Captain's Log: 2008.03

03.01.08: Got Me This Time

My suitemate's flickering Hello Kitty clock shows me 8:37 AM, my ears are dead, there's something on my shoe that I am unable to identify, I'm pretty sure there are a lot of pictures of me on cameras of people I do not know, and the only thing to drink within my reach is warm boxed wine when all I really want right now is some cool water. Diet Pepsi Max. Rustica pizza from Belvidere. A hug.

Nah. I'll just archive February and debate whether or not soggy eggs are worth walking to the cafeteria. The entry from the twenty-sixth was starting to annoy me, anyway. I kind of want to delete all my journals, stories, archives... but these days I try harder not to do that sorta stuff on the spur of the moment.

Last night, I composed an e-mail that would've been quite a couple shades of terrible to send. Shame, because the words were exactly how I wanted them, and for the first time in a long while, I felt satisfied with something I wrote. Oh well, not much I can do about it. Nothing wonderful comes out of two in the morning ramblings, probably.

The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.

Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

03.06.08: If Only

If all my photographs were Polaroids, my world might be more content. I could stand there, shaking, waiting to see the perfect imperfection of a moment. Lighting would not matter, color is what you make of it, composition an option... all that's there is what you didn't want to forget. It has nothing to do with being better or worse, I can tell you that it never mattered. Someone out there is gonna hate you, but another loves you more than you'll ever understand. They won't understand, either, because no one does... that's why it never gets old. Well, the substitutions do, but all those chemicals can't be too good for you.

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803- 1882)

03.10.08: So Long, Lonesome

You know the game called Monopoly? In my days of child-dom, everyone would get bored of playing it and abandon the board before it reached any sort of conclusion. I'd look at my little pieces of colored currency and wonder what they might have led to... this is how I've been feeling lately. It bothers me, then and now, but I didn't want to force people to play my game. Whatever, I'm terrible at games, anyway.

On Saturday, I woke up with a blood soaked hand. I sort of remember waking up and and feeling something was amiss, but Lord knows it takes more than blood loss to get me out of bed. All that damage from such a little cut. Luckily I was too lazy to clear off my bed, so I had a folded hand towel up there that managed to catch any runoff. Waking up like that, however, leads to a very panicked train of thought. I can't forget to take my medicine like this, either. My hands wouldn't stop shaking today and I dropped my hookah coals three times... *sigh* I wonder what feeling healthy is like. I guess it would be hard to describe the absence of something, but then again, isn't that what prompts most writers? Normal people don't need to pour out words like some sort of sick ancient bloodletting.

I need sleep if I'm going to wake up at some unholy hour, but maybe I'll watch Chicago sleep for a little longer. I want to walk around the city, to find some kind of beauty that I might want to believe in. Before summer, I think I'll try to see the sunrise by the lake, then I could grab some breakfast at some little hole in the wall restaurant and go curl up in bed for a few hours. I doubt I'll have much luck in finding someone to come along, though...

Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free;
Love me no more, but love my love of thee.

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)

03.12.08: Burnout

Aw, yesterday I meant to archive that last post... whoops.

My body is still resetting itself from my sugar binge on Monday. Complete idiocy, and it will not happen twice. Next time I'll just eat a freaking sleeve of needles. *sigh* I mean... it should be obvious, right? One road leads to incredibly serious health problems, the other to a manageable life. I think others care more than I do, and there's no excuse for that. Grow up, Eri. No gods or idols are gonna intervene.

The world would be terrible if we knew prayer worked. Humans rely enough by bouncing from chance to chance, and thinking that anyone could have whatever they wished for in passing makes me shudder. Can you have free will and omnipotent prayer? That being said, I think that such things help people figure out what they desire, as long as it isn't used as a justification, anyway. I'd like to think that people can climb out of their holes, that we're not some pathetic, forsaken mess.

Then again, I sure feel like it sometimes... like Earth's some kind of prison I'm too intimidated to escape from. What the hell is out there that scares me so damn much? Why do I shiver when I think too deeply? What makes my insides clench when certain people brush past?

Ignore it?

Invisible tears are the hardest to wipe away.

Adabella Radici

03.16.08: Unraveled

They bind me, these ribbons of thoughts. I can understand why my friends escaped them... I might have, but there were too many knots and I was left unable to move. I should have been able to do something. No one's helpless; they just haven't figured out the solution. I knew, I thought, I watched, I dreamed, I even cared... but I failed.

I go through my phases of why am I so ugly, dumb, untalented... but those can't compare.

You don't get a second chance after you let someone slip away. Yeah, I know how to cherish now, but when no one cares, what's the point?

Someday, these ribbons aren't going to attach to anything, and I kind of wonder what I'll do. I doubt anyone will ever tie any more. Hm.

They had tied her up to attention,
With many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her,
With the barrel beneath her breast!
"now keep good watch!" And they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say
"Look for me by the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight,
Though hell shall bar the way!"
She twisted her hands behind her,
But all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands
'Til her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness
And the hours crawled by like years!
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it!
The trigger at least was hers!
Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it?
The horses hoofs ring clear
Tlot-tlot, in the distance!
Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight,
Over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding, riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!
Tlot in the frosty silence!
Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer!
Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment!
She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight
And warned him with her death.

Loreena McKennitt - The Highwayman

03.17.08: Headaches

Um, archived the earlier bits of March. Yeah. I might delete it, later. Pseudo-emotional drivel. Honestly, if I don't update my graphic sections soon, I might as well not renew my site in August. Maybe I'll ask for Lollapalooza tickets and hotel lodgings instead. Oh well.

Whatever. I'm looking forward to lots of alone time over break, as juvenile as that makes me. Don't know why I thought I'd like people more in college. Basically, it's the same tired drama with less room for privacy. Maybe it'll never get any better than that. I might not be the paradigm of maturity, but damn. Having alcohol thrown into the mix just makes depressing things excusable, when used in the popular manner, anyway. It's a little frightening that almost all socialization revolves around it. Take away my thoughts and judgment, and all of a sudden I'm fun and attractive, I guess. Who the hell cares about conversation, smiles, memories? You'd think someone would, but I'm wondering more and more if that's not just some modern fairy tale. I must of deluded myself, somehow...

I have my own particular sorrows, loves, delights; and you have yours, but sorrow, gladness, yearning, hope and love belong to all of us, in all times and in all places. Music is the only means whereby we feel these emotions in their universality.

H.A. Overstreet (1875 - 1970)

03.18.08: Slow Down

Shoulda done laundry. D: Never a good sign when you can't open your door due to a clothes jam. I think there might be juice all over one shirt... whoops. These headaches are messing with my mind.

I'm not really sure how I'm going to get all my delightful crap back to Rockford for Spring Break. If I didn't have to take a goddamned train on a day where rain is expected it might be a bit easier. I'll be forced to summon all my mad Tetris skillz in order to cram a hookah, camera, hard drive, hair stuff, tablet, laptop, schoolbooks, clothes, medicine and whatever else I'm forgetting into a small suitcase and messenger bag. Times like this (and maybe when I see a good looking guy), I wish my wardrobe didn't exist of jeans, cargo pants and hoodies. Hm. Maybe I should get more skirts and boots.

Then again, I'm usually annoyed when people change for others. In some cases, people turn for better, such as in maturing and the like, but usually people just try to step in the footsteps of the person they admire/like, which isn't fair to either party. The admirer's never going to fulfill they're own needs, and they end up burning bridges. The admiree gets stuck with a follower who's more intent on obsessing what the admiree's done rather than sharing his or her view. I've had to hurt a few people because I'm not going to date a wannabe twin, and even though I still think it's for the best (and because I'm a narcissistic jerk), I don't enjoy stepping on real feelings. Wanting to better yourself is understandable, but do it because you enjoy it, not because you don't know what else you might have a conversation about. You'll find yourself lost and lonely.

I wouldn't want to meet someone exactly like me. After time, all I'd see is my own faults. In fact, there's not really any connecting features between people, other than they complement my personality, tend to make wonder about them and are at least moderately intelligent. I guess I could never really consider someone if they didn't enjoy exploring, but as long as they don't step on my other interests I don't care so much. Unless they have a really terrible taste in music. That might lead to some extensive schooling. Oh well, if I had to chase someone, I know it'd take years longer for me to trust them than if they approached me.

That said, I think I'm going to get s'more skirts. I dislike lugging around heavy suitcases in the polluted Chicago rain.

Never a lip is curved with pain
That can't be kissed into smile again.

Brete Harte (1837-1902)

03.19.08: On A Roll? Nah.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. I think I've taken twelve Tylenol today, and it's still just pain. I think, however, my medication might have fueled my reasoning for vacuuming out my freezer, after smashing all the ice build-up with a hammer. Today's been fairly strange, upon retrospect.

While shampooing my hair this morning (my showers are very philosophical times), I pondered whether my past or my future affected my present actions more. My past certainly carved me up, for better or worse, but I think I analyze future possibilities more than I apply past results to new events. Most things... well, just can't be replicated, frankly. I'd like to think I learn from errors, but very rarely do specific situations pop up twice, and it's not worth denying everything else based on one negative bias. Then I realized I'd gone through half a 65daysofstatic CD since I walked in the bathroom, and I better get my conditioner in if I wanted to make a coffee stop before my history lecture.

There are a few songs that I've not been able to go a week without listening to for a long, long time, now. It's almost a little embarrassing that I'm so addicted to their sounds. These songs, when they play, I get so into them that my heartbeat changes. Sometimes it seems like there could be nothing better. I've heard people describe what they call personal anthems, but that's not quite right, for these... It's more like the perfect resonation. I dunno what my anthem would be. "Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx was the most popular song on the day of my birth. Guess it would be some sort of heartache song, anyway. That's how I roll, haha.

Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.

Alphonse de Lamartine (1790-1869)

03.30.08: The Price Is Not Right

Jay: no more sad Eri. you are a fantastical honeypeach. :)
Me: ...
Me: i think that name upset me even more >_-
Jay: noooope stubborn dumbasses do.
Me: <_< *cough*

Well, you walked into that one, Jay.

Though, isn't it amusing how little pixels on a screen can change a day? I'm still not feeling like myself, but I honestly don't know what I can pin it on. I've an idea, but if I'm right, there's absolutely nothing I can do, insofar as "sane" options go. Whatever, I kinda figured something of the sort would come up eventually.

As a child, people taught me misfortunes happened in threes. I would live wondering when the next terrible thing would come at me, mumbling ambiguous prayers every night that it wouldn't be worse than the first occurrence. Eventually, I lost count of the numbers I'd attached to the nightmares, and lost most of my ability to become excited, as well as expectations in general.

I really, really don't desire to live inside my past. I'd end up jumping off the walls I've built. It's just... about a third of the week I dream lucidly, but when I have a regular REM, it replays terrors, or creates entirely possible scenarios for anything I might hold some shred of hope for. Imagine starting every single morning heartbroken, sometimes not even knowing why. Then there's the situations where events turn out to resemble the imagined scenarios, which they usually do, and I can't even look at the people, and the littlest mess-ups cause me to lose almost all trust. Heh, even I realize that having my trust really isn't worth the dedication. I'd be the singular happy thing in the whole hellish mess.

Deciding whether or not to trust a person is like deciding whether or not to climb a tree, because you might get a wonderful view from the highest branch, or you might simply get covered in sap, and for this reason many people choose to spend their time alone and indoors, where it is harder to get a splinter.

Daniel Handler (1970 - )

All ramblings of Erica Feggestad 2000-2008