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Thursday, September 5th, 2002

Time:7:40 am.
Very rarely am I awake at such an hour as this, but I SET THE ALARM and WILLINGLY SHOVED MYSELF OUT OF BED. It was intentional.

I've noticed my 'angry' or 'beleaguered' journal entries are gramatically mediocre. One might even say GRAMATICALLY LACKING. If one can be morally bankrupt, isn't gramatical bankruptcy possible, as well? Okay, it's too early for this kind of thinking.

Classes start today! Since I know you all care so much, I'll let you in on a well-kept secret: my CLASS SCHEDULE.
8.35 - 9.50: Fundamentals of Politics
11 - 12.15: Physical Geology
1.15 - 2.30: Shakespeare

And then my other two classes, Creative Writing and Running for Fitness, are on M-W. It's not a bad schedule at all; I only have to get up early two days a week. AND I have no Friday classes! : D

To add to the goodnews, my bed is surprisingly comfortable! This is very important, people -- if you don't have a good bed, you won't have a good school year. Well, anyway, I'm off to see if they're actually serving breakfast in my dorm yet. (For some reason, they wouldn't cooperate yesterday.)
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Wednesday, September 4th, 2002

Time:3:09 pm.
If you've ever been blamed for something you KNOW isn't your fault, then you're aware of how bad it feels. My parents are going nuts, emailing me all over the place, calling me immature, etc. I had to hang up on my mother earlier because she was insulting me to the point that I was almost in tears while walking down the street. Now, if someone is telling you to 'shut up' before you can even finish a sentence, is it really worth it to stay on the phone with them?

Just to clarify, the problems have been solved.

I decided to check my mail this afternoon. Couldn't do it yesterday, as I didn't have the key to my box. I expected to find my class schedule mixed in among the leaflets, but it wasn't there. I was a little alarmed to discover a piece of paper telling me I owed $875 to the college. I had no idea what this was all about, obviously, since I don't PAY THE TUITION. My parents do. So I left a message on my mother's machine, telling her what was going on. I expected she'd sort it out with the financial services office without event. So I went back to my old dorm to gather boxes to bring to my room.

When I got back to my room with some boxes, I realized my mother had left three messages on my answering machine. And, of course, my phone didn't work, so I couldn't even check the messages, let alone call her back. I then noticed three new messages waiting for me in my email box, each one angry and urgent. I went outside with the phone (which miraculously decided to work again) and called her at the number she demanded I call her at. She sounded completely vexed. Apparently she had called the financial services office and yelled at them, too. (Incidentally, I went over there later to get something signed and APOLOGIZED to them for my mother's behavior.) She belittled me the whole time, telling me to 'shut up' while I was trying to explain things to her. So, like I said, I was on the verge of tears. I hung up on her just as she was snarling at me again.

I got everything taken care of. I have my schedule now, and even though the financial services office people aren't very fond of me, I have everything sorted out with them. I emailed my father, who also sent me an angry email, telling him the whole story. I certainly hope he's more receptive than my mother.

What's getting to me, though, is that they're calling me immature, and assuming this is all my fault. Hello, the phone isn't something I can fix. I have no idea what the hell's wrong with it -- and, as I've said to them numerous times before, IT IS NOT A BATTERY PROBLEM. Even if the thing is charged all the way, it'll still shut off at random intervals. This is not something I HAVE ANY CONTROL OVER. It certainly isn't something I CAUSED TO HAPPEN, at least on purpose. Oh, and also, I have no idea who the hell my parents think they are, telling me that the financial services problem is my fault. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I do not pay the tuition. I'm very grateful to my parents for the sort of money they shell out for me to be here, but I will not stand idly by as they insult me and take out their anger on me. BOTH my parents do this. And when I say things like, "I'm not going to argue with you" and walk away (which, it seems to me, is a BETTER OPTION than getting into a yelling match), they get even angrier. It's like they need someplace to vent their fury, so why not on the delinquent daughter? Yes, I know I was immature last year. I could have done much better. I was self-indulgent and prodigal. But that doesn't mean I'm helpless. I've already told them I'm going to do better, and I mean it, goddamn it. I CAN do well here, and I'm not going to listen to them tell me I can't, or that I need my hand held.
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Time:12:51 pm.
I thought it would be an easy day. It is anything but an easy day.

- Computer completely dead. "Deleting physical memory." I have no idea what the hell is going on with it, once again. Just when I had my internet setup perfected too. I'm refraining from using a string of angry swear words.

- College needs $875 or else I'm not registered for any classes. Classes start tomorrow. Bookstore closes in three hours. Yet again I am refraining from inserting an even longer, viler stream of swear words.

- Cell phone dead. It won't stay on for more than three minutes without just shutting off, and it has nothing to do with the battery. I'm about ready to throw it at the wall. Oh, but the battery IS running low, though -- and of course my charger is nowhere to be found. Glory be.

Numerous minor problems as well, although none is really worth mentioning. I cannot even call my mother to ask her about this $875 problem. I suppose I shall go email her. Then again, I have no idea if she's in court or not today, so she might not check her mail until sometime tonight -- in other words, TOO LATE. Refraining, once again, from a mile of furywords.
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Tuesday, September 3rd, 2002

Time:9:25 pm.
Uhm. This is going to be a little strange since I am rather intoxicated (marijuana) and also very sleep-deprived. I keep forgetting where I am. (Not literally, but you know.) I'm only dimly aware of what's going on around me. I want some applesauce. It's like I'm awake, but I've more or less lost sense of time (almost wrote 'him'), even though the clock is right there in front of me.

I'm here at Mount Holyoke! I found Tamazer and my old roommate quickly. Said hi to them and Tasneem. Forget who else. Oh, Emily! She used to go to my old high school. I had no idea she was enrolled here until today when she snuck up on me. This is so weird; I feel completely OUT OF IT, but I'm able to write a decent entry. Touch-typing, even!! Okay uhm.

My new roommate. Her name os Robyn, and she's FROM NEW YORK. She is a self-proclaimed party girl. She's a bit loud and talkative, but I don't really mind. She seems to like me in my inebriated state. All seven of us (?) went out to the graveyard to experiment with this girl's new bong. I had never used a bong before, so it was quite an interesting experience. I am not a druggie. Really. I did, however, start singing Prince's RASPBERRY BERET (except I re-dubbed it STRAWBERRY BERET) while performing some bizarre arm movements. Oh, ROBYN's the drug addict, not I. She does/used to do cocaine. She has taken a liking to me! Will I walk down the same path? SIFTING SANDS IN THE BRIAR PATCH.

ALL RIGHT, i FEEL REALLY, really out of it now... Uh, so I'm going to walk back to my old dorm to get boxes of stuff I left. Having fun, I think. IF YOU'RE READING THIS, I PROBABLY MISS YOU
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Monday, September 2nd, 2002

Time:3:58 am.
Despite the lateness of hour, I thought I should make myself a special "dinner." It is, after all, my last full day at home before I leave for Massachusetts. Sophomore year is upon me like a pride of leeches.

One of my favorite things to eat is sauteéd vegetables, so I made such a meal for myself tonight. Ingredients: Carrot wedges, celery nuggets, tofu cubes, and broccoli bits. Peanut oil (a change of pace from the oft-used and -abused extra virgin olive oil) goes on the pan. After a while, in go the veggies. Let them absorb the oil a bit. Once most of the oil is gone, add some soy sauce. Stir frequently. Try not to mash and squash the vegetables with your stirring implement.

It's very tasty!! Once, I used some bizarre red wine instead of soy sauce, and it dyed my tofu purple. Not doing that again. Also, it was much too bland. Vegetables and cooking oil tend to be on the bland side themselves, to say the least, so there has to be some sort of flavorful element to the whole thing. Soy sauce tends to work pretty well.

I have a CD of Chopin's nocturnes playing on the downstairs stereo. (It's loud enough that I can hear it upstairs.) This is the sort of CD I should own, rather than "Classical compilations" bought by the unwashed masses, people who know Beethoven's ninth but consider EVERYTHING else too esoteric. Chopin is not my favorite composer, but I think everyone should listen to his Nocturnes at some point. They're a reminder that there is a world beyond the all-too-popular uproarious and tremendous. Everyone knows/loves Beethoven's ninth, yes, and that one by Wagner (Ride of the...?). But there's so much MORE!

I don't have the CD case with me, so I'm not sure which Nocturne it is I'm listening to at the moment, but it reminds me of lillypads in a Monet painting. Ride of the...? reminds me of that scene in Apocalypse Now when they're blasting the Vietnamese villagers from their helicopters. (This is in part due to the fact that Ride of the...? is playing during that scene.) Ultimately, the choice to be made is thus: helicopters or lillypads?
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Saturday, August 31st, 2002

Time:9:19 pm.
Update: The spider is gone. *horror* You know what that means, don't you? *shudder* IT COULD BE ANYWHERE. *FEAR*

WELL, THERE'S ONLY ONE OPTION AT THIS POINT: STORM 'EM OUT. I once had a small white spider living inside my stereo, believe it or not. Needless to say, I blasted it out with excessively loud levels of music. AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN, TOO -- BUT THIS TIME THE LOUDNESS HAS TO COVER THE WHOLE HOUSE since I don't know where spiders like to stay. *is not relenting* If I see any more spiders, I'll make them RUE THE DAY they decided to crawl out of their disgusting tinyeggs. COMMENCING OPERATION SPIDERSTORM.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Time:8:43 pm.
Okay. This is important. AS WE ALL KNOW, Katharine is extremely arachnophobic. She gets very terrified at the idea of spiders crawling all over her in her sleep. AND NOW THAT SHE IS HOME (alone), she has discovered A LARGE WOLF SPIDER THE SIZE OF JAMAICA in the recipe room. It's just sitting there doing nothing. It hasn't moved at all in about two hours. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG IT WILL CONTINUE TO JUST SIT THERE?!?! I DON'T HAVE THE NERVE to approach it with the CAN O' RAID. Yesterday I ran over a frog while driving the golf cart and felt horrible for a long while afterwards. I CANNOT KILL THINGS. I HATE SPIDERS IMMENSELY but I won't let people stomp on them in my presence. ARGHHHRGHHR. WHAT TO DO?!?!

Going back to Mount Holyoke on Tuesday. No longer am I a stupid freshman! Now I'm a KNOWITALL SOPHOMORE! AREN'T I COOL AND TO BE ADMIRED?! I want to go to the mall and buy a large caramel coffeedrink. (IRRELEVANT.)

Komrade and I are scheming and planning for the CHRISTMASTIME. It shall be a GRAND ENDEAVOR, whatever that endeavor may be. (Doesn't that second clause have a nice ring to it?) I may end up in the GREAT BRITAINTOWNS! Yes, I can see the headlines now. LOCALS LAUGH AT AMERICAN TOO STUPID TO WEAR WARMER CLOTHING. AMERICAN CONFINED TO INFIRMARY FOR SEVERAL WEEKS AFTER HAVING SLIPPED DOWN ICY SLOPE AND FRACTURING NINETEEN BONES. WAS WEARING SANDALS IN 20-DEGREE WEATHER.

Yes, okay, stubborn. (WHAT THE HELL DO I DO ABOUT THAT SPIDER?!?!) People give you weird looks when your clothes don't conform to the season. Obviously the EYEBROWS WILL BE RAISED once the owners of said eyebrows see you wandering around in your snowcoat and boots in the middle of August. PEOPLE SHOULD MIND THEIR OWN BUSINESS with regards to attire, that's what I think.

I think spiders would be much cuter and more lovable if they had big, white eyes. Some tapdancing wouldn't hurt, either. And the LEGS could stand to be significantly SHORTER. And while we're at it, how about FEWER LEGS ALTOGETHER? Also, the name 'spider' isn't very nice-sounding. We'll have to rename it. "Speeder" isn't menacing at all; it's almost cute. And it even SOUNDS THE SAME, almost. Furthermore, it'll be CHARMINGLY IRONIC: as the speeder flees from that which threatens it, it will only hobble along slowly BECAUSE ITS LEGS ARE SHORT. SEE THE OXYMORON? Yes, this is the Perfect Spider. People should get to work with the genetic engineering already.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, August 29th, 2002

Time:6:53 pm.
Here's step one: Description.

Things feel a lot stranger when you're sick. Days drag on forever. You feel as though you're completely sapped of energy and could collapse into sleep at any minute -- but invariably, you know you'll end up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for hours to fall asleep.

Now, step two: Making shapes from concepts. OR: Redefining "intangible."

To me, time is a rectangle. Not a square -- that just doesn't seem right. Time is a rectangle. A black rectangle on a white background. Don't worry about the size of the rectangle; that's not important. For purposes of imagination, picture the rectangle lying on one of its longer sides. The two shorter sides are x, whereas the two longer ones are 2.5x. This is time.

Sickness can distort one's perception of the rectangle. No longer is time a sharp-edged, straight-lined figure, but an amorphous "object" drifting around of its own free will. The edges have gone soft, the lines have blurred. One stops noticing the drifting-by of minutes; instead, one focuses intently on the faint buzz of a cicada. One continues to hear this buzz echoing in one's head long after the cicada has moved on. One briefly removes one's attention from the cicada's sound to glance at the clock.

Finally, step three: The procedure.

And two hours of time has rollercoastered by. Earlier today I was standing outside some unmarked governmental building downtown, waiting for my mother. I had just registered to vote, and I was waiting out on the sidewalk for her as she ran an errand. City quiet. People walking. Short man with gray hair smiles and says "Hi" to me. No cars pass by. Woman comes out of building, asks if I need help. No, I'm all right, thanks. I continue to wait for my mother.

Come home. Throw up. Fall asleep. Dream about high places soaked with water.

And I can still feel something racing around in my veins. If it's not alcohol, I don't know what it is. I'm far from intoxicated, but something is draning the tension from my muscles and making me weak.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Wednesday, August 28th, 2002

Time:11:38 pm.
Uhm. URGH. Sorry about that last entry; I'm not actually suicidal. Worry not. I was in a state of never-before-surpassed drunkenness -- I'm surprised my typing was so good, considering the condition I had put myself in. (I have very low tolerance to alcohol.)

I seem to be one of those SLOPPY, WEEPY drunks. BOO HOOOO, FEEL SORRY FOR ME! SOB WAIL BEMOAN. It's very shameful and embarrassing once I find out about it when sober. Actually, I can still feel a bit of the alcohol still in my BLOODSTREAM, but it's nowhere near like it was last night. I should stop drinking to fall asleep.
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Tuesday, August 27th, 2002

Time:5:06 pm.
So there I was, driving my dad's car down 34th street. I wanted to turn right on 22nd avenue so I could go to the bookstore or some such place. I turned into what looked like a turn-only lane.

Of course, there IS no turn-only lane at the intersection of 34th and 22nd. Whoops.

Suddenly I found myself slamming on the brakes just milliseconds before careening up onto the sidewalk. I managed to dislocate myself from the traffic completely; I was in the middle of a bank's driveway. Whoops again. I silently cursed and looked in the rearview mirror to see if I could get back in.

Right behind me was none other than a Florida State Trooper. Not two cars behind me, not in the next lane over, but RIGHT THERE. TWO OR THREE MERE FEET AWAY. Oh my god, I thought to myself. HE'S NOT GOING TO STOP ME. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! IT WAS A NATURAL MISTAKE. OH MY GOD. The cars started moving again, and he let me go in front of him. Nervously, I edged the car back into the line of traffic and turned right on 22nd. I stared intently at the rearview mirror, hoping the cop would keep going straight on 34th. But no. Seconds later, there he was again.

Lights flashing. OH GOD. Where do I pull over? OH MY GOD I DON'T HAVE MY DRIVER'S LICENSE. IT'S ALL OVER NOW. What do I DO?! Can I just speed away? NO, IDIOT! PULL OVER! OH GOD! WHERE?! WHERE?!?!?

Finally I turned into a little sidestreet. As expected, he followed behind me and stopped when I did. Shamefully, I rolled down my window. He took his sweet time sauntering up to my car. He said, in a ridiculously southern twang, HELLO, MA'AM! KNOW WHY I STOPPED YA?
Me: Yes.
Him: Well, you were goin' so fast you woulda gone up on the sidewalk! Now are you sure you know your way around here?
Me: Uh, yes, sort of. (Bollocks shite. I know this area like the back of my hand. But I wanted to play the MIGHT-BE-A-TOURIST card; that way, he might have clemency.)
Him: Good. I was gonna give ya some direction... I don't wantcha to get in an accident now, ya hear?
Me: Yes. I'm sorry. I won't...
Me: *sigh* Thank you.

HAHAH NO TICKET. That was close. But I would have been screwed if he'd said, CAN I SEE YOUR LICENSE AND REGISTRATION?! I don't even know what/where the registration IS. My license is buried in my wallet somewhere, and of course, I chose not to bring it with me on the day the cop pulls me over. Yaah.
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Time:2:43 pm.
Why are people so anti-Kazaa/Morpheus? Okay, yes, spyware, etc. But if you toy with things properly, you can turn it off. (Or so it seems.)

Speaking of which, I FINALLY found Maison Ikkoku episodes! : D *is downloading* Also some X-Men Evolution episodes for Komrade. (They're all taking their sweet time to download, unfortunately.)

We're having one of my dad's friends over for dinner tonight. I can't stand having guests -- my parents have a very annoying habit of shooting me angry glares when I don't act ABSOLUTELY PERFECT and HOSTESSLIKE in front of whoever's visiting. When I was younger and had no clue about etiquette, I'd act even more awkward in front of people. This would infuriate my parents, of course, one of whom would end up dragging me into a separate room to give me a sharp lecture on how I shouldn't act like such a "spoiled brat." Believe me, this has happened more times than I would care to remember. It's not guests I mind, really. Having people over can be fun, if they're (genuinely) nice.

I've been getting into confrontations with my parents more often than usual. Maybe I'm just tense about going back to college. Maybe they're just tired from work. Maybe I've worn out my welcome at home. Who knows.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, August 25th, 2002

Time:9:43 pm.
Listen to JUMPIN' JACK FLASH by the Rolling Stones. DO IT! A very fine song.

I'm going to REGISTER TO VOTE soon!! BUT WITH WHAT PARTY should I affiliate myself?! Democrat? Republican? Socialist? Green? Libertarian? Communist? Fascist? (Is there even a Fascist party in America? I doubt it.) I'll probably end up as a Democrat, because you can't vote in any primaries unless you're a member of the TWO MAJOR PARTIES. I have no idea why that is.

The only other viable option is Libertarian. Strangely enough, the libertarians are more or less ridiculed by EVERYONE. I have no idea why THAT is, either. LIBERTARIAN IS NOT EQUAL TO ANARCHIST, PEOPLE! AUGHGHHHHH.

I'm more than a little fascinated by Haruki Murakami. When I was in Cambridge so many weeks ago, I happened across a hardback scholarly WORK on him. "THIS IS WHAT MURAKAMI MEANS WHEN HE NAMES A BOOK 'NORWEGIAN WOOD'!" and such. So very scholarly.

But anyway. It seems this homme japonais has become something of a health nut; he runs every day, and he quit SMOKING so as to increase his PHYSICAL WELLBEING. Furthermore!!... HE IS A LOVER OF FINE MUSIC. I ADMIRE THIS. Classical, rock, jazz... Wow. He also has quite the large music collection! *salivate* If ONLY I could spend my days writing bestselling books, running all over the place, and listening to CDs and LPs... IT WOULD BE A FINE LIFE, INDEED.

But I am condemned to drinking grape juice and listening to mp3s...
They certainly aren't as AUTHENTIC as the real thing (CDs, LPs)...
Also doomed to never ceasing my purchase of "BEST OF!" collections...
I hate those... Not authentic at all...
Almost never released by the artist...
And anyway, they're for people who are only after the radio hits and nothing else...
See my point?...
I should stop using DOT DOT DOT; it looks like I'm trying to be deep and meaningful.
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Time:5:24 pm.
Am now $300 poorer because of a vast array of New Ralph Lauren Clothing. Have become aware of various facts:

- I HATE PANTS. They're so POINTLESS! I refuse to believe they're fashionable on ANYONE! I DEMAND THAT YOU ALL EITHER WEAR SHORTS OR NOTHING. Who CARES! Even if you're LIVING IN COLD all year round, there's no excuse. I hate pants. They look moronic.

- White is not my color, ever.


- I can't help but look DIGNIFIED and CLASSY in my fine forestgreen tortoiseneck and KHAKI SHORTS. Also BIRKENSTOCKS. OBVIOUSLY I'M THE posterchyld of CAPITALIST PIGDOM. Admitting it, folks.

Oh, and on that note, lots of weird dreams! VEGETABLE PAD THAI. What is that, anyway, and why do I relate it to politicians? Oh, hey! NEON GENESIS EVANGELION! It's so cool. I need more episodes WITH SOUND. Maybe when I get back to college I shall re-insinuate myself into the STREAMLOADING WORLD. How about STREAMLOAF, though!? (That was the original typo.) *imagines droves of identical loaves of breads hurtling through nanospace* Well, that's enough. I would like some food.

I had a dream about CITIZENX last night, believe it or not. WAIT!!! LET ME TRY THE CODE!!!! *GASP, ADRENALINE, ETC*. Here we go. citizenx HELP!!! DID IT WORK?!
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Thursday, August 22nd, 2002

Time:11:58 pm.
It's over.

Sophie and I are officially finished. She and I talked online for a couple minutes tonight -- despite her contentions to the contrary, she seemed brimming with anger and spite for me. I won't even go into what happened; it's over, and it doesn't matter anymore.

I never sent her that scathing email, and I'm not going to. I'm done. I have no wish to set myself up to be hurt by her again. Too much trepidation, too many tears. I've blocked all of her screen names and deleted them so I don't have to look at them and be reminded.

My eyes are still red from crying, and I still feel incredibly hurt, but I'm exonerated. A burden has been lifted. To anybody who offered me advice, consolation, or just listened while I ranted about her, thank you. This whole fiasco has made me realize how lucky I am to have you all.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Tuesday, August 20th, 2002

Time:3:30 pm.
To everyone I owe an email: Soon, I promise. I've just been busy driving around and being mad.

Sophie sent me an email today. It so infuriated me that I found myself driving like a maniac and slamming on the gas pedal when it wasn't quite necessary. Good thing I didn't crash my dad's car on account of her.

She has the fucking nerve to DISREGARD everything I put in the email I sent her. I'm so fucking finished with her. I have had MORE than enough of my share of Sophie-drama. She acts as if it's HER BUSINESS to talk about my family and how much money we have and what I do in school. And she's totally fucking CLUELESS about the concept of TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR HER OWN WORDS AND ACTIONS. That's the part that really pisses me off. Whatever she does (AND SAYS!!!), it's her family's fault?! WHAT THE HELL? She has to grow the fuck up already. And stop looking for pity from each and every last person she meets. Maybe THAT'S why you have no friends, Sophie.

I have composed a reply -- a rather angry, full-of-swear-words reply. I'm pondering over whether or not to send it as is, or to revise it so it's a little less acidic.

Not that it really matters what I do, anyway. What's at stake here? A friendship that wouldn't last long, that's what. She's already told me on NUMEROUS OCCASIONS that Jimmy is her only friend. WHAT THE FUCK WAS I TO HER if she has the nerve to say that?! But she's complained about him so much in the past that it's a wonder she can find it in herself to stay with him. OH, but he, TOO, has been ABUSED BY HIS PARENTS. OH YES, THE ULTIMATE GALVANIZING FACTOR. FUCK YOU.

Christ, I'm pissed. I realize that the grammar in this entry is less than perfect, but whatever. I'm going to go for a run.
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Friday, August 16th, 2002

Time:3:09 am.
No more Harvard. I'm home.
(And still an insomniac, being that it's 3am and I'm livejournalling.)

Yearbook was lying around, and I decided to peruse it... ah, reliving memories, etc. Leafing through the pages. Yikes, page 113. It's Sophie, looking demure and absolutely adorable. The picture was probably taken a few weeks before she and I met. Such a cutie-pie.

And just as I was beginning to "forget"... Ugh. Stop thinking. Going to sleep.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, August 15th, 2002

Time:12:01 am.
Jeez, man. It's hard to break up with people. Believe me, I run over approximately fifty Sophiememories a day, and each one makes me want to pick up the email and refriend her. But we've both got inordinate amounts of pride, let me tell you. Even if I DID find the nerve to go groveling back on my very knees, she'd probably be too resentful and pissed to consider absorbing me back into her lifecube. Jeez, man.

Could be worse. I could be Darby Crash. He was the (secretly gay) lead singer of the Germs. (Intentional) heroin overdose. "Here lies Darby Crash." "Icon" of the California punk "movement." Lexicon Devil. 1958-1980. Dead, dead, dead, 24 hours before John Lennon got to be the very same way.

The midnight hour is upon us, and today's the day I go back to La Floride. Three hours in a not-so-jumbo jet with some highly-unsavory salted bits and approximations of coke. (EASE YOURSELF BACK. LISTEN TO FLEETWOOD MAC, SMOKE SOME POT, AND SNIFF SOME COKE.) But I mean the beverage, the beverage, the BEVERAGE WHICH I DON'T DRINK anymore due to TEETH-CORROSION. Bongo, mango, dentition. IT ALL MATTERS. It's PINK it's PLASTIC it's a FRUIT. I like sea life.

I'll miss Cambridge; I was happy here. Heated arguments, yes. Full-scale fights, yes. Meaningless sex, yes. Drugs, uh, a little bit. Alcohol, none. YEAH BUT I've been asked, SO, WHAT'S A CALLIOPE? And it seems to me that the best answer would be A SOFT WHITE CHEESE. Or maybe A GREEK GODDESS JILTED BY HER LOVER?! Certainly nothing like A STRINGED INSTRUMENT. We still don't know what it is. And I'm sober.

Yeah, but they say, THE HOTTER THE FIGHT, THE HOTTER THE LOVE! That's what I heard. Hmm. And I'll have you know that a sentence beginning with a conjunction does not count toward your total. Furthermore, people need, need, NEED TO LEARN that LONGER does not equal BETTER in the case of PARAGRAPHS. NINETY-FOUR LINES on ANY subject is tantamount to SIN. SO CEASE, CHILDREN!

I do not recommend the pomegranate. You just suck the blood off the seeds, and that's all there is to it. I do not recommend the parmesan. Tastes bad, smells rancid, and TRUTHFULLY, THAT'S WHAT IT IS. I WOULDN'T LIE TO YOU ABOUT THIS!!! FREEEEEEEEEEBIIIIIRRRRD!!!!! I DO NOT RECOMMEND THE TOMATO! HINT OF BITTERNESS IN THE TASTE THAT'S TRYING TO MANUFACTURE SWEETNESS; COMES OFF AS mediciney.

All right. The last night in Cambridge is upon us. We shall retreat to the DORMROOM and listen to OpIvy. ~~ALL I KNOW IS THAT I JUST DON'T KNOW... ALL I KNOW IS THAT I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN'. just like, as if, I'm not gonna change my mind. THIS TIME I GOT IT ALL FIGURED OUT
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Wednesday, August 14th, 2002

Time:3:52 pm.
MY LAST FULL DAY AT HARVARD! IS TODAY! IT IS! HYEEK! back to Florida TOMORROW at THREE PM. Gotta take the metro. Gotta haul the big bags of stuff.

TOOK THE EXAM today. VERY LONG. HAND HURTS. Talked about sedimentation and globaization and the PLO. Stefan finished about three minutes before I did. I kept staring at him when I should've been WRIRINGINNgn.

- GUNS n ROSES (appetite for destruction)


JUST THOUGHT I should let you know. CAPS KEY WAS STUCK

Battery's gonna die. THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKIN' AND THAT'S JUST WHAT THEY'LL DO. ONE of these days these boots are gonNNA WALK ALL OVER YOU. ooooooo ooooh HAHAHAHA JESSE sounds like Ian MacKaye (once lead singer of Minor Threat, now arsified in Fugazi).
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Monday, August 12th, 2002

Time:12:25 pm.
Just as predicted, it did not go well.

It got to be 9pm, and I decided that I should call her. I had a horrible case of nerves; my heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands were shaking. I spent a few minutes collecting my courage and trying to make my voice seem normal -- if it wasn't Sophie who answered the phone, I wanted to make sure that person didn't suspect anything.

After verbally encouraging myself that "Everything will be okay," I picked up the phone and called her. After three rings, she answered.

I said, "I have to talk to you. It's important," and she said, "I can't talk right now! I'm grounded! Just tell me, what did you do? Was it cocaine? What did you do?" Her tone was impatient and almost patronizing. Finally, though, after I convinced her that it was more important than she seemed to think it was, I said, "I have to stop being friends with you."

And then, it seemed, all my relaxation efforts were for nothing. I couldn't hold it back. I started sobbing. She said, "Go ahead and cry. I don't really care anymore."

I had planned to ignore the inevitable accusations I knew she would throw at me. Without even allowing me to elaborate on why I was doing this, she told me that I could never understand the sort of things she went through with her family -- how her father beats her, how her mother neglects her. And that's true, to some extent. But that's not why I broke up with her.

Still crying, I interrupted her in mid-sentence: "I can't stand to be hurt by you anymore." And that was it. That's the only reason why. It doesn't matter to me that she and I are from two completely different families, living two completely different lives. It doesn't matter to me that she and I are almost entirely opposite. And I have learned to live with her little idiosyncracies, things that would annoy most other people. I had gotten used to her.

Soon enough, she said she had to go. I'm not sure why, but I couldn't bring myself to say "bye." It seemed like giving up, somehow. I wanted so badly for her to try to stop me, because I guess I guess it would show me that she DID care for me enough to try to preserve the friendship. But she made no effort to stop me. Her response to my "I have to stop being friends with you" was little more than "Okay, fine." And that's what really hurt.

I talked to my father on the phone after Sophie hung up on me. I did a good job of keeping my voice from shaking, which was good. (The reason I don't like to tell my parents about bad things that happen to me is because I don't want them to get sad, and I know they will. I hate to see my mother cry over me, and I hate to see my father worry about me, so I try not to tell them about things too often.) Anyway, I told him that I had just broken up with a friend that evening, although I wouldn't tell him which friend. He told me that if it was a good, strong friendship, it would eventually repair itself in time. I wondered if that was what I wanted.

At 1am I came down to the computer lab and sent her an email. I can barely remember what I said in it, only that it was three lines long. I ended it with "I love you."

I'm such a fool.
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Sunday, August 11th, 2002

Time:4:40 pm.
Back in January, Sophie and I had a big fight, a very big fight. There were lots of reasons for it. We immediately stopped being friends, and we went almost four months without speaking to each other.

Now it looks as though it might happen again, maybe even permanently. The thing is, though, she doesn't know about it yet. I'm going to talk to her tonight, if I can. To say "I'm scared" would be a major understatement. I'm petrified.

But more than anything, I guess, I'm sad. I have no desire to do this at all. Over the years I've lost some friends, and losing another one -- especially such a special one -- is not an appealing prospect. But I'm doing it because I HAVE to. She has no idea how much she hurts me sometimes, mainly because I don't exactly advertise it. But I can't keep letting this happen; I can't keep letting her hurt me over and over and over. It tries my patience, but most of all, it's hell on my self-esteem.

You'd think that someone who insists that they care for you might actually show it once in a while. That they wouldn't get furious every time you called them. That they might say "I'll call you tomorrow" and actually do it.

So, if everything goes according to plan, it will happen sometime tonight. I'm oscillating between fearful adrenaline rushes and waves of sadness. I wish there was something else I could do, but I've tried everything, and she's still the same.

I hope it goes well, but I'm pretty sure it won't.
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