The End.

In exactly one week, I'll be moved out of school. Finished with my undergraduate education.

I went to my favorite Susquehanna tradition tonight, Christmas Candlelight Service. Personal feelings about Christianity aside, the candlelight service is a night when I feel the most connected to my campus and myself. It always ends with "O Little Town of Bethlehem" sung while the audience holds candles; the house lights completely off. As the song ended and Chaplain Radecke sent us out into the cold night, I blew out my candle. How symbolic, I thought. The flame that was my 3.5 years here is extinguished.
A lot of shit has gone down here. Both good and bad. But the good has been so very, very, very good. I will miss the fellowship here. I look forward to going to a large research university for graduate school, but there will be a very empty part of me that longs for the smallness of SU. I would love to teach at a place like this. Well, more diverse and with a larger array of majors, but still small enough to know everyone by name.
I also realized tonight that sometime in the future, President Lemons won't be President anymore. THAT'S SO GROSS. I hope he stays forever and pulls a Blessing. Speaking of, I'm going to miss the professors here SO MUCH. They've all played such an influential part in my development; much more than my peers. I hope they all know just how wonderful, insightful, and caring they are.
Maybe someday I'll weirdly be wealthy and I promise I will donate a shit-ton of money. It will go towards building a mosque, gender neutral housing, an expansion of the Women's Studies Program, endowments and grants for serious student research, and of course, a James Blessing Political Science Seminar Room where all kinds of good shit (i.e. movie screenings, discussions, fancy speakers, simulations, etc.) will take place. With leather couches. And a candy bowl that is perpetually filled with Vanilla Midgies.

I love you, Susquehanna. And I'll miss you.

Wednesday afternoon.

I still feel so angry.
And today, I'm exhausted. Don't really know why, but I hope I'm not getting sick.
I think I'm just getting fatigued with this place. I owe so much money in bullshit fines, am feeling insecure about my lack of job offers, and I feel creatively stunted. I've tried to take up so many different crafts, but I always get frustrated and give up. I need a constructive way to channel my anger and I'm having trouble finding one. I don't have enough money to go buy more crafting materials. I can only knit so many scarves. I don't have my guitars here, and I don't like playing Cody's when he's home because I'm always reminded at much more prolific and emotionally freer he is than me. I really want to write, but when I do, I feel like I say the same things over and over again: take, for instance, this blog. I always want to write about feminism, gender identity, what it means to be biracial, all that good stuff. But instead, I just drone on and on about how I don't have a job and how much I hate everything. I'm starting to sicken myself again.

I have exactly one month until I graduate.

I did some networking with DC alumni last night. It was nice, but almost everyone was accounting or business, so they really couldn't help me out. I met a wonderful gal who works at the National Archives and has a friend who is a lobbyist. Both would be fine, so I hope I hear back from her soon.

I didn't realize just how small my bank account is until this morning. As much as I hate money, I'm scared shitless that I'll be starting out on my own with so little money. Again, I have a great support system that will help me out, but I NEED INCOME. I know I have so much to offer; I'm practically crawling out of my skin. But the people on the other end of the email probably can't notice that.

I'm so tired.

Things I Want to Learn.

-to crochet
-bake a pie from scratch
-grow a garden
-cooking in general
-knit socks
-yoga
-how to cultivate my owl collection
-freeganism
-when I'll get a job

Trying to Harness.

I've been pretty decent at controlling my anger and finding a chill zone this past week. I've been really body-positive, relaxed, and able to laugh at everything. But I don't know...something clicked this weekend.
I've been feeling so angry about everything. All the bad things that happened last year are starting to come back into my memory. I'm trying to talk myself down, but all I can think about is taking pictures of certain people, taping them to people-targets at a shooting range and firing until the gun clicks.
I avoid confrontation on an obsessive level because I am completely and totally afraid of the capacity of my anger. When I think about certain encounters or things that have been said to me, I clench my teeth, pound my fists, and have the urge to burn everything in sight to the ground. Everyone laughs at me when I tell them I want them to join me in my anarchist separatist commune, but they shouldn't. They should know that under my sheepish smile, I'm dead serious. I need some time away from everything.
As for right now, I'm dealing well with my combat boots and playing 'Jagged Little Pill' on repeat. But I'm craving for someone, just one fucking person to give me a reason to flip. But as I've learned from peers, most people here are afraid of 'the angry looking chick with the red fro'. I'm gonna take a guess here and assume that things are going to be a lot better once I'm out of here. I know the 'real world' isn't going to be easy, but at least it wont be like the suffocating little bubble.

Just to preface this, I'm drunk

I said
FUCK YOU FLO RIDA
and decided to eat Annie's Organic White Cheddar Bunnies, drink gin, and listen to Ani Difranco.

I feel bad for saying those judgmental things about TYPICAL GIRLS in my last post. Theyt're just figuring out shit too. I just have some class issues that I need to work out. Lets be friends.

I REALLY MISS THE DAYS WHEN I WORE HIPPIE SKIRTS, LISTENED TO NOTHING BUT ANI DIFRANCO AND READ BELL HOOKS.

I really fucking 32 flavors and then some.. She fucking changed my life and I know that's trite to say, but it's true. I saw her in concert for the first time in 2004 and I fucking died.


DEAD.



I WANT MY PERIOD TO COINCIDE WITH THE MOON.



I want to hug Kathleen Hanna and not feel scared when I walk home alone at night because I was born with a beautiful cunt that men want to destroy.


I wish girls here felt the same way. I wish I felt a sense of community rather than a sense of competition and snide remarks.
Stop celebrating your bulimia. Stop thinking you're so important. Stop calling everyone else fat. no matter how many times youn call someone fat its not going to make you skinnier.


I HAVE THE DUNK HICCUPS.


I want to start a feminist separatist state where only men like George, Erich, and Cody can be members. I want to feel a real community. I want to know I'm not just a caricature in people's peripheral vision.


SLEEP PLZ.

Musings.

I don't know why, but during my just-thinking times (trying to fall asleep, showering, walking to class, etc.) all I can think about are the nuances of my senior seminar paper and how much I just want to go back to my room and write.
But then when I get the chance, I avoid it at all costs. My first full draft is due tomorrow at noon and I'm still only a little over half way done. I know it's not a huge deal that shit needs to be perfect, but still.

I'm also feeling a surge of empowerment and positive anger inside me. I've given up my ultra-consumerist, slave to fashion lifestyle and find myself much more happy. I'm dressing more masculine, limiting the frills, and walking with purpose. I find myself wanting to challenge things again; to stir shit up. I find myself harboring such disgust for people here, and dreaming of better places. I'm so happy that I celebrate my diversity and don't feel the need to be the same brunette-pearl earrings-north face jacket-leggings as pants-ugg boots-vera bradley bag as everyone else, but still, I find people snickering and sneering at my unmade-up face, thrift store clothing, and mostly my hair. I want to yell "EXCUSE ME for not comforming to your fascist beauty standards. Yes, my hair is natural like this and I like that. I'm actively breaking down the elements of colonization inside of me. I know you know nothing about that since you are a rich white girl from Connecticut, but maybe you could realize that we are adults here and making fun of someone because they are different in ways they cant change is pretty fucking childish.
But it's not all bad. I feel a sense of salvation discussing queer theory and gender roles with Becky/Kelly/Bailey/Tearsa/Dr. Demary. But then I hear another person talking about how they refused participating in his roommate's sex romp with drunk freshman girls because he felt 'under the weather'. And then I want to punch. Everything.
I want to participate in experiments. Like, for a year only reading books by women and music by women. I don't even watch the news anymore; I read Feministing. I want to write papers about people of color in anarchist movements (if there are any still around). I want to transcend certain gender roles in public places and analyze people's reactions. I crave social deviance. I want to yell and stomp my feet and scream I MATTER. I want to hold every young girl in this country and tell them about Victoria Woodhull and Sojourner Truth and how much more amazing they are than Miley Cyrus and all those other girls on magazine covers. How Ani Difranco has your back, not Rhianna. How 'Full Frontal Feminism' is a better read than 'Twilight'. That things always get better. That your uterus belongs to you, not the state.

And how if you don't finish your senior seminar paper you wont graduate in December.

Stolen from Nomy Lamm

In an attempt to procrastinate but still cultivate my intellect, I am going to repost this quiz "Character Development" which I straight up stole from Nomy Lamm's website.

where were you born?
johnstown, pa.

who do you love?
my mom, cody, and the nonbiofam i have created in 21 years.

did you have a cat when you were little?
no, but i got a puppy for christmas in first grade.

who hurt you biggest?
this is a tie between my father and my first ex-boyfriend.

how did you stay alive?
by knowing that time heals all.

what color are your eyes?
hazel.

what color is your aura?
i've never asked.

what color is your underwear?
purple with maroon and coral polka-dots.

how many people have you abandoned?
none that i'm aware of.

what’s your favorite food?
tiramisu.

did you like school?
high school was a horrific nightmare that couldn't have ended sooner. college has been great academically, but less than average in social aspects.

do you want more?
absolutely. i think i was made for graduate study.

what does it mean to be in love?
to feel connected; lifted. to have someone who loves you for everything you are, good and bad. someone who is always in your corner.

do you believe in magic?
in a young girl's heart?

do people think you’re crazy?
yep.

are you?
yep.

how old were you when you realized you’re all alone?
14. my adolescence was a little rocky.

how old were you when you realized you’re not alone?
20

how do you wield power?
being confident in myself. holding my head high. wit.

what’s your favorite outfit?
cody's t-shirt, my dad's old silk vest, skinny jeans, toms.

what helps you sleep?
remembering all the people i love.

what flavors make you gag?
black licorice; fresh tomatoes; perfume (when you spray too much and it gets all up in your mouth)

do you feel beautiful?
for the first time ever, absolutely

are you afraid of the dark?
yes.

do you believe in reincarnation?
i'd like to. but i'm more in support of a heaven filled with john coltrane's music, coffee, and a female God.


BACK TO SENIOR SEMMMMMM.

ANGGEERRRRR

So, I've been fuming/questioning/self-enlightening/rioting lately about all sorts of different topics. I've had somewhat of a rebirth over the past two months that has reinvigorated my will to live and my will to fight. So, I'm going to blog about them. Because even if no one else cares, I care.

Today's Anger Segment goes to:
GLENN BECK
No surprise, right?
Well, this evening in the cafeteria, I was entertained by the incessant blathering of one Glenn Beck on the television screens. We have lobbied the caf to change the channel to something more neutral, but they refuse. Anyways, Glenny-boy is still suffering from Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity, which was an obvious thumbing-of-noses at his Rally to Restore Honor, tea-partiers, and Fox News in general. I heard a piece he did on a "reporter" who went to the rally to ask a specific question to the participants. The question was this: Is Obama Keynesian?
Ok, so, obviously this was a deliberate way to make people think Keynesian means Kenyan.
Dick move for 3 main (and a trillion additional) reasons:
-I'm pretty sure that the only people who are aware of John Maynard Keynes, let alone Keynesian economics, are people who have college degrees and have studied political science or economics.
-It's not wrong in assuming that a reporter would be asking about/mispelling 'Kenyan' because of the precedence set by conservatives/tea partiers in being historically inaccurate, factually wrong, and lacking in the skill of spelling.
-Keynesian economics is a pretty practical and well-known and was practiced heavily by GEORGE W. BUSH.

Of course, Beck used this footage to say that the left and all fans of Stewart are stupid and stoned. What a fucking jackass. Your fans have cited you are a reason why they engage in terrorist-like violence, in completely misunderstanding government and American history, and having no concept of what actual 'news' is.
You are a fraud. You are a hate monger. Shut the hell up.

Angry.

So I've been feeling a bit depressed lately.
Not the usual depression that plagued me for...forever.
But more of a pissed off depression.

Now, I've always been a jaded 20-something liberal (even in 4th grade I wrote essays about how feminism was a useful critique of society; as you can guess, I didn't have many friends). But lately, my disillusionment has been reaching terrifying levels.
I've been doing serious research into urban and sub-urban communes. I want to participate in Buy Nothing Day (November 26th, y'all). I want to sell all my clothes and use my money to buy a gas mask and tons of anarchist posters/stickers to tag the academic buildings with. WHY IS NO ONE ELSE HERE OUTRAGED.
The rampant consumerism had me fooled for so long. But I refuse to let my shit own me. I'm done with crying and stressing over money. I realize that I need to be financially secure in order to live a normal life in this fucked up society, but I don't understand why it needs to run my whole life. I can't take it with my once I die. My obituary wont feature my bank balance. How can I be a catalyst of true social change if I'm constantly counting pennies, investing, budgeting, scrimping. I don't want or need some obnoxious McMansion or a fancy car. I need fucking enlightenment.
I've been reading a lot about the history and schools of thought within anarchy. It's fascinating. Yes, I have some issues with it. No, it's not perfect. But no system of government/economy (or lack thereof) is perfect. And I think nimrods are finally starting to find that out about Capitalism. But I can't stand McDonalds-this, Revlon-that, buybuybuybuybuybuy this cologne and you'll fuck all the nameless, opinionless, emaciated women in the world! Fuck that shit. I'd rather riot than diet. Why do we care more about Britney Spears than Emma Goldman? Why does half the country lack a basic understanding of civics and political theory (i.e. what socialism actually is, how the three branches of government work, how to fucking read a book)? Do I have to get a reality show in MTV in order to tell people the truth?
And with the coming elections, it seems as though Republicans will be back in power. And then what will we be left with? A nation of God-fearing, pregnant nationalists who feel it's their duty to populate the homeland, pass on traditions, how to get ahead religions, and prosperity via simpleton culture. Like NoFX said, the idiots are taking over.
Sigh.
I just want to marry Cody, buy a farmhouse on some property outside of a city, have a garden and an orchard, teach political theory/feminist studies/white privilege at a respected university, start a community center that focuses on education and social reform for at-risk youths, have 1 or 2 beautiful children that I will raise to be fair-minded activists, publish a few books; essentially having a full but love-filled life. I'm so angry and don't know where to start...hopefully I'll find/grab hold of those opportunities in the coming years.

Update.

I have a trillion zillion thoughts racing through my brain everyday and always think: I need to blog about this. And then I don't. And then months go by without a post. Perhaps this is because whenever I sign on to write something, I realize that no one reads this and therefore there is no point to posting.
But in the off-chance someone cares, here it goes.
Things continue to go very well. I got to have dinner with Angela Davis (at her damn table) and then at her lecture, she called me out by name. So I can die happy. She was totally elegant and soft-spoken, different from what I assumed to be a brash radical. Nope. She was very interested in learning about me, my passions, and my goals. I enjoyed earnest conversation with her and President/Marsha Lemons, and feel like this final semester is the best I could've asked for.
My depression seems to have lifted, so I'm able to reconnect with lost friends and truly enjoy life. Sure, things are stressful since I'm graduating in two months without any idea as to where I'm going to live/what I'm going to do, but for the first time since I was 9, I am able to be present and enjoy today. Drama exists within my sphere of friendships, but I'm able to exist outside of it. I can maintain a fun-loving friendship without having to feel that everyone's problems are mine to fix.
Cody remains AWESOME and I'm not sure what I would do without him. He is always in my corner, through thick and thin, through right and wrong. I know I can always count on him for an honest opinion or a kind word. He's really unlike any other man I've met, and I feel eternally luck to have him.
Did I mention I had dinner with goddamned Angela Davis?!
I still haven't finished my research design; I keep freaking out and changing every little detail and I know Dr. Demary is concerned. But I don't turn in crap. I always meet deadlines and generally get good grades (except for statsssssss) so I know things will be fine. I like that this paper is making me think through all the tendrils of feminist thought, thus forcing me to grow as a scholar and a feminist. I just hope I get good marks!
That's really all for now. I wanted to finish my research design tonight but I think I'm getting sick and I just want to make love to my bed right now. Can someone else come and finish it for me? I'll give you hugs in return.

It's been forever.

Wow. It's been over a month since I've last updated.
Oops!

So I've been tracking the development of the proposed Women's History Museum to be built on the mall in Washington D.C. Last week Meryl Streep donated $1 million of her own money to the planning committee, saying 'We must get this thing built.' The bill was proposed in Congress annnnnnnd: two assholes are blocking it. One is blocking it because he believes the tax payers would be unhappy with it (um...really? it's a museum, not 2 unnecessary wars), and the other one, Congressman DeMint from South Carolina is blocking it on a request from the ultra-conservative dumbass Concerned Women for America. Why do they oppose a museum that celebrates the history of WHO THEY ARE? Because, as their CEO Peggy Nance says, '[the museum] would focus on abortion rights without featuring any of the many contributions of the pro-life movement in America.'
Oh, ok.
I think I have a solution.
The museum can feature a section with a simulator in which museum-goers can experience the feeling of being in a family planning clinic that is being firebombed.
Maybe another one where people can stand in a simulated version of Dr. George Tiller's church lobby and watch him get shot to death. Ya know, in order to really understand the pro-life point that 'murdering innocent people is bad'.
UGHSHUTUPFOREVER.

ATTN: Congressmen Coburn and DeMint--LET WOMEN KNOW THEIR HISTORY.

My First Lookbook posting!

Ok, so Blogger once again cut off half of the picture, so go to Lookbook.nu under the 'NEW' section and check it out! And if you have a Lookbook acocunt, hype me, baby!

TUMBLRRRR

Yo!
I made a Tumblr today. I'm pretty stoked about it. It's gonna be waaaaay more upbeat than this thing.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-check it out!

http://thedaughterrisen.tumblr.com/

It's Sibyl, bitch.

OH! And. I have another tattoo idea.
I better end up with a cool job. Because I have a feeling I'm going to end up with large amounts of ink.

Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere,
et cum illi pueri dicerent: "Σίβυλλα, τί θέλεις;" respondebat illa:
"ἀποθανεῖνθέλω".

Which in English means:

I myself saw the Cumaean Sibyl with my own eyes, hanging in a jar, and whenever the boys asked her, "Sibyl, what do you want?", she used to answer, "I want to die."

It's the preface to TS Eliot's poem 'The Waste Land'. I find it so hauntingly beautiful. The Cumaean Sibyl was a beautiful and immortal priestess whose knowledge was sought on matters of utmost importance. She was suspended in a jar to maintain her immortal status, but as time went on, people cared less about her wisdom and turned her grotto into a tourist trap.

Thoughts?

Want a beer?

My morning has been...interesting.

For some preface, the apartment building I live in is small with paper-thin walls. Out immediate next door neighbors are a boyfriend (big, scary, bouncer), his girlfriend (pretty hot but also vapid), and her little girl. For the past year, Cody and I have spent hours listening to them fight, fuck, and fight some more. It consists of the guy accusing the woman of cheating, a few things hitting the walls, the little girl screaming tears, the guy yelling at the little girl to shut up, the woman telling them both that they're 'fucking retarded', and then a few hours later, they have really loud sex.
Also, they're incapable of understanding how switching a breaker works. Because they cut off the electricity in both our apartments, and I have to turn it back on. Like 3 times a day.

So. The electricity went off again today. I threw on a sweatshirt and walked out the door, instinctively locking my front door behind me. Without keys or a cell phone. I promptly began to panic. I tried to pry open all our windows, kick the door in, everything. With no avail. Suddenly, the woman from next door and her little girl came out of their apartment to do laundry in the basement.
"Would you guys happen to have keys to my apartment? I stupidly locked myself out." I whimpered. The woman smiled and said, "Let me get my boyfriend. He jimmies locks all the time." She disappeared around the corner and the little girl immediately ran to me. She had beautiful long blonde hair, sweet eyes, and a too-trusting smile. She told me about Jasmine, Knobels (and the rollercoasters there that scared her 'brain and heart'). She was positively delightful, and it made me sad that she has to live in that environment. The boyfriend came around the corner and was unsuccessful with the first bum credit card he brought. "Hold on...this one sucks. Let me get another one."
As he jogged around the building, the little girl leaned in towards me and whispered in my ear, "He's mean. He yells at my mommy all the time. And he throws things and hits her. And he yells at me...he's so scary. He got a shotgun and he shot Hunter."
I didn't have time to react before he came around the corner again. "What are whispering about?!" He demanded. "Oh, she was just telling me about Jasmine." I offered and winked at her. She giggled.
He pushed the door open, and I was relieved. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh my God. Can I get you a beer or something?" I said with a smile. He declined. He had to go down to the basement and show his girlfriend how to switch a breaker. I watched as the three of them disappeared into the darkened basement, and thought how sad it is that something as beautiful as that little girl has to live in such sadness; such filth.

In other news, my disturbing dreams have returned. Only this time, they've all been about my parents. More specifically, me and one parent fighting like no two people have ever fought before, which always results in death. Two nights ago, it was about arguing with the heat of a thousand suns with my father, calling him an ungrateful fuck and the like. I left to cool off and when I returned home with my mom, we found that he had committed suicide to get back at me.
Last night, I dreamt that I had a nice weekend with my dad. When we got home and I told mom about it, she freaked out. 'But it wasn't more fun that our trip to NYC. Dont forget who took you to see Gaga! She's MY daughter, you DONT get to have fun with her." She carried on like that for a while. I finally cornered her, asking her what the fuck was wrong with her. Throughout the rest of the dream, she ripped me apart any chance she got, being spiteful and abusive. I converted to Judaism to spite her (my dreams are weird), and she tried to murder me with a menorah filled with blades rather than candles. At first I decided it would be easier to die, but then I fought back. And then I woke up.
I have dreams about fighting with my mom almost every night. It takes me a while to realize that she isn't actually mad at me, and we're not the fighting type. Well, other than the times when she wants to lecture me about money and I end up trying to overdose on muscle relaxers or cut off my skin with scissors. Those aren't good times. But they are few and far between. I don't know what my brain is trying to tell me, but I'm damn sick of it.

Fascion.

My obsession with Lookbook.nu is doing a good job of fostering an eating disorder. Since my depression has settled in, I've noticed my mid-section and thighs getting...well...larger. I haven't gained any actual weight; I just look like shit. And I spend most of my down time looking at fashion blogs, Lookbook, and various tumblr sites of girls who are much prettier and more artistic than I am. And even though I love excellent fashion and gorgeous photography, this hobby has become pretty depressing.
It's made me compare myself to every other woman in the room, without even thinking. It's made me count calories and second guess every snack. How can anybody's thighs be that impossibly small? How much better would my clothes look on me if I lost two dress sizes? I see the thin, smiling, $500-shoe-wearing girls on these sites and I am convinced that they are 500x happier than I am. They're from the French Riviera. They look perfect in everything. Thousands of people around the world await their next postings; they are true It Girls. And I am jobless, directionless, and pointless.

I'm gonna go drink some coffee.

Wee!

The ever-talented Ann Piper painted two portraits of me!

Hearts.

"Mrs. Landingham! What's next?!"

VSW

"I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been. V."

My girlfriend.

Berkeley Chapman is worthless and does not deserve friendship or love. You win!

Better?

Happiness.

THE SEMESTER FROM HELL IS OVER.
I think I did well on my finals, but I'm aware that there's nothing I can do about it now. Mom came up the last day of finals and we went to Cape May, NJ for a week. We've been going there for roughly 15 years and I absolutely love it. It is the nation's oldest sea resort and is rife with Victoriana. Also, the city has strict business ordinances so there are no chain stores and restaurants in the entire town. It gives a nice calm, family atmosphere. No chintzy boardwalk or nasty-ass beach sluts walking around. Everything is upscale and gorgeous. During my stay I saw 7 baby sand sharks, 2 sting rays, and 2 horseshoe crabs on the beach. I also got pretty tipsy with my mom at a nightclub watching an Australian Celtic band...awesome.
After a seriously relaxing and delicious vacation, I packed up my bags and drove to Scranton. I moved in Friday and Saturday morning we went to Baltimore for a fun Saturday of sightseeing and a baseball game. The day was gorgeous and the company was even more so :D. Sunday we drove home and cuddled during a movie. And today was my first day as an official resident of Apartment 4. Well...not official, official; but it's the first non-weekend day I've spent here with no intention of going anywhere else. I kissed Cody goodbye as he went to work, I got dressed in my closet, confidently drove around Scranton without getting lost once, spent some me-time at Borders, and went grocery shopping for us. It felt wonderful buying things I knew Cody would enjoy and would make our apartment feel more like a home. I love laying on the couch with our kitty and making dinner with Cody. It's poifect.
On a not so awesome note, all of the 50894752 places I applied to seem to think that summer hiring should only start in June. So here I am in the middle of May without employment. Which sucks. I should be starting at Specter's office this week, so here's to hoping that he wins this election. I feel bad for Joe Sestak because if he was running against almost anyone else I would support him. I wish he was running against Casey...talk about a weiner. He and I are ideological mates; but I'm selfish and want this internship reallllll hard. So...here's to not knowing how to feel about tomorrow's election. I just want to get into a routine of work that fulfills me and puts some dollaz in my bank account.
Fingers crossed!

Ten Things I Wish I Could Say to Ten Different People

1. You are such a pretentious, obnoxious bitch. I can't wait until I never have to see you again.
2. I know how much you hate this phrase, but seriously babe, get a grip.
3. I'm pretty sure you're throwing your life away; within 3 years we'll completely lose touch with one another.
4. Starting right now, you no longer have power over my emotions. You are small. You are pitiful. I can't believe I wasted friendship on you.
5. Goodbye. I love you, even though I'm as bad at showing it as you are.
6. As wonderful as things are now, I still have daydreams about my mom calling me and reading your tragic obituary to me. Rot in hell with your cunt of a girlfriend. You two liars deserve each other.
7. I'm really terrified of losing you. I don't want you to be afraid to go in a different direction if the journey with me isn't what you want, but if that actually happens I will most likely never recover. There's no one on this earth as wonderful as you.
8. I'm really sad that we weren't friends before this year, and even sadder that we won't be living in the same area post-graduation. You're one of the most fun and most original people I've ever met. You were my down-to-earth sanctuary in the midst of all this fucking drama and dumbgirlshit. And your corn/macncheese dinners were the best.
9. Why did you decide to be the creepiest person in the world? Do you think greasy hair is fashionable? Because it's not. You kinda make my skin crawl, bud. We used to have a lot of fun together...I miss that.
10. You're a manipulative bitch who will do anything to clutch your pearls and look offended. What's going to happen now that your sidekick is gone? Maybe you should take some classes on professionalism because you are seriously lacking. You are fake and pathetic.

21.21.21.

Back from the birthday weekend!

It was the best birthday...just so much fun. The night of, Cody and I went to Poor Richard's Pub. I had a 7 and 7 and the bartender gave Cody and I some complementary shots. It was called 'Your Tongue in My Panties' and it was deeeeeeelicious. Then we ripped it up at the bowling alley at 2 in the morning with a pitcher of beer and killer dance moves. On the actual day of my birthday, Cody gave me my presents in bed (2 kinds of cinnamon schnapps, a 24 pack of cinnamon tic-tacs, the fourth season of The West Wing, and the Criterion edition of The Royal Tenenbaums), and then whipped up a wonderful batch of pancakes and orange juice. We then drove to Nay Aug Park and hiked down to the gorge and waterfall. It was stunningly beautiful. The weather was perfect; warm and dry, breezy, and the splash of the waterfall felt cool against my feet. It was amazing.
We ate dinner at Cooper's Seafood, one of my favorite Scranton eateries. I had a melon ball cocktail (and was not carded!) and got a free seafood dinner. Cody looked smashing in his Liberty of London tie, and his smile made the whole restaurant get brighter. After a delicious meal, we sauntered over to Carmen's wine bar. It is my ideal drinking establishment; dark wood and damask wallpaper, tall glass shelves and dark ocher lamps. And to my great surprise, the seating area of the bar was hosting a 3-piece jazz band. The bandleader was convinced Cody and I were getting married; he even announced it to the crowd and we were applauded. Someday! Someday.
Cody also got me the most delicious ice cream cake, which we devoured.
Sunday morning we planted our flowers, green peppers and tomatoes. We opened all the windows in the apartment, the breeze skated through the rooms; the curtains danced in their frames. Turner sunbathed and mewed for the chance at the outdoor life. It felt like home. I can't wait for summer. For grocery shopping and cooking of meals together, and snuggling on the futon to watch the news. Sharing the sink to brush our teeth and crawling into bed together. Bars and gallery openings Saturday nights, picnics, museums, and laundry on Sunday mornings. Lovin' alllllll the time.

I just....

I just really, really, really, love the Kennedy family. Despite the apparent curse that plagues them, I am still completely entranced by the Kennedy mystique. I chose President Kennedy as my President for my American Presidency class, and I loved reading and writing about him. I know the family is overly romanticized, but dear God, what fantastic Democrats they were.

Tattoo Ideas.

I want to get this on my left shoulder blade. I was always jealous of my friends who had 'things', like Becky can sew, Nadia is a writer, Cody loves Ohio; I always felt like I was thing-less. I have no hobbies, and I'm not really good at anything tangible. But I'm a huge dork about the Constitution and American politics as a whole. It has defined me for so long, and the opportunity to debate legal issues and political theory makes my heart beat faster than anything (except a naked Cody). And even though I'm starting to think that this country is getting too stupid to handle democracy, I get chills when I think about the movers and shakers in the past who took that phrase, "We the People" and made it true.

I'm also considering XIX in Castellar or Modern No. 20 font. XIX is 19 in roman numerals, and marks the 19th Amendment to the US Constitution, allowing women to vote. I like the idea of only getting tattoos that reference the Constitution. Smart girls can be badass, too! It seems like the perfect wrist tattoo, but I'm still really scared about something that visible. Another point of evidence of my paradoxical personality: I have a punk rock soul, but am interning with Arlen Specter this summer. I'm not sure how to reconcile the two parts, and I think I'd only get a wrist tattoo if I got a job where it wouldn't matter (academia) or if I found some kind of huge bracelet that would hide it everyday. But then what's the point of having the tattoo? Stupid taboos.

Gorgeous.

Images from the Offbeat Bride website. I love the subject matter and the quality of the photographs...so vintage and feminine.

'I Remember'

I remember the barn.
It was gray, lifeless. It sat on the empty lot beside my grandmother's house. She didn't live there anymore; she was rotting away in a nursing home. The new owners cut down my beloved huge maple tree in the front yard, and now my uncle was going to tear down the barn.
The street was empty, and the snow fell rhythmically around me. I remember being confused as to how so much could descend from the sky, but still remain completely silent as it settled on the ground. Everything felt ethereal and alien; the sound of my shoes crunching in the show, my breath in the air, the snowflakes on my uncle's hair and shoulders. Was this real?
That morning I had told my mother I was considering killing myself. I remember her face twisting in despair, her eyes welling, her body sinking into the kitchen chair nearest our old, yellow telephone. She picked up the receiver and frantically searched through her address book, screaming that she was going to call my therapist. I perceived this as a threat. I was angry with her. I didn't understand her reaction; hurting myself seemed practical and understandable to me. I begged her to hang up the phone and let me go to school. To 'just be normal', as if that had ever been a truthful goal or request in the past. She was reluctant; her face and nightgown were stained with tears. Broken, she gave me permission to attend school but wouldn't let me drive. She would drop me off, and my uncle Denny would pick me up after the final bell.

.

I braced myself for the cold as I pushed open the doors of my bustling high school and made my way to my uncle's little black pick-up truck. Although I loved my uncle, we were never really close. The realization that he knew my weaknesses and tendencies toward self-destruction was awkward and humiliating. I hated for people to know that I was vulnerable; I hated giving anyone the chance to 'get in'. My uncle danced delicately around the subject; aversion of painful topics was one of his main specialties. I focused on maintaining a balance of friendly and reserved, and watched out the window as route 219 unfolded. The hills and turns that I had grown so familiar with seemed to be coated in a clear varnish; I could recognize what was there, but couldn't touch it; the real 'it'. Everything felt as though it was unraveling in a dream. I closed my eyes and shook my head, but nothing cleared; nothing made sense.
Finally we arrived at the barn. My uncle started listing the history of the little dilapidated structure, and what parts he had built himself. We stepped inside. Finally, an escape from the garish bright whiteness of sky and snow. Loose boards littered the earthen floor, the corners of plastic tarps danced in the cold draft. It was solemn and quiet; the poor building lie in disarray as if it didn't have a friend in the world. In some strange way, I felt a sort of kinship with the empty barn. I felt sorry for it. I wanted to love it and hold it and assure it of its worth and value. I wanted to lie down in it and close my eyes; steady my breath. I wanted to scream at my uncle; make him leave. I wanted the barn to be mine. I wanted to give it my heartbeat.
I was restless and twitchy as my uncle continued his narrative. I could feel my blood pulsing in my fingertips. I didn't know how to handle this surge of desire and love for something so positively inanimate.
I then heard wheels on gravel. I peered through a slash in the wooden walls, easing my gaze to the front of the barn's property. My parents had arrived, my mother behind the steering wheel and my father slumped on the passenger's side. There it was again: the humiliation, the shame. I hated him, but wanted his approval more than anything (a characteristic that would be found in most of my future relationships). I didn't know what his reaction would be. Would he continue to exhibit his facade of eternal disappointment? I couldn't meet their gaze. I felt like such a failure. I forced myself to pretend that the snow on my shoes was the most fascinating occurrence, one that my attention was magnetized too. If I broke concentration, I was positive that I would break down into tears and embarrassment. I wished that I could be as empty inside as the barn.
My father opened the car door, his cane met the ground at the same time as his orthopedic shoes. My nervousness grew. He slowly and silently walked towards me. I met his gaze as he stood directly in front of me. I fought through the shame; my eyes and sinuses burning from keeping in the overwhelming urge to cry. And to my surprise, he set down his cane and gave me a full embrace. I couldn't breathe. I remember my only thought being, 'This is the first time he's hugged me in years.'

Jeffrey Campbell

Drool.

Nothing.

Blankness.

More postulating.

I've been doing some more research on possible graduate level studies. As I'm discovering more kickass programs, I get more and more freaked out. All of these choices! How can I possibly pick one?

As of today I have considered:
-A Masters of Social Work with a Certificate in Women's Studies (to work in advocacy groups, domestic abuse centers, etc.)
-A Ph.D. in Women's Studies (with which to teach at a collegiate level)
-A JD in Public Interest law
-And now I found various JD/MSW joint programs.

Holy shit. If I had a JD AND a MSW I could basically rule the universe. Ok, well not exactly the universe, but it would be amazing. I could work for the ACLU! Or NOW! However, the only places I've found them are universities in strange places or private/ivy league schools. UC Berkeley has a great program; the in-state cost is low and how fucking cool would it be to have the same name as my university? However, it kind of messes up the Portland/Seattle plans Cody and I have. Portland has Lewis and Clark law school which offers a JD program in Public Interest, so I could always just work my way up, getting a Masters and then a JD. Although unless I was doing it at the same time, I would probably just end up picking one or the other.
BUT I kinda ruled out law school a while ago. I don't think my brain works in those super logisitcal ways. I'm not a good strategy person; I always lose at chess. So I doubt I'd do well on the LSATs. A Masters degree would give me the edge when applying for jobs, but that's pretty much where the outside benefits stop. A Ph.D. would open up college jobs for me, and being Dr. Chapman sounds sexy. But then I feel like I would be forever pigeonholed in academia. I'd rather do good things with my life than deal with 20 year olds (and Freshmen ewwwwwww) on a daily basis. I think a JD would be the most practical...I could be a lawyer, a consultant, an elected official, and I could teach with it. But I have doubts about my own abilities.
Won't somebody just tell me what to do? This whole making-adult-decisions thing is overrated.

Would you mind reading my poker face? Oh, you cant?

I feel a little guilty for spewing yesterday.
It took me a long time to forgive Todd for what he did, but after I did I felt so much better. I know I should be the bigger person and just learn to forgive and move on. By holding this grudge I'm only hurting myself, not them. I guess I'm just afraid of getting hurt again.
I guess it was just the crappy mood that egged on the anger. I feel so much better and happier today. I'm just not quite sure what's going on in muh brain.
Cody and I have been dating for 7 months today. I'm so lucky to have him in my life. Just when I thought I'd never find another person who 'got' me, who loved me for me, and who would stand by me through thick and thin, Cody walked in to my life. Or, should I say, responded to my Facebook message. And now I wonder how it's possible that I lived 20 years without him. He may prefer calming music when I'd rather boogie, he may hate my BFF Wes Anderson, and his eyes may glaze over when I start freaking out about Zac Posen's new line at Target, but when we're in a crowded room, he's still the only person I see. He's my best friend. He's the love of my life, or as he would say, the wrub of my lime. :)


And to end this surprisingly cheerful post, I'll add one of my favorite quotes from Albert Camus (I think...it may be another existentialist...maybe Sartre):

You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.

This is way longer than I intended.

In a weird mood today.

I've been forgetting to take my meds in the morning, so that could explain the blah-ness. Also, the university wont turn the AC on until later in the month, so it's hot as hell in my room and the local farmers just put out their new batch of manure. Hot weather + cow poop = agitated Berkeley.

I spent a great break with Cody and my family, but because I've been down I feel like I've taken my time with them for granted. I apologize compulsively because I feel so ashamed. But then I feel even more stressed and embarrassed due to my major insecurities. I feel great one day, destructive the next. I hate these old feelings coming up again. Just when I thought I had nixed the negativity and knee-jerk self-trashing it bubbles up to the surface again. I don't know what to do about it. I know I could easily talk myself out of it, but when it gets to a certain point, it almost feels like a comfortable blanket that protects me and keeps me warm. It's pretty counter-productive to therapy to constantly hold on to your depression. The most frustrating of all is that I understand the many blessings I have in my life, yet still find it incredibly hard to be happy. I find myself being more and more judgmental and hypocritical. I can't take my own advice. I can't shut up. I can't say what I feel. I have no creative outlet to turn to because I compare it to the immense skills of others; if my product isn't perfect, then I can't get myself to do it. It's very stupid, but it's how my brain works.
There's actually a part of me that feels terrified to get over my depression because I have become accustomed to thinking that it defines me and makes me....special, almost. Again, I understand how messed up that it, but it's very hard to rearrange my psyche. I have no idea what it would feel like to have confidence in myself and my appearance. What would it mean to stop having this crutch? I mean, that's essentially what it is. The weekend I spent playing four-square with Kate&Jon&Cody was probably the best weekend, mood-wise, I've had all semester. It felt wonderful, and I know I am capable of that freedom and joy. Even Cody remarked on how different I seemed. But I guess I feel like if those days arrive, I will embrace them happily, but it feels physically exhausting to try and achieve that level of happiness each day. I always let something stupid weigh me down, whether it be people I know, people I don't know, people I wish I didn't know, and the people in my head that tell me all those terrible things about myself (and man, are they convincing!).

I'm straight up terrified of next semester. Not for the daunting task of Senior Seminar or coming to the realization that the freedom and carefree lifestyle of college is coming quickly to a close, but because of this little pre-pubescent looking asshole who is coming back from abroad. He treated me like shit, saying some of the most out-of-left-field and hurtful things ever said to me last summer in a forum in which all of my friends witnessed the carnage. And out of like 7 of them, only one, who I'm not at all close to, actually comforted me. I feel a little shame in harboring this intense anger and pain for this long over something that seems silly from a different perspective...I guess it requires more backstory. But no one actually reads this blog, so I can save the details for the daily rehashing I do in my head. Anyways, it destroyed me that my friends (who had repeatedly told me how much they disliked this little shit) refused to back me up or even ask how I was doing. Not only that, but during the semester they continued a super buddy-buddy friendship with him and didn't give a shit when, after 7 months of not talking to me he sent me an email that read: "Not going abroad=big mistake. HUGE". Probably because they realized I knew they'd been fucking gossiping about me. Seriously guys, get a hobby. My life isn't that interesting. If anyone, ANYONE talked to any of them like that, I would've immediately stood up for them. Because to me, friendship means loyalty. You know, like the kind I gave to you when you spent a year fucking your professor's husband and then needed my support; or standing up for you when everyone else tried to tell me you were a pretentious bitch; etc. They're all so fucked up and self-absorbed that I guess I shouldn't expect compassion or whatever. Just thinking about this situation and their existence makes me so upset that I have to give myself pep-talks. How ridiculous is that? Since when is my skin this thin? Why do I constantly let them have so much control over me/my feelings? I waste so much time getting angry and postulating about the shit they say about me behind my back, and all the gossip they're spreading; I've got some substantial paranoia issues. A lot of times I feel like I've wasted 3.5 years and thousands of dollars at this place. It's made me jaded and tired. I have the irresistible urge to harm myself, but then my goodie-twoshoes side shows up and I can never get much farther then pulling my hair out and picking my nails/fingers until they bleed. I'm sure those girls find it hilarious that I can't even hurt myself as well as they can. Sigh...I hate my stupid thought processes.
Anyways, I have a paper to write for tomorrow. I promise that one day I'll write a positive, uplifting blog entry. Probably next month when I move in with my lovely man. :)

“A Night at the Opera” (Pantoum)
I embraced this blissful intermission
as a way to separate myself
from the black and crackled heavy breath
and dirty shattered glass

As a way to separate myself,
I feathered into ash
and dirty shattered glass
that sliced and sparkled simultaneously.

I feathered into ash,
forced to swallow your words
that sliced and sparkled simultaneously;
ruining the red and raw within me.

Suffocating—a deafening crush received
from the black and crackled heavy breath
as sickeningly sweet as your eyes; anger, for
I embraced this blissful intermission.

Soapbox.

Lately I've had the really serious urge to write again, but as soon as I press pen to paper I get nervous and freak out and stop. I used to be so good and so prolific at my writing, and then I came to college and started hanging out with the most pretentious writing majors alive...it kinda ruined the art form for me. I keep thinking, "What would so-and-so think of this paragraph? He'd/She'd probably make fun of it." Why the fuck should I care? My brain is a very scary place. And like my dearest Kate said, "The writing department doesn't consider anything legitimate unless you're writing about your anorexia." Quote of the month, for sure.

My graduation is coming soon, and I've started taking inventory of the non-academic things I've learned at Susquehanna University. Such as:
-Girls suck. It doesn't matter if they're not the typical sorority bimbo. They will invariably cause drama and try to fuck each other's boyfriends/girlfriends.
-There is no point in keeping close friends because they will inevitably let you down.
-Trust very few people. Those you consider to be mentors and leaders will turn on you in a second.
-If you don't like drinking until you puke every night and having random sex with guys in madras shorts, don't enroll here.
-Gossip is rampant. Part of it is that this is a small school, the other part..well...see the 'girls suck' section.
-You cant claim you want to bring diversity here and then do nothing to bring about change. For instance, you want to be welcoming to transgendered people? Stop making only women's and men's bathrooms. You want more Muslims to come here? Make an accessible mosque and don't serve pork at every single meal. Want more black students? Don't make them feel like usable objects to parade around on the covers of admissions brochures and trips with President Lemons. Get it? Good.
-Stop letting every asshole with a high school diploma into this place. I want classes with smart, challenging students who are prepared and serious. I realize that it's college and everyone has different maturity levels, but c'mon man. You should hear the shit these people say in class.

And unlike other certain pissed-off figures on this campus *coughSimonaHillcough* I've actually done my part in trying to make this a better place. I'm well-known all over campus, especially with the important administrators and the President. I worked my ass off these past 3 years, and all it has done is make me more cynical and jaded. I can't wait to leave and never look back.

“An Aversion to Love Poems” or “Matthew” (Sestina)
If I ever wrote love poems,
Breaking away from the usual destruction and death;
To peel away my jaded, broken skin
Like that of a tremendous fruit,
I would recall, in verse, your heart within me
And your endearing tendency to fail.

The faith I have in you will never fail,
But like Persephone, your fate is that of tragic poems,
Of warm life and bitter, shallow death.
Oh! The way the tempting flora scented your skin,
And the everlasting sticky-sweetness of the seedy fruit.
As you ascend, I know you will bring your blue-skied joy to me.

The colors of the sunset mean nothing to me,
They pale in comparison, they undoubtedly fail.
Only the birth of your star brings me sighs like poems.
You mount your chariot, prouder than death
And like Apollo, your golden sphere warms my untouched skin
As you crest my horizon, pregnant with the glorious life-fruit.

Like a fantastically plump fruit,
I have trembled in your wind. Me,
Forever standing on the banks of your tumescent river without fail,
The coin on my tongue as sweet as poems,
Buys my way into the kingdom of death,
And the water of the river felt like tears against my skin.

And here I thought it fine to rest you against my skin;
To bloom from my bosom, to blossom like fruit.
The name “leda” had not meant anything to her, or me.
In aviary disguise you cannot fail.
But unlike Hera, my tie to you flows like poems,
And I will celebrate this gradual death.

But within passion and courage there is no death;
Only the sick hypnosis of your heartbeat on my skin.
In spring mornings I dream of savoring you like fruit,
And of the day you leave your island for me.
Your Artemis eyes tell me (with lies) that we will not fail,
But that our rhythm is the stuff of endless poems.

But words do die—like love, like me.
They grow tough like aged skin.
And because of that, I will never write love poems.

Da Future.

I've been having a bit of an existential crisis as of late.
For as long as I can remember, I've always been the girl who has known what she wants to do with her life. I had a ten year plan that involved law school, Washington D.C., Congress, and changing the world. But since last summer, those dreams have been quickly dwindling. It's terrifying...I've never been the 4.0 student, or the dancer, or the prom queen. But I've always been the driven one. The one that was going to make it big and make a difference. And then, I had nothing. Nothing to rely on. Nothing to give me hope while dying in small increments at Susquehanna HellHole.
Last night, however, I watched a History channel special on the Klan. It reminded me of my passion for civil rights and helping the underserved. I felt that fire in my belly again.
I did some googling of 'civil rights jobs' and found a plethora of careers and positions that made me excited for life again. Cody and I are hoping to move to Portland next summer, so I looked up civil rights resources in that area. Low and behold, Portland State University (go Vikings!) has a wonderful social work masters program, and a great women's studies certificate program. And if we live in Oregon for a year before I apply, I get to pay the in-state fee. And compared to Susquehanna, grad school tuition is chump change. With that degree, I could easily work at a women's shelter, a civil rights advocacy organization (ACLU, holla!), or even teach. It would be a career that I could exercise anywhere, and would allow me a broad range of employment opportunities. The degree would also give me an edge over other employment candidates. It would be a solid career that would give me a stable salary and good benefits. And greatest of all, I'd actually be making a difference in people's lives. It might not be on a federal scale, but honestly, Congressmen don't do anything positive for American people. It's a big, bureaucratic poopfest. But of course, I'm a liberal. So I think everything needs to be reformed.
Who knows...my career goals have shifted wildly from day-to-day as of late, so I'm a little scared that next week this line of thought will no longer be attractive. But this feels real. This feels solid. I feel good again.

Feeling like Edward Weston.

Between the Bars.

drink up, baby, stay up all night
the things you could do, you won't but you might
the potential you'll be, that you'll never see
the promises you'll only make

drink up with me now and forget all about the pressure of days
do what I say and I'll make you okay and drive them away
the images stuck in your head

people you've been before that you don't want around anymore
that push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still

drink up, baby, look at the stars
I'll kiss you again between the bars where I'm seeing you
there with your hands in the air, waiting to finally be caught

drink up one more time and I'll make you mine
keep you apart deep in my heart separate from the rest
where I like you the best and keep the things you forgot

the people you've been before that you don't want around anymore
that push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still


Dear Elliott--
How is it possible that you knew me so well?
I wish your stupid girlfriend hadn't killed you.

Cognito ergo sum.

An old joke describes a man falling from the top of a very high building. As he speeds past the thirtieth floor, someone shouts "How're you doin'?" "So far so good!" is his optimistic reply. What is tragically laughable is this person's disregard for the dimension of the possible that is essential to his situation. That possibility is diminishing at the rate of gravity.


But what is the philosophy of this generation? Not God is dead, that point was passed long ago. Perhaps it should be stated Death is God. This generation thinks--and this is its thought of thoughts--that nothing faithful, vulnerable, fragile can be durable or have any true power. Death waits for these things as a cement floor waits for a dropping light bulb. The brittle shell of glass loses its tiny vacuum with a burst, and that is that.

Things I've Been Really Into As Of Late.

Steampunk.
Crocheting.
Cowl necks.
Rekindling my love of Existentialist philosophy.
Frederick Nietzsche's moustache.
Repurposed jewelry.
Sigur Ros.
Quirky cross-stitchings.
Integrating color into my wardrobe.
Gardening, particularly vegetable gardens.
Skeleton keys.
Literary tattoos.
Independent bookstores (particularly the one I seek employment at).
Learning to knit more advanced projects.
Relishing in simply being. (well, I'm trying. babysteps.)
Vivaldi.
Nursing my ever-evolving sense of misanthropy.
Creating insanely detailed mental illustrations of my future life with Cody.
Turner's asthma.
Elliott Smith. (not just for those suicidal nights anymore!)
Letting go.

"In the depth of winter I finally learned
that there was in me an invincible summer."

Mama and...

"Dada knows everything. Dada spits on everything. Dada says 'knowthing,' Dada has no fixed ideas. Dada does not catch flies. Dada is bitterness laughing at everything that has been accomplished,sanctified...Dada is never right...No more painters, no more writers, no more religions, no more royalists, no more anarchists, no more socialists, no more police, no more airplanes, no more urinary passages...Like everything in life, Dada is useless, everything happens in a completely idiotic way...We are incapable of treating seriously any subject whatsoever, let alone this subject: ourselves."

Soundtrack to this post:
Don't Go Near the Water
Sunflower/Surf's Up
Beach Boys

I Heart Art.

So after the great meltdown of December, I'm vowing myself to revamp this thing and keep it current.

I'm taking some really artsy classes this semester and it has refreshed my creative side to a point where I feel restless if I'm not creating something. I've fallen back in love with Art History (even though my professor is out-of-this-world nutso) and have begun collecting images; images of fashion, people, places...really just anything that is beautiful or inspires me.

First up is Rococo interior design.

So sensuous and feminine...and so very French. Characterized by gold leafing, sweeping curves, whimsical ornamentations, large mirrors, and warm colors, this 18th century artistic movement perfectly depicted the elegance and beauty of the Parisian bourgeois lifestyle.

After the dark and brooding years of Baroque, Rococo brought light and joy back into the art world. Although the interior design aspect of Rococo was presented in a complete and very formal set, the furniture, paintings, and sculpture of the movement hinted at movement and fluidity.

I'm usually not a huge fan of decadent ornamentation and super-detailed interiors, but there is something so soft and alluring about this style...I just can't stay away.