"imagine me a fire"

so, i talked to someone from my college years this week. we'll call her attitude.

not someone from the weird mongolian clusterfuck of a social circle i hovered about the edges of, full of people a year or two younger than me, but from the days earlier than that, the other clusterfuck, of pittfrosh and puppypiles outside of the dining hall, my longlegged blonde roommate from my freshman year, and my passionate blonde roommate from my sophomore year. before ghost killed himself, before i went on meds, before smoking became a badge, when it was still something i did on the sly. the part of college that involved too many men named Sean, mono, falling in love with braids. i'm pretty sure i still believed in potential then. i was still going mad, wrong me not, bulimia and booze and crushes on the wrong men and women, a half-assed suicide attempt, major surgeries. I hadn't discovered self-mutilation yet, i'm pretty sure that waited until i lived in a single. i had some sort of fight with light that i don't remember the details of, that he says i don't need to. I courted Protagonist over endless beverages at the student-run coffee-shop-esque Paces, and kissed her in the belltower, left her roommates stolen daffodils in a plastic cup. Adroit sang Stay in a freshman dorm room, and i learned everyone else had the choice to be normal, and usually took it.

it was wonderful to talk to Attitude, affirming and reassuring in ways i didn't think i'd ever need, deserve or get. she had actually thought about me in my absence, and was ecstatic to hear i was doing well.

i made myself anew when i moved here, my roommate Red and my scars the only ties to the years that had gone before. the people i tried to stay in touch with i never felt quite cool enough for, and even to this day Harpsichord intimidates me and my attempts to stay in touch with Protagonist failed miserably. the woman i was devoted to for two years didn't seem to want to have anything to do with me (we'll call her Semicolon) and all the class barriers that Swat had magically whisked away fell right back into place when i took that piece of paper in my hand and was driven away in my family's Ford Explorer, by my father shouting "DWO" (driving while oriental, for the non-racists in the audience), which was pretty much the ultimate symbol of my failure as a human being.

there's a line by Bishop. "We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship" which i always took to mean a whole lot of things it probably doesn't. i guess i always wanted the people who didn't want me back, some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy of limited and low self worth. and i can't imagine i was particularly easy to care for, much less love.

but look at me now. regardless of what came before, i've got the best happy ending ever. and sometimes, i'll get little blessings over IM, links to photos of cute cats and happy people, and i'll be able to remember the happier times. and on some levels, i feel like i've come full circle, back to the girl to whom everything was new and exciting. Being in love with Light is a celebration of everything, and that's leaking out all over the place, until it's pretty much a constant celebration to be alive, even in the throes of the elder god of all head colds, petty office politics, impending oral surgery and a forecast of five days of rain.

i'm pretty sure i'm the luckiest girl alive.

"imagine me a fire"

so, i talked to someone from my college years this week. we'll call her attitude.

not someone from the weird mongolian clusterfuck of a social circle i hovered about the edges of, full of people a year or two younger than me, but from the days earlier than that, the other clusterfuck, of pittfrosh and puppypiles outside of the dining hall, my longlegged blonde roommate from my freshman year, and my passionate blonde roommate from my sophomore year. before ghost killed himself, before i went on meds, before smoking became a badge, when it was still something i did on the sly. the part of college that involved too many men named Sean, mono, falling in love with braids. i'm pretty sure i still believed in potential then. i was still going mad, wrong me not, bulimia and booze and crushes on the wrong men and women, a half-assed suicide attempt, major surgeries. I hadn't discovered self-mutilation yet, i'm pretty sure that waited until i lived in a single. i had some sort of fight with light that i don't remember the details of, that he says i don't need to. I courted Protagonist over endless beverages at the student-run coffee-shop-esque Paces, and kissed her in the belltower, left her roommates stolen daffodils in a plastic cup. Adroit sang Stay in a freshman dorm room, and i learned everyone else had the choice to be normal, and usually took it.

it was wonderful to talk to Attitude, affirming and reassuring in ways i didn't think i'd ever need, deserve or get. she had actually thought about me in my absence, and was ecstatic to hear i was doing well.

i made myself anew when i moved here, my roommate Red and my scars the only ties to the years that had gone before. the people i tried to stay in touch with i never felt quite cool enough for, and even to this day Harpsichord intimidates me and my attempts to stay in touch with Protagonist failed miserably. the woman i was devoted to for two years didn't seem to want to have anything to do with me (we'll call her Semicolon) and all the class barriers that Swat had magically whisked away fell right back into place when i took that piece of paper in my hand and was driven away in my family's Ford Explorer, by my father shouting "DWO" (driving while oriental, for the non-racists in the audience), which was pretty much the ultimate symbol of my failure as a human being.

there's a line by Bishop. "We'd rather have the iceberg than the ship" which i always took to mean a whole lot of things it probably doesn't. i guess i always wanted the people who didn't want me back, some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy of limited and low self worth. and i can't imagine i was particularly easy to care for, much less love.

but look at me now. regardless of what came before, i've got the best happy ending ever. and sometimes, i'll get little blessings over IM, links to photos of cute cats and happy people, and i'll be able to remember the happier times. and on some levels, i feel like i've come full circle, back to the girl to whom everything was new and exciting. Being in love with Light is a celebration of everything, and that's leaking out all over the place, until it's pretty much a constant celebration to be alive, even in the throes of the elder god of all head colds, petty office politics, impending oral surgery and a forecast of five days of rain.

i'm pretty sure i'm the luckiest girl alive.

"with her diary and her WD40"

i'm headachy and nauseous today. i don't know from what springs this, though. I don't think it's going to blossom into a fullblown migraine again, but there's the distinction sensation that a iron band has been placed around my temples and someone is slowly tightening it. is it the headcold and the persistence of my inability to swallow? is it the new glasses? am i clenching my teeth? is it the fact work is insanely warm? is it incipient period? is it the holyshit stress of an uncertain living situation added atop oral surgery atop wanting to be with light and out of this job Right This Very Second?

stay tuned as our heroine battles with this gripping dilemma. or just suffers through it, as she is more wont to do.

i switched back to the older glasses, to see if that makes any difference. and i'm continuing to leave work on time, only working an extra half an hour a day, as opposed to my normal one to two extra hours. it'll make for a smaller paycheck, but i think until i feel human again, it's probably my best bet.

i have all these horrible and mundane things i should do today. Laundry, change the cat litter, pay rent, deposit a check, return the videos, buy more pairs of the underwear i've been loving, sweep. there's something else i'm forgetting, but i have no idea what it is, hence the forgetting. i need another trim, and i'm tempted to stray beyond my normal $20 at JC Penney trim. not that i want anything more than a trim done to my hair, i just feel like i should expand my horizons beyond the hamster mall.

sometimes, when i'm lucky, junkyard explains these long convoluted things to me and i get to think, and they make sense and it feels wonderful. going through old papers and discovering my GRE scores sparked a lot of hmmmm thinking. i have no idea what i'd go back and learn, i just want to learn something. i have no desire to go any further in either of what would have been considered my "fields" six years ago (ancient greek, latin or english). i want to learn the nuts and bolts of something, i just don't know what that something is. (i'm certainly not disparaging graduate students, far from it, i'm amazed at the focus it must take, i just know that what once interested me doesn't anymore.)

basically, i think i want to go to college again, but this time skip all the social stuff and not be crazy or drunk or shaking from psych meds, but actually be able to learn. and i know it's a one-shot deal, and that part of the reason i was good at what i did was because i was crazy, there's a lot about postmodernism that works really well if internalized to the point of fracturing ideas of self.

it's not that i regret Swat, it made me who i am today (there's a line that always goes through my head "what doesn't kill us has a good chance at maiming") and even if there are things i can't believe anymore because of what i learned, i'm this me, this one that light loves and that loves light and likes pad thai and bad action movies and garlic and pineapple pizza and is getting her sixth tattoo in a couple weeks, this one who's been out of her parents house for over five and half years, who drives a little white ford named twat, the one who knows what the maple candies at that little B&B in stowe taste like, and who has seen the beluga whales in mystic, who survived tampa's death and cried when i found the little plate of plane-shaped cookies at the reception, who misses dancing at the goth club but not the people at the goth club, who is enslaved to her two cats and both her little brothers, but daily disentangles herself from her parents and gets ever closer to surrounding herself with a family of her own choosing, picked rather born into.

no matter what i have gone through, it has brought me here, and here gets better every single day. and if i sound like i'm protesting too much, remember that this particular set of truths is struggling its way through a lot of pain and fear to be recognized and remembered right now.

"with her diary and her WD40"

i'm headachy and nauseous today. i don't know from what springs this, though. I don't think it's going to blossom into a fullblown migraine again, but there's the distinction sensation that a iron band has been placed around my temples and someone is slowly tightening it. is it the headcold and the persistence of my inability to swallow? is it the new glasses? am i clenching my teeth? is it the fact work is insanely warm? is it incipient period? is it the holyshit stress of an uncertain living situation added atop oral surgery atop wanting to be with light and out of this job Right This Very Second?

stay tuned as our heroine battles with this gripping dilemma. or just suffers through it, as she is more wont to do.

i switched back to the older glasses, to see if that makes any difference. and i'm continuing to leave work on time, only working an extra half an hour a day, as opposed to my normal one to two extra hours. it'll make for a smaller paycheck, but i think until i feel human again, it's probably my best bet.

i have all these horrible and mundane things i should do today. Laundry, change the cat litter, pay rent, deposit a check, return the videos, buy more pairs of the underwear i've been loving, sweep. there's something else i'm forgetting, but i have no idea what it is, hence the forgetting. i need another trim, and i'm tempted to stray beyond my normal $20 at JC Penney trim. not that i want anything more than a trim done to my hair, i just feel like i should expand my horizons beyond the hamster mall.

sometimes, when i'm lucky, junkyard explains these long convoluted things to me and i get to think, and they make sense and it feels wonderful. going through old papers and discovering my GRE scores sparked a lot of hmmmm thinking. i have no idea what i'd go back and learn, i just want to learn something. i have no desire to go any further in either of what would have been considered my "fields" six years ago (ancient greek, latin or english). i want to learn the nuts and bolts of something, i just don't know what that something is. (i'm certainly not disparaging graduate students, far from it, i'm amazed at the focus it must take, i just know that what once interested me doesn't anymore.)

basically, i think i want to go to college again, but this time skip all the social stuff and not be crazy or drunk or shaking from psych meds, but actually be able to learn. and i know it's a one-shot deal, and that part of the reason i was good at what i did was because i was crazy, there's a lot about postmodernism that works really well if internalized to the point of fracturing ideas of self.

it's not that i regret Swat, it made me who i am today (there's a line that always goes through my head "what doesn't kill us has a good chance at maiming") and even if there are things i can't believe anymore because of what i learned, i'm this me, this one that light loves and that loves light and likes pad thai and bad action movies and garlic and pineapple pizza and is getting her sixth tattoo in a couple weeks, this one who's been out of her parents house for over five and half years, who drives a little white ford named twat, the one who knows what the maple candies at that little B&B in stowe taste like, and who has seen the beluga whales in mystic, who survived tampa's death and cried when i found the little plate of plane-shaped cookies at the reception, who misses dancing at the goth club but not the people at the goth club, who is enslaved to her two cats and both her little brothers, but daily disentangles herself from her parents and gets ever closer to surrounding herself with a family of her own choosing, picked rather born into.

no matter what i have gone through, it has brought me here, and here gets better every single day. and if i sound like i'm protesting too much, remember that this particular set of truths is struggling its way through a lot of pain and fear to be recognized and remembered right now.