It only takes 4 muscles to flip the bird

Holidays make me so damned sore I can't leave my apartment without being negative of the tiniest thing. I burned something today in a ritualistic, mad glee. My family is too damn normal, they stifle me!

Also, from One Minute Writer:
Write about an argument you had with someone you loved, and how it affected your relationship.

I like to argue. I am stubborn, logical, passionate, and analytical to the point of cynicism, bitterness, and even loneliness. My tactics vary for every person as I become their devil's (and heaven's) advocate. Countless times I have domineered over someone with my debate, even if my own beliefs were not presented truthfully. Even if I flat-out lied. I try not to do this anymore, as it is a destructive (and rather masculine)form of abuse if used improperly. It seems the important people in my life recognize this as a strength, where I have learned that strength doesn't need to be reflected only with anger. As I have grown and healed some of that cynical, boyish devil in me, I see a friend of mine harboring this black view of the world and sabotaging his happiness.

Two friends of mine recently broke off their 7 month-ish relationship, mostly due to my cynical and moody guy friend's idiocy. I feel like I can impart something to him, to enforce that it is so much better on the other side of hate and bitterness, and that if he really needs someone on that darker side I can be there with him for a brief time.

However, I may be using this as an opportunity to fit back into my familiar skin. While this may seem like a typical friend problem, this stubborn guy makes a mood his lifelong principle, even if he knows it changes with the winds. Damn, he is an idiot! If only he realized that his major malfunction is that he just doesn't know that most women are the "grey" and most men are "black and white" in their stances! He doesn't seem to understand the compatible nature of female and male, for he feels his cynical and bleak nature is too rough for his girl- who is actually pretty damn cynical and bleak herself!

Anyway, there's more to it all. I can't impart any of my thoughts to him until he returns, so I guess my debate exercise will have to wait.

A Bit of Music

I found this song on Youtube of a gothic celtic (albeit it's a "peppy" gothic type) fantasy power metal... Hmm... "Fantasy Power Metal." I like the sound of that.

Anyway, for those who know me I am not a "music" person. I have never been allowed to collect music and I have deeply ingrained traits in me to avoid spending frivolously on things liked CDs, DVDs, or games. I've improved much in that department, but I am still a fledgling music-seeker. I guess I've always felt that music was something I could do for myself, since I've played instruments and I hum almost constantly.

Regardless, bands like Dragonforce and Nightwish have caught my attention (which is saying a lot, since I don't have the attention span for collecting music) and I've now just found this band that I really like... Oh, and I'm also a sucker for musicals. Sweeney Todd, Evita, and even Cats are among my favorites, while I also enjoy classic Hammerstein productions. I love classical music, including Mozart, Beethoven, Felix Mendelssohn, Johannes Brahms, Richard Wagner, Giuseppe Verdi, Bach, Chopin, and the contemporaries Danny Elfman, John Williams, and Philip Glass. I like them all, yet I do not own soundtracks or any music player besides the PS2 and my car's disc player.

On my facebook page I posted a link to a song

Church Not Made With Hands

by The Waterboys- it's a really beautiful song. I think someone has confused the band with a "Christian Band" label but for all intents and purposes it is still meaningful- not insipid like most Christian rock bands I've briefly heard. They definitely have Scottish/Irish and Welsh members and certainly a Pagan influence. This particular piece is very jazzy, which I also like. Here are the lyrics:

"Bye Bye Shadowlands
The term is over
and all the holidays have begun"
Now she walks in fresh fields
her tracks are on the land
She is everywhere and noplace

Like a breath or like a wind
she moves among men
They would seek to hold her as a prize
But she is in the shadows,
the ocean and the sand
She is everywhere and noplace,
Her church not made with hands
Uncontained by man

She is in the head and heart
She is in the swing
She is in the seasons' stately slow procession
Across great seas she travels
up through rising lands
She is everywhere and noplace
Her church not made with hands
Uncontained by man

Isn't that a pretty sun
setting in a pretty sky ?
Will we stay and watch it darken ?
Let us stay and watch it darken
and together we will worship

the Goddess of the land,
her blessed and sacred Earth;
her Church not made with hands
Uncontained by man
This precious place
unmade by man

(Lines in quotes from "The Last Battle" by CS Lewis)

London April 1984 / all lands 1991 - 1999
On "A Pagan Place"

Philosophy Club: the Soul

As of last night, I consider myself an initiate of Auburn's (fledgling) Esoteric Philosophy Club (held at a friend's apartment on Glenn.)

Eventually the "soul" question came up, so I thought only briefly before replying to keep the ball rolling. I like the idea of everything coming from One, such as everything comes from everything else: Infinity equals One. More on that later...

I answered that the soul is the catalyst beginning at conception. Since life begets life and energy begets energy, the moment of conception must need a catalyst for life to start as one- this I think is the soul. Others said I may mean "driving force," but this is too vague and cliche for me. Some driving force must exist in the universe for everything to begin, live, die, and renew, but I do not think it is as vague when it comes to my individual existence. Driving force may be the element which decides all things to exist, but it is the soul which is the extra "nudge" in creating a specific life. Without the catalyst, the conception fails.

This push can also be explained as "God's will," such as when couples cannot conceive together. I am not so arrogant to assume that alternative methods of conception are a perverse solution to the natural order of things. I am in support of in vitro fertilization, even with the cost of life. As much as death is scary and real, when life does not beget life it does not mean anything is lost. If everything comes from One, such as the Conservation of Matter theory seems to draw from, then nothing is ever truly lost or gained **-HOWEVER-** there is a tiny, miniscule ote of matter that is unaccounted for in reactions. I learned this a long time ago and it amazes me how often this fact goes ignored!! I then hear,

"Well, it's such a tiny insignificant amount, we don't count it."

INSIGNIFICANT?! This is our UNIVERSE we're talking about! Millions, billions, trillions, "xxx"-illions of reactions, comings and goings, and we say it is insignificant?! What wonders we would discover if we were to track this matter, possibly to the source of Everything and Nothing, to the "5th Dimension" where light can be tasted and touched...

Here is my answer for the Soul- it is my beginning, middle and end, the spark that beget my life like a spark for a fuse, traveling the length of wire to the inevitable stick of dynamite that is my death, to shatter and be spread out into everything else. Yeah, death is like dynamite, and we all have to go off sometime.

Babies or College?

I've been thinking alot about the two paths I could take- the path of complacency or the path of triumph.

Nine of cups versus two of cups- the Chariot versus Death.

How to proceed? In one hand there is great fulfillment of love and family if I choose to forgo an education for children. On the other hand there is the personal gratification from earning a degree and applying it to a career. I've always assumed I should just get a degree, but I have only recently begun to consider the family option. It never occured to me I would have to choose between one or the other because I didn't think I would have children.

Am I just hormonal? Is this an excuse not to finish school? Will I hate myself forever by giving up now?

Ever heard of the Academic Zodiac?

lu-lu-lunacy!
Apparently there is a modern "scientific astrology" practice for those who are aware of NASA... in other words, intuitive people are leaning toward the specific.

Geez, the data this guy Klaudio Zic has gathered and interpreted is immense, yet it is all just as immature and arbitrary as any newspaper horoscope. He cites the "coincidence" of the WTC tragedy happening precisely when the Moon entered Orion and Osama bin Laden's charts reveal his Moon in Orion... whatever. Do we really have to believe that the stars can predict or reflect our instances on earth to have reverance for them?

This Academic Zodiac is not based on the geocentric, misguided astrology practices that have been incorrect for over 2,000 years, he claims. I am well aware that the earth has shifted and that the planets have no physical resemblance to the Roman gods' personality traits, but my intuition is guided more by how I know a person. I try not to pull out a random noun or adjective, apply it to an astrological sign, and continue to use that word for future interpretations. I think there is something much bigger and much more mysterious to us than anything we could determine. Shuffling tarot cards is not a warm-up to get my psychic energies flowing- it is simply an exercise in blanking out; then I am ready to absorb, with guidance, a visual influence.

The One-Minute Writer: Today's Writing Prompt: Eating

The One-Minute Writer: Today's Writing Prompt: Eating
I'd call myself a "guilt-ivore"- and when I'm not a guilt-ivore I'm more of an"air-ivore"- as in I don't eat :p

So today is the last day of November and the last November of the year 2008. Sometimes I think of time in that way, like everyday is the last day. Some say that any day could be your last, but that day's life is more fleeting than mine.

I like to think that November is "my" month, that somehow I do the month justice (and fellow Scorpios) just by having my birthday fall into this time of year. Speaking of astrological signs, I was musing earlier today over a topic that I should probably confer about with an astrologist or diviner...

Are we meant to be born on a certain day and time because it is our destiny, or is our destiny confirmed by our time of birth? This question leads me to ask further how one is manipulated into their "destiny," or time of birth, in cases of test tube breeding or very, very meticulous parents. Is it probable then, in the future, to take the most preferable of the astrological signs as guides to practice well-timed breeding? We'll be far into genetic manipulation before any credible scientific community would consider using the Zodiac as a guideline, but what if the mundane- meaning the anti-genetic engineering groups- had an answer to the test-tube monopoly? A guaranteed natural and directed course for reproducing would have to rely on occult knowledge and intuition if one wishes to influence the outcome of a birth without paying for the would-be pricey solutions to birth defects or unwanted attributes. If you'd rather have children without intestinal or urinary tract infections, avoid the Scorpio birthdates!

Anyway, my general question simply revolves around whether or not our birthdates are from the sole influence of the overhead stars, or if it is the long 9-month(ish) period, feeling each turn, revolution, and anomaly of the celestial bodies that helps determine the fate of the zygotes. If it is the latter, then how deep does this personalization go? Can we say when someone was meant to be born? Is there such a thing when someone, born prematurely or very late, can have the destiny of a Scorpio but have really been a Sagittarius upon conception and development in the womb? Is our astrological sign solely dependent on the stars that faced us when we were exiting the womb, or was there a plan for this person to be born exactly at that time?

Maybe I'm missing the point.

Choices

I watched a video from http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/barry_schwartz_on_the_paradox_of_choice.html
- if you haven't seen it, I suggest viewing it at least for his conclusion.

At first Barry Schwartz sounds like a man from an older generation, complaining about the differences in quality and quantity and how "back in my day we were happy," yet the speech soon becomes more than that. He calls it the "paradox of choice," and for most of his introduction I disagree with his points. I don't get depressed being "forced" to choose among 175 types of salad dressing at the grocery store. I see it as a reflection of the success of all the salad dressing producers and manufacturers. My ideal, however, is of a lifestyle of self-reliance, where I make my own damn dressing if I really need it and I don't have to buy something every day or every week. Think about it- how long has it been since you made absolutely no purchase all day?

Another point he makes is the freedom of choice in healthcare, namely patient autonomy versus doctors. He laments for the poor, uneducated sick person who really has no business being autonomous when it comes to deciding surgery or treatment options, especially if they are ill. I know that the best interests of the patient should be what the patient declares those interests to be, yet there is something to be said of "shifting the responsibility" from the experienced to the ignorant.

People have often said that our society "has no excuse" for making a stupid choice, and some go so far as to assume that their dumb choice is decided because they want to be that way. Mr. Schwartz observes the fault of the misinformation and lousy choices are not of the consumer, but of the materialistic and deceptive Western industrial society. Is it society's fault that we take depression medication because there are too many choices of sandwich meat in the supermarket? Is it society's fault that we commit more suicides because we have to choose a career over children?

He makes a strong case, which really comes down to the old phrase "be happy with what you have," by pointing out our choices have come to everything from jeans to gender (although to be fair we can't quite universally change gender just yet- we can only manipulate the flesh). Low expectations, or settling, shouldn't be the end of the world, he says. With all the choices available, he claims clinical depression has exploded in our modern world because of the strain of disappointment. This would explain why intelligent people become more depressed and paralyzed when thrust into broad situations, for they see so many outcomes and their ability to overtake the challenge vanishes.

He praises income redistribution and shifting the responsibility to some other party, or government. Here is where the argument begins to irk me. The argument only works if you know that this other representation is truly representative- in other words, "in a perfect world, etc." I agree that this country is delusional in the possibility of success and wealth, yet I do not agree that the answer is sovereignty. PLUS- if we were to shift responsibility, we'd be doing exactly what we did when people decided to leave food production and distribution to companies instead of relying on our farms and families- we'd just be shifting the decision-making to someone else again, further removed from ourselves!

I have seen firsthand a man who has taken all of his responsibility upon himself (as far as basic living standards go). He even has his own source of solar power, no longer reliant on the power company to provide him with electricity. On his six acre lot he can grow his own food and with his animals he can make his own compost and fertilizer. Granted, he does need products he can't provide for himself at home, but his self-reliance far outweighs the norm in this country, even more than farmers-he doesn't require loans from banks or manufacturers of farming equipment.

I have already realized the danger of dependency by observing others who have "made it" and cannot be happy or relaxed, yet I am still figuring out the balance between complete autonomy and my usefulness to society. My dream home involves lots of land, home gardens, art, unruly vines, homemade pottery and tea, and coupled with a great LAN center in our Entertainment Wing. Perhaps food would be more agreeable to me if I felt I had earned it through my own work such as gardening or hunting, but I would never want to isolate myself completely from the world as my father has done. I recognize the value of information and interaction and if the world is going to hell, then maybe we "independents" can do something about it.

RAGE

From the Wren's Nest.

It's amusing that the source of the article is the New Jersey Jewish News.

Many thoughts

From One Minute Writer

The haiku suggestion from One Minute Writer:

Scrapes and scratches old
On a wooden door at night
Wooden waterfall

Time for bed.

Today

Am I doomed to mindless conditioning? I think that I have more appreciation of those who are less conditioned and more wise in their actions, much like the philosophy behind Gwyddon tradition. I know my failures are because of my constant reaction to conditioning- if I were to break from that cycle I know I could achieve more, but if my dream is to "fit in" will that accomplishment bring the rewards I wish for now or will it bring something else? Will I still love my own and uphold my beliefs in marriage, career, and friendship? It is frightening not knowing what you may discover, especially if you must discard much of what you hold sacred. There is one person whom I wish never to lose, and I am afraid that if I were to start on a path that my bias would interfere with the truth.

Don't believe- either you know or you don't- I couldn't agree more. This certainly ties into my strong Agnostic core but I've always felt left out of something greater- and that most other people are as well. Even ones who praise themselves, embracing immodesty and their pride when they themselves are some of the most conditioned, reactionary people I have met- even they seem misguided. I have been looking for a path that is individual and whole, meaningful and empty of BULLSHIT...a path that relies on my own body and experience, not drunkenness and hallucinogens.

A path where there is doctrine but no 101 Workshop in existence.

Saturday Night

Birthday parties are fun, and tarot card readings are a great way to start a friendship.

Wallflower-ness aside, I had a good time. With my good friend in attendance I came out of my shell more than usual and even did a brief song and dance number on camera- something I would imagine myself doing only if severely inebriated. At some point it will be on the internet... so watch out.

Monday night I met some new people, friends of my boyfriend in Tuscaloosa, who are all studying in the library school. It's nice to meet interesting, witty people in the South who aren't hyped up on drugs...

Keith came by, very drunk. He forced us into a group hug and left abruptly when Evan and I kissed, for our "heterosexual love" grosses him out.

Anyway, I think I'd like to try tofurkey someday. Just a thought.

Latin!!

I've just found out why the word bellus, meaning beautiful, always confused me with the Latin word bellum, which means war!! This has actually bothered me for a while, yet I've constantly forgot to research it!

When I studied Latin I only read and spoke in Classical Latin- a big difference between Classical and "familiar" Latin (called Vulgar Latin or "popular" Latin) is the loss of certain grammatical particles, like ergo, quid, quod, quidem, etc. Some words changed completely, like bellum, which changed to guerra in the later Latin, which is the basis for the word guerrila. Now, the Classical Latin word for "beautiful" is pulcher- and in my classes I always wanted to say that bellum was the word for beautiful, and it was hard to remove my thoughts from that connotation (so I always thought "beautiful war" instead of just "war"). BUT- I now know that the Vulgar Latin word for beautiful is in fact bellus! If you know Latin, you can see why I confused the two- it was because of the declensions, yet that threw me off as well!

SO- old word for war was bellum, new word for beautiful was bellus.

Another case solved! *smokes pipe*

Random Astrology

I think my imagination wears me out. There appears to be a confident, super-successful wannabe inside somewhere and occasionally it comes out, in waves, before it is stretched thin and becomes waif-like. The energy is lost on some insignificant event or group and I'm back to square one to self-realization.

Anyway, I just found out that Koreans have two birthdays. My tutoree YeonJu said her birthdate is January 20 (which matches with her personality, being an Aquarius) and her "lunar" birthday is December 12th. I have heard of their collective birthday practice on January 1st, for they treat that day as the day everyone is a year older. Yes, if you are Korean and born on January 1st, you are considered a full year older even if you haven't reached a full year. In fact, when a Korean is born they consider the child to already be a year old, which kind of makes sense because of the 9-month gestation (which I've always thought to be a more accurate timeline to follow if you were to celebrate someone's life). However, I don't know if the Koreans consider the child to already be a year old because of the 9 months they have lived before birth, or if it is for some other matter. Anyway, YeonJu was definitely born on January 20th on the solar calendar and her second birthday, December 12th, is from the lunar calendar. Now I have to wonder what my lunar birthday is and what part it would play in my identity, if that astrology stuff is accurate. Since I am not experienced in following stars or memorizing astronomy (heck, I can barely keep up the days on our Gregorian calendar!) I should look it up somewhere...

While researching astrology and specifically the differences in the lunar and solar calendars, I came across this hilarious gem from yet another paranoid Christian source:

"The Zodiac and Astrology: Astrology is a false science designed to hide the truth of the Bible. The astrologer's claim that everyone is born under a sign of the Zodiac. They say your sign is determined by your birthday. The signs of the Zodiac have to do with the twelve tribes of Israel. If you are an Israelite*, your sign is determined not by your birthday, but by your racial tribe. For example Judah's sign is Leo the lion. The dates of the signs of the Zodiac as found in your newspaper do accurately mark the solar year months." -from http://www.moseshand.com/2cal/2cal2b.htm

Interesting. As for the asterisk, it refers to Caucasian, since those are the true Israelites... whatever. Oh, and I did run through the home page of this site. It scared me.

I've taken out my tarot cards again after several years and I find that it calms me to gaze on the drawings and feel different thoughts as I think about the possible meanings; sometimes I feel nothing or something vast and confounding, yet sometimes I feel a strong pull to interpret a card in some way, such as the King of Pentacles representing my boyfriend (and the intimidation of living up to him). I wonder how much of my interpretation is "spiritual" or if it will come and go when I can note the objective data in the picture.

I need to research this more- I would feel awfully ridiculous if I came to discover this whole practice was a game invented in the 1500s... oops.

Cyquest.com

I happened to find this website all about self-healing, Mother God, and patterns and before I was indoctrinated into its pleasing tones I tried to do some research- I couldn't find any source of info about the website other than it has a mention on AboutUs.com. Some of the content was very relative to me, yet I "kept my cool" and took it all with a grain of special salt. The history of the world started to sound to me a bit like Scientology, so at that point I stopped with a "Now wait a minute!" warning in my head and tried searching around for references. The most I can find out is that the site is based out of Arizona and concentrates on the healing of those who are Emotional Processors, Yin and Yang destructive types, the Holy Union of the Mother and Father (Earth and the Sun), and some more random jabber about finding an intuitive way to solve your problems. There are several contributions of literature and art supplied to the site, so I have to wonder who sprung up these ideas and if it is related at all to neo-paganism or some kind of celtic renaissance... yet I haven't found out anything. If I were a tech wiz I could locate maybe a name or group associated with the site's coding or something... I have no idea.

Anyway, I mentioned it because I was really looking into its support and ideas, and to my amazement I found no advertisements for their miracle cures or texts or premium membership fees.

Seems legit.

*edit* After some more probing I found a blog focused on earthly healing and meditation which linked to Cyquest- I guess I have to wrangle the web...

All I've found is some links to various Earth-friendly, New Age dogmatic sites with their own take on astrology... if my skepticism wasn't so strong I'm sure I'd have less reason to find flaws in all of this. Otherwise, what's the point?

Drawing, etc.

In my Drawing class my teacher assigned our next task to draw an enlarged wad of chewing gum. I love the idea of the texture and shadows in my head, but today I faulted on the delivery. It doesn't help that I was paranoid about having missed the last session and I am now almost two whole assignments behind in the course schedule... actually, since I have missed other days, I am behind by at least 4 assignments now. If I can finish the work before the next portfolio assessment I will be fine, so all I have to do is remember to force myself (as in stir the motivation, not "break into") to the art room and work until I feel I have completed the assignments. So why am I so hesitant to finish some simple work?

Tonight I suggested to myself that I can begin my second essay for my World Literature class, and I would work on my own topic of color symbolism across multiple works, or at least two different pieces of literature from different time periods. My boyfriend has told me in the past that I overthink everything and waste time thinking about failing or procrastinating than actually getting the job done- I know this very well. My expectations are skewed in every way on any level- whether I feel inaedquate socially, physically, or mentally, in my mind I am already the failure. Sometimes, however, I get a rush of energy and feel ready to take on anything- like a gym membership. Signing a contract for a private fitness instructor wasn't one of my better ideas, and I wonder how lucid I really was in making those kinds of decisions every once in a while.

I've spit out some doodles in pencil for this comic idea (more variations of the main character, Cassa) someone has brought up, yet already I feel that taking shortcuts in the visualization will make me fail the project altogether, so I have avoided it more than I would like. I've never been very good at drawing mechanically, but she suggested we work on building a world which has leaned toward an organic (no, not the 'save the planet' products) development instead of relying on the coal industry. Yes, coal is organic, but the methods of using its energy may change in this alternate reality, where the majority of the population decided on quality over quantity and wisdom over haste. She didn't specify coal as a key change in recent technological development, but I used coal as an example because I felt it is better than generalizing "technology" against "nature." There would have to be some link between evolution, magic, and the innovations of men (or nature, spirits/powers, and creatures- even better to symbolize with the triquetra!) Perhaps the massive, overarcing plot would be how these balances are tipped too far in one direction, or maybe the link is stretched too thin. Either way, it's gotta lead to something epic (thinking Wheel of Time- can't help myself).

Happy Ele-Birth-Ction-Day

Well, it's my birthday... and that means my license has finally expired.

Things such as renewing a driver's license seem like they're (yes, 'things' are a 'they') always way ahead of you... I was told I could renew online, but I've found out that I must attend the DDS in person because my address has changed since 4 and 1/2 years ago. As of today, I no longer have a valid driver's license. Oh well.

A friend requested I draw some preliminary sketches for his video game project. He asked for some images of different rocks and some avatar ideas, such as races and classes like in D&D. (Damn that book Junk English by Ken Smith- I'm rethinking all my sentences now!). I'm nervous about drawing for him, but this time I'll, at the very least, draw things out...

Oh, and about the book Junk English- if you've ever pulled your hair out when people say, "the fact that" unnecessarily, or "utilize" when they mean "use," this book may soothe the tempered English beast of burden and stab sloppy metaphors in the face for you. It's so easy to get caught up in sloppy jargon and cliches that when reading from the examples I find my English is much more tattered and complicated than it should be!

I'd have to disagree with a few things in his book, as he is very critical of redudant phrases. When considering creative license and common speech, it is necessary to speak "commonly," and to continue using those little phrases which people have adopted as correct. In a fiction novel, for instance, there would definitely be a loss of character if everyone spoke in correct English at all times, and even a loss of transition and stream of consciousness, if that type of stream is considered a good thing, when reading a book from a first or third person perspective.

I do agree wholeheartedly with his criticisms of the business, self-help, New Age, and marketing jargon.

An example of "junk" English would be an advertisement claiming,

"At your convenience, we now provide clean towels."

How the heck is that a "convenience?" As Smith puts it, the word convenience is now a synonym for "product" or "service." Advertising has tried and succeeded in making sheep of everyone who now believes that "convenience" or "courtesy" is as petty as expecting efficient and tidy service- HOWEVER- I realize that this may be culture bound. It may be that other cultures do consider even the slightest upgrade in standards a "courtesy," yet I don't know if they are grandstanding as much as us.

Arg, and it is definitely incorrect to say "to help facilitate." I don't claim to be correct all the time, but these phrases and words delude people to believe they are thinking. Even now I am analyzing my sentences and words carefully to avoid redundancies and inappropriate adjectives, though I hope I have been doing so for a long time.

Bachelorette of Fine Arts

(No, I'm not feministic enough to want to change "bachelor of arts" into a non-gender specific title...heh )

I've been thinking a whole lot more about bioart and how it could apply to my degree and interests. I have no CLUE what I will do with an art degree, but there is some satisfaction in creating a message that people get.

For instance, our college has recently installed a new student center which the gang calls "Neo-Foy," for it has replaced our old nerd headquarters of the James E. Foy Student Center, and while attending a session of "What kind of pizza will they serve today," I brought up the subject of fine arts to a few newbies of Neo-Foy. These newbies are guys who are among programmers, physicists, or engineers, and they really have no clue what art is really about. They lament on the inaccuracy of a line, the misplaced curve, or the tedious time spent on exacting the length of a rooftop. At one time I would have lamented with them, cursing my failing precision and scribbling out more and more sketches of random scenes which I would only take on to impress myself.

Being an art major forces you to look at lines entirely differently. These guys had no clue what "value" was, or the significance of contrast, or Dutch still life (or pronkstilleven-but to be fair, at the time I didn't know that word either!) or any general term for art that helps to explain the significance of composition. At first he nodded silently, probably not accepting my laissez-faire brush-off of still life and precise architectural drawings, both the subjective and objective, but then I decided to show by example.

I took out my sketchbook, telling them of a young boy I know who has the same confidence problem with "correct lines" as they do, and that he showed me some of his sketches from the past few years. There was one drawing this boy did that was very gestural, moving, and reflective, and he thought it was the worst thing he ever did. Of course, the subject was partly of his father, so he was awkward about it anyway. As I was telling the newbies about the boy, I was drawing a broad, gestural scene of people, with some objects like a window and a table- very simple, gestural, brief, and connected.

When I was done I showed them the picture and asked them what they thought. They pondered for a moment, then began to interpret the lines in many ways. One of them thought he saw man's face, no, two men's faces, and he could make out that there was a sense of distance between him and the objects; then the other guy said he thought the second face was a mirror, a reflection, of the first one.

Before they went further, I smiled at them and said, "Isn't that more thought-provoking than drawing something exact? Don't you tend to see more?"

Then their head-nodding was based in some understanding- I explained that art is about what you choose to reveal, just like an actor chooses certain ways to develop and present a character. They say the best kind of actor is the one chooses in the most interesting way, and this is the same with all artists.

Once I had planted some understanding of art into their heads, they began to ask different questions. I talked about bioart, bad art teachers, fads, my installation idea, and then that spiraled into a project for some new guy who wants a subject of a robot Raptor Jesus eating a metal sandwich on pumpernickel with a little white-haired Moses between the bread slices... I think I'll pass on the whole of that little nugget of nerdiness and possibly go for the metal sandwich alone. He said he'd pay me $35 for it.

Anyway, what to do with a degree that has no bioart focus...

Hesitant

I wonder what would happen to my appetite if I began eating in the dark? Maybe I would find I am much less hungry than I assumed, or I'd just lose the fork. Regardless, I keep thinking about ways to "trick" myself into curbing old habits. The old habits are distractions, pulling me away from my potential. It's time to stop fooling myself and kick out of the hallucinatory life I've made. Dreams and reality are blurring together far too easily- is this what people do to cope in a world they don't understand? A world they resent?

Without an anchor I have no way of knowing my reality versus the world; thank goodness my anchor is just a phone call away. My pathetic life is spiraling toward something I don't understand, and worse, something meaningless. How do I stop being competitive and self-depracating long enough to see the truth?! I will continue to falter and fail, sabotaging my opportunities to avoid delving into more distractions- but perhaps the "distractions" are only relative to the skewed, negative world I live in. In other words, my familiarity with depression binds me from reaching beyond the average effort. Every once in a while I see far beyond the line, like a brief patch of light that shines from a old flickering streetlight. It's as though if I kept walking toward it, without closing my eyes, I could walk right through this heavy veil and stay in the soft light where I have glimpsed the possibilities many times before. But I turn away, unworthy. Others better than me haven't dared to cross the threshold, so what gall must I have to dream it for myself!

I am a failure- every motion I make in my life, I can feel the wrongness, as though I was never meant to be here, like I am taking up the space of someone else. Is every person supposed to exist? Really? Even if I laugh, I feel that I am laughing where someone else, someone better than me, had meant to be laughing. Is this other person myself from some other time, maybe? Or is it a dramatic reflection of my conflict to be comfortable with myself? It could be both, as though the one laughing is meant for the person who is deserving, the one who cares, and the one who is taking the place is just a shadow, a dead end, a decaying body with a living being trapped inside. Why do my laughs seem to tighten my throat as though in a constraint, like I am not allowed to let go any more than I can suddenly know all the words in the dictionary?

We must suffer into truth. I guarantee that this has no vision in the American dream.

If the world is so accepting, so bountiful, then why do I feel so hesitant to claim it?

Dancing in September

September is such a romantic month. I'm sure that impression is influenced by the 4 year anniversary relationship between me and my significant other, but I've always felt that the end of summer was the most nostalgic and romantic time of the year. Bustling people and darker evenings seem to recharge my spirit (so long as those bustling people keep their distance!). Even breathing the air is more exciting, electric, and at the end of the day I feel a satisfying exhaustion (then restlessness the following morning).

My boyfriend of almost 4 years-wow-is realizing his harrowing task in graduate school as his assignments become more frequent and time-consuming. The texts are as dull as watching paint dry or shadows moving under the sun. I suppose someone has to write the obvious stuff, like "Data is stored in libraries," but must that fact be prolonged among hundreds of pages? I feel for him.

Tutoring a foreign student makes me realize how much has to be understood about another person. So much sadness stems from misunderstanding. It's sounds so simple to state that old cliche, "Walk a mile in someone else's shoes," but who has really ever worked that hard just to understand someone's hardship? Or even someone's success? Don't we tend to sum up failures and successes into a "bad" or "good" category instead of evaluating the people individually? I'd assume that someone who has worked their whole life to earn a good living is hardworking so they would fall into the "good" side, but what if their whole life they were working hard to avoid scrutiny from someone close to them, fearing that their work was never good enough? We can sympathize if that were true, and may even further imprint them into the "good" side, but what of the person's "failure" to fearfully weigh someone else's opinion even when no actual scrutiny took place? Now they just sound pitiful. This hardworking person may be a success at earning money, but upon further evaluation their reward seems irrelevant to a factor of accomplishment and more a factor of whatever this one other person close to them happens to think. I hope my tutoree (?) doesn't feel this way.

In that example there is misunderstanding on both sides- the hardworking person and the one judging. The person (or Bob) has misunderstood, or misinterpreted, a healthy motivation for success. The one judging Bob has interpreted their earnings as a success, not as a "side effect." I suppose we'd like to think that our money is not a side effect but it is a good reflection of ourselves and our hard work (when there is much of it), and when we're poor it may usually be a fault of the "economy" or some hardship such as illness. So, when is earning a lot of money a "success?" It would depend on each individual case, I suppose, just like being considered poor is not always synonymous with "useless" or "lazy," but is sometimes considered to be a "side effect" of some hardship. So when there is an evaluation of money v.s. success, it seems that those who interpret the most money being the most successful forget the arbitrarily assigned status to which money brings...

So the lesson is: Being happy and doing your best is the most successful a person can be. Also, walk a mile or two.

Nearly a Month

It's been nearly a month since I last looked at my blog (damn it all, I'm in the sphere) and I feel rather good about what I've written so far.

I've made 2 'A's and 1 'B' for my summer semester of classes, which is just awesome. My semester GPA is now 3.67, yet my overall grade is a 1.70. How did that happen? Well, it's about time I explained it out loud.

I first came to college telling people I moved back to Auburn because I was half-assedly trying to patch things up with my dad. I lived with him for a month with no headway, and after nearly four years there hasn't been much progress. Anyway, that reason turned out to be bullshit.

The real reason I came to Auburn was because I failed to get into Clemson, desperately following a guy I had carried a torch for longer than I should have, and also because I was afraid to move on. I could've applied to other colleges, but I only chose Auburn. I wrote a nice little essay on why I wanted to enroll, something about "I love the landscape," and "My grandfather is an Emeritus Professor," and blah blah blah. Living in Georgia at the time, I had little prospect of entering UGA, for my academic scores were right at a C+. I didn't care about high school- either it was my depression or spoiled nature that caused me to want to fail at everything, but regardless I wasn't up to snuff. I got my acceptance letter and I moved to Auburn.

Living with my dad was too weird. We'd hardly spoken for years and here I am living in the house where all those weird things happened. I can't explain it too well, but I had to work hard on my looks and my grades when I was with him. It may be because I was afraid of him or I needed to distract myself from his nightmare. As for my looks ,well, I figured he could enjoy the view. That's sick, I know. I was extra hard on myself living with him, barely eating, always exercising, always doing something impressive like memorizing random crap that I've forgotten by now. I had to be the best- like there was some weird competition with my dad that I'll never understand. Weird weird weird.

After my summer semester ended with an 'A' and a 'B', I moved out. I started living at the Commons, the prison-like private dorms for those who haven't quite met Greek Rush standards. I hated it there. My dad would show up randomly from time to time, and my stomach was always a knot. I started missing classes, having several near and full-blown panic attacks from the surge of people I was thrust into. Remembering it now makes me anxious.

I signed up for several classes that Fall of '04, including Psych 101, Pre-Calculus (math is my worst discipline), Biology 101, and... something else. Anyway, I was on a competitive high- and the downer was failing all of it. I stopped going to class completely. I didn't even bother to withdraw, for by the time I realized I wasn't going to make it it was past the deadline. I even started to stop leaving the apartment unless I was going out to binge on sushi and pie and bread and Taco Bell. Then I'd come right back to the concrete room just to throw it all up.

Somewhere between my midnight to 5AM walks and daily self-deprecation I met Evan. Long story short, he's been the only person in my life to help me through the worst of times, even when I was desperate to run away from him and everything.

The coming Spring of 2005 I was on Academic Warning. My GPA had fallen from 3.50 to a 1.11. Spring was no better than Fall. I can't really remember that year very well, but I remember watching Evan progress in his sophomore year and making acquaintances with his friends. I still insist that I don't have any real friends, no matter who tries to prove me wrong. By now I just keep quiet about it, posing and laughing for people when I feel it's appropriate.

After Spring came my first Academic Suspension. I was forced to wait until next Spring of 2006 to enroll again. Mind you, I had a GPA of 1.11 from a 3.50 just from signing up for classes I never attended. Money? That was taken care of by my aunt, who was just using the last amounts on a credit card to pay for my wasted tuition. Perhaps if I didn't have such a net I might have climbed out sooner. No, there is no "might" about it. I would've been forced to take care of it better- yet I was barely out of bed during the day. The doctors call that "clinical depression." I'm quite taken to believe them regardless of the guilt I consume.

I tried to appeal to a community college to gain some headway into my college career, and amazingly they let me enroll. I convinced them that my status was going to change with help from a psychologist (I don't see her anymore, she was weird). I don't think I would have gone through with it if it hadn't been for a friend who was also enrolling for the same thing- to get back on track after a hiatus. We carpooled together for a while, but eventually both of us backed out. I'm not sure why she did it, but as for myself I couldn't take the pressure. Yea, community college pressure. I was pathetic. I stopped going and took the fail. However, no one knows about it. The grades would've transferred but I just didn't care. I had a job at Zaxby's at the time, and it was partly due to the manager's incompetent scheduling, my aunt's vehement response to my enrollment (I have no idea how she found out), and there was a creepy touchy dude at the college who tried to whisk me away in his pickup (not very well, but he was still creepy). I felt like a failure for attending such a dump while at the same time trying to validate my decision to my aunt who believed that education spent at a community college was a complete waste of time, and she would not support it. My mom and I ended up paying the $1,000 course fees. My mom still doesn't know- all I told her was that the grades wouldn't transfer. That was in Fall '05.

Come Spring of '06, I was feeling pretty good. My aunt's credit card hadn't run out yet and Evan and I were still going strong. I felt like I had some friends and support and the university hadn't yet decided I was completely worthless. I signed up for some classes. ANTH 101, Biology 101, and a World History course consisted of my part-time enrollment, and I only passed one of them. Anthropology was interesting but my anxiety lead to confused and incoherent understandings of basic data- I think the only reason I passed was because I had a friend who was taking the course as well. It was as though I didn't want to let him down. I successfully withdrew from my history course, but I took the 'F' for Biology. My GPA fell to a 1.04. I was put on Academic Suspension again.

During the Fall of 2006 I worked at Winn-Dixie to pay for my bills and worked until December once I had told them of my school schedule for Spring. They didn't need me in pricing if I was to have class on specific mornings, even though I told them I could handle it, and they wanted to bump me down to a 15-20 hour a week cashier position. I gave them two weeks notice. Spring of 2007 was my best semester except for the very first summer mini-mester back in 2004.

There was a period between Zaxby's and Winn-Dixie in which Evan and I were forced to move from our quaint apartment into a dump known as Burton House. While Evan was initially sullen about the move, it was I who became emotionally depressed and my appetite decreased. Evan then had to undergo surgery for a major cyst, which set back our exercise routine and every other routine we had. I played games on the couch while he rested in bed, and when I was at work he took over on the couch while I droned through the supermarket. We found another apartment and another roommate to help with the bills, so come August of 2006 we were living in a nice place with money and Evan was able to recover better.

So, Spring '07 rolls around and I sign up for some classes. My roommate and I sign up for one class together, Theatre 101, and I enroll myself in Art History and English Composition. He failed the Theatre class while I scraped by with a 'D', and we even both petitioned to have our grade retracted because of the professor's incompetence. Eventually we both faltered in that endeavor and just took the grade we got. I passed with a 'D' in Art History only because of 5 missed class periods, and my English grade was a 'B.' Finally I was improving, but it was time to make the university see that.

I was to be suspended again, and for that summer I took a course in Study Smart, which is a loaded course designed for students with no actual mental or emotional problems but who party all the time. I passed with a 'B' instead of an 'A' because of the idiotic counselor that was assigned. I poured my heart out in those essays we were required to complete and he checked off a whole day's absence for two tardies- the tardies being the fault of the bus because of a mysterious invisible train that would force traffic to a halt. No one in this go-fast crazy 1980's world can afford to account for traffic delays- because I need to be taught a lesson.

Regardless, I passed. I wrote an appeal's letter to try for school again, and I began school in Fall of 2007 thanks to the understanding of the faculty in the Offices of the Program for Students with Disabilities. Sure, I haven't had the worst like some people, but with psychological help I've managed to organize what makes me tick and what doesn't- memories are hard to overcome when you can't remember them very well.

I started in fall with a full-time position at HDI as a data entry clerk. My pay was good and I was looking to make $800-1,000 a month if I kept improving my typing skills. There was one other factor for this period, however- Lexapro. I was diagnosed with clinical depression and GAD and my doctor prescribed me with depression medication (after reassuring him that I did not have ADD; no really, I've tried Adderall). He advised me to stick to the medicine for several weeks with the free samples he gave me, then I would have to purchase the tablets at $90 a bottle. As much as I wanted to improve, I detested the idea of taking pills to "fix" me. Talking to my psychologist helped, yet it seemed there was a conspiracy to sell drugs at the cost of self-discipline. This, of course, was my depression, as my psychologist explained.

I acted on their advice and continued taking the medication until I had a minor nervous breakdown. I couldn't move well enough on my own without falling down or fainting. For about 2 weeks these bizarre symptoms occurred, and I felt helpless and sick with no explanation. It didn't occur to me that it could've been the Lexapro, and I'm still not sure if it was. One night I was crawling on the floor, too weak and dizzy to stand up, having missed my classes and work all the time, and I screamed and hit the floor and just went nuts for a minute. Then I scrambled up and tried to make it outside to my car to drive myself to the hospital. My boyfriend wouldn't let me, and I asked him to drive me, but at the time he had not received his license. Instead, without calling my psychologist or physician, they took me to a neighbor's place and let me writhe and laugh maniacally on their stairs until I eventually passed out. I remember it too well, knowing that I was completely helpless to my brief bout of mania.

The next day I was calm, still sick and weary, and I asked one to drive me to the doctor for some tests. After some deliberation, numerous tests, and trips to other doctors, they couldn't figure out what was wrong except for a mild tract infection- they explained that the symptoms I had didn't reflect that mild infection, yet they prescribed me with some antibiotics. Eventually, after some IV fluids and Elevill- some sort of "upper," the hospital released me and I was driven back home. I saw my psychologist with Evan, who was obviously burdened by my problems, and I went back to my doctor for a written excuse to get back to class. I had to drop one of my art classes immediately and eventually withdrew from the semester with my psychologist's written request. Because I lost my job, I had to rely on my mom to help for bills at the time. Unfortunately, she also lost her job around the same time. With my roommate struggling with money because of a business investment gone wrong, and Evan only able to afford his share, we were all forced to relocate. I'd like to think that it wasn't my fault, but I still feel the same. Oh, and while all of this was going on the Vocational Center had faulted on responding to me for financial help for school and/or living expenses. I don't want to deal with them ever again.

Fall of 2007 was one of the most stressful and burdening times of my life, mainly because my problems affected several others. We all moved to separate places and Evan and I are still dating. He graduated that December and we knew he was going to move away for graduate school in Tuscaloosa. We were trying to spend a lot of our time together and make the most of it- and we did.

Come Spring I was in a new place with a stranger for a roommate- she turned out to be even more useless than me. Anyway, I had a full-time job at a hotel working the graveyard shift, slowly progressing into apathy about the work until I was fired for taking an hour break without notifying my manager (part of it was due to me being paranoid, but it was mostly apathy). Sure, I could've called them at 2 in the morning to tell them I'm going on a break, but who the heck would complain enough to get me into trouble about that? Apparently there was one dude who decided he just had to have a room at this cheap, overpriced, rathole of a building. There was no ill between me and the managers, however. The owner got wind of my misdeed and the manager assumed to fire me before trying to appease him.

Regardless, I was going to apply for financial aid and get my school back on track. I appealed for financial aid because of my low GPA and successfully passed my classes with a semester average of 3.67.

Now I have the task of appealing to withdraw my first two horridly 'F'- filled semesters due to absences. I've calculated that if those two 2004 and 2005 semesters are dropped, my GPA would be about a 2.70 total. Heck, I'm only three hours away from sophomore status now, so I can't quit. Unfortunately I just found out that my financial aid has been revoked because while I have a high semester GPA, it still didn't bring it to a 2.0 even though it would have been impossible for me to have raised a 1.2 to a 2.0 in such a short amount of time. I have to appeal again, this time with many more competitors, and then I have to appeal to receive even more aid because of my mom's unemployment during the 2008 year (there are forms for that!).

I am 22 years old and I'm still a freshman in college. It's pathetic, but I feel like I've finally got a grip on some things and I haven't had to use Lexapro or anything else but good old fashioned behavioral therapy.

Fresh Idea- developing

I thought of something yesterday-I hope it's not already been done



Imagine that you and your partner have registered to visit an art gallery showcasing art of an unknown artist. You hear people saying things about it, but no one wants to tell you exactly what kind of art it is. Arriving at the gallery, you see a line of people at the door with wristbands and a couple of security guards stationed all around the building. The windows are dark.



You get in line with the others and the security guard opens the door, and utters something into his walkie-talkie. Someone tells you to move into the dark doorframe, and as you do you can see a wall on the other side with a large white sign in bold letters, saying "Quiet Please."



Abruptly the door shuts behind you, shutting out all light. Quickly you reach for your partner's hand and everyone's breathing and chattering fill the corridor. A commanding voice breaks through- "PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND LOWER YOUR VOICES. A GUIDE WILL LEAD YOU THROUGH EACH ROOM IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. EVERYTHING THAT TAKES PLACE IS ALL PART OF THE SHOW. ENJOY."

-continued

Bioart

One day I'm researching a topic for my english class, the next I'm contemplating my career as an ethicist. If you haven't heard (and I'm sure you haven't) bioart is a very new art form that clashes with our current ethical standards specifically in medicine, animal testing, and property values of genetically-altered beings.

How cool is that?

Think about it- a new species is made in a petri dish when an artist comes along and jabs some dye into it and videotapes the process. Heard of the fluorescent cat idea? It was first pioneered by Eduardo Kac, who showcased the GFP Bunny, a live rabbit named Alba, which means white matter (and can specify different white things, like plants or brain matter). There are some artists who get tattoos then remove the inked skin with a laser and showcase it in a jar- others take the DNA code, transcribe it to Morse code, then translate to english. Interesting? Some artists will take live skin and manipulate it in labs for the cells to grow into lattices and odd shapes- and some people think that this isn't art?

Bioart creates new subjects instead of objects, which raises alot of questions pertaining to private property, such as condoning the use of a human's body for art and circumventing the need for organ transplants. There is also a debate concerning animal rights, which is still fuzzy even without the addition of bioart. I personally believe (and can logically argue) that animal rights activists as well as morally repugnant animal abusers are both flawed, but since animal rights activists are so "good" it is ignored the implications that they are making.

Animals exist regardless of humans, and they also will die regardless of humans. Yes, killing an animal is a direct action, but to make that a moral blunder because the animal was more vulnerable than a human is a lot like saying that no matter the circumstance, animals are lower than humans. It seems that either animal rights activists ignore this stance or they strategically use it to manipulate the rest of the population since it is such a common idea that humans are superior to other species. Granted, harming animals is wrong, but not because they are helpless or unwilling- rather, it is the act of the human agent who is the only factor because at least then a person is held accountable for their reasoning instead of relying on animals to be inferior.
Here's where the strength of animal rights activists fall apart: Relying on this moral vagueness of humans' treatment of animals allows for animal abusers to simply say that killing or harming the animal OUTWEIGHED any alternative. See? It becomes an argument where the more extreme the circumstance, the more you are right, which is the kind of thinking that leads people to believe that quantifying morals is not only possible, but preferable. Personally my view on animals holds up pretty well and while I have some problems with the treatment of animals, it's not because I imagine seeing their tear-filled eyes at the slaughterhouse.

Well, it's a long and controversial topic nonetheless. The animal rights bit shows that ethics can be manipulated with feelings, but that ethics can and should be reflective of a society's conscience-the decent parts, anyway. I'm thinking that there could more to bioart and bioethics if it were readily available to the younger generation, such as placing bioart and ethics curriculums starting in high school (which only a few have implemented some bioethics courses). Heck, if it were financially feasible universities could combine their labs with research made by Fine Arts majors- which may actually give an incentive to improve upon the technology currently available in the universities. Yes, it would be circumventing (I like that word) the planted ethical ideas about bioresearch, but haven't we come a long way from the Nazis? Or the Tuskegee experiments? The social implications are fascinating- imagine elementary schools with labs that allow children to make their own species and learn responsibility by not just being liable for an animal, but actually being its creator. Class hamsters could have purple skin or amphibious tendencies, something that someone has created to feed their head with curiosity... well, that's an optimistic view. From personal experience I know how children treat the class hamster and I don't think that there is hope to improve upon a child's cruelty by giving them more to play with- but for those who would choose to be responsbile for another life I could see how science, philosophy and art would definately take them places unimaginable by the rest.

I Choose Righteousness

If the hardest times of your life are what make you what you are, then I should be proud that my low points are endured with rationale and a conscious application of my obligations and morals. How the hell did that happen?

Since when did I forgo righteous anger to settle for the most pacifistic option? I'm known for my temper and self-righteousness but lately it seems I have set it aside to really question whether or not I have the right to be... right. Is this the key to peace? To a noble peace? Seeing the world in grey usually makes me feel lost, but black and white is so easy to abuse.

I guess with knowing that nothing is perfect, certain, or forever I can feel that my actions are not as insignificant. Once I've lost some of the black and white I've made the grey a solid color by acknowledging my ignorance. No longer does it seem appropriate to take my anger out on someone else for "slight" transgressions; nor is it right to arrogantly imply my superiority over others in some achievement or another, for I would be nothing without the history of the world to have culminated into my (our) present. Regardless, hubris has never been thought highly of except when it contributes to great drama.

Of course all these ideas can be challenged just by identifying "arrogance" and "slight transgressions" and when someone should care for something to appropriate or not- is the answer found in religion? Most religions follow an ideal that, for most, is almost ever fully satisfied and the believers are left to manage their own ideas either by government enforcement or individual discipline. EVERY religion, however, has left grey areas and has been watered down over the years; whether or not the religion has watered-down truth is debatable.

There's got to be some truth that's balanced between beliefs such as Jainism and Paganism that reveals our obligations to ourselves and to others. One who starves themselves out of piety and respect for other beings seems warped compared to a form of Paganism which practices many forms of sacrifice (no, not the Satanic kind) and self-empowerment; both have been abused (such as Jainists dying out and Wiccans scamming teenage girls). It's hard to believe there was a time when pious Christians would whip themselves bloody to represent their undying devotion to Jesus and his sacrifice- anyone who did that now would be hospitalized.

I don't know if the answer is in religion, but it seems to me that religion tends to muck things up if you've never felt strongly one way or the other. Relying on society and government, however, is much less satisfying, or even pouring over the philosophical texts of Aristotle, Bentham, Kant, Nietszche, and others can't adequately account for the massive wave of change that has occured just in the last fifty to one hundred years. The grey areas are still here.

The way I look at the world has changed, as it should, from the black and white lines to the solid grey void. From within I can mold it to shape my needs, but the needs are just as vague.

An apt time for using the word 'FUCK'

FUCK.

So many stressful things come to bite my ass when I start attempting to live my life. My ex-roommate screwed me in so many ways, so I have to hope she was just too stupid to realize the effect she made on my life. Long story.

Wachovia has found new ways of scheming me out of my money. God forbid if you're a person with less than a grand in your account at all times.

These are the kinds of things that make my boyfriend say,

"Wow, shitty things just seem to happen to you." It's not all that bad, though.

My appetite has decreased but not to the point of severity, I had a good session with my psychologist today, I still made an 'A' in my first summer course, I haven't missed my classes, my boyfriend and I are still going strong, and I have a few people who care enough about me to take time out of their day to help me in some way.
Yet... I still feel guilty.

Remorse is still lingering over me, pushing down my neck because of what my roommate did to me (or what she may have not realized she accomplished). Guilt has usually been my motivation, yet now it seems to be channelled through more respectable activities. The guilt remains, however, so my accomplishments don't satisfy me in the same way that I feel it should for "normal" people. I get nervous when I do something right, so nervous that I lose the concentration I need to continue. I beat myself up for feeling elated about such an insignificant thing, then beat myself up for feeling so sorry for myself. It never fucking ends.

Time to work on my paper.

Separation Anxiety

How many times have I had to transition between locations, people, and state of minds for the past 8 years? I couldn't really count, but I think a good estimate would range somewhere between an impossibly large number and an inconceiveable sum. Maybe this is why people say that high school and college are the best years of your life, because setting out into the "real" world (though I don't know anyone who really believes that school counts as the "real" world) stimulates more in your life than ever before and again, assuming that the finish line is to meet the status quo with a 401K and 2.5 kids.

For the first time I've had to deal with a transition not only in my life, but in someone else's. When my parents divorced, I was 12-13 years old and I left my dad behind- I didn't have the stones to deal with him as a family, if only because he didn't either. During the whole process I just shut myself off, which is a habit I developed ever since sentience, and subsequently repeated the process for every transition I had to make. Being afraid of moving, of meeting new people, of being lonely, all of that ties back to simply being afraid of fear itself. I should be better at handling those "normal" things, but really I've just developed a more sophisticated disconnection. Now, I am part of a larger transitional point in my life where I not only try to improve myself, I attempt to solve my boyfriend's problems as well.

How does that apply when your significant other moves away for grad school? Dealing with schoolwork, maintaining a social life, eating, and anything else that constitutes as normal takes a large effort on my part. How can I meet someone halfway when my half seems so insignificant? Is my half worth only 1/5 of theirs? If someone asks you to handle their move and the rest of their belongings, is it selfish to refuse?

So, to address the problem with my current transition I guess I have to list all the things I'm accustomed to doing, then try to apply a realistic approach and be considerate of my boyfriend as well. I'm used to procrastinating, so I can't do that. I'm used to getting angry, so I can't do that. I'm used to avoiding people, so I can't do that. So far I've improved upon some major negative things, but it's still not good enough. I still can't help someone as much as I want to, and the things that I'm able to do are so insignificant it doesn't matter if they're accomplished or not. This is why I avoid so many things; I feel clumsy, useless, and overwhelmed if I try to do anything that involves someone other than myself.

It seems that there's not much of a solution other than slaving away for somebody, letting them procrastinate while I expend my energies on their well-being instead of working towards a balanced objective. If I try to work towards a balanced objective, my boyfriend gets emotional. If I try to calm him down, he gets mad. If I appeal to his weirdness, he starts to feel better but then never actually accomplishes what he needs to do.

This is his transition, I know, but it is mine as well. If we're both really serious then how will marriage fair when I'm supposed to put my spouse before everything else? How can I sit back and tell him to handle his own stuff, when everyone else around him apathetically appeals to his wants? Will he grow tired of me protesting? Am I just a selfish jerk?

In reality all I've ever wanted is stability- at least rationally. It's nice to have variation, but the degree of emotional and mental stress that comes with it makes me so tired and apathetic. I don't want to become apathetic. I don't know how to solve anything, but I know that I don't want that.

Procrastination

No matter how much I engage myself in classroom discussions, debate controversial topics, suck-up to the professors and smile inwardly at their attempt to humor the masses, I disappoint myself.

Trapping myself in guilt never got me anywhere, and I know it. To anyone out there who believes at any point they have no place in the world, that the universe is just unaccepting and apathetic to your oyster, take some time to breathe.

The world is an oyster, no matter how insignificant, and our actions matter to someone. At some point, we need to exhale