july 25, 2002

too tired to write.
wearing sox to bed.
didn’t go to stares show – no ride/time.

the following entry is much more neat than the rest. i can actually read it.


the 23 of july,
2002

it is early to-nite the moon is shining brightly – bright enough that i cannot stare at it in the same way one cannot stare at the sun or a flashlight. i started to get to bed at 11 something, it is now 12.22 and my neck hurts from being hunched over my course selection material. i only chose my studio courses, not understanding the rest. what am i supposed to take? why is it so difficult? to-morrow, i will email her and ask for help…maybe i won’t, though. i will try again in the light of day when my turtle isn’t thrashing about and i don’t want to just cuddle up in a blanket and sleep. yes, a blanket! it is actually nice enough out that i can use a blanket even though i’m already wearing pants. it’s almost too cold with the fan blowing on me, but after the heat of the past while – it is a comfort. i found to-day that my net junkie factor hasn’t improved. i spent the whole day reading xfiles stories by a wicked authour – susan frankovich. i think i will post a link on my blog cuz she is so wicked. there also this Korean xf cartoon page and they are the cutest things ever! and, of course, fanforums. well, my head hurts and the cozy comfort beckons me ( i find that i’m not poetic enough when there’s nothing to complain about) good nite!

the following is scribbled in the top margin of the page. shall i date these? or simply catalogue them in my mind by which came first, the storm or the heat. i must try to remember the order. this was written on a ross day. a day when i comforted someone. i attempted to – but i made her cry. she cried because of the comfort. i am lost. but not really. it is the 22 of july, 2002. the storm was yesterday.
__________
it’s swealtering to-nite. no sign of the passed storm save a blinking clock. it’s the kind of heat that presses on you; covers you; blankets you like a furnace, burning into your every crevace, your every pore. your only saviour is a little fan. perched on a chair beside the bed sending air that feels cool on my freshly washed skin. i’ve been taking 2-minute long showers whenever i can – trying to rid myself of this new outershell: the heat. it envelopes me in a shiny sweat. oozing into my every thought. i was it away, trying desperately to rub it off, know it will come back. it always does, it’s just a matter of how long. and it’s never long enough. the air of the fan feels cool but i know it is simply recycled warm. the heat that so threatens to consume me is now being blown onto me with a force that reverses it’s effect. causing pleasure instead of pain. salvation in place of surrender. a release from the outershell that consumes me. that engulfs me. my neck is sore now from sitting hunched over a notebook i found in a locker. discarded with 2 notes in it about getting drunk and going to parties. i hate the girl who wrote in this. but that is not true. i hate no one. i hate only the thought that someone’s life is simply getting drunk and going to parties. but i do nothing instead of those things. it’s late, i have to go to bed. my teddy bear buns are pulling my hair and my eyes are sticking together. good nite.

my first time. creepy. i'm a blogger virgin.
i signed up a week or two ago, and then i decided i wouldn't write anything, cuz i had nothing to write. but then i was going to sleep and i started to write in a notebook and i decided that it'd be cool to post those things here, even if you can't see the messiness of the writing, or when i was getting tired and it started to slur so bad that even i can't read it. oh, well. so, the first one begins.

this is written on the 21 of july, 2002
it is dated, however, on the 22

lying here, watching the storm, trying to fall asleep -- sort of. it's not the calming sort of lightning either. it's flashing too fast and doesn't match the soothing, gentle rolls of the thunder. the thunder lulls me. the lightning does not. this lightning should have cracking thunder, the kind that you hear building up from far away then rips through you with a huge crack.
it's flash lightning. sheet lightning. i haven't seen a single strand. a web. a root. whatever.
i fear my pen may run out soon. maybe it's just the angle i'm holding it at. i can't sleep. i think longingly of the computer + the internet high i left behind not 1/2 and hour ago. i am a junkie in need of a fix. but i wouldn't be allowed on the computer in the midst of a treatourous storm and this is where i really want to be - in my bed with my fan blowing a gentle breeze on me and nothing to entertian me but the storm. no company but my own thoughts + my teddy bears. where will i be in 2 months from now? where will i watch the storm? will i be in my room in residence? do i have a room in residence? will i be in an apartment somewhere? i don't know. only time will tell. and for now, i'll just watch the storm.

this is scribbled in the marginthe cobwebs dance along the ceiling, their shadows blending with them, making me falsely believe that there are more cobwebs than there really are. i am not wearing my glasses.

maybe a cardboard box which is all i can afford with 60 dollars. or will i stay here. my current home. in limbo. caught between 2 worlds. 2 schools. 2 lives. 2 people? watching the days go by. no thought of the future or the past beyond when i can go back on the computer and the regrets that i'd have. no...that wouldn't happen. it couldn't. well, it could. but right now, in my half-sleep state i can think of nothing else than the fact that i am here now. i cannot conceive of living somewhere else, if only for a year. a term. i'm excited, sure. but scared as hell of this concept of moving from home. though home isn't these four walls. it's not even just my family. it's the atmosphere that comes from the people - all the people, not just the humans, that i see everyday. that is my life. the vibes i get from everyone i encounter. including myself. how can i know what people i'll meet? how can i know who i'll become? and what vibes will be there, in the air between me and these new people. what will my life be? i'm rambling on, writing strange poetic words, not really paying attention to the storm. i have to stop writing. stop my pen. stop flipping the pages. turn off the light and watch the storm. with only my thoughts and my animals to keep me company.