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


Exactly a year ago, it was raining and I was driving home in fairly heavy traffic. I needed to get my dice and character sheet for a roleplaying game, and I was humming to some song on KISW as my wipers slashed away the rain pouring down. I don't know how it made it across the other two lanes of traffic, but I had the instant of comprehension as the dog bounced off the back bumper of the car in front of me and looked me in the eyes for the flash of time it took me to scream before he went under my tires. I pulled over to the side as soon as I could, and bolted back to the center strip where he'd been thrown. I knelt in the muddy, wet street and held a twisted corpse as two guys who'd heard the impact through the traffic tried to calm me down and get us all out of the road. I called the owner... waited in the guys' apartment while a bloody mass of what had been a pet slowly soaked water outside. I didn't cry until I got home and cancelled everything I was to do that Halloween. Theoretically speaking, there's no difference, really, between killing a bug and killing a dog, but that night, I felt as if I'd truly taken a life. So I laid on my bed at my parents' house, and cried, and stared at the wall, and cried some more.

I'm glad it's not raining today.


I feel so out of it... I dreamt last night of a hockey rink full of M&Ms, deep enough to swim through. It was very odd, and I've spent the whole day in a daze. I feel like part of me is missing—took a vacation somewhere, leaving a shell behind to go through life by rote.


Twirling slowly, a brown-and-yellow tiled bathroom with many mirrors. Arms flung out, moving in a spin, brown-and-blond hair flaring out ever so slightly with the motion. Movement for the sake of movement, watching myriads of reflections mimic my actions. Time slowed a crawl, until the sound of another's key in the lock snaps life back into reality, where I am forced to wonder... why do I only dance when I'm depressed?


I haven't talked so much about myself in one sitting in months. Depressing—both that fact and what I was talking about. And that most people I know would say "but Jen, you talk about yourself all the time!" But then, I'm talking about myself. Not me. I really shouldn't do it, I think. It's supposed to be cathartic, but perhaps I could have dealt without the thoughts now whirling behind eyes dead and fixed on small red blinking light atop the Space Needle.


I had the disconcerting experience yesterday of walking into my Chem 242 lecture at 8:30 am and learning we were to take a midterm that day. And then later in lab, I discovered that all the testing I've done on one of my unknowns for the last two weeks is bunk, seeing as I likely misinterpreted one of the initial tests, sending me down a trail of tests not in the slightest bit useful, and had I simply taken a look at my IR spectra a week or two ago, I might have figured this out. Well, fuck. Here's to trying to salvage a grade out of chaos.


Number One on Jen's Worst-Thing-To-Say-When-Trying-To-Comfort List: "It's okay, you were too good for him anyway." Things like that make me want to fly at the other person screaming, "If I'm so good, why the hell doesn't he want me?!?!?" I mean, what sort of bullshit is that? For Christ's sake... if only people would think about what they were about to say sometimes.

Running my hands through my hair, I just got the strangest urge to have it be braided. By someone else. Or brushed, or something. Even to have Julie put it up in those freaky pigtails again.


Isn't it funny, that upon hearing that someone I love has been in a bad mood, I instantly want to call, hand reaching for the phone, to say "I'm sorry, is there anything I can do to help?" And then realization kicks in—that I am the agent of the bad mood, that my calling would do nothing but make things worse, and I am left to sit helplessly, staring south out my window and wishing I could see very very far west.

Turns out my roommate's grandmother just passed away sometime this weekend. Once again, I am shown that my problems are nothing compared to other peoples'... I wish for once I'd be allowed to keep, if only for a little while, the delusion that my problems mattered.


I slept for almost 18 hours this last "night." My father came in and forceably shook me awake at 7 pm Sunday. I would have sworn it was only a couple hours after I'd fallen asleep (at approximately 2:30 am Saturday "night"). I probably would have slept for a lot longer if he hadn't disturbed me, too. I feel very disoriented—Dad thinks I slept so long because I've been sick this last week, which I suppose may be part of it. I hold other memories, of days spent in bed in years past, where I simply don't want to get up because what is there for me out there?

At the strangest times, I miss dearly the way Haggett smells.


I want someone to hold me, with no ulterior motives. Someone to rock me gently as I cry, who will not try to place blame upon anyone, nor seek to comfort with empty words that may as well turn out to be lies. Someone to hum in my ear and not mind that I am upset, whose time I am not wasting in my self-pity. Huston said today that I'm very narcissistic, which anyone who knows me would agree with. Someday I'd like to find out something that everyone thinks is good about me, rather than constantly finding out how many people share the same views of my numerous faults.


It upsets me when it gets thrown in my face that I'm good for only one thing, a thing that doesn't matter much when you're seperated by an ocean. I know I'm not perfect, but I will stop whining, all places but here. I will not bother others with my problems, for I know that my life has been handed to me on a silver platter, and what I see as trials are merely me having tantrums over what I cannot control. So I will let my demons out here, rather than abuse my relationships with other people, so that if anyone hears my bitching, it will be because they came here of their own free will, so it's their fault that they are wasting their time but their own, rather than mine, for once.

To Those Whom It May Concern, and you know who you are. Don't insult him. Don't you dare insult him. It rips a hole in my heart every time.


My thoughts are all cloudy, jumping from one thing to another without ever coming to a satisfactory conclusion. Could I have done this? Should I have done that? Maybe, maybe not, but it'd be a lot more helpful if I knew what "this" and "that" were. I saw someone skating on campus today, and bit my lip, closing my eyes, willing myself with all my heart to not cry.

I'm not certain if I prefer being around people or not right now. When I'm around people I must smile, laugh, help customers, be "happy," be "alright," must forget things. And then I am alone, staring numbly out the window of a bus, thoughts depressed to the point of even internal incoherency, my soul leaden and whispering in the corners of an empty shell.

And he says, "This week has been too nice."


The nights are the worst... When I find myself with nothing else to occupy my mind, and when unbidden by me, my mind starts tracing contours of a remembered jawline. And I open my eyes to see my hand cupping air above my head, running down the side of a face that isn't there.

Someone asked me why I took the rest of my pages down. I'm not sure, but I can guess at why I did it. I needed to prove to myself that I could exert some little amount of control over my life, no matter how insignificant and petty. So I'll put them back up sometime, when I feel like it.

My every breath burns, and my muscles ache like I've been playing a full weekend Ultimate tourney. Why is it orange juice only tastes good when I'm sick? And if anyone ever does a study on emotional trauma causing physical illness, I'll volunteer to be a subject...

When you walk in the door and a well-meaning roommate asks you how your day went, how can you say "well, I just spent the last 45 minutes crying in the shower, and the several hours before that watching my email inbox, how are you?" without sounding like you're whining?


I wake in the morning, and no, it wasn't some horrible dream.

I'm not feeling so hot... I turn a pair of maple-leaf earrings over and over in my hand, and while tears track down my jaw, wonder how the hell I'm going to be able to go to school today.

God, Ethan, Mike, I understand you a fraction better now, and I'm so very sorry. I don't want to feel me anymore, not like this, not this hurting, please, just let it stop, please.

"Psychosomatic symptoms/toxic and hypertense.../affecting the eyes/the ears, the nose, the throat...." Slightly different situation, but I know what she's talking about. I feel like dried up shit.


Ever had that feeling that a part of you is dying inside? That awful clenching, the stomach dropping and skin turning to ice. The death of a dream, of a wish, of a integral piece of self. Heart clawing its way out of chest, throat constricting with tears that can't be shed. Numbness. A paralysis of breath. Mouth open in a silent scream of anguish. Eyes staring unseeing at blank walls. Realization; that something is gone, wrenching emptiness.

What do you do when you know that no, you're not going to be alright, but there's nothing anyone can do? When all you want to do is crawl under your desk with your teddy bear and scream, tears running down your face, but you have to get up for school tomorrow, you have a quiz, you have a lab, you have work to go to. When you can't cry aloud because your roommate's there, and when there's no one that can tell you it'll be okay, because it won't be. And when the answer floats hazily before you, and your heart screams frustration and pain at the concept "nothing."


I love this time of year. A few leaves drifting around, cool breezes, stark black branches thrown in sharp relief against blue, blue skies. I watched sun coming down through falling leaves this afternoon, watched my breath fog in front of my face, and felt nostalgic. Reminded me of high school in some pleasant way... spending nights at Psycho 5, wandering back in the dark and hearing the scuffle of dried leaves as I planned a deck. Makes me sad... makes me remember the people I've left behind, all those that I've hurt and never had the chance or situation to apologize to; which leads me on to those I've hurt more recently, those who are here and now, who I cut as if by a knife by my very existence. I feel so helpless... I don't try to do it, it just happens, and there's nothing I can think of to do, which makes me hate myself all the more for not being able to come up with a solution...


I had such a great day today, even if football traffic can rot in hell. I'm in a great mood, I had a good dinner, had two really fun games, and had some chocolate. My life is about as close to complete right now as it can be with a part of it several thousand miles away. So, I'm happy!!!!!!!


Even the most hellish day and stressful afternoon can be remedied by the wonderful feeling of being surrounded by friends, comfortable and warm, and with the certain knowledge that I could fall asleep at any point, and it'd be okay.


On the tao of I-Will-Not-Scream:

I haven't hurt myself very badly in the last year. Certainly not any that I can think of where I thought I was going to pass out from pain, or anything. My karma must have been saving up. On Sunday, Franklin came very close to breaking my left index finger when I was helping him dismantle a futon. The first joint got caught between two parts and started getting crushed. My vision was greying around the edges and I asked Franklin quietly to pull the pieces apart. He misunderstood me and started manipulating the pieces in such a way that I could start feeling my bones grinding. I asked him calmly to pull the other way, removed my finger, and wandered out of the room dazedly. I was running my hand under water, examining the ugly purple dent in my finger, completely silently, when Joe came up and realized that I was hurt. He was surprised that I hadn't cried out, or even made a face. Today, I was taking the dorm stairwell up two-by-two when one foot slipped. I'm not sure how it happened, but I ended up getting a edge of a stair slammed between my kneecap and femur. I tried to stand up and realized that I couldn't. My leg was numb, except for a strange pulsing right around my knee. I hauled myself to the landing with my arms on the bannister, and suddenly sagged, supporting my entire weight with my hands. It felt just like when I broke my foot in 3rd grade; I thought I was going to throw up. I swung my leg experimentally; after a minute I could limp on it, and I continued up to drop my homework off at Devin's, my ears ringing and my vision swirling. I didn't even yelp, there in the stairs.

I think I thought someone would hear me. I didn't want someone to stick their heads into the stairwell and see me helpless. I didn't want Andrea and Franklin and Joe to freak out, or to tease me for getting my finger caught (especially since Andrea had warned me an hour or so before to be careful about that). You'd think that that sort of thinking would be short-circuited by immediate pain, but I guess not. Either that or in my old age, the shock-reaction has become silence rather than a scream.

My knee hurts... there was a dark bruise forming not 2 minutes after I fell.



This working nights thing has got me completely turned around. I can't seem to figure out for the life of me how to get stuff done in the afternoon (well, I got some stuff done... some), so I end up being up until 2:00 am doing homework. At least I had a great time at work today, and if I weren't so dog tired, I'd write more about that. Perhaps tomorrow...


Dream... so garbled. I remember something about helping Jeremy Fuller with chemistry. ARGH! Why do I have to have the unknown with the ridiculously high boiling point??? ALWAYS???? The other three people around me all have theirs boil at less than 120 degrees, but nooooo not me. Still not going at 190, and TA says that that's not even in the +/- 8 degree range. FRRRRAAAAAACCCCCCCCKKKKKK.

I miss my boyfriend.


I feel like shit. Stressed, guilty about not doing homework, scared of starting work today, and the fact that I feel like my brain is going to explode (little pinpricks of light... blossoming against my eyelids... grey matter shooting out of my ears and nose...) isn't helping.

But after going to work for the first time, I can say: I... feel... so... much... better!! It's always a nice feeling to have worked oneself up for nothing. I'm actually serious about that. I'm a big believer in the "believe in the worst" attitude. It means that either I'll just get what I expect, or be ecstatically happy when I turn out to be wrong.

I've been a crappy friend... I'm sorry, I've been really distracted with myself, and I've been neglecting some people (you know who you are). I just wanted to apologize...


Talk about the busy weekend from hell... I don't even have the energy to write anything and I'm stressed out and I start work tomorrow what the hell am I going to do???????


I'm so tired... Flood of people, inundated by questions, hit upon by at least three guys, leave me alone, I'm sorry, it's club policy, not my fault, please don't yell at me...


    *gasp* *gasp*
  <ATTITUDE FEAR="lots" HOPE="some">
    I think I <I>might</I> have done okay at the job interview.

*Bounce* *bounce* *bounce* I got the job! I wasn't really too worried about getting it, because they really need the people, but it's so nice to get the confirmation. Yippee!


The feeling when waking of having been dreaming something terrifying... (shudder). At least I didn't remember it, whatever it was. I hate these spells of vivid dreams... I much prefer it when I don't remember anything at all; when my rest actually feels like rest.


Earthquake dreams last night... goddamnit, it's just going to be one of those weeks, I guess. And I hate getting up before 9. Much less at 7:15. The rest of my ramble today I put on a separate page. It's disconnected, typed up verbatim from something I scribbled in my notebook during my hour break. To warn, it's a stream of thought resulting from seeing the Center for Bio-Ethical Reform's graphic Abortion=Genocide exhibit in Red Square. Invasion of my Visual Space, and Thoughts Resulting.


Swimming, dim water, spinning and watching a sunset through the surface's refraction. A dolphin? Mother beside me, smiling at the jeweled headband I wear, pointing through the water to where the crystal lies. My forehead heats up, and mirrors the pinkish red growing in the Devil's Eye below. The crystal fills, and a bolt of light races towards me. I am transfixed in the water, arms spread, head tilted back as the crimson red light uses the headband as a path. I am screaming, but no one can hear me under the water. I'm dimly aware of Mother being pushed back, swallowed in the raging water, but then it's only the heat, the blasting heat, as the earth shatters and explodes around me. Then soothing cold, as everything goes black, and the water rushes back in to reclaim its place.

Dreams are the damndest things sometimes. I actually dreamt that five years passed after that, that my mother died, and that I only found Dad again in the post-apocalypse because I saw his laptop screen through the jungle. Trippy.


I'm lonely, miss Brian, need a hug, depressed, and want a hamburger. Blah.


I had the strangest sensation while driving home tonight. I actually caught myself thinking "it wouldn't be so bad if I just closed my eyes for a little bit." While driving. My dad's car. Lord... it was freaky. I tried to get home as soon as I could and well, I'm going to bed. Now.


Perfect Blue kicked ass. Mindfucking movie, great stuff. I have decided that nothing in life is as good as a good massage. Food, baths, sex, etc, screw it all, I just want a neckrub.