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Bah, Monday.

This weekend marks the period where Anna became addicted to Everything2, through persistent downvoting of her nodes, and a berating from dannye. (Who, may I say, should not tell somebody their writing is bad after seeing one thing; isn't this place meant to nurture writers so they become better?) Anyway, she's got more nodes than I do already, hehe.

This has led to many a discussion on the E2 system, where we came to the conclusion that, like any bureaucracy, E2 has too much room for corruption within it's rule system. (She's the one doing social policy though, I'm sure she could explain it much better.)

We got to spend most of the weekend together, which was great since we don't get to do it that often. She finishes her classes at uni this week though, and she's only got two exams, so after that we'll hopefully have a lot more time to spend together.

One thing she said this weekend that stuck in my mind, and made me feel all happy and tingly inside; she was telling me about a conversation she had with a friend of hers at work, about how she doesn't really know how to cook, and her friend asked her 'What are you going to do for food when you move out?', or something along those lines. And she answered, 'Well, Ben can cook'. Implying that when she moves out, it will be with me. Which of course, I have already thought about, and knew it would happen, but it shows how optimistic she is now about our relationship. Which just makes me so happy. *grins*

Funny how all those silly romantic things that I use to think about all came true. When we were first together, we were too uncomfortable with the idea to do anything really romantic (although she sent me a flower and a stuffed toy on Valentine's Day, which was romantic). But now that we're so much more comfortable with each other, we've got all the silly little things happening, pet names for each other, everything I always wanted. She's so perfect.

Hehe, my daylogs are going to get rather boring for people reading, if I just keep worshipping my goddess of a girlfriend in here, aren't they?

Too Bad.


OK, after Anna read this, she reminded me that she actually was talking about washing, not cooking. Aren't I such a good listener?

back to October 11, 2001 | on to Dreams of October 16, 2001
Well, the doctors finally called and approved her to come in for surgery. Had it not been for my stepfather's tenacity and brute determination god knows how long she would have waited. Until January, March, next October? She would have waited patiently, trusting the doctors to do what was best for her. In all that pain. With all those bones rubbing and grinding against eachother.

Only a few years ago she was spry and lively. An hornery and incorrigable child of 70-something. She says she would be happy to have remained three years old forever. Dr Spock says it's a delightful age, she reminds me all too often. She's begun to remind us all of everything a little too often. Mulitple times a day, telling the same stories over and over, never realizing. I'm pretty sure her mind is beginning to slip away to wherever the fluid in her joints have gone. Neither seems to be anywhere near by.

I feel guilty whenever I'm around her. Guilty for walking, standing, bending my knees. Doing all the things she'll probably never do again. They say that if they can go in and add bits of coral to the hip it will take to the bone and grow around it. Then they can work towards the hip replacement. But that was the plan a few years ago when the hip had only begun to degenerate. Now there's almost nothing left. And what about the other hip and the shoulders and the knees. Can they replace them all? Should they? Would she survive it? Here is a woman who raised two children alone through a war and worked full time for 45 years after her son of a bitch primadonna husband left her and now she barely has the strength or will to get up in the mornings. On more medication than i knew existed. Still in pain. That awful debilitating pain. Immobilizing and degrading pain. You cannot rationlize with pain. You can't talk to it and bargain with it. You can "manage" it. HA! -"pain management" I love that phrase. As if it were finances or a business. These things we cannot control, they control us. ,P.

I suppose I can somehow understand her lack of will. When the treatments and solutions and medications leave you with only less pain, it's not unlikely that you would rather go to a place where there is no pain. Maybe even at the cost of your existence.

So she's off to the OR. What now? I'm almost afraid to find out. And what can i do for her? Pray to a god I don't believe in? Work a spell for good health? Cook her favorite things for her return home? They all seem to fall short. Maybe I'll just read her a book. She cannot even do that anymore. Her eyes are as bad as her bones. She has a stack of books she still plans on reading someday. We'll start with "Gun's, Germ's and Steel" . The things that have shaped our world. No one else in my family are big readers so they don't understand how frustrating it would be to not even be able to pick up a book and read it after poring through three to four books a week for the last quarter century. That might very well have been the last straw for me. Maybe the reading aloud will help. Despite being sentenced to a bed post-surgery. Despite the bed pans and bed sores. At least to occupy her mind and keep her from going to far into her own thoughts. I know that a person can die before the body ceases to live. I've seen it before. When they are only hanging on for the sake and habit of holding on.

I called an old woman aquaintance of mine today. Pam. She and I go way back. I miss her but I am struggling to admit it even to myself. She is a handful, to say the least. Arrested twice in the last couple of months for Posession and shoplifting.

I wonder if she is worth going after again

Yes? No?

Pam, this is for you. I miss you more than you can realize. You have always been good to me. I wish the world for you. I want us to work, but I doubt it will. I am running on a very large amount of optimism here. Get out of trouble. Just be with me; It's all I want. Sex is nice, but I don't think it would be rational right now. Just be with me


"Then who can but say that women sprung from the Devill, whose heads, hands, hearts, mindes, and soules are evill?...betwixt their brests is the vale of destruction and in their beds there is hell, sorrow and repentence... for a woman will pick thy pocket and empty thy purse, laugh in thy face and cut thy throat..." Joseph Swetnam, "The Arraignment of Lewd, Idle, Froward and Unconstant Women" 1615

You'd think going to a women's college I wouldn't be dealing with this much dick. Diana, Roman Goddess of the moon and fertility, who was occasionally portrayed with six breasts(or more) to symbolize nature's bounty, she's got nothing on me. Well, actually, I can only think of 5 men at my breasts in the couple months, but I have to say, this is getting a little ridiculous.

Nothing is ever simple.

Some people have tried to tell me that if I'm doing what I want, and I'm happy, then it's all good, but I think that's bullshit. What about the needs of all the people I've let in to my vale of destruction? No no. It's no good.

What it all comes down to here is Jung's theories about projection. Stay with me here. I spent 2 years with the same guy shaking my head ruefully as other people slept around on each other and tried (unsucessfully) to form relationships that were purely sexual in nature with no emotional attachments. I never cheated on my boyfreind, or thought of it, but all the time I was clucking my tongue and going on about how sacred sex is, I was also ignoring the fact that sometimes, you really do have this visceral, animal need to just fuck. Probably all those sometimes are right around when you're 19, but whatever. It's all about the inner child. For that you have to go to Freud.

So now here I am in this comparatively strange place, I only know my ex's freinds, and I'm ready to fuck anything that moves, embarassing though it is to admit it. Looking back at things I wrote this time last year, I don't recognize myself at all. Scary that. I've determined that I sort of need to break myself for a while. I know I'll get hurt, and I accept that. What about the people around me? I need it, somehow I just know I need it, the way you know you need iron when suddenly the thought of liver is really appealing. I don't know why this is so, but I'm pushing myself into it pretty forcefully. I think of it as taking a vacation in hell. I worry about getting other people stranded in hell while I'm vacationing however, and it gives me pause. More than gives me pause, it just fucking hurts. I can see that I don't have the perspective or the self control to deal with this situation, in which there are a fist full of men orbiting me like so many unstable moons (half the time I orbit them, although you'd think I'd know better), but here I am and the only way out is through.

That sound? It's my head banging against the desk. God it hurts.

By way of explanation

I have been learning a lot lately about friendship and what it means, and recent developments on the relationship front have made a major impact on me, as my daylogs bear witness. It will be harder to trust again to the point of loving, something which may inspire others to poetry or prose, but just leaves me feeling cold and hurt.

That revelation, and the accompanying feelings have been eclipsed, however, as I learned today that I may have lost my job. This comes as quite a shock, and I'm writing this to explain why I may be somewhat less active than of late, as I attempt to figure out what is going on, and either recover my position, or come to terms with the implications.

I may not be writing quite as much for a little while, but will continue to work as I do, supporting other noders, vote tagging and carrying out my promised node audits.

I make this promise though - I will not write of my angst, pain or worry beyond this. I'd hate to burden you with those outpourings. I just want to thank you for the support I have had so far, and reassure everyone (and myself) that I will be back in full flow as soon as possible.

Thank you for your messages of support. Everything is indeed a Community. I am humbled by your concern.

A lot of people have it pretty easy in life. They can pretty much coast along, only stopping every once in while to appreciate that they're free of horrendous diseases and most of their loved ones seem to be alive and well. Like, me, for instance. But, every once in a while it seems the gods like to toss a little thing down at you to let you know, "Hey, buddy. You know.. it could be worse. You've got it pretty easy."

Sure, there's a lot of suffering to see on TV recently, (not that there wasn't before) but to really appreciate how good you have it, you need to experience a taste of ill fortune.

With that in mind, following my chemistry class last thursday night I was driving down a fairly large 4 lane road in my area, one which I take to and from class every day when a large male deer suddenly took it upon himself to leap in front of my car even though the road offered a perfectly respectable selection of other vehicles.

My car struck the buck and I was treated to a great view of it's silhouette, which included an impressive set of antlers followed by a morbid crunch like the Potato Chips of God. Looking back, I'm happy to say that the following scream which issued from my mouth was decidedly manly, as opposed to that effeminate shriek which many men make in comedy films when confronted with horrific circumstances.

Luckily for me, this didn't knock me into the opposing lane of traffic and I was able to pull over to the shoulder and get out of the car to run back and make sure that the other four cars stopped behind me hadn't somehow had an accident as a result of several hundred pounds of healthy animal suddenly flying into the air in front of them.

The buck wasn't so lucky and I had the unpleasant experience of watching him die with no means to painlessly expedite the process.

Meanwhile, my better, and what I now believe is my dumber half, convinced me to wait there for the police despite the fact that I had no license and no insurance. I had managed to avoid being pulled over for the past seven months and all of a sudden I want to sit around and wait for the cops who I know are going to do unpleasant things to me. I must have been in shock. Well, I had killed something, even if it wasn't a human. That's what you're supposed to do when you kill something bigger than a rabbit with your car, right? Wait around for the bacon on wheels.

So I waited. They had the courtesy at least not to haul my stupid ass away, but still they slapped me with citations that will probably cost me upwards of 1500 American dollars.

But, I'm still alive, although I'm more afraid of crazed suicide road deer than terrorists at the moment.

..you try to scream and it only comes out as a yawn..

I should be working right now, but I can't manage to wrap my head around it, not after having been touched. It didn't hit me until a few minutes ago how unique we really have it here. I had more arguments with Herm than I care to remember, and called him a drunken wino on every available opportunity. Still, I'd like to think that I was pretty close to him, at least on #e, and though I'm sure he wouldn't say so I think we understood each other.

I'm bothered now because his passing has affected me more then the deaths of people I know in the real world, and I sort of feel bad, like I'm taking without giving or something.

..when you try to see the world beyond your front door..

But then I realize that there is more to people than form and moving, or in our cases, electrons and packets. People are not people by virtue, but are formed through the actions they accomplish and the thoughts they provoke in others. Friends are friends no matter what medium they come to you on.

And I'm not sure why I'm sad now. Surely I can't be sad for him because the unconquerable Christian inside me knows without a shadow that he's reaping a heavenly reward somewhere. And I can't be sad for us, because we were given a glimpse of one of the deepest people around, and we should be immeasurably thankful for the time we had. If I had to say why, I would say I'm most sad for his kids; I know he loved them dearly, and they will have to live the rest of their lives without him, and that is something no one should have to endure.

So I guess this has turned into a signoff of sorts to a departed and dear friend. I know you're not coming back, but we'll always have Paris.. you lush.

..please, God, tell me that I'm still asleep.

Each day passes more quickly than the last. What seemed like a week has quickly turned into a blur of almost two months, Mondays hazy and Friday nights completely forgotten. Long naps during the quiet afternoons between classes lead to sleepless nights of compulsive laundry sprees, hours spent alone in the room full of big white machines and the never-fading scent of dryer sheets. Just sit under the table, Indian-style in old hospital pants from far off Iowa, T shirt hanging to the knees, reading endless chapters of Buddhist literature, snug amongst the constant whirring of clothes spinning themselves clean to the beat of some unheard music long forgotten as the mind wanders from academic pursuits in favor of that fly sitting on the wall a few feet away. It speeds away, too quickly to be seen by eyes dulled with boredom and aching from the countless pages of information thrust into eager hands. No more quarters left. Time to go to bed.

Today flew by without much time to think about it. I just finished reviewing the events of Monday, but in the meantime Tuesday seems to have come and gone. I got my French test back. It was as I had expected. I feel bad for the other kids in the class; being graded on a curve doesn’t help much when one student gets an A on everything. However, if I had a choice, I would move up three or four semesters to my rightful place when it comes to learning the French language. The department of Romance Languages does not agree, however. I must successfully earn a B or better in at least one semester of University of Michigan French classes before any credit or higher standing will be granted. I can only hope the other students don’t find out who’s messing up the curve.

Wednesday is gone, Thursday is fading. I got another test back, took a few more. My biological anthropology test came back with a grade stamped on it that I was not too excited about. B+. The first step below success, it may as well say D across the front for all to see. I lost thirteen points out of a hundred from various mistakes, most due to my lack of studying prior to the midterm. This was a choice I made and a habit I avoid, so I shouldn’t be surprised at the result. I’m not used to having to study. But five chapters of bio anthro obviously did not have enough time to sink into my simple brain without some help. The days of BS have passed, but it’s for the better. Now I might actually be forced to learn the old fashioned way and not rely on my sponge-like brain absorbency to get by.

Now it's Monday afternoon. My parents visited yesterday, it was the first time they've been down here since I moved in. They liked what my roommates and I have done with the place. The especially admired Megan's heaps of dirty clothing in the middle of the floor, covering her desk, and spilling out of her closet. I think it does a good job of brightening up the room, so I have nothing to complain about. The chair of her desk is an inviting, comfy place to sit, being covered with hundreds of dollars worth of size 2 Diesel jeans, fluffy sweaters and other items of clothing. It's like an expensive pillow on top of a useless wooden chair. Or something.

My parents took me and Aaron out to the Olive Garden for lunch. I had Chicken Pesto Ravioli, a departure from my standard order of Manicotti Formagio. It was absolutely heavenly, however, so it was a good decision. The waiter, a young man looking vaguely familiar with his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, even complimented my choice on entrees. I think he should compliment whoever wrote the menu for my choice, but nonetheless I was still happy to recieve kind words. I later slowly enjoyed a piece of Raspberry Cheesecake, the most delicious and undescrible taste in the world. I know my cheesecake, and this one is astounding. Get some today.

Today was goofy. In all of my classes, clumsiness seemed to be the uniting factor. It wasn't even me being the goof for once. Almost everyone had their fair turn at making some strange, new and exciting faux pas before the class. It was especially evident in my Japanese discussion. We are learning verbs and therefore gaining the ability to actually make sentences. It still amazes me to think that I can speak Japanese after less than two months of class. I'm no where near the level of a native Japanese three year old, but I'm getting there. Anyway, back to what happened in class. There was a massive bee flying around the ceiling, and everyone was trying to get it to fly out the door and into the hall where it would be unable to harm any hard working students. One overzealous kid picked up a book and swung it at the bee, completely squishing it between a pane of glass and that nihongo no hon. He gave it an extra slap! to make sure all was dead, and then empyied the remains into a trash can. Immediately following this, Derek dropped all his books on the floor. Papers flew everywhere. Someone said "Watashi wa football o nomemasu," meaning "I drink football." Our sensee began laughing uncontrollably and nearly ended up on the floor. Then things got completely out of hand.

I went back to the dorms and ate lunch with my roommates (Meg and Chris). The lady in the dining room gave me enough turkey to feed three people, and I tried my best to finish it all, but my plate would not allow me to empty it. I hate throwing food away, but someimes there is not a choice when large women hand out huge proportions to little girls with small stomachs. Not that 5'11" is little, mind you, but I am not quite as wide as I am tall.

Now I have nothing to do until my study buddies (Sobersephiroth and MiZuNkY) get out of work, pick me up and take me to the Media Union on North Campus to read our brains out until all homework is completed, regardless of the pain it takes to reach that point. Aaron and I will be in the MU basement, but Nick will probably be up on the third floor with his fellow computer people. Perhaps I shall join him for a few moments if he is lucky enough. Stop by if you are around.

There is nothing better in this world than looking up at a starry night. The stars are all so far away, and we will never get to touch them. No one will ever know what those brightly burning balls of gas look like up close. But didn't we think we could when we were children? If only we could swing a little higher, kick a little harder, nothing would be out of our grasp, not even the stars. I miss those days. I can't even see the stars anymore. I moved, and the sky turned purple. I want to go back to my starry nights. Then, maybe, everything would be ok.

I could look up and know the comfort of a child. The world's troubles haven't touched me yet. I am 5, sitting outside on a warm summer night with my popsicle and innocence. I have nothing to worry about except for the clouds in the sky. I know which one is the north star. I want to touch it but I cant. Maybe when I grow up, and I can reach a little farther, then I can. But then I'm 10, and I live somewhere new. I can still swing, but the trees block the stars. Its ok, maybe tomorrow, I'll swing the other way. It's too late, Im already 16. And I live somewhere else, and we don't have a swingset anymore. But I'm with someone whom I love, and I feel like my spirits are so high that they can touch the stars. But then I'm broken, and I leave, and they do too. I can't touch the stars anymore.

So I'm driving home, or rather driving up a side street so I can do a blockie and start driving home. bloody no right turn signs.

Suddenly something small and fuzzy-looking flashes across in front of me.

There is a thump.

Oh Shit. What was that? Could it have been a cat? I have visions of knocking on a door and telling some white picket fencer that I have just killed tiddles. nah fuck that, better to just keep driving. Still, what the fuck was it? and is it dead?

I pull in to the kerb, and walk back up the street. There is a small black bird fluttering helplessly in the middle of the road. Strange - I thought it was grey when i hit it. It flutters up to me and huddles in the road, looking up at me and cheeping plaintively. I could swear the damn thing is asking for help

I reach down and scoop it up. It nestles in my hand quite calmly. I walk back to the car and study it. Its eyes are half-closed and it keeps blinking. This bird is in a bad way.What the hell am I going to do with it? I consider leaving it by the side of the road and driving off but my inner child asserts himself:

Hey! We could take it home and look after it until its alll better. Then we could let it go again
Yeah right - all that will happen is we end up with a dead bird at home.
But we could put it inna box and keep it warm, and feed it stuff and..
shut up kid.

I notice that its eyes are fully open now and it seem more alert. I try to encourage it to take off by gently trying to launch it with my hand, but it just grips tighter. I try to scare it into flying away with a loud inarticulate noise. It jumps into the air, flutters ineffectually, thumps into the side of the car, slides down to the road and huddles there. hmmmm. I pick it up and try to see if its wings are broken. I decide that I really have no idea, but they seem ok. I throw it back into the air.

flutter-bonk-slide-*huddle*. hmmmm.

Ok, it getting late and I need to get to the gym. I vaguely remember passing a vet on my way home before. I decide to put the bird in the car and drop it off on my way past. If I don't see the vet I'll just decide what to do when I get home.(Hooray!shut up kid)

I put the bird on an old inpress on the passenger seat and turn off the radio in case JJJ scares it. I drive off and around the next corner is a large sign. Box Hill Veterinary Surgery. Ok Cool I take the next right and pull to the kerb again. Unfortunately I brake a little hard and the bird slides off the seat and ends up in the passenger footwell.

When I try to pick it up it freaks out and flutters all round the car, banging its head repeatedly on the windscreen as it tries to get out. Each time I try to grab it, it starts up again. feathers are everywhere. I carefully roll down the passenger window and it shoots out the window and darts up and over the nearest house like an arrow.

hmmm. It must have just been stunned. pining for the fjords perhaps.

I wind up the window and drive home. The ride seems strangely peaceful and quiet.- then I remember to turn the radio back on.

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