lykomancer: (Oh Love Look at you)
- I'm in the kind of mood to write a new story or draw up a doujinshi or something like that. Maybe simply pick up a good fantasy novel or get sucked back into a good anime. I want to take a vacation from this reality into one fast-paced, exciting, nostalgic, terrible and wonderful and real and full of people I fall in love with and who will never love me because they are simply characters. I want to let my brain accumulate all sorts of new material, make new connections, stew in a marinade for a few days, and then come back to this world with a better sense of what the hell is going on.
I'd simply rewatch all of FMA (or any of the thirteen other series I've been hoarding on my hard drive), but I'm holding out until I lose my internet either through moving or through not being able to pay the bill.

- Talking to [profile] chauni last night made me realize how muh I miss Ashland. The soothing flow of mellow days, the calm ease that seems to fill the very air throughout the seasons, from the cool bite of autumn until the blaze of apathy-inducing heat at the end of summer. The rustle of the aspens and maples in the wind off the Lake. The slanting evening sunlight laying gold against the side of Wheeler Hall. The flat, deep blue ceiling of the sky. God, I could cry just thinking about it.

- I am fucking depressed. Even taking my meds like I'm supposed to, like a good girl. It's not enough. I'm still irrationally bitchy, cranky, tired, stressed, despairing, and hopeless. I hate you, dysfunctional brain chemistry. I want to stop sucking ass, so you better start recalibrating ASAP. This is not a suggestion; this is an order.

- I want to make more icons, but I struggle coming up with text. Amuse me and suggest something; maybe I'll use it. I really like icon-making; I'm just not that clever at matching an image with text. -_-;; I do think I'm getting pretty good at this particular little party-trick though, and I'm learning a lot about PS. I'll take requests, if anyone's actually interested.

- Speaking of FMA, Edward Elric has started to take over my life. I spend far too much of my time thinking about this made-up, not-real person, and it makes feel me sad and pathetic.
I'm not sure if I want an Ed in my life, or if I want to be Ed. Does the distinction matter?
...yeah, I think it does. I only wish I knew which one it was. (Ok, I don't mean that. Sitting back and thinking about it more makes me cringe at what either option might say about me. Dammit, I am not envious of a fictional character's personality traits! That's just fucking silly!)

- I want to go swimming and horseback riding. This is probably related to my Ashland-longings. I also want to actually feel happy, and not just tired, bored, amused, entertained, etc, etc... but that can be filed with the "I'm fucking depressed" rant.

Right. I'm going to go to set my alarm to get me up in the early afternoon and get my ass to bed.
lykomancer: (I won't be the wasted potential)
I am so burnt out.

I see it; I recognize it; I know it; I own it.
How could I not? It's the exact same behavior every single May, isn't it?... Dragging ass in classes, trying to work up any level of interest, not matter how fascinating I thought it all was to begin with; dragging ass at home-- the last few years it was my dorm room, but no matter; same idea-- loathing having to interact with real people (too much work) and living in a fantasy world through the interface of imagination, avoidance, and the computer screen.
Last year, I did the same damned thing (which is quite clear if you read my journal entries from a year ago-- like these two entries, or this, or this), only last year it was all fanfic-- I wrote "Quintessence of Dust", "More Sinned Against", and "Eclipse" in a less than two weeks; I called it my "hardcore program of absolute avoidance".

I have to write my American Religious History final. The final question is much, much easier than the midterm question was; it only has to be five pages. It only takes me four or five hours to struggle along, forcing and scraping and grinding, to get a five page paper out. I could do this the same way I chose to do my ill-fated Taoism paper; the morning it's due. But I shouldn't and I don't want to. *sigh*
I have to email Ted about said ill-fated Taoism paper, and figure out how to file an extension. *headDESK*
I have to get my integrative notebook at least started. God... *groans, head shaking*
I have to email Chester about getting my backpack back, since I left it in his car the other night. I really want my Brief History of the Human Race back; I was enjoying reading it.
I have to get a fucking job.

All I want, though, is to write fanfics, role-play (and role-play, and role-play, and role-play somemore... talk about avoiding reality! *laughs*), read the stack of books sitting around my room, and play with my ferret.
God, I'm pathetic. Really pathetic.

Oh, and even better. I still have another month of classes, unless I drop my J-term. *shakes head* Hebrew Short Story with Carolyn, three times a day, four days a week. @_@ WTF was I thinking...?
*DED*
lykomancer: (Being squishy is exhausting)
I'm gonna start collecting.
I figure, no one wants to seriously have a relationship with me; I can at least have an online harem fun.
SO!
Anyone who wants can be my girl/boy/whateverfriend. (And I'll make you banners or something, if you want. LOL! ^_^)
There are no joiners fees, no obligations, no requirements, no pressure. It doesn't "mean" anything in the serious sense of meaning something; it just something for the fun and silliness of it.
If you don't like that option, you can label your own relationship to me. Wanna be my personal superhero, muse, god, bitch? Go for it. I don't care.
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
-- Thomas Hobbes

...This is going to be a long and soul-searching bit of drabble. You've been warned.


I chose my title quote because, as some of you may know, I am plagued by despair. Whether this is a symptom of my chemical inbalance-caused depression, a result of my natural cynicism and anger, a healthy and normal reaction to this crazy, fucked-up world, a manifestation (along with apathy) of learned helplessness, none of the above or all of the above...I don't care.
(Although, for what it's worth, I'm voting on answer F) All of the above.)

[What's another night all alone / When you're spending every day on your own? / Here we go...]

I feel so lost so much of the time. Nothing's right, even when nothing's wrong. I don't have any energy, any inspiration, any drive or goal other than-- most of the time-- finding out what in the hell is wrong with me. I feel restless and lazy and angry and apathetic all at once. I want to climb the walls, but not have to leave my bed.

[I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare / I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair /...and the world is havin' more fun than me]

I've gotten angry-- I suppose envious is a better word-- at others who seem to have goals and plans; people who at least sort of know what they want to do make me so damn mad. They don't inspire me; they infuriate me.
And yeah, I've gotten the It's perfectly natural for you to not know what you want to do... it might be that you don't figure it out until you're 25/30/42/60/dead. That would be fine if just wanted a plan or goal, but that's not how I feel; I feel like I'm wandering around missing some vital part of me, like an arm or my liver, but I don't know what's missing or how I can make the aching stop.
Another analogy: It's like when you see someone else do something you used to be an expert at, but now can't do...you can't grip a pencil to draw because of carpel tunnel, or speak out because it's a dream, or whatever...and all you can do is stand there, ripped apart with jealousy and longing and possessiveness, struggling to live vicariously through this other person and failing because they -aren't- you.

[I'll try to think about the last time / I had a good time / Everyone's got somewhere to go / And they're gonna leave me here on my own]

It doesn't sound logical. I know that. I'm not stupid.
But goddammit, I'm supposed to be doing something-- something important, something major. Something that would make a difference for the better in this shithole world for a lot of people.
I know that, too. I know it in my heart, in my bones and blood; I know it, and it is undeniable-- I know, because I have been trying to deny it for years.
There's a damned reason I am here, now, in this place, skilled in the areas I am, with the quirky charisma I seem to have...and I want to know what that reason is.

Hey, you'd be pissed too if you kept feeling like the butt of a really immature cosmic joke.
(Actually, I'm reminded of something like "Pin the Tail on the Donkey"-- I'm clutching the tail, blindfolded and dizzy, stumbling around the room, while god(s) laugh and occasionally (drunkenly) try to "help".)
The Universe should be glad I don't hold grudges.

[What the fuck is wrong with me? / Don't fit in... / How did this happen to me?]

What brought all this on? my faithful readers might be asking.
Short answer: the sermon this morning at church.
Longer answer: I'm been feeling even more out of whack lately... just nauseas with the feeling. And I've been thinking about it more and more, wondering where I'm actually going. It's been building. Then I went to church and the sermon was on daring to dream, doing the impossible, and how to handle it when a dream of the impossible takes over your life.

[We all know there's always something tearing you apart / It's always so much longer than you counted on / And it hits you so much harder then you thought / But you don't worry, you don't worry / Cause you've got soul]

*scowl, glare, middle finger at the heavens* ...fine! Fine. I'll play this game. I got nothing to lose but my mind anyway.

[Amen... Good night, amen...]

I will get my =fucking= M.Div., and I will get =fucking= ordained, and I will get a thrice-cursed congregation if I damned well have to.
Point me in the general vicinity and I'll do my best to give the paper ass his tail, ok?

Jess is playing ball with the universe, and she bloody well expects to win.

Ah, hai, so da. It doesn't quite follow the form perfectly but, here's my sestina for you. )

~"For as long as space endures
And for as long as living beings remain
Until then may I too abide
To dispel the misery of the world."

--The Way of the Bodhisattva - Shantideva - 8th century


___
...God, either Jenny's making waffles or I'm experiencing the olfactory symptoms of schizophrenia. I hope it's the former, for several reasons.
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
[WARNING: Entering Jess's unmedicated psyche. Probably TMI and disturbing for most people. Proceed at your own risk. You've been warned.]



There is nothing.
Nothing here but a screen, nothing but a fruitless interface through which I fail to communicate anything to anyone except-- at least once daily-- almost palpable shame and idiocy when I say something profoundly stupid or over-step my bounds or lose my temper over one more pointless thing. Nothing real gets through... or rather, it does, but only when I force it to, when I push until I sweat blood to get a valid and important point past the borderland of my fumbling tongue, the vapid wasteland of the English language, through the arrogant, silly, cockiness of my vain personality.
Word fall from my mouth in an uncontrollable stream of drivel, wasting air and assaulting people's ears and saying nothing, until it comes to the point that when I try to speak and mean it, it seems that no one listens at first... not really blowing me off, but simply saying, "Ah, that's Jess, and that is her way."
("Ah," the villagers say, "that shepherd boy is yelling about a wolf again, but we will not be fooled and go running up to the hills again just because he is bored and jesting.")

I am frantic, absolutely frantic, for some kind of affection, some touch, and so I am burying myself in porn and cybersex; it's about the only thing I seem to be able to find any amount of real interest in right now, and I am simultaneously hungry for more and repulsed by my own...sluttishness? boredom? debasement? I don't understand why I keep searching for more and logging onto the MUCK and so forth-- really, I'm covering the same territory over and over and over and...--but I can't seem to stop, either. Nothing else catches any spark of my interest. I am not studying any of my languages; I'm barely reading (usually when the 'net's down or when someone else is on my computer); I'm currently not working nor do I have classes this week.

And I feel vaguely self-mutilating.
Not that I would act on it-- Ok, I would if someone made one more comment about my hair and Valentine's Day, but that's to prove a point-- but I feel it just the same.
I wanna shave off my hair, or shave off patches of it. Nair it. Dye chunks of it other unnatural, contrasting colors. Take a pair of scissors to it.
Sit in a corner and do nothing. Glare at people who try to get me to move. Maybe bite them. Maybe bite myself. Smash my head into the wall a few times.
You know, the usual.

It's ok, by the way, you brave souls still reading. Perfectly ok. I just need to vent, even though I know damned well that this is all because I haven't popped my little blue pill in like, over a week. I really need to take them daily, or at least every other day.
I'll be alright, maybe by tomorrow night...
"Mata haru ni aimashou
Haru ni aimashou
Haru ni aimashou"
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
It's just that I feel like one of the Lost Boys.

Daysha's got Carl. Wendy's got Ryan. Jenny's got Owen.

My friends Jackie and Shawn got married out of high school. Heather and Akia got married. Crystal Brown got married. Angela and David are engaged.

Heather had a baby. Wendy wants a baby. Annie now suddenly spouted that she is starting to want to eventually reproduce. Tom too.

Tom has a worthwhile job and dreams for the future. He knows what he's doing. Wendy plans on going back to school. Jenny could do damn near anything she bloody well wants.

And I'm sitting on my ass, half-heartedly studying a dead language that I'll never use while dying my hair an inprobable, unrespectable, and decidedly unnatural color; my ability to plan for the future has a range of a few hours (ok, maybe a day or two, but certainly not years); I'm going to seminary because I felt like it but have no other real reason; I'm not working, not using any of my abilities or talents (and when I do I get little to no recognition for it), and I can't even meet new people. I can't imagine living my entire life with one person. I can't imagine living in a house, not an apartment. I laugh at the idea of me being responsible for anything other than a pet and myself...not because I can't handle it, but because I don't want to.

I don't want to grow up, and so...I'm not.
And I feel sad because everyone else is, and when I comment on it, they reply that they are glad I'm staying the way that I am...but it's selfish of them, because I remind them of who they used to be.

*sigh*
Maybe I'm reading too much into this.
lykomancer: (Default)
...I feel so shallow.

I was trying to explain it today to my colleagues in my IS151 small group, and became so much more aware of it. Compared to the other people around me, I feel shallow.
I don't have a job; I don't have a mate or a potential mate; I don't have children; I don't have my family nearby; I don't have any friends down here; I don't do anything...besides survival-type living stuff such as shopping and cooking, schoolwork, and lying around reading. I have nothing to converse with people about; I have nothing--right now--really, at all.

I have no more effect on this world than a vagrant breeze does on the ocean... I don't even make a ripple. There is me, and that's all there is in my life. There is no one else. There is nothing else. Just me, and the things I do to amuse myself or provide for myself. If that's not shallow, then I don't know what is.

*sigh* I guess it's not that I'm shallow, just that my life is. Right now, it has all the depth and richness of a mudpuddle. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel motivated when I cannot do anything because of money or time or whatever, and when the constraints are removed I sit and stare at the fucking ceiling, feeling insincere, feeling like a hypocrite. I could be doing volunteer work, instead I'm lying around rereading books I've read a thousand times and fantasizing about dating people when I don't have the courage to even get off my couch.

Lazy, pathetic, cowardly, apathetic, boring, daydreaming, delusional...
Beating myself up? Yeah, I am, you got a fucking problem with it? 'Cause I don't.

How can I attempt to deal with other people when I have such a problem dealing with myself? How can I force myself to get up and get going when it doesn't seem to matter to anyone besides myself that I'm not? No one cares what I do or do not do here... How can I speak to a beautiful woman when I look down at myself and see poorly-dressed, out-of-shape, foul-mouthed, rough-tongued trailor trash? And how do I begin to "correct" my views of myself and of this piss-poor world when my loneliness only seems to enforce them?

...
Julia, one of the members of my small group, invited me over for Thanksgiving. Really, it makes me want to cry, so I'm not thinking too much about it; it's too kind. Still, it's nice to be thought of.
It's funny too, 'cause when Julia and I "met" on the class's online discussion forum, Blackboard, I didn't think there was any way in hell that we'd be able to get along, but...I guess I don't know everything. *laugh*

God, I hate my life. I think I've hated it since I graduated. I hope moving into a new space and getting new roommates will help fix that.


___
Oh, yeah, unrelated. Paul-sensei quote:
"The Catholics could find one good thing to say about the Protestants: they burned Micheal Servetus at the stake."
(Micheal Servetus was a Unitarian Protestant that was martyred in Calvinist Geneva in the 1500's. Look him up; it's interesting.)
lykomancer: (Default)
So...

I was feeling reflective last night, talking with Tom about how I feel that, while my personality was great and helpful and useful at Northland, I don't feel that I'm the right kind of person to function in the Real World. I just feel...wrong...somehow, like an incorrectly-sized cog in a machine, grinding down into powder. My persona is too... well, too something (real, maybe)... to mesh well with common society, and I'm not interested in changing to suite the world; I don't feel that I should have to.

Tom kinda followed me, but I lost him again when I said that I thought maybe the problem lies in the fact that I have no "feminine mystery." He really didn't get that, so stumbled around for a while trying to explain.
I said, "You know that commercial that's been playing on the radio, like, every five minutes, about the 60 mile breast cancer run? It starts out with a guy saying that his wife is the most beautiful person in the world, right? ...I can't imagine anyone saying that about me (and not just because I doubt I'll ever get married). I'm not-- as the standards of the world would have it-- a beautiful person, especially once you get to know me. I'm not kind, gentle, or sensitive; I speak my mind, sometimes sarcastically, sometimes causticly; I cuss; I'm aggressive and confrontational; I snap and shout and rave and get so angry I cry and kick things. I nag and bitch, and my-oh-my, no one likes a nagging bitchy woman. I want things to be my way."
He still didn't get it.
So I tried the word "charming."
As in, "You know, women (and by this I mean "nice date-worthy girls" as opposed to " taken-em-home-and-screw-em sluts") are expected to be charming and gracious. It's an old-fashioned concept, but in some ways it's still in effect. Women are supposed to look nice and be nice and defer to others, care about when everyone else thinks and says, be reluctant to speak of themselves, and refuse to speak forcefully at all. And I just don't honor that."
Tom still doesn't get it, but I moved on.

And asked him what constituted a successful life.
Tom feels that if you find your vocation, what you are meant to do, and through that, if you manage to change even one other person's life for the better, you have lived successfully.
Fabulous.
I'm not sure what I am meant to be doing; by Tom's standard, my life is unsuccessful thus far.

And for the sake of curiosity, I'm throwing the question out to y'all:
What do you think constitutes a a successful life?
Because I realize that I myself have no idea how to define success.

Moon Tears

Nov. 5th, 2004 11:26 am
lykomancer: (Default)
They say that the Coyote
howls because
he is crying for
his long-
lost lover.
I have to
wonder
sometimes,
when I tip my head back to
look at the stars and
wail,
what it is that
I am crying for.
lykomancer: (hurt)
I am currently enjoying the the feeling of my brain trying to forcefully escape through my eyes. I'm tired, sleepy, hungry, and I have two hours to go until my three hour long class.

I was scheduled to work this week forty hours-- yep, full time-- including working Thursday (which I requested off so that I had one guaranteed homework day), plus had a two-page paper to write and about four hundred pages of reading to do. I talked to my boss about Thursday, and all she was giving me was a "well, we'll have to work something out."
I worked from one until 8 yesterday, and that means I needed Tom to pick me up, as the bus doesn't run after 7. I also found out that Sheri left me a note asking if I could come in at 8:30 today instead of 10 like I was scheduled. Now, I already knew Tom was going to be late, but he ended up running later than he expected and didn't show up until ten after nine. So, I was sitting outside, freezing cold, thinking about all my homework, and knowing that I had to be back at work in twelve hours for roughly forty-five minutes.
I yelled at Tom in the car, and when we got home it was pretty quiet until I got out of the shower and threw myself on my couch and Tom tried to explain why he was late.
And I started fucking crying.
No, not frustrated crying, not I'm upset stuff, but real barking, gasping sobs. And I start in on Tom. About how the garbage needs to be taken out and he won't goddamm do it, and that he works so much less than me and he's only taking one more class that me (and yes, I know that one class means driving up to Ashland and everything that goes along with teaching), and how tired I am, and how I don't feel that it's fair that he sleeps in half-way through my work day and plays solitaire on the computer all night when I'm doing reading for class, and so on and so forth.

I don't think that got us anywhere.

First, he declared that he understood that "it's just the depression speaking," which would have pissed me off more if I hadn't been sobbing uncontrollably at that point. Second, he just kind of shrugged it off saying that he worked all during college, only ever failed one class, and that I just sat around and played then and that now he's decided to take it easy on himself and I've decided to go into overdrive. (This resulted in me shrieking at him that I don't want to have to push so hard, but I don't see any other way to make ends meet, and that I wanted a better job.)

I dunno, I'm still frustrated. I'm pretty sure this is a whopper of a tension headache, and as soon as I disengage myself from the internet I'm hunting down some water and pills.

God, this fuckin' sucks.

Tommorrow, I have off. Tomorrow, I am GETTING SHIT DONE.
Tomorrow, I am taking back the twenty-three library books I have out, hitting up Nicolet Ave for Jenny (I have a few things to send up with Tom, too... not sure it they are anything you want in particular, but I figure you can figure out something to do with 'em), maybe getting a badly needed haircut, doing all my reading for Thursday's class.


I feel terrible. Doesn't it ever stop?
lykomancer: (Default)
I went home yesterday and proceeded to write until I couldn't think of anything else to say. Here's the results.

Ranting, raving, and foaming at the mouth )

She works hard for the money... )

Blurb )

On the beast within )


And yeah, I feel better today and the weather is gorgeous, I get paid tomorrow and we can go grocery shopping, and for now, once more, the world seems an ok place. My demons have be appeased by the offering of words and tears, and have quietly retreated. That's good enough for now, although I am already thinking about how to shut them up for good.
Right. I'm off to go online rat shopping.
lykomancer: (Default)
Heartsick. Homesick.

I hate this. I almost think now that I should have stayed in the Cities, slept in, played solitaire, watched the same damn movies over and over, and sulked about not getting to go up to Ashland...instead of actually coming here.

It's not that I didn't have a good time. It's exactly the opposite.

I stand outside and listen to the wind in the maple leaves, feeling the cool air, admiring the orangey gold early evening light, and I feel violently ill at the idea of getting in the car and going back to the apartment. If I were a little kid, I'd kick and scream and flat-out refuse... I feel like someone's squeezing my throat, or like there's a wad of dry terry cloth crammed into my vocal chords.

I don't want to go.
I don't want to go.

I want to swim in the lake and roll around on the newly laid sod of the Mall, get a tan, go out drinking with Daysha.

I walked back from the Deep Water last night and wandered up to campus, reassuring myself that this is still my place, my territory, that it hasn't forgotten me yet. I canvassed the whole place, feeling like an old dog pissing in the corners to reaffirm his claim on something. God, it's so weird, disappointing to know that I will not be there this fall.

I don't know why I feel this way. Tom has already begun forgetting things about Ashland and Northland, already within a year. I feel like there will never be a time when I don't crave being here... never will I be able to leave without feeling like my heart is breaking.

This is my place. My family's here. Love is here. Mother Superior is here. This is where I learned who I was/am and how to love and lose and laugh and cry.

Angela's moving out of her house, and I wandered through it thinking about how much fun we had there-- her and me and Jenny-- with our Sunday dinners and anime and goofing off and sake and cool cakes.

I always want what's gone, what I can't have.

It makes me want to cry, but I don't want to freak other people out. That's probably a bad sign, but then, so is feeling claustrophobic about going "home" to my stuff and my couch and my job.

Damn.
Goddammit.
lykomancer: (Default)
Feeling significantly better.

I blame it on the St. John's Wort and Tension Tamers tea, several long conversations with people I love, the Book of Micah, and a few hours of collage-making. (I love the Book of Micah. Read it, read it, read it.)

I feel better. I went out today, got another free employment paper, submitted a few more applications, stopped here (at the seminary), rewrote my resume, and emailed that off to a company looking for a night-shift TV closed captioned editor. I also emailed the damned thing to myself, so now I have something resembling a resume where it actually does me some good.

The damn DNC still hasn't sent me my paycheck, and oh...!I found out today that's 'cause they lost my tax information. So I have to go into the office sometime and fill that out-- again-- before I can get my pay for my one week of work.

*sigh* I really don't want to have to walk the half-mile to the bus-stop in the rain... but I doubt there's much else I can do. Stupid Minnesota weather.

Dammit, I'm going to get employed this week if it kills me. (It might)

I feel like writing some smut. ^_^

Sayonara

May. 30th, 2004 11:54 am
lykomancer: (Default)
Plugging away at Joy's damned paper. Doing ok at it; I'm half-way there, though I can't think of anything else to write and I don't know if I can get those journal entries she wants in, too. The more I think about it the more I want to say, "To Hell with it", though. It really won't kill my gpa.

The lilacs are starting to bloom.

Y'know, I wish right now that I was living the cliche of, "...and she was surprised to see how few boxes her life fit into." That be real handy, in fact. I got way too much crap.

I wish I could write something deep and profound in this last-entry-for-a-long-while space, but I really can't think of anything. Except that I hate living in transition. God, I'm looking around my room and thinking, "Why can't we just go now? I don't want to waste time waiting for Tuesday." If I have to go, I wanna get it over with and get the ball rolling toward moving on. This lingering thing is not my cuppa.
(Ngn. I really want some tea now, and I can't have any. That pisses me off a lot.)

Righty-O.

And something totally different... )
lykomancer: (hurt)
(ever.)

I need to write an eight page paper tomorrow that's due tomorrow. And talk to the Career Services lady about my resume, and schedule a check-out time with that bitch of an RHD. I should swing by Heather and Akia's to see if Akia picked up any boxes for me, and visit with them before they leave for her sister's graduation in Texas.

...I lost my graduation day schedule paper. How will I know to follow Michele Small around now? What will I do with myself?

*sigh*
I really wish i could have seen the suckers run this spring.
I really wish that the lilac bushes would have bloomed before I left.

I was really hoping that by the time the end came, everything would be ok and it would feel right to go...that everyone would be settling into their boring summer routines and being their normal boring selves and that I wouldn't feel like I was going to be missing out on anything and that everything would be fine, just fine and it'd be cool... I'd be all smiles and hugs and "see ya sometime-- yeah, I'll try to visit in July; there better be a place for me to stay, and no, I won't forget to keep in touch" and that I'd walk away without thinking about it. And by the time I realized what I'd done it'd be too late.

(and it wouldn't hurt so much)
(and I wouldn't be crying)

Gawdammit.
.
.
.
.
It's not just the fact that I am leaving the Northland "bubble" with it's subculture and rhythm and idiosyncratic quirks that I have learned and learned to love. I can deal with that.
It's not just the loss of casual acquaintances or the distance put as a barrier between close, deep friendships. That's terrible, but not the worst.
It's the loss of identity. Who am I now? What am I? I have to redefine myself in a strange place with few people I know who can help me. What am I going to do with myself?
Will it matter what I do? Will it matter if I slip into working class apathy and just fall asleep standing up behind a counter or sitting at the keyboard?
Who will care anyway? Those whose opinions I value most are not going with me, and the longer that we are apart, the less understanding there will be. Communication will break down until it is simply the ritual mouthing of words, with no care no empathy no understanding.

The color of my tassel is white-- the color of death.

My, I'm cheerful and optimistic, ne?

There must be something wrong with my eyes. I can't stop crying.
lykomancer: (upset)
My room is a pit; there are books, clothes, cups, wrappers, and miscellaneous other things strewn haphazardly everywhere. It's Tuesday night of the week of graduation, and I haven't packed anything up since Wednesday of last week-- I haven't even picked up more boxes yet. I have an eight-to-ten page research paper due on Friday for my last class at Northland, and I have only conducted one and a half (if I can even count that half) out of the six or so interviews that I need in order to write it... And that's saying that even if I do the interviews I'll write the damned thing. I've done nothing except write fanfiction and sleep in the last week-- a hardcore program of absolute avoidance.

A walk to buy ice cream in the campus center took over 45 minutes-- I flopped on the sidewalk, watched the storm clouds, got the ice cream, wandered around campus until I got the the fire ring, I saw a deer and decided to see how close I could get before it ran... Some sewing that should have taken two hours was started at noon and is still unfinished. I really don't even want to be around other people-- and that's bad, 'cause I'll miss them a great deal in another week, and I know that they want to hang out with me while they can-- just hang out in the swirling maelstrom of my disaster area, communing with my computer.

It's Tuesday night of the week of graduation, and the lilacs aren't blooming yet. I'll probably have to wear a sweater to my graduation; it's been raining almost nonstop for three weeks, and it's not predicted to stop until after I've left. No sunbathing on what's left of the Mall for me. Too cold, too wet.

I'm bored and don't want to do anything. I skip class to sleep in until the afternoon and I'm still tired. If the seminary doesn't accept me, I have no long-term plans.

What in the hell am I doing?
lykomancer: (Default)
Bleg... feeling a bit better having digested on the way home. I swear, my body must think that I hate it.

Geez, I don't want to go to class tomorrow. I'll sell my soul to Satan, God, or anyone in between for it to be canceled. I kinda just want to sleep in, get up, write, and take breaks to pack stuff. (Yeah, one two hour class throws off my entire day. I'm weird like that.)

I realize that I have, like, a daily page limit. When I'm not writing a story, I have to write in here. If I am writing a story, I feel no need to. I'm only doing now because I haven't in a while and feel a little weird about it.

Speaking of writing, I have upped my smut to a trilogy. ^^;; I'll stop there. Damn walking! It makes me contemplate things. But it amuses me... )

*yawn*
I should probably stop this and go to bed soon.
lykomancer: (hurt)
...gone in the wink of a young girl's eye / Glory days / just seem to pass ya by...

Feeling a bit odd after Jenny left... melancholy, I guess. A little off-kilter. Still kinda wound up about leaving Northland-- although I'm sure all of you reading this are wishing I'd just freakin' graduate already and stop whining about being afraid. (I'm kidding. I don't think you guys are actually thinking that... or at least I hope not. ^_~)

I guess I'm a little tripped out because I realized-- making a connection with David Saetre's sermon for the UU's about three months ago-- that I'm afraid because, in a sense, I'm dying. Change is a small death... and we're not taught very well how to cope with the death of a way of living and understanding the world.

I need to make a list of crap I need to do in the next two weeks. (Loan exit interview, check up on cap and gown, reservations for stupid lunch thing, get boxes, start packing, wash items before they get packed, make sure at least unoffical transcripts get mailed to seminary, pay Jenny for bike and floppy drive, talk to Angela's David about meeting up with him in the Cities, talk to other David and misc other professors...)

Vomitorium.

I just looked at my calender and nearly threw up on it. That's not a good sign. Maybe I'll talk to David Saetre sooner.
___
God, make me brave for life: oh, braver than this!
Let me straighten after pain, as a tree straightens after the rain,
Shining and lovely again.
God, make me brave for life; much braver than this.
As the blown grass lifts, let me rise
From sorrow with quiet eyes,
Knowing Thy way is wise.
God, make me brave, life brings
Such blinding things.
Help me to keep my sight;
Help me to see aright
That out of dark comes light.

- Author Unknown
___

And now for something completely different. )

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