclinations towards the opposite sex. In a way, you could say I have no men in my life; but at the same time, I have many.

And on to the actual post.

I had a test in Idiot Maths that I completely forgot about. Go me, eight million points for lack of brilliance there. What else? Lots of reading; got a new book called Mistress of the Art of Death, it was pretty good. Not great, not abysmal, but pretty good.
Speaking of abysmal, I found a great list on McSweeney's of actual comments people wrote on some poor sod's short story for a writing class. I have no idea how terrible the writing must have been, but to inspire comments such as those, it must have been absolutely horrific. (Said list can be found here)
Kinda makes me wish I had had the guts to say similar things in certain stories and whatnot in Advanced Writer's Workshop last fall.

I think that's about it. I'm still befuddled by the behaviour of the human race in general, but I have pretty much given up on ever understanding it. Oh, to be independently wealthy and therefore able to be a misanthropic shrew. But, alas, it is not to be. I suppose I'll have to settle for Keeper of Souls.
It'll do, I think.


Between the idea/And the reality

Such a real issue, too. Few people acknowledge, let alone discuss, the difference between idea and reality; concrete and abstract. Not just on big issues, either; I mean everything. You can read all about what it's like to ride a roller coaster, but until you actually do it, you'll only have a hazy concept of what roller coasters are really like.

No idea where that came from, except, maybe, lack of sleep.
You read right, my possible friend(s). Once again, I am sleep-deprived. I've got to say, nothing like two nights in a row to make you feel kinda edgy and lost. As long as I can make it until after freelance writing, I'll be fine. I can grab food and crash, so long as I remember to get up by nine a.m. Maybe I should set my alarm for some random bizarre time, like 11:30 p.m.
Oh, and maybe I should explain. Paper due tomorrow. Yippee. Haven't read the material, either, so I'll be doing that at breakfast today. Good grief. I'm planning on going to breakfast. In the DC. For the second morning in a row. Ugh.
On the bright side, I'm back to eating solid food and no longer speak like a cretin (and in this context, cretin means a being with very little intelligence, often to the extent of being incapable of coherent speech). It doesn't hurt anymore, though it's still a bit puffy. It just itches; but it's not like there's anything I can do about it. Half the time I forget it's even there. Which is a good sign, I suppose. Unless my body rejects it and my tongue swells to the size of a zucchini in a matter of minutes, and then I'll suffocate and die. But that's just a semi-remote possibility.
Yesterday evening I had two--no, three interesting conversations. One revolved around various organs in jars (my favourite was the brain, with a slice of lemon added for freshness). Another took place in the virtual realm I haunt on a mostly regular basis, when a guildmate and I struck up a conversation and found out that, not only do we live about an hour apart, but his uncle was my astronomy professor last spring. How's that for weird? The third, while being partly the most irrelevant and partly the most interesting, was about a girl I know. She's...difficult. She has little personality, doesn't rate above a five on the standard Men's 1-10 Scale of Female Hotness, and is very self-absorbed. So why the hell do guys chase after her? The answer I received was a completely unsatisfactory nonanswer: that it's because she has cleavage. Well, guess what? So do most females, but they aren't being followed by hordes of adoring males. I pointed out that even I have cleavage. The speaker then looked at me and said, well. Um.
I'm not entirely sure what that implied. Nor am I sure I want to know. Though, to be completely honest, I'd like to know what guys see in vain unattractive chicks to make them want to marry--that's right, not just date, but marry--them. It makes zero sense to me. And to a lot of other females out there.
Guys, please. Just because she seems like a 'nice girl' doesn't mean she is. And just because she seems like an Ice Bitch or a ManEater, doesn't mean she isn't hoping you'll notice her. The surface is only that--surface. What good is a hollow person? It's like getting a big chocolate bunny on Easter morning and breaking off a piece in excitement, only to find that the whole thing is a millimeter-thick shell with nothing inside but air. Wouldn't you rather have something of substance? You know, something without big gaping holes where, say, personality and common sense should be?
I'm done. I'm going to go eat, and try not to pass out. Because that would be bad.


Remember us--if at all--not as lost/Violent souls...

So, it looks like this thing is going to start updating more often than usual, as for a couple years now it's been a once-or-twice per month thing; now it's more likely to be three or four times per month. Lucky you. Or not, it's your choice, really.

Eight million points for El Laberinto del Fauno. It wasn't what I was expecting, but then, I wasn't really expecting anything considering that I didn't know much about it other than the very basic premise. It was good. Nothing like a dark quasi-faery tale to make a person's day. I especially loved the story of the rose that would grant eternal life. And the scene with the book when the red starts spreading... In any case, I desperately hope it wins all the awards it's been nominated for, because it definitely deserves them. AND they kept it in Spanish, too! They didn't dub it, which made me terribly happy, even though since the film was made in Spain, everybody had the funny accents. But the subtitles were really very accurate, and so. Yeah, I was pleased with that. The music was terrific, too. That lullaby will stick in my mind forever.

Getting my tongue pierced soon. Looking forward to it. It'll probably be Sunday, but it could ostensibly take place sooner than that. Still working on the tattoo art, though...should be done in another week or two, considering that I'm a terrible artist and I really don't want to eff up something that'll be on my body permanently. Once I've had it done and it's reasonably well-healed, I'll post a pic. Maybe. If I feel like it, which I very well may not.

I'm trying to not lose any more weight. I think I'm succeeding, but I'm not altogether sure, since my clothes are so big on me now anyway. I'm still not thrilled about the abrupt weight loss, since I still don't know how it happened and if I lose any more I'll start looking unhealthy. Plus there's the very real possibility that then my curves will start to disappear, and they're one of the few things I like about my body. So, there you have it.

And that's all for now. I'm hungry, so I'm going to dinner.


'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;/The dead men stood together

I don't think doing 70 in a 45 at night when there are patches of ice on the road is a good idea. But in my defense, I was just really into driving, which I hadn't done in FOREVER, and by forever I mean several weeks, and the music I had playing was really, really good. But more about that later.
I bought Epic Legends of the Magic Sword Kings, which is the sequel to Attack of the Bacon Robots. For those who don't have an incredible memory for piddly details like book titles, Attack of the Bacon Robots (best title EVER!) was/is the first book of compiled Penny Arcade strips. Therefore, by logical reasoning, one can deduce that Epic Legends of the Magic Sword Kings (totally random title, but also pretty good) is, in fact, the SECOND book of compiled Penny Arcade strips. Now, I'm aware that the strips in question are also available for free on the Internet(s), but there is also additional, that is to say bonus, content included between the covers of both books. Plus, I'm a hard copy fanatic.

I had a presentation in Medieval Europe class today, on Charlemagne. It was more of a "lead the class in discussion" type of presentation, but in my mind, that's even worse than a lecture-type presentation, because then you actually have to be interesting enough to get people to both pay attention and respond. At least, though, since it was the first presentation of the year, I'm pretty sure I'll get a decent grade on it. Huzzah for small favours, right? Anyway, it went fairly well--of the six questions that were prepared, we only managed to cover 3, and a bit of the fourth. It's encouraging, really, because it showed/shows that I can be interesting in an intellectual way if need arises.

I had to dress up for it--not dressy, but you know, presentation-y. Is that even a word? I don't really care, because it's late and I'm tired and COLD because the fucking heater still isn't fixed. But that's a digression for another time, and back to the topic at hand. While I'm a fan of cashmere sweaters and comfy pants, I'm not a fan when they're not ideally suited for the weather, i.e., the windchill of seven below zero. Nor am I a fan of wearing pinchy-toed heels for twelve hours straight, most of which was spent either standing up or walking on concrete. Granted, I love wearing heels (improves both height and posture), but not for that long, and not for that long when they're pinchy. I had to wear sneakers afterwards because my normal boots don't have any of the squooshy cushiony stuff in it. I haven't worn those things more than once in the last year. But I (and I daresay even my feet) will recover. Especially since I don't have to do any more presentations. AND in Idiot Maths we're covering methods of determining equations from word problems, which is the only part of any algebraic type of mathematics I have ever done well in. Granted, I still can't solve the damn equations, but since our homework for the next few classes is nothing but writing down the equations, not solving them, I'm set.
Now if only I could learn how to actually SOLVE the equations. But even the most brilliant minds have their limits, and mine, I must say, is far from brilliance. Although, to be honest, it does glow a bit, but I think that's mostly due to unhealthy levels of radiation.

At dinner there was this really good, albeit nasty-looking, dessert. Some kind of rice krispie treat, but with chocolate bits and extra marshmallow. And they were chilled, which made them even better. I had four. I debated smuggling some out of the DC for later, but ultimately decided against it. Now I'm wishing I had taken some with me. They were amazing, eight million points to whoever made them.

It's supposed to snow a few inches tonight, and another few tomorrow; by "a few" I mean two or three inches; not the fifteen we got earlier this week that shut down half the state. The wind was awful, true; and snow days are always nice, but I really feel that Indiana is just not capable of dealing with real winter weather...they're kinda pansies. If you ever have the option, DON'T DRIVE IN INDIANA after it's snowed; few, if any, people here know how to drive on snow and end up crawling at ten mph and fishtailing all over the place. Granted, people here don't know how to drive particularly well in good weather conditions, either.

I have reached my new music phase. In case one of the three people who actually read this is not aware, my tastes tend to cycle, and not only in music. I'll read certain types of books, I'll watch certain movie genres, play certain computer games, etc., etc., forever and ever amen, until I shift over to something else. The shift tends to be rather abrupt and often is completely random. But now that I've finished my likely entirely unnecessary explanation, I'll proceed with the rest of the relevant information. I'd heard a few tracks by a Dutch band over the past few weeks, and liked the sound, but not enough to become a real fan. But as I listen to the music more, I become more drawn to it, and now I'm eagerly anticipating their first official US release in mid-March. It's being released everywhere else then, too; but since I'm not terribly keen on spending $25 for one CD, the US release is rather a big deal. So now I'm excited. Hopefully, their earlier CDs will transfer over, too. Anyway, so now I've moved on from goth-comedy (Voltaire), 20's/30's throwback pop (Christina Aguilera--yeah, yeah, I know. But admit it--her voice is incredible), and Scottish chick rock (KT Tunstall) to Dutch symphonic metal. Go figure. But if you have the chance, listen to 'Jillian' or 'See Who I Am' by Within Temptation. They're fantastic. I'm tempted to start delving into the rest of the semi-obscure-European-symphonic-metal world, but I'm not entirely sure where to go from here. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Actually, any non-black and non-doom metal would be greatly appreciated. Death metal is to be avoided if possible, due to certain difficulties on my part as opposed to dislike of the style itself (which I do, in fact, enjoy).

AND I got hold of both the full DeathNote series and the full Trinity Blood series. While I'm not an anime fan by any stretch of the imagination, I've been told these particular ones are most suited to my...peculiar...tastes. And besides, they were free. And now Bekah probably hates me. But hey, it's not my fault I know people. As to the identity of the people in question...well, a girl needs to have some secrets, right? ^.-

I also, maybe, if it works, get to play American McGee's Alice, which I've been trying to find for several years now. I'm just hoping that the CDs will, in fact, function. If so, then the only games left on my list to acquire in at least some form will be Grim Fandango and Gabriel Knight 1 (aka Sins of the Fathers).

Eight million points to me, for a non-emo entry!


Let us now praise stupid women/who have given us Literature.

Only a couple quick points.

Hung out with Michelle, and had good cake. Eight million points for good cake. And Michelle.

D&D went WAAAAY too long Saturday, but at least the encounter ended, and everybody seemed happy with what they got. I hope they're happy with what they got. They'd better be happy.

On a completely different note, the heat has still not been turned on in my room. My fingers still go numb, I still wear three layers of pajamas to bed while curled up under five pounds of blankets, and I still can't walk barefoot on my floor. This bites. If things don't get better by Wednesday, I'm going to start complaining like mad. Mostly because I'll be really mad.

I got a new book! Bekah bought me 'The Thirteenth Tale,' about which I am terribly excited (ha! no ending a sentence with a preposition! Go me!). It's received rave reviews, and looks quite fascinating. I've been meaning to buy it, but as it's a hardcover book, haven't had sufficient funds to render the acquisition possible. So the fact that I got it via Bekah is really thrilling. Yes, I know I'm a nerd for getting so excited about a book. Books are my passion and my life, pretty much. I'm sure you have an all-consuming passion, too--anime or Halo or football. Mine just happens to be books. So sue me.

Speaking of which (football, not suing), I got to watch the Superbowl with Amy, and I yelled myself hoarse. At one point, there was a group of Bears fans present, and they looked as if they wanted to beat me senseless, so I beat a hasty retreat and then continued to yell and scream at the TV. I get really into games, to the point where sometimes I forget that yelling indoors is rarely acceptable behaviour. But anyway, the point is, THE COLTS WON THE FLIPPING SUPERBOWL!!!! I'm absolutely elated, to the point where, at the end of the game, I grabbed Amy and hugged her and jumped up and down (while hugging her), yelling 'We won! We won!" (while jumping up and down and hugging her).

And I think that's it. 'Night.


And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees/When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas

That's a cool poem, by the way. Just so you know.

It's freezing cold in here, with the 'here' in question being my dorm room. They turned the heat off over break, and though they've turned it back on, it takes awhile to warm the place up. So until then, I'm sleeping in 3 layers of clothes under every blanket I own, and wearing gloves and sweaters. It's becoming a bit absurd, but I suppose the feeling will come back to my fingers eventually, right? Ha, that was a joke. *pause* Or not. Your choice, really.

I saw Charity for the first time since December, she's such a sweet girl, and a sincerely nice person--so it's not like I can be mean to her, even if I wanted to, which I don't. I mean, come on, she likes the same books I do, and even quotes from them. It doesn't get much better than that. Well, okay, so it probably does. But I'm not trying to be literal here, even though I generally prefer literal over symbolic, because let's face it, symbolism causes more problems than it's worth. Anything can be read into anything, and, after awhile, it becomes absolutely ridiculous. I'm an English major, I should know, I've read essays about it. For example, the stanza structure in John Keats' 'Ode to a Nightingale' reinforces the concept of debauching to numb the pain, because each stanza looks like a wine goblet. Yes, it's dumb, I'm fully aware of that. But whoever it was who wrote it, is apparently important enough to have it published in a scholarly journal somewhere.

But I digress. I mentioned Charity because she got me a beautiful--there's not really another applicable word for it--journal. It's got thick, good-quality paper with gilt edging, it's solidly-bound and has a tan leather cover imprinted with an Old-World map. I love it. It was all I could do to not 'squee' right there, but I managed it.

It's looking to be an...interesting semester. If you really want to know, drop me a line. Otherwise, it's interesting, and leave it at that.


Haply I remember/And haply may forget

I'm out in the real world again--if Taylor can possibly be considered the 'real world.' I was released earlier today. I'm not entirely sure that it's a good thing--granted, I'm not a fan of 'inpatient units,' as they're apparently called now, but I do realise that they serve a purpose. I guess I'm just not sure at this point if the purpose, in my case, is enough.

Let me rephrase: I'm better. Kind of. Enough to function, but not much more than that. Scary thing, is I was doing pretty well, too, the last few days: it's only literally since being back at Taylor that everything's come back. So maybe it's not entirely me. Maybe it's the place. I don't know anymore.

I don't want to come across as being emo (though you're probably already convinced that I'm the biggest emo-person [not sure what the appropriate phrase is for that] on the planet), so I'm not going to continue in this vein. So on to a more cheerful subject.

The Colts won yesterday. It was a good game, except for the first quarter. Nothing quite like an 18-point deficit (21-3) after the first ten minutes of play to make a person believe it's over and that, yet again, the Colts choked in the finals. But, as he is often wont to do, Manning brought the team back in the last few minutes of the fourth quarter, and won the game 38-34.

THE COLTS ARE GOING TO THE SUPERBOWL!!!!! This is terribly exciting. I'm thrilled. I even stayed up past my nuthouse bedtime (9:30. Yes, it's very, very early, I know. But they hand out the evening/bedtime meds at 9:00, and anyone who takes/has taken Ambien can tell you that staying up much past the actual consumption time is actually quite challenging, and it's not really worth fighting to stay awake. Hence, 9:30. Staying up until 10:30, which I accomplished last night, had me hallucinating and incoherent, which is NOT GOOD if you're in a bughouse hoping to get discharged the next day) to watch the whole game. Squee! Who knows? They might even win.

I think that would be nice.


More distant and more solemn/Than a fading star

So at the rate I'm improving, I'll be 'well enough' (operative word being 'enough') to be left by myself overnight sometime in March. Which is not entirely a good thing, mostly because I really don't like the idea of having to be around people incessantly for two months.
Physically recovering, though. I haven't had to use bandaids or anything of the sort for two days now; by next Sunday, the scabs will have healed over and the only traces remaining will be red marks. Sometimes I'm tempted to turn my arm into one big red mark. But that wouldn't go over terribly well.
I think, on Tuesday, I'm going to check myself into the Cornerstone facility. Again. I'm not tremendously keen on the idea, but there you have it. I'm not sure what's going on, or why, but...I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.
I hate, hate, hate feeling like this. Why won't it just go away?


She dances like a Bomb, abroad,/And swings upon the Hours

So I had a blazing row with my parents a few days after Christmas, in which they informed me that they didn't know who I was, and they didn't know if I knew who I was, and that they wanted to find out. So I told them. Not in detail (only 3 single-spaced pages), nor in an offensive way--well, okay. Fine. So it WAS offensive, but give me some credit--it could have been far worse. I toned it down as much as possible while still being honest. It was a sterling example of me being my too-honest, bitchy self that hesitates about making people cry. I just can't take it when people cry. Yelling, fine. Screaming, not a problem. Cold silence, sure. Crying? Not so much. Especially crying females. Crying males are far easier to deal with, and since I apparently have a habit of making guys cry, I'm becoming less awkward around it. But I don't think I'll ever(and hope I'll never) become comfortable around crying women.
Had a bad week. Terrible, actually. Monday night I pretty much flipped out, and I've been sleeping in Bekah's room ever since. I'm healing nicely, and the surgical adhesive tape (or whatever it's called) hasn't ripped off too much skin. I'm actually a bit afraid to sleep alone, still; even though it's been several days. I'm not actually any better; I'm just in better control of my emotions. Read: not an emotional wreck. So now I'm (somewhat) back to my glib self. I don't know how long it'll take this time, and I don't know how much more I can take. I don't want to think about it, either; it just makes things worse.
I've started reading a lot again, but it's not fun anymore. That scares me, because reading has always been the best thing in my life. But now...I'm reading to avoid thinking. It doesn't actually improve anything, or relax me, or do any of the other things it used to.
However, on a quasi-cheerful note, I got my glasses fixed! Kind of. Sort of. Not really, but mostly. They gave me temporary frames for my old lenses, because they didn't have the frames I used before in stock. So they popped my lenses into the frames with the closest fit (they don't fit perfectly, but they'll stay in place for now) and ordered the other set of frames, and will call me when they get in. But it's nice to be able to use them again; I never thought I'd say this, but I kind of missed wearing glasses. They're such a great way to emphasize things. Plus, I want to perfect my 'Evil Librarian Who Will Sacrifice You Upon A Bloodied Altar To A Nameless Heathen God If You Talk In The Library' look, which, as everyone knows, is impossible without glasses.