Wanna know what’s really depressing to me? Looking up information on migraines and seeing post after post in forums of people talking about daily “headpain”, going as far back as 7 (when it started for me), and being now in their late 50s.
Really? Is this what I have to look forward to? Daily headaches for some 30+ more years? I really don’t see the point in anything, then, if I know everything that happens to me is going to be accompanied by a headache. One woman said “many times I say I would like to be able to live 20 years before I die without headpain” and, sometimes, I truthfully feel it would be better to die than live another 30+ years with my “silly little headpain” that no one can physically see.
It just hurts, so much.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
This is getting ridiculous
This is getting ridiculous. Migraine after migraine after headache after migraine and I don’t know what to do. I’m at my wits end. It’s driving me crazy!
I have identified two constants in my life:
1- The most dreaded part of mostly any given day is when I have to try to mumble out a coherent email to a professor, explaining, yet again, why I won’t be in class.
2- The most depressing thing in the world seems to be waking up these days.
As for point one, it never gets any easier. I always feel so damned stupid. So…idiotic. In my mind, I see the prof reading it and thinking “Again?! Fucking stupid little girl. What a waste of my highly intelligent time. She’s wasting my time. Why even bother going to school if you’re going to cop-out because of one silly little headache?”
I hate it. I hate having to draw up these emails, having to excuse myself for shit I can’t control. And it’s not like I can get doctor’s notes for migraines, so I always fear that the prof feels like I’m just making up excuses and am lying. Which is so damned far from the truth.
I appreciate when profs respond by saying that they have had a migraine too, so they “know how you feel.” But, I know it sounds childish, but if you have not had the constant pounding pain, knife digging into your skull and making your eye hurt to blink, dizzying, the sun seems to have taken up residence in whatever room you walk into, the busses seem to have decided to make extra noise today and have rallied all traffic to help, nausea inducing pleasure of having migraines almost every day for 3 weeks, then you can not sympathize like you’re trying to do. Sorry Prof.
As for point two, it’s true. I know from other migraine sufferers (and from personal experience) that, once the migraine goes away, there’s this intense sense of euphoria that follows! I remember being in grade two, and being up at 4am, having awoken from a migraine-induced sleep that I fell into at, like, 4pm. The pain was gone. The lights were out. I was a million-times hungry because I clearly didn’t eat supper, probably skipped lunch too, and knowing me in grade 2, spent the day throwing up. No one was awake, it was just me. I remember tip-toeing downstairs and out the door, drinking juice, sitting at the edge of the driveway, watching the lightning pass by from the storm that had most likely caused the migraine earlier in the day. Mom used to come out and find me there, tsk’ing me, telling me to go inside and watch tv if I had to, “just get inside.”
It used to be, some 5 years ago, that if I had a migraine, I knew, knew, that after I went to sleep (to sleep it off), when I woke up, it would be gone! Gone gone gone!!
But now, I go to sleep thinking “And, when I wake up, it’s going to be GONE!” then I wake up, and it’s still there. That is the most depressing thing in the world for me these days, and I can’t handle anymore of it.
I have had either multiple headaches/migraines, or else one long migraine, for almost 3 weeks straight now.
I actually broke down and cried in front of my dad when he was down because it’s just so frustrating.
When I saw our family doctor, she asked how many Advil I take a week. I told her I was taking Advil pretty much every other day. She told me that I should keep doing that. That it was a good idea. She clearly knows nothing and needs to go back to med school because, and I quote from TheMigraineTrust.org,
Ya, nice “medical advice” Dr. Higgins.
She then gave me Maxalt, a strong triptan drug that’s supposed to help with cluster and migraine headaches. I only take it if I’m not nauseous, and if I really really have to.
When I went to the Naturopath, I told her this, and that the main reason I went to see her was because I’m not comfortable with filling my body with chemicals. So I’ve been taking magnesium at night and have cut out milk. It all seemed to be working over the summer, but now…now they’re back.
This is just…just getting ridiculous. Just really ridiculous.
They’re affecting my school work, now. I can’t make it through an entire week of classes. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.
I joined a Migraine group on Facebook, they have a list of commonalities between migraine sufferers. I personally associate myself with the following:
It’s true, though. Some days, while in my bed with my arm draped over my eyes in a vain attempt to keep the light out, I can rationalize the cutting off of my own head. Or the simple act of overdosing on Advil. It happens more often than I care to admit.
My migraines, to put it simply, are ruining my life, and no one, not even us sufferers, can offer any way to help. I can’t sleep the entire week! That’s just not an option! Even though, according to “specialists,” that’s the “best” way to get rid of them. “Specialists,” pah! If you were really a specialist, you’d be able to help me!
I saw on the news that it’s been discovered that women who suffer from migraines have a something% less chance of getting breast cancer (because of the estrogen in migraine drugs or something,) which is great. Yay, hurrah. So, you fancy shmancy scientists and “specialists” spent aaaallll that time and aaaallll that money to tell us ladies that we might not get cancer, as our heads throb and pound and we miss work and school because we’re too busy with our “little headaches” and our “tiny bit of nausea” to walk properly, speak, read anything, watch the news that you’re on, or live a proper life?
Ridiculous.
I don’t know what to do anymore.
And I’m terrified that I’ll be suffering from migraines when the family goes to California to visit Alexandra at Christmas. That I’ll be in such astronomical pain that I wont be able to enjoy, or even fully register, the one day that we’re going to Disneyland.
This is just ridiculous.
I have identified two constants in my life:
1- The most dreaded part of mostly any given day is when I have to try to mumble out a coherent email to a professor, explaining, yet again, why I won’t be in class.
2- The most depressing thing in the world seems to be waking up these days.
As for point one, it never gets any easier. I always feel so damned stupid. So…idiotic. In my mind, I see the prof reading it and thinking “Again?! Fucking stupid little girl. What a waste of my highly intelligent time. She’s wasting my time. Why even bother going to school if you’re going to cop-out because of one silly little headache?”
I hate it. I hate having to draw up these emails, having to excuse myself for shit I can’t control. And it’s not like I can get doctor’s notes for migraines, so I always fear that the prof feels like I’m just making up excuses and am lying. Which is so damned far from the truth.
I appreciate when profs respond by saying that they have had a migraine too, so they “know how you feel.” But, I know it sounds childish, but if you have not had the constant pounding pain, knife digging into your skull and making your eye hurt to blink, dizzying, the sun seems to have taken up residence in whatever room you walk into, the busses seem to have decided to make extra noise today and have rallied all traffic to help, nausea inducing pleasure of having migraines almost every day for 3 weeks, then you can not sympathize like you’re trying to do. Sorry Prof.
As for point two, it’s true. I know from other migraine sufferers (and from personal experience) that, once the migraine goes away, there’s this intense sense of euphoria that follows! I remember being in grade two, and being up at 4am, having awoken from a migraine-induced sleep that I fell into at, like, 4pm. The pain was gone. The lights were out. I was a million-times hungry because I clearly didn’t eat supper, probably skipped lunch too, and knowing me in grade 2, spent the day throwing up. No one was awake, it was just me. I remember tip-toeing downstairs and out the door, drinking juice, sitting at the edge of the driveway, watching the lightning pass by from the storm that had most likely caused the migraine earlier in the day. Mom used to come out and find me there, tsk’ing me, telling me to go inside and watch tv if I had to, “just get inside.”
It used to be, some 5 years ago, that if I had a migraine, I knew, knew, that after I went to sleep (to sleep it off), when I woke up, it would be gone! Gone gone gone!!
But now, I go to sleep thinking “And, when I wake up, it’s going to be GONE!” then I wake up, and it’s still there. That is the most depressing thing in the world for me these days, and I can’t handle anymore of it.
I have had either multiple headaches/migraines, or else one long migraine, for almost 3 weeks straight now.
I actually broke down and cried in front of my dad when he was down because it’s just so frustrating.
When I saw our family doctor, she asked how many Advil I take a week. I told her I was taking Advil pretty much every other day. She told me that I should keep doing that. That it was a good idea. She clearly knows nothing and needs to go back to med school because, and I quote from TheMigraineTrust.org,
There is a condition called 'medication overuse headache', that has been linked with over-using pain killers…Some patients with medication overuse have daily headache, when it is called Chronic Daily Headache, meaning headache on at least fifteen days in any one month. The term means only that the headache is frequent; it can have many causes other than medication overuse…Therefore, rather than managing migraine, regular use of these drugs on more than three days a week can actually make the headaches worse. It is important to avoid over-using medication. You should get medical advice if you are using painkillers on more than three days a week.
Ya, nice “medical advice” Dr. Higgins.
She then gave me Maxalt, a strong triptan drug that’s supposed to help with cluster and migraine headaches. I only take it if I’m not nauseous, and if I really really have to.
When I went to the Naturopath, I told her this, and that the main reason I went to see her was because I’m not comfortable with filling my body with chemicals. So I’ve been taking magnesium at night and have cut out milk. It all seemed to be working over the summer, but now…now they’re back.
This is just…just getting ridiculous. Just really ridiculous.
They’re affecting my school work, now. I can’t make it through an entire week of classes. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.
I joined a Migraine group on Facebook, they have a list of commonalities between migraine sufferers. I personally associate myself with the following:
1- You always seem to get a migraine when you’ve planned a really good day/night out whether it be a friends birthday, a meal, day out to a theme park or even your own birthday!
2- A school trip has been completely ruined and then too top it off you end up throwing up on the coach home. (Grade 11 World Religions field trip, I didn’t throw up though. I almost did, when we went to visit the Mosque. I spent the entire hour there plotting where I would run if I needed to get sick.)
3- When you get a migraine at work there’s always one smart ass that says “ Oh it’s ONLY a headache it can’t be that bad!” (It happen(s/ed) at school, repeatedly. Or else I get the “Oh, another little headache? Gosh! *rolls eyes*” look from people. Hence why I don’t like talking about them anymore.)
4- You can’t bare anyone talking to you and usually end up snapping at anyone who dares even if they are our lovely loved ones.
5- You run a hot bath as it seems to make it feel better but it lasts like 5 minutes as you end up getting too hot and bothered. (Shower.)
6- You have to have a shower with a candle as a light as the normal bathroom light seems like the sun has set up home in the bathroom ceiling! (I used to use the nightlight at home, here in London, I just cope with the lights off.)
7- When all you want to do is sleep but your in so much pain and usually having those little yellow dots dancing around in front of your eyes that you just can’t nod off.
8- If you can’t get to sleep you can’t even watch T.V.
9- When every tiny sound is magnified by like 110%.
10- When you have to travel home from work, school, uni etc and it feels like you’ve just had to go through an epic journey across the world! (So many times! Bus rides are horrid ordeals with a migraine.)
11- You’ve taken more than the normal dosage of painkillers in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of the pain.
12- You get one eye that seems really sleepy and the other eye that’s wide awake?
13- Your worried that when the time comes your migraines might actually ruin your wedding day.
14- You’ve banged your head against the headboard as that pain takes your mind off the astronomical pain you’re already in.
15- You’ve claimed you would rather be dead than suffer with the pain anymore.
It’s true, though. Some days, while in my bed with my arm draped over my eyes in a vain attempt to keep the light out, I can rationalize the cutting off of my own head. Or the simple act of overdosing on Advil. It happens more often than I care to admit.
My migraines, to put it simply, are ruining my life, and no one, not even us sufferers, can offer any way to help. I can’t sleep the entire week! That’s just not an option! Even though, according to “specialists,” that’s the “best” way to get rid of them. “Specialists,” pah! If you were really a specialist, you’d be able to help me!
I saw on the news that it’s been discovered that women who suffer from migraines have a something% less chance of getting breast cancer (because of the estrogen in migraine drugs or something,) which is great. Yay, hurrah. So, you fancy shmancy scientists and “specialists” spent aaaallll that time and aaaallll that money to tell us ladies that we might not get cancer, as our heads throb and pound and we miss work and school because we’re too busy with our “little headaches” and our “tiny bit of nausea” to walk properly, speak, read anything, watch the news that you’re on, or live a proper life?
Ridiculous.
I don’t know what to do anymore.
And I’m terrified that I’ll be suffering from migraines when the family goes to California to visit Alexandra at Christmas. That I’ll be in such astronomical pain that I wont be able to enjoy, or even fully register, the one day that we’re going to Disneyland.
This is just ridiculous.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Dun dun duuuuuh!
Whooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
That’s the noise my compy’s making.
Charming, ain’t it? Whoooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
Let’s all pretend to be obnoxious, almost 4-year old computers, who are slowly shutting down, system by system (it can’t read SD cards now), who can’t seem to read CD’s or DVD’s anymore without skipping (CDs) or without audio AND skipping (DVDs) (even WITH the new CD drive my dad had to put in 3 years ago [because I may or may not have accidentally yanked the original one out by yanking on some embroidery thread that may or may not have been closed in it by accident one day which I did not know was in it, hence the yanking]), whose internet is shit (although, that I blame purely on Bell Canada, even if it may or may not be this compy’s fault [I think it is now, unlike before]).
Come on everyone! Let’s make the “Kristen’s Compy!” noise! Whoooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Not to be mistaken with the “Call of the male asshole” which is “Whooooorrrrrrrre!” Common knowledge, that.
So, yes, my computer is going to blow up soon. It’s been making this noise, on and off, for about 5 months now. It just seemed fine before, a little bit of noise, then it would go away (most conveniently whenever I took it to someone to listen to). But it’s been “Whoooor’ing” non stop for pretty much the month of October, so I finally emailed the Compaq HP people, explaining, and they responded (quite quickly, really) and told me that from my description, it sounded like it was the cooling fan, and to continue trying to clean it out (which is what I had been doing. I’ve been through 2 cans of compressed air and countless amounts of time peering, with a flashlight, into the grids that the fans are behind). So I recorded the sound with my Sansa and sent it to my dad (who knows WAY more about computer’s than I ever could). He told me to take it to some people, to take it to some more people, and then go and take it to some more people. I hate people. Also, I knew that if I took it to see anyone, they would want to hang onto it for a few days or weeks (last time we asked Best Buy how long it would take to fix the CD drive and they said 3-4 weeks, hence why dad installed it himself). I can’t send it away. As sad as reality is these days, my life revolves around this compy. My “social” (HAHAHAHA!) life, my SCHOOL life. So, no.
So I was thinking that the cooling fan was the one closest to my hand, and that is not the one making noise, so I emailed that to Vati, who checked out the make and model (to be sure) and, sure enough, it’s not the cooling fan.
It’s the hard drive.
Dun dun duuuuuh.
So I ran out to buy a USB external drive and have backed up as much shit as I could. I mean, when my dad (mr. serious email sender, mr. “I email ministers and commissioners” ) sends an email that include the lines “So if it is predominantly on the left...it's the hard drive. Which means get that external usb hard drive asap and back up your stuff.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use “...” in a sentence before. Dun dun duuuuuh!
On the bright side, though, I told mom via phone to tell him that I bought the USB thing, and that I really think taking it to someone who will keep for a few weeks and then give it back to me, telling me to get the hard drive replaced or tell me to get a new computer is sort of pointless. So my dad emailed me and asked me if I think I should just get a new one. I said “YES!” So I am. It’s shipped home first, so Mr. Computer-Man-Dad can set it up, and then it’s coming down here. SCORE!
Let’s just hope this one doesn’t blow up in the meantime...did I just jinx myself?
On another note: Does it make me stupid if I’m looking forward to tonight because I’m going to stay up late watching “ Pride and Prejudice ” and “Beauty and the Beast” and eat lemon cookies and Macaroni and Cheese? I think it may. OH WELL! ;D
Whoooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
PS. The camera search is on the backburner until I get this new computer. And then, I’m thinking something that can take a decent landscape shot...
>>
<<
That’s the noise my compy’s making.
Charming, ain’t it? Whoooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
Let’s all pretend to be obnoxious, almost 4-year old computers, who are slowly shutting down, system by system (it can’t read SD cards now), who can’t seem to read CD’s or DVD’s anymore without skipping (CDs) or without audio AND skipping (DVDs) (even WITH the new CD drive my dad had to put in 3 years ago [because I may or may not have accidentally yanked the original one out by yanking on some embroidery thread that may or may not have been closed in it by accident one day which I did not know was in it, hence the yanking]), whose internet is shit (although, that I blame purely on Bell Canada, even if it may or may not be this compy’s fault [I think it is now, unlike before]).
Come on everyone! Let’s make the “Kristen’s Compy!” noise! Whoooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Not to be mistaken with the “Call of the male asshole” which is “Whooooorrrrrrrre!” Common knowledge, that.
So, yes, my computer is going to blow up soon. It’s been making this noise, on and off, for about 5 months now. It just seemed fine before, a little bit of noise, then it would go away (most conveniently whenever I took it to someone to listen to). But it’s been “Whoooor’ing” non stop for pretty much the month of October, so I finally emailed the Compaq HP people, explaining, and they responded (quite quickly, really) and told me that from my description, it sounded like it was the cooling fan, and to continue trying to clean it out (which is what I had been doing. I’ve been through 2 cans of compressed air and countless amounts of time peering, with a flashlight, into the grids that the fans are behind). So I recorded the sound with my Sansa and sent it to my dad (who knows WAY more about computer’s than I ever could). He told me to take it to some people, to take it to some more people, and then go and take it to some more people. I hate people. Also, I knew that if I took it to see anyone, they would want to hang onto it for a few days or weeks (last time we asked Best Buy how long it would take to fix the CD drive and they said 3-4 weeks, hence why dad installed it himself). I can’t send it away. As sad as reality is these days, my life revolves around this compy. My “social” (HAHAHAHA!) life, my SCHOOL life. So, no.
So I was thinking that the cooling fan was the one closest to my hand, and that is not the one making noise, so I emailed that to Vati, who checked out the make and model (to be sure) and, sure enough, it’s not the cooling fan.
It’s the hard drive.
Dun dun duuuuuh.
So I ran out to buy a USB external drive and have backed up as much shit as I could. I mean, when my dad (mr. serious email sender, mr. “I email ministers and commissioners” ) sends an email that include the lines “So if it is predominantly on the left...it's the hard drive. Which means get that external usb hard drive asap and back up your stuff.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use “...” in a sentence before. Dun dun duuuuuh!
On the bright side, though, I told mom via phone to tell him that I bought the USB thing, and that I really think taking it to someone who will keep for a few weeks and then give it back to me, telling me to get the hard drive replaced or tell me to get a new computer is sort of pointless. So my dad emailed me and asked me if I think I should just get a new one. I said “YES!” So I am. It’s shipped home first, so Mr. Computer-Man-Dad can set it up, and then it’s coming down here. SCORE!
Let’s just hope this one doesn’t blow up in the meantime...did I just jinx myself?
On another note: Does it make me stupid if I’m looking forward to tonight because I’m going to stay up late watching “ Pride and Prejudice ” and “Beauty and the Beast” and eat lemon cookies and Macaroni and Cheese? I think it may. OH WELL! ;D
Whoooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
PS. The camera search is on the backburner until I get this new computer. And then, I’m thinking something that can take a decent landscape shot...
>>
<<
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Election? Please!
I'm more excited about the American election results than I have ever been about, well, anything. So exciting! Haha!
I'm still bogged down with work, and I have a presentation tomorrow, but I can still be excited, right?
Oh, and for the record, I love this man:
I'm still bogged down with work, and I have a presentation tomorrow, but I can still be excited, right?
Oh, and for the record, I love this man:
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
No classes today, by decree of me.
I'm not going to class today. And I'm not emailing profs about it. Simply put, I have no real reason or excuse.
I'm going to work on my essay due Friday. I'm going to sit around and do nothing. I'm going to pull out my "art" doodads and doodle. How can I do this?
Because my grandmother is out of town for the day.
So I can relax.
It's not like I can tell my profs "Well, she called me fat, see, so I've been sinking lower and lower into this sort of depression that I can never seem to get myself out of. So, really, the readings? Nope, didn't happen. I have way too much shit on my plate to read."
Nope. Can't.
I'm not even going to bother looking at clocks today. If I do, I'll end up doing the whole "Oh, I should be in class right now." thing, which just makes me add guilt onto my list of emotional stresses.
So I'm going to go downstairs now, and watch some television. Humph.
I'm going to work on my essay due Friday. I'm going to sit around and do nothing. I'm going to pull out my "art" doodads and doodle. How can I do this?
Because my grandmother is out of town for the day.
So I can relax.
It's not like I can tell my profs "Well, she called me fat, see, so I've been sinking lower and lower into this sort of depression that I can never seem to get myself out of. So, really, the readings? Nope, didn't happen. I have way too much shit on my plate to read."
Nope. Can't.
I'm not even going to bother looking at clocks today. If I do, I'll end up doing the whole "Oh, I should be in class right now." thing, which just makes me add guilt onto my list of emotional stresses.
So I'm going to go downstairs now, and watch some television. Humph.
Monday, October 20, 2008
My grandmother just tried, yet again, to get me to eat more food at supper. I told her I had had plenty and that, really, she feeds me too much, something I’ve said before, multiple times over the past 4 years. Something my mother has told her multiple times over the past 4 years. Something she couldn’t give two flying fucks about.
She also then pulled her old argument out of her ass: the one where she thinks I just don’t eat, at all, in London because I “think you have to diet.” Which is not true. She eats on the German-Schedule. I.e. eating at precisely 8or9am, noon, and then at 5:30. Without fail. Whether she’s hungry or not. (She told me that last bit herself). I eat on the Sort-of-Makes-More-Sense Schedule. I.e. eating around breakfast time, around lunch time, and around dinner time, and then only if I’m hungry. She can’t fathom it. Hence why she gets bitchy with me when I come home from class on Wednesdays around dinner time, and I have a migraine, so I tell her I can’t eat and am, instead, going straight to bed. She takes it as an insult that I’m not shoving her food down my throat. Food which, I must say after 4 years of the same shit, has become some of the most retched stuff I have ever eaten.
So she was angry with me because, in her eyes, I hadn’t eaten enough.
She then told me that I ate more at home “over the holidays.” Again, not true. I basically ate the same, but less of it, because my fam-jam back at home employs a little something called “portion sizes.”
I told her that what she said was not true.
She then used her German-tact (WARNING! “German-tact” is non-existent when it comes to old-school old-women Germans. NOW YOU KNOW!) and told me that I -must- have eaten more because, well, silly me, I gained weight. “Oh ya, oh ya, you gained lots of weight.”
Brill.
And then people wonder why I hate my body.
Why I only take pictures of my face.
Why I hate to shop for clothes.
Why I don’t talk to boys.
Why I binge on shitty bad-for-me food at 11:30pm and then feel sick.
Why I hide food in my room like a squirrel.
Why I hate. Hate. HATE myself on a daily basis.
Why, when mom confronted me about me “eating problems” last year, and said my mascara was running and I yelled “It doesn’t matter!!” because my body’s not good enough, so why should I even bother trying with my face.
Why I think I’m depressed.
Why I’m fat.
So I picked up my salad, something I told her I was actually too full to eat, but since it was staring me in the face, I had to eat it, and took it upstairs to eat. I haven’t touched it.
I feel like shit now. I feel nauseous; I can feel a headache starting in my right temple; my stomach is doing flip flops; my mascara is running, again; and I still have to finish this essay for tomorrow (Tuesday), do readings and talk about them on Wednesday, finish another essay for Friday, start and finish an assignment for Monday, study for a midterm that’s on Monday in the same class the assignment is due, then I have my first of three presentations in that have-to-talk-to-get-a-mark class in two weeks, and no one can/will help me. It’s October. I’m overwhelmed. Already. I’m drowning.
I just…I wish, so so so much, I wish I was thin.
I can’t stop crying now, and I know I shouldn’t be crying in the first place. I’m such a baby!
She also then pulled her old argument out of her ass: the one where she thinks I just don’t eat, at all, in London because I “think you have to diet.” Which is not true. She eats on the German-Schedule. I.e. eating at precisely 8or9am, noon, and then at 5:30. Without fail. Whether she’s hungry or not. (She told me that last bit herself). I eat on the Sort-of-Makes-More-Sense Schedule. I.e. eating around breakfast time, around lunch time, and around dinner time, and then only if I’m hungry. She can’t fathom it. Hence why she gets bitchy with me when I come home from class on Wednesdays around dinner time, and I have a migraine, so I tell her I can’t eat and am, instead, going straight to bed. She takes it as an insult that I’m not shoving her food down my throat. Food which, I must say after 4 years of the same shit, has become some of the most retched stuff I have ever eaten.
So she was angry with me because, in her eyes, I hadn’t eaten enough.
She then told me that I ate more at home “over the holidays.” Again, not true. I basically ate the same, but less of it, because my fam-jam back at home employs a little something called “portion sizes.”
I told her that what she said was not true.
She then used her German-tact (WARNING! “German-tact” is non-existent when it comes to old-school old-women Germans. NOW YOU KNOW!) and told me that I -must- have eaten more because, well, silly me, I gained weight. “Oh ya, oh ya, you gained lots of weight.”
Brill.
And then people wonder why I hate my body.
Why I only take pictures of my face.
Why I hate to shop for clothes.
Why I don’t talk to boys.
Why I binge on shitty bad-for-me food at 11:30pm and then feel sick.
Why I hide food in my room like a squirrel.
Why I hate. Hate. HATE myself on a daily basis.
Why, when mom confronted me about me “eating problems” last year, and said my mascara was running and I yelled “It doesn’t matter!!” because my body’s not good enough, so why should I even bother trying with my face.
Why I think I’m depressed.
Why I’m fat.
So I picked up my salad, something I told her I was actually too full to eat, but since it was staring me in the face, I had to eat it, and took it upstairs to eat. I haven’t touched it.
I feel like shit now. I feel nauseous; I can feel a headache starting in my right temple; my stomach is doing flip flops; my mascara is running, again; and I still have to finish this essay for tomorrow (Tuesday), do readings and talk about them on Wednesday, finish another essay for Friday, start and finish an assignment for Monday, study for a midterm that’s on Monday in the same class the assignment is due, then I have my first of three presentations in that have-to-talk-to-get-a-mark class in two weeks, and no one can/will help me. It’s October. I’m overwhelmed. Already. I’m drowning.
I just…I wish, so so so much, I wish I was thin.
I can’t stop crying now, and I know I shouldn’t be crying in the first place. I’m such a baby!
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Easily Distracted
Howdy,
Guess what I'm up to?
Well, silly, I'm writing my first term German History essay. The question posed is "To what extent was the period between 1848 and 1914 a period of emancipation for German Women? Consider the positions of women in different economic and social classes, and the ways in which their positions changed or did not change in this period." Our prof gave us two photocopied articles to write from. And there's two short articles in the course package on women that we can use. It has to be at least 6-8 pages long, which really isn't long at all, but I seem to be floundering already.
The paper is due on Tuesday (I had previously thought it was due on Thursday) and I have been slowly working on it since last Thursday, but I can't seem to concentrate. By "slowly working" I mean SLOOOOOOWLY. Really, every single little thing is distracting me. I don't think I've read enough of any of the articles and, really, everything I have read seems to be about women in the 1780's, nowhere near my needed time frame. So I'm left wondering, rather distractedly, why he didn't just not copy the first sections. Or maybe he left them there in order to build a background.
The three main problems I'm facing are:
1) A lot of information I know about women emancipation in Europe comes from my Women in History class last year. So I find myself typing reams of stuff I have no sources for. Then I end up getting frustrated and I delete it.
2) I find myself typing things from sources, thinking the sentence, paragraph, direction of my writing is brilliant, only to realize too late that I'm typing about stuff in the 1780's.
3) I'm so freakin' easily distracted!! Case and point: I'm on here, updating my blog for god's sake. Sheesh!
Guess what I'm up to?
Well, silly, I'm writing my first term German History essay. The question posed is "To what extent was the period between 1848 and 1914 a period of emancipation for German Women? Consider the positions of women in different economic and social classes, and the ways in which their positions changed or did not change in this period." Our prof gave us two photocopied articles to write from. And there's two short articles in the course package on women that we can use. It has to be at least 6-8 pages long, which really isn't long at all, but I seem to be floundering already.
The paper is due on Tuesday (I had previously thought it was due on Thursday) and I have been slowly working on it since last Thursday, but I can't seem to concentrate. By "slowly working" I mean SLOOOOOOWLY. Really, every single little thing is distracting me. I don't think I've read enough of any of the articles and, really, everything I have read seems to be about women in the 1780's, nowhere near my needed time frame. So I'm left wondering, rather distractedly, why he didn't just not copy the first sections. Or maybe he left them there in order to build a background.
The three main problems I'm facing are:
1) A lot of information I know about women emancipation in Europe comes from my Women in History class last year. So I find myself typing reams of stuff I have no sources for. Then I end up getting frustrated and I delete it.
2) I find myself typing things from sources, thinking the sentence, paragraph, direction of my writing is brilliant, only to realize too late that I'm typing about stuff in the 1780's.
3) I'm so freakin' easily distracted!! Case and point: I'm on here, updating my blog for god's sake. Sheesh!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
What the shit is this fuck?
Wait wait wait wait.
Canada, when did you decide to go kamikaze on yourself?
When the fuck did this happen?
Like, really?
Again?
Have we not been through how fucking unbelievably horrid this man is? Have I not expressed how much he looks like a child molester (it's the beady eyes)? Have we not all wondered at how a party named the "Progressive Conservatives" have lived this long despite their contradiction of a name?
Have they not fucked up this country enough? It's like if America was all "OMG GUYS! I don't like Obama OR McCain" and votes in Bush again as a write-in ballot type thing.
Don't you remember when the PCs mocked Dion by racking their brains for the best way to show the nation both his inadequacy in policy and what they thought was their immense brain power/maturity and came up with a website wherein a pelican pooped on Dion's shoulder?
Or maybe when the PCs were found guilty of plagiarism?
Or when a Conservative member made fun of those who died because of listeriosis?
Or when that other Conservative member told native protesters (in front of cameras) that as long as they were sober etc., then they weren't a threat (or something to that regard)?
Or how about when Harper took his wallet and shoved it up his gigantic ass and told the rest of the world to screw-off in regards to Kyoto? Because it was all a "scam" to take "our" (really he meant "his") money away? That it was a "socialist scheme"?
Or how about when Harper told Canada that "ordinary folks" didn't really care all that much for the Arts and cut funding?
Like, fucking seriously? You guys want more of that shit? We're at war because of him. No disrespect to those overseas, I'm not saying I don't support them, but I'm sure even the most patriotic of soldiers would rather they not have to be killing people right now. Nobody wants a war. But we're at war because of him. Canada has always been a peace keeping nation, but we were told to throw that out the proverbial window and go to real live WAR because of him.
We are a laughing stock, Canada, because of him. And yet you rush to the polls and demand more of the same bullshit.
Bravo.
I'm going to bed now. Maybe when I wake up, this will turn out to be all just a bad, bad, very bad dream.
Canada, when did you decide to go kamikaze on yourself?
When the fuck did this happen?
Like, really?
Again?
Have we not been through how fucking unbelievably horrid this man is? Have I not expressed how much he looks like a child molester (it's the beady eyes)? Have we not all wondered at how a party named the "Progressive Conservatives" have lived this long despite their contradiction of a name?
Have they not fucked up this country enough? It's like if America was all "OMG GUYS! I don't like Obama OR McCain" and votes in Bush again as a write-in ballot type thing.
Don't you remember when the PCs mocked Dion by racking their brains for the best way to show the nation both his inadequacy in policy and what they thought was their immense brain power/maturity and came up with a website wherein a pelican pooped on Dion's shoulder?
Or maybe when the PCs were found guilty of plagiarism?
Or when a Conservative member made fun of those who died because of listeriosis?
Or when that other Conservative member told native protesters (in front of cameras) that as long as they were sober etc., then they weren't a threat (or something to that regard)?
Or how about when Harper took his wallet and shoved it up his gigantic ass and told the rest of the world to screw-off in regards to Kyoto? Because it was all a "scam" to take "our" (really he meant "his") money away? That it was a "socialist scheme"?
Or how about when Harper told Canada that "ordinary folks" didn't really care all that much for the Arts and cut funding?
Like, fucking seriously? You guys want more of that shit? We're at war because of him. No disrespect to those overseas, I'm not saying I don't support them, but I'm sure even the most patriotic of soldiers would rather they not have to be killing people right now. Nobody wants a war. But we're at war because of him. Canada has always been a peace keeping nation, but we were told to throw that out the proverbial window and go to real live WAR because of him.
We are a laughing stock, Canada, because of him. And yet you rush to the polls and demand more of the same bullshit.
Bravo.
I'm going to bed now. Maybe when I wake up, this will turn out to be all just a bad, bad, very bad dream.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
News!
News!
I finally heard from the academic adviser! D:
And TADA! The Dean has granted me Special Permission (her caps, not mine) to count History 205E (Environmental History) as my category C (science) course!
Sweet Jeebus be praised on a giant Buddha pagoda covered in silks, linens, and baby sacrifices!
YES! ;D
WIN! D:<
In other news: for some reason I'm feeling absolutely terrified of class this week. I don't know why. I have no idea. I'm slowly tackling the readings for tomorrow's speak-in-class class, I'm trying not to freak out, I'm trying my hardest to be absolutely ecstatic about not having class on Thursday, my dad coming down on said Thursday, then going back home for Thanksgiving on Friday. I'm trying, but my weird fear is stopping me. It doesn't help that, yes dear blog, it's "that time of the month". I'm sure no one wants to hear this/cares, but it is what it is. And I'm sort of in pain right now. I bought chocolate after class, but it doesn't seem to be helping.
Either way, I'm still terrified of class tonight and tomorrow.
And I feel like I can't tell anyone about it.
I told my friend Kate this morning that I was "really apprehensive about class in general this week," but I can't explain why, so no one can help me or calm me down.
Either way, I have to shove that fear aside with a firm hand at the moment. It's time to get to reading for tomorrow.
PS. In Korean history yesterday we briefly dicussed Feng Shui and, by golly, I want to feng shui my bedroom! Unfortunately that would mean ripping out the burnt orange carpet and drapes and changing the very sharp-edged, German desk, nightstand, and dresser...and it would mean moving my bed around so my feet weren't in line with the door but still keep it so that I'm not sleeping under the window and am sleeping in a place where I can see the door while I sleep...oh, and the walls are slanted, so there's that negative energy to contend with...so clearly, this isn't going to happen. Brilliant.
Well, back to reading.
I finally heard from the academic adviser! D:
And TADA! The Dean has granted me Special Permission (her caps, not mine) to count History 205E (Environmental History) as my category C (science) course!
Sweet Jeebus be praised on a giant Buddha pagoda covered in silks, linens, and baby sacrifices!
YES! ;D
WIN! D:<
In other news: for some reason I'm feeling absolutely terrified of class this week. I don't know why. I have no idea. I'm slowly tackling the readings for tomorrow's speak-in-class class, I'm trying not to freak out, I'm trying my hardest to be absolutely ecstatic about not having class on Thursday, my dad coming down on said Thursday, then going back home for Thanksgiving on Friday. I'm trying, but my weird fear is stopping me. It doesn't help that, yes dear blog, it's "that time of the month". I'm sure no one wants to hear this/cares, but it is what it is. And I'm sort of in pain right now. I bought chocolate after class, but it doesn't seem to be helping.
Either way, I'm still terrified of class tonight and tomorrow.
And I feel like I can't tell anyone about it.
I told my friend Kate this morning that I was "really apprehensive about class in general this week," but I can't explain why, so no one can help me or calm me down.
Either way, I have to shove that fear aside with a firm hand at the moment. It's time to get to reading for tomorrow.
PS. In Korean history yesterday we briefly dicussed Feng Shui and, by golly, I want to feng shui my bedroom! Unfortunately that would mean ripping out the burnt orange carpet and drapes and changing the very sharp-edged, German desk, nightstand, and dresser...and it would mean moving my bed around so my feet weren't in line with the door but still keep it so that I'm not sleeping under the window and am sleeping in a place where I can see the door while I sleep...oh, and the walls are slanted, so there's that negative energy to contend with...so clearly, this isn't going to happen. Brilliant.
Well, back to reading.
Monday, September 29, 2008
So I haven't heard anything from the academic adviser yet. Although I did see her in the hall today and she smiled at me. I was sort of panting because I had just hiked up the hill while hacking up a lung (I have a cold) and my headphones were on, so that may have been why she didn't stop to chat. That and the fact that she was on her way to get another student for an appointment. :/
I'll convince myself that that was why. And that the smile was not one of pity. Nuh uh. Nope.
Oh! Right! The real reason for this post. Remember that missed connection? Well, I got an email from someone regarding it. Alas, it was from a girl. Unless my mystery man's name is Michelle (he could be french, who knows?) Either way, Michelle emailed me the following:
Subject: i was making fun of craigslist posts with my friends..
Body: but i think i love you.
What am I supposed to say to that?! I'm deeply touched and honored, but I'm sorry, my door does not sing that way. So how do I respond? Unless Michelle is a frenchman, which I would be willing to love back. I do love frenchmen (eg. Professor Reynard).
Seriously, though. What should I respond with?
Maybe something like...erm...how the email gave me hope that I'm not alone in the world. Thank them, profusely, because I was convinced that no one would even give my post a second glance? Maybe. Hm.
Oh well, I'll figure something out.
Now, I have to get back to work. I have a mini assignment due in Germ. Hist. tomorrow.
PS. First poem posted here. Giggle! I'm gonna do it!
I'll convince myself that that was why. And that the smile was not one of pity. Nuh uh. Nope.
Oh! Right! The real reason for this post. Remember that missed connection? Well, I got an email from someone regarding it. Alas, it was from a girl. Unless my mystery man's name is Michelle (he could be french, who knows?) Either way, Michelle emailed me the following:
Subject: i was making fun of craigslist posts with my friends..
Body: but i think i love you.
What am I supposed to say to that?! I'm deeply touched and honored, but I'm sorry, my door does not sing that way. So how do I respond? Unless Michelle is a frenchman, which I would be willing to love back. I do love frenchmen (eg. Professor Reynard).
Seriously, though. What should I respond with?
Maybe something like...erm...how the email gave me hope that I'm not alone in the world. Thank them, profusely, because I was convinced that no one would even give my post a second glance? Maybe. Hm.
Oh well, I'll figure something out.
Now, I have to get back to work. I have a mini assignment due in Germ. Hist. tomorrow.
PS. First poem posted here. Giggle! I'm gonna do it!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Went to the academic adviser...
So I went to the academic adviser. I had found out how to apply to the MLIS program last night, as I fiddled around on the interwebs, so I went and asked her about graduation.
She checked my transcripts against the modules (history and sociology) and was all “You’re all good! ;D “ But then she said “But I have one question: what were you planning on using for your science credit.” So, naturally, I responded with the almighty and powerfully charming/mature “What?! I need a science credit?! I never knew that! DDD: ”
I need a science credit to graduate. When she told me I truthfully felt the same way I had felt when I was told I was going to have to take a math class for sociology (Stats) : Like university had lied to me. Math and science?! That’s why I’m taking Soc and History! LACK OF MATH AND SCIENCE!
So she said she’ll talk to the person in charge of that stuff and see if my Environmental history or my Stats could count as a science credit. She said that she’s VERY convincing, and that she’d get back to me in a few days. She told me to send her positive thoughts. So, of course, I sure as hell am! D:<
She’s a really nice woman, and I trust her/believe in her. I hope hope hope she can help me!
If they don’t count either of those classes as a science credit, I’ll have to pick up another class. And it’s already pretty late in the game, and I’m taking 5 essay courses as it is. Good god…I better start looking for a class to take.
But first, I’m in desperate need of a nap. The stress is piling, so logically all I can think of to do is sleep.
I think I’ll be needing some help again, and soon.
She checked my transcripts against the modules (history and sociology) and was all “You’re all good! ;D “ But then she said “But I have one question: what were you planning on using for your science credit.” So, naturally, I responded with the almighty and powerfully charming/mature “What?! I need a science credit?! I never knew that! DDD: ”
I need a science credit to graduate. When she told me I truthfully felt the same way I had felt when I was told I was going to have to take a math class for sociology (Stats) : Like university had lied to me. Math and science?! That’s why I’m taking Soc and History! LACK OF MATH AND SCIENCE!
So she said she’ll talk to the person in charge of that stuff and see if my Environmental history or my Stats could count as a science credit. She said that she’s VERY convincing, and that she’d get back to me in a few days. She told me to send her positive thoughts. So, of course, I sure as hell am! D:<
She’s a really nice woman, and I trust her/believe in her. I hope hope hope she can help me!
If they don’t count either of those classes as a science credit, I’ll have to pick up another class. And it’s already pretty late in the game, and I’m taking 5 essay courses as it is. Good god…I better start looking for a class to take.
But first, I’m in desperate need of a nap. The stress is piling, so logically all I can think of to do is sleep.
I think I’ll be needing some help again, and soon.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Warning: Criminal Minds Spoiler
So, I just watched the season premier of Criminal Minds.
Mind you, I don’t watch it regularly. I don’t watch any show regularly, and tend to clue into the awesomeness of most shows when they’re on their last and final season (eg. Corner Gas), but if I happened to catch this show when it was on (and it was relatively early in the episode [otherwise I get waaaay too confused]) then I’d watch it. And I must say, the relationship between Garcia and Morgan. It’s just too cute for words. And deserves a freakin’ hook-up, let me tell you.
So, if anyone who stumbles across this blog is a fan of the show and did NOT see that episode, look away now……………
Kay. So if you did see the episode, you saw Morgan driving the ambulance with the bomb in it. I was freaking out. Like, potential hyperventilation. I kept sort of keening – “He can’t die, what about Garcia? They wouldn’t do THAT. Phah.”
When he started trying to tell Garcia what she was to him…? Oh man. Tears began.
And when the ambulance exploded?!
I was sitting in the front room (grandmother in the back) and I had my hands in my lap, watching intently. And at the explosion, well, my hands flew to cover my mouth and I literally screeched. A sort of muffled-in-between-sobs-and-a-covering-of-hands kind of screech.
Oh my god. It was bad. I’m so emotional these days…yeesh!
I freaked, suffice it to say. Going “He can’t. No” over and over. So, of course, when it showed him alive? Well, I pretty much just melted into the couch. My back and the back of my head felt all tingly, like it does when something crazy-good happens to me. Oh man. Emotions. I hate them, really.
But, really. That was one HELLUVA premier.
I’m thinking of buying the earlier seasons either online or, well you know, the next time I see them in a store. :3
Mind you, I don’t watch it regularly. I don’t watch any show regularly, and tend to clue into the awesomeness of most shows when they’re on their last and final season (eg. Corner Gas), but if I happened to catch this show when it was on (and it was relatively early in the episode [otherwise I get waaaay too confused]) then I’d watch it. And I must say, the relationship between Garcia and Morgan. It’s just too cute for words. And deserves a freakin’ hook-up, let me tell you.
So, if anyone who stumbles across this blog is a fan of the show and did NOT see that episode, look away now……………
Kay. So if you did see the episode, you saw Morgan driving the ambulance with the bomb in it. I was freaking out. Like, potential hyperventilation. I kept sort of keening – “He can’t die, what about Garcia? They wouldn’t do THAT. Phah.”
When he started trying to tell Garcia what she was to him…? Oh man. Tears began.
And when the ambulance exploded?!
I was sitting in the front room (grandmother in the back) and I had my hands in my lap, watching intently. And at the explosion, well, my hands flew to cover my mouth and I literally screeched. A sort of muffled-in-between-sobs-and-a-covering-of-hands kind of screech.
Oh my god. It was bad. I’m so emotional these days…yeesh!
I freaked, suffice it to say. Going “He can’t. No” over and over. So, of course, when it showed him alive? Well, I pretty much just melted into the couch. My back and the back of my head felt all tingly, like it does when something crazy-good happens to me. Oh man. Emotions. I hate them, really.
But, really. That was one HELLUVA premier.
I’m thinking of buying the earlier seasons either online or, well you know, the next time I see them in a store. :3
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A thought...
How about "Timid Little Poet"...?
I just thought that up on the spot while waiting for Photoshop to take it's precious time closing (my version is quite obnoxious and likes to take forever to close and, when it's open, randomly pops up when I'm doing other things so it can be all "OMG HI! I'M STILL HERE! LOLOLOLOLOL! ;D" Which I do NOT appreciate).
Anyway.
Yes.
Or maybe "Timid Little Girl-Poet"?
Or something...
Oh god, I HAVE NO IDEA!
BED TIME! It's 12:34am and I need to wake up at 9. TOODLES! (:
I just thought that up on the spot while waiting for Photoshop to take it's precious time closing (my version is quite obnoxious and likes to take forever to close and, when it's open, randomly pops up when I'm doing other things so it can be all "OMG HI! I'M STILL HERE! LOLOLOLOLOL! ;D" Which I do NOT appreciate).
Anyway.
Yes.
Or maybe "Timid Little Girl-Poet"?
Or something...
Oh god, I HAVE NO IDEA!
BED TIME! It's 12:34am and I need to wake up at 9. TOODLES! (:
I'm slowly creating the bits and pieces for a new blog: A poem a day blog.
I have the header, the colours, everything all set...everything but a title. I've been using various methods, but when I used a few "random title" and "random book title" generators I came up with this list of possibilities:
-Tip-toeing lightly through harsh words…
-Soft Lines made of Harsh Words
-Soft lines carved in hard flesh
-Daily words composed in lines
-Dancing through lines
-Wisps of poetic dreams
-Dancing Wisps of Words
I know. Some are pretty...horrid. But, really, this title business is the hardest part of this eventual blog's creation (or so I find). It could be because I can't make up my mind worth shit. That's probably it. Hm...I'll have to think up some more titles, or else choose from this list. I mean, I could always change it later on, right? Right! D:
I have the header, the colours, everything all set...everything but a title. I've been using various methods, but when I used a few "random title" and "random book title" generators I came up with this list of possibilities:
-Tip-toeing lightly through harsh words…
-Soft Lines made of Harsh Words
-Soft lines carved in hard flesh
-Daily words composed in lines
-Dancing through lines
-Wisps of poetic dreams
-Dancing Wisps of Words
I know. Some are pretty...horrid. But, really, this title business is the hardest part of this eventual blog's creation (or so I find). It could be because I can't make up my mind worth shit. That's probably it. Hm...I'll have to think up some more titles, or else choose from this list. I mean, I could always change it later on, right? Right! D:
Friday, September 5, 2008
Missed connection
I just posted a "missed connection" on Craiglist.
I've never done anything like this before.
I doubt, really really doubt that anything will come of it, but the situation was nagging at me for a while now, so this may (or may not) help ease some of the mental pressure.
We'll see.
I'm actually excited about it.
What if he somehow finds it?!
Oh my goodness! Then what would I do?!?!
Oh dear oh dear! It's time for bed!
I've never done anything like this before.
I doubt, really really doubt that anything will come of it, but the situation was nagging at me for a while now, so this may (or may not) help ease some of the mental pressure.
We'll see.
I'm actually excited about it.
What if he somehow finds it?!
Oh my goodness! Then what would I do?!?!
Oh dear oh dear! It's time for bed!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Worrying? Why?
I don’t remember being this nervous last year. Or the year before. First year, oh god yes, but why now?
My stomach is gurgling, my nerves are shot, I feel the need to eat and eat and eat and then sleep and it’s only 11:30am!
I only have one class tomorrow. One! From 9:30-10:30 in the morning. And then I go “home,” or I may meet up with a friend (it all depends on whether or not she emails me back in time). And then, on Friday, one class. 11:30-12:30, and then I’m going downtown with a friend (to a comic book store! SCORE! I haven’t delved into comics for pleasure in…like…3 years! My essay on them last year wasn’t necessarily pleasure), THEN my dad may be coming down for the weekend! And, despite how much he annoys the crap outta me, when he comes down to visit by himself, he tends to buy me shit. Which is awesome.
But still, I’m freaking out! I don’t know why! Maybe because I’m sure I won’t know anyone in the classes. But I can make friends! I mean, I worked costumer service this summer! I can do it! But even with that realization, I’m still nervous…
Oh well. I better get all dressed and washed up so I can wander over to the mall across the street. I think it’s time for a Shopper’s Drugmart expedition. I’ve got my list all written out: Gravol and foot/face masks. Genius!
And, if I get up enough courage, the grocery store has a few things on sale that I’d love to covet.
So then! I’m off! Maybe if I distract myself, I won’t worry so much. :/
My stomach is gurgling, my nerves are shot, I feel the need to eat and eat and eat and then sleep and it’s only 11:30am!
I only have one class tomorrow. One! From 9:30-10:30 in the morning. And then I go “home,” or I may meet up with a friend (it all depends on whether or not she emails me back in time). And then, on Friday, one class. 11:30-12:30, and then I’m going downtown with a friend (to a comic book store! SCORE! I haven’t delved into comics for pleasure in…like…3 years! My essay on them last year wasn’t necessarily pleasure), THEN my dad may be coming down for the weekend! And, despite how much he annoys the crap outta me, when he comes down to visit by himself, he tends to buy me shit. Which is awesome.
But still, I’m freaking out! I don’t know why! Maybe because I’m sure I won’t know anyone in the classes. But I can make friends! I mean, I worked costumer service this summer! I can do it! But even with that realization, I’m still nervous…
Oh well. I better get all dressed and washed up so I can wander over to the mall across the street. I think it’s time for a Shopper’s Drugmart expedition. I’ve got my list all written out: Gravol and foot/face masks. Genius!
And, if I get up enough courage, the grocery store has a few things on sale that I’d love to covet.
So then! I’m off! Maybe if I distract myself, I won’t worry so much. :/
Saturday, August 30, 2008
If anyone's out there listening: I don't think I can do this again.
Not more packing mayhem.
Not more wondering if I brought everything I need down, only to realize as my mom drives away (again) that I forgot one tiny thing.
Not months of The German Wonder.
Not months of essays, essays, and always more essays.
Not classes full of unknowns who don't want to be known.
Not more of the same rushing around in order to fool everyone into thinking I have it all under control. That I'm ready to graduate in the spring. That I know what I'm doing.
I'm not ready. I have no idea what I'm doing.
I just know that I'm exhausted already but I don't want to, can't, must not go to bed.
But I have to sleep. I move again tomorrow.
I can't do this again.
Not more packing mayhem.
Not more wondering if I brought everything I need down, only to realize as my mom drives away (again) that I forgot one tiny thing.
Not months of The German Wonder.
Not months of essays, essays, and always more essays.
Not classes full of unknowns who don't want to be known.
Not more of the same rushing around in order to fool everyone into thinking I have it all under control. That I'm ready to graduate in the spring. That I know what I'm doing.
I'm not ready. I have no idea what I'm doing.
I just know that I'm exhausted already but I don't want to, can't, must not go to bed.
But I have to sleep. I move again tomorrow.
I can't do this again.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
It's been a while, no?
Thank god I have to leave for work in half-an-hour.
It’s my “birthday” today. What a joke, eh? I know this sounds wildly emo etc., but I don’t feel the need or desire to celebrate my birth when most of the time I can’t stand my life.
Like last year, the one person in my family who I spend the most time with (my little sister) has found something far more important to spend her time with on my “big day” (as my mother calls it). Her boyfriend. He came down the day before yesterday and, even though I expressed my dislike of him staying over (sleeping on the floor of the back room) on my birthday, I was hum hawed and ignored. So, like last year when she had a different boyfriend and didn’t understand why we were going out for supper and then complained that she was going to be late to meet that boy and her other friend in town, she’s basically ignored me.
Like I said, thank god I’m off to work soon. This day is a joke. I’ve never really ever enjoyed my birthdays, so why would this one be any different? I didn’t ask for anything, even when asked by my mother. There’s nothing I want. Other than a pet, but I know that that will never happen. So I didn’t ask for anything. I don’t want anything. I even told my mom not to bother with a cake (even though she said “but we want to eat cake.” I told her “Look at me, do I need cake? No. Go ahead, eat cake. I don’t want any.”) I just sort of want to forget that I’m now 22 and have nothing to show for it.
Well, emo-ness aside, I have to go finish getting ready for work. I’m at the store until 9:15 tonight, which is great. It’s an evening shift, but I don’t have to close, which I love. So taa-taa and toodles. Blow out a candle for me if you wish. And munch on a cookie on my behalf. (:
It’s my “birthday” today. What a joke, eh? I know this sounds wildly emo etc., but I don’t feel the need or desire to celebrate my birth when most of the time I can’t stand my life.
Like last year, the one person in my family who I spend the most time with (my little sister) has found something far more important to spend her time with on my “big day” (as my mother calls it). Her boyfriend. He came down the day before yesterday and, even though I expressed my dislike of him staying over (sleeping on the floor of the back room) on my birthday, I was hum hawed and ignored. So, like last year when she had a different boyfriend and didn’t understand why we were going out for supper and then complained that she was going to be late to meet that boy and her other friend in town, she’s basically ignored me.
Like I said, thank god I’m off to work soon. This day is a joke. I’ve never really ever enjoyed my birthdays, so why would this one be any different? I didn’t ask for anything, even when asked by my mother. There’s nothing I want. Other than a pet, but I know that that will never happen. So I didn’t ask for anything. I don’t want anything. I even told my mom not to bother with a cake (even though she said “but we want to eat cake.” I told her “Look at me, do I need cake? No. Go ahead, eat cake. I don’t want any.”) I just sort of want to forget that I’m now 22 and have nothing to show for it.
Well, emo-ness aside, I have to go finish getting ready for work. I’m at the store until 9:15 tonight, which is great. It’s an evening shift, but I don’t have to close, which I love. So taa-taa and toodles. Blow out a candle for me if you wish. And munch on a cookie on my behalf. (:
Monday, June 9, 2008
Template Fiddling
I'm going to be fiddling round with templates etc. for a bit. Bare with me.
My old template is copied and saved into a word file if, in the end, I can't figure out what I'm doing.
Again, please bare with me.
My old template is copied and saved into a word file if, in the end, I can't figure out what I'm doing.
Again, please bare with me.
A small realization to breathe life back into this blog:
I was just watching "Bringing Home Baby" on TLC and I've come to the conclusion that if I EVER have a child (if, IF), I'm only having one. The poor 4 year old just could not cope with having a new sister, it was so sad!
I would never allow a child to loose his or her sense of belonging in my imagined family unit.
One child. Tada! D:
Again, that's IF.
I would never allow a child to loose his or her sense of belonging in my imagined family unit.
One child. Tada! D:
Again, that's IF.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Quick Letter of Seriousness:
I'm by no means an artist, but I like to doodle, and I follow Suzi Blu so I like to think that I can be an artist if I want, either way, everyone should listen to this. Seriously.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
Tsk tsk, bad me!
I know, I haven't kept up. I have my reasons though. I'm back home, and even though one might think "Yay! Home!" it's taking me forever to get used to it all again. I've been handing out applications and resumes again and may possibly get myself an interview with a woman who owns a landscaping business. It would be very hard work, but I could do it. I'm strong, I mean, I've always been told I'm strong, and I don't like to toot my own horn, but I think there's some validity to those claims. This ain't all fat, you know. Well...I'd like to think that some of this isn't all fat...
Anyway, I'm a tad busy, and I think I've come to face the realization that I'm lactose-intolerant. So no more cheese for me. (In other words, I'm having stomach problems again.)
I have a few poems, waiting in the ranks (not enough, though, to fill up the days missed, I'm still working on that), that I shall post back-dated since some (if not most) of them were actually written some days ago, I'm just a lazy poster. :/
I'll get on that soon, though. (:
Anyway, I'm a tad busy, and I think I've come to face the realization that I'm lactose-intolerant. So no more cheese for me. (In other words, I'm having stomach problems again.)
I have a few poems, waiting in the ranks (not enough, though, to fill up the days missed, I'm still working on that), that I shall post back-dated since some (if not most) of them were actually written some days ago, I'm just a lazy poster. :/
I'll get on that soon, though. (:
Monday, April 21, 2008
Poem, Day 21
Everything I do,
everything I feel
is based on,
riding on
the belief in love,
the need for love
and the illusion that
everything is ruled by love.
Every action,
thought
and wish I partake in
is based on a romantic fantasy,
novel,
film,
or song and I am
terrified
that, soon,
I will stop believing in love and that
soon,
nothing in my life
will hold any meaning
because, to me,
the endless search for a fantastic kind of love
is what is holding the threads together.
When my heart finally succumbs
to the cynicism in my head…
then what?
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Poem, Day 20
I fill my days with complaints
and chocolate syrup.
I bask in the joy of being “independent”
and without a man to “tie me down.”
I allow the sun to kiss the apples of my cheeks knowing
that the sun is my only daytime lover,
the moon my only bedtime visitor.
I fill my nights with romance movies
and bags of popcorn left cold,
uneaten.
I spend my dreams wanting love.
Love that would leave me dashed upon
the cliffs of
White and chalky and full of passion.
I want warmth,
to be filled with the glow of a heart enflamed.
I want a love that will leave me gasping
for a fleeting breath of stale air
and thirsting
for the burn of whiskey on my parched tongue.
I want a love that would withstand time,
and drama,
and anger,
and passion,
and burnout,
bombs,
beauty
and war.
I want a life
that mirrors the screen that glares at me
from across my stale popcorn
as the dawn sun glints through dusty windows.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Poem, Day 19
Whispered cries reverberated off steel ties
as lovers lost themselves in the throes of passionate farewells.
Steel horses clambered by as she held him close
and whispered goodbye into his ear, brushing past the strands of hair:
his skin, warm to the touch.
His tears, hot and heady, cascaded as she waved to him,
that metal contraption taking her away, but in his arms
she’ll stay forever in his dreams and lengthy nightmares.
Come back,
come back to me.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Poem, Day 18
Are those stars I see,
or am I just lost in memories?
Your face,
upturned,
once looked lost in them
as their illumination
illuminated all the solutions to the worlds’ problems.
Once dew danced on untucked wisps of hair
left forgotten in the waltz
of solar systems.
Sunlight paled
when you stepped on the sidewalk,
accompanied by your purse
full of piano keys
and petals from tulips,
leaving trails
so the cats would follow you home.
But your fingers have turned brittle
and the keys in your purse
go untended.
The cats call out
their mourning cry
as the sun burns the blinds.
But the stars only shine
when you sing to them,
and the rain only falls
when you ask it to while you
will only paint portraits
of tragic Grecian heroines
with dew in their hair.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Poem, Day 17
What is perfection?
A pale leaf in spring?
A newborn foal taking its first step?
That 95% on the term paper
you stayed up all night to
perfect?
What is perfection?
The proper temperature on a cloudless summers day,
all thought of global warming aside.
The birds sing,
the waves crash in,
the sun block
flows.
The poem written on winter night,
rippling with passion and seeping warmth,
the poet’s tears mingle with the pencil lines,
her heart breaking, just right,
to woo him back to her bed.
The sweet burn of whiskey
as it scorches throats,
celebratory cries
of “congratulations, it’s a boy!”
The setting red and golden
as he,
or she, or they, close their eyes
and wish for perfection.
What is perfection?
The sound of metal on stone.
the rattle snake, tell-tale call of metal laden redemption.
Slamming into another’s body.
The spectacle that is celebrity
fallen, dashed upon
(at least it’s not me).
The sight of infomercials laced with champagne ads
asking, pleading, begging for a dollar,
we change the channel.
White-Westerners traipsing through.
Jet lined whiteness crisscrossing sky-blue,
exhaust clouds hanging over small towns
in long weekends,
serrated knives slowly committing
environmental murder.
Innocence stripped away,
young girls’ lives stopped,
voices hoarse and fingers worn,
threads bare and clothes tattered,
hunched over last nights’ leftovers
forgotten, lost.
Rib cage protruding,
esophagus burning,
seeing only perfection in imperfection,
she’s perfectly, unnaturally, not good enough.
Her breasts sag,
her pants stretch,
knowing perfection only behind closed doors
and plus sizes.
Cringing from the mirror,
she whispers that, maybe this time,
she won’t feel ashamed when she buys groceries.
Envying starving girls
who envy starving girls,
not sure enough in themselves
they dig nails into flesh
and drag down
knowing only perfection in covered mirrors
and chat rooms.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Poem, Day 16
{I don't care if it's crap. The motto is Write in April, Revise in May.)
I wish I could
look beautiful clothed in a
back bra and underwear.
I wish I didn’t
cringe so much when I
look into mirrors.
I wish I didn’t
cover my face in
5 layers of coverup.
I wish I was
somebody, anybody
but my body.
I wish I could
speak my mind with out
hiding behind pen names.
I wish I was
sure enough in myself
to try.
I wish I was
confident enough to know
when not to.
I wish I could
see the truth in
what others tell me.
Today and tomorrow.
I still have the flu, so I don't know if I'll be able to post today...or tomorrow.
I have an exam tomorrow night and then another on Friday morning.
I'll make up for it, though.
God, I really do hate both my body and exams.
In the meantime, enjoy this poem that I love so very much.
It's Ms. Jeanann Verlee, my poetic heroine.
I have an exam tomorrow night and then another on Friday morning.
I'll make up for it, though.
God, I really do hate both my body and exams.
In the meantime, enjoy this poem that I love so very much.
It's Ms. Jeanann Verlee, my poetic heroine.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Poem, Day 15
{I'm pretty proud of this one, if only because today I've been dealing with a stomach flu/24hour flu (or so I hope it's only 24hrs, as I have exams to study for and got NO work done today, so I'm pretty pissed in that regard). Anyway, I've been in immense pain, stomach-wise, all day, so I slept. Overslept, and gave myself a migraine. The headache's still there (a bit), and I'm still a tad queasy, but I think I'm getting better. But, yeesh, how on earth did I even manage to scrawl out ANYthing. Go me!}
I need you
to tie my shoes
when the rain pours
on the tarnished daffodils.
To kiss the raindrops
that glide down
my sleek, unwashed hair
and the jasmine-kissed apples
of my cheeks.
To help me forget
why we’re standing
on each others’ feet,
crouched under a window
in the dead of night,
shimmying the frame open,
just a touch,
to smell the cherry pie inside.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Poem, Day 14
Amid the bird-chatter
and the heavy traffic
lies silence.
It’s hidden under rocks
and burrowed ‘tween tree roots.
You need a shovel
to dig it out,
a shovel of solid gold
and lambs wool.
I’ve yet to find
such an instrument of salvation.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Poem, Day 13
Are you sleeping
with the light on?
Forever-bright night-light
left to warm the chilled air
of your open-windowed
room.
Monsters lurk in the shadows
of closets and befuddled minds,
in the souls of troubled teens
and the eyes of haunted lovers
who lost their one-true-love.
Are you reading
tales of romance
and lost loves?
Tomorrow
I have a massive migraine and only half of a poem done, dear blog. I'll have to update tomorrow. ):
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Poem, Day 12
Polyester stretches
against rolls,
pounds and curves smothered
in layers of cotton-blend,
trying to strangle the life
out of them.
Trying,
but failing,
to dress up the flaws
until the rolls seem more
like “love handles”
and the pounds
are mere millimeters.
It doesn’t work.
And you wonder why
I haven’t bought new clothes
in four and a half months.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Poem, Day 11
{Sorry it's late, dear blog. My mom and sister came down yesterday and I didn't get a chance to post. I'll back date it, though, so it doesn't look like cheating...even if it is... ;D }
The dog’s crying,
tied up to the post.
Wind buffeting
the weathervane
as the snowdrops
lower their heads
in shame.
Promising spring
in zero-degrees.
How dare you?!
Poem, Day 10
{This would have been in earlier (like, three and a half hours earlier) if my computer wasn't being a complete douche. As it is, I'm surprised it's working now.}
She left fingerprints
on his soul
as she scurried out the front door
and into the shadow.
His time was left
in wonders
of why and how
she had stolen his heart.
She left imprints
on his wrists
as she held on tight
to his throbbing veins,
willing him back to life.
His heart was left
in mystery
and painful memories
of the last person
who held his hand
under the weeping starlight,
on that night under the moon,
a thousand wishes away.
That night,
when all nightingales sang mournful songs
of girls who scurried into shadows
and left boys with
broken hearts.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Poem, Day 9
Refracted mirror pieces
send light abounding
in any and all directions.
He's waiting in dark alleyways
and broken photo streams
to save her life.
With a subtle pull,
she's under,
casting her worries
towards her feet
as she plummets
headfirst
into love.
She's waiting in dark dreamways
and broken wishing wells
for him
to become real.
send light abounding
in any and all directions.
He's waiting in dark alleyways
and broken photo streams
to save her life.
With a subtle pull,
she's under,
casting her worries
towards her feet
as she plummets
headfirst
into love.
She's waiting in dark dreamways
and broken wishing wells
for him
to become real.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Poem, Day 8
Raised edges
of frosted letters.
Spring sun
streaks through
old, dusty windows.
It's snowing on the page,
glitter and non-organic
white flakes.
The lines tell me
to experiment,
but I'm far too terrified
to put a toe outside
the line.
of frosted letters.
Spring sun
streaks through
old, dusty windows.
It's snowing on the page,
glitter and non-organic
white flakes.
The lines tell me
to experiment,
but I'm far too terrified
to put a toe outside
the line.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Poem, Day 7
I have lived my life
on the edges
of cracked crevices,
spending countless minutes
trying not to fall in.
Fingers wave,
tempting me forward
as the tide of emotions
rolls in, lapping
at my heels.
It carries a beachcombers dream
of harsh whispers and
elephant wishes,
of fairy confessions of lust
and flower petals scorched black
by the sun.
Sand is faulty.
The edges of the crevice
grow, crawl towards me.
Ever closer.
Wishes and whispers are faulty.
I need elephant-strength
to pull me out.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Poem, Day 6
Do you remember November?
The wild nights of rain,
fallen branches
on fallen chances,
told never to love again.
Do you remember November?
Forgotten pages left strewn
across damp lawns,
white as lost swans
who flew away in the afternoon.
Do you remember November?
Whispered tears on lips
left to dry up
in my empty teacup,
as my tongue traced your fingertips.
Unfortunately...
...London did dick-all in comparrison.
Go Toronto! Show the rest of Canada why you're so much better than them. 'Cause, really, even if I hate cities, you're up there on my list of "Cities I can Tolerate", if only because you did what you set out to do.
Go Toronto! Show the rest of Canada why you're so much better than them. 'Cause, really, even if I hate cities, you're up there on my list of "Cities I can Tolerate", if only because you did what you set out to do.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Poem, Day 5
I know.
I try to ignore it
too.
pushing pounds
up stairwells,
ankles hurting,
feet hurting,
ego hurting,
head hurting.
I sort of think
you’re watching me
as I attempt the
impossible:
climbing 3 flights of stairs
non-stop,
without the huffing,
the puffing.
I sort of know
you’re disgusted by me.
please, then,
forgive the way
my stomach quivers as I laugh,
my breath comes in short huffs
after I walk up the hill,
my eyes glow in the presence of friends and,
sometimes,
food.
the way my chin(s) jiggle as I speak,
the way my breasts
(42 Gs)
bounce as I strut.
forgive my grotesqueness.
I truly don’t mean to offend.
do you really think I like being this way?
that I’m fat for the soul purpose
of garnering stares, pity, disgust, hate from others?
don’t you think I know it’s my own fault?
you don’t hear me apologizing,
in my head,
daily,
for my weight.
you don’t hear me cry about it all
when I’m home alone.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Poem, Day 4
Veils wisp in spring winds
as feet are set the task
of traipsing across
worn grass.
Face glowing in the aftermath
of some joke I cannot fathom,
long strides pulling you across
the intersection.
People stop.
Your laugh
is like pure honey.
People stare
out car windows.
"Veiled"
does not mean she must be
silent.
Does not mean she cannot laugh.
Or smile
like the sun.
Ahead of you
a young man
pulls at your attention
with kind words and smiles
and an air of forgotten prejudice.
Your turquoise-fabric
swirls around your legs
as the grass clings
to your feet.
Caramel skin warmed
and glowing
by the finally present sun
on this hopefully-it’s-spring-now
afternoon.
People stop.
People stare.
I stop,
I stare,
I smile at your joy.
I still don’t understand
how anyone
could not be wrapped up
in your smile of sunlight.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Oooor not...
Okay, so I tried.
I tried thinking about writing 3 poems in one night. And then I failed. So let's just pretend the last 3 "poems" I posted here (whatever they may be, and at whatever level of crap they may be at) count. Because it's 2:07am and I'm not in the mood right now. And the back of my throat/tongue feels swollen and it feels like I'm constantly, slowly choking. Which is annoying. It feels like I took one of my migraine meds, which I didn't.
So, assuming I don't choke to death tonight (oh fuck, jinxed myself there) then I'll write/post some real "poems" tomorrow.
PS. I refer to them as "poems" (with the quotation marks) because I have no self-respect of feelings of self-worth so I'm convinced ever single thing I write is extreme crap. The end! ;)
I tried thinking about writing 3 poems in one night. And then I failed. So let's just pretend the last 3 "poems" I posted here (whatever they may be, and at whatever level of crap they may be at) count. Because it's 2:07am and I'm not in the mood right now. And the back of my throat/tongue feels swollen and it feels like I'm constantly, slowly choking. Which is annoying. It feels like I took one of my migraine meds, which I didn't.
So, assuming I don't choke to death tonight (oh fuck, jinxed myself there) then I'll write/post some real "poems" tomorrow.
PS. I refer to them as "poems" (with the quotation marks) because I have no self-respect of feelings of self-worth so I'm convinced ever single thing I write is extreme crap. The end! ;)
"NaPoWriMo" rolls off the tongue better than "NaNoWriMo", so THERE! D:<
I just learned of NaPoWriMo.
Which is way better than NaNoWriMo. End of discussion. No arguing here. Bah!
Anyway, it started on the 1st and, had I been aware, I would have started then. As it is, I'm 3 days late, but I still want to do it. I mean, my favorite poet is, so I think I might jump on board. And by "on board" I don't mean that I'm going to be posting on their boards since, as I've already mentioned, I've missed the first 3 days. Maybe I'll post next year.
This year, though, I'm going to try it for myself and through my own means. Eg. this blog.
So...I'm going to write 3 poems tonight to make up for the four days I've missed.
But first I have to post this and restart my computer because it seems to be having a freakin' spaz attack every few minutes and such...damn thing.
It only needs to last one more year! D:
Okay then, time to post and reboot. :)
Which is way better than NaNoWriMo. End of discussion. No arguing here. Bah!
Anyway, it started on the 1st and, had I been aware, I would have started then. As it is, I'm 3 days late, but I still want to do it. I mean, my favorite poet is, so I think I might jump on board. And by "on board" I don't mean that I'm going to be posting on their boards since, as I've already mentioned, I've missed the first 3 days. Maybe I'll post next year.
This year, though, I'm going to try it for myself and through my own means. Eg. this blog.
So...I'm going to write 3 poems tonight to make up for the four days I've missed.
But first I have to post this and restart my computer because it seems to be having a freakin' spaz attack every few minutes and such...damn thing.
It only needs to last one more year! D:
Okay then, time to post and reboot. :)
Saturday, March 29, 2008
A Letter to the City of London, Ontario, Canada
Dear City of London;
Earth Hour. To me, one of the most noblest of ideas and plans to slowly make a dent in the giant that is global warming. Living with my 82 year old, old-way-of-thinking German grandmother, I initially thought it would be near impossible to do anything other than unplug my laptop, but for the past week she has been asking me questions about global warming (all brought on by a pamphlet given to her on the melting of the ice caps).
82 years old and she joined me in counting down the minutes, seconds until the cookoo-clock hit and called out
And so I walked. I walked down Platts lane and around the Cherryhill apartment complex’s. All of the apartment complex’s, and then past Cherryhill mall. It’s the route my grandmother and I have been walking since first year (for me, she’s been walking it for years upon years now). I walked with a cheesy grin on my face, thinking that finally, the city was doing something concrete and substantial to combat global warming on a populace-based scale. I then noticed that only every other street lamp was on, which made me smile even more, thinking I was seeing some “non essential” lights being turned off.
But then…well, see, I’m not sure who’s in charge of lights in apartment parking lots, or in mall parking lots, or in bank parking lots, but the sight of these made my heart drop. Nothing was off, nothing at all. The lights around Cherryhill were all glowing happily as I walked past. Those in the mall parking lot were buzzing with pent up energy. The mall itself had every light on. I’m not sure who parks in front of a bank at 8 or 9 at night, but I do know that whoever does will have no need to worry about lighting, as the florescent-like lights were humming and glaring along with all the other. I then noticed, as I made my way up the driveway of my house, that all of the street lights were on. I suppose, when I had first seen them, it was still too bright out for them to have been turned on.
So, my question to you, city of
Turning off the lights in a few, select buildings is not enough. I watched the CBC news at 9 and what I saw of other Canadian and international cities put
Earth Hour indeed.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
No more vitamin D
How can I explain?
It’s the weight of 80 fingers
slowly imprinting themselves
into my throat.
Clenching eyes, no,
I can’t cry out.
It’s the heel of a boot
grinding itself
into my solar plexus; it grinds
in pleasure as I grind
my teeth together,
creating sparks.
It’s vermin
(hundred upon thousands)
scurrying up my throat and down my back
to rest
in the area behind my heart.
My stomach churns,
I taste bile,
tears in eyes,
salt burning my retinas.
It’s like my arms are attached
to strings:
Shaking.
Anger and fear
and sorrow
and guilt.
Pain.
But god,
the anger.
Angered butterflies in my stomach,
heart and head
batter themselves
into papery oblivion.
I finally collapse
onto old German-matresses.
The butterflies
fall.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
"if only"
I can see your starshine
crawling out of sockets.
Tears swim with left behind-
forgotten misgivings.
She’s your everything,
I can see it
in her eyes
as she skims the surface of your dreams
with her plum lips.
I wish that, if only,
I could…
crawling out of sockets.
Tears swim with left behind-
forgotten misgivings.
She’s your everything,
I can see it
in her eyes
as she skims the surface of your dreams
with her plum lips.
I wish that, if only,
I could…
"Soul Sisters"
You are so filled with pain and strength
it seeps out of fallen lashes
and spread thighs.
Broken nails
smell like honey
and the burnt ash knocked off
of discarded cigarettes.
I can almost see
strands of rust-hair fall
across worn pages. Holes,
words torn from lines
of a poets story.
Worn out knobs of rubber
erasing what should not,
can not
be said.
Fingers on temples,
lips pursed,
pens scrawl and scratch
and recite.
Pages smell of cigarettes
and I open to the
center-page
and inhale.
Breathe.
Your words smell
of smoke and strength,
like time lost in alleys,
wondering what you’ve done
what to do now.
Your words smell
of kryptonite and kindness.
Like a raw soul
on display.
You are my soul sister,
and I think
I can now understand
how brilliantly
you soar.
it seeps out of fallen lashes
and spread thighs.
Broken nails
smell like honey
and the burnt ash knocked off
of discarded cigarettes.
I can almost see
strands of rust-hair fall
across worn pages. Holes,
words torn from lines
of a poets story.
Worn out knobs of rubber
erasing what should not,
can not
be said.
Fingers on temples,
lips pursed,
pens scrawl and scratch
and recite.
Pages smell of cigarettes
and I open to the
center-page
and inhale.
Breathe.
Your words smell
of smoke and strength,
like time lost in alleys,
wondering what you’ve done
what to do now.
Your words smell
of kryptonite and kindness.
Like a raw soul
on display.
You are my soul sister,
and I think
I can now understand
how brilliantly
you soar.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
"Kristen and the Beast"? I wish I lived in a fairytale...
I watched Disney’s ”Beauty and the Beast” Saturday night for the first time in, say, 12 years and I noticed and thing or two about it that had never occurred to me before.
Firstly, I now understand that I knew nothing of romance at the age of nine. Well, that’s easy to determine. I didn’t quite understand anything at the age of nine. And even now, at twenty-one, it’s hit-or-miss. But I do remember watching when Belle is “released” from the castle and runs off to help her father. I remember thinking “Oh no! Gaston the meany’s gonna do something bad now.”
I never remembered, nor realized, how heartbreakingly romantic it is. How heartbreakingly romantic the entire movie is.
The creators of ”Beauty and the Beast” were and are geniuses.
With the subtle romantic tension slowly giving way to full on feelings for each other…
The character development in the short amount of time given…
The tiny details that I never would have noticed had I not read the Trivia section on Internet Movie Database…like how the costume designer specifically arranged it so that Belle was the only one in town who wore blue which emphasized how she didn’t fit in. Then she meets Beast, another outcast who wears blue…
The snippets of dialogue:
Then the scene shifts so suddenly that you’re left gasping.
I also now understand how much of a sap I am.
A movie, made in 1991 and watched again in 2008, made me sob uncontrollably.
The last scene, when Beast “dies”, made me hyperventilate with sobs.
I now understand how lost I am in the world if something so small can send me a-wailing. Am I really a twenty-one year old young woman? Or a nine year old child?
I also came to the conclusion that Belle is like a thinner, more musically talented version of me. She has brown hair, a semi upturned nose, a love of books and a want to go out into the world and have adventures but instead looses herself in fantasy lands and dreamscapes.
Now all I need is my own charming Beast.
And so, I cry again.
Why? Simply because of the following message-tag that occurred on Sunday between me and the amazing Jeanann Verlee on MySpace.
She’s sending me her newest book of poems.
I must have deleted the entry on MySpace because I can’t find it now.
{Actually, now that I think about it…I’m not sure I posted it on MySpace. Haha! Silly me.}
I am in slight shock. That this woman, whom I admire so much, read my journal and is listening…She is an inspiration. She made my day, week, month, year.
I simply can’t stop smiling!
I think I’ll be able to do my presentation on Tuesday with ease and relative grace (and I say “relative” because I have a tendency to trip over my own feet/stumble over words like “magnetic generator” in public).
I think I’ll be able to smile.
Firstly, I now understand that I knew nothing of romance at the age of nine. Well, that’s easy to determine. I didn’t quite understand anything at the age of nine. And even now, at twenty-one, it’s hit-or-miss. But I do remember watching when Belle is “released” from the castle and runs off to help her father. I remember thinking “Oh no! Gaston the meany’s gonna do something bad now.”
I never remembered, nor realized, how heartbreakingly romantic it is. How heartbreakingly romantic the entire movie is.
The creators of ”Beauty and the Beast” were and are geniuses.
With the subtle romantic tension slowly giving way to full on feelings for each other…
The character development in the short amount of time given…
The tiny details that I never would have noticed had I not read the Trivia section on Internet Movie Database…like how the costume designer specifically arranged it so that Belle was the only one in town who wore blue which emphasized how she didn’t fit in. Then she meets Beast, another outcast who wears blue…
The snippets of dialogue:
Cogsworth: Well Your Highness, I must say everything is going just swimmingly. I knew you had it in you, ha ha!
Beast: I let her go.
Cogsworth: Yes, yes, splen - You... what? How could you do that?
Beast: I had to.
Cogsworth: Yes, but, but... but... why?
Beast: Because... I love her.
Then the scene shifts so suddenly that you’re left gasping.
I also now understand how much of a sap I am.
A movie, made in 1991 and watched again in 2008, made me sob uncontrollably.
The last scene, when Beast “dies”, made me hyperventilate with sobs.
I now understand how lost I am in the world if something so small can send me a-wailing. Am I really a twenty-one year old young woman? Or a nine year old child?
I also came to the conclusion that Belle is like a thinner, more musically talented version of me. She has brown hair, a semi upturned nose, a love of books and a want to go out into the world and have adventures but instead looses herself in fantasy lands and dreamscapes.
Now all I need is my own charming Beast.
And so, I cry again.
Why? Simply because of the following message-tag that occurred on Sunday between me and the amazing Jeanann Verlee on MySpace.
{my name},
to your blog "Crashing" posted Nov. 19, i commented:
"new chapbook coming in march.
first off the press is yours.
i'm listening.
-ms. verlee"
the copy is yours.
please send a current mailing address.
i promise i'm not harrassing you.
She’s sending me her newest book of poems.
I must have deleted the entry on MySpace because I can’t find it now.
{Actually, now that I think about it…I’m not sure I posted it on MySpace. Haha! Silly me.}
I am in slight shock. That this woman, whom I admire so much, read my journal and is listening…She is an inspiration. She made my day, week, month, year.
I simply can’t stop smiling!
I think I’ll be able to do my presentation on Tuesday with ease and relative grace (and I say “relative” because I have a tendency to trip over my own feet/stumble over words like “magnetic generator” in public).
I think I’ll be able to smile.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Campus/Bus Observation/"Poem"
I watched you with lidded eyes:
you didn’t see me.
Your backpack took up
an empty seat,
your legs were sprawled within
the close confines of the cramped bus.
For barely a brief moment
you had the saddest eyes I had ever seen.
Flashes of emotion running through
clouded vision and I don’t think
you heard my intake of breath.
You left on
the sadness gone,
maybe just my imagination playing tricks on me.
But I’m sure you didn’t notice me
as you bustled past.
There are happier moments
awaiting beyond the closed doors
of the accordion-style bus.
Happier moments,
happier eyes.
Friday, February 29, 2008
One never really realizes how soothingly quiet their hometown is until they get back to their school-city, open the window and realize that they can't hear the snow falling anymore. Instead, it's just constant cars whooshing by, the occasional bus squealing to a stop and the almost too-frequent sirens of ambulances and firetrucks.
I could hear the snow falling.
And here? It was blizzarding out and all I heard was traffic. At 10pm.
I am immensely homesick.
No matter how much I complained about home, it was still just that: home.
It didn't help when dad phoned home and passed me the phone to talk to my mom.
It didn't help when she told me that she got home and "looked around for you and then remembered you weren't here. I miss you."
It didn't help that my little sister's status on Facebook is "very upset because she came home to find [me] not there :(. "
It didn't help.
After 3 years, you'd think I'd be stronger and less a wimp after 3 years, but it seems to only be getting worse.
I played 2 straight hours of Age of Empires III. It didn't help.
I ate a slew of granola bars. No help.
I contemplated buying massive amounts of unneeded makeup sometime tomorrow, because I haven't done that since last year. Didn't help.
It's too noisy here.
I can't hear the snow.
I could hear the snow falling.
And here? It was blizzarding out and all I heard was traffic. At 10pm.
I am immensely homesick.
No matter how much I complained about home, it was still just that: home.
It didn't help when dad phoned home and passed me the phone to talk to my mom.
It didn't help when she told me that she got home and "looked around for you and then remembered you weren't here. I miss you."
It didn't help that my little sister's status on Facebook is "very upset because she came home to find [me] not there :(. "
It didn't help.
After 3 years, you'd think I'd be stronger and less a wimp after 3 years, but it seems to only be getting worse.
I played 2 straight hours of Age of Empires III. It didn't help.
I ate a slew of granola bars. No help.
I contemplated buying massive amounts of unneeded makeup sometime tomorrow, because I haven't done that since last year. Didn't help.
It's too noisy here.
I can't hear the snow.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Reading Week
Home.
I'm home for reading weak.
First day back was shitty. I woke up and was told to go make/print off resumes to take to a job fair.
Welcome home.
Then my little sister goes off with her jerk-friends that make her feel like shit but whom she still hangs out with.
The parents and I go out for supper and first I get an iced tea (instead of the coke I asked for) and a completely different salad and sandwich which I don't complain about, because I just don't complain in public.
Then dad plays the "Oh yaaa?!" game and tries to prove that he knows more about the Serbia/Kosovo situation than me. Claiming Serbians are stupid because they're protesting the separation as I try to remind him that, like many of my profs say for different issues, you can't assume an entire people or group is "stupid" or any less intelligent than you, because that's just what they know, it's who they are, and just because that isn't you doesn't make them any less intelligent.
But, see, I'm wrong.
So, unimpressed food-wise.
I go home, all ready to slaughter some civilizations on Age of Empires III, only to discover that I left the game at my grandmothers house.
I have no essays due when I get back (for a while at least) and no major assignments to do, so I had my entire week planned out: playing Age of Empires III until the cows come home. Can't do that now.
And then I put way too much sugar in my tea. And I hate when I do that.
So my little sister had promised me that, since she and her jerk-friends were going to the movie in the small-"city" 45 minutes away nice and early (around 500pm), that she'd be home nice and early and we could watch Girl Interrupted. I had a sinking suspicion that she wouldn't be home, and I was so bored and cold and annoyed that I went to bed at 8:30pm. Turns out her jerk-friends decided on the way to pick up my sister that they weren't going to go to the movie but would, instead, go to the local teams' hokey game. Which meant my sis didn't get home until 11:45, but I was asleep and long gone by then.
I haven't seen my little sister since Christmas, and I was hoping to spend some quality time with her. Now she's off to school every day this week, and I'm left to wish I had my game.
Things have been piling an piling and piling up for the past...um, 5 weeks. Now every tiny little thing gets on my nerves and ARG! It's annoying!
So now I'm bored bored bored and cold cold cold and I usually like the cold, but for some reason I can't seem to warm up here.
Bullocks.
And my dad's being a grade A douche. So that helps. He was nice to me when we were driving from London to here, but then on the drive to go out to eat, he turned 180degrees and has been nothing but rude and douche-baggy to me. Fucking brilliant.
I was going to take the bus this (Sunday) morning, back to London, since I have absolutely nothing to do here. Buuut I was clearly too lazy to do it.
So now, more boredom.
Cheers.
I'm home for reading weak.
First day back was shitty. I woke up and was told to go make/print off resumes to take to a job fair.
Welcome home.
Then my little sister goes off with her jerk-friends that make her feel like shit but whom she still hangs out with.
The parents and I go out for supper and first I get an iced tea (instead of the coke I asked for) and a completely different salad and sandwich which I don't complain about, because I just don't complain in public.
Then dad plays the "Oh yaaa?!" game and tries to prove that he knows more about the Serbia/Kosovo situation than me. Claiming Serbians are stupid because they're protesting the separation as I try to remind him that, like many of my profs say for different issues, you can't assume an entire people or group is "stupid" or any less intelligent than you, because that's just what they know, it's who they are, and just because that isn't you doesn't make them any less intelligent.
But, see, I'm wrong.
So, unimpressed food-wise.
I go home, all ready to slaughter some civilizations on Age of Empires III, only to discover that I left the game at my grandmothers house.
I have no essays due when I get back (for a while at least) and no major assignments to do, so I had my entire week planned out: playing Age of Empires III until the cows come home. Can't do that now.
And then I put way too much sugar in my tea. And I hate when I do that.
So my little sister had promised me that, since she and her jerk-friends were going to the movie in the small-"city" 45 minutes away nice and early (around 500pm), that she'd be home nice and early and we could watch Girl Interrupted. I had a sinking suspicion that she wouldn't be home, and I was so bored and cold and annoyed that I went to bed at 8:30pm. Turns out her jerk-friends decided on the way to pick up my sister that they weren't going to go to the movie but would, instead, go to the local teams' hokey game. Which meant my sis didn't get home until 11:45, but I was asleep and long gone by then.
I haven't seen my little sister since Christmas, and I was hoping to spend some quality time with her. Now she's off to school every day this week, and I'm left to wish I had my game.
Things have been piling an piling and piling up for the past...um, 5 weeks. Now every tiny little thing gets on my nerves and ARG! It's annoying!
So now I'm bored bored bored and cold cold cold and I usually like the cold, but for some reason I can't seem to warm up here.
Bullocks.
And my dad's being a grade A douche. So that helps. He was nice to me when we were driving from London to here, but then on the drive to go out to eat, he turned 180degrees and has been nothing but rude and douche-baggy to me. Fucking brilliant.
I was going to take the bus this (Sunday) morning, back to London, since I have absolutely nothing to do here. Buuut I was clearly too lazy to do it.
So now, more boredom.
Cheers.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
News about migrains! :D
So, news!
I have finally and concretely discovered what causes my daily tension migraines!!!
Alas, there is no cure.
Three hints: it’s old, wrinkly, and has a queer obsession with onions.
Any guesses…
Three more seconds…
…
…
…
THAT’S RIGHT! My grandmother!
Don’t believe me?! HERE’S PROOF!
This morning, despite having an essay due, I was in a pretty damn good mood.
I almost did the splits while walking to the bus stop because of the ice, but I actually laughed it off. LAUGHED IT OFF, even though I usually would have been embarrassed beyond belief and would have grumbled and been angry for the rest of the day. I was happy.
I get to class, and Doctor Reynard was unbelievably hilarious! Talking about how alchemists helped aid I the advancement of science because they found out when chemicals didn’t go well together when their houses of faces blew up. Stuff like that. Hilarious.
So I hand in my essay, walk with my friend to the midway point where she heads off to the library and I start the trek up the hill to my school. I had bought the newest Coheed and
So I sat in front of my classroom for the hour and a half before class started. I did some work for tomorrow, then chatted with my friend Steph, then Raeanne showed up and I chatted with her. Then class began, and it was two presentations which were “not testable”, so we didn’t have to take notes.
So I sat there and enjoyed myself.
After class, I walked down the hill, head bopping to the music, caught the bus and walked the block-ish from the bus stop to the house.
All fine and dandy.
I walk in the door, and she starts harassing me to “drink your milk” (soy milk), to “just drink it” even though I wasn’t thirsty at all. So I head to the washroom as she calls after me to eat something because “if you don’t eat, you don’t learn” etc.
In the washroom.
Look out window.
See two pairs of pants on the back porch railings.
Look closer and realize that I haven’t worn either of them in a week.
Nay, one of them I haven’t worn since before Christmas.
I leave the washroom and tell her the above. She then says she was just “airing” them out. I go and snatch them, now covered in snow and frozen stiff.
She’s standing just inside the door, and as soon as I close the door she start yelling about “why you just throw things on the ground?!” so I yell back “because I’ve been writing 5000 word essays and don’t have time to pick stuff up right now”.
Every and all of my pants are on rotation. Well, other than the ones I hadn’t worn since Christmas, they’re my “fancy presentation” pants, the ones I wear only for presentations. So, naturally, with my stress level a 17 on a scale of 1 to 10, my room is a disaster. Clothes and books are piled up EVERYWHERE.
So I start going up stairs and yell back down “you’re not supposed to go up here anyways, GOD!”
She’s done a number on this room, let me tell you. The piles of clothes are gone. Great, right? Not really, because they’re not in the drawers, nor in the closet, so that means she’s washed them. Even if they had only been worn once, or not at all, she doesn’t care. If it’s folded on the bed, she’ll take it and deem it laundry because she’s fucking crazy.
And I think of the wasted water. And the fact that she hand-scrubs the underarms to DEATH so now 90% of my black shirts are un-wearable in public because, really, who wants a black shirt with white armpits? And they are white. Same with my used-to-be-favorite purple, long-sleeved shirt. White. And then she’ll lecture me on not putting my clothes in my laundry basket, and how she had to walk up and down the stairs and the basement steps and how she “didn’t know what was wash and what was what”, even though she really DIDN’T have to do all that shit.
And now I have a migraine. My head is pounding in that same spot as always: the left temple. Making my eye water and hurt to close, blink, move.
I have shit due/to do for tomorrow. I can’t do it if her harassment gives me these migraines, daily.
Like I said, no cure.
But next year? Oh, next year I’ll live in the hospice across town, but I’m not living here again. I can’t take the daily migraines. I seriously think they’re making me go a little loopy.
No doubt about it.
I’m not the same “Kristen” I used to be. I’ve changed, for the worse.
Daily migraines can do that to a person, I suppose.
Monday, February 18, 2008
My 16th Century source is pretty much illegible...
How the hell am I supposed to read, and therefore ananlyze this? Impossible I say. Go me for choosing this source. *mooooooan*
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Seriously.
He sounds like he could be my soul mate.
No drinking.
No smoking.
No drugs.
He doesn't have to drink to have a good time.
He's quiet, unless he's around people he knows, then he's "fun and crazy."
Really.
Perfect.
But...see. I'm fat. And unintelligent/boring. Really, seriously, I'd be wasting his time.
No drinking.
No smoking.
No drugs.
He doesn't have to drink to have a good time.
He's quiet, unless he's around people he knows, then he's "fun and crazy."
Really.
Perfect.
But...see. I'm fat. And unintelligent/boring. Really, seriously, I'd be wasting his time.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
I find this highly amusing:
PS. Have you figured it out yet? That I, just recently, discovered that I can embed video? Tee hee!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Shine
There's just something about Anna Nalick's voice and lyrics.
Her lyrics tend to mean so much to me just when I need them.
And her voice is just pure meoldic compassion...if that makes any sense. Well, it does to me, and really, that's all that matters.
Her lyrics tend to mean so much to me just when I need them.
And her voice is just pure meoldic compassion...if that makes any sense. Well, it does to me, and really, that's all that matters.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
I hate migraines.
I hate them I hate them I hate them.
Mine are always on the same side now. The same temple.
I had to scurry out of class today (squeezing past a few people in my haste) to run to the washroom and throw up the breakfast I didn't have this morning because I was too nauseous.
My friend Kate said I might want to get a cat-scan.
I think I want to get a cat-scan.
These are getting ridiculous.
I'm at home, and will be going to sleep soon, thereby missing my Women in History class again because of a migraine again and I hate that because I love that class!
But I can't function with this -pound- -sharp- -pound- -wave of nausea- -sharp- -pound- that's plaguing me. I almost fell asleep in my Social History class today, after my run to the washroom. And I'm completely serious here. My eyes were drooping and I kept almost blacking out. I'm amazed I made it home and to my room, hell, how am I still typing coherently?!
I love Dr. Skidmore (in a professional, "she's so beyond awesome" kind of way) and I feel like crap missing her class again, but I don't trust myself, my head, my threshold for nausea.
I only hope she can understand.
I really think I need a cat-scan...these migraines...the intensity of them, the amount of them, the intense nausea (more intense then when I had them in grade 2)...
They're scaring me.
I hate them I hate them I hate them.
Mine are always on the same side now. The same temple.
I had to scurry out of class today (squeezing past a few people in my haste) to run to the washroom and throw up the breakfast I didn't have this morning because I was too nauseous.
My friend Kate said I might want to get a cat-scan.
I think I want to get a cat-scan.
These are getting ridiculous.
I'm at home, and will be going to sleep soon, thereby missing my Women in History class again because of a migraine again and I hate that because I love that class!
But I can't function with this -pound- -sharp- -pound- -wave of nausea- -sharp- -pound- that's plaguing me. I almost fell asleep in my Social History class today, after my run to the washroom. And I'm completely serious here. My eyes were drooping and I kept almost blacking out. I'm amazed I made it home and to my room, hell, how am I still typing coherently?!
I love Dr. Skidmore (in a professional, "she's so beyond awesome" kind of way) and I feel like crap missing her class again, but I don't trust myself, my head, my threshold for nausea.
I only hope she can understand.
I really think I need a cat-scan...these migraines...the intensity of them, the amount of them, the intense nausea (more intense then when I had them in grade 2)...
They're scaring me.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Heath Ledger.
Died today.
He was a 28 year old father of a 2 year old daughter.
I just found out a little bit ago.
My initial reaction was complete disbelief. Then I realized he was 7 years older than me and a father and consequently had a mini breakdown.
I mean, I wan never one of his "extreme" fans, as in following his every move, I'm not like that for any celeb, but he seemed like an actor who was going somewhere with his life.
It's just...odd.
And sad.
And violent.
Not "violent" as in violence was involved, "violent" as in another known figure has died and this world is violently spiraling downward.
Credible celebrities, ex-prime ministers...violence.
Died today.
He was a 28 year old father of a 2 year old daughter.
I just found out a little bit ago.
My initial reaction was complete disbelief. Then I realized he was 7 years older than me and a father and consequently had a mini breakdown.
I mean, I wan never one of his "extreme" fans, as in following his every move, I'm not like that for any celeb, but he seemed like an actor who was going somewhere with his life.
It's just...odd.
And sad.
And violent.
Not "violent" as in violence was involved, "violent" as in another known figure has died and this world is violently spiraling downward.
Credible celebrities, ex-prime ministers...violence.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
I don’t know what to do.
My grandmother comes home sometime Thursday afternoon.
I have class from
I want to skip the classes. Why? Well, so I can do a final run around the house clean up/ enjoy my last moments of freedom.
So, problem: my “Problems in Mass Society” class (which I’ve been calling “PMS”) is on Thursday. And, apparently, on said Thursday, we’re going to be picking topics/groups/dates for presentations.
My friend Raeanne is in that class, but she hasn’t been to class for the last week and a half because she’s been in
She emailed me tonight and told me she’s back in
I’m afraid that, if neither of us are there, we’ll either be forced to join different groups (separate from each other) or will have to go on the first day…which is bad for me, since all of my History profs seem to have combined diabolical minds and decided to make all of my essays etc. due that week or the week that follows.
So…
I might as well go on Thursday.
So I’m going to use this blog as an objective forum to figure out what I have to do tomorrow/ in whatever time I can get on Thursday.
Wednesday:
- catch
- spend time before class not psyching myself up, instead prepare self to actually participate in class
- in hours between classes, go one compy while in library and find books for multiple essays
- work on annotated bibliography/topic proposal for Euro. history class, due Monday
-
- home around
- 10-ish, home, eat remaining “foreign” food that grandmother would find offensive, such as snow peas, bean sprouts and Count Chocula cereal with what’s left of the soy milk, for dinner
- put in laundry
- relish in the fact you are doing your own laundry for the last time for another year or so…probably
- while waiting for laundry, watch tv and relish in the last bit of independence you will have for another year…or more (back to the German form of "yelling" the next day because I was up watching tv after 11pm the night before...)
- go to bed, probably really late now
Thursday:
- catch
- next class at
- in said class, make “nice girl eyes” at the girls in front of you and hope to dear god that they’ll let you in their group
- but! if Raeanne is there, be overjoyed
- go home
- if Omster not there, sit in front or back room and mourn your soon-to-be lack of freedom
- swear a lot. out loud.
- when she’s home, go to bed…or something…end of joyous times…no more soy milk or healthy food…back to undistinguishable fried meats, gravy and too much potatoes
- die a little inside
The end.
Well then, that’s my genius plan.
Thanks, blog, for helping me hash that out.
Now, it may be
Monday, January 14, 2008
I’m not the university type. It’s officially official.
It doesn’t matter how amazing some courses can be, or how euphoric I feel when I’m looking at a manuscript from 1556, it doesn’t matter.
Because when alls said and done, with the crisp pages between numb hands, the smell of old-world knowledge heavy in the air, and the 16th century ink under tingling fingers, you start to realize that the ink is rubbing off on your sweaty digits and no amount of English rulers or Inquisition Inquisitors can save you now.
And when you get those exams back, and the ink bleeds under running tears, you realize that you have no idea what you’re doing.
You’re going to do a four-year degree. But that will only work if these 57, and 58%’s on exams change because you need at least a high 70 in each class to take the next step.
You’re going to be a librarian…then what? Go to “Library and Information Sciences”, take some classes, probably fail those too, and realize that you’re not right for university.
But then what? What else can you do? Nothing, that’s the answer, nothing.
So you go home from tutorial, blindly stop at the drug store and do what you do best: buy chocolate and an Archie comic.
Now what are you doing, stupid? Oh, you know, increasing your weight with chocolate and skipping class. The class that, just last week, you found out you got 57% on your exam.
Now what?
Well, now you need a hug. A huge, all encompassing hug but there’s no one around to give you one. And you won’t ask for help, oh no. It’s not educational or academic help you need, no, you can sort of understand why you got the marks you did, its emotional help you need right now, but you never ask for it, do you? No, too afraid.
Middle child syndrome? No, there is none. That’s all made up by us middle children. But maybe, just maybe us middle children have created this “syndrome” to such a perfect extreme that we feel the need to live up to it. So you did, didn’t you? You lived up to it and now look where it got you: too afraid to ask for help. Too afraid to tell your own mother how depressed and radical-minded you feel. Too afraid and self-assured in the “middle child syndrome” that if someone does offer help, you get mad, mad because in your middle-child-mind you see their reaching out as some kind of blow you both your ego and your emotional walls and you panic. You panic and get angry.
So now what?
Too scared to ask for help, too scared to act on your emotions, too scared to do anything but sit…and wait for the next round of marks to prove to yourself that you’re not the university type.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
