Extremely Perishable

Just like the Titanic, my virginity and acid-wash jeans.

Read it and Weep

September 30, 2004
I just can't help it. I can't help the tears swelling. In part, I blame the my current state of terrible-ness. Stress. My inability to relate to my parents what it is that is happening to me. (Man, those people don't know how to read me at all.) The skipped homeworks, failed quizzes, shitty papers I have accomplished this week. The chronic exhaustion.

But if we're looking to pin-point the exact event that precipitated in my ocular precipitation (easy now) it was this: THE CORNELL SUN GOT MY FUCKING NAME WRONG.

I wrote a great article for them, for the entertainment section - an article that took me into the small hours of Monday morning to finish. All week I've been looking forward to my first published piece - I mean...it was a feature article too! And then when I get the stupid paper and find the page...there it is:

(Stupid Title the Editor Gave Article)
By LAURA *******

MY NAME IS NOT LAURA, YOU INCOMPETENT ASSES!

That's what made me cry. And maybe there was a lot more behind the tears than that, but the typo was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Hockey Stick Contest

September 19, 2004
Again...trying to avoid hateration...but it's hard. Every Sunday I sit in as an endured member of my residence hall's comittee and every Sunday I come out more frustrated than I did the last. Mainly because of the "president" of the proceedings who is an unholy fuck-head. He's a self-satisfied, macho, condescending weasle of a guy who (along with his co-president) wields a hockey stick as a symbol of his power.

O...and his girlfriend is a skinny little brown noser who can't remember my name or even that I live in the building, despite the fact being pointed out to her many times.

People Who Squat in Your Place

September 18, 2004
(And Other Stories.)

I didn't know how good I had it last year...being on the fourth floor. True - I disliked being in a double and I disliked living on a floor with zero traffic - but in hindsight the traffic part wasn't so bad. This year I get the same people knocking on my door everytime they pass it. (They pass it a lot.) These are the same people who say "I'm only coming in for one second" and then end up camping out in my room for 30 minutes. These are the same people who put their feet up on my desk and make themselves at home. One day I'll probably find bird squat on my mousepad, from the bottom of someones shoe.

Why is it that you just feel so stupid asking people to take their feet off your furniture? I feel stupid doing it, which is largely why the activity has not stopped. I just feel people should already know these things, so I'm usually taken aback at having to school people when they break the rules.

And I know these rules are stupid...but it's my damn room.

For me it's always been the case that you can fart deliberately and anonymously anywhere, but not the place where I rest my head. That's just the way I roll. And I try to return the favor.

The one time when I seriously disrespected someone else's crib was when I went to my best friend's house, in England and she threw a party and I had too much to drink. In the morning I woke up and spent a good 2 hours cleaning the puke from the living room carpet. I also puked on the throw blanket she gave me, which was one of her favorites. Yeah. Damn.

I'm usually good on the respect front tho.

The Killing Game

September 13, 2004
There is definitely someone close by who is trying to kill me. I just killed the girl on the fourth floor. She was on her cell phone in plain view. I couldn't let her just sit there while there was killing to be done.

We're playing Assasin. By the way. Just in case there was a thought that any of this was real.

Some people have been hovering around my door, swimming up and down the hall like sharks. They're just waiting for me to step out and die. Ain't doin that. I kinda want to live and keep killing people until I'm the only one left.

While playing this game, you actually get to experience a genunine sense of fear. At one point, I was skidding down the hall - and I came out of myself for one second, realizing that I was really, truly panicked and afraid of being killed by some stealthy fucker in a corner. I felt like somebody was truly after me. For real. I was actually terrified.

The Answer to the Question

September 12, 2004
There are times when I question myself. I usually ask myself what would make me happy. What do I want? This is the big question that everybody asks. What do I want...right now...out of life...for myself? How do you get to where the happiness is? Over the past few years I've been blocking out that question because the answer is intimidating. Because I don't know.

Too many questions with doomed answers. That's why we all do drugs.

I gotta get out of this place. I'm bored already. I need something else.

Nine-Eleven

September 11, 2004
It's September 11th today. It's been three years. I just thought I should acknowledge that.

And not with a fucking Jenga Tournament.

Contextual Observations

For real, I don't like that my room is so dark right now. The light bulb on my bedside blew a few days ago. I don't like that.

Great. The freshmen are running loose. And raging...

That may be the only bad thing about living on North Campus still. The freshmen are so...freshman-y. This is an off-the-top-of-my-head euphemism for "painfully innocent." "Innocent" is a bad word. This doesn't mean that I somehow don't know that there are slutty girls and macho, sadistic male fuckheads in the class of '08. I know them. I see them everywhere, we're discussing them here - what I mean to say is that they have no self-awareness. The sluts don't know that they're sluts and if they do, they can't put it in context. And of course, it's not just the sluts. This is true for a whole range of archetypes. There goes that judgement thing again.

I would say something about the boys, but I don't feel the need.

Put it in context.

I may be calmer this year, but I'm also meaner - less likely to let your bullshit slide. Isn't that interesting. I've noticed myself being less "patient," quietly shocking some people I live with. I only know that they were shocked because they told me.

But of course they did it in a joking way to camoflage a real accusation.

Back in the Game

September 09, 2004
It is my natural impulse to write. Blogs are good but leave the authors open for judgement by anyone. That's something you know in advance. But...we still do this shit.

People do and will judge. I judge other people. Other people judge me.

I hate the idea of it. Hate it. But we can't do anything. How can we control the way other people view us? What I want is to try and move beyond. What is hardest for me and many others, however, is that sometimes judgement comes from discrimination - a place of ignorance. Small minds. That is hard. We live with that. We exist in it. We learn how to thrive in spite of it. That's our goal.

I'm gonna try and keep it real this year. I fucked up last year. I was unhappy. I cared too much about things I shouldn't've cared about. I'm feeling much more mortal this year. I feel much more like water.

I overdosed on excedrin a few hours ago and had a hard time being normal.

I don't want to talk about anything else. I'm not going to waste your time with things that I should deal with more directly. I hope that I can avoid publicizing my anger - I have not been good at that, in the past. It's just that I find letting go of that shit very difficult. Ima work on it tho.