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!