Live from Lynchburg!

On this date in 1988 my guinea pig died. He was three. I know this is a compelling moment in history, but bear with me. The only reason I remember the date is that it was my best friends birthday and I got home from her party to find my dear, dear, G.P. dead as a doornail. A tragic event. Currently I am at my grandparent's house in Lynchburg, VA--I haven't been down here in over a year but it has been nice. My grandfather and I get along very well; we just kind of understand one another. I've had the chance to talk to him for several hours--I feel like he thinks its going to be our last conversation, a notion that depresses me on one hand but gives me peace in knowing that we have had the opportunity to really get to know one another. He and my father are very close--thing is, he is my mother's father, and being that my mother and father don't exactly get along (understatement of the year) my grandfather and father rarely get to see each other. But oh do they care deeply for the other--my grandfather said, "You know, I love him like my own son. I don't like to hug other men, but I love to hug your father; I wish he was my son." That breaks my heart!
By the way, my father and I fixed Roy the Raging Tempo the other day. Turns out it wasn't the alternator but the power steering belt, so we went and picked up a new one at Antetiam Automotive and spent the afternoon working on it--one of us under the car, one above it, both cursing and cutting ourselves. Theory is, a job isn't done until a Spooner bleeds, and boy is that ever true. We can't even write christmas cards without some sort of injury. But the car works for now, can't say it will work tomorrow but lets hope so because I have to drive home from my sister's house. Still no plans for new years--spend it with the boys possibly, possibly with Josh (!), maybe simply with family. Break has been just what I needed--free time to read, sleep and play, friends to be "bored" with, family to talk with, a white christmas--a simply summation of quality time. I'm in the middle of "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" by Dave Eggers; it's a phenominal book, highly recommend it. Anyway, think I'll go read more of it.

I'll be (Towed) Home for Christmas, Round II

Christmas eve! A cold and gray day with little to do but wrap last minute gifts and prepare the goodies. Josh called me around noon and asked if I would like to go play frisbee golf with him and his friend and, while proclaiming my inability to throw a frisbee, I accepted the invitation. I met them in Shepherdstown, an absolutely delightful town that is a bizarre mix of dirty old hippies, college students, civil war buffs and DC tourists. I was nervous; I had not seen him in two years. We had a ball! I lived up to my earlier proclimation, but I only landed in the creek once and got par on two holes. The flurries that had started earlier began to increase in intensity, so we ended our game and headed back into town to grab a cup of coffee before heading home. Of course it being christmas eve every place with the inclination to even own a coffeemaker was shut up tight, so we settled for birch beers at Ed's Tap Room (where Josh used to work). I began the hour or so drive home and about six miles outside of Shepherdstown my car made a funny noise (not an event) then the battery light came on and the power steering promptly went off. ugh. Realizing it was something with my alternator I decided to try to make it as close to home as I could get before it totally drained my battery or failed completely. I am not fully ignorant when it comes to car-ish type things; I am a true renissance woman. Or not. Anyway, I got to a stopsign about three miles from my house and my headlights went out and my wipers were getting sluggish. My time was a-tickin'. Finally, a half-mile from my house, my god-forsaken, sorry excuse for a functioning automobile finally cut off entirely. I called my father, who brought the truck down, tied my car up and towed me home in the snow. God bless Virginia. So I got home safely, after being towed there! I guess we'll look at it again in the morning. Don't know if it's worth fixing, but it's Christmas and I don't want to think about it!
Right now my brother is in the kitchen baking sugar cookies, my father and his girlfriend are finishing up last minute wrapping and Emmylou Harris' christmas album, the only one I actually like, is singing out the stereo. It's snowing, the fire is bright, the pets are dozing by it, I am home safely and I am filled with a full understanding why it really is the most wonderful time of the year.

Blame the Bills

Okokok, so I haven't posted recently. There's a logical reason I swear: I lost my fingers. Well that doesn't work? Crap, I thought it was almost foolproof. Ok, it's because my father's computer likes to freeze up more than the Bills do in Super Bowls. Anyway, I have been writing posts on my laptop, and I just transferred 'em to disk and so here they are! Enjoy, happy break, good luck to a certain someone who has D-day today. Thoughts are with ya!

December 22nd, 2002

I am so happy to be home. I woke up today with the sound of the front door opening, "Oh dear Lord no one is supposed to be here!" was my first thought, until I realized where I was--"Wait a sec, there isn't a ceiling fan in my room in Syracuse..." it was not a bad confusion to wake up to. Old friends Cindy, Paul and Seth came over (I have known Cindy since the first day of kindergarten and Seth since 5th grade...) and we went out to play pool at a bar about 20 minutes away. We were laughing in the car, because we sounded like the start of a joke. "An art major, a finance major, a spanish major and an environmentalist were riding in the car...." We all absolutely stink at pool, but the conversation was fun, the games were pretty equal (turned into the redheads vs. the blondies) and the friendship valuable. It was just fun. We harassed a car full of high school students on the way home--oh what we do for fun around here. My cell phone rang at 2am, which means one of two things--disaster or alcohol. it was the second; Josh wanted me to go boating with him this morning but I had other things to do. That will prove to be a conundrum this break. Anyway, back to enjoying my time of doing as little as possible!

December 21st 2002

Oh thank the lord today is over. Seriously. Last night Caroline and I went out for a healthy dinner that consisted of lots and lots of water, caesar salads, spinich artichoke dip and an apple dessert. Ok, not that healthy, but better than the "pizza-beer-wings that didn't necessarily stay down long enough to be digested" of last night. Ugh. But I was a packing fiend, hangover or no hangover and I was ready to leave at 9am today. But Caroline and I agreed to meet for breakfast, and that didn't happen till 10-ish, so I didn't get onto I-81 south till almost 11am. Why do I do everything with Caroline? She's my best friend, we just do, ok? No it doesn't get boring, we have enough random crisis in our lives to make every conversation at least a bit interesting.
Now my car is the infamous Roy the Raging Tempo, a 1986 white Ford that likes to stop working when he feels like it, which is about as often as Oasis band breakups. I was a little nervous, to say the least. So outside of Marathon, NY I am crusing at 70, crankin' the tunes and settling in for the almost 7hr drive when suddenly, Roy stops drinkin' his gas....I am in the fast lane. This is not good. But I get over and get off the highway before he completely shuts off. Well blast. Zoot. I think "fuel pump" but I just got a new one. I think "ignition switch" which seems possible, or timing belt, or fuses, or clogged fuel line, or, or or...ARRG! Before long AAA arives (bless their little towtruck hearts), a nice old man stops to ask if I need help, as does a state trooper--all these nice men and not a single one of 'em attractive--this day just gets better! (kidding boys, I'm not THAT shallow). I ask to get it towed back to Syracuse, while my plans are unfolding in a random pattern of questions and answers--so how do I get home now? Who is in town to pick me up? How much will this cost me? Did I pack my toothpaste? I call those I know in town and who are programmed into my phone and secure a ride (JoAnne RULES!) and on the way north the towtruck ("Jack" will fit in later--he's tow dude) needs gas so we stop in Courtland. While there Jack says, "let me see your keys, I want to check it out." Now in Virginia if a towtruck driver says this to you, it means "I'm gonna junk it for the spareparts on my new NASCAR replica" so say no, but in NY, take a chance. He pops my hood, fiddles around with a wire (or "warr" as it is in VA) says, "AhHa!" and starts my car. On the platform of the picktruck. Now I'm wishing Jack was hot so I could kiss him in happiness, but the feeling passes. So he says, "I'll tow it back to my place, really secure that wire and get you on the road!" So we drive back south to where he is, which is somewhere between Ithaca and nowhere. On the way he explains that it was the ignition coil wire (of course!) and that it was just loose. Back at Jack's Body Shop in Lawd Knows Where, NY he takes out a pair of vice grips (I have my own pair in the trunk) pinches the end of the wire, puts it back in, tugs at it, decides it's in well, then charages me $20 bucks for that. Wow. I'm going into the wrong profession. So I pay him and I'm walking back out to my now-running Roy when the foot of ice or so on his driveway gets the best of me, and I fly up in the air and bust up my knee kinda bad. Then I drove for another 5 1/2 hours and couldn't straighten it, so it's bruised and stiff. I'm a sally I know. So yeah, made it back to the highway, less than 5 miles from where I had broken down, 2 hours before. Needless to say I didn't get home till later, I'm beat but happy to be here. Back in VA again! My car gets an oil change as a reward for getting me here without another visit from Jack or his kin. 8 hours of pretty much I-81. I think we need to spend some time apart.

December 20th, 2002

First and foremost, I am hungover. Badly. That being said, it is fairly easy to assume that I shall not be leaving for Virginia today, as promised. Just as I didn't leave yesterday (that was fault was scholastic). Or the day before (that too was scholastic, I assure you). But tomorrow! Tomorrow I shall, barring any scholastic or alcoholic mishaps. Where was I? Oh yes, back to the hungover part. So today I was being efficent--laundry was being washed, CDs were being organized, rooms were being cleaned, it truely was like I was posessed by the currently incarcerated spirit of Martha Stewart (or of "Alice" from the Brady Bunch, not sure which). So of course who should call but my mother, and the conversation proceeded to follow a detailed track as to how I may now be posessed by deamons because I have read all the Harry Potter books (twice! does that mean two deamons for the price of one? only one just may get lonely) As with any lengthy conversation with my mother, a strong drink is usually desired by the part of the conversation where one (or on good days, both) party hangs up angerily. (Note: my mother and I are actually getting along the best we probably ever have in our relationship, but we still have our typical angry mother/daughter moments. I do love my mother, but she is just so easy to poke at!) Anyway, so Caroline (who seems to play into some of my worst stories...) sends me an instant message in the middle of the conversation and I tell her the "strong drink" theory, she totally agrees so after I get off the phone with mom I head over to Caroline's for a single shot of rum, then to the Student Activities Office to drop off a present and say our goodbyes (I know, a shot of rum before going to an administator's office, but eh...). While there we realized our paychecks were in, so we stopped by Schine, picked up our checks and went to HSBC to cash them. Now HSBC is right off campus, in the area known as "Marshall St" even though Marshall is just one side of it. Anyway, while there we thought, "Let's go to Varsity, get $1 slices of pizza, some wings and a pitcher and hang out" a very non-alcoholic, non-planning-to-get-trashed, non-irresponsible notion. So we did. Now if this was the end of the story I'd give you permission to beat me, but of course it continues. So the only beer they have at Varsity is Bud, and I'm sorry I don't like drinking anymore urine colored beer if I have the option, so after we finished our meal we went to Darwin's, a quasi-nice bar/restaurant across the street and got a pitcher of Sam Adams winter brew. Again, the conversation was lively, the friendship quality and the pressing issues lacking, so we enjoyed ourselves and our guest Sam. The waitress came over and told us that Darwin's was closing early (it was 6pm) much to our dismay, so we finished off our pitcher and left. But oh there's more. We left Darwin's and Caroline throws her arm in the air and yells, "To Faegan's!" the other nice bar in the M-St. area. Faegan's does not sell pitchers, but the pints of Blue Moon came, and the conversation continued. And came and the conversation got funnier. And came and started to get a little slurry. And then I lost count. All of this goes fuzzy around this time for both of us. It has been about an hour and a half and we have had a pitcher a piece and about several more pints. It was bad news. So by the time 9pm rolls around (mind you, this is a thursday night) we are gone. So we paid our tab, stumbled (literally) out of Faegan's and proceeded down Marshall St. I made it about 50ft, then turned to Caroline and announced that I had to vomit (or "boot") so I did, into a trashcan on M.St. I was there for maybe 15 seconds. Then we procceded, until we got up past frat row, where Caroline announced that she too had to boot. So she did, into the yard of Theta Chi. Opps. We rolled in the snow at one point, mooned Caroline's ex-boyfriend's house, yelled a huge hello at our very sober friend walking by, rolled in the snow again, got lost, got back to Caroline's, called my housemate, talked online, talked to Eric, then passed out, me on the futon and Caroline on the floor, with her head in the papazan chair (we don't remember how she got like that either). Then Caroline's housemate home, and aparently whenever they said something to me I responded with "F**K you..." over and over. Now we had driven to the bank, and Caroline's car was still there when we woke up at 8am. We called my housemate to come give us a ride down to HSBC (we didn't feel too up to the walk) and as we pulled in, her Jeep was up on the back of a towtruck. Ouch. Luckly I had $50 cash on me (why? cashed my check) so we got the dude to put the Jeep down there and we drove back to Caroline's, where we procceded to do nothing till, oh, 1pm.
I am embarassed at myself. More angry I guess. It's stupid to get like that; it's fun at the time, but it's not fun to leave that impression on people. Like those girls will think of me as "the girl passed out on the couch who told us "F**k you" over and over!" for a long time. That is never how I want to be remembered. I want so badly to be a good representative of things in my life, but then situations arise such as this and I blow it. Maybe I'm being too hard on myself, maybe too lineient. Regardless, I messed up--lost control, lost memory, lost a perfectly good meal of pizza and wings and a lot of $$ in beer, lost time with my family, lost health--to gain very little, except an addition to a reputation I do not want to build. I don't know why it happened--seems just like another case of getting "accidently drunk" which occurs all too often, but fear it is a symptom of something far more sinister.

Sing, Sing a Song...

Well, yesterday my final paper was due. I didn't get it done. After Monday I was too beat. I had my calculus final at 2:45, got out of that at 5:00, crammed for Hydrology until 7, took Hydro from 7:15 till 9, then planned to pull an all-nighter for the communication paper. Nope. Not so much. So I went to sleep.
Yesterday I did as much as work as possible, which was honestly not that much--still feeling fried. I finished it today folks, don't you worry. 42 pages exactly.
Well in the past few weeks Caroline and I have gone out to eat often, probably because of the insanity that erupted with the guys in our lives or just because we were both thrown into bizarro world (she more than me) and didn't feel like picking up any groceries while there. Regardless, somehow Caroline always forgot her money, and remarked earlier this week how she was going to give me a crisp $20 before we left to pay back for the meals. I thought about it for a moment: if you spend money on someone with a meal, movie, etc it's a lot more fun to be paid back in the same way. A crisp $20 would be nice, but another dinner date would be better. So that's what we did! Last night we went out Empire Brewing Co. in Armory Square for dinner, with a stop at the wonderful Soundgarden to check out the new and used CD selection (I got Kelly Willis' new album "Easy" and Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville"). Empire is the best quasi-cheap restaurant in Syracuse, and they have a sample tray of six beers (5oz each) for only six bucks! We split one, ever so delectible. I had a delicious dinner with sweet potato fries, garlic mashed potatos and really good grilled chicken. Mighty tasty all in all.
Then, after a quick trip to Blockbuster, we headed back to Caroline's for movie night! Jason and Pat, two absolutely fantastic guys to have as friends, came over to watch "When Harry Met Sally." Since I was the only one who had ever seen even parts of it the boys were initially skeptical, but of course it's a fantastic movie so we all had a grand time. Caroline went on (another) wine tour two weeks ago so she had a bunch of new bottles, so of course we cracked into a magnum bottle of Fauckerson's Red Zeppelin (from the Finger Lakes Region of New York) while we enjoyed the now classic scenes of Harry and Sally. After the movie Jason bid us a great break and left, but Pat, Caroline and I thought it'd be fun to polish off the wine and bust out the karyoke machine, so we did.
And it was great.
And it was loud.
And it was BAD.
She has an entire Shania Twain karyoke CD, and then a girl mix and boyband mix! We were so excited we were almost hoarse before the end of it. When "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston came up, I immediately thought of my dear friend Paul in VA, who, at random moments (like in the middle of Wal-Mart), would burst into the loudest, most off-key version of the song your poor little ears could imagine. I figured it'd be the perfect thing to sing to his voicemail, so quick as that my cell was out and we sang to him, except he spoiled all the fun and actually answered his phone. Good to chat for a bit, though difficult to do while in a room with people singing karyoke.
Caroline then promptly fell asleep in her papazan chair. She does this sort of thing often, that's why she's a great friend. So Pat left to go home and I was sitting on the couch watching some made for TV movie, then before I knew it it was this morning and somehow Caroline had departed from the papazan and onto the floor. And we weren't even drunk! Oh well.
God bless classes being done! I shall be back in VA in no time!

"You Are Almost There."

Last night my friend Steve dragged me off my work to get chinese and watch a movie with him, and though I now dread the work that I did not get done, it was something I needed. After the movie, right before we were about to leave to take me home, we opened our fortune cookies. Mine said, "You are almost there." Wow. A deep fortune cookie. And it's true! It's something I do struggle with. It is encouragement that I needed to hear. I am so stressed with the work I must finish today and tomorrow; I do not see a logical way to finish all of it to the caliber that I want, but I do have this peace about it. But it applies to so much beyond what is today and tomorrow. It is a frustration I tangle with in future endevors, be it graduation, relationships, job searches or the like.
Thoughts have been swirling around me like I'm in a snowglobe; I pray for clarity and application.
Today I finally got a copy of the CD I recorded for last spring--very interesting to hear people around me singing a song of mine--a kind of vunerability I hadn't expected. It's kind of like my child; my own creation, that I have worked from conception to process to product and to see it exposed to the masses (or to the dozen or so who have the CD) and open to their interpretation is not something I had thought of. It's not bad, just unexpected. Cause, "I understand what I can see/it ain't hard to comprehend that it's my hands, my face, my feet/but there's a world that lives in liberty from the confines of my eyes/that I can't understand..."

Someone At Home

well, it's almost 3am, I'm still in the office and I'm trying to care about a poster that explains to a community what new developments and their septic systems will mean to the community, based on their soil types. I am not allowed to use any text to do this. It really is as exciting as it sounds. It's my fault it's not done; I've been procrastinating on this for a while.
I am so looking forward to going home for break. It's funny because up until the end of last year, I never wanted to go home, much less stay there. Now it's rare that I want to leave. When I go home now I stay at home with my father and his girlfriend; I love to simply spend time with them. Is that a sign of maturity or is it just that it's novel because it's such a rare occurance? My father's house has begun to have so much of a feeling of home this past year for some reason; it is safe, warm and comfortable. I guess now that I have my own house the appreciation for a place of comfort has increased. Sometimes people have to leave before they realize what a gift they left behind. I think I'm more comfortable about how I am seen in Virginia now than I was when I first came to college. There's a line in an old Alison Krauss song that said, "But there's always someone at home who never forgets who you are." and it's so true. There are those back in Virginia who, no matter where I go, what I achieve, how I change, I will always be to them who I was when I was 16, and that is so stifiling to be around! It feels liking being pulled in the wrong direction after spending time with them. But then there are also those people who knew me way back when and can see who I am now, praise the progress and encourage the future. They are the people who know who you are, not just how you are. And it is to see them that I cannot wait to return to the land of cotton, the great and wonderful Old Dominion. I feel defenses go down when I get home; it really is a time of rejuvination (and it's not just because of the hot tub or the fireplace!). Anyway, today my friends showed again why I am the luckiest person in the world. Sounds cheesy I know, but really, I feel that way sometimes. In people, opportunities, interactions, lessons and forgiveness. This break is about my own personal lessons, a ton of reading for enjoyment, some writing, lots of dinner dates with friends, lots of rebuilding, enough guitar to make me happy, quality time with my little sister, late conversations with my dad, lots of cookie baking, and surprise visits. Enough running for the semester, it's time to spend my time, rather than blow though it.
Until then, it's back to the septic systems....

-isms

Today I was thinking about addictions. Sure, alcoholism, botulism, Confucianism...wait. Addictions come in all forms, be they substance abuses, habits, ideas or lifestyles. I define addiction as an action that gains control over a portion or all of an individual's life on a regular basis, gains a priority status, and that the individual does not have the will or ability to curb this behavior. I guess I've never thought of ideas or dreams as being addictive, until today. Somes I cannot tell the difference between hopeful ideals and goals and the addiction of those ideas. It's one thing to be diligent in the pursuit for goals, but where is the line that crosses into addiction? To pursue dreams naturally requires steps and changes in one's life, but is the only difference between the two that one is supposed to lead to the betterment of our lives in the long run and the other invariably leads to destruction? What if dreams lead to dispair? I think of celebrities who strive so hard for fame but then collapse underneath it's weight, not realizing the implications of such a dream. How often it seems addictions rides the coat tails of the dreams realized.
People can get controlled by their own expectations until their habits, words, dress and personality are all molded around that one vague idea. I knew people like that growing up; those who were so focused on the "get married to the perfect man/woman and settle down" ideas that their ability to even participate in the mundane happenings of their day to day was impeded. Most would say that's a pretty healthy goal to have, but is it? To desire anything earthly to that degree does not seem healthy at all. It's making an idol out of a relationship or a personal image. Dunno. Sounds an insatiable task.
There are so many things in competetion for my time and energy that I wonder what is quietly stealing my ambitions out from under me. Who we create/desire ourselves to be can rapidly become more powerful than us; I want little me to keep the eyes and ties of reality. But I still want to fly in my dreams.

Right-ing

With all the chaos that appears to have hit whatever fan it was hovering in close proximity to prior to recent events and is currently flying willy-nilly at unsuspecting schmucks who happen to be walking by I have taken refuge wherever I can. My housemates are angry about the foxhole I dug in the front yard... The place I take most of my refuge is in writing. A vauge, rather ambiguious shelter to be sure, but my shelter nonetheless. I've been writing songs since I was about 12 and though I am often frustrated by the product, the process is a sort of therapy; it's like telling secrets, emotions, dreams and fears to a best friend who, in a time of danger or threat of divulgance, can simply be burned into never telling (and, I should note it's LEGAL to burn this best friend to a crisp, should they ever even consider straying away from your deepest emotional outpourings--this is not true of all best friend burning. Check with your lawyer as to the full legality of the best friend burning option). And there's therapy in burning to a crisp those words that once captured, oh so elequently, exactly who you interpreted you to be, so it's good all around. I have to write; it's unexplainable but something I do every day, be it a song, a journal entry, a letter or just a run though what I wrote previously; keeps me grounded in a way. And lately I have been more grounded than United Airlines, post Chapter 11.
Regardless, it gathers my ADD prone thoughts into some sembalance of a linear progression and allows for the rather anal process of analyzing these ad nausum, or at least until another crisis arises or chocolate enters the room. This desire to constantly do this analyzing is, I think, what truly separates males and females. It's definately not breasts, I think there are many in the male species who have more boobage per acre than I care to think about. I feel as if I should donate my bras to them, simply out of charity. "Bras for Bros" we could call it. Boobs, now those are some funny things. I wonder how many men have died for the simple want of seeing a specific woman's jumblies. Can't say there's been too many women who've died in bitter conflicts over the desired sight of that special man's package, but what do I know. It could have been for the sight of his melons the way some guys are looking. A few months ago my friend was talking about how to get more people to attend his bible study, and the idea of a topless bible study came up and we all decided "Jugs for Jesus" would work dandy for the title but Peter thought it would attract the wrong crowd. Posh. Everyone needs to hear about Christ, even those obsessed with knockers, and we never said it would be a coed bible study. Ehh, technicalities kill everything that's fun.
Anyway, what was I talking about and how did I get on the topic of boobs? Oh Lawd. Writing! Ah yes, writing, it's my outlet, it's wonderful, it's free, it's boundless, there's no rules (unless you are trying to submit anything to Jerry Fallwell's "National Liberty Journal", in that case, just make sure your main point ends in "...and that is why it is absolutely true that the Purple Teletubby is gay." then you be able to snatch up your share of that porky Conservative pride), you can do it with whomever, whenever and you don't even have to notify your HMO. Try it, you'll like it. I'm sure someone told you the same thing about Botox, but come on people, after writing at least you can still smile.

Soirees and Backpacking

My Saturday: I woke up a bit hungover and cold and began to pack for my little intro winter backpacking hike I was doing with my friend Steve. He picked me up around 1pm and I threw my snowshoes, ice climbing stuff and my backpack into the truck and after a quick stop at the grocery store we were on our way to Tinker's Falls, just outside of Tully, NY. We met our friend Dan there, who was ice climbing on one of the side columns. It was a really tough route and I'm not very good, but I did get to explain some axe placement to Steve which was fun. Steve and I went back to the truck to get our packs for the 1.5mile hike to the overlook, where we would be camping for the night. The parking lot was a mess of tire ruts and deep snow, and sure enough a small car got hopelessly stuck, so we spent the next hour figuring out how to pull them out. Finally, it was 3:30 and we needed to head up to make the best of the sunlight, so on we went. I had to stop frequently to catch my breath, cursing my pervious night's activities and promising to never drink again. Steve was patient but it did not help my overwhelming feeling of salliness. Up top it was rather windy but we managed to get the tent set and everything moved in before dark. Dan met us up there with his snowboard with the plan to board down the bobsled-like trail. As he summited, he ripped off his jacket and subsequent top layers, ran to the edge and stood, looking out on the dusk in the valley. At this time three skiers came out of the woods on the other side of the clearing. What a thing to ski upon; a half naked man standing on the edge of a cliff in 15-20degree temps with a strong windchill. Turned out the three skiers were three of my friends, so we had a nice chat before they headed on. One of the skiers, Jay, said that when he saw Dan he thought, "Great, not another naked skier." So Amy, Jay and Decker skied on, and Dan readied himself to snowboard down the darkened hill as Steve and I set up my little whisperlite stove for a dinner of soup. I was still feeling a bit hungover and not in the mood to eat, so I gathered firewood as a source of heat. After a little fire, even colder temps and biting wind, Steve and I gave up and went into the tent to sleep. I have a great 0 degree bag that I just LOVE, so I donned my balaclava, glove liners and fleece and clambered into my mummy sack, warm and slightly comfortable (I have a bad back, so nothing is ever comfortable). Sleep was fitful and Steve didn't sleep well, so we had minute long conversations all night consisting of, "You asleep?" "Nope, not really. You cold?" "A little. But my neck hurts like crazy." "Yeah, mine too." Then we would proceed to doze for a bit, then the process would repeat itself. When the morning finally rolled around we awoke to snowfall that threatened to get heavier any minute, so we quickly tore down camp and hustled down to the truck, chosing to have breakfast once we got out. It was a fun trip, I was so mad at myself about other stuff that I could hardly enjoy myself, and I hate being cold. Why in God's name did a girl from Virginia go to college up north, then decide to go camping outside in the north? I shall never know, and I know that I should, being that I've been here for over three years.
I need to get up to the Adirondacks more this winter, but now I'm so out of shape I'm almost ashamed to!

Who We Are/Who I Am

"When you live in a world, well it gets into who you thought you'd be, so I laugh at how the world changed me, I think life chose me after all." -Dar Williams
I, like so many others, would love to be able to consider myself completely independent of the ebbs and flows of the world around me. I'd like to spend time with a myriad of different people, backgrounds, beliefs, customs, morals and habits and still be my unwaivering self. Not to say I would like to be stubbornly unchangable, but rather able to take those fluxes with a firm grip on Who I Am. I have yet again proven that I am a product of my environment much more than I would like to be.
But Who We Are sure is a complicated thing, isn't it? Wars have been fought, lives have been created and destroyed, songs sung, books written, words said, retracted than said again; it seems an unceasing and complicated question indeed. I have prided myself in how far I have grown in the past two years, only to open my eyes to me in the same place I vowed never to be again. And how did that happen? I let myself think, for just a moment, that I was above all that. I'm not, obviously. I am not an unwaivering, unemotional slab of granite, sure in the fiercest hurricanes, however much I wish it to be true. Sometimes I think God lets us fail horribly so we can look up from where we collapsed and realize, once again, who really is in control.
I just wished I didn't have to fall to see, ya know?
How can I live in one world and daily strive to be in another?
I think I'm going to go write a self help book....for myself.

Lines and Lives

Julia Roberts: "If two people love each other, but they just can't seem to get it together, when do you get to the point where enough is enough?"
Brad Pitt: "Never." (from "The Mexican" an otherwise nameless movie in a sea of films exactly like it.)
Is that true? There is a person in my life with whom I had instant attraction--I mean INSTANT. And the realtionship with him had its ups and downs and twists and turns and ended in a way it shouldn't have. But here it is years later and we haven't seen each other since that breakup, but everytime we talk that attraction is still there--not necessarily the physical but this...this...this thing where we can finish each other's sentences, where somehow across state lines and lives we still get in similar situations, where what we do that we love so much it's rooted in our souls is still the exact same--we seem grown in the same earth. (We are three days apart--I am the older one...) A person who understands who you are when no one is looking. It's refreshing and tumulteous at the same time.~
Well it's allnighter time, hopefully the last of the semester. I'm in my office and I'll probably be here forever. Just realized I have outsmarted my professor and will be able to do a project I procrastinated myself into not doing until now. But it's done!
Thursday brings four classes, the TGIO (and the free beer there), the dinner at the boy's house, then BO 2 night at Emilie's. BO 2 was my first year dorm floor and all us girls are still pretty close, so it's time to celebrate together! I guess I'll sleep sometime after that....
I know I said I'd talk about "40 days..." but I'll get to it, I swear.

A Story About Numbers

Slugging though the days until the end of the semester....
6 more class periods, 42 more pages on my comm final, 85 more definitions and illustrations for visualization's glossary, 5 homeworks to finish for my portfolio and sketchbook, three more books to read, 3 more pages on my interp paper, one more calc lab, one more calc homework, one more creative piece for literature, two final exams and 13 days in which to do only the final exams. Everything else is due thursday or so.
Yesterday it got down to 9 degrees.
9...Farenheit.
I am from Virginia and that temp is not a normal thing people. 19 is an event there. Here it seems that's cause for shorts .
Snow has the ability to dampen the anger humans seem to harbor for rain and muffles the ambitions of all creatures, be it in hybernation, large food storages or shorter days. how lightly and silently it falls, turning the spectrum of fall into the monocrome of winter.
These past few days seem to be "full circle" days, where those people/emotions/situations that I thought I had left long ago appear anew, and though caught off guard it is not all bad. I just fear that the mistakes that followed those once lost nouns will again appear as a force in my life. I pride myself in how far I have come, but is it that I have changed and grown or simply that the situations that had that control over my actions were no longer present? I do not want to see the answer as of yet.
A few days ago I saw "40 days and 40 nights" and I have a ton to write about that one...another time, tomorrow possibly. Here's the basic point: how can any woman trust a man to be interested in anything other than sex after watching that movie? It broke down so much of the trust that the few good men out there try to build up, who are in relationships because they are emotionally attached to the girl, not because it's the most convient lay at that time. Anyway, I digress.
More tomorrow. Animal behavior, rape, VOTM, pop culture, religion, etc. Should be a whopper.

Cancer Sticks

Oh one more thing. Today is my grandfather's birthday. He woudl have been 87 but he died in August. I can't get over how loved and admired by his kids he was. A brilliant man, a kind man--he taught all of us how to shake hands, something people still talk to me about. I am proud to share middle and last names with him.
He died of emphysema (sp). If you smoke reguarly, please stop. If you haven't seen someone who can't talk because they can't breathe, or who can't walk without getting winded you should. Cut back on the cancer sticks for the sake of those who love you so much it hurts.

Not So Much 20/20

Whew! Back from California--I will post some journal entries when I get the chance. I was thinking about the phrase "Hindsight is 20/20" as it came up in at least two conversations today. See, I completely disagree with that statement. Hindsight is never 20/20; sometimes it can be more blind than the present view. It's nostalgia that kills all abilities to see backwards clearly . Nostalgia is a lens we use to see what we've come through in the most favorable light possible, forsaking all memories that may taint the image we are to recollect. Like in relationships for example. I know I look at some of my exboyfriends as these wonderful guys (they were all wonderful guys) who were in such happy and simple and peaceful and all around perfect relationships with me (a total lie). I see only the best aspects of the relationship and any mistakes or shortcomings that lead to the ultimate breakdown of that relationship I see as being my fault. He is absolved of any responsibility for the imperfections of our time together. So in hindsight, I was to blame for everything while in reality it was probably a mix of internal and external forces. Nostalgia is like a stained glass window used to see outside; each colored pane excentuates some hue in the world beyond the glass, taking what is a known reality and making it a highly slanted viewpoint. Check what color your hindsight is before basing all of life's lessons on what has passed.
To combat my serious nostalgic tendency, I began to keep a journal so when I do start to feel the bag of blame dig into my shoulder I can put it down and redirect my memories back to a more grounded path and a lighter load. Hindsight is also not an aerial view, seeing all the possible choices, outcomes, chance happenings and opportunities. It is not a know-all solution. Rather, it is the ability to stand at a point and see realistically what has occurred before and how the paths lead to that point and the ability to take that knowledge and apply it to that next decision. And the one after that. and the one after that. It is good to have no regrets, but don't fear the lessons so much that you never look back at them in a constructive manner.
That is my deep thought for the day. G'night all.