All Or Nothing

Is It Bohemian?

My friend JL said she was having a rough day. Well, she wrote that she was having a rough day, rather, and as I thought about how to reply, my well-trained narcissist within started formulating an experience of my own to share with her ("Oh, I know what she needs! She needs a kitchsy story from my past to relate with, and then everything will make sense to her again!").
I began by reminiscing on my college days, how some days I would walk across the Texas Tech campus thinking how great it was that I had the chance to attend such a big university, listening to the marching band practicing over by the music building, and watching the football team running drills near the stadium. Most days, however, it was a completely different story, as I fought against the bitter wind, pulling doors open with all my strength only to be literally sucked into the building and thrown to the ground with the force of the door slamming shut again. I would park at least 3 miles away from whatever class I was already 15 minutes late to, and my mind was occupied 99.8% of the time with a constant internal debate:

"Why go to class now? You're already 25 minutes late, and it's only a 50 minute class. The embarrassment will FAR outweigh any benefit you might get from actually being there,"
"NO, I have to go! I haven't been even once in the last two weeks, and I think we might even be having a test in there today! Besides, I paid for these classes, and I might as well get the most out of them."
"Get the most out of them? What a freaking joke! You missed that test two days ago and you know it. You blew it! BLEW IT! Might as well go back home and crawl under the covers, you loser. You're never going to graduate anyway. It's pointless."

If the verbal abuse of the antagonist failed to persuade me from my course, it would quickly launch an appeal to my sympathies:

"Brrr! It sure is a cold one out here today! Must be at least 10 degrees below zero. No? Well, maybe that's just the windchill. Anyway, don't you think you should consider your health? Yeah, that's true, you really can't afford to get sick. Yep, midterms are coming up pretty soon. Can't miss those, nope, you really can't! You'd better get yourself back in that car and maybe even stop by Starbucks on your way back home to get something warm circulating! No, no one would expect you to be in class today. It's totally unreasonable!"

Some days were particuarly rough, days where all I could think about was dropping out, getting in my car, driving as far away as I could get, and then finding some kind hearted people in my new, glamourous town who would take me in and constantly affirm my decision to drop out and find something "better" Because You Derserve It! One day while running a quick errand to the post office or grocery store, I would be discovered by a well-known talent agent (I don't know what talent I thought they would discover, but that never mattered) and then I would almost immediately (I wouldn't be opposed to some character-building hard work, just not for any lengthy period of time) become rich and famous. I would buy an amazing downtown loft and think to myself as I was falling asleep on 4000 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets "See, I knew I didn't need college...what a waste of time that was for someone like ME".

On those days it was a sure thing that I would race back to my car and drive home in a panic, frantic to get online and check the status of my bank account. When my bank account failed miserably at giving me any kind of option for a plane ticket (why drive if you can fly, right?), I would then start calculating how much gas I would need to drive cross-country. I would invariably run out of money in some forsaken part of Ohio or Utah, depending on what I had selected as my final destination. As living out of the trunk of my car outside of Findlay, Ohio was decidedly not glamourous, and couldn't even really pass as bohemian, I would resign myself again to the life I had before me, pulling out my class syllabus and sighing as I figured out a new excuse for missing class.

Words

Words are interesting. They pack a lot of impact, when paired with like actions. Conversely, however, they lose pretty much all meaning when they aren't. Interesting to wonder how much the words "I am sorry" mean after the fact. Common sense and logic would tell me that they don't mean much. Regardless of whether or not they are true, they lose their meaning, after the fact.

I haven't handled some situations very well. I really try to stay away from using this blog space as airing my own personal stuff, but I feel that this is more important than that precedent.

There really isn't a lot to say about the whole deal, except that not being totally honest and open with people is never the best option, and, unfortunately, is the option I have chosen as of late. And, as I deserve, that has backfired.

I seem to have a pretty hard time making decisions about much of anything. (see) I find myself in a perpetual state of complete confusion. But that's no reason or excuse for dragging other people down with me, especially the caliber of people I have drug down.

I am sorry. To everyone involved, and that's a lot more than I even know about. I know it doesn't matter, and I know, like all other words that aren't backed up, they just turn into letters on a page, or sounds from someone's lips. But, I am sorry, nonetheless. There doesn't seem to be much more I can say.

confusion wanders in
strides the evening like a king
chaos and turmoil prevail
bedlam reigns, hope is drowned
ah but strangely we settle down
resigned to the sinking ship on which we sail....
another night is getting late
I don't know which way to go
there's just this long white road
and I can't think straight
no I can't think straight

david gray

And, here we are again

And, here we are again. It is crunch time, stress time, dive headfirst into a pool of suspended reality time, embrace your unrealistic expectations time. Yes, finals are here, and when you're taking a 22 hour class load, and have come down with a serious bout of senioritis, they weigh heavily upon you. Or at least that's what I hear.

Today was my listening exam in the fabulousness they call History of Jazz. We must have wasted at least 25 minutes waiting for the 800 or so people in the Hemmle Recital Hall to actually get up and move to the front so that we could have an empty seat between us all. And when I say that we wasted 25 minutes waiting for this to happen, what I mean is that 25 minutes went by with our instructor yelling that single instruction out, over and over, and having basically no one move at all. Eventually she gave up and started the test half an hour late, but I'd like it to be known that I, along with my colleague Jordan, moved all the way up to the fourth row. Just to be cooperative. Something should have been done to acknowledge such a sacrifice on our parts. A girl behind us noted aloud that all the students in the first five rows apparently were the only ones to either comprehend the instructions or to follow them, and therefore should be duly compensated with an automatic A. However, our professor apparently had her hands full with the difficult task of stating the question numbers, in order, from 1-50, and therefore did not pay much mind to this brave girl's suggestion. I think we had three different #37's. I hope I got one of them right.

I think the real high point of the test was when our instructor played a little rift on an instrument, interrupted herself midnote to say "Don't talk. Keep your eyes on your own paper." and then continued on as if nothing had happened.

In other news, I have come to the realization that I have more than 5,000 words to write on three different topics in the next four days. It's much like trying to organize the world's messiest room. You have to pull everything out and take full inventory of what you've got, and what you're gonna do with it before any real organization can take place. In other words, things get a whole lot worse before they ever start looking better. And that, my friends, is the fine place I've found myself in. So, from today until Wednesday at 5pm, I'll be writing. Maybe at Daybreak. Maybe at Barnes and Noble. Maybe at J&B. Maybe at the library. Maybe even at my own humble abode. Anywhere I am, though, there will only be one of two things taking place. Panicking, or writing. I'd like to think that I do a good job of alternating between the two, and giving them as equal playing time as possible. Really, it's only fair.

A Story of Obscene Extremes

A Story of Obscene Extremes:

1. I'm eating cake frosting right out of the can. Yep, it has 8 million grams of fat and about 9 trillion calories. Nope, I don't care.

2. Amy (my best friend and one of my roomates, for those of you who may not have had the pleasure to meet her) is now moving into my room. With me. Yep, it's really small. Nope, there is no possible way that we can fit all our stuff in there.

3. I got all my laundry back tonight. Yep, it was more than a week ago that I said it was imperative to get it done immediately. Nope, I'm not gonna tell you how I got by for another week, nor would I encourage you to use your imaginations.

4. The total laundry poundage count was 88. Yep, you read it right, 88 pounds. Nope, 88 pounds of freshly washed laundry does not make the fitting-everything-into-a-tiny-room situation any easier.

5. Even though I hate grocery shopping, and I have no money, and it takes me one million years to pick out what I'm gonna buy, I went to Market Street tonight. Yep, I got all the way through the line and realized I didn't have my wallet. Nope, the irony wasn't lost on me.

6. Today, one of my professors asked our entire class to write out what we thought the opposite sex wanted most in a relationship. Yep, most of the girls thought guys wanted to watch sports and have sex whenever they wanted. Nope, the guys didn't deny it, except for the one guy who threw out "Well, I don't like sports...."

7. I'm going to see Damien Rice at the Gypsy Tea Room on Friday the 28th. Yep, it's gonna be awesome, almost as awesome as the company I'll have. Nope, I have no doubt that the three of us will prove to be the lucky charm that makes great concerts incredible, just like the last one we all went to together.

8. I'm putting off the inevitable....I don't want to go back into that quickly-shrinking room and look at the mass of clothes, books, magazines, bedside tables, chairs, and beds that all somehow have to fit in a semi-organizational manner. Yep, you remembered correctly, I'm the girl who seems to repel all organization. Nope, I have not a clue why we ever thought this was gonna work.

How can you think I have time for 9 and 10 after reading all that? Give a girl a break.

Bad Underwear

I'm wearing my last pair of Bad Underwear.

I don't expect boys to understand anything about this subject, but I know that the girls do. Every girl (I'm operating under the presumption that she actually wears underwear) owns three kinds of underwear:

1) "Too-bad-no-one-can-see-these-because they're-so-hot- and-so-am-I" Underwear
2) Normal Underwear
3) Bad Underwear.

The bad kind is the stuff you get in a 6-pack, in a plastic bag, from your aunt, at Christmas. The kind you have to roll down three times to even think about wearing some seblance of low-rise anything. The kind that causes last-minute cancellations of shopping trips as soon as you remember you're wearing them and realize not only that they make you look about 5 pounds heavier throughout your entire mid and rear sections, but also that they will look ridiculous sticking out of the back of or leaving incredibly indiscrete panty lines on anything you try on. Why we girls don't get rid of these black marks on our underwear collections is a mystery I have never been able to solve. It seems that as soon as I let a few pairs go, they reincarnate in the form of my next birthday present.

I even have a seperate drawer for these substandard members of an otherwise lacy, silky, beautiful society.

However, much like my grocery shopping schedule, or my class-going schedule (well, any schedule, really, who am I kidding), my laundry schedule is somewhat nonexistent. This is where I would link to Emily's blog to exemplify what I do instead of my own laundry, but since, sadly, her blog is gone, I will just say that I get it done. Yes, that's right, I'm too lazy/spoiled/bratty/any-other-adjective-you'd-like-to-use to do my own laundry, so I send it to the Double T Laundromat on 19th and W (or thereabouts). They'll do it all for you, for less than a dollar per pound. You get it back that same day, all washed, folded and/or hung up, and you don't have to do a single thing except pay for it. So goes it in a consumer-based society. But I digress.

The point is, I haven't "done" my laundry in so long that it has resulted in the beforementioned situation, with me waking up, going innocently to my underwear drawers and finding that my only choice is the very last pair of Bad Undewear. The worst of the worst, if you will.

Now I don't have much of a problem with re-wearing stuff, as long as it doesn't smell too much or, more importantly, make someone say "Hey, wasn't she wearing that just the other day?". Jeans are pretty much a non-issue. I mean, you can wear jeans over and over without a wash and no one could ever know the difference. I think they're way better unwashed anyway, so there. However, this policy of re-wearing, however pratical it might be, does not apply to underwear. I just can't do it. So, when I have gone through the entire drawer of "Too-bad-no-one-can-see-these-because they're-so-hot-and-so-am-I" Underwear, moved on to the drawer with the Normal Underwear, worn all of those, and then gone through every pair of Bad Underwear, it's pretty disquieting.

I have about 50-something pairs of underwear, in total.

Make your own conclusions about how long it's been since I've "done" laundry. I'll give you a minute.

Pretty sad, huh.

I'll probably be at Double T later on this afternoon, if anyone wants to stop by and say hello. But you'd better be timely about it, because I'm only gonna be in there long enough to drop off my two tons of laundry and then later to pick it all up and stack it neatly in my car. And only if you promise not to ask to see any of the Bad Underwear....or remember that I'm wearing a pair.

Time and Timing

While I know that this post will not be interesting to many of you, I know for a fact that it will be interesting to a certain someone whom I am interested in interesting. But, for anyone else who actually reads this stuff, tell me which theory you think is best....If we could recreate the way we see time, which would be the best way?

The Classical Newtonian definition is basically time as we know it: days, weeks, months and years; a time that is both chronological and orderly.

The Einsteinian view defines time as indivisible but somewhat differentiable, behaving much in the same way as energy does in the wave-pulse formations in quantum physics. Sometimes time can be separated into distinct parts and other times it operates as a continuous wave, but these two forms will never occur simultaneously.

In the Transactional definition, time is divisible into different and significant cycles of life. In example, the Indian culture does not see time as a chronological and ordered process, but as how the individual meshes with the changing seasons, the land, and whatever is happening in life at present.

In Eastern Mysticism, time can simply dissolve into nothingness if one can reach a higher and more enlightened state. Time is illusory and reversible, merely an obstacle to be overcome.

Hermeneutic Temporality states that humans basically construct time and all of its meanings by the contextual situations they engage in, and that time is nothing but what is in the present moment.

Don't say I didn't warn you :)

My Roomate's Boyfriend

Weird things Cody Dixon did tonight

1. Asked me who called when my phone rang and then immediately took it back, saying "I'm so nosy, I'm like a girl"

2. Got about 2 inches from Amy's face and made some kind of weird barking noise while she was trying to help him figure out his schedule

3. Stuffed his entire mouth full of cookie dough, spit/drooled some out on himself, some on the couch, some back in the bowl, gagged a few times, and then spit the rest in our (broken) sink, which we had already warned him NOT to use...then apologized and asked if we minded having regurgitated cookie dough left over in the bowl or sink

4. Complained the entire time Amy and I were watching Average Joe, saying that it was stupid and a waste of time and that we should definitely be watching football instead. So, Amy and I changed it to football, began discussing defensive strategies, and after Cody sat there quietly for a while, he said "Man, I think she's gonna vote those two fat guys off."


Seriously though, Cody is the coolest and provides many hours of entertainment for all he spends time with :) Yea for Cody!!

You'll Never Know

People have the right to fly
And will when it gets compromised
Their hearts say "move along"
Their minds say "gotcha, heart"
"Let's move it along"

You can't build a house of leaves
And live like it's an evergreen
It's just a season thing
It's just this thing the seasons do

And if you never stop when you wave goodbye
You just might find if you give it time you will wave hello again
You just might wave hello again

And that's the way this wheel keeps working now


I believe that my life's gonna see
The love I give returned to me.

J. Mayer

Serial Avoidance

Sometimes you say something that's really hard to say, you get a response that makes it even harder, and you decide never mind, you aren't going to stick with what you said because it's just too hard/awkward. But SOMETIMES, you say something that's really hard to say, you get an even weirder response, and then you still stick with it, and tell it like it is. No matter what happens. No matter how dumb you look or feel at the time.

And let me tell you, the second way is MUCH better. For real, I don't know how many others out there are as bad as I am about telling people things you know they won't want to hear, or things that you know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, are going to make you look weird/dumb/very uncool, but take it from a serial-avoider - It's awesome to just say what you mean, exactly, tell it like it is, specifically, and not worry about anything else. Not worry about the consequences, not worry about the results. You don't even have to!

It's like, you said what you needed to say, and maybe that was the only battle you ever needed to fight.

Guess what I did Friday

Guess what I did Friday night. I went to Barnes and Noble, right after work, and stayed until nearly 10pm. I read a book - yes, a whole book - and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. What does this say about me? I don't know, and I don't really care, either. All I cared about was not having to study, for a few short hours, not having to entertain anybody else, and not having to worry about one single thing. And the great peach-ginger tea I was drinking. Yum. What an evening :)