the voices dying with a dying fall

    Song of the Hour: Perfect Blue Buildings by Counting Crows
                               I’m at a bar, so this isn’t my choice, though I love it

So , I was halfway through a post when I lost friendster, and therefore all my pretty little words. I’m too exasperated to try to repeat them all, so you’re getting the abridged version:
1. I tallied up the results of my "all-nighters", my dusk till dawns spent in Anne’s kitchen, and the results were somewhat surprising, reading as such: A, A, A, A-, A-, A-, and that damn 85.75 B in cognitive science. All around, I don’t think I’ll get a C this semester, all though B’s are certainly likely. Thank you all for staying up with me in my imagination, and a special thanks to the others who stayed up with me in the actual kitchen.
2. For no reason other than to embarass myself, I’m offering a couple of my collages for examination. A) An image from Eliot’s "Hollow Men" and B) an interpretive intersection on the influence that literature had on the Goth subculture- pretty funny, if not sadly true. Again, I meant well.
3. Today was my last day of classes, and I have finals, and a final project , then I’m free. 5/9 and I’m out for the summer. It’s like "Rome" in Gladiator. I’m scared to actually say it above a whisper, lest it disappear. 5/9. shhh.
4. Oh my god, I’m going to have to finish this later. hours of my life are being sucked away by the ghost of scott quigley. more tomorrow, sorry, gotta run.

_________________________________________________________________________________

ok, he left a little early. only me, people, only me.
If any of you know/remember Scott, know that his spiritual, emotional, political doppleganger just sat with me for like two hours– well, he wasn’t as funny as scott.  "Can I sit here a minute?" for the record, is never really a minute. You’ve been warned. Woodrow is 27, has been in 3 different branches of the military, and is at UNC as a poli-sci/history/economics major. I think he has aspirations to be governor. He’s very patriotic, though not stupid. He believes in the power of capitalism, and America’s might as military saviour of the world. He abhors the term "African-American" yet feels strong ties to England since that’s where his family is from (minus his Cherokee great grandmother). I could tell you more, but I can’t imagine why you’d be interested. If you are, just ask. I’ll tell you all about him. The real question is this:

why can’t I say "no" to people?

Yeay, yeah, we went through this last week. But what about when his every sentence grates whatever morality I have left that nihilism hasn’t eaten through? Can I say no then? What do i say? "I’m sorry, I find your opinions incredibly offensive; and since we’re in eyeshot of UNC, the offended rule and you have to leave my table now."
Is that ok? Could I say that?
How about "Your love for your M16 won’t fit in this booth with my hatred of bullies."
maybe "I’m sorry, I’m allergic to blind patriotism" and then start sneezing on him? Would that work? Would that be OK?  Or maybe somthing a little more subtle… "I’m sorry, you’re insights into welfare being a concession of congressional slavery guilt has parched my thirst, could you get me some water?" I could bat my eyelashes and run when he turns his back…

Hmm. Worth considering. He had his good points but they weren’t good enough to justify being away from You People.
And for the record, near the bottom of his pitcher, he did confess how much he hates UNC (though it IS a beautiful campus) and how he hasn’t made any friends since he got here and he’s really lonely and depressed, but the semester is almost over and maybe the summer will see him through and home to cincinati.

Just so you know, I feel justified in my inability to say no. This could have been the guy. He could have been the cliff jumper, the O.D.-er, the wrist slitter, the pill popper, you know, the GUY who teeters his way over the edge and down to excruciating painful death. But my patience, and forebearance, may have kept him going while a harsh word.., well, you get it. Perhaps all he needed was a friendly ear.

I’m sticking my tongue out at you all. So there.

Did I mention he was wearing black and red checked pajama pantsw and a black metallica t-shirt? Just checking.

Well, whatever grandiose worldly insights I may have had evaporated over the last couple hours. Maybe it will come back to me.
Maybe you will come back to me.
Maybe he will come back to me.
…

I gotta go.

love.

             Song of the Hour: Lose You by Pete Yorn

    You know, 5 months ago, whenever I heard "V for Vendetta", I thought about Owen. I thought of  sitting in his room, 10 years ago, while he told me about V for Ven. and Milk & Cheese, Watchmen, Sin City, Concrete, a plethora of things that I half remember, and mostly his excitement about them. I think I read a couple Milk & Cheese comics, and thought them very clever, but in no way moving. Being the angst ridden thing I was, I was into moving, not clever. I digress.

I saw V last night, and again an hour ago. All day today, when I got in my car, or a uhaul truck to park it , I listened to NPR and no matter what, it never sounded right.   This morning they were outlining Bush’s plan for what to do with some PanFlu somethingorother, prioritizing treatment and who gets first dibs on meds, online registration for something else involved, and pulling medical proffessionals out of retirement to meet demand. In short, bunch-of-scary-shit. I don’t know, NPR is of course no where near as bad, but I still hear it. local news sounds like a parody to me. I know it’s all Bowling for Columbine stuff, be afraid be afraid be afraid- you need us to take car of you and yours. But maybe the exaggeration I thought it was then, is just fact now. It seems that way. The timing of this movie is profound- or maybe it’s always been this way, and I just never noticed.

If you haven’t seen it, do. It’s really good. I don’t know how the hardcore comic fans feel about it, whether it was true to form or a disappointment if you know/remember the whole story. I’d like to hear what you thought, if you had actual expectations. Is it good? I think it’s amazing- but I’ve long since given up on the idea of "knowing any better"- it’s certainly possible that I don’t.

It could just be a culmination of other things in my head. I’ve been thinking about fear and anxiety a lot lately, on a personal level. I had to register for Fall ‘06 classes, and as per usual, I chose my schedule slightly less on the idea of graduation than I did of avoiding oral presentations. For those I haven’t bitched to, it’s not so much about stage fright as it is really shitty panic attacks of the psychotic variety.  I won’t  bore you with redundant details, but it’s pretty bad. So, on a fear level, that’s a big one. But there’s also the day-to-day fear I live in, my moral hypochondria. My nearly debilitating fear of hurting people, mostly complete strangers, and with one wrong thoughtless word driving someone into sadness, despair, suicide, certain death, whatever.

I know how egotistical that is, to even think that anything I say really matters that much to a stranger. But you never know what emotionally precarious ledge someone is teetering on, and it is often the words of strangers that give that last push.  Or at least that’s how it works in my head. And after having given it much thought, I suspect it relates to my mom in two ways- general guilt over the trauma of our rocky relationship, and that one morning 3 years and 11 days ago where I got up at 6 in the morning to go to the hospital to "unplug" the life support. I stopped for gas. There was a line at the BP self-serve coffee bar, and I stood there and talked to construction workers for like 8 eternal minutes until it was my turn with the coffee business. I held entire conversations about pastries, politics, weather, powers of caffeine, and the price of tea in china with complete strangers, even made them laugh, while the whole time I couldn’t stop thinking "we’re going to kill my mom today".

It seems I’m in painfully honest mood today. I know how silly all that is, but I guess I feel the need to justify why I’m so paranoid about where people are in their lives, and we not know shit about it. I cut someone off in traffic on the way to the hospital and they rolled down their window and starting yelling at me. I was in the wrong, and it didn’t really faze me,  but I’ll be damned if I’ll ever give another driver a hard time about anything. Oh god, what am I writing, and did I have a point? (does anyone really read this? I think I’ve started operating under the assumption that they don’t. )

My point is: I obviously have issues, and live in ridiculous fear. I look at the stupid shit I’m scared of and try to put it in the context of other people, in other places, that have geniune shit to be scared of. Parents with lukemia ridden kids, war zones, famine ridden lands, poverty, ect. And I try to imagine what they would say to someone like me. Middle class white girl in college typing away to her friends on her laptop about how hard her final exams are, and how she doesn’t want to talk in front of people. It kind of makes me sick. But on the other hand, I have learned something in the 6 psych classes i’ve taken, and the activities of my para/sympathetic nervous system aren’t entirely in my control. But the other things I fear, that I submit my every decision to willingly and knowingly, I have control over. I woke up this morning and decided that I refuse to be afraid today. And thinking about V for Ven. makes me more aware of being manipulated into fear about the things I’m not really thinking about. I don’t watch the news anymore, because I cannot willingly take time out of my day to be lied to; but there are a million more insinuating ways the agendas and regimes get to us. And I’ m not falling for that anymore either.

You know, this is the most mastabatory thing I’ve written since, well, my birthday.  But like I said, I’m in an honest mood today. Sorry about the TMI.
I don’t know if I’m the only one who thinks about whether or not, or what, I’m afraid of. But I’m willing at least to admit to my cowardice. I kind of remember a time when I was different. When I didn’t fear much of anything. But a lot has happened since then, the kind of things that change people, and I like to think that if I were still the same now as I was then, then I wouldn’t have learned much of anything and I would have wasted a lot of time in a short life. Cowardice is its own progress… or so I tell myself.
Afraid is horrible way to spend your life.

That’s enough for now. Again, sorry about the TMI. Happier things next time.
See the movie.

Love.

I just wated to take a second, and capture this moment:

It’s 5:40 am on a Tuesday (it doesn’t get much worse than this)
I’m only halfway done with a paper due at 11
somewhere, slightly to the east, the sun is rolling around as bleary-eyed as I am
the birds are singing like a sum-bitch
softly, softly, Return of the Jedi plays to my left (I am a jedi like my father before me)
there are 5 empty 99 cent energy drinks on the table (I cant remember how many are mine)
I’m on I do believe my 3rd pack of cigarettes
I don’t understand my thesis statement anymore
(concentrate all fire on that superstar destroyer)

and I am 29 years old.

good morning.
that’s all.