Hello, my name is 2, and I am dumb. Ask me how!
Yes, I mean that. I had...an adventure, let's say, with Bekah while in Muncie. It was interesting, and I think I managed to convey a sense of distress, despair, and mild yet ever-increasing panic.
Or maybe I just seemed so pathetic and/or freaky that the people wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible. Either one works, I suppose.
This isn't gonna be a long post; it's late and I'm tired and it's been a long day--and yes, the so-called adventure contributed significantly to the length of it. On the bright side, the post title is taken from a Calvin & Hobbes poem that I absolutely adore. And I bought a copy of 'The Westing Game' (my previous copy disappeared several years ago, and I've been looking for a replacement ever since). AND I bought a very, very cool looking book-thong (yes, book-thong). AND I bought Attack of the Bacon Robots. Which almost--but not quite--makes up for my dumbness.
16.11.06
15.11.06
I wait here at the boundaries of dream/All shadow-wrapped.
*insert ominous music here* Birthday's coming. >.< I'll tell you when it's over.
On another note, I think there's something going on with Austin that he isn't telling me; I'm starting to wonder just what the bloody eff it is, and why he's become so different. So distant. I miss my friend.
On another note, I think there's something going on with Austin that he isn't telling me; I'm starting to wonder just what the bloody eff it is, and why he's become so different. So distant. I miss my friend.
8.11.06
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time/I have been half in love with easeful Death
I've decided that I like Keats. Not sure why, because (imho, at least) he's the father of the emo movement. I had a presentation on his 'Ode to a Nightingale;' and I have to admit, when I first read the title all I could think was, 'damnit, I have to do a poem about a bird?!' But then I actually read the damn thing, and I really like it. It's very...I don't know. Accurate regarding my own perceptions. Keats is longing for this painless, easy fading away--like all his atoms and molecules softly dissipating into the air--but then he starts to realise that death isn't as wonderful as it sounds; that the total absence of everything is actually rather terrifying. So he decides to try to tough it out, and suck it up, and carry on, and insert trite phrase of your choice here. I wish I could say that I'm not gonna seek death for the same reason as Keats, but I can't, not if I want to be honest. I'm not going to do it because I'm afraid of failing. And I'm afraid for what it will do to several people in my life who mean so much to me; hurting them is one of the worst things I can imagine.
On another note, the Parnassus thing is going very well this year. There have been about five times as many submissions than last year, and they're generally better quality. Granted, some are just crap, but for the most part we can afford to be rather picky and selective, and it's a nice feeling to know that a journal I helped put together is going to have quality entries. The Poetry/Prose Reading thing went well, too, although nobody laughed at the parts of my story that I thought were funny. Well, no, I heard somebody chuckle when I mentioned drawing in the hymnals, but that was it. It was kind of depressing, but I figure that since very few people here share my sense of humour, odds were against anyone in the audience finding it funny or even mildly amusing.
Other than that, I haven't been doing to terribly well. I'm going to quit WoW, because I have better things to do with my time and money than sitting at my computer killing imaginary monsters and being killed by real people. It's been a long, tough, tiring month, and there have been so many times that I just wanted to sit down and scream, or run until I got sick, or punch someone or something. I actually cried a bit on Sunday night. I wanted to just break down and weep earlier this evening, too, but (fortunately) I've still got decent control over my lacrimal ducts (read: tears). There have been several things that I had been hoping for, or hoping to do, and now I'm starting to realise that they're probably not the best things for me. I'm like that sometimes, and I'm hoping to get better. I'd love to have better judgment and more common sense regarding myself, as well as more patience and a hell of a lot less bitterness.
I found out that people in high school were 'absolutely freaking terrified' of me (to quote a source), and they hated me. Which isn't all that surprising, really--I suspected it, but I didn't really know. I do now, though, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I'm not sure how I feel about my brother not wanting me to know what he thinks of me. I know he's disappointed in me, but that was obvious last Christmas when he started preaching at me.
I feel like such an incredible failure most of the time. Whether I actually am or not doesn't matter; reality doesn't really factor in. Maybe I have a skewed perspective of myself, but I think it's more likely that I'm just a lot better at faking life than I used to be. Not that that matters, either.
On another note, the Parnassus thing is going very well this year. There have been about five times as many submissions than last year, and they're generally better quality. Granted, some are just crap, but for the most part we can afford to be rather picky and selective, and it's a nice feeling to know that a journal I helped put together is going to have quality entries. The Poetry/Prose Reading thing went well, too, although nobody laughed at the parts of my story that I thought were funny. Well, no, I heard somebody chuckle when I mentioned drawing in the hymnals, but that was it. It was kind of depressing, but I figure that since very few people here share my sense of humour, odds were against anyone in the audience finding it funny or even mildly amusing.
Other than that, I haven't been doing to terribly well. I'm going to quit WoW, because I have better things to do with my time and money than sitting at my computer killing imaginary monsters and being killed by real people. It's been a long, tough, tiring month, and there have been so many times that I just wanted to sit down and scream, or run until I got sick, or punch someone or something. I actually cried a bit on Sunday night. I wanted to just break down and weep earlier this evening, too, but (fortunately) I've still got decent control over my lacrimal ducts (read: tears). There have been several things that I had been hoping for, or hoping to do, and now I'm starting to realise that they're probably not the best things for me. I'm like that sometimes, and I'm hoping to get better. I'd love to have better judgment and more common sense regarding myself, as well as more patience and a hell of a lot less bitterness.
I found out that people in high school were 'absolutely freaking terrified' of me (to quote a source), and they hated me. Which isn't all that surprising, really--I suspected it, but I didn't really know. I do now, though, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I'm not sure how I feel about my brother not wanting me to know what he thinks of me. I know he's disappointed in me, but that was obvious last Christmas when he started preaching at me.
I feel like such an incredible failure most of the time. Whether I actually am or not doesn't matter; reality doesn't really factor in. Maybe I have a skewed perspective of myself, but I think it's more likely that I'm just a lot better at faking life than I used to be. Not that that matters, either.
21.9.06
It is not the moon, I tell you/It is these flowers/lighting the yard
I tried to give blood today. It went well until my arm went numb. Then the blood stopped flowing and I started shaking really bad and couldn't move my hand. Apparently I (who never clot quickly) clotted up around the needle after half a pint. I felt bad, mostly, for consuming time and resources that could have been spent on someone with decent enough veins to actually give a full pint; as it was, they had to abort the procedure and throw the bag away. I felt awful, I'm actually still a bit twitchy (but I'm ignoring it). But, on the bright side, I got a free cookie. ^.^
I'm going to bed now. I'm tired and have to be at least semi-alert tomorrow for class, homework, class, and then rehearsal for the group interp. thingy. It figures, the first semester I'm at all willing to be social, and I don't have enough time to be so.
I'm going to bed now. I'm tired and have to be at least semi-alert tomorrow for class, homework, class, and then rehearsal for the group interp. thingy. It figures, the first semester I'm at all willing to be social, and I don't have enough time to be so.
17.9.06
The art of losing isn't hard to master/Though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
I'm a dork. And here's why.
I put up my heinous bruise picture as my Facebook photo. Apparently it's gotten several people all worked up; I think it's funny. Hence, dorkiness.
I've got hold of a copy of 'Torn' by Natalie Imbruglia. Yeah, from the nineties. I keep that and 'Spare Me the Details' by Offspring on repeat on my media player. Again, dorkiness.
I watched Emmitt Smith dance the Cha-cha live on national television on Tuesday; it was so much fun. He can actually dance, I got a huge kick out of it. The song--'Son of a Preacher Man'--didn't hurt. It was followed by Mario Lopez (better known as Slater from Saved by the Bell) also dancing the Cha-cha, but to 'Walkin' on the Sun.' He was even better than Smith; the whole thing thoroughly amused me.
Oh, and 'Walkin' on the Sun' is the third song on my playlist. >.<
I played World of Warcraft for the first time in forever last night, it was great. I got my hat (finally) and a whole bunch of other stuff, it made me very happy. I still need to go through that particular instance (Scholomance) at least twice more to finish a quest chain I'm currently following, but it's one I like, so it won't be much of a problem.
Peter Dull won the Imaginative Writing 'Worst Poem' contest; his entry is hysterical. I'm planning on getting a typed copy of it. It's one terrible analogy and metaphor after another.
On a non-dork note, I was told tonight that Aaron is thinking about coming up here in a couple of weeks. Keep in mind, the information is unreliable, but still. I didn't want to know. It's hard enough thinking about him; knowing that he might be coming (even though the key word at the moment is might) makes things eight million times worse. The whole thing is not cool.
On another not-dork note, the secretary through whom I am supposed to schedule a counseling appointment has been gone for the past week, and her sub (a student) is not permitted (by policy) to schedule appointments. So I still haven't gone to see anybody, and at the rate this is going (and it's swiftly snowballing to a ridiculous degree) I won't be able to. You'll most likely tell me, hey, just email the counselor in question to schedule, but I intend to switch--the last one was never at work and never emailed in advance to say she wasn't going to be there, and I got sick of showing up week after week for nothing--and for that I need to go through the secretary, for some stupid reason. So it's irritating.
And I'm not insanely dizzy anymore. I'm not great, I still see spots and the world is usually spinning, but it's not as spotty or as spinny (is that a word? I'm making it a word, at least for now) as it was earlier this week.
Apparently freshmen are already getting warned to stay away from me; I realise I'm not the greatest person in the world, but telling people horror stories--especially when I didn't do anything, intentionally or otherwise, to the teller in question--seems to be hitting below the belt. I know who it is, too, which in a way makes it worse, but at the same time, it makes it a bit easier to deal with--I can avoid them now, and do my best to not befoul their delicate sensibilities with my corrupting presence. Okay, so I'm bitter. But I'm trying to get better--at least about how I react to it. I'm going to do my best to not pick any fights this year, and to not try to get the other person to pick fights, either. A new year's resolution of sorts. Turning over a new leaf. Whatever you want to call it. Efforts thus far have been successful, but it's only three weeks into the year, there's still plenty of time for me to start something.
Speaking of efforts, I want to submit to Parnassus again this year, especially since not only has the contest been reinstated, but--and ths is the part I actually care about--submissions will be judged by outsiders and awarded prizes by such. Judith Kitchen, Sven Birkerts, and Paul Willis are the judges, and as they are all rather well-respected authors/poets/whatever/etc/amen, I would absolutely love to have them read something I wrote, even if I came in dead last.
But I'm tired and ought to go to bed, I've got homework to do tomorrow, lots of it; none of which I'm feeling exuberant about. Goodnight.
I put up my heinous bruise picture as my Facebook photo. Apparently it's gotten several people all worked up; I think it's funny. Hence, dorkiness.
I've got hold of a copy of 'Torn' by Natalie Imbruglia. Yeah, from the nineties. I keep that and 'Spare Me the Details' by Offspring on repeat on my media player. Again, dorkiness.
I watched Emmitt Smith dance the Cha-cha live on national television on Tuesday; it was so much fun. He can actually dance, I got a huge kick out of it. The song--'Son of a Preacher Man'--didn't hurt. It was followed by Mario Lopez (better known as Slater from Saved by the Bell) also dancing the Cha-cha, but to 'Walkin' on the Sun.' He was even better than Smith; the whole thing thoroughly amused me.
Oh, and 'Walkin' on the Sun' is the third song on my playlist. >.<
I played World of Warcraft for the first time in forever last night, it was great. I got my hat (finally) and a whole bunch of other stuff, it made me very happy. I still need to go through that particular instance (Scholomance) at least twice more to finish a quest chain I'm currently following, but it's one I like, so it won't be much of a problem.
Peter Dull won the Imaginative Writing 'Worst Poem' contest; his entry is hysterical. I'm planning on getting a typed copy of it. It's one terrible analogy and metaphor after another.
On a non-dork note, I was told tonight that Aaron is thinking about coming up here in a couple of weeks. Keep in mind, the information is unreliable, but still. I didn't want to know. It's hard enough thinking about him; knowing that he might be coming (even though the key word at the moment is might) makes things eight million times worse. The whole thing is not cool.
On another not-dork note, the secretary through whom I am supposed to schedule a counseling appointment has been gone for the past week, and her sub (a student) is not permitted (by policy) to schedule appointments. So I still haven't gone to see anybody, and at the rate this is going (and it's swiftly snowballing to a ridiculous degree) I won't be able to. You'll most likely tell me, hey, just email the counselor in question to schedule, but I intend to switch--the last one was never at work and never emailed in advance to say she wasn't going to be there, and I got sick of showing up week after week for nothing--and for that I need to go through the secretary, for some stupid reason. So it's irritating.
And I'm not insanely dizzy anymore. I'm not great, I still see spots and the world is usually spinning, but it's not as spotty or as spinny (is that a word? I'm making it a word, at least for now) as it was earlier this week.
Apparently freshmen are already getting warned to stay away from me; I realise I'm not the greatest person in the world, but telling people horror stories--especially when I didn't do anything, intentionally or otherwise, to the teller in question--seems to be hitting below the belt. I know who it is, too, which in a way makes it worse, but at the same time, it makes it a bit easier to deal with--I can avoid them now, and do my best to not befoul their delicate sensibilities with my corrupting presence. Okay, so I'm bitter. But I'm trying to get better--at least about how I react to it. I'm going to do my best to not pick any fights this year, and to not try to get the other person to pick fights, either. A new year's resolution of sorts. Turning over a new leaf. Whatever you want to call it. Efforts thus far have been successful, but it's only three weeks into the year, there's still plenty of time for me to start something.
Speaking of efforts, I want to submit to Parnassus again this year, especially since not only has the contest been reinstated, but--and ths is the part I actually care about--submissions will be judged by outsiders and awarded prizes by such. Judith Kitchen, Sven Birkerts, and Paul Willis are the judges, and as they are all rather well-respected authors/poets/whatever/etc/amen, I would absolutely love to have them read something I wrote, even if I came in dead last.
But I'm tired and ought to go to bed, I've got homework to do tomorrow, lots of it; none of which I'm feeling exuberant about. Goodnight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)