Tuesday, January 30, 2001

Aaahhh, Mazzy. Mazzy, Mazzy, what without you would I do?

Today I have sworn off not only studying at Bernie's (which actually happened a couple weeks ago) but now also actually eating anything from there. Because blueberry bagels are not supposed to taste like garlic, but from Bernie's they do so with startling consistency. And there was a drunk bum who was more hostile than most. He pranced (well, okay, staggered) and lectured (ranted) in the dark hallway between the passage out and the counter where you order, in front of me and another lady who had the luck of having a newspaper to shield herself from eye contact with. He was smoking a cigarette that smelled worse than most cigarettes and swinging a beer bottle around. He was wearing a cable sweater and a leather skullcap thing, with an orange earplug sticking out of one ear.

I'm running everywhere into poetry: blogs, classes, roommates wandering into my bedroom and spontaneously reciting... I'm generally not down with poetry, but I'm getting better with it.

Flushing our toilet has become synonymous with tempting fate. That's probably bad. Sounds now like my roomie is splashing in it, which I'd rather not think about. I'm probably a bad roomie.

in the forest of stone underneath the corporate canopy...

I never liked that much.

it's 6:34am and I am awake. been this way since 5:22. I'm the kind of awake that feels like I will never remember what being tired or hell even asleep will feel like again. I am sad and estranged and a little confused, hurt, and somewhere behind my eyes am probably sleepy. I will be sleepy by the time class starts, absolutely.


my mood had gone up. yesterday i had been happy-ish.

what to do? ... guitar could use some attention.

Saturday, January 27, 2001

Life's rather dulled right now. Go ahead, try to purge yourself. Try to part with the things, things, things, that are always bogging you down. You end up wearing your t-shirt jersey from tee-ball, reorganizing your kickass trunk, labeling boxes containing years better, and listening to the only decent cds you bothered to leave at your own damn apartment because they're duplicates. You clean out your medicine box, and melt everything that's expired with hot water and it slips down the drain leaving the bathroom reeking of zinc and that minty stuff they coat Orudis KT with. Are you ever going to wear those pants again? Maybe... you spent money on them... it was your money, that if you'd saved, you'd now be able to buy groceries with. What if there's another Depression, like the one you've been reading about all week for history, and you've given all your pants away? Put those journals away, you don't need to see how silly and stupid you were. They take up space, but you keep them anyway. You put them in the trunk.

The blue lights were on all night. You haven't turned them off yet.

Friday, January 26, 2001

i am stupid.


i am crying.

i'm tired of this. i feel bad. i'm sure it's not as bad as lots of people have felt, but it feels bad to me. i have less money than i could; a lot more than lots of people have had and do have, but it feels like little to me. he says i'm smart. but i'm not a genius. i have no major talent. i probably land somewhere in the upper-middle class of smartness. (a generous estimate, indeed.) he says i'm nice. i'm not mother teresa, or any other famous nice people. i'm mean, but not as mean as lots of people. (apparently can't even fathom the depths of meanness that he has - oh, but someday perhaps we will see what words cling to the bottom of the niceness filter in my throat.) i'm pretty, but she's a knockout, holy shit, a brick shithouse, stunning, just plain fucking beautiful. i'm pretty. i've "a way" some people say, "with words," but it's nothing new, it's nothing different. when words are to you like blood is to most people, you'd better have a way with them. nothing great though. not as good as many that i've read. i'm good, i'm responsible, i can make people laugh occasionally. i work hard in school. i study many things, i understand kind of quickly. i can paint well. i'm meticulous. diligent. but not nearly as good as some people. i try hard. i'm honest. but not great. never great. i never actually expect to be the best at anything. there's a glimmer, sure, toward the end of whatever. but it never matches the result. i'm good at things. but i'm never great. and i used to enjoy it, life, but now i just really don't.

so why am i still alive?


Tuesday, January 23, 2001

hahaha... hehehehe... alf.
I just ate a series of disgusting things, made more disgusting by the fact that they were in a series with one another. "Chicken" ramen and store-bought M&M cookie dough. Why did I do that? Because if I don't eat, then I will die. And I can't die until my room is clean, at least.

There are so many contingencies at the moment, which is frustrating, but it could easily be worse, but it's not, so I'm going to concentrate on that positive fact.

Thursday, January 18, 2001

And oh yeah! I can drive!
Umm, is it bad when you come across a 14 year old's blog that is laid out better, wittier, and all-around more interesting than your own?


Well... I know what postmodernism is! So ha!

Poststructuralism, too!

So I got this big idea today... why not actually view my webpage and see if it's actually been posting and just telling me that it didn't? Bingo! Hello, world. I feel like I was seen undressing in front of a window or something, and just now realized it. How strange.

I handed in a History paper today, 4 days early. It wasn't the most quality piece of writing I've ever produced, but I didn't drop it in a puddle on the way to class, and that, in my opinion, is about all I'm willing to let the professor ask for. I felt like an ADHD kid who'd forgotten to take his Ritalin today in class. I wanted to jump up, yell, "Whaaaaaaaa!!!!" and go screaming and waving my arms out of the lecture hall. I've had about all I can take of Herbert Hoover. By the way, did you know that Henry Ford was a pretty evil guy? We watched a video about him last time and I was saddened, my illlusion of this great ingenious mental and social giant having been dashed. Apparently he gave his son a million dollars in gold on his 21st birthday (this is circa 1925, mind you) while people who had originally been drawn to Detroit and Ford for the $5 wage (per day, I think) were now slaving away under really bad working conditions for about half that. Good Christ. He was also an antisemite.

The purpose of an education: to make you hate everything.

Wednesday, January 17, 2001

Hmm... I wonder if Blogger will let me post today.

That's all that I really have to say.

Monday, January 15, 2001

Word. It's been a long time since I posted. Sorry about that. I wrote a really long post about lots of random stuff that I can't even remember now, but I remember having liked it, and Blogger ate it so I've been bitter.

I just finished my paper about an obscure 19th century publisher (obscure, perhaps, only in the 21st century... but still). So I'm feeling like I've accomplished something, and ignoring the rest of the work I should get done before class tomorrow. And if anyone actually asks a question about Rufus Griswold (Ed. Poe's literary executor), I doubt I'll be able to hazard an answer. Oh well.

I got an HTML book for Christmas. And someday, after I graduate, I'll probably be able to look at it. Until then, I apologize again for my shoddy appearance.