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Journal | Archives
There's life in the undulating sways of the cornstalks and the grass of the backyard and distant fields. A gentle yet strong wind murmurs and roars while stirring leaves and the branches to which they're connected. (The trees must have a delightful tingling running through their veins and roots.) Birds sing to each other and to themselves. Clouds move sporadically as shade and sunlight get their rightful turns.
This is what I saw and heard and felt while lying in bed, looking through the open window. Whatever work I meant to do was pushed aside while I rested my head and fought the urge to completely nap.
Thirty minutes passed before I forced myself up, only to feel put down by the thought of work. Instead, I walked into the kitchen, cut a slice of triple chocolate bundt cake, and made another cup of espresso. I set the two things on my bed, on top of a spare shelf which I normally use as a cutting surface, and had a nice pick-me-up.
I feel guilty in a way. I've got some fairly serious debts that are in my best interest to pay off within a month. But I'll probably be doing unfilfilling work for many years to come after graduation. Why bother worrying, right? I should take advantage of these genuinely peaceful and productively idle moments.
Indulging in myself should be all right because everyone is going to suffocate me after I graduate. It's already starting.
(Time to shut up for a few days.)
that claim that women must cover practically every square inch of their body and that women aren't allowed to drive?
Ultra-conservatives of all colors and faiths scare me. They're just as bad as the white empire.
Asuka Langley (right) broke off her chain and now I can't find her. I'm a bit upset, but I have an idea of where she could be… Rei is alone and safe. She likes being alone.
I just made my first cup of espresso. It was delicious with a tablespoon of sugar. (I even bought a cute little espresso cup & saucer from Gloria Jean's today. Just didn't seem right that I'd drink my first homemade attempt in a coffee cup.)
I've been planning this day for quite some time now; not sure what triggered this need in the first place, but it was definitely something I saw on Food Network. Maybe it was the slightly overweight, charismatic, 40-something Italian sipping a cup of espresso in his kitchen before all his hip, 30- & 40-something friends (some of them chefs) came over to cook with him. The show had something to do with some food revolution in the Bay area back in the 60s. Communal living and whatnot.
That two-year-old espresso machine won't go to waste after all.
Start cleaning out the skeletons that have been lazing around in various shelves in my room, to make room for some books; dig up old penpals that I haven't written to in several years, and write them.
Speaking of skeletons, snapshots of sophomore year, high school style.
This God-awful portrait was paid for, for whatever reasons. The originals are in my sole position, and will be destroyed in time.
From left to right, Beau, Mike, and Nick; center, a dead turtle. (You can barely make me out in the top left of the pic.) I think we were skipping an assembly, or just wandering around during lunch, and went down to the [frozen] pond. They were some of my best friends. I haven't really talked to any of them in over four years. They're all in town now, though, and I'm hesitant to call. Things just aren't the same as they once were. Nick is a father, for starters. And then there are just huge gaps in communication and my general social ineptitude.
The short but insanely strong Mike throws a punch my way during Spanish. Picture taken by Raj.
The ultra-cute, cool, and nice Susan, whom I had a massive crush on for over a year. Though hard to believe, I think I could've had a chance with her, if I wasn't an idiot. It was for the best, I guess. I can't imagine myself having a girlfriend in high school. That'd be far too weird and ackward (yes, moreso than now). Can I get a second chance, Allah? Please?
Last night was interesting, to say the least. And it was fairly pleasant, but standing around in a crowded bar just started to wear thin.
Toby's drunkeness was something to behold. The swagger, the rage, the rejection…priceless. Oh, and these jewels: ‘I fight for evil’ and ‘I'll eat Jesus's arms off’ (something thereabouts).
I wouldn't make another trip there just for a bar, but the whole group-gathering thing was enjoyable. Andrew made an annoying friend out of a homeless guy named Patrick, which was funny in a genuine and sad way.
Chicago as an entity gets a few negative points, though. I didn't much appreciate the people who ignored me (or were just about to) because I started my question with a polite, ‘Excuse me’. I needed to find a bathroom, dammit. Stupid drunkass bitch who kept saying to her drunkass boyfriend, ‘Keep walking’…
There are visual appeals to it that are lacking in Springfield and on campus but big, dreary cities are starting to lose their appeal. I'm just not the sort of person to take advantage of nightlife. And the more well-off's behaviors towards lesser folk, which is prevalent anywhere, I guess, but more so in a big city. Quiet excitement works for me. And the world sucks. I think Andrew agrees with me on the last point.
But whatever. It's been a long day.
I need to make use of the pajamas-and-stylish-black-boots look next semester. It's really comfortable and unique. Coupled with greasy, messy hair, the folks at McDonald's must've thought I partied hardcore the night before.
Tonight Andrew and I will go to Skokie, at which point the lot of us will eventually drive into Chicago, to celebrate Toby's birthday.
I am the designated driver. Can this night be fun?
How I don't envy being in my middle ages, grunting and groaning as my bowels and bladder perform their elementary routines. It's one of the things I dread listening to when using a public restroom. (The vocal utterances, that is.)
Aging is just a dying process. Nothing good comes out of it, except maybe an appreciation for the life previously lived, or regrets. Death is the only release from this physical reality.
And, public restrooms scare me. (Shouldn't a place as respectable as Barnes & Noble have respectable toilet-space? Just because this is Springfield doesn't make it automatically disposable.) People will say that about our apartment bathroom, but at least I know who does what in there.
What what?
VH1 just showed a clip of Bjork attacking a reporter. She's crazy. I'm bored.
‘French kissing’ really becomes ‘freedom kissing’? But what's freedom when you're a slave to eventual rejection and hence, singleness? Show me patriotism!
Profound.
What should I do with my hair? I'm sick of the thinningness (again and again). Is my only option a trim with #3? Or should I continue to grow it out and then reassess?
Or, spray-on hair? As long as I don't sweat too much I should be safe with that.
These are the only pictures I can offer, from August. It's at that state:
So I left for Champaign at 7 this morning and fought many times the urge to shut my eyes and drive. Maybe 20 miles away I saw a black Jeep go over a hump ahead of me and fade away. When I went over the hump I saw no Jeep – the nearest vehicle was a large truck some 300 feet in front of me.
This could be my first hallucination ever, or at least the first to remember.
Today was a total waste of a trip: the vanilla-strawberry mocha from the Neil Street branch of Espresso Royale tasted like shit and was so not worth my $4.58; Terry was over an hour late to load the office equipment to take back to Alsip, so Will and I left; one of the two landlords gave me wrong information about the electricity over summer when the apartment is vacant, so now I'll have to reactivate it and probably pay another connection fee, thanks to Dumbfuck; my computer networking professor couldn't reply to my email about meeting with him for a regrade of my final early enough, so his reply came an hour after I'd already left for Springfield again; I'm actually getting an F in computer networking when my percentage says I should be getting a D-, and that confuses me; I was jolted awake when I caught the minivan creeping towards the shoulder.
The rest area three-eighths of the way between Champaign and Springfield is lovely, though. Not the inside, but the landscaping and all. Or maybe this autumn weather is beautifying everything ten times more than normal? Regardless, a walk around the grass, a few swings on the childrens' tire, a few splashes of cold water to the face, and windows rolled down helped keep sleepiness away for the remainder of the trip.
Now, I must shoot myself.
Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God.
24's season finale is one of the few things that'll do that to me. The drama & suspense continues!
I've set up shop again for the eighth time. And each time there's an improvement in the organization of space and wires for the computer on my desk. Not enough room for my printer, sadly.
There are so many books stacked on the floor next to the bookshelf. I can't say for certain why I had half of them on campus, because I've read maybe six or seven to completion (not all of them are stories – a bunch are on typography and writing).
Two garbage bags full of clothes are waiting to be stored somewhere, along with two washed loads thrown onto the living room sofas.
Home is good. (Bed still sucks.) Always better than I expect. And today is quite the perfect autumn weather. We also bought another car: a dark green 2000 Accord with leather interior and sunroof. Much, much nicer and spacious than the old Accord. It just needs some elegant chrome rims.
Lawnmowers and sunshine, all from an indoor perspective. And could someone put a screen outside my window? I want to keep it open and not have bugs crawl in.
And so ‘concludes’ another epoch in my life, one that will be relived for at least another semester, minus the frequency of some friends. Four years have vanished.
And only two uninteresting rolls of film developed this year.
Hello, Springfield. I'm coming home.
To the pretty Indian girl from freshman year, who caught my eye for some reason, who I've caught glimpses of as our paths partially crossed during the daily outings to class and whatnot over the past four years: though we'll never meet, nor will my eyes catch another image of you, this is my dedication to you. I am somewhat in love.
The most recent of last night's dreams involved the season finale of Friends. In the very last scene, Joey, Joey's ex- professor girlfriend, Ross (who stole her away, and made a big scene about how he can't just let things pass him by), Rachael, Phoebe, some random guy, and one or two random girls were all on the roof. Two guys then come through the door to the roof and start shooting everyone. It's just an insane showering of bullets. They leave, and it cuts to slow panning in black-and-white of all the unmoving bodies, with this eerie, post-traumatic music.
Then the screen turns black and the words, ‘All is Dead for Fall of 2004’ show up. Now that would be a surprising ending.
‘2004’ doesn't make sense as a timeframe, but my mind must've decided that it goes better with ‘fall’ than ‘2003’.
And then there was a dream about riding a horse-turned-ox-turned-gorilla and some sort of timewarp in which the gorilla turned into two crocodiles, but they were half-transformed and so they looked malformed and whatnot. And that the timewarp was through some alternate EMS.
Weird dreams but good sleep.
Though Dawson's Creek has its detractors, the series finale really was a good showing. Very touching.
There was a needle missing from my needle kit. I found it in my foot a few minutes ago. My spirits are not dampened, even with a tinge of blood and pain.
Gist: failure of computer networking would mean retaking it, lower GPA, etc.; apathy and disdain, along with the most miniscule preparation (thirty minutes or less, or your F is free), make for a stellar crash on the finals; 19.5% on midterms. This all leads to abhoring computer science on a moody (i.e. – more than average) level.
Enter actual final, in which mopey-feeling Bengali is almost sure of scoring 50% or more, which will most likely put him in the C range overall. Because the final was surprisingly easy (obviously).
Begin happiness and relief and tolerance for three more required classes.
I think I like debating with myself or an arbitrary third (really, second) person in my head because my words come off as continuous and logical and well-formed.
Of course, many of you know the verbalized realization. It's highly ineffectual.
(After a long hiatus, the self-debate focused on dropping out of computer science. This one is truly on the verge of reality.)
‘I, Kaiser, promise to not study for Russian literature: being that it is a filler class; being that I have more than enough credits; being that I should focus on computer networking. Heretofore I shall fail it purposely and with no regret. Ex oriente lux.’
