Dusty Newspaper Clippings and other mental disorder: December 2005

I'm about to get kicked out of the lab. Tonight chatted with Eric of the knitting group. Nice guy, shy. I asked him how he got into knitting, and he said it stemmed from an interest in knots, like they teach in boy scouts. Knots? You *know* what ran through my dirty little mind when he said that! I was like, "oh, realllly?" Heh heh heh.

Saturday, December 17, 2005, 7:32 PM

Day-before-yesterday and again today, I slept until five p.m. I have no idea what's the matter with me!

Newman's inspecting the computer screen, noting the appearing letters with fascination. He was such a good boy yesterday at the vet's. We went there first thing -- I didn't bother to go to bed. Fortunately, *very* fortunately, he's not blocked. The vet gave me antibiotics, which Newman hates. He seems to be in better spirits though. I've read from a couple of different sources (the Holisticat group at Yahoo and Dr. Pitcairn's book) not to give dry food to cats, so I've put them on raw again. They seem to like it.

I bought some bumble-bee-shaped buttons over the net for a knitting project. The pictured bees were so cute! What I got in the mail were these ugly things that I could have picked up myself at Hobby Lobby. I'm pissed. But since it was only five dollars, I guess I won't fuss about it. I've resolved to paint the buttons myself and hopefully make something of them.

Sitting here ruminating about nothing in particular. I think Matthew Modine is so attractive. He would be the kind of guy I'd like to hook up with: handsome, but not explosively so. Him and Adrien Brody.

Wondering why I'm so fascinated with dolls. It's crazy. Maybe I'm crazy. But, a touch of craziness isn't necessarily a bad thing.

The first time I went to New York City, I made a point to visit Grand Central Station. When I walked into the concourse, try as I might to be nonchalant, I craned my neck, oggled, my eyes widened, and a big goofy-tourist grin spread across my face. Musta looked like a regular turnip-farmer.

Anne wants a pink-haired Sydney (from Tonner). So, I bought an inexpensive Ice Blue Syd, who comes with white-platinum hair, and I'm going to dye the hair a delicate pink (easier than re-rooting a whole head of hair). I think she'll like that.

I hate papers in English lit. I don't know what to say about books. What is there to say about them? I read it and I either liked it or I didn't. And if I didn't, chances are I didn't finish it. I mean, gawd. She didn't like my last paper because it was biographical rather than arguing a point. What's to argue? The books are in the canon, accepted as "significant." End of story. Comparing this to that or looking up the symbolism or some other such garbage eludes me. It's so stupid. I've tried and I've tried and I just cannot write that stupid paper. I might get an F, and that would mean a complete loss for this semester.

"The jacmanna was bright violet; the wall staring white...Then beneath the
colour there was the shape. She could see it all so clearly, so
commandingly, when she looked: it was when she took her brush in hand that
the whole thing changed. It was in that moment's flight between the
picture and her canvas that the demons set on her who often brought her to the
verge of tears and made this passage from conception to work as dreadful as any
down a dark passage for a child. Such she often felt herself--struggling
against terrific odds to maintain her courage; to say: "But this is what I
see; this is what I see," and so to clasp some miserable remnant of her vision
to her breast, which a thousand forces did their best to pluck from her.
And it was then too, in that chill and windy way, as she began to paint, that
there forced themselves upon her other things, her own inadequacy, her
insignificance ..."

--Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

I love that description of creativity -- it's so true.

Tomorrow I'm going to see my bro and his family. He has a 'puter of course, and I'll check my email there and stuff, but I can't blog from there; I don't want to leave any traces behind. Hope I have a good visit. My horoscope says not to say something I'll regret, which I tend to do, so I'll be vigilant.

Looks like Sienna Miller is trying to live up to her name:

Newman has a bladder infection. I'm taking him to the vet as soon as they open, seven in the morning. I'm so upset--this is my fault. Dammit. I'm taking the cats off dry food and putting them on raw again. I've joined a holistic cat group to learn more about it. I fed my dogs raw and loved it. The extra moisture will help prevent Newman from bladder infections in the future. *sigh*

Balwearie, you bet I'll be very busy over my holiday! I've blown all my money again, so I have to starting painting again for ebay sales. Additionally, there's a million gazillion knitting projects in the works and a new airbrush I bought (yikes). I will not be idle, I assure you. :-)

Has Blogger eliminated the time/date management? No more retro-posting?

Tard. I've gotten about three hours' sleep in the last 36 hours or so. Don't think I did too well on my essay exam, but so what. I got a B on the paper I turned in. Still have to work on the last one. Gotta be done today.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005, 11:54 AM

The cats are so lucky, they don't have to go to school or to work. I don't know what I'm going to do about this English class; I might fail. That would be a first for my major, in which my GPA is 3.7 or something like that (overall GPA is much lower, of course). Right now I don't care but I know that afterward I will care very much, and the shame of it will weigh me down.

Sometimes I wish I could just find a millionaire to marry. Someone who's relatively decent and treats me well. Someone who'll let me do whatever I want to do. That way, I'll just stay at home all day, every day, and be content with my painting, knitting, ceramics, airbrushing, my dolls, and my pets. I could become a true artist and make some money selling my work. I just don't want any responsibilities. I want to be a child again, to have the childhood I never had.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005, 12:07 AM

I read Orlando and enjoyed it the most of what I've read of Woolf's so far (To the Lighthouse and Mrs. Dalloway). What's funny is, I checked Orlando out from the San Francisco library in 1993 after I first saw the movie. Had no idea who Virginia Woolf was, aside from hearing the name referred to occasionally. Couldn't get through the book; it was indecipherable to me then. Kind of embarrassing, since I was 26 at the time [has it really been that long ago?], but at least it shows that my intellect *has* developed somewhat. Thank god.

My sleep/wake cycle is all fucked up. Backwards. I'll be taking my final with acute sleep deprivation. And this fucking paper won't write itself. I think I took on too big of a topic. Think I'll just focus on one book instead of my original idea. Let me pop a couple of Wellbutrins. The doc upped my dose, and I swear, it's as good as speed.

I designed an intarsia pattern and knitted it up. After several corrections, it turned out kinda cute. I'm getting the hang of this color knitting thing. Me likey.

Guess what -- it's five o'clock now. Forgot to talk about the Narnia movie. I was somewhat underwhelmed by it. Don't get me wrong, it was a good movie and faithful to the book, and I just love Tilda Swinton. But the kids' acting was sometimes not very good, and I don't remember Susan being such a panty-bunched nag. And sometimes the CGI was lacking. No regrets, but still, not a mememorable film, in my ever-so-humble opinion.

Oh, and all those damn Disney movie trailers were a bit much.

So today I read the last book of the Chronicles of Narnia. It's got to be the most satisfying finish of any series I've encountered. It makes me [almost] wish there could be a place like in the final sequences, but I dare not. Don't laugh at me. I wish there really was someone like Aslan, someone I could pour my love out to. I don't know how to explain it. And I better not hear from anyone that I need to find Jesus Christ. It makes me sick how the Christians have jumped all over this movie, claiming it as theirs.

Four o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting here in the campus computer lab like a big goober.

When I was a kid, my dad ruined Christmas for everyone, every year. He hates Christmas tree lights and yelled at me when I plugged them in one Saturday morning. He'd be in a mood for weeks so that the rest of us had to tip-toe around him.* He's just a selfish asshole. Earlier this year my mom revealed that when my dad was a kid, he was sent to California to spend Christmas with his dad, step-mom, and two half-siblings. The half-kids got presents but my dad didn't. That blows, it really does. I mean, what the fuck were his dad and step-mom thinking? But it doesn't, in my opinion, excuse my dad's adult behavior; it doesn't justify his desire to fuck Christmas for everyone else.

I don't celebrate Christmas. I'm not a Christian; I hate the commercialism and the obligation to buy presents for people that they don't need and that I can't afford. I think it's stupid to string up electric lights everywhere and being in a store with Christmas music piped in overhead is enough to make me want to slash my wrists. Awright, that's me. Other people want to celebrate and enjoy Christmas, that's fine. But I'll stay away from the malls until well after the holidays. But I hate malls no matter what time of year.

Shit, am I a crank or what? Is it inevitable that we turn into our parents? If so, it gives me yet another reason to be glad that I never had kids -- I wouldn't want to make anyone else as miserable as I was.

*My mom pisses me off. She made me her confidante of sorts when I was a kid, telling me her marital problems and griping about her husband. Wrong! Parents should never do that to their kids! Anyway, she said once, "It makes me so mad that we have to walk on eggshells around him." But she would never say anything to him directly, then or now. My attitude is, you married him and put up with his shit all these years, you're as much to blame.

PLEASE don't let me get depressed this year. Three Christmases ago I had dinner by myself at IHOP. That was awful. After my separation when I was such a mess, my mom said, "I don't want you to be alone and depressed at Christmastime," and I replied, "So why should it be different from any other day of the year?"

Anyway. I'm wearing some new canvas cargo pants that I liked at first, but now that they've been washed a couple of times, they're too short. :-E

I hope I don't get the holiday blues this year.

I looked up Quentin Crisp since he played Queen Elizabeth I in Orlando. I hadn't realized he's passed away. Anyway, IMDB.com says, "When, in preparation for his move to America, he was asked at the US Embassy if he were a practicing homosexual, he replied, 'I didn't practice. I was already perfect'." Hehehehehe!

Omigawd, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was released today. I didn't know that, I thought it was next week! Must see, must see!

Well, the paper wasn't written. But at least I came up with an idea and spoke to the professor about it. I'm to turn the paper in before the 13th. The idea is to discuss how genders are depicted in Virginia Woolf's novels. Done to death, I'm sure, but I don't care. I'm going to check out and read Orlando, and I just watched the movie here in the library. Love that movie! Jarring ending, though. Still.

Well fuck. I've been here around twelve hours and still no paper, muses or no muses. I simply have no idea what to write about. I chose To the Lighthouse as the book about which to write a paper (the other choices were "The Waste Land" and Women in Love--the latter of which I hated). Anyway what about To the Lighthouse? I don't have anything to say about it. It's wordy. It's hard to follow. It talks about how the men of the period affected superiority but were in fact dependent upon their women. I dunno. Talks about time passing. Dawn, help me!

Oh, and the luscious hottie man hasn't written me back yet. Why not? Have I offended him already?

Scientists: Titanic May Have Sank Faster

"May have sank"??? "May have sank"?!?? "May have SANK"???!!!!!????

Uh, so far I've looked at the atrocities on awfulplasticsurgery.com, read the news, checked eBay, and stuff. Do the damn paper! Do the damn paper! Tomorrow's the last day of class!

Oh, I read Wicked. Don't know what all the fuss is about, if you want the truth. Points for an original spin on an old story, though. Also read Mrs. Dalloway. Virginia Woolf is not for quick reading, yo. I'm sure I'll wind up rereading that one in the future to get more out of it. Right now I'm reading In Cold Blood because I recently saw Capote, which was fucking brilliant. I already had the book, I'd just never gotten through it. Did you know that Truman Capote only had a high school education? No shit!

Guy #1: With fiction books, if someone tells you the ending, it's like there's no point to them. But with non-fiction, you can know exactly what's going to happen and they're still a joy to read.
Guy #2: Man, you really should try getting laid sometime. Stop bothering me.
--Clovis Press, Williamsburg
Overheard
by: nalin

I'm sitting at the university computer lab; gotta write a 7-8 page English paper, due tomorrow. Don't know what the fuck I'm gonna write about. I see a long night ahead, may not even go home before the one o'clock class. Hope I can find a place on campus to take a nap. Anyway, I've got a couple of Dawn dolls sitting on the desk beneath the monitor. They're my muses. I'm getting some very weird glances. What's the big deal? They're just dolls, gawd. I've got an Angie at home whose face I dyed brown, and I gave her an AA body. She looks great.

Dawn's who got me back into collecting dolls. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

There's someone whining loudly on her phone and I'd kick the bitch's ass, but I'm old and white and would probably lose.

GottDAMN! I shouldn't have posted a picture of the late Sam on my blog, I scare myself every time.

I was just looking at some fan sites for the U-noa Quluts Lusis and Sist dolls (I want the Sist). I'm a doll collector and all, but in my humble opinion, some of the ball-jointed-doll genre is, well, weird. I mean, they have dolls with animal ears and tails, devil eyes and horns. Also, there's, like, S&M outfits and photographs of dolls making out. Sorry, but that's just gross if you ask me. I cherish my dolls, but they're just that -- dolls.

Haven't posted much. V has kindly transferred some surplus yarn from his stash to mine. Schweet! You da man, V!

I've been enjoying my renewed correspondence with my marine corps buddy. We touched on some deep issues, like our respective inabilities to connect with others. For me it's kind of healing.

I also initiated contact with a hottie, who I think I've mentioned before, I used to work with in New Zealand. I was married back then, though. Anywho, I sent him a note saying, "if you're ever in my neck of the woods, ~~come fuck me~~ look me up."

Dusty Newspaper Clippings and other mental disorder

Monday, December 19, 2005

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Friday, December 16, 2005

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Monday, December 12, 2005

Friday, December 09, 2005

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Monday, December 05, 2005

Saturday, December 03, 2005

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