introversion

My life is so generally uneventful and unexciting that I haven’t taken the time to write in this thing for a while. Let’s do a mini-update about recent thoughts and events.

(more…)

I like it when Renee and Nikki come over to the house and the house is filled with the noise of everyone conversing; it’s nice. (Sometimes it’s not nice, like when I’m trying to study and my patience becomes nonexistent, but for the most part, it’s nice.) I think it’s because the house feels alive rather than our usual silent solitariness (that is, each of us doing our own thing). I don’t know; this is really random but I’m just sitting here listening to the separate convos going on, like Hung laughing downstairs with Renee and Don and Nikki discussing law stuff. Actually, I was thinking that it would be nice to have a place filled with such conversation when I move on, I guess, and then I wondered what kind of people I’d like to have filling up such a place. Then, of course, it occurred to me that this might drive me nuts since I do like my quiet time, too. There’s just no happy medium. However, without mom and dad, the house has been too quiet lately. It’s weird not hearing someone shuffling around downstairs all the time.

/random

You know, I really, really miss the days when I wasn’t procrastinating and thus not writing craptastic papers in one day that make me sad and more stressed out when they’re finished because they’re such shitty quality. Yeah… so how do I, at eight weeks into the quarter, get my ass into gear and stop procrastinating? And catch up with all my reading? And generally do not sit on the Internet and fool around telling myself to go do my homework? And actually get myself to write something rather than letting 101 ideas float around in my head?

Some original ideas would be nice, too, brain. How about something more regarding Vilena and Aezek?

Damn me but I still have two more papers to write this quarter.

Hmm… I feel slightly better now. I have discovered that I am the type that needs to bitch and complain and vent about my deficiencies in the hopes of assuring myself that I am not as crappy as I think. This morning was a good morning, though, since Nene and Nikki had stayed the night. I had missed seeing them and it was good to talk to Nikki this morning and to eat pancakes. I’ll feel much better in 10 minutes when my Hum paper is out of my hands and beyond my power; well, maybe I will. I know how badly this paper is written so I’ll probably be bothered until I get it back and see if I managed to get a B and not a C. God, that’s depressing.

Jeff said I should write in this more, so maybe I should.

First, because it’s most prominent, school: I don’t know what changed from last year to this quarter, but I am friggin’ swamped with work and more often than not behind in it. It’s true that I have been slacking… a little… ok, more than I should, but still it just blows my mind that I always seem to have something NOT done and something looming in the future (a paper, a test, something–this time around it’s a midterm and a quiz on Friday and a paper due next Wed. Gr.). And it just really hit me that this quarter is already half over. That’s so crazy.

Other than that, classes are alright. Chem is boring as heck and if I weren’t taking it for a grade, I’d probably just blow it off, but since I am, I do have to put some effort into it. I definitely don’t really have the time to devote to it; I wish it were just bio where you memorized stuff instead of all this figuring out how electrons pair up or what molecules look like crap and the Daily Specials are more of a pain in the ass than interesting, especially since we have to know that material in addition to the course material for the tests. Ugh. Hum drives me nuts on the basis that my professor doesn’t lecture very well; it’s history and history and history and not much about the actual work and even then I’m usually so tuned out by that point that I take crappy notes. This makes me sad because the texts themselves are very interesting: thus far, Boccaccio, Machiavelli, Christine de Pizan, de las Casas, Vespucci, and, which I should be reading but have not started yet, Thomas More. I’m not on the edge of screaming or ripping my hair out, but this may chance once I see the grade I got on my first paper (25% of my grade! Only 2 papers this quarter! AAAH!). Spanish is Spanish and such a pain in the ass with the amount of work it is. It doesn’t help that I hardly even thought about Spanish over the summer aside from the random times I attempted to use it at work. I wish it was 2B again where they ease you into all the grammar rules instead of assuming you still must remember something. The readings are also boring since it’s all articles about social commentary rather than short stories (although the themes of the stories in 2A and 2B were very depressing; I think 2A was like oppressed peoples and women and 2B was war). I like my TA though; I had him last quarter. We still chat a little bit before and after class, but not really since I have Lit right after that class and he has another 2C class anyway. And there’s no doubt that Lit is the class that makes this quarter all worth it. Ok, so I hate the research paper writing aspect of it (and I was shocked when our TA used one of my body paragraphs from my essay as an example on using textual evidence), but Prof. Tonkovich just lectures so well that class itself is awesome. I like it a lot because it’s a lot of social studies through literature; Ally tends toward thinking it’s too much in that direction rather than studying the literature itself. Whatever the case is, those 50 minutes always seem to fly by while in every other class, especially Chem which follows immediately afterwards, 50 minutes seem to take an eternity. AND we have an awesome TA. I can almost forget the horrors of fall and spring quarters of last year.

Strange, though, but all my classes seem to be overlapping this quarter. Talking about slavery in Lit ends up connecting to other talks about slavery in Hum which somehow even hookup with talking about slavery in Spanish?! It’s weird, but if there’s one thing that college has really been developing in me it’s a broader way of thinking and just questioning. Hum and even Soc 1A back in Fall Quarter have been really good at this, and Prof. T. seems really determined to break down all my preconceived notions about literature. I like it, but it has been making me question what I want to study. I really, really like delving into social issues and just plan sociology and how societies operate, but I really, really like literature, either as literature or as a tool to understand or decipher society or people, too. If I could combine the two somehow, maybe with a little science like bio that while more indepth wouldn’t make me want to cry with tests (how I wish grades didn’t matter!) and psychology too, it’d be close to my perfect course of study.

The only other big thing going on in my life right now is learning the violin. I love my lessons if only because I end up discussing the most random things with my teacher when I go. We talk about literature sometimes and music history (she has so much random knowledge about women musicians in the past–part of her very feminist spirit I’m sure–which resonates very nicely with all my feminist lit teachers which is really working towards making me pretty feminist, which I’ve always kind of been anyway but not in any real intellectual sense) and just some of the most random topics that always add to the pile of stuff I’m already thinking about. Sheesh. I try to practice everyday, though now school just makes me lazy sometimes and I don’t want to pick up the violin. When I can get over my laziness, though, I’ll sometimes end up playing for like an hour just because the act of playing itself and the sound and feel of the music is so absorbing. I’m still nowhere near decent, but at least I can play stuff now and even fool around and almost decipher songs by ear. Learning and, dare I say it, playing the violin has really affected how I listen to music now; I notice violins in music now that I never noticed before and I find myself randomly thinking about tempo and beat and just how things sound. (I’m falling in love with the concept of sound; it’s part of why I love language–the way it sounds. If foreign languages weren’t so hard for me to learn, I’d definitely be learning more of them. As it is, some of my favorite music is in other languages or in nonsense languages just because not being able to understand the music renders, in a way, the voice as just another musical instrument. I love the pure range and expressiveness of the human voice, which is maybe why I’m so attracted to the violin and the other string instruments.) My singing hasn’t improved much–and I sing in the car a lot during my drives to and from school–but sometimes I can hit notes, even if it does sound horrible.

Thinking about a random comment I made in a conversation between Ally, Michelle, and me, I’m not sure which would be worse for me: going blind or going deaf. I think I’d just go crazy if either happened.

To end on a random note: Ally’s apartment is awesome and I’m sure all her roommates are sick of randomly seeing me there. And I’m not dead on the Internet; my LJ is very active. It’s just… fandom stuff, which I assume doesn’t interest most of the people who would read this blog.

Saw the Diavolo show with Dana tonight. Slow at parts, but at other times simply amazing in the breadth of skill and example of human strength and grace. Some segments even had my gut clenching in fear that someone was going to take a bad fall or get crushed, but there was never a moment that the performers were not in control. The props were amazing and well used for their relative simplicity: a prop that looked like a big human body and a door for single acts, a board with metal pegs spaced out across it, a giant wheel, and a half-sphere with panels that served as a representation of a ship for the multi-person acts. Certainly worth it for $5 a ticket.

I have always been amazed by any performing art and/or sport that exhibits what the human body can do. I can’t really express my obsession with the Cirque du Soleil or how badly I’d love to see a show of theirs (but not really willing to pay the extremely exorbitant prices) or why I like to watch gymnastics and cheerleading and all those random sports that require such extravagant movements and maneuvers. I found a part of the reason tonight when the knife of envy stabbed through me as I watched the performers. They have such freedom with their bodies, able to do with them as they wish: cartwheels, back handsprings, handstands, climbing, swinging, etc. They just can and do. It’s not only amazing to watch, but it really made me wish I could exert that kind of control over my own body. Not that I’d ever be motivated to really go work out like that to get there. (Although lately I’ve really had a desire to go try out yoga or something. Meditation, too.)

I think envy is also kind of what motivated me to start learning the violin as well. Musicians who’ve played for years have such a freedom with music that’s startling. They just pick up their instruments and go. Dancing, too. Gah. The list just goes on and on.

But I just wanted to note that the show tonight was amazing.

John O’Neill III, if you see this, I’m going to have to steal my anime back from you one day. And how the hell are you doing?

I was continually amazed today by just how many times my coworker can mention to people that she has two children and relate to them, one after the other, the same goddamn story or circumstance. To me, it just seems odd to tell people things like this, but maybe this is my lack of customer service skills or personableness shining through. It actually makes me feel kind of sad for her because I know this is pretty much the end all, be all of her life and I can’t understand for the life of me what compels her to try and convey this to everyone in the world. I don’t get “I am happy” vibes coming off of her. Then again, she annoys me so much most of the time that any pity I feel immediately is overcome by my irritation. It’s something about her voice and her tendency to tell me inane stories about her home life that I never ask about or even suggest that I want to know. I have no idea why she feels like I would care one iota for her goddamn circumstances or this or that. I don’t. Get over yourself. Or go find yourself so that you don’t feel a need every day to reaffirm your existence by telling everyone about it. (Do I sound bitter? Good.)

Also, why the hell is she so nosy? There is absolutely no reason that she has to ask me every single goddamn time I pick up the phone and deal with a customer who it is or what they wanted. I wanted to just say to her, “Why the hell do you need to know?” I answer anyway but everytime a growing feeling of annoyance and resentment grows in me like WTF does it matter to you unless it’s the boss?

You know, I was just talking to Dana recently about how I feel like I’m a much calmer person than I used to be. (Dana says that she had the first impression of me being a calm person and when I told her recently how irrationally angry I could be in the past, she said to me, “You’re trying to ruin my zen!image of you, aren’t you?") And I do believe this to be very true for, as I told Dana, I react to many things that would have made me just go berserk in the past with either this strange resignation or self-deprecating regret or even humor. However, people like this coworker immediately put me on my short temper and I can tell when I’m getting short with her, too, or when I’m going to just want to punch her one of these times.

Now I’ve worked myself into a frenzy. Well, the countdown to my last day has begun, so I won’t have to work with her much longer. (Thank the cosmos.)

So while trying to tune the E string on the violin today using the peg, there was suddenly a loud bang. A little chaos and disbelief later, I realized the tailpiece’s, er, string? (that which attaches it to the button–the violin is pretty much just held together by tension) had broken and there was no way I was going to play the violin this morning. So I called my teacher first thing and we lamented the violin’s fate and then I started looking around yellowpages.com for a repair shop. I knew of a violin shop, but knew they weren’t open today. A few phones calls later found me suddenly speaking to an older man (a deep, warbling voice that put me in mind of a small old man). I bunglingly asked him if he did estimates after he told me twice to speak up and then slower and eventually got around to finding out that from him, it’d probably only cost $10. I got his address from him (the one listed in the yellow pages is for some reason his home address and not his shop–yes, I also managed to mess this up). I decided I had time enough to head up there and see how long it would take him to fix it, completely willing to let it be overnight if so. Anyway, I get there, around University Ave, and am completely reminded why I hate trying to find stores along those streets. So after circling twice, I found it and then thought maybe it wasn’t open. Actually, I was confused because the little building had a sign that said “Violin Maker” and yet in another window it had a sign that said, “Sorry, we’re closed” and when I looked inside, I could see and hear a woman playing a violin.

As it turned out, if I had only tried the door the first time before angrily stomping back to my car and using my cell to call the store to confirm that it was a) open and b) on that street, I would have saved myself some anxiety. Anyway, the grate door ended up not being locked (the reason I thought it was locked is because the other violin store actually locks its door and I assumed this was a similar set up) and that there were actually several offices set up inside. The “Sorry, we’re closed” sign was for one of these. The violin maker was busy with another customer when I walked in, which for some reason completely surprised. Something wrong about the quality of sound from her violin, so I gathered, which they seemed to decide to solve by replacing the strings with a set of imported expensive ones. Anyway, I proceed make an ass of myself and paint myself stupid when I come in and set the violin down. I was shocked to see the violin maker. He is old, yes, but tall and shockingly skinny, and yet looking at his arms I can see all the veins pressed up against the skin and couldn’t help but wonder if they were a legacy of muscles long gone. So, I set the violin down and he immediately, well, not berates, but his voice might have projected such a quality, as gruff and perfunctory as he was. So he hands me the little mechanism to take the chinrest off and then he told me to take the strings off the tailpiece (I misunderstood, at first, and thought he just wanted me to take the strings off the whole violin and he had to correct me) and then felt very, very stupid when he told me to look in the drawer behind me to find the tailpiece attachment we needed. Pulling out one big enough for a cello was not the highlight of my working intelligence. I eventually found what he asked me to with the old woman amusedly looking on, since she was waiting for him to change the strings on her violin. By now I was just feeling embarassed and somewhat intimidated by this old man. But his little workshop (just a room) was cozy and dotted with all sorts of random stuff he must use in his trade as well as lots of pictures. Asian children, I think, and also, which I found odd, a calendar from the Asian supermarket, Ranch 99. Eventually he finished up with the woman and went to work on my violin and I sat down in the chair the woman had vacated. It was then, lulled somewhat by the heat and the silence between us, that a strange feeling of peace settled over me as I watched him working on the violin or the random person that passed by the window. I don’t know; I felt suddenly very content. I would have liked to have asked him questions about his trade, but I was still smarting with my own stupidity and the strange sense of intimidation I got from this old man. I was kind of sad when he finished and it meant I had to get up and leave. I don’t know. A very strange experience.

BUT, the real topper of the day was when I came home after work and tried to tune the violin again using the pegs (again) and the E string completely snapped. *sigh* I have to call my teacher again tomorrow.

Yesterday, a man newly wed came into the store. I greeted him, as I greet about 80% of the people who walk in, and he gave me this smile that while open, immediately put me on edge because I knew there was a question coming and I hate not being able to answer a question or have to deal with a search for some vague present. Anyway, he even said he had a question for me and then told me he had bought his wife a steam cooker and wanted it wrapped. I gave him the usual spiel that if he bought the wrapping paper, we would courtesy wrap for him. Well, he did so (something with purple in it, since apparently she loves purple) and then went off to find a card while I wrapped the present (kind of crappily, but I did my best). Anyway, he started looking around the store and said he wished he could find something else for her. I told him that the cooker seemed like enough of a present and he said he’d still would have liked to find something else for her since he would probably end up using the gift more because he did most of the cooking on account of his working nights and her working days. He always smiled as he said this and then confided that his wife thought he bought too much for her. I was amazed when he divulged that their first date (some three years ago) had been a 14-mile hike and that they both loved it. They had just returned from their honeymoon. Anyway, he noticed there wasn’t a bow and decided he had to get one and I helped him with that too. As he paid for the bow, he asked me, “You probably think this is really sappy, huh?” I told him, honestly, “Really, I think it’s rather sweet.”

And I did. I think if that man is really the impression that I got of him, that his wife is a very lucky woman. At the time I found myself thinking, I could love a man like this. I think that was the first time I could really picture myself falling in love with someone.

So today at work this old man walks in and asks me if I had been working yesterday. I asked him if it was around this time and he said yes, so I told I had been. Then he informs me that yesterday his wife had been in the store, had purchased three cards, and had $110 or so dollars on her. Apparently she lost the $100 and he had come back to see if we had it. Well, I immediately thought about the $100 I had counted the night before and immediately thought, “I’ll go check the report after this guy leaves to see if we balanced out last night.” Anyway, I told the man I hadn’t seen it and the old man starts looking around on the floor and around the counter as if it might be there. He then said, “I didn’t expect anyone to return it anyway,” and begins to walk away and then hesitates and turns around again. He raises a finger and then says something like, “You’re going to go to hell” or “This store is going to go to hell.” I was so shocked, I didn’t know how to reply. I know that my Catholic upbringing still lingers with me and I especially was reminded of it today when I felt a literal pang go through my gut. Anyway, I had no means of replying and let him go on. He continued after the “hell” bit, saying something like, “Because that $100…” but he never finished that sentence. I half-expected him to launch into a story about how it was a gift to his wife or she was going to give it someone as a gift but then he eventually just walked out. Really, I was just flabbergasted by the whole incident.

Do I look like an immoral coward or something? Do I wear some kind of guilty expression? The Hell bit was completely uncalled for. I was amused and angered (more amused). I felt bad for the poor girl I was helping at the moment. She was getting balloons I was going to inflate for her and had the misfortune to step back just as the guy was getting going.

However, that really made my day. I just had to laugh. Oh, and we did balance out last night, so the store didn’t miraculously make $100 more yesterday and Rose didn’t mention at all to me that she found $100 either, which I think she would have done or like to think she would have done. Whatever. I hate dealing with people. This job is showing me that more and more. I do enjoy it when I help someone who is very nice, personable, returns my greetings, smiles, and is generally pleasing. Some people just give off an air of assholery that goes beyond my comprehension. Just be civil for like one minute. If I have to fucking smile and attempt to be pleasing and compliant all day for the likes of you people, you can spare me five minutes of civility. In fact, when I do meet those very nice people, it completely makes my day and it’s uplifting in a way that vaguely depresses me because it is uplifting.

I’ve given my notice though. September 15. I could have used the money (mainly to keep up violin lessons, but I’ll be cutting back on the frequency of my lessons, so the money I haven’t spent this summer yet will hold me for a bit), but working this job and dealing with school would have prompted me to strangle myself at some point in time. The job isn’t bad or hard, but sometimes the boss just expects too much of us. It’s like how can I work in another part of the store and be expected to mind the cashier when I can’t even see it? And then people give me the resentful eye when I make my way up to the register. I hate it when people archly ask if they can pay for something or if there’s a cashier who can help them. I don’t people using the little bell–in fact, that’s what it’s there, people!–but they really don’t have to get all snickery and annoyed. I can’t be everywhere at once and my friggin’ boss doesn’t want me to just sit behind the counter if I have nothing to do! And if I’m doing something else, give me a break.

Maybe I can get a student-friendly job over the school year–which isn’t in retail. I doubt I’ll try restaurants; that just requires more interaction with people. It would really kick as if I could get a job in a field that vaguely has to do with things I might be interested in doing after I finish my degree, but my resume has no merit to speak of. ;_;

Summer has barely begun, yet already I feel like weeks and weeks have passed. I’m working at Hallmark now–minimum wage–and it’s the kind of job that just tires me out from always having to say “Hi” to people and try my best to answer questions, often fleeing to find someone who knows what’s in the store. It was really funny, though, last night when I went up to La Jolla to grab some dinner with Dana (since she is now back in town) that I went to the bathroom and instinctively said “Hi” to the woman I saw in the bathroom. It was kind of ridiculous and after I questioned why I had done that, I had to laugh at myself. The job keeps me on my feet all the time, too, and after a few hours my legs are really angry with me and I’m really angry with having to stand up all the damn time. My real regret though is not being able to read or something when no one is in the store. I have to actively try and keep myself busy, like straightening cards out or something. Coincidentally, I’ve also found a new pet peeve: Please, please, please if you ever go to a card store, PUT THE CARD BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT! Thank you.

Aside from putting money into my pocket, the job is supposed to serve the purpose of keeping me motivated to learn the violin, since I’ve resolved to pay for my lessons. The violin is, in fact, very cool, but I think whoever designed the thing wanted to use the most unnatural position for all things; plucking or bowing requires keeping your arm up in positions that it normally doesn’t fix in. Between work and practicing the violin, I get sore in the legs and the arms. It’s as amusing as it’s annoying. I’ve been slowing picking up the items I’ve been needing, but am still short the metronome. There are online metronomes, of course, but even so I’d like to be able to pull myself away from the damn computer, not to mention it’s just a pain in the ass to always walk around my bed to change the tempo. Incidentally, I also ended up winning a tuner on eBay that I just won’t be needing since the apparently awesome tuner Hung used when he played guitar does indeed still work.

SO if anyone reads this and is interested in buying a chromatic tuner then drop me a line or something. I’m selling it for how much my total paying for it came out to (the winning bid + the shipping), which is like 10.something so it’s not so bad at all. It’s less than the retail price anywho. It’s a Qwik Tune QT9.

Technically I don’t need a tuner–my teach never mentioned I should get one–but I am tired of not knowing if what I hear being played on the violin is the A (or G, D, or E) that I hear on my little chromatic pitch pipe. It’s nice to ear train–but I’m not sure what I’m training myself to hear, so it’s all very frustrating. But I like my teacher a lot, even if I have to drive a bit to get to my lessons–she gets excited thinking about what she wants to teach me and I can tell she likes all sorts of music styles, not just classical. I’m hoping Ally will practice her clarinet so that when (I’m trying to convince myself that I can use “when” and not “if” meaning I’m not going to give up) I get decent we can find something we can jam together to. That would be very cool.

I also did better on my grades than I thought. I pulled two A-’s, but I expected to get B’s in those areas, so I was very pleasantly surprised. It’s funny, though, how I kind of wish school would hurry up and start so that I wouldn’t have to work, but then I know once school starts I’ll be pining for summer again. Even knowing it I still can’t help but feel that way.

Funny story from work today that completely made my day (I didn’t even know I was working today until yesterday, which destroyed all the plans I had made for today. Out the window went my violin lesson scheduled for today and my *sob* appointment with the optometrist. My right eye is friggin’ killing me; it’s so bad now and it’s probably because my prescription is three years old. It’s weird because my left eye is stronger enough that I see far away objects as both clear and blurry at the same time as my eyes compete to send messages to my brain.): So a guy walked in and came up very confidential like to the counter (I’m standing behind the counter folding foil balloons–that’s right, I’m folding foil balloons), shooed his little daughter away and said, “I wonder if you guys can make a card for me.” I was thinking, “We don’t make cards” but I just smiled uncertainly as he continued and said, “I want it to say: ‘I hate you, you bitch…” and on and on with this horrible but nonetheless funny message which I’m sure would be nice to say to a customer or two. And I was just like, “What the hell?” but I was still smiling and when he stopped I said, “We don’t make cards. But you can make it at home.” He looked disappointed for a moment and then he grinned and said, “I’m just kidding.” And we laughed and he walked off. We joked a little more about how cards like that would probably sell–"I hate you” cards–and when he left he told me not to steal his idea. Nonetheless, I’ll remember that confused moment as I stood there listening to him, disbelievingly, and I’ll say that completely made my day.

In the end, I am grateful that I have the job there. People are supposedly having difficulty finding jobs around here, so it’s nice that I did manage to grab one, even if it’s one that makes me want to scream sometimes and spork someone very, very badly. Sitting here, it feels like it’s going to be a very long summer, but I know that by summer’s end I will probably be sitting right here wondering where all the time went. Ah, well.

I’ll close with a book recommendation: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. It’s sad, but good. Until the next random update then, adieu.

Why are my suitemates musical geniuses?! And why do I only know about this now?! It’s simply unfair and amazing how carelessly Danni plays the piano. She’s like, “I can try sight reading that” and there are like a million notes all over the page and I’m going, “Oh my God!” inside. It’s… goddamn, it’s just beautiful–to hear the music, to watch her fingers dancing across the keys. Those first few bars I think my jaw dropped.

“Ngan, you should do to Ally what I did to you the other night.” -Dana to, as Ally put it, ‘her lover’

That alone made my night that day. It’s finals week. I’ve finished two, Spanish and Brit Lit, and I’ve two more to go, Biology and Hum 2. Fun. When I finished my Spanish final, though, I held out my hand to my TA to give him a handshake, but he surprised me by hugging me instead. Surprised me, but still made me smile. I went to the piano room with Ally and Michelle tonight and was really amazed by Ally’s music theory knowledge. She could just randomly play things and I was like, “Wow.” I felt jealous, sad, and appreciative all at once. Michelle had some amusingly cute moments today too:

Relating how her piano teacher was frustrated with her for not being able to identify intervals: “‘Major sixth?’ ‘No.’”

And then, as Ally was playing some Major and minor intervals and chords, I said I liked the minor ones, which sound very sad, and then Michelle said with such conviction: “Of course you would.” =D

Also, my jeans have this huge rip along the inside edge of the right pocket. It makes me very sad, but I still want to wear them… even if people can see my underwear. Fuck.

OK, I admit it, I felt bad when Prof. George “scolded” us for being all giggly and generally not paying attention in class today. But I’ve pretty much learned not to pay attention in that class and this is probably the second time she’s “scolded” us with some indirect comment. But, really, it was quite amusing when people did walk out of class like 10 minutes later–hey, she invited them to. We probably should have too, but by then stubborn pride kept me in my seat. But, really, Dana makes me giggle. How can I not enjoy her offhand comments?

But I guess in the end I just feel bad that I generally just blatantly disrespect my Lit prof. And my Lit section. Sometimes Hum section too. Wow. I was goin go to say “There, better, conscience?” but it seems somewhat… hypocritical now.

I found eraser shavings trapped in the crevice of two pages of my Spanish workbook. I wondered how many lost words blackened their once white surface, how many misused, misspelled, unwanted. Too many. Wiped from the face of existence, I will never get them back. I wonder why I want to forget all my innocent mistakes.

Isn’t it funny how I don’t like kissing, but that sometimes the wild impulse to kiss a stranger, a friend will seize me when I study a pair of lips? I wonder why that is. I wonder what I want. I don’t think even my body knows. I am no longer running on instinct.

I learned things I never knew about my suitemates. They’re amazing people lurking beneath the surface of carefree fronts. Amazing people always make me question myself. I feel just that much more inadequate. But what does it take to feel adequate? When does the bar stop rising?

Due dates are evil things. Worse is not procrastinating. Sure, it’s nice to have something done, but anything done early sits there in the background, quietly mocking, boasting of all the errors I believe are in it. Better to have it handed in, out of my hands. I want someone else to take control, but I hate it when they don’t meet my expectations. Why is that? Why don’t I have the strength to step up? But responsibility is a weight I can’t bear. The more you have of it, the greater the counterweight: failure.

I think I’ve stopped listening out of insecurity. Don’t rock my foundations; I don’t want to learn, not really. Learning means accepting that what you believe may be wrong. I don’t like the thought of having been wrong (what have I been doing all this time? what meaning does all that time have now?); I don’t like the thought that my own beliefs don’t matter. But whose does and why? I’m not hurting anyone. Not yet.

Sometimes I believe I can really write something, that in a few years I’ll find a pen(cil) in my hand and suddenly magic words will appear on paper. I want to believe these words will come from my heart with the eloquence of something that has some intelligence–or at least a mind–and that they will touch other hearts and other minds in a way that the great ones have touched me. I want to be like the authors in those wild biographies a page, half a page long, the entirety of lives crammed into the exciting/depressing events of life, work, sometimes marriage, but always somewhere death. Even if they’re not dead yet, in a century the anthologies and reprinted versions will remember and finally add the second date in that blank spot behind the dash. Yet I always know I will never live a life like theirs and I wonder if it’s the life that produces the work–if so, I’m out of luck before I’ve even begun.

Someone tell me if that day is coming. That day I can finally say, “I did something.”

Marat/Sade. How fucked up. And at the same time, how utterly awesome. The UCSD theater program should get lots of love. Greatest way to start a play: have half of the actors already on stage acting as they would in the situation. In this case, as insane inmates. Awesome.

Random tidbit for today: we get the word sadism from the Marquis de Sade.

Wow, I just lost my entire post by clicking the wrong button in my browser. I will start again then.

So, I never did talk about that random night. It ended up being two random nights. Sun God at UCSD is basically an excuse for debauchery all over the campus. Although I missed the lesbians making out on the killer hill, although Ally claims that they were going at it while Michelle says they never even kissed. I’m still not sure how I missed out. Amy did too. Anyway, Ally, Michelle, Dana, and I decided that Sun God wasn’t our thing, so we went out to eat at TGI Friday’s and then went back to Ally’s room to figure out something else to do. We also got in touch with Christina who rendezvoused with us. This is when things started to spiral out of control. So we played a game of Apples to Apples (a fun game with the right group of people), which somehow lead to the most perverse pictionary I’m sure UCSD has ever seen (never again will Christina be allowed to make the prompts–although admittedly it was all horrifyingly amusing and embarassingly funny), which lead to some charades and then more party games that lead to even more randomness, like someone acting out a tampon. … Yes. So while we were playing the question game, the RAs walk through, probably thinking we were drunk as all hell considering how loud we were being, but the real icing on the cake was someone actually telling these poor men about the tampon bit. Just… you know, as interesting as I think it would be, I’m very afraid to think about all of us (the Lit Crew, I suppose) being drunk at the same time. The horror, the horror!

Saturday made me face a decision between John’s invitation to see Taylor’s show or Christina’s offer to see a play put on by Planned Parenthood (that alone should have been the warning) that she claimed featured warped Disney songs. It didn’t. Mostly it was a guilt trip about how the world sucks and we need to do something about it. It had its moments though of absolute, “Oh, jeez, I can’t believe this” and TMI, but I think we definitely broke Michelle’s brain in those two nights alone. I’m surprised she still associates with me. So anyway, after that was some Cold Stone and then we swung back to UCSD where we ended up being random in the Revelle Plaza. Some guy on a Segway came around, but since PotS was closed, he came back and let us test drive the Segway. It’s pretty cool, really. I ended up giving ‘er a spin across the plaza, with the dude walking beside me. This lead to speculation that I was macking on him. Admittedly, I did learn about him, but the thought never actually crossed my mind. Just my curiosity and compulsion to ask seemingly relevant questions to stave off awkwardness. *laughs* I almost wish I had had the thought to mack on him…

(more…)

Tonight has been one of the craziest, randomest nights of my life. More thoughts tomorrow, hopefully.

I write these stupid words
And I love every one
Waiting there for me.
Yes I do, I do.

-In the Garage, Weezer

Weezer has always had it damn straight and these words have spoken to me for years. <3