If you live with me for longer than a month, you realize

A) I like to sleep alot.
B) I hate to wash dishes.
C) I always talk about writing but never seem to do it.
D) About every few weeks I binge on Flaming Cheetos and some kind of dairy product (but not milk, which I hate) to wash it down with.
E) I shower constantly but never seem to brush my hair.
F) I often parade around with a blanket cape. It's just a thing.

from an email i wrote to a newish friend

I remember the insignificantly significant. I remember the exact first words Josh Nitschke and I exchanged ("Is that the room? They all look alike!"), what I was wearing when I met Jon (a large lampshade hat, which i was really trying to make work that day, but had come to realize in the hour beforehand that it was not to be, something that his expression told me instantly. thanks, could have saved me alot of trouble). I remember my friend's friends names better than I do my classmates, I connect songs to every event and personage in my life, I collect the ticks and inflections of other people. I think it's because I am saving them up to use someday, maybe just in writing, maybe not. Sometimes I feel like JSF, a collector. Now that I have romanticised myself, I will say that I am also brazen and notorious for sharing things that folk honestly don't care about or don't feel is appropriate unless under influence of alcohol. Though I have never been drunk I would assume that were I to be, I would be the best friend that the main character would not want around because I would tell so-and-so that so-and-so likes him, and so on.

-----

Forgive this, but my cat has nine lives (i do not tire of finding that amusing): what sort of gesture did you choose to represent yourself? I hate those kinds of things. Not expression, but having to encapsulate yourself, say something about yourself. It seems like on the one hand if you knew yourself you wouldn't be able to summarize at all because it's too great, then again if you knew yourself utterly you would know the one word, the one gesture that could be you, tastes and preferences aside and be damned with only the core remaining. And if you knew yourself you'd be okay with that. Whereas I, though I like to think I know myself so much better than other people, feel like I have to demonstrate my layers or duality or so many elements of my identity (as I would like it to be) constantly. In summary, those kinds of things give me too much personal anxiety-- as if by saying the word or making the motion I am sentencing myself to be that, rather than letting that speak for me. Ah well.

the idea of idle beauty is worth the most contempt

this is a college kid thing to write about. but i am a college kid, so allow me.

i have no money, zip, nada. overdrawn, in the RED, dying, worried.

this weekend was my friend lauren's birthday. she wanted to have dinner. not too much to ask, obviously, and yet i had no cash. at all. maxed cards, you know, and i also wanted to actually GET her something, gah. so. i realized that i had 2 books from barnes and noble that i bought in ventura so i found the receipt through some black magic, then dashed to the nearest B&N for a refund.

now, as soon as i walked in i saw the large looming sign declaring 14 days the cut off point for returns. oh no. i get in line anyway, thinking maybe they won't notice it. i get redirected a number of times, finally to be told, indeed, that those 14 days had passed. depressed, i was about to withdraw my stupid nabokov and capote from the ring and endear them to me forever, but wait. they'd let me get away with it. it's just a FEW days after. but don't do it again! PRAISE GOD!! 30 dollars!!!!

Happily, I skipped forth from ye wonderfule olde bookesupplie, only to face my old friend, Coffee Bean. I sighed wistfully. If only. And I realize I'm hungry, too, with only oatmeal at home to eat. blah. as i make my way back to my car i espy a card on the ground. it looks like coffee bean..... could it??? i take it in. i find out that 10 dollars is on this here foundling. happy, happy day. i get a muffin.

i run to target. i return a skirt, but the money is refunded to my credit card. the good news about this is that now, come tomorrow, my netflix will actually be renewed through this card that now has some money on it. but anyway. i make my meager purchases for lauren. 2 pairs of cutethings and some peanut M&Ms. i usually want to do so much more for birthdays, but alas. I run home, run to the resturant, end up spending more than i planned on once tip and taxes are taken into account. and then i chip in to buy her a little cake and sparkly candles--- all in all, leaving me with one dollar!

and that, kids, is how to celebrate a birthday on a limited budget. old receipts and the kindness of parking lot gods, or God, who actually realizes that I need Coffee Bean more than I'd like to admit.

that's all.

cannot find frying pan. hell to pay.

i hate relocating. i always lose about 15% of my useful items every move. if i move 3 times a year, as does your average college student, that means i lose 45% of my stuff. the coffee mugs will be the next to go, i just know it.

happy 50th blog.

aimless. no, not that, pretty productive, relatively. but i'm stalling. why am i so resistant? damn.

pondering standards, how i see people. will i become like my parents, will i stop trying to understand them and take them as is? i hope not, or maybe i hope so.

yesterday, and during points of today i have had the strangest sense of homesickness. strange. ventura must be home, i don't feel homesick there. but i do feel restless. maybe the restless feeling is just because i am young and clueless and haven't done or seen anything, or found what i'm looking for. maybe that's just natural, maybe that's just what CS Lewis is talking about on the subject of Faith in Mere Christianity. I wish I were more intelligent in regards to my own feelings sometimes. I see some people here, giving in to every whim and backpeddling at every moment, and I'm not like that. But it seems that with every altering of emotion I'm thrown into a turmoil. Anyway, point being I think my most significant comfort right now is knowing that Ventura is home. Ventura is home. And it's alright to feel homesick for it, even if it is unstable.

Though homesickness is never nice. Right now I feel strangely urgently needy, like I need a hug, someone to sit with me, someone to be with me NOW, but I don't want to be with or close to anyone. In fact I'm avoiding it, for the most part.

Going to the school shrink tomorrow. Probably not Christian, which would be my desire, but free, which is my joy.

I want to see Taking Woodstock. AND the Time Traveler's Wife. Suck it (I'm already talking like my room-mate. scary.)

truth doodles

I am not strong. I am not the leader I thought I could be. I need people to complete my happiness. Trust?

A truth? What do I know?

There is always hope, and you must never abandon this idea. Hope comes to me in letters. It comes to me from god, but that doesn't mean it can't appear/manifest itself in superficial ways.

Hope is Holden's Phoebe.

so i wanna get your everything

Packing/resorting for the new year, getting kind of excited. Have finally reached a sort of revitalization, even though I'm kind of tired physically. Anyway, found my old 03-06 journal. Tinkerbell is on the cover, but the inside is fascinating. People are fascinating, myself included.

I just wish I could remember if I was earnest back then, or only kidding myself.

edit:

just compiled pretty much the only remaining writing from my rough time, found in another random notebook which I just trashed.. interesting to read it now, it just drips with disconnect and anguish and self-hatred and alienation. man.
-------

An airport is a surreal place to be when you don't even feel like living. (this was scribbled out but i could still read it)

You sit there with your alloted two pieces of carry-on luggage, plagued with the traditional reservations of an non-frequent flier- the chief being "what if I've made a mistake along the way?"-- checking inside your now overstuffed purse every two minutes to make sure your boarding pass and cellphone and ID are all in their proper and accessible place. You're traveling alone- first time, come to think of it, but you really don't think of it because its never been an issue. You're here at Gate 47 and it was all easier than you thought, to be honest, but you aren't thinking of that too much and you're certainly not honest.

What you are is hoping you'll stat thinking about flying alone, making mistakes, sitting next to an ill and or psychotic basket-case with no respect for personal space. Dying, crashing, you almost wish that terrified you.

It doesn't, actually. And you can't for the life of you be afraid because more than anything you're scared of your lack of foresight, lack of anything.

It's funny, you think, to be in a place like this, a palce where previously you'd just casually people-watch and wonder about their personal lives, who they love, who they're going to see, where they're from and if they'd had the same breakfast you had. Now you find yourself consumed with fear about their pasts. What horrible things have you done, mother of two? What was the worst thing you've ever done, and did anyone ever find out?

These people are me, these horrible people are all me and I belong with them at Gate 47. I hope the plane never boards, all we'll leave is each other. Eventually we'll murder one another for linty mentos found at the bottom of handbags and cracker crumbs and juice boxes-- a mere step before we turn to cannibalism and eventually do the world a service by wiping ourselves out.

I hate myself even more for wondering it. Child molester? He's probably the nicest person in the ever. He's probably an angel in disguise, or God, even, testing me. I wish God wouldn't est me, especially when I've already proven myself a failure in His imperfect world.

another day:

This is the point where someone is supposed to call but no one does.

One thing I wish you'd all have told me was I was making your life so miserable. I wish, I knew I had things that had to be dealt with but I didn't know that I was perceived as some kind of psychopath who must be tolerated.

And by the by, most of those times you thought I was trying to make anyone feel guilty, I wasn't.
I just didn't know what to say.

Another day:

Stories with no one to tell them to, the moon, the moon.

The lamp that reminds me of your earrings.... just a billion more to regret.

Another day:

Everyone's an opportunist. I see it in everyone and I hate it.

Punishing schedules and myriad affiliations provide ties that are all too illusory. People experience profound dissonance because they are in the company of others but NOT TRULY CONNECTED TO THEM.

but can you save me from the ranks of the freaks

i'm tired.

the restlessness is fading, though, and i know i have to stop looking for the Divine Push in regards to everyday living and know that i have to start seeking the Divine on His Private Line. i have to stop hoping for people to save me, to say the right thing or be the right comfort or know what it is that i need-- or can distract me enough to shield me from this feeling of lack and empty.

boys do not pay attention to me. they cannot save me.

men do not understand me. they cannot save me.

i will be taking care of my family soon enough. they cannot save me.

friends are to be loved, not wrung of all care. they cannot save me.

i, i who have more issues than readers digest, cannot save me.

one step at a time.

TMI, the world screams, but I don't care: horrible, horrible cramps today. Curse Eve, curse babies, curse the female species. This suffering is entirely uncalled for in light of the fact that I probably will not have children. And even if I did--- years of monthly pain, courtship (ie years of awkwardness and an expensive wedding), a ridiculous 9-month pregnacy (huge feet, huge self, morning sickness) all for what will probably be an ugly baby?

I'm being silly now, but really. Come on. They weren't always painful, it seems like just this year they've moved from uncomfortable to unbelievable. People don't understand it if they haven't experienced it-- it's as though a tiny steel fist has grabbed ahold of all of your lower abdominal organs and is squeezing them from the middle. Because of the source of pain being essentially in your stomach you assume you can breath and that will change it, but no. You think a shift in position could make it more tolerable- like a stomach ache. But no. You think relieving yourself will help. But no. Today it was so painful I was sweating and very near throwing up. Eventually I popped 2 tylenol and 3 ib profins-- not reccommended, but finally did the trick. Or maybe it was my plea to God to make the suffering stop. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible to be under strain like that in a house that is not your own-- though going through it in a dorm with a clueless room-mate was also not entirely comfortable. UGH. STUPID.

So someone in my life needs to get married. I have a fever and the only prescription is more weddings. This will also be a plus if I am made godmother to all the little tots that result from said weddings... twill save this period-sufferer from providing myself with my own children. Everyone wins.

So a few months ago I did a happy exercize, listing 5 good things. wir beginnen again.

1. Pride
Yes. Pride comes before a fall, and I am aware of the scrutiny that I will have to handle after this statement, but it has just occurred to me and it has made me very happy, again, especially given my stance on remaining single: i think i have had a good hand in helping people i love. In the past it has been very hard for me to see any positive effect that I could have on anyone. Surely I have been the only person to benefit from friendship, surely I am the one that needs. I have been accused of being needy and weak before, and I have taken it to heart. That is a painful idea to face, but I don't think it's true anymore. I don't think it ever was. The details of that are for another time, but my point is that I have given alot of myself and I think I have left somewhat of a good impression on the recievers. I think those that know me have grown more honest because of me, I think they have grown more affectionate through me. I think more people can say "I love you" now than they could before, and not worry, not be concerned that it is not a cool or manly thing to say. I think more people can talk about themselves with ease, I think more people can read aloud and not worry so much about messing up. I think more people know not to identify a tear with a child. I think more people can be comfortable with themselves, safe in the knowledge that someone loves the daylights out of them.

2. Classes start soon.
I am not relishing my return to the fake-Catholic land, but I am psyched, psyched to the max to be educated again. 2 film studies (Irish and Women in Film... rad), 1 philosophy, 2 screenwriting classes (directing- ie production!!, and writing the sitcom, oh no), and 1 english class (chaucer! all chaucer!! all the time!!). Not to mention a job, volunteering, going to the gym, joining CLC (finally) and the possibility of an internship. I need to find a church, too. I think maybe I will be better this year about going to class...

3. Lack of depression
I don't know if it's because I haven't had the chance, but it seems as if this summer that I've slowly, subtley become less prone to collapse. Maybe I was right back in June after all. I'm still no good at getting up, no good at anxiety, and somewhat lax about hygeine (comes from understanding your own level of attractiveness. a difficult reality when spending time around friends who are 10's while you remain a 3... but wait this is a good list..). I did have a random outburst of emotion at an uncalled for moment, but I think I'm going to be OK.

4. I went to San Francisco.
I have to spare the details of it here because it was a pretty stressful trip for me, but good lord. What a wonderful city. I would like to live there for awhile. It's so alive, but it's not like LA. It's not crudely made, it's historic and beautiful and bridged. All LA has to offer is Hollywood, and even that is grimy and cold in many ways.

5. Sadly I have run out of time. I will think of another good thing or perhaps five more later. Sleep now.

someday we'll be drinking with the seldom-seen kid...

So my room-mate is moving out this week. We haven't had problems or anything- she's friends with a girl down the hall who just had HER room-mate move out on her, and since my roomie and her friend are going to live together NEXT semester off-campus they thought it'd be a good way to prepare. Moving in together, that is.

So what does this mean? This means I get 226 to myself, baby.

The other night at rehearsal I practiced my "big scene" for the first time outside with the other actors, completely off-book and I sucked. Unless I was better than I thought I was. But I thought I was damn awful. It's so hilarious how one can build up an image of themselves in their own minds and once they begin the process of actualizing it-- well, it doesn't always work out. In my defense.... I was going on 2 hours of sleep (strange thing-- I went to bed at 5 and woke up at 7 feeling as if I just couldn't sleep any longer, so I just got up... whereas most times it's me going to bed at 1 and feeling like I can't get up until almost 11, wtf), not very much food, I hadn't been to Fr. Grant's rehearsals since we had moved outside, and I had no freaking idea how the staging was going to work (we weren't even rehearsing where we were going to perform... confusing). Still. I really thought I had my lines down and that I could pull it off, but as I started to speak I realized I sounded TERRIBLE. Placeless. I had no clue who the eff this guy is- strong, emotional, crafty- or just sad?- my voice sounded incredibly flat (though i had been in the cold doing nothing but watching them rehearse for 3 hours) and all of a sudden I was putting inflections on syllables I had consciously chosen beforehand to avoid. The worst part was everyone was not only present to witness it, they were held up by my error. Oh woe. Been awhile since I was embarrassed.

I was pretty much kicking myself for the rest of the night (though I had other extremely emotional things going on that day-- funny, also, how I could cry at the drop of a hat ALL DAY-- two hours sleep, mind you) yet when it came to my scene I was emotionless as a stone. Anyway, I felt horrible for the rest of the night, but come this morning I was refreshed. Rededicated to the whole thing and glad to have something that will iron me out and stretch me in ways that I hadn't really planned on. I opted to do this so that I could prove to myself that I am a multi-talented person, that I could just have more in my life to show for my existence. You know. "What, second semester Junior year? I was in a play!" And yes. I wanted to be different, I wanted to prove myself to other people who seem so quick to classify me as unworthy and uninteresting (my fault, as I don't seek their attention but somehow resent their disinterest-but still). But that's not what this is going to be, apparently. This going to be... a learning experience. DAMMIT!! Who knew? Anyway, on the one hand I'm pissed that I'm not just a natural (like it seemed I was once) but on the other... and ultimately... I'm glad overall and I'm very motivated to do this learnin'.

Lately I've reignited my appreciation for Grounds for Divorce, an Elbow song that was pretty popular last year after it was in Burn After Reading. I liked it and all but this week I CANNOT GET ENOUGH.

What else?

So far school's been okay. Great at moments, not so at others. Screenwriting-wise I've learned that the quirky comedy thing probably isn't going to work so well for me in the long run- it'll be alright for the shorts and I'd really like to have a sense of humor present in everything I write, but overall I think I'm the most interested in writing fairly dark, serious dramas. I like the tone of the classic films and darker, grey sort of subjects keep me more on task. There's alot to explore there. Though I wish I could balance the two- one About A Boy this year, one No Country for Old Men the next, I don't think I quite have that capability. All this to say, I'm trying my hand at comedy and my screenwriting teacher has a very broad sense of it- she's wonderful, but her direction is taking me somewhat away from what I'm seeking to express in my story. I really, really like the story but I don't know if I'm fit to tell it- or funny enough.

Been dealing with doubt in a very weird form- distrust of everlasting love. When feeling what I perceive to be its absence I begin to doubt it's existence. Not concretely, and... I mean, I believe technically in its existence, or that I should, but I don't FEEL it as I tell myself I should. Also, I know where it comes from- a genuine dislike for myself, currently the root of all of my issues (issues? yes. I have actually regressed in the past month. terribly. I spent 4 days in bed at one point, and I can't even put into writing the sort of thoughts that kept me up at night talking to myself like a crazy person. but that is another story). But still, this doubt becomes very pervasive... I have spent alot of time just seeking comfort as I've been told I can, but I feel the equivalent of a spiritual cold shoulder. Why, when I need it so much, is warmth absent? And the wheels churn. I don't have an answer to that- my guess is there's something internally at work preventing the peace that I'm looking for- but my friend did say something to me in regards to my doubts and God's expression of love. It's something that's definitely been discussed, but I don't suppose it ever sunk in for me: God expresses his love and insures our comfort by giving us loved ones. By providing us with friends and family and sometimes even strangers he gives us a piece of Himself and a method of cheer and consolation every day- even when these people are not about their presence and thoughts of them remain. IN THIS WAY (preacher man speak) we are provided for and loved.

Which is an excellent thought. On the other hand. I don't feel that in my current state that I have too much of that going on... most of the people that I felt made life livable are pretty far away from me- not just physically- so I suppose it makes sense that their absence would lead me to doubt- but eff. It does not make life pleasant sometimes.

On that note, I've been thinking quite a bit about love and relationships and whatnot. The other night I had a quiet epiphany about the subject, which I will put into the immortal text of the blogosphere once I've formulated an appropriate description of it, but I will say this little thought: I do think I'll be "alone" for most of my life- that is, not partnered. This is because of my clamhood and my self-dislike and, let's face it, I'm not pretty. Never was, and I could never fool anyone for an extended period of time into thinking otherwise. Pity party aside, I think I can accept this if I don't think about it too much-- but if this is the case I think what is desperately necessary is platonic male companionship in general. No-- not creepily, as some sort of boyfriend/husband REPLACEMENT-- you know, the guy friend who's essentially used as a romantic/chastely sexual character in one's mind without it being too clear in one's actions (ie flirtatious objects of projection). No, I just think true manly company is essential, at least to me. It reminds me of the wholeness of us as the human race and the goodness that can be found in figures that I can't seem to help finding pretentious or intimidating in theory or image. My guy friends, few as they really were (the close ones) have not been in my life so much lately, and for some reason interaction with the opposite sex on this campus is too painfully postured for my functionality. This must change.

Today, I was walking in U-hall and fell down a frozen (nonworking) escalator. I gashed my knee. I would have laughed, because I usually do at my ridiculousness, but coming after my rehearsal last night I was very quick to hop up and carry on. If I were watching me, however, falling forward then down an ESCALATOR I would have laughed.

I GOT SOUL BUT I'M NOT A SOLDIER!

My Prod 200 class has been really interesting... I can't tell whether or not I'm any good at what I'm doing, but I think I do have an eye. I got an A on my first project, which I didn't think was going to be very impressive. Though I have to say when we watched it in class, projected onscreen all big and with the music all loud, it looked really beautiful to me (and I got alot of positive response). For my second project I hatched a plan to do a silent film- in the spirit of the real silent films- and thus grabbed Laura Mueller, she of the adorable face, to do my bidding. I haven't edited it yet, but I think it's going to be pretty cute. I also filmed something with Kate, she of the beautiful blue eyes, which could turn out very interesting if it's ever completed, and still intend on drowning Ophelia one of these days in preparation for a big script I plan to write on the subject one day. My final for the class is going to be a love story about a shy record store clerk (jon of the golden flecks) and a girl who is terribly hard of hearing. Very O. Henry cliche, but I'm excited.

To wrap up:

bothering me: doubt of God's love, essentially. Struggle with self-dislike. Homelessness (a topic, along with the concept of Family, that I would like to go on about ad infinitum.. and probably will eventually). My lack of get-up- but I think that's changing.

good: Yeah- it's changing. I'm getting better. Remember that epiphany I mentioned? Emotionally, things seem strangely clear on a few subjects that have been somewhat murky as of late and I'm very glad. Also, in the face of feeling a little loveless I've been pleased at my capacity for love and that I have been able to help some people out recently as best I could.

I GOT RINGO BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am at my best when creative. I feel so much more purposeful.

And, finally, a quote that has given my existence meaning this evening:

“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”

C.S. Lewis was one of the most incredible insights in the history of the world, in my humble opinion.

Goodnight moon.