Summer Sliding In

It's been two months since I posted, I realized the other day, but I have a good excuse for missing each month. First, the bridging of April and May . . . final weeks at the paper, last days of classes, exams, and fighting a bad case of not-caring, when all I wanted to do was rent movies, drink Slurpees, go riding, forget the fact that things would be changing.

And then May into June . . . I had no real Internet service. Or, at least, I was intruding on someone else's life and apartment (even more than usual) for three weeks and just couldn't bring myself to check e-mails or anything else. My new job, nannying for the "heathen child" Corban, occupied my time, along with trying to keep up with life. I graduated from Texas Christian University. I'll be going to Boston in the fall. It's too hot to ride Topper with any degree of comfort unless it's ass-early or hella-late. There were parties to be had, drunken proclamations to hear, and relaxing to do after the semester.

So now I'm in mid-June and in a house near TCU, living with my sister and two others until the end of the summer. I'm still nannying Corban, riding Topper, and missing the newsroom. My evenings are long and boring. Phone calls are about the only exciting thing right now, barring the sometimes-scary drive to and from Austin every few weeks.

I will have a four month summer, from class end to class start, and already a month of it is gone. What did I do? The funny thing is, I basically did nothing, but at the same time, I could freeze it and replay it because it was just-right.

I've never been in Fort Worth/Dallas over the summer. I think I'm going to melt. Already I'm wimping out from the heat.

Keep me cool. Keep me calm. Keep that frozen time and this freezing period of just-right forever, no matter how strong the heat gets.

Tears Me Inside Out

"There's something about you
Tears me inside out whenever you're around
There's something about you
Speeding through my veins until we hit the ground
And there's something about this rush
Take it away
It made me feel so good . . . "

(New Radicals)

I know this is at least the second time I've quoted this song in here. It's great. It's called "Mother we just can't get enough" and every time I hear it I get this whooshing feeling in my chest. It's awesome.

Spring is about good music. Actually, scratch that . . . all year should be about good music. Speaking of good music, Adam alerted me that new Oasis is out there. Thank goodness someone is more dedicated at keeping up with the band. I'm a horrible fan. Just in general, I suck at memorizing facts and remembering things and knowing the news.

The clock finally clicked the end of perhaps one of the longest weeks ever. I don't know how else to put it. I have a long and bitter anthem for everyone to hear about. But there were some really really good parts, like seeing people do even better than you expect them to, winning at poker, finding breakfast in downtown Dallas at 2 a.m. even though things are worrisome, getting really dressed up and then buying more gym shorts.

When I was packing to go to TIPA I found two spanking-new pens in my backpack. They're so pretty black and smooth. I really do have an addiction to office supplies, but it's not a problem. Counselors are for wimps.

I just almost bought a Polaroid camera online. I told Dan about my plans a few weeks ago. I'd like to have one, take random pictures of people when they're not looking and then walk over and hand the picture to them. I don't think most people realize how perfect they are most of the time. I'd like to write something on the back, but I don't know what.

Just spend a second or two looking at someone who's not looking at you. How perfect.

"And there's something about you
That makes me fly
You're a heart attack
Just the kind I like"

Won't Get Fooled Again

It's disconcerting that I was thinking of Mitch Hedberg with my last post and today found out he's (allegedly) dead of a heart attack. I'm afraid to wonder about other comedians now, because what if they keel over as well? Last thing I want is for the Executive Transvestite bunch to lose their leading member as Eddie Izzard gets beaten by the Queen with a brick in her handbag. If this is a ruse, I'm gonna be mad. But happy. For now I'll be mad and sad.

Speaking of sad . . . it's sad that this whole Terry Schiavo thing is going on. The entire situation is just revolting. I was flipping through channels and it's on the news, on documentaries already, whatever. But if I'm ever stuck in a bed and can't talk to people and can't read and can't get outside and can't see the wonders of my world and can't do things to make people happy and can't be productive . . . don't just remove the feeding tube, and I don't care what the neurological exams show, just give me a lethal amount of morphine and let me float away, tripped out of my mind.

What a way to go. It will make up for all the times I said no to drugs.

I feel like I'm on a drug trip sometimes, still . . . I got the weirdest feeling of deja vu this week when I was in the newsroom until I realized duh, I have been here before, I have done this before, this is stupid. Isn't that absurd that the brain would let you experience deja vu about something you do all the time?

This show about Schiavo is showing a preacher with a megaphone talking to a crowd of picketers. (I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.) I would love to get a megaphone and sit somewhere and just start rambling. Sometimes it takes a while to get me to talk. Sometimes I just ramble and can't help it. But I would sit with my megaphone and spew the most original sentences I can think of, that's all. It would probably be nonsense. But it could be beautiful (or damn ugly). If somebody were to ask me to just talk in original sentences, I would. I would give them all the words they ever wanted. (And afterward, would they want to talk to me ever again?)

I would like someone to read the lyrics from Blue Eyes by the Cary Brothers from the Garden State Soundtrack and think of me. Wouldn't that be nice? But only the good lyrics, not the lines I don't like. If someone did that, paid attention to only the good lyrics, that wouldn't be nice . . . that would be badass. Because it even mentions me rambling with my megaphone all those sentences pent up somewhere.

. . . I just wanna sing a song with you
I just want to take it off of you
Cause Blue Eyes
You are all that I need
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the sweet to my mean
Fess it up, dot on the palm of your hand
I can help you to stand
Saved it up for this dance
Tell me all the things you can . . .
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
All the lights on and you are alive
But you can't point the way to your heart
So sublime, when the stars are aligned
But you don't know
You don't know the greatness you are . . .
I just wanna sing a song with you
I just wanna get it on with you
Cause Blue Eyes
You’re the secret I keep
Cause Blue Eyes
I just wanna sing a song with you…

Will You Need Binoculars?

If I stand on the south side of the Charles River in Boston and throw up double middle fingers to the north side, do you think they'll be able to see me?

Because I'd sure love to tell the people at MIT how I feel about them turning me down while Boston U said hell yes, come be a grad student with us. We'll even consider giving you a scholarship to come over here and thumb your nose at Tech students.

And then don't forget the waitlist of Johns Hopkins.

Can I just say I'm bowled over? I fluctuated between being sure I'd get in to all 3 and thinking good grief, they'd be nuts to let me into any of those. Who would want me infesting the campus?

But now they're saying it's ok, like a koala infestation. The cutest infestation ever. Mitch Hedberg can come pat me on the head.

And now I feel even more bone-weary than before. Now that all the anticipation is gone, nothing is left but hard decisions and paperwork. I just want to sleep. (I haven't sleep for 10 days, cos that would be too long.)

This is Liz all-together . . .

I really don't feel all-together right now. But that's ok. Things will fall into place. I'm gonna go listen to a comedy CD, perhaps, so I quit quoting it, and get to the Sleater-Kinney that Claunch gave me. Mmm.

Now what?

All Things Have Risen

I honestly don't care enough is "risen" is grammatically correct (sorry Horvit, you'll never brainwash me into being a complete copyeditor). But things go up, slowly, surely, even when it seems like nothing ever will.

This is the first Easter Sunday I've ever spent in Fort Worth. It's funny how you can remember where you were back through the years . . . freshman year, out in the country of Texas, somewhere by the Brazos, I think. Sophomore year, in London, at Westminster Cathedral and then spending the afternoon in the bar of the Texas Embassy restaurant, where a friend was working all day. Last year, in San Antonio, with Maureen and her family. This year, my sister and I, 7 a.m. Mass and then a big dinner later on.

Faith is delicate. My faith in God has never faltered, not once in my life that I remember. My faith in my family never has either. But my faith in other people and institutions has been rocked, lately. Today I reminded myself that it's called faith for a reason . . . you've got to work at it. Keep reminding yourself you're doing the right thing. Keep reminding yourself that people are good and you should trust them. Keep reminding. Tie a string around your finger, tattoo it on your skin, and remember.

I will tattoo it on my body someday, where I can carry a constant reminder.

And also, a documentary (I love them, I am a dork and if you don't like them, you are a fool and not the cool way, either) just got finished and there were definitely puffins in it. Those little birds are definitely as cool as penguins and deserve equal notoreity (and that's from the root notorious, which is a BAD word, but I don't care, puffins are badasses).

Remember.

A Long Report Of Telemarketers & Other Misc. Things

I realize it's been a while since the last entry, and guess it's because things keep falling apart and I feel like I'm constantly trying to fit little bits of my life back together. And it's not just my life, either. More than ever I'm discovering that your life can never be as simple as you want, and there are countless people woven into your life who feel the impact of every little thing you're party to.

What's new? Our journalism department is now the Schieffer School of Journalism, which is pretty cool. Gives me something spiffy to put on my resume. Lots of big names came, and I still like to tell people about how Bob Woodward was in my newsroom and shook my hand. He's a badass.

Spring break came, along with me not feeling so hot. I'd spent a few weeks studiously ignoring the painful lymph nodes "the size of cats" (says Jason) until my throat hurt, and when I finally made it to the doctor the verdict was strep, a tonsil infection and mono. Took enough drugs to kill everything and knock me out, and found that while a nice warm fuzzy feeling ensues after taking that many meds, it still has its down.

So most of break was spent unconscious, but the people who kept me company and listened to my ramblings rock my world about 19 different ways. The mono is a pretty severe case, and if you're sick the only thing you want is a little sympathy. My parents, my sister, Jason, Maureen, Emily, Stephen, Claunch, Loren, my darling editors and everyone from the newsroom . . . yeah, I owe these people a lot.

And to those people who give you grief when you don't feel well . . . you suck at life. (Yeah, especially you telemarketers who call my dorm at 9 a.m. when I'm asleep enough to actually answer.)

In other news . . . Easter is coming and Lent will be over soon, meaning I can drink again. It wasn't that big a deal not to drink, but good grief, if ever there were a time period where I would need a margarita or two, it's been this Lent. The Society of Professional Journalists had a code of ethics that calls on everyone to be accountable, be honest, minimize harm, stuff like that . . . good stuff, yah?

It's called being a decent human being, in my book, and I try . . . I've been trying for a few weeks now to be completely honest about things in an attempt to minimize harm to others (remember what I said about everybody's life getting woven into yours?). It seems no matter how hard I try, I always end up getting people pissed off. Do I suck at trying to be good or what?

Sometimes there are instances where you walk into something knowing you're going to hurt someone . . . wow. I wanted to be a doctor when I got to university. I still consider it sometimes. But then I'm not sure I could walk into something where I know I'm bearing bad news sometimes. How do you let a family know their son just died? How do you let someone know that things will never be the same? How do you tell someone that everything they think is different now?

I can't do that. I've done it a few times because I was doing what I felt was the best thing, but that doesn't help a lot. It doesn't help when you know you're doing it for the right reason or you're trying your best, if someone gets hurt, then it's your fault.

Hmm. I've forgotten where I was going with all that. So in conclusion, I'm sick, and will be for a while, but that's cool, at least I'm not contagious. If people give me grief for falling asleep all the time, I have a legit excuse now.

In addition to not infecting people, I'm still trying my best as far as a code of ethics. If you don't want to be a decent human being, then you suck at life.

A telemarketer just called. It's nearly 9 p.m. She was nice and asked if I was interested, I told her I wasn't, thanks very much, but have a good night. She said, you too, thanks, bye, and that was it.

There is good out there.

To Sleep, Ah, Perchance To Dream . . .

After almost an entire week of sleeping badly, I've now had some days of decent sleep. Things at work have been good, especially since bridges seem to be mended between my friend and me. Both of us had been very, very hurt by various things, but I think we both learned a lesson. I know what I've found, at any rate.

Sometimes you run across those people you feel you've known forever. They're so rare, but when you find them, you can slip along with them like a habit. It's so easy to slide into everything that you forget that you haven't known this person forever and you don't know everything about them. And a person's most vulnerable parts are the things you always see last, so you end up wounding someone without even realizing it.

But if you know one of these people and you fall besides each other like that, then it also means you're supposed to get over any problems and get back into the good stuff. Because that's all anyone wants--the good stuff. As long as you always remember the good stuff, you can get on with the bad stuff.

Asides from that, I don't know too much of what to say. Spring is making a tentative entrance in Texas, and the daffodils all bloomed on Monday, which is good, because I needed to be reassured that things can still be simple and happy. Now I'm fully convinced again.

If it weren't for the growing pile of laundry and the fact I just can't stay on Topper long enough to get my back fixed again, life would be perfect right now.

The laundry can be fixed, and Topper I can live with and love because the whole thing is part of me.

For copyediting, we were supposed to find an example of good writing. It could be anything. This is one of my favorites because I think it relates to any type of love, with friends, lovers, family, anything. Does anybody else think this is a great simile?

"Falling in love is like owning a dog: an epithalamion"
by Taylor Mali

Falling in love is like owning a dog.
First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
When you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one gonna mess with you.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?

On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies next to you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.

Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.

Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.

Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you just want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!

Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise!
It runs you around the block and leaves you breathless.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.

But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.

Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, and lots of it.
And, in return, love loves you and never stops.

Choking

So I guess the funk from the weekend never really disappeared, seeing as how it's Thursday night and I'm still chewing over things. I've got enough to chew over that I feel like I'm choking and the whole thing makes me vaguely sick to my stomach. I may be thinking too much, but then, I don't know. I'm pretty sure things need a lot of thought right now.

I got in a huge fight with a friend and coworker Tuesday. This person is a friend first, but it was a coworker fight, if that makes any sense. Unfortunately, neither of us kept personal problems out of the fight, so it escalated into an all-out dirty fight. We probably know each other too well. I'm certain that this aftermath hurts so badly because we were (are?) such close friends.

Work will go on, but right now I'm hanging in limbo personally. The other person said they didn't want to talk to me at all as of Tuesday night, but I don't know if that still applies. I'm terrified of saying anything for fear of making things worse. But how can I make things better without saying anything? Because this is not working, being without each other. It sucks in the worst possible fashion, and I know I don't want things to stay like this.

I got accused of being insensitive and generally bitchy. This was the other person's problem with me personally and professionally, from what I can gather. I just can't quite wrap my head around all of it, though. There were no real problems till last week, when I must've morphed into an infuriating person. So I can't be all insensitive and all bitchy, otherwise I'm pretty sure that would've gotten in the way of us being such close friends to begin with.

But I know that it's probably true at some level. My problem is that I've mistaken always telling the truth with always saying what pops to mind. The little self-censoring section of my brain just sort of disappears when I've known a person after a certain period of time. I get to the point where I can figure I can say absolutely anything and it'll be ok because it's just a friend.

And now I know that's not the case, I should still watch myself. This is my public admittance. Isn't it Alchoholics Anonymous that say admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery? This is the best first step I can take, since I can't apologize to my friend any more since, as far as I know, they still don't want to talk to me. If they've changed their mind, I have no way of knowing that. I can only hope that one run of me behaving badly without realizing it won't ruin anything permanently.

Also, I'm still learning what pisses this person off. I'm still learning with everyone. Every once in a while something totally unexpected I do or say makes my parents mad, or my friend of several years. I can't take back anything I've said, since I didn't mean it and didn't intend it as harmful to begin with. But I've been trying so hard to learn for a while now and just unfortunately made all my mistakes in one row. I definitely learned from the mistakes, no worries there--but I just hope the other person lets me prove it.

I am not all a problem, and not everything I do is a problem, but I am THE problem right now, it seems.

Some other random musings on the subject . . .

It's only the people who know you the best and are the closest to you who can hurt you the worst. And if two people really are that close, it's certain each is equally miserable over problems. It's nice when friends spill over to work, but it sucks when problems from either spill into the other. Can you ever keep them apart, I wonder?

I don't want this to end . . . but does someone else feel my unintentional mistakes are serious enough to warrant killing off such a great, reassuring, confiding, comfortable, entertaining relationship that really and honestly works?

Golden

Updating this thing has been sporadic lately, I know. Apologies to those who find a weird satisfaction from knowing what I think. There's probably a good number of you that hear everything from me directly anyway.

Now that we're a month into the semester (it seems so much longer) I think I've found my routine. Homework gets done in the middle of the day, I'm usually awake for classes, and work is the same. Almost everybody I need to talk to or want to see is at work, so I don't feel too badly about getting out so late and usually getting to sleep soon after that.

I just got back from the barn and riding Topper. It wasn't a very exciting ride--but it was the first time in more than two weeks, I think. He hurt his legs, then it was raining, then I got sick, and it was just one thing after another. So today we go out and spend about 20 min or so just sort of stretching out . . . it felt so nice! I missed my saddle so much. And it just feels so right to ride.

Plus, it was effing beautiful outside today. Texas in the spring really is something to see. Especially when it seems like it's been constantly raining lately.

Being outside made me feel better about myself today. I woke up in a funk . . . just one of those restless, disjoined states where I question everything I want to take for granted and wonder if I'm doing the right things. That's part of the reason why I love the week so much--I'm too busy to question myself. I know everything is ok and I'm fine, but I can't help it, every once in a while I just start thinking too much about things that should be simple.

The other day on the radio I heard the song "Golden" by Jill Scott. That song is awesome. It's been running through my head since then, and I really can't complain.

I'm taking my freedom, pulling it off the shelf, putting it on my chain, wearing it round my neck
I'm taking my freedom, putting it in my car, wherever I chose to go, it will take me far
I'm taking my own freedom, putting it in my song, singing loud and strong, groovin' all day long
I'm taking my freedom, putting it in my stroll, I be high steppin ya'll, letting the joy unfold
I'm holding on my freedom, can't take it from me, I was born into it, it comes naturally
I'm strumming my own freedom, praying to God in me, representing his glory, hope he's proud of me.

Living my life like it's golden, living my life like it's golden, living my life like it's golden
Living my life like it's golden, golden

Back At Square One (And Not Unhappy About It)

So back at the barn, back at school, back in classes, back in the newsroom. I love being back, having things to fill my time (there's usually about 18 hours filled before starting again). What I love about the school year is how my weekends and workdays balance each other out. Friday night I was in bed and comatose as of about 10:30, and then didn't drag myself out until a few hours past noon Saturday. Delicious. It makes up for all those nights in the newsroom and up doing stupid work, like media law or copyediting homework.

I think copyediting will be the bane of my life this semester. When I'm around Dr. Horvit, everything I do is shit, period. It doesn't matter how long or how hard I worked on the paper, or how long my designers and copyeditors stayed to make sure everything was the best possible, it's all not nearly good enough for her. It doesn't take a lot of her to make me feel like a complete failure. I'm glad the class is only an hour long, though, because if I had to be in there longer I think I'd go nuts.

I shouldn't let Dr. Horvit get to me, I know, especially when I can prove I must be pretty ok (we had a killer first week). I gotta admit, this first week, the newspaper is probably what kept me from losing my head. Final grad school applications, classes, doctor's appointments, no paycheck for going on a month and a half, my parents probably PCSing, all kinds of stuff. At the paper I see the people I want to see and I can get stuff done without too many worries. Even Bohler isn't driving me as nuts as he usually does right now.

Yeah, I really don't have too much to say. In case you couldn't tell. Everything is going really well, actually. I'm feeling really good because I'm doing something, and while I'm perpetually tired and perhaps a little cranky at times, I don't mean to be.

As I've said so many times before, life is beautiful. And that's more than just nice.

Time Running Out

It's the beginning of a new year and it already seems chock-full for the first few months. How did I run out of time so quickly? I'm not quite sure, but one thing is for sure: this semester I won't be able to slack off. Of course, I always tell myself that and I always do, but anyway . . . I've just realized I'm going to have to be careful this time around.

Careful careful careful. I really hate being so careful about things. I hate that gnawing, slightly sickened feeling that there's always something looming for me to take care of. Responsibility can suck. Responsibility means you have to take things seriously, and I'd much rather not if I don't have to.

On an up note, at least all the stuff filling my time should be good. The weather will get nice again, so Topper and I can spend lots of time outside . . . grad school applications could be a ticket to another year of school . . . work will be, as per usual, incredibly entertaining and not nearly as confusing as last semester . . . and there's always other stuff to do, like art museums and zoos and concerts and movies and just generally loving the fact I'm in college so all my friends are close for me to harass.

It's nice being harassed and having people to harass. God bless college.

Writing For The Sake Of Seeing My Own Words

Right now I'd like to suggest that anyone who isn't feeling especially abstract (or drunk) not read this.

And just in case you aren't listening to me and aren't taking me seriously, I've decided to put the other things in comments on my own post. That's pretty damn dorky right there.

But the thing is, like I've been saying recently, fall and winter put me in the mood for blues. I need long, painful guitar solos and sternum-shaking bass lines to growl along to. I want the music to weep of joy and pain.

Blues is the purest form of modern music, in my opinion. It gets down to the nitty gritty and base level of what you are.

Anyway, the other day I had up some lyrics that I had written years ago, and Erin's Adam (sorry, the only way I can think of to distinguish them) made some comment about them. I've decided I'll go ahead and put up some of them, since I've got no other use for them. This way, if you read them and want to give me a band to borrow for a night or two, you can see what I bring to the table.

I really do want to be in a band. That would kick ass.

In the mean time I'll just sing my songs without notes or melody out there into the abyss. It's sorta like singing to yourself.

If you're lucky enough to have a band and crazy enough to give these a whirl, please do. Credit me and let me know how it goes. Give them a good time growl-out.

And be again forewarned, there will probably be more. When you're outside at the barn, on top a horse and under that Texas sky, you've got to sing.

Time On My Hands

The newspaper is done publishing for the semester . . . and I'm finding myself wondering more and more what normal people do to fill their time. What did I do before the paper? I read books, dissected computers for art projects, watched foreign films, made big plans and slowly worked in chipping away at what it would take to achieve them.

Now I'm just filling minutes before class. It sounds bad to just fill minutes, doesn't it? This minute will never come back, it is gone, there it goes, watch it slipping away and all you did was stare out the window at the people running across the street in the rain. But filling minutes isn't wasting minutes, I don't think.

By the way, this is the most astounding restaurant idea ever. I wonder if they have franchise opportunities, cos I'd like to get in on it. A place that centers on cereal . . . hot damn.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/6630816/

That rocks my face off. You know it does yours, too. Admit it. You love cereal.

And other foods to love . . . clementines are in season now. If you're wondering what the heck they are, they're perfect little tart oranges, easy to peel by hand, no seeds if they're good, and the ones at Central Market are expensive but well worth it.

If there's anyone out there who lives in Fort Worth and can play blues, please let me know. Winter always puts me more in a blues mood (summer is loud rock n roll, although they're often one and the same). I have a stack of lyrics and a swarm of things in my head I want to do. I just can't play any instruments because I'm a moron.

I sat down and did some writing Saturday night. It was the first time in a while, and what came out sort of scared me. I didn't see it going this direction. It's not bad, it's just I didn't expect to see it come out of me. Do you ever wonder where stuff comes from in your mind? Where does the sudden urge to smack someone come from, or the craving for tuna salad or the words which drop out without warning? I honestly have no idea where most of the stuff I write comes from. But then . . . it's probably for the best. I read a book about neuropsychology over Thanksgiving, Into the Silent Land, and it was talking about the author Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. His ideas just appeared, from someplace unknown, and he felt like just a vehicle for the story. At this point, I feel the same way.

Also, much thanks to everyone who attended Friday night's Skiff party, and even more thanks to everyone who brought alcohol and a good sense of fun. I thought it was a riot. I also think most people heard "The Accent" come out at some point, unless they left early. Is who you are when you're drinking who you are at the core? Am I still an accented philosopher more than anything else? You tell me. I don't know. But ignorance is bliss.

Nine Past One In The Newsroom

It's 1:09 (a.m.) and I'm sitting in a brightly-lit newsroom on my own. Technically it's Wednesday morning, but I don't think so. We got the paper set to bed more than an hour ago and I've finished interviews for next semester's officers. What am I still doing up here?

I figure if I go home I'll just fall asleep, so if I want any time to think I should do it someplace too uncomfortable to nap. I've tried sleeping at my desk before and it just doesn't work. I'm forced to sit here and look around me and do some pondering. Deep, deep pondering, Drew, deep pondering.

(Drew makes fun of the way I write my blog. He insists that I copy edit it or something before posting it. I don't. Things just tumble round in my head and topple out into this, that's all. I write the exact same way he does. What's wrong with writing like you talk?)

This is just randomness. I saw today that my sister quoted a Billy Joel song and that made me proud, although I don't know why. Last night was wretched up here; I wasn't in a bad mood, but I was moody and God bless the guys for keeping me cheered up. I've got my wits back now, though, and feel like I'm doing better than fine. The fact that I was able to pull my life back from total disarray was uplifting.

I like the newsroom empty like this at the end of the day. I like pacing around the room and tidying things . . . I like it because it's mine. I don't think you can totally claim ownership of many things, but this place belongs to me. Of that I'm certain. And certainty can be nice. It can still hold surprises--like the fax in my box about an all-expenses paid trip to DC for a conference in mid-February. Is one month into the semester too soon for me to go back home, even if it's for a conference?

And is it bad of me to look forward to the end of the paper's semester because of all the parties and celebrating?

I didn't think so.

Coldplay has a song called "Don't Panic." It's rather good.

"We live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world . . .

"Oh, all that I know
There's nothing here to run from,
'Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on."

Also, work is still being done on the next great American novel. I need suggestions. I need the names of feelings and emotions . . . anything, good, bad, sideways, but not typical labels like "happy" or "angry." Give me vicious, somber, ebullient, oppressed, exuberant . . . as many as possible. I need to finish this thing and get it out of my system before it shreds me up from the inside out.

And Then There Was One

I am back, with one more of some things left and absolutely nothing left of some other things. That's what taking a mini vacation can do to you. I am back at school with one more week of publication, one more chance to up my grades, one more good afternoon left on my book on neuropsychology, one more CD to add to the collection (Honkin' on Bobo by Aerosmith--may the blues live forever!), and one more night left before starting the week.

I have no more home football games left of college, no more chances to see my team in a bowl game while I'm still a student here, no more time to put off some things and no more answers in my head than when I left, despite having ample time to ponder and muse while at home.

I had plenty of time to think and plenty of things to think about. The first night I go home I always go to my bedroom, leave only the small lamp on, and open up my bookcase, gently easing back the antique door and revealing my stacks. I stand there, semi-slouched, for a long time, picking up some volumes, putting them back, flipping through them, searching for that one line I love, looking at the covers and remembering the last time I read it.

My books are all in the past. They're places I've been before, things I know, things I remember, and still places I go back to, to add to that long history. So, naturally, surrounded by my horse models and antique furniture and framed photo essay pieces, I think about the past.

Mostly I thought about this semester. Retrospectively, I think I did a good job--with everything. With classes, friends, workmates, Topper, reading, grad school things . . . all of it. I would say that if I could change one thing, I would become a little more aggressive. But I'm not worried, because now I know what to do in the future. Always live and learn for the future.

But the one thing that holds me back is this: I never know where to draw the line. I'm not an incredibly aggressive person because I can never stop thinking about other people involved in things. So where do I draw the line between being supportive and just being a pushover? I know you can express your intentions firmly, but when should you just let it go? If you let it go, are you a pushover, placid and ineffective? I don't know. I'm still trying to figure that one out.

I think I've decided the only thing you can be is honest while being careful with your words. I need to remember that yes, I'm always thinking about other people involved, but if I'm involved, I can't let myself fade into the background. I need to be in my proper place, wherever that may be, and sometimes it will be in the background, but I can still fight for myself. If there's one thing I don't lack, it's faith in myself, so I may as well act on it.

Tonight, I'm a rock n' roll star.

(And if I ever do become one, I'm going to become totally aggressive and trash the most expensive hotel room I can afford, just for kicks. That would be a riot. Everyone's invited to this hotel party.)

Dammit, Listen To Me Good, I'm Sleeping By Myself Tonight

At this time tomorrow I will be at home, in my own bed, very probably curled up with one of the cats and a book. There's nothing as comforting as being in bed but not alone. I was thinking about it this weekend because I sleep with my reading light on when my roommate isn't here. When she's there I feel better, even if she's snoring gently and making weird noises (the same she makes at her television when she's awake).

When I'm at home I don't feel the need to leave the light on. I know my parents are down the hall, one of the cats is usually with me, and home is just always safe for me. Sleeping with anyone I trust nearby is safe for me, one of the most secure and cared-for and comforted states I can be in. I never feel quite safe at school . . . which is probably just as well. Last semester I rolled over to find a strange man who had gotten into the room standing over my bed. Despite the fact he bolted faster than I could even comprehend what was happening, I'm still shaken by it on that primitive level where my heart jumps out of my chest when I'm almost asleep and the phone rings.

I think my imagination has gotten worse since coming to college, too, which doesn't help. Aren't people supposed to lose that as they grow up? You learn more about the world, it becomes less mysterious and wonderous, there's less left to the imagination. It seems like most people work like that, anyhow. But it seems like the more I know, the more I realize that the world is much more profoundly bizarre than I could ever have thought. And the more I know, the more I realize I don't know anything.

And that leaves me at night in my dorm room with my eyes shut but my lungs tense.

But isn't it great how just having someone else in the room or an animal with you makes you feel better? Just right away, that's all you need. You always sleep better with company (unless it's Gin, he likes to wake up and walk across you and then sit down and purr as loudly as possible once he knows you're awake). It's just proof that people aren't supposed to be alone. We're still pack animals that desperately need each other.

So I'm looking forward to going home. I sleep like a brick almost all the time, no matter where I am, but being at home will make falling asleep considerably easier.

More Miscellany

Last night Maureen and I went out to celebrate my GRE scores and her choreography genius. Dinner and (four for me) drinks at the Flying Saucer . . . then to her place, where we finished off the last half of a bottle of wine and ate chocolate before going to the Pub, where I ended up with another three drinks. All I can say is that yep, I can consider that my second time drunk. But I can also say I always behave nicely and I did enjoy myself and I will try not to do that again. I had a grand total of 6 ciders (3 different brands) and I am good with drinking for quite a while now.

I don't know how people can do it frequently. Last time I had anything to drink was in Nashville with Miss Erin, but last night I had more than I did at any point while in Tennessee. There's much better ways I can spend my money and time. Like spending weekend nights in bothering about online. Just like now. It's sorta nice. I like being able to sort through my thoughts. I like hearing everything pinging around in my head and just randomly go through things without being hurried or distracted.

And speaking of my mind, I took this test online, and here are the results:

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Moderate
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	Low
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	Low
Dependent:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Nothing I didn't already know. I think my blog entries all speak for the schizotypal tendencies ( one of the trademarks is "odd thinking and speech, e.g., vague, circumstantial, metaphorical, overelaborate, or stereotyped"), my extreme ego ("confidence") the second, and the sorting of my Skittles and avoiding sidewalk cracks if I've got the time and effort the third. But I'm also way happier than most people I know.

Despite last night's expedition, I had the time and effort to go to the football game today. We won--I was yelling at the team to get 50 points, and we were getting close. The most amazing play of the season was Quincy Butler's interception and 99-yard run to a touchdown. Be-utiful. The sky opened up and started raining again (dammit!) and so we were all wet and cold but still out there. That's what it's all about.

And now here I am. It's still raining out, so the arena is (I'm sure) flooded and it's not worth going to the barn. Poor Topper . . . I rode him twice this week, that's it, and I can tell he wants out and he wants to run. He nearly killed me Thursday. It was fun. I love how precarious everything feels when he's bad. Well, he wasn't bad, he just needed out. With any luck the rain will clear out tonight.

Well, it's flooding down in Texas, all of the telephone lines are down. . .

Well, dark clouds rolling in, man, and I'm standing out in the rain . . .
Well, flood water keeps rolling, it's about to drive poor me insane . . .

Well, I'm leaving you, baby; Lord, I'm going back home to stay . . .
Well, back home are no floods and tornadoes, baby--the sun shines every day.

It Was A Mutual Flogging

I took the GRE yesterday . . . wow. If that's not some form of torture, I don't know what is. The maths kicked my butt, but I kicked the test in general, getting just 20 points from what I went in aiming for. It's exciting, I feel like I'm one step closer to grad school now. Johns Hopkins, UC Santa Cruz, Boston U and MIT will all have my scores in 2-3 weeks and my applications within two months. March and April will have me being a wreck.

I also got the official thumbs-up to carry on at the newspaper next semester from the Student Publications Committee. It was awfully nice of them considering I didn't even show up to their meeting (I was off in a fist-fight with the makers of the GRE at the time). Next semester should be great--let the tyranny continue.

Speaking of tyranny, I feel like lately I've been bitching a lot about the job. Things have been breaking down here within the past week or so. Story deadlines are hazy, design is confused or inefficient, advertising can't count and I'm about ready for us to stop publication before things get worse.

Next week I get to go home (first time of the semester!) for Thanksgiving. Then I get back and do the last week of the paper, then I have last classes, finals and a crapload of other things to take care of before the end of the semester. With the end of the semester I can pack Noel up and go home for a while. Julie will be back here in Texas sooner than I and she'll watch the boys (it will be weird being home and not having Topper there), and after Christmas I can head over to the Midwest for a bit. It will be a riot, I'm sure. I'm excited at the prospect of spending New Year's doing something besides going to bed early.

Yesterday after the exam I felt like my brain had dissolved and left this little black hole in my skull. I still feel like that a bit. Everything seems slightly blurred and it seems like I'm having an out-of-body experience. I tend to get like this after stress disappears . . . stress fills you up and can make you explode at the littlest things, but once it's gone, you're left feeling deflated and just exhausted. The fact I stayed up wasting several hours last night before getting schoolwork done probably didn't help.

Dr. Inman having her way with my spine also doesn't help. I feel like I'm walking crooked again and listing to one side. I'm starting to think Jason's been right all these years, I will end up crippled by the time I'm 30. But if it's from riding, I'll accept it. There are few other things I consider worth the risk. Maureen said last year that if she'd died in that moment walking off stage after her dance piece, everything would be fine; I feel the same way riding. There's a couple other things where I feel like that too, but riding is the only one that doesn't involve other people. Sometimes you've got to have something selfish.

Oasis still rocks. I blasted it in my car yesterday driving home from the test. Tonight I'm a rock n' roll star.

I Admit It: I Have A Crush

Here, on the Internet where everyone with a hook up and a computer can see, I am announcing that I have a crush.

I should clarify that it's just a general crush on the whole world. I'm smitten with the idea of almost everything right now, event things that may be bad, and I'm going to write a middle-school era note with GRE-level vocabulary (gotta practise) to my crush and let it know how I feel. Here it goes.

Dear world:

I like spelling your name with a lowercase letter because I feel that makes you a little bit more mine. You're no longer something lofty and unattainable. Instead, I feel like you belong to me. I don't know how long I can hold onto you and keep you from becoming too dangerous and scary, but I want to relish every moment.

I like the unknown, I like knowing that I can only do my best but I am never fully in control. There is something very nice about giving up power to someone else. It means that the future can be predicted but unexpected and exciting.

The profound beauty and fundamental goodness of things makes my heart seem to disappear in my chest. Every time I really look at you I feel that I am not quite worthy but just because I recognize that fact I somehow deserve you. At the same time I know in many ways I am too good for you. You will always want me as much as I want you. You will always want me to get sucked into the dizziness that you can offer. You may try to drown me in your wicked distractions, but I am above that.

I am above that because I am just as good as you. I have my uncontrollable faults and weaknesses too. I will never be better than you, but I will always be your equal and ready to take you on. I may become jaded or you may break my heart, but I think even after that I will be able to match you, even if I'm scared.

And if you ever think you're better than me or I am not worthy of your attentions, fuck you.

I love you. And I'm thankful for everything I have, even if somehow I were to die now and lose it all. I would walk away with nothing but fond memories of a love. That's what's best, right? To have memories more than dreams and to love and expect love in return.

So that's all I have to say. It's a bit silly, I know, and I'm out there putting myself on the line and hoping you'll give me the answer I want. Reassure me that I can take you on. Little bits of encouragement are all I need. Just knowing there will almost certainly be a tomorrow is usually enough. Continue giving me that hope.

Love,
Liz

Just A Quickie

These are just some random thoughts I felt the sadistic need to put out there:

Noel is still getting bigger. Is there any point where a fish stops growing? I'm looking at him and wondering how I'm going to get him home for Christmas. For the past year I've been taking him on the plane with me, but I don't know what to put him in anymore. I have a month and a bit to figure it out.

Are guys as turned on by shoes as women? Maureen and I went shoe shopping today and some of them were just so damn sexy. Does a guy notice a girl's shoes and think wow, that's hot? Most of the time I don't notice guy's shoes, cos let's face it, most of them are shite, but it's too bad, guys should have good shoes and good jeans. That's what fashion is all about. Good shoes and good jeans, male or female.

What happens if I don't get into graduate school? I always figured by this point in my life I'd have something to draw me in, some job prospect or someone or some place that really called to me in a way nothing else does. Right now I think I'd just head back east because that's what I love the best, but freedom is unnerving. Hopefully by graduation I'll either find something that wants me, like an employer or a school, or I'll find that I want something. I'd love to just follow a whim of my head or heart but I don't know if that's wise. For example, what if I end up in northern California and hate it?

I hate beating around the bush. I want to tell people exactly what I feel, what I want, what I need, and I think I do a pretty good job of it, but I'm getting frustrated with people who don't do the same. I can think of a handful of people who will ever be honest with me. Honesty shouldn't be a lonely word. I hope the rest of the word doesn't leave us honest people out there lonely.

I think I want a pair of really awesome brown cowboy boots. I know it sounds silly but I saw some this weekend that were beautiful and wouldn't look at all odd with a pair of jeans and cute top. Besides, I'm here now, I'm in Texas, I'm an honorary Texan born of two native Texans and I should have some if I want them.

The plane ticket I just bought yesterday to go home for Thanksgiving makes me really happy. I miss the cold and the hills and the city and my Mama Squirrel coming to my back door every day knocking for food. And when I'm at home I never get older, I never get doubtful or disappointed or jaded, I just get more mature and more content with myself and my life.

I'm human, I'm just a girl, I get fleetingly frustrated or sad or angry or whatever. But it's nice to know it's just that--fleeting.

"Found What I'd Lost Inside . . .

"My spirit has been purified
Take a thorn from my pride
And hand in hand we'll take a walk outside

"Thank you for the sun,
The sun that shines on everyone
Who feels love.
Now there's a million years
Between my fantasies and fears
I feel love."

Like I told Miss Erin yesterday, somewhere in the approximately 12 hours we talked yesterday from the end of an afternoon session until the hotel room was crashed by GMU kids, Oasis represents the part of me that thinks even though I don't want to. I find myself pondering everything that is, has been, and could be--that last one is especially hard to wrap your head around--but I still come out hopeful. That's what my favorite band is to me, and that's why I felt the lyrics appropriate.

In case you couldn't already tell, this will probably be a long, rambling entry. I can't help it; my head is still spinning and I still feel mentally intoxicated from this weekend. I blame Erin. We're an awful lot like each other, and even if we're not we understand each other, and that's a rare thing in a busy life. It made for good company this weekend, though. I haven't felt this excited and dizzy about the dangerous future since fall break.

Nashville was a fun city to be in, and I hope the reporters from here enjoyed everything as much as I did. I saw Chris from Indiana, ended up joined at the hip to Erin, and we also ran into about a dozen other Georgia peaches, not including the big man himself: Cecil Bentley. Erin and I made sure to toast Cecil a few times every night, and even got Adam in on it too--just because Cecil has been good this far doesn't mean he still doesn't need our toasting for the future.

It was just as hard today to walk away from Erin as it was to walk away from Adam a month ago. When you do run across someone who understands the base of you within just a few days, it's hard to leave them. Leaving before the sun comes up is tiring; I'd lived a whole day before I got back to Fort Worth at noon. It was an interesting trip back . . . something would come up to stop me, and some complete stranger would fix everything. It was seemed strange, but it was so good and pure that it shouldn't have surprised me.

I guess in a nutshell it was just a very, very good reason, perhaps not relaxing but entertaining and electrifying. You need things to jolt you out of yourself once in a while.

Life is beautiful, people are beautiful, and it makes me confident without being complacent.

(If you understand that, just know I miss you.)

The Next Fearless Leader

Election day is upon us, and brings cold, rainy, close-clouded weather to Texas. Yesterday was great--woke up feeling refreshed and got all my work turned in and got out of the newsroom at a record 9:50 p.m. Holy shit! Before 10! It was an honest-to-goodness miracle, I assure you. It sorta made me think I have superpowers or something. I couldn't stop just laughing because we were walking out so early. You know where something just pleases you and amazes you so much you can't stop giggling to yourself and grinning like a fool? That was it.

And today is going to be fun, even if it's not early. Whenever I get really excited about something I get a bit aggressive, ready to go and ready to get what I came for. I have no problem going after something I want. And for tomorrow's paper I want the best election coverage we can possibly get before our printing deadline. I want it to be fun in the newsroom tonight, not a stressful bore. What I really want is order-in food and margaritas and beer and lawn chairs propped up like we're watching a football game. I'll have to work on that.

I like the weather outside. It's like a preview of winter. You can tell who the southerners are because they're all wearing big sweaters and jackets and looking miserable walking to and from class. The colder temperature is refreshing, though, especially when it could be oppresively hot and humid, like it has been lately. This makes me feel like I'm finally making some progress in the semester, like I'm getting somewhere and can make it to the end without any problems.

Asides from Sunday (eh, what can you do?), I feel like I've been breezing through this semester since fall break. Next week, after Nashville, I'll be set to breeze through until Thanksgiving, then Thanksgiving until Christmas and New Year's . . . the end is in sight and it's exciting. Only about a month and a half of school left. Come the end of this week, only a month of paper. Goodness. Times flies when you're having fun, darlin'.

Harboring Passive-Aggressive Tendencies

Today is one of those days where nothing I do is right and everything I think makes me feel wound up and unsuccessful. Thank goodness these days are rare, and thank goodness I can always remain objective enough to recognize what's going on, but it's still wearing. I slept until noon, only to get up and have my self-loathing triggered by a harmless conversation with a person who I suddenly felt was too good to even be talking to me. For the rest of the afternoon I just shut down and couldn't function, so I went back to bed until leaving for the barn. While going there I called my parents, like I always do, and just sat there and cried on the phone for a half hour or so. It was pitiful. I think I'm handling this semester admirably, and considerably better than most, but my stress finally caught up with me.

It's a vicious cycle when I become stressed. First of all, I get angry at myself, and then I add to that by getting angry that I'm getting angry at myself. It's absurd. But I start cycling around and feeling worthless and ineffectual until something finally snaps me out of it. When I got home from the barn I was about to shut down again before Jason finally told me it was time for tough love and I needed to get a grip. I did. Now I'm at the library. I'm a third of the way done with my PA story, so I figured I'd take a quick break.

I decided to change the focus of my story to procrastination, since it's one of the factors leading to today's rottenness. I was downstairs sifting through books (just being down there with that smell of ink and paper is calming) and doing research when I found some information that struck a chord. Evidently most procrastinators are acting passive-aggressively and harbor perfectionistic distortions, especially if they have creative tendencies. I felt like that hit me dead-on. It helps to see my bad behavior so coldly and clinically laid out before me. I need to be told when I'm being bad, otherwise I just carry on. It's nice to know I've got people who will call me out on my wicked whims.

Tomorrow I will be just dandy. In fact, I'm feeling pretty good right now. It could be because I've gotten a total of about 16 hours of sleep for the day, or it could be that I'm just back on track. I have to say that every day I'm thankful that I'm not a depressed or anxious person. It's way too tiring. It's so much better to be who I really am, which is someone who can be completely content and deeply satisfied with herself and her world. There are things that I want to change, of course, like my procrastinating and sometimes self-destructive behaviors, and I'm getting there, and that just makes me happier.

I've got to get rid of my guilt more than anything else. If I didn't let myself get behind in school, I wouldn't feel guilty about going out to see a movie or leaving town for a break. I think if I had to pick the worst thing to feel, it's feeling guilty. It's all right to feel sad or angry or frustrated, but feeling guilty means there's something wrong with me. I need to fix everything and move on.

So that's what I'm after for the rest of the semester. I'm going to go to Nashville guilt-free this weekend, to see Erin and Chris--it should be great fun, it's just too bad the Georgia boys can't join us. I'm going to go guilt-free home for Thanksgiving and sleep in my favorite bed of all with my childhood around me and my parents down the hall. I'm going to go guilt-free into Christmas break with a good newspaper left behind me, grad school applications sent off, and an airline ticket back to Adam waiting for New Year's.

I can't afford to feel guilty any longer. My life is waiting.

Wanted: Big, Powerful and Noisy

Every Thursday night I trail in and turn to the Discovery Channel to watch American Chopper. I'm addicted to the show, really. Some day I'd like to learn enough to be able to build a real, working machine that runs on something more than double-A's and that looks so good too. Those bikes are works of art with wheels and huge engines. There's a Harley place near here and you can rent bikes; if I could learn how to ride one and then rent one and spend a week or so tooling around on back roads through pink deserts and gold forests and sitting under brides in the rain, reading a book the way I saw a biker passing time during a New Mexico thunderstorm. A great trip with someone would involve motorcycling around Great Britain--seeing all of it, Scotland, Wales, back to Suffolk again because it's still home to a part of me, the Isle of Skye, every bit.

That's really all this entry is about: thoughts of trips. I was feeling restless today. It felt dangerous outside this morning, right before the sun came up, when I was heading out to the barn. I love it when it does that, it makes something inside me start hurting and needing to get out. Personally, I think it's genetic and I blame Dad, because he's so much like me--you just get these whims and need to go. He almost bought a kayak once on a rambling whim. He's never been in one before. But sometimes, when you need to go, you need to go.

And this bird you cannot chain . . .

The Sky Was Gold, It Was Rose

It's a Monday night and I'm at work (where else?) and I feel like I've been in here all day. If I hadn't been able to spend yesterday doing essentially nothing, I think I'd be going nuts right now. It's rained off and on and it's humid and kind of nasty outside now, but yesterday was beautiful. I always say that I'd like to paint or photograph the sky, but I just don't know how, so I'm going to attempt to describe it for all of you who haven't seen the sky like this in Texas.

My sister and I were out at the barn late yesterday afternoon during a thunderstorm. I like the barn during storms--Topper gains comfort from having people around, and the rhythmic sounds of him going after his hay is a bit hypnotizing. The kitten is more than willing to be picked up and cuddled and the rain is just the right amount of noise on the corrugated roof.

After a bit the rain stopped and the sun split open the sky off to the west. I clipped Topper onto his line and drug him outside, where everything was wet and golden. While he was eating grass I stood and just stared out toward the sun. The clouds were great--layers and layers of them, heaped on top of each other, striated and streaked and smeared across the sky. The clouds split off to the north and to the south, leaving a V-shaped corridor across the land from the sun, over me and Topper, and out to the cows across the road in the light.

When I was done burning my eyeballs out, I turned to look east, where the sky was dark as the storms kept moving through. After a few minutes two big rainbows showed up from the south, arching north and disappearing. The one on the left was bright as a science project demonstration, and the one on the right was weaker. A piece of one could be seen coming back down, off to the north, but that bit didn't last long as the rest. Julie said that the state of Texas didn't recognize the color "violet" as a real color. I thought that was pretty funny. They call it purple or something else just to be obstinate. Crazy Texans.

It really was pretty. Everything turns green and gold when it's wet and the sun sets. It seemed a fitting way for the day to end. I like to think I can catalogue away scenes like that, but I know I won't and they'll all fade into a general haze of rose, soft yellow, and dusky purples. But that's ok. As long as I can always go out and see another, things will be just fine.

To Keep Drew and Dan Happy

I am making this entry because Drew and Dan told me to. The three of us plus Tyler were on our way to see Team America: World Police and Drew said he'd read this thing and wasn't mentioned nearly enough. Given the amount of entertainment he provides me, yeah, he probably doesn't, and given the amount of grief Dan gives me, yeah, he's not mentioned at all, I don't think. So there you go. The guys are great.

And speaking of great guys, I'm getting a little concerned about Topper. The weather is still warm but he has a winter coat and he's just not holding any weight, which makes me worry. If I can see his ribs through his coat, there's a problem. But I can't give him any more food . . . I'm going to have to play with what he's being fed, instead. Friday morning when I was done riding I left him in his stall to finish his hay before I turned him out and went to go pet on the kitten for a while, since she's grown into such a nice little cat. When he was done he neighed loudly enough for me to hear him in the other barn, so I went back to get him. I love the way he gets lonely without me. It's nice to know all I have to do is be there and he's happier.

Same with Noel. I swear to goodness he's grown even bigger. I had no idea a beta could grow to be such a monster of a fish.

And one last time on the topic of guys, I wish Adam could see our football games here. We were cruising around trying to find a parking space and almost running over so many people in purple . . . and those damn people in red from Houston (go HOME, we don't want you here!). But it's just so different here. All the sorority girls are prancing around in their heels and jean miniskirts and cut up purple T-shirts . . . it's goofy. It really is. It can't even compare to anything else because it's so different and I still love it. I love the little kids in their tiny jerseys and the frat boys in their nasty old hats and the old women in their purple Keds. I gotta get the guy down to Texas. It's like a whole other country. And Texas is sexy, besides. I complain about it and gripe and whine but deep down I do love it.

Homecoming today, and I'm walking out the door to the game. Love it!

Warm and Fuzzy?

Texas weather is driving me nuts. I went out to ride Topper this afternoon, and the poor guy already has half his winter coat. I was sweating by the time I was done tacking him, and by the end of our 45 minute ride his hair was curly with sweat. This is absurd. I am getting the heck outta the South as soon as I graduate.

Not to say I won't ever end up back here . . . I have to admit, I always end up back in places I used to be. Alabama, England, New Mexico, Texas . . . it all comes back around, it seems. But I need to add some more new places so I have more places to go back to.

When I was done with my ride, sticky and gross and covered in dust and tromping back to the barn with my sleeves rolled up and Topper ambling behind me, I wished I was where I was two weeks ago on a Thursday night when things were much cooler and felt a lot better.

Tonight I saw Maureen off on her date with Sean. It just really put me in such a good mood, because I would do anything for her, and taking off work to go hang with her is something I would gladly do for her. She still hasn't told me how everything went, but tomorrow night I have a date with her and we're going to see the family exhibition by the ballet department and then going to watch Love, Actually. I know it's a sorta Christmasy movie and everything, but I'm in the holiday spirit. Look at what we have coming up--Halloween, Election, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's . . .

I'm damn excited. The future holds fun stuff. It always does . . . now if only I can contain myself long enough for it to get here. But we all know how easily amused I am, so every day is great and I welcome the chance to enjoy myself.

"Can you hear what I can hear? It's the sound of a brand new day."

An Ode to Old CDs

Things are going okay this week . . . I thought I was going to have an anxiety attack Monday morning over my public affairs story and my opinion column and my three reports due for Race, Gender and the Media, but I made it out just fine. I don't know why the stress got to me all of the sudden, but I'm sure it was a long time coming. I know this semester is stressing me out in so many ways even if I can't recognize it right off.

Tonight I'm home early and have lots of stuff to do for class but I've just wasted an hour and I'm sure I'll waste more time before I do anything. It's great being in college.

Being home early got me sifting through my CD book looking for something to put on when I ran across my New Radicals album. They had one chart song, "You Get What You Give," when I was in tenth grade. This was one of the first CDs I bought and loved. I listened to it all the time and sang the songs to Topper. (I do more singing at the barn to him than anywhere else.) I'd forgotten how genuinely fun the CD was--drugs, porn, love, technology, hippies and one of the best similies I've ever heard: "I'm crying like a church on Monday." (Hot damn. That's good writing.)

My favorite song always was, still is, and always will be "Mother we just can't get enough," the opening track. It reminds me the Stones, vaguely, from their "Sympathy for the Devil" days. It has lyrics that make me sing as loudly as I can.

That's really all this post is about. Listen to this CD if you have it; if you don't, go buy it at a second-hand place or download it. It's the only album the guy ever did, but it's quality.

This week is going to be just fine, I can tell.

The lyrics, a bit edited for my personal liking, because the song rocks out:

"There's something about you, tears me inside out whenever you're around. There's something about you, speeding through my veins until we hit the ground. And there's something about this rush--take it away. It made me feel so good. I get a feeling . . . you get a feeling . . . we got a feeling . . . like we could die.

"Mother, we just can't get enough, we just can't get enough. Lover, we just gotta get it up, we just gotta get it up.

"There's something about you, tears me inside out whenever you're around. And there's something about you that makes me fly--you're a heart attack, just the kind I like. And there's something about your kiss, haunting and strange, that makes me feel so good. I get a feeling . . . you get a feeling . . . we get a feeling . . . like we're alive."

Debating What To Do

Watching the debates gives me headaches. I will be so, so glad when this whole election thing is over. Doesn't it seem as though it's been going on forever? On top of that, I just don't feel like I can concentrate these days. I've got so much to do . . . for example, before the end of the semester, I've got:

-An honors departmental project to do to see if I can graduate with honors
-The GRE to take
-T-shirts for the Skiff to get done (102 years old and still putting out four times a week)
-Applications for grad school
-Applications for Hearst prizes, along with various others (always worth a try)
-Get Topper up to speed on jumping
-Save money for travel--I need to get to MIT over Christmas break on top of other travel plans
-Finish writing the next great American novel
-Send it in to the literary agent
-Take apart those 3 computers waiting in my room for art projects
-Get rid of the film in my camera so I can do my next b&w essay
-Another application for EIC for the spring for the paper (I'm crazy, I realize, but I love it)
-Do my class work, and do it well

So that's just a bit of stuff to take care of before winter break. It's almost a bit overwhelming. It's also not worrying me, because I just can't work up the effort to worry. I like just laying back and watching things happen and jumping in for mad flurries of activity and then backing off and laughing at everything. Things really are beautiful.

Maybe I just want to fly
I want to live I don't want to die
Maybe I just want to breathe
Maybe I just don't believe
Maybe you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
You and I are gonna live forever

Maybe You're Going To Be The One Who Saves Me

One thing is certain: Adam saved me this weekend. Things with school and the paper were just snowballing for a while there, and when Thursday came I was so ready for fall break. I flew out to Columbus Thursday afternoon when I was done with bio, and so was at OSU that night. One word: HUGE. Good grief. Our entire campus could fit in one of the parking lots for the stadium (the Horse Shoe, I think they called it).

But it was great. Adam (yep, I'm pretty certain I'm the only person who calls him by his first name) took me to the newsroom first, where he put the paper to bed and then we went back to his house, which he shares with three other guys and random neighbors that stop in. As any good journalists would do, we headed to the bar.

Pretty much the entire week was like that--newspaper stuff in one way or another (I loved it because it wasn't my paper), sports (yeah hockey!), parties, neighbors and friends and sleeping late. The whole thing just bowled me over. I hope no one thought I was rude, but I just had to sit back and watch everything--it was so fun. Everyone at the school seemed so excited to be there (even if it was just for the football team and parties). I've never been at a state school for more than a few hours, and it's a completely different experience. I loved it.

I'm going to have to reconsider grad schools in the Midwest. It's not just the corn fields and bored college students I thought it would be.

I was actually really sad to leave Sunday morning for Indiana. It felt like I'd been there for more than just a few days, and it was exciting, relaxing, and entertaining all in one go. I step back a lot and look at where I am and what I'm doing, and the whole thing just made me laugh in so many ways. Starting with my paycheck Friday, I'm going to save up to go back. I want to do everything all over again, plus considerably more, cos I have big plans, hehe. =c)

And Bloomington was more fun than I thought it would be. The other students there were all serious writers, and their work was awesome, and on top of that they were all ready to take advantage of the little college town there at IU.

Getting back today was comforting and sad all at once. I immediately crashed for a nap, and thank goodness Tyler woke me up otherwise I would have slept for the rest of the week. I rode Topper, went to the gym (I like sweating, it feels so clean), then went to work for a short time. Everyone did a great job keeping things in line. Let me say it again: the editors are awesome here.

So in the end, I owe my sanity to Adam. You know life is just fine when someone is willing to humor you so much and at the end will still wait with you at a Greyhound station way too early on a Sunday morning with a guitar.

Tomorrow the week will go into warp speed again. I should really get started on everything. But it's so, so nice to take a break for a bit.

I Remember A&P, And This is Funny Stuff

Today was a pretty typical Monday . . . frantically finishing class assignments just before walking into the classroom, taking some time out in the afternoon, going to my Race, Gender and the Media class with Dan and heckling other students, working at the paper, eating cereal . . . all the norm. Today I also (finally!) had a doctor's appointment regarding the fall from two Tuesdays ago.

I was Dr. Inman's last patient, and I think she was relieved. I know I would be; I remember that last patient coming in when I was at Dr. Blair's, and I'd be trying to take their history and they keep blathering about something inconsequential and wouldn't be quiet long enough for me to get their blood pressure . . . aah, those were the good old days. But Dr. Inman knows me and knows horses (she went into medicine after a particularly nasty fall from a horse).

What I thought was funny was her assessment, though. I didn't really think things were that bad--the usual aches and pains since January, like when I don't catch a dino at the rock wall or something like that, but nothing major. Dr. Inman thought otherwise, according to the look on her face and her explanations.

In case you're wondering, here what we have after this fall:
The right ileum was pushed and rotated forward about an inch and a half and the sacral spine was consequently rotated to the right, meaning I've been walking very crooked and not noticing it.
The same four vertebrae that became misaligned and rotated in January are now misaligned and rotated again, which just means back pains and aches.
A cervical vertebra became misaligned and that's what has been causing headaches and dizziness since then.

So that's fun. And having her snap everything back into place is even more fun. I'm going to be so sore tomorrow.

But I'm not that worried. Pain doesn't hurt, especially if you have enough acetaminophen. Besides, while she was doing it we had a very nice chat about jumpers and the overprescription of antibiotics.

Only Tuesday and Wednesday and then Thursday I'm outta here!

Evidently I Don't Know What Day It Is

Because I thought today was the Friday for the AP interviews, but turns out it isn't until next Friday, and I'll be out of town (in OHIO!) anyway so it doesn't matter. I got up early to buy the leather portfolio at Barnes and Noble, came back, got thoroughly primed for an interview with heels, earrings, make up, the whole shebang, and went up to the newsroom. I checked which room the interviews were in (reading room) and the date jumped out at me and I slunk back to my dorm as inconspiculously as I could in a pink suede suit.

Julie and I got out to the barn pretty early and tacked and as soon as we were getting on a thunderstorm from the west rolled and sat right over the region. Topper was a little jittery because of the rain and lightening and thunder, but we were determined to stay out as long as possible. There's something delicious about being outside just before a storm gets bad. Forget rain--it's the cascading sound of the sky when it cracks with energy. It's nice to feel completely and utterly helpless in the face of it. Finally the lightening got too close and we retreated into the barn. The guys finished their grain and Julie and I sat harassing the kitten for a while--she's just too much fun to watch to leave alone.

I went with Corrine to see Napoleon Dynamite, and I have to see I have seen few movies as quirky and funny and yet tasteful as this one. I thought it was hilarious. At the same time it was vaguely sad because everybody remembers that kid from high school . . . heck, that same kid is here at college. But it did have a happy semi-romantic ending, so there is hope for everyone.

By the way, Patrick Dempsey is so, so hot. He's like Sean Penn, only better. Mmm.

Seriously. This is crazy.

It's just past one in the morning and I'm trying to figure out if I'll ever be able to sleep again. Well, sleep and still get everything done. I skipped out on riding this morning and slept instead because I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat (don't remember the dream, so I don't know what it was). Tomorrow I'm going to get up early and go buy the leather portfolio to match my shoes, business card holder, and purse. Is that wrong and vain? I like to think it's professional. I need professional right now. Tomorrow after staff meeting I've got another (count it: third) interview with an AP person. And then Wednesday I've got a chance to interview Ragin' Cajun James Carville--how bad-ass is that? I need to look like a grown-up, I suppose. Black leather with white stitching is the best way for me to express that.

I swear to goodness, if I weren't going to Ohio and Indiana (whoot whoot Midwest!), I'd sleep for all three of those days that constitute fall break. I'll be able to sleep on the plane . . . I'm so excited! Not just about the whole sleeping thing either. =cD

On another exciting note, Dad got promoted this week. I got flowers--first time ever at school, may I add--and it put me in a good mood all day. Paper was pretty damn good all week, Topper is ready for jumping, Noel still loves me even though he's dejected, and I am going to sleep. Until I wake up early to go buy leather products.

As per usual . . . life is beautiful.

Begin The Countdown

Today, for some reason, I ended up in a funk for quite a bit of the evening. I don't know why. Today started off beautifully . . . seriously, the sky out toward the barn is amazing. I wouldn't ever get up this early to do something inside, but if I can get up and go be under that sky, than let's go. Topper feels the same way, I think. He probably appreciates a little bit of variation in his work outs . . . I'm out so early, Julie can get out in the late morning, and then late afternoons and nights on the weekends. He was nice to me today, and the sun was behind these bright clouds, so it was just peachy.

Even class was fun. I made an A on my biology test, and all through class I had this flutter in my stomach as I anticipated the reactions of the officials to our sports headline. (It's gorgeous, trust me. A group effort gone wonderfully, wonderfully right.) A bit of an anti-climix; no one was mad. What do I have to do around this joint to get some feathers ruffled?

I'm not sure what I got accomplished at work today besides suddenly having a near anxiety attack around dinner time. I had to leave and get the heck out of there. I don't know where it came from, just out of the blue like that, but it did, and when I was eating dinner I found myself almost crying into my salad more than a few times.

When I was done eating I felt better and could get to work and get everything moving, but I was still feeling weird. Beats me. Probably a lack of sleep and all the stress so far from the semester building up. That and the fact I had someone being nice and friendly to me. Isn't it weird that someone doing something nice can make you nearly fall apart? What's up with that?

I guess today was just a big mess of complete contentment and vulnerability and longing for something (to be outside for more than two or three hours a day is part of what I want). I want to be able to read books again, check my phone messages, return calls, watch movies, cuddle on Topper, take long naps, go climb, go row, be in the sun for a while, care a damn about my schoolwork, work on art projects, write my book, do nothing, think nothing, sit, breathe, look at the sky.

Fall break is quickly approaching. Thank goodness. I really and honestly do love my job, more than probably any other I've had (unless you count training Hammie . . . yeah, I miss the little twit, he was a fun ride until you got thrown . . . ). But even chocolaholics need a break from Hershey's. (How's that for some creative writing?)

There was a cool chill damp on the air tonight when I walked home. Fall comes even to Texas. Things will keep going, and I will still be there and be effective. But I can tell I'll be even better after I get out of here for a few days.

How Shallow is Shallow?

Tonight was great in that I had hardly anything to do for class and Tyler and John let me crash in their room to watch a movie. Seriously, I love these guys. I may have killed my first roommate this year if not for them. Asides from that, they are incredibly entertaining, and tonight was even more interesting than usual.

I have this weakness: I like psychoanalyzing people. I want strengths, weaknesses, hopes, dreams, nightmares and bad habits.

Poor Tyler happened to be in the way tonight. What has to be said is he brings it upon himself . . . his reputation alone brings it on. So I gave it to him, the whole "Why, why why?" thing. It took forever and he was probably not appreciating being cornered like that, but something had to be done.

And so now it's one in the morning, I've got classes and I'm watching something called "Creature Comforts" on Comedy Central . . . it's absurd. Interviews with little claymation animals, like Wallace and Grommit or some such. It's pretty funny. Watch it if you find it. Nothing rocks like British comedy.

Tomorrow will be great, I can tell.

I Just Nearly Cried in Public

And in case you're wondering, Drew, Ashley, and Brian nearly did too, I'll bet. After double overtime and nearly three heart attacks on my behalf, TCU fudged the game against USF and lost by ONE POINT. Oy vey. Excuse me while I go guillotine the entire team now, including number 17 Cory Rodgers.

I love football, let me assure you of that. I'm still learning all the technicals, but I know the good and bad when I see it, and tonight was ugly. Come on guys, it's my senior year, gimme a break here and give me a good season to remember, something where we don't have to invite ourselves to our own bowl game like last year.

We all want the headline for our paper to read BULLS HIT.

No, This Time I Really Did Fall

Yeah, so that was at once the highlight/downside of my week. Tuesday m orning I got up nice and early to go ride. Right away when I took Topper out of his paddock he was acting stupid, and he pinned my arm against the edge of his steel feeder before I even got him out to the arena. I think I was mounted for about 30 seconds before he had a giant spook, jumped out from under me, and left me hanging in the air. As per usual, I landed on my back and was up before he'd even gotten two steps away. I guess the guy just needed to run. After I caught him (imagine all that sand in your clothes) I untacked him and just let him run. He was really good after that.

Tuesday night and Wednesday were brutal, but now I'm feeling good. Still a bit sore, but no more popping Tylenol every few hours. I don't recover as easily as I did when I was 12, but that's ok. I guess I had to grow up sooner or later.

At least it was something exciting that happened this week.

The rest of the week hasn't been that exciting, but that's just fine. I've gotten schoolwork done, gotten the paper squared away, and even took naps. (Granted, they were drug induced, but that's ok.) I even took Noel to work with me Monday. He's looking especially happy lately. Just like me.

It's Flooding Down In Texas

Every time a storm rolls through here I think of the Stevie Ray Vaughn version of the blues song. Texas storms are like none other . . . I've lived in a lot of places and never seen them quite the same. Today the wind rolled through from the north like a tsunami wave and the trees started shuddering when everything started. Everything got dusty and nasty and then the rain came, pouring down like nothing else. It wasn't especially dark outside, and you could see that it was clear not far away, but things were just flooded for about a half hour. It's good--I think we'd been needing rain. I know it's silly and superstitious, but I'd been wearing my rain charm from Acoma and hoping for something to come. Fall makes me feel peripatetic (yeah, go look that one up) and I wish I could go back to New Mexico for a bit. The Balloon Fiesta is over fall break . . . but I'm going to be in Ohio. I'm really excited . . . I've never been to the Midwest before. And then on to Indiana from there for some more good-time journalism stuff. I really, really don't want to work for a newspaper, ever. I need to send for updated applications for grad school. I'm going to be at such a loss if I don't get in. I may have to just go join the military after all. Ok, maybe not, but I don't know what to do. Working on my book, keeping grades up, and sending out applications is what I need to focus on this semester. Let's just hope I can remember that for the rest of the semester.

By the way, the word "peripatetic" means "of a wandering nature." I need to get out.

Falling

This week at work has been interesting. Bohler, sorrowfully (not just sadly), has returned, bringing with him more useless and inane babble about everything. His thing this semester is mug shots, and I argued with him for a good ten minutes about it. I'm stubborn and possessive and the paper belong to me and the rest of the staff this semester and we say NO to mug shots for every moron who gets quoted. Today we used two, which ought to have made him happy, but no, he decided to write a big long e-mail about how we should have more. And by the way, today's paper was beautiful. I would frame it if I were even more of a loser than what I already am. And it didn't have 10 mugs on the front.

We also had a marvelous story about a man who was arrested for stealing stuff from campus facilities. The other Elizabeth wrote the story (every time someone calls her name in the room I still look up) and it was damn good. Even if there were a few little problems. That doesn't matter, she did a good job.

The rest of the week has been ok. I haven't gone climbing or rowing once and only got out to ride Tuesday, which sucks. I miss my baby. Thankfully Julie has been able to ride him so he doesn't get naughty. Ironically, I wrote my first opinion column about the dangers of being a weekend warrior, but look at me now, planning for everything this weekend.

Making plans for fall break and the Howard seminar . . . it should be pretty awesome because I can go up early and see Adam. Not only that, but I can see the OSU Lantern and get red face paint for the football game. That's pretty damn skippy cool.

The question for right now is this: tattoo or no?

And that's the end of the week.

More Than A Feeling

No, I won't break out and sing the Boston song for you, but I would like to savour the week. I was in Mass today and feeling even more optimistic than usual--they had the full choir again, and that always makes me feel good. I'm sure you've heard it said before that prayer isn't just words, it's a feeling . . . it's that way for me more than anything else. Like this week:

Sitting around with friends and just feeling that calm, content warmth that comes from good company.

After being shocked and frightened, seeing that everything can still turn out ok if you work hard enough.

A three day weekend. (Trust me, this was a major prayer of thanksgiving.)

Just leaning against Topper and closing your eyes and knowing you make him feel safe and he does the same for you.

A really thunderous hymn, hundreds of years old, that shows some things don't change.

Driving along when the light from a low sun hits all the grass and makes it glow.

Knowing there's always a best friend who will take care of you even when you make silly mistakes.

Making silly mistakes and then learning from them.

And knowing that tomorrow is another chance to try it all again.

Tailgating The Hard-Core Way

So when Kristi, one of the news editors, says her margaritas will knock you on your ass, she's serious.

Kristi had a tailgate at her house before the game yesterday and had massive amounts of BBQ and homemade margaritas. Her place is gorgeous--the second floor of a house with hardwood floors and comfy furniture and perfect paintings on the walls. A few of the other newspaper people stopped by (I'd like to see them every day, but I'm pretty sure they don't want to see me all the time) and it was just fun. I had 5 margaritas by the end of the night, including the one I took with me in a plastic cup up to the newsroom to geta media pass.

I can hold my alcohol very, very well, and have never once been drunk. But I can assure everyone that there is a first time for everything, and last night was it.

Thankfully Maureen, my best friend, and Jackie were going to the game with me, so they kept an eye on me. The biggest problem was balance. I'm so glad I wore flipflops instead of something that I couldn't've walked in. I saw my sister in the band, talked to her a few times (a moment of silence for her fish, who passed away Friday), saw Angela and her sonograms, and I don't think I saw anyone else I knew. That's probably a good thing. I knew enough not to go to the press box when I couldn't walk a straight line, so I missed out on the fun up there.

I don't think I was too stupid. Or at least I hope I wasn't. I came home around 9 or so and went to bed. I woke up at 3am and was ready to go--refreshed, sober, in the mood to have some friends around and watch a movie or something. My roommate was gone, though, so I had a bottle of water from the vending machine, a little bit of Cadbury, and read my Newsweek for about an hour and a half before going back to bed.

This morning I don't feel a thing. I'm up and ready for Mass and there's no headache, no piercings or tattoos I don't know about, no black eyes from getting thrown out of the game by the police, so I guess the night went all right. I'll find out at soon as I talk to my friends. I've got to prepare myself for that one. Maybe a margarita would help bolster my confidence . . . *grin*

Pain Doesn't Hurt

Yesterday I rode, rowed, and climbed all in one day. My entire upper body is sore, but I feel great. I like being sore. It's reassuring me that yes, I'm alive and can push myself to do better, so it's a good thing. I was also at the paper longer than usual, but we were still done by midnight and I was able to sleep until 11. Getting a solid 10 hours of sleep is probably why I feel so good today. I laid down and was staring at the ceiling last night and was almost too tired to turn over and fall asleep--that's pretty pitiful, but it also gives you an idea of how little the Tylenol was doing.

On Monday Bohler, the newspaper advisor, comes back. I have to admit I'm dreading it. This week has been laid-back, fun, a minimum of mistakes and wasted efforts, and produced a lot of funny results from www.lovecalculator.com Evidently Colin Powell and I are destined to be together. That would be great, because I could really use a sugar daddy right now to pay for my weekends. My dad told me he was pricing kayaks while at REI . . . that would be phenomenal. I think the paper should have a crew team. It'd be hilarious. For now I'll settle for movies and grilling with the editors, because they're awesome and any company with them is good.

The TCU Daily Skiff: 102 years old and still putting out 4 times a week.

To Spend Your Days In The Sunshine

Aaahh, this weekend has been great. I spent Saturday out at the barn riding (awesome ride, too, Topper is such a rock star), at the driving range (friends who let you borrow golf clubs are great and stealing carts is entertaining), and rowing (a lot harder than kayaking, I'll give it that, but so much fun). Monday was spent climbing (John and Danny push me harder and harder and I'm good and really, really sore now).

My week days are spent inside, with classes and budget meetings and homework and work. But my week ends belong to me and the sky.

And the night before school starts again I will be taking very long, hot showers and slathering on the Icy Hot and popping the Tylenol. It's all so worth it. Life is beautiful. And just in case things weren't good enough, the newspaper advisor is out of town. And there was much rejoicing!

And The News Editor Trilled

Let me just say it one more time because I can't say it often enough:

Every single editor at the paper this year rocks my face off.

Seriously, these guys make me enjoy going into work every day. I like the range of talents and tastes so much because there's never a lack of something interesting or entertaining going on. I have no qualms with talking about any subject under the sun with them, sitting down and being serious and getting work done with them, or just goofing around with them because they're awesome. The word "awesome" is one that comes out of my mouth so often that it's cliched, but I don't mean it in a cliche way at all, I just love them, that's all.

In order of their desk arrangement, may I introduce the editors of the TCU Daily Skiff:
Stacey: managing
Catherine: associate
Ashley: sports (and a guy, not a girl)
Stephen: photos
Olga: copy desk chief
Christina: features
Kristi: news
Drew: news
Jeff: opinions
and Brian: he's a reporter and the design editor, it's a bit weird

And then the advisor . . . well, he's a different story. But he was talking to Drew today, and the poor guy looked so cornered and baffled (our advisor baffles everyone) and the advisor finally stopped and was waiting for a response about something. The problem is, we never know what he's looking for. It's ridiculous. So Drew just sat there in dead silence for a minute, then made this loooooooooooooooooooooong buzzing/trilling sound. It was like a defense mechanism or something. We laughed so hard we nearly fell of our chairs.

The great thing is that all the editors are crazy, even is some show it more than others. Everything is perfect. As Twain said, "When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."