...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?