Perhaps it's a change in my consciousness, or the Parkway view out my window, but it continually feels like May around here, rather than the September it is.
The worst part? There were horses on fire. They were panicked, and screaming, and in flames. I wept when I realized that there wasn't anything I could do to save them.
I cried and cried...and then I woke up and realized that I hadn't actually been crying at all.
That analytical version of myself needs to be revived, and fast.
It's odd to realize that there are all these associations that I wasn't even aware of permeating my consciousness. I guess this is what happens when one finally experiences these images that for years only seemed to exist in movies and television commercials. All of a sudden, I can visualize myself pursuing dozens of avenues I'd never seriously considered before. The thought is, "Say, there's nothing that's off-limits to me anymore, is there?"
And along much the same lines, these little subtle things I've started doing when I see attractive people, namely making eye contact, smiling, and sometimes even winking, if the mood strikes, seem to be paying off. (Stories available on request.) Who knew it was so easy to meet people?
I've been an Ail U. student for three years now—and only recently have I seriously begun to consider living [more] like one. Sure, there are still Ail U. student traits that I don't want to pick up. I don't want to abandon my integrity, nor do I want to don some kind of über-sophisticated persona. I still value sincerity, and I'm still myself. I retain my judgment. It's just occurred to me that I really can lead a life of adventure if I feel like it.
Here's to a return to better times!
(I just fell down the stairs to the music building two times in the space of 30 seconds in the middle of a rain shower. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to have had this experience. Thank you, Ail. U.!)
But I'm still not going to. If you want to read up-to-date snippets about what I'm doing, check my away messages. This space is still reserved for hashing out the minutiae of my existence.
(Is our hero weakening? Will she give in to the compulsion to post everyday events? Tune in next time...)
Well, check out this string of coincidences:
(1) She's an MSA '98 alum—and she married a scholar, no less.
(2) She went to Luth. North and knew dirk_person_man.
(3) To add to the serendipity of finding Snow Crash, it turns out that she's the one who found it before me.
(4) She's got feistyblossom's userpic.
(5) She's already written about me.
How cool is that?
I'm just gonna summon the spirits of darkness and ooze for a while...
It's July now, and time is fleeting. I think we're gonna have to put a few things on hold until I get my act together. I've got a lot to take care of before the month ends. I've got a lot on my mind.
And of course the old impulse to create drama has returned with a vengeance, even in the absence of a real relationship to push against. I'm feeling incredibly off-balance and out-of-sorts right now.
I feel so strange that I almost wonder if this might be a physical thing, rather than an emotional thing. Maybe I have SARS or something. Or toxoplasma.
Lust, humiliation, and anger—all pertaining to fictional events—figured heavily in this one.
It's been a great week. And gosh I'm feeling enthusiastic. Hormones + caffeine + the warm glowing glow that comes of being around good friends +/- sharing space with thousands of novel people + the good feeling I get the day after drinking = enthusiasm.
And for all that, friends, I'm a little apprehensive. I feel adrift. This whole summer thing is great, but I mustn't forget myself entirely, neh? I fear teh vapid—while on the other hand, I also fear the loss of this wild good mood I'm in.
To do: maintain equilibrium.
I like the way the sun shines there. They've got an abundance of people my age there. And in particular, I always notice lots of tall guys there with this casual, well-mannered aesthetic. Tevas, khaki shorts, and polo shirts. It's just a Columbia thing, I've concluded.
I have such fond memories of the place. It's a shame that my emotions were so tangled up that weekend, and that the humidity and sequence of events left me irritable and unable to appreciate my time there.
This is what heaven oughta feel like.
Natalie. Jason. Craig. Ben. Tony. Leeanne. Caroline. Paul. The other 110 people I knew on sight. Some were acquaintances. Some were instant friends. But regardless of what they once were to me, they're all pretty much gone now.
I mean, I still talk to a handful of them. And it's not like I'm hurting for friends—I have a lot of good ones. A multitude here at the university, some at home, and a few around the country. I've also got the younger set. But that still doesn't replace the people I spent three hot, humid weeks with in Columbia.
It's a little melodramatic, I realize, to continue caring. The unceasing torrent of life washes us onward, and there's not much I can do about that. These things happen.
Still, we connected once, and I'm afraid we never will again. And for that, friends, I am sad.
A site that lets you see the sunset in any major city in the world.
I might even pay for something like that.
I bet people would pay for something like that.
Of course, the only phrase I remember now is, "Ayudame! Ayudame!" But I know I said something significantly more complex than that.
I feel tough. I consort with the dregs of society and come out on top.
[[makes a muscle]]
The way things are currently, I have far too much time on my hands, so I sit here and waste time until I think of something to write about, which isn't ideal. I end up writing things that are stylistically sound but lacking in content, e.g. posts about what I did that day. I'd write about my thoughts and feelings, but I haven't had any, apart from ripples across the surface of my mind.
I greatly preferred the way things were during the school year, where I was almost always doing one of three things: working at Student Life, spending time with friends, or chasing that guy around. There was none of this bothersome downtime I'm experiencing right now; on the contrary, every moment was charged and electric and exciting.
What I should do is stop blogging entirely. What I'm going to do instead is go try to keep myself occupied and away from the computer for a while.
A girl in my Calc. II class recommended that book to me two years ago this week.
You notice how I suddenly got comfortable this year? That's important. I think I've finally found that niche I spoke of freshman year, and it's done wonders for my confidence. I held this place in abeyance for so long...
But yeah. I have the paper now. I have good friends.
I have a place here.
It feels good.
Mundane stints at "hanging out" have been supplanted by the prospect of intoxicated relaxation. This provides an exciting new take on the [formerly] ordinary act of consuming liquids.
As far as we know, this is what constitutes adult interaction. This phrase will open doors for the rest of your life, because even adults want to be cool.
Use the advertisers' tricks to your own advantage, friends—take the allure of alcohol and make it all yours.
(That was a snippet I wrote a while back after an old friend agreed to hang out upon my saying, "Hey, let's have a drink sometime." It's that little status reminder—"Hey, we're adults!"—that does it, I think. I've really been impressed by the power of that phrase in recent months.)
(I know, right? I post about this but I don't post about what I've been doing. But eh—this isn't a chronicle of events. It's a chronicle of ideas and emotions. "Ana Ng" is still well within the realm of ideas, even if she's turned out to be a flesh-and-blood person.)
Ana Ng and I are getting old, but we still haven't walked in the glow of each other's majestic presence. Listen, Ana, hear my words—they're the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you..."
I always forget that that's what distinguishes my writing.
I may not know much, but I sure do write pretty.
(A professor's comment on today's editorial: "This really does read well.")
This plays out interestingly in conversation. It means I miss a lot of openings and connections, 'cause I'm already a bit slow on the uptake, and the alcohol doesn't help. I remember the conversation the next day and think, Oh, so that's what s/he was talking about. My enthusiasm carries me right past a lot of subtlety.
Talk comes more easily, as my self-censoring undercurrents of thought shut up for once—but the quality of thought may be somewhat diminished. I say a little more than usual, and understand a little less.
I write this not because I think you'll be interested, but because I'm working to tease apart the intricacies of my interest in alcohol.
You could say that's just simple math. In the battle of one drink vs. 10 drinks, a lot of people around here would choose one, 'cause they can't handle 10—and they certainly don't want to try to handle 10 around strangers. But let's stop deconstructing this particular cliché. Assuming that you're like me, and assuming that drunkenness is your goal on the night in question, the state you're in after 10 drinks may be preferable to the state you're in after one drink.
The numbers are just a side issue, anyway.
I'm thinking, you know, drinking with strangers probably sharpens one's social skills—as would any activity one undertakes with strangers. And hey, if you continue to drink with a particular set of strangers, they may well become friends, or at least drinking buddies. Having a few of those around is good. But continual drinking with strangers still seems a little shallow to me.
The upshot: I enjoy having a few drinks either way, but rejoice, 'cause I enjoy drinking with you all much more than I enjoy drinking with random people I don't know.
"And try letting yourself be carried away by your feelings, blindly, without reflection, without a primary cause, repelling consciousness at least for a time; hate or love, if only not to sit and twiddle your thumbs. The day after tomorrow, at the latest, you will begin despising yourself for having knowingly deceived yourself. The result—a soap-bubble and inertia."
Dostoevsky on the denial of self-awareness:
Sickness or necessity? Anomaly or norm? Self-consciousness could well be any of those things. It's everything and nothing. It's a blessing and a curse. It's—in a word—inevitable.
Oh, you tricky Russian boys...
That's dangerous. It puts distance between me and my life, blunting the sharp, direct experience of things as they happen. It leads me to put stock in a post-hoc version of events. It leads to these situations where someone asks how I'm doing and I refer them to the blog, as it has the most up-to-date rationale I've come up with. I begin to assume that everyone who matters reads the blog, so I stop telling people about my life. I mine conversations for kernels of thought that I can blog about. My blogging m.o. becomes "putting things down for the record" rather than "writing only because I must," and as such, I begin to shed the caution and skepticism that initially accompanied the endeavor.
The prospect of losing this canon of thought begins to make me panic, and the prospect of closing up shop begins to seem ridiculous.
Has anyone else experienced this?
Why the change of approach? Well, a lot of things have changed. I realized just how much had changed when I was back-posting entries from my original blog. I got to November 2003 and had to go back and delete everything, 'cause those posts made me ill-at-ease and sick at heart. I'm not ready to revisit all of that.
So I'm shaking off the dust of the road. Forget the past. This is a fresh start.