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11:14pm 28/03/2005
  You'll have to forgive me. I couldn't stand this username anymore. I've moved here:
(cosas que son. Look it up.)

(1 little pink plane |come fly with me)

If I were any more confused   
09:34pm 27/03/2005
mood: bored
Last night I thought about: under what circumstances am I better off lonely?
I came up with a few things, but I think that they were too specific.
Maybe all that means is that there are many circumstances in which it's better to be alone.
Maybe all that means is that I'm being too specific.
Because I'm too self centered.
And ghostly and gone missing.

(2 little pink planes |come fly with me)

so... there.   
12:37am 27/03/2005
mood: contemplative
Shannon and Emily are both in town so I accompanied them to take their dogs to the park and then Shannon and I ate vegan pizza and made stencils. Mostly I talked to her and watched a movie while she made hers-- I wasn't really in a stencil-making kind of mood. And the whole thing was extremely, predictably strange because even though I spent the day sleeping in and taking my sister to Goodwill and reading ahead in P&C, by 6.22 in the evening Saturday it was clear that this was going to be one of those weekends where I actually feel like I have friends.

Shannon and Emily are strange precisely because they're so normal, and being around them feels so normal I have to keep reminding myself that there are complete people under them, not just props. And yet-- they're not the kind of normal people I resent, like Allison. They're the kind who make me inexplicably comfortable, and give me an unfamiliar feeling that I never can resist the temptation to spend the evening turning over in my mind.

Aside from making me comfortable, though, they do give me a glimpse of how detached I must be-- because every once in a while I see how they see people I know, and I realize that I don't see people at all in an ordinary way. Sometimes I see what people must think of them, but not always-- sometimes the consensus of the fully alive is something I would never have expected. I look at people differently, or more completely, or less. Something.

Shannon wants me to come to Europe with her this summer, and I pretty much only have to pay for my plane ticket. Then I remembered why I don't visit her at college because she asked if I was allowed to drink while we're there. And as much as I'd love for my mother to say no, and make it clear, it would still be awkward. Besides-- she might say yes to hotel bars or that kind of thing. She keeps trying to convince me to drink at home just so that I know what it will be like, because she's sure that I'll go out into the world and this not drinking won't last forever and I'll be unprepared. But I don't drink. I don't know how to make it any clearer than that.

(come fly with me)

04:18pm 25/03/2005
  Maya is over, reading Self-Reliance. Every once in a while she looks up and reads a passage and I tell her how I don't really like transcendentalism because I'm an objectivist. And how existentialism may be an interesting life philosophy, but it's a stupid educational one for much the same reason. For a self-absorbed teenager and pseudo-artist, I'm actually not much of a philosophical romantic and I don't have a huge interest in "personal meaning". It just looks so pale and, well, meaningless next to universal ones. If you don't believe in truth, what's the point of believing in anything? Because you don't-- not really.  

(4 little pink planes |come fly with me)

nothing is going on yet   
02:24pm 24/03/2005
mood: bouncy
Last night was the first time in a long time that I had a nightmare, and really it was a very beautiful one. It's wasn't the kind where you wake up screaming and sweating (to be honest this has never happened to me)-- but it was the kind where feelings are appropriate to the images and all of the images after a while got to be the low ache dread and terror kind.

So, I had to write about it before I could take a shower or get dressed or call Maya about lunch the way I was supposed to. And I didn't even wake up until 12.30. It was a very dense dream. So now I think she's out entertaining her visiting cousins so I will wait.

I've been thinking about writing things that actually mean something but lately I don't feel like I have anything meaningful to say. The two people I wrote about the most fluently are gone. I don't want to write about them and I don't want to know whether I still could. Most of my emotions about them have been beaten out of me, or drained, or dried. And although I typically have a big, fuzzy, adorable crush on someone, not only do I mostly not care what happens-- it's not as absorbingly poetic a thing.

So I guess I was right. I won't find someone to feel as poetic and joyous and sad about again, and the fact that I ever liked even a single other person after that proves nothing because it's not the same feeling; it's barely even the same species. This is depressing at the same time that it makes me feel clean and safe. And guilty for writing so transparently about how I don't feel about someone, even though he (yes, I like a boy this time) doesn't care. It just doesn't seem right.

(1 little pink plane |come fly with me)

lately I've felt especially resentful.   
11:06pm 21/03/2005
mood: i use this face for everything
And I can't really figure out why. Maybe I'm just more stressed out than usual-- normally I don't dislike people when I can't figure out exactly why I dislike them-- lately I've been accepting the opinions of others as an excuse to dust my dislike off out of storage even if neither of us can tell why this should be. I just think that I must not be crazy, then. I shouldn't have so much of my self-esteem invested in who feels what, who gets to hear what.

Everything that made me laugh tonight made me correct and think that maybe I should get some friends.

Then I thought about making someone a tape. And got the lame idea of saving it until it's too late to be awkward. As though my life isn't already made purely of awkward already-- how could it get worse? How could it possibly be more uncomfortable and socially brain-dead, any of it?

I need to dye my hair. I cut it much too short in one part and my brown hair is visible sticking out. It reminds me of Andy's random patch of white hair on the back of his head. Once he said it was the spot where all his hatred for Daniel (his little brother) is released.

(3 little pink planes |come fly with me)

04:12pm 21/03/2005
mood: bitchy
I really, really hate when members of my family try to talk to me right after I get home from school. I always want to read and they always try to talk to me anyway and get offended when I get annoyed and try to go back to what I was doing.

I've been accused yet again of acting like a 13-year-old girl. This time, though, I'm not going to take the accusation seriously because there was no example attached. When Ron told me the same thing we both knew exactly what he was talking about.

Every time I have to work, I don't want to go back a little more.

(2 little pink planes |come fly with me)

reading headings   
09:24pm 20/03/2005
mood: annoyed face not really
I called in this morning and explained that I'm not sick, but because I had something to do for school my parents literally wouldn't allow me to work. This was true:
The other day my mom called me downstairs and said
That she'd been thinking about it and
She didn't want me having to choose between school and work even if the activity wasn't required
And to call and tell them that it was required so they'd leave me alone
Or, if I was uncomfortable with that,
To tell them that my parents required me to go, which is what I did.

So, imagine my surprise when I woke up early enough to call in plenty of notice
And Holly on the phone said,
"Okay, but you know that's going to be unexcused, right?"

Excuse me.
I am unfamiliar with the system under which I can,
being a minor whose parents can legitimately require that I not go in,
and in high school and with more important things to do than sell people credit cards with their condoms,
and being responsible enough to wake up early to call in,
and to try and get a replacement for half,
still be considered somehow "unexcused".
I didn't argue, though. I really need to quit.

Also also also
I am either developing a nervous twitch
Or a habit of forgetting to eat until I start shaking getting lightheaded.
Possibly both.

(come fly with me)

hilarity ensues   
12:55am 20/03/2005
mood: amused
When Maya played with her eyelids across the table from me and squished them together I told her that it looked pornographic but she didn't get it. I told her to do it with just one eye in the mirror and then compare it to other anatomy parts... Possibly something else that she could only see with a mirror. Honestly. It looked really dirty. So I wrote this haiku while she put her contact back in:

When I told Maya
She has pornographic eyes
She had sex with them

Later she put her arms in both of her sleeves to make a kind of arm tube. When she said she was stuck I wrote this:

Maya's shirt is like
A Japanese finger trap
I get stuck in it

I told her that I should change the shirt part so it would actually be dirty, instead of just weird, and she thought about it for a minute and said, "Oh. But that has too many syllables."

And she is now officially my favorite person ever.

(come fly with me)

another ambiguous "you"-- why do you do this to me?   
07:33pm 19/03/2005
mood: bored
So. To You. I think (and I've expressed this suspicion) that you are either tormenting me or extremely oblivious, unless you actually would rather kiss me than eat broken glass [unlikely].

In the meanwhile, eventualities such as evening are becoming manifest and you are not here. This has never happened before. This happens every day. My favorite is the pretense of rivalry-- if you were actually suspicious of me, I would be flattered.

(come fly with me)

The somethings in the woods   
02:08pm 18/03/2005
mood: red seeds
Today I wrote this:

Chewing bright red seeds
Fruit or flower seeds, fibers
A strawberry, whole

That was the last haiku I wrote today. Chewing red seeds.

(2 little pink planes |come fly with me)

life tickles   
03:52pm 17/03/2005
mood: bored
My mom sent me a reply to her form email apology about missing conferences that she sent to all of my teachers except Bedore. She said that I was enjoying all of the classes immensely, and Minarik said she was glad. It was cute.

When I was little, on St. Patrick's day my dad would tell me to tell anyone who asked (maybe I wasn't wearing green, and that was why they would ask) that I am already half Irish, and that is the good half. Personally, I feel pretty ambiguous all over. Even though Priya says that all of my ancestors are at war with each other and that's why I'm so messed up. She claimed that my half-Irishness was unlikely because I lack things such as red hair and green eyes. I told her that if she knew anything at all she'd realize that that's a really stupid thing to say and not have said it in the first place. Also that the real give-away is my pasty translucence.

(1 little pink plane |come fly with me)

everyone i want to be is dead.   
10:27pm 15/03/2005
mood: frustrated
It's true-- I still have no idea who I'm going to be for the WWI role play and everyone even remotely connected to the people Bedore suggested was dead by the beginning of the war. We'll see if I ever take his advice again. Even the people who were still alive had mostly disappointing work or were near the end of their careers by the end of the war. It seems like most of the strangely interesting people to be at the tea are at the beginning of their careers, while they're still getting all the ideas that make them do the stuff they'll be famous for later. I could pull an all-nighter just looking for an acceptable person.

So Minarik referred to a set of two connected paintings for an altar as a "dip-titch" today and I'm still a little shocked that I didn't explode with mirth or wrath or some combination of the two. The book we use has to be the worst art history book ever written-- the author keeps sampling just the wings of triptychs, and he doesn't always even say what triptych they're from.

Also I cut my own hair last night because I was in a good mood. At first I tried to be really methodical about it, pinning it out of the way and using a comb, but after about three minutes of that shit I started to get impatient and fatalistic (but still really happy), so I literally just leaned over to one side and started cutting all the hair that still looked long. I pretty much just grabbed pieces of the back and hacked at it with sewing scissors. The fun part was picking up handfulls of my former hair at the end. So I figured I'd better actually make an effort to look like a girl today, then got to school and remembered that part of my stupid U.S. grade depended on dressing up as Tojo.

(come fly with me)

i guess that i have nothing else better to do.   
08:09pm 14/03/2005
mood: exhausted
I thought I worked tonight, but it's actually Wednesday. So, since I wasn't planning on being able to get anything done anyway, I guess this seems like as good a night as any to catch up on some sleep.

But, before I depart for an inevitably disappointing dream, I should point out that you make me happy almost without reservation because I don't want anything from you. Everything, I find, is seventeen-liking pink-really nervous-wonderful. So, thanks, for that. I'm adding the extra commas in because you remind me of someone.

(come fly with me)

being away from my home and my room   
10:33pm 13/03/2005
mood: back hurts
Ever since Maya came over and I let her read my letter of rec. from Mr. Bedore it's been on the part of my desk that wraps around my bed and pretends to be a nightstand. Every once in a while I read it again; the time I read it today before going to work may have been the first reading through which I kept admirable composure. Nice things should not be said about me where I can hear. Or read.

So I am really really thinking about getting a different job. Really really really really. But I guess I should try to move to a different department first-- so much less effort that it has to be worth a try. I've actually never quit a job before.

My story about S.D. progressed slightly. Only it's on my computer and I want it in my notebook.

Colorful swimming comic-book fish. And an... And an...

Hey, you! All my love. And good-night.

(come fly with me)

I heart Hieronymus Bosch   
12:38am 13/03/2005
  Image hosted by Photobucket.comImage hosted by Photobucket.com

The last of this series of the Last Judgment, Ascent into Celestial Paradise, may be my favorite piece ever painted. When I was looking for a good example of it I found a picture in which someone had cropped away the painting to keep just the circular light of the oneness of God. That and digital art "tributes" to what people who apparently can work neither an art history book nor a mouse think of as his style or message literally make me so angry I almost don't know what to do.

Kind of like when insanely ignorant people make fun of the shirt scene in The Great Gatsby. Only way, way, way more.

Edit: wait, the second-to-last. Whatever idiot compiled these apparently doesn't know the right order of the Last Judgment. Damn. The last one is Terrestrial Paradise.

(come fly with me)

most blues are subtitled either "no sense of wonder" or "no sense of scale"   
04:54pm 12/03/2005
mood: calm
Someone called and agreed to take the second half of my shift so it looks like I'll be able to go to the tea without calling out. That doesn't mean I'm not still looking to get rid of the first half, too, though.

Whenever people from DUUC ask me why I don't go to church anymore, I say it's because I always work Sundays. Which is a pretty good reason not to go, only I quit going before I ever got this job. I don't actually know what happened, either. I just never want to go back. And, even though I'm still not a particularly good person, I'm just a lot stricter with myself than some of the people at my old youth group.

Unitarian kids are pretty much broken up like this-- people who have infinitely better morals than most of the traditional Christian kids I know; and kids who, if they weren't Unitarian, would probably be atheist or something because they scorn Christianity and think it's "shocking" to someone. And I always just kind of went and felt like I needed to be there but never actually got anything I needed. So now here I am, worshiping at Target every Sunday instead.

I never actually wanted to start going in the first place. My mom missed it, and got me to go with her. I like this, though-- being extra-super godless, I guess, instead of just kind of possibly godless the way I was when I attended Unitarian youth group.

Also I've decided that the existence of god is both unknowable and immaterial.

Sometimes it's hard to imagine that I'll grow. Even though I guess I must, at some point. Maybe I am right now.

(come fly with me)

...everything is drying up.   
12:06am 12/03/2005
mood: weird
My mother told me to go to work and tell them that not only is the tea a school requirement, she's requiring that I go and won't allow me to work that day.

So I did, but since the schedule's done and I still have a while before the 20th, Carmine still said I had to put a note up seeing if anyone will switch with me. I guess it's immature to want them to just actually listen and fix my fucking problem. At least I got my check. The longer this job goes on, the more I get that feeling that somehow I've gone from being really good and reliable to generally disappointing and in need of improvement or more commitment or something. This is as vaguely unsettling at work as it is at school; knowing that should I need to call out that day I have an excellent excuse doesn't help. A change in how often managers go over my speed with me means that almost every time I work someone goes over with me the fact that I haven't sold anyone a credit card in months. I need a transfer.

The whole point was to already have a job when summer starts, but maybe I'd be better off trying to find another, or at least transfer to sales floor. I never dreamed I could resent Target so much. The main perk now is that I still work with way fewer of the criminally insane than at my last jobs. Shannon told me stories about Julie at Brickhouse that are still burned on my brain. And the behavior of all the guys in the kitchen indicated some mixture of crush, joke, and drugs.

The good news is I can sew. The bad news is it's too small and it's hard to enlarge patterns.

(come fly with me)

10:26pm 09/03/2005
mood: wrathful
Lately I feel extremely stubborn and obnoxious and seventeen, or maybe fourteen. It used to be that my own weird driving would make me patient when stuck behind someone who could turn faster walking because I would remember that maybe they were just trying to drive with tea, as I sometimes do. Now I just swear like a regular person.

And. I don't like everybody and I'm not 110% civil to everybody. And I don't like it. I don't like how it feels.

My AP Euro WWI role play is ruined. Our class decided to get together on a Tuesday or something and I was relieved because I always work Sundays. Now Justus' parents, who are hosting, would prefer a Sunday after all and somehow he couldn't find any way to figure that out and tell us until today. If it was even a couple of days earlier, I could have asked for that day off, but now the schedule is made or will be by the time I can even find someone to ask about that. So I get to spend two weeks begging someone to take my stupid shift and/or not go and the whole project will be pointless and un-fun. What is hard to understand about setting a date well in advance when 18 people have to come? At least it's better for Laura this way. I think if we'd done the other day there was no way she could come, and I at least have a tiny, annoying glimmer of hope.

Also my "stained glass" window got completely ruined due to a variety of factors-- not actually in one ruthless sabotage by freshman, as I told Mrs. Minarik. I guess I feel pretty bad about lying. Except that not only am I good at lying, I was already upset about other stuff so she thought I was really broken up about it and took pity on me. Little, normal things like that always make me like someone 10x more instantly even if I've always found them idiotic (which I do).

(2 little pink planes |come fly with me)

only good combined with other stuff   
10:14pm 08/03/2005
mood: not exploded (wish I was)
I hate being complimented when people ask me for things. It absolutely never fails to make me cringe.

I am thinking about being vague and/or a little sick inside and doing things that are good for other people and about things that are good for myself. And all this ever does, all it ever even pretends to do, is turn me inverted and pale about right and wrong, practicality and morality, the places where things that seem good converge in wrong angles-- the kind you couldn't build a house out of. And then I wonder what I will live in.

All of the things on my mind are practical worries and confusions that I don't want to think about and I certainly don't want to talk about. I want to be done with all of the things that were supposed to be done a long time ago. I want never to have had to do them in the first place.

(4 little pink planes |come fly with me)