(warning: particularly old content) I don't ask for it to make sense RSS feed


Whoops, missed a day. Oh well. Several very interesting things happened tonight. One: I went to party. Two: I enjoyed myself. Three: I danced. o_O Four: I enjoyed myself dancing. That "enjoyed" is italicized not due to my surprise at it (though I certainly was), but rather to the extent to which I enjoyed myself. I haven't had as much fun in a long time... Kyley said that after tonight, he realized he's never really seen me smile. It was great, I'm exhausted, and no one nuked us. Hopefully I'll wake up in as good a mood as I am in now. I made it back into Kirkland safe, but I passed three accidents on the way. The reasoning in anyone's head as to why they would get piss-assed drunk, and then attempt to drive home, totally escapes me. I don't even really understand the motivation to getting drunk, though, so perhaps I'm just not meant to get it.


The freeway at the 405 and 520 interchanges: a dim web of grey concrete, strung with glittering beads of red tail-lights and white head-lights. I'm looking forward to my Monday morning commute with a combination of adventuresome anticipation and logic's outright trepidation. But I got to wrestle with a dog today, for the first time in years... and I got a grass stain on my arm. It'll be worth it.


It was one of those days today. I woke up feeling ill, cotton in my head and disorientation wheeling in my eyes. Later, I tried to turn on my stereo, only to blink in disbelief as it turned itself off after six seconds. No, I thought to myself, Come on, not this... It's only the tuner, but there's definitely somthing wrong with it. All the ego I'd built up in the last few days of tinkering with my computer fled, whispering a quiet goodbye as it shut the door behind itself. However much I may know, or think I know, or even know who to ask for help, about the electronics in my computer, the electronics humming inside the black expanse of my stereo elude me entirely. It was a depressing realization, as I first grumbled, then cursed, and finally pounded my desk, fairly screaming in frustration, at the inevitable *click* of the blasted thing turning itself off on the slow count of six. Attempting not to scream at everyone around me, I took it over to a stereo repair place, only to be told that I needed to leave it there and call tomorrow to even find out if they knew what was wrong, much less how much it's going to cost me to get it fixed. I can envision all the money I got for Christmas being bled into the repair.

This does not make me happy.

So what did I do? I went and bought some books with a gift certificate my aunt gifted me with. Inexplicably, it made me feel somewhat better. I'll never understand women.

And on a last note, I finally did something with the bits and pieces of text that I've emailed myself from work over the quarter, so that I wouldn't forget them. Happinesses.


This time at 5:35 in the morning, all I can think about is fog, misted orange and flying past me, and that I am very very tired.


I had the strangest dream in the midst of wandering towards being asleep last night. In the dream I got out of bed and set my hand on my computer. A CD suddenly appeared in my other hand, and in my half-asleep half-awake state, it annoyed me very much that it had so rudely intruded itself on whatever it was I was trying to do. I found myself thinking, "This is a dream... I just made it appear for some reason, I can make it go away just as easily." And so I stared at it, glinting in the dim Christmas light glow, and willed it to disappear. Dream physics, however, decided at that point to concede to reality, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the damn thing to blip out of existence. I shook it in irritation, trying with all my might to make the CD reverse its path to the dream, whatever that may have been. Giving up, I tried to set it down on my desk, only to discover that for some reason, that was forbidden. I tried the top of my monitor, the top of my subwoofer, my bed, and even the floor. No matter where I attempted to set the CD down, it would not leave my hand. Thrashing in my light sleep, I awoke temporarily, but forced myself to return to the dream, with the sole purpose of ridding myself of the troublesome CD (never mind that it didn't really exist except there, but no one ever said that people are very lucid when they wake out of dreams). Back in the dream, I tried to leave the room with it, tried to throw it out the window, tried to drop it in my closet. Finally, nearly sobbing with frustration, my eyes landed on my stereo. Of course. Punching the button to open my CD player, I neatly deposited the CD into an open space, where it settled comfortably, and slid out of my sight as I tapped the Open/Close button once more.

As to what the point of relating that dream may be, I certainly don't know. I just find it interesting that once I became conscious of the fact that the dream was just that, a dream, I unconsciously forced my interpretation of physics (that matter cannot spontaneously disappear) and appropriateness of place (that CDs belong in the CD player) on my surroundings.


Okay, any day where I get as kickass presents as I did today, feels like a damn good (secular) Christmas. (singing) I...got...new...RAM!!! Um (cough)... yah. And stuff. Not that I'm... greedy... or anything...

And not that I got too much sugar.

Definitely not that (staring wide-eyed and drooling at the tin of Altoids twice the size of my hand).


Testing, testing... we have confirmation—it still does not feel like Christmas. There's a beautiful sunset outside my window. The sky across the lake is streaked with dusky shades of salmon and rose, grey and blue. The light coming in my window is vaguely red, dimming as the sun sets behind my house and can no longer reflect off of those clouds. It is a summer sunset, not a Christmas one. I've never known what defines Christmas, but whatever it is, it's missing this year. Maybe it'll come back tomorrow morning when I wake up and get presents... who knows.


I think Kiera's going to name the 2-handed sword after Glaive.

You'd think that having a fever would inspire me to write something truly deranged and meaningful. The truth is, that fateful point at which my mother declares that I Am Sick is the point at which my brain shuts down. When mommy says I'm sick, sick I am. When I think I'm ill, I'll goof off and write and play video games. When mommy thinks it, I crawl into bed and hope I fall asleep soon.


Valentine and Glaive, I carry you with me.

My little brother's found an apartment! He's moving out! Now I suppose Richard and me should start nosing around for a place eventually... one that has the DSL connection capability I'll require if I'm to leave my safe haven of the dorms.


Good lord, it's past 1 am already? And here I was going to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Happy birthday to Mark, yesterday! Happy birthday to Jase, tomorrow! Happy birthday to Andrea, sometime around here. Strange Sagittarius people. I just realized that it's Christmas this weekend, the first Christmas in seven years that Richard hasn't been around to go shopping with, to hang out with the day after comparing presents. Strange, the things that I get used to, and how reversals of taken-for-granted facets of life can unsettle me in ways I don't even notice until I find myself reaching for the phone to see if he wants to head out to Northgate with me tomorrow. I thought today about Warren and Randy, about how they were the same age when I met them as I am now, right about. I felt that they were adults, then, but I don't see myself as one now. I wonder if when I'm twenty-six and twenty-seven, who will I spend time with? Who will be my friends? Will these relationships with people I build now last, as those so delicately defined during high school haven't? It's strange to feel so old and so much of a child, all at the same time.


After a day of oozing around the world, I feel that I have completed something productive. What that is, only I really care, but if someone is truly curious, it was just the three new images (top three at the complete index, or the Inga at character images and the top two at other graphics). They're pretty and I made them and Mark likes the two I made for him, so I'm happy.


I talked about two old friends of mine, Chris and Brian, today. I only met them once, and the only things they had in common, really, were being in the same Quake clan, and me considering them worth visiting them from across the country. I miss talking to them, and worry about them not a little, despite not having spoken to either one in a long time. I relived a little of how angry I was at Chris's situation, and got mad at myself again for how I dealt with Brian. Hindsight, while never perfect, always points out everything that you wish you'd known and everything you wish you'd forget about any given situation.

I love my cat. While chasing a little jar across my floor, she got really cross-eyed, ran out of the room for a while, ran back in, purred in my ear, startled herself across the room, and finally has settled down in a compact little furry package on the floor, thinking that she's hiding from me behind the paper bag that I can see her quite well over from my vantage point.

At 5:45 in the morning, I am finally truly pissed off at Netscape. I can only get this page to display the way I want it to in Netscape if I code all the backtext before the actual dynamic content of the page. Goddamn it. That's so ridiculous—I don't want to scroll through all that junk just to edit this damn page every day. <SEETHING FRUSTRATION> I'm going to bed, damnit.


I dreamt about my mother being angry at me last night. I woke sobbing like a child, the first time I've awoken crying that violently, ever. Bleh.


After several years of avoidance, I managed to confirm tonight that yes, I still dislike fish. Extensively, if such an adverb can be applied to the word "dislike." Why anyone in their right mind would concoct a dinner solely out of fish and fish-related...things...is completely and utterly beyond me. The saving grace of the evening was winning a hot-sauce ingestion contest with my brother, even if it only turned into a contest when he reached for a glass of soda and, just because I was bored out of my mind, I leapt into the air with an exultant cry of "I WON! HE DRANK SOMETHING FIRST!" I think the tears coming from his eyes may have had something to do with my glee, as well. Hey, I needed something to do.


I drove past my high school today. While this is nothing new (almost any time that I'm in a car going home, I pass it), today there were kids all around it—lunch time. I realized that after this year, I will no longer know anyone in high school. Even this year, all that's left are a few of the guys who were freshmen on the Ultimate team my senior year. I felt old, thinking about the fact that the boys that I always affectionately called my freshmen are growing up. It made me feel differently about my brother, he who is about a year and a half (and two years of school) younger than me. If I were feeling so much older than those boys who are seniors in high school now, I should feel rather old about my brother, since he is only a year older than them. But I don't feel that much older than Bryce. He's always been a peer, sharing toys, friends, and activities, for as long as I can remember. I don't think about him as "a kid," and I find that when I think in specific about any of his friends, or even those high school seniors I haven't talked to since they were freshmen, I don't feel that they are that young and I am that old. But as a group, they drop in age. I suppose they blend in with that mass of immaturity that I identify with being in high school.


It rains today. Water sluices down the streets and tiny drops coat my glasses, making the world sparkle dimly. My coat slowly gets soaked through just walking the few blocks from campus, individual water marks flowing together as the temperature within falls. Grey and green are the only colors visible, a beautiful soft blend of trees against a sky whirling with countless shades of depression. The rain flows down onto leaves, making them tremble as they build up water to fling at unsuspecting passerby. It beats down on pavement, rivulets forming together into minature lakes with dimpled surfaces. Drops fall on my head, sliding with a chill behind my ears and down my neck, dripping cold down my forehead and tracking along my jawline. The rain runs down my nose, forcing the decision between keeping hands warm in pockets and submitting to the tangle of wet hair that will swing in my eyes if I shake my head, or relinquishing the last bastion of dry to the forces of discomfort. As I blink the hair out of my eyes and chuff another drop from my nose, the decision is questioned. But my fingers are warm and dry, searching vaguely for the key to release me from the watery prison of the outdoors.


I am twitchy, nervous, pacing on the phone, thoughts ricocheting between one topic and the next, and I wish I could say it was due to my finals. It partially is, partially isn't, I suppose. I wish I could say it was due to my family. It partially is, partially isn't, I suppose. I even wish I could say it was due to the impending end of the year.

Okay, it isn't even partially that.

But oh, for it to be something simple, safe, explainable, I'd give anything. Or perhaps not.. the unexpected and new—no matter how frightening by virtue of that newness—can be what gives meaning to a life otherwise spent staring out into city-light-tinted clouds simply thinking about that which has now actively leapt in front of me, calling "try, experience, do!"


I feel like there's so much to say, so much that I feel like simply slicing my head open and letting it all flow out. But if I try, it doesn't come out right, it twists in my mouth and stumbles over my tongue, so I don't say what I mean, so I say something completely different, so I sound like a fool. There's not many people who intimidate me when it comes to speaking... People like Kevin and Max, where the next thing I want to say just gets lost somewhere in transit. I get all fuddled just trying to talk about it happening. There's no way to describe it, other than being intimidated, whether it's by intelligence or personal presence or something completely different, I don't know. It's very frustrating, but it makes it intriguing to talk to them, to try to find out why it is that they affect me so.


I am experiencing a strange dichotomy between happiness and guilt. On one hand, I had a wonderful day today. I normally hate shopping, but spending time with Richard makes it all worthwhile. My oldest friend... he's the only person who's been able to stand me for as long as he has—over seven years of putting up with me. It was a delicious feeling to walk home today and feel the warmth of knowing that I have a best friend. And then there's the other hand... I hate the act of insensitivity. Drives me batty when people are rude, thoughtless. And so I go and forget that I promised to have dinner with Jeff tonight (sorry, again). ARGH.


I feel just about ready to snap today. Woke up feeling bitchy, and woe betide anyone who pisses me off before I go to bed.


I haven't driven that fast with other people in the car for some time. I'd forgotten how slow it feels once you get going... when my eyes start flickering to all directions, my senses stretched out to their limits, every cell in my body focused towards keeping the people safe whose lives are in my hands. I feel badly about it; I shouldn't have done it. Frustration, stress, and the strain of appearing to be in a good mood when I'm not, all combine to not-good-things. So I believe I'm going to go lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling until I fall asleep, whilst attempting to not think about the last week, nor the possible 25$ ticket I will get if some overzealous parking enforcement person notices that the alumni pass on my dash is actually dated for a week ago.


Sometimes I feel like ripping my heart out of my chest, throwing it on concrete, and grinding it into the rough surface, ripping and clawing it to shreds, screaming in vain at a picture on the wall.

New toys are wonderful things. Not, however, when they are bought/discovered/given directly before finals. Not when one technically should be studying for, say, a Japanese final the next morning, and one cannot take one's mind off of said "toy," whatever physical or intangible concept the word may represent.

Christ, it's hard to sleep when your heart is racing like a rabbit's, when you're lying in bed with your breath coming fast because you're too keyed up to relax. And even harder when, for some reason, "Baby let me be/your lovin' Teddy Bear/Put a chain around my neck/and lead me anywhere/oh let me be/your teddy bear..." and so on for the rest of the goddamn song, is running endless through your head, interspersed with the random "Don't be cruel to a heart that's true" here and there. I hate the night before finals.


I wonder how often my facial expressions get totally misunderstood. I smiled at an attractive guy today, whilst walking to class. He glared at me as if I'd yelled at him. He was in a wheelchair, and it was only later that I wondered if he'd thought I was condescending to him. At the time I was too busy having my feelings hurt. But it forces me to wonder how often I've hurt people, by making some facial gesture that they interpret incorrectly due to their particular worldview. And now, considering that I'm twitching in my seat and I've finally got that thrice-be-damned paper (mostly) done, I'm going to bed.


I dislike sensations in my body that I cannot accurately describe. Like the one I get way down under my collarbone sometimes—the one that makes me hook my fingers deep under there and pull, wishing that I could rip the bone away to make the feeling stop. But it doesn't actually hurt. It's not painful, per se. It's just incredible uncomfortable. Almost an ache, but not quite. Or the muscle that's twitching along the right side of my neck right now. It's been spasming for the last hour and a half, and while I'd never say it's a pain, it's fucking annoying. It's driving me absolutely batty, but it's not even really a spasm. I'm not sure what to call it. So I just say my neck hurts, and people think something entirely different from what I actually mean. Language is a bitch.


What a novel idea—going to bed before 4 am. Why haven't I ever thought of this before? Kevin got his car stolen this last Friday, from outside Jase's apartment... He doesn't seem outwardly too upset by it. I suppose when my car got stolen a couple years ago, I wasn't too upset until they found it, totaled, stained in beer and blood, with nearly all my belongings having been thrown out, including my schoolwork and textbooks. At least at the time I was in high school, so I didn't have to pay for the books. But when I went to go get my emptied backpack from the thing that had been my van, had to poke through it looking for my family's possessions, accidentally wiped my hand in someone else's blood, smelled the cigarette smoke clinging to everything... then I was upset. I remember that I cried all the way home. It's funny to think how personally I took it. But then again, I suppose if someone came into my room, these days, and did anything to my computer, I'd sob like a child still.


Goddamit, I was sure I'd written something on Friday. In fact, I even remember now that it was something about being proud I'd remembered to write something. But guess who was a dumbass and overwrote it. ARGH. Anyway, what I was going to say before I discovered that little oversight was... Kanji are screwy. To amuse myself whilst studying for my quiz on the morrow, I started looking up exactly what bits make up the kanji I have to know. My favorites:

The "ri" of "ryouri" ("cooking" or "cuisine") actually means "truth," "reason," or "justice." That "ri" shows up in a multitude of words, from "mathmatics," "esoteric mystery," "dogma," "logic," and "psychology," to... "cuisine." As Mark said... there's a mystery to cooking, I suppose.

The kanji for "meat" is composed of three pieces : two "people," and one "remote area." One man is inside the remote area, and the other is above him, crossing out of the area. Almost like he's dragging the other one behind him... how morbid. There's probably a less creepy reason for why that's that way, but still.

And why the FUCK does it reek of urine in the bathroom????


I overheard Andrea calling Franklin "honey" today. My heart just froze and shattered slowly... I closed my eyes and turned my face towards the couch, thoughts echoing on and off, brokenly wondering when I'd talk to someone in that affectionate tone of voice again. It took a very special person to bring that out in me—and now I wonder who, if anyone, will ever bring it out again. I'm tired of dreaming... I suppose since I don't allow myself to wish certain things when I'm awake, my subconscious does it for me when I dream. But I'd be happier not remembering when I wake up; things need to be let be past. Brooding does no one good, least of all myself. Now if I could only translate the abstract academic knowledge of that into something with form that could affect my emotions...


I think I should get in to the habit of knowing more about movies before I go see them, so that I won't have my soul knocked out of me, left wandering with tears unsheddable, ambushed by portrayals of insanity and religion that I didn't prepare myself for.


Someday, I'd like to know where my dreams get off torturing me like they do. Fucking A....... I can't believe it's almost 3 am and have I done anything useful today? Hell no, and the million dollar question is... "Why does Jen do horrible nasty awful things to her system when finals roll around?"