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[02 Jun 2003|11:20pm]
I've tasted those lips of yours before but I've forgotten what it feels like. Friday night when you were sleeping on my couch I told you I'd sleep on the loveseat because I was afraid I wouldn't get up on time in the morning if I'd gotten too comfortable in bed (but I'll admit now I did it because I wanted to be close). I'm glad you didn't want me to pull the bed out -- I would have climbed in, at least for a little bit. I hate sleeping alone. Sometimes I let my little brother (who's too old for this sort of thing) to climb into bed with me even though it's crowded and cramped just because.

You are the only friend. Half the time you're non-existent. I wish you lived closer. You wouldn't need a girlfriend that way. But then there's me. Who the hell am I? My beautiful boy, you just may be right: I just might have had the life sucked out of me. But those girls that you find with sincerety, what does that say about you, if anything, when they decide, when it's even an issue, that they wouldn't be so happy if you ran off to boston to sleep with an old friend. Exlove. Currentlove. Sometimelove (but there's no time for time.) Ifeverlove. The girl you said: let's make a suicide pact to when you were twelve and I laughed and said no thanks.


There's a scene in Henry and June where she's sending June off -- in a cab or a train or something and she says "I want to kiss you, I want to kiss you" and then she does: it's dizzying, gratifying.

La disparue. [01 Jun 2003|10:36pm]
He's the kind of friend one tucks in the back of her mind, because he's not here anyway, except when it's necessary; it's better that way because I'm not sure we would stay in touch otherwise. It's my fault he has to say 'stay in touch' because of my tendency to drop in and out of existence. It's a terrible thing to be reminded of how lonely one is.

Pauline's Intuition Strikes Back [11 May 2003|08:48pm]
I KNEW it. They're going to have a third student speaker at graduation. Is there a point, then, for the valedictorian and the salutatorian to speak? I always conceived that it was to honor and recognize the achievements of the two most academically distinguished students in the class. I am by no means suggesting that if there were a third student speaker I would feel as if the school were dissing my achievement, but one of the BIG hallmarks of being #1 or #2 is that you DO, indeed, get to make a speech -- and that is a special privilege. Even if there were, say, an oratory course (or courses) at this school, I would understand it -- but this is a totally random, out of the blue kind of deal. And I don't like it, because they haven't earned the privilege of speaking with four years of especially hard work -- especially considering my GPA and Michaela's GPA are points and points higher than anyone else's. And the move is definitely politically motivated.

"I want to have sex with you," she said. "It would be good for my memoirs." [11 May 2003|05:29pm]
i am a student of
the psyche’s steamy underbelly, of
(personal ads and)
wishes out of view, of
those words unspoken -- not
from crippling emotions but
crippled motions or
taboo --

i am a student of
humanity’s hidden shames and
secret vices –- a voyeur of
voyeurism and those unintentions
unmentioned in daylight --

i am a student of
the unwatched and unnoticed;

La disparue. [05 May 2003|10:27pm]
He's the kind of friend one tucks in the back of her mind, because he's not here anyway, except when it's necessary; it's better that way because I'm not sure we would stay in touch otherwise. It's my fault he has to say 'stay in touch' because of my tendency to drop in and out of existence. It's a terrible thing to be reminded of how lonely one is.

[10 Apr 2003|02:02pm]
I am dissociating myself with the drama department because I am leery of the unacknowledged power structure that has developed over the past few years. Smelling the foul scent of favoritism in the air usually means that I will pinch my nose and breathe through my mouth, but favoritism as backed by personal obligations (in addition to professional, which I will grant is true) makes me gag and vomit, so there is no way for me to breathe!

You see, this is what I believe has been happening in the underworld of the drama department. One set of parents has been verrry involved in the productions: making costumes, setting up lights, working on publicity, etc. Over this time a personal friendship between the director and these parents has developed, which is fine by me (who am I to say! who is allowed to be friends with whom!) but meanwhile the daughter has been sucked into roles and given more opportunities than the other kids and cast into lead roles. She is an okay actress (probably good, by high school standards -- but I am not one to judge) but by golly! Capable as she is, that is no excuse to deny other students the same opportunities and to allow everyone to explore their dramatic talents. He lets some people in and others out, which is okay with me, but this is going a little too far. (My point is that I really don't like the personal aspect that has entered into what I think is supposed to be a professional production.)

Certainly, it is necessary to produce excellent shows, but meanwhile the drama department is NOT the director's personal glory-trip. It is always necessary to be political but I think he is politicking the wrong way. Of course, he is in charge of the drama department and it would not exist without his presence, but he has other considerations to think of, ie: his responsibility to the Woodward community, without which he would be unable to have a drama department (at Woodward. If he wants to go somewhere else -- fine, sure -- but wait! What's this? He's PROMISED to the parents that he'll stay until the daughter graduates? Oh, nevermind.) I think he's forgetting that his responsiblity to the Woodward community, and it makes me leery and not wanting to contribute to it. It is stupid to make a big scene about it when it's just my personal opinion and something that is not a widespread consensus, so I am just going to quit.

I can say with a completely clear conscience that this is not a personal grievance. I love the parentalpeople and the student very much but their actions and the actions of the director have alienated me and I cannot contribute to the productions under such an arrangement with a clear conscience; I only that I wish I had realized this sooner.

[04 Apr 2003|09:11pm]
Posted to Craigslist:

marxism made sexy.


dear hot trotskyist boy, 

please stop sending mixed signals. i would appreciate it 
if you would either a. refrain from appearing like you 
are hitting on me in order to recruit me for your political 
organization or b. just ask me out on a date already. thanks. 


signed, 
i think you're really hot. 



As you can see, this little drama has amused and occupied me for much of the week.

[02 Apr 2003|11:29pm]
When I told Delilah about Richard’s various invitations, she was absolutely certain that I was being hit on. (Delilah has mastered the melodramatic view of love, so surely she should know.)

Oh, but – everyone instead is a swarm of flies. Mm, hovering. Fresssh meat. Naturally the participants are quite enthusiastic but by golly! A girl can be overwhelmed. One person to be my friend, someone to make comments to, is quite perfect – and then I am overloaded, bombarded with questions from people – in my imagination it would have been Darling (please call me darling! if you ever have the chance), where do you go to school? Instead I settled for Do you go to BU and a nice smile from everyone. The smile makes up for things. But oh! Oh no! Not completely – then they do it on the spot, hurry up: what are your views on this? Do you have any questions? Are you terrified to speak to an entire room? And here I thought I’d bring my mind along, a blank slate for everyone to inscribe upon. I’ll sort out the mess one day when I want an ideology to live by.

Richard is very attractive. One would like to know: Is he simply socially inept, or are the Spartacist Youth Groups’ recruitment methods really that overbearing? Turn on the charm, lovely young man! The experience itself is un jeu littéraire; sitting on café tables and plotting a Revolution! More for the book. I must live some more before writing about the madman stuck in a basement.

(The dumbest post in my journal so far.) [01 Apr 2003|09:12pm]
I have a date with a boy who is hot with two Ts. The fact that I am excited over this bodes well; lately, I have had to take care most of the chores in my four-person household because the auntperson is away, and I have felt sick and frustrated and moody and anti-social. Cheers.


(This is actually another undate, but this time? the boy is actually interested in dating me. I met him at the protest and he was pretty eager to continue talking me the two times I have actually spoken to him. We are going to coffee before a Marxist lecturething at BU. Anyone know much about Trotsky?)

[27 Mar 2003|12:03pm]
I had an undate last night with someone1 and woke up with an odd idea, that I've never really loved anyone, in a sensual sense. I'm overflowing with platonic love for my friends, of course -- but. Analyzing every past relationship I've had with this bias (beginning with, most recently, P & then others) I can only say that I've only had platonic love that crossed over to the line of horrible, emotionless sex or intoxication due to sexuality (or nothing at all.) Kind of a weird realization. Doesn't really bother me all that much, at this point, I suppose; when I'm grown up and tired of feeling alone I'll find a friend that I really like and say: "If we don't get married by 50, let's get married to each other!" if it is necessary. It's interesting to me because some people have a tendency to separate sex with love but I really do (at least consciously) believe that sex does not dilute love, or make one's love less pure -- whatever that means -- but I suppose reprecussions of having traumatic sexual experiences are probably an influential factor in my inability to both lust and love the same person. Maybe I'm just not emotionally prepared to have a relationship that includes both quite yet.

1 I played Scrabble with a smart-tart boy (smarter than me) and I beat him! Twice! And we went on a drive and made dinner and his Republican housemate sounded like he was reciting a speech that Mr. Bush made.

The War Against Sleep [25 Mar 2003|02:22am]
Tonight I will stay up until I cannot see. Only the other day I thought: I am not overwhelming myself; I will only be overwhelmed when I do not sleep and still cannot finish all that I ought. I am teetering perilously to feeling overwhelmed but still find the time for five hours of sleep a day. Sleep ought to be more expendable more often. All is well: I am going to college cheaply. (One wonders if there will be any of me left to go.)

darkrooms and dostoevsky [18 Mar 2003|03:42pm]
I am on what KB describes as a 'legacy trip' ("People have died because of these things! Nations have been conquered! Wars have been started!" etc.) I am not looking to start a war, because, naturally, we shall have one on our hands soon enough, but after feeling guilty for months about the lack of activity on my part in terms of Shakespeare's Sisters, I dreamt dreams of air last night. They are not substanceless; they are fully realizable, but the question is: does anyone want to do it? Would anyone stand the long-term commitment? It is not too long -- by the time Caylee graduates, it could become a reality. But -- not without diligence.

I'm speaking very dramatically. I'm not anxious in the least, really, but I am certainly skeptical. Most people, I think, would want a darkroom for the school! There are two beautiful laboratories, but there is one art room and there is only a tiny stage area. The arts do not have much bearing in the school. There is no music program. But again -- who is going to undertake a campaign to raise a capital of about $5000? (More, if we wanted interest to pay for chemicals and new supplies and such things. A self-sufficient program! A darkroom endowment even when the school itself does not have one! It doesn't, really.) Most students would not want to. If I were staying for three more years I would do that, but I am really not. It's simply a matter of raising capital, and writing letters for corporate donors, and finding a location for it. But. I don't know who would be able to carry on my vision. I'm afraid Shakespeare's Sisters will die after I go away, as it did before my interest resurrected it, but that is probably not true because I made a point of getting juniors and sophomores and freshmen on board. Still. I really need to think about this more. I hate my physical limitations; I hate being tired all the time; I hate that I can barely focus or think because of that most of the time. Onward we go.

--

I don't want to be on the losing side of this war. That would mean that a lot of people I am associated with (because we live inside an arbitrary border on the map -- something that does not mean much, but they are people, of course, and that means a lot) would be killed. I don't want to win, either -- that would mean a lot of people that I am associated with would be murderers. But -- oh no, officially, they would be glorious soldiers, doing their duty to the country, protecting the world. Because: they are following the orders of someone great in stature.

I'm not fooled. Bush is going to be a mass murderer, of course, like anyone who's ever waged a war. He's snuffing more lives than some psychopath such as Jack the Ripper, and doing it as gruesomely and even more inhumanly. How anyone can reason to kill a lot of people simply because they have been raised with different ideologies is beyond me.

I want to cry over this war. I'm tearing. I did not want to cry in the least over September 11th -- I felt that it was shocking, I felt that it was sad -- but ultimately: it was sad. A lot of people died. I am not touched by pathos; I didn't know anyone there; I didn't feel connected; I don't identify. Tragedy, however, in the classical sense of the word, is what makes me weep. Things that could be avoided if not for a terrible compulsion that drives the doer to a terrible act. September 11th is also tragic in that the US could have had a better foreign policy that did not allow a century's worth of small angers to accumulate into explosions of gasoline and glass, but over a course of a century it was so creeping and subtle that we did not realize anything was wrong until the final results were cemented into reality. This war, however, is being driven by Bush and the Republican agenda, and there is no reason for it to happen.

[16 Mar 2003|09:09pm]
I struggled to resist the urge to sleep the day away, but in the end, I gave in. As a measure of my depression, which excessive sleep is almost invariably an indication of, I slept from eight to twelve and two-thirty to ten and three to seven.

I don't think I would have taken this defeat so personally if I had been rejected from, say, Brown, Harvard or Penn. Or Stanford. (I would take it personally if I got rejected from the University of Chicago, since the numbers in the admissions statistics are all in my favor. 18% of the class of 2006 have an SAT I score of 1500-1600, and only 78% are in the top ten percent, in terms of class rank. This is a school that I think I would be happy at, and perhaps it will be better for me than MIT: UChicago students are, apparently, more well-rounded than MIT kids, and, in the past, it was a school for younger college students like myself.) I would be disappointed, of course, if I didn't get into Stanford (I probably won't), as it's my second choice -- and first in terms of culture, weather, etc. -- but MIT! MIT, I have been roaming your hallways since I was twelve years old, and wishing I could be officially a part of the culture since before that.

If I could look upon this impartially -- as I shall surely be able to with Brown, Harvard, Penn, Stanford, Cooper Union, etc. -- it would be quite simple for me to say: they take even less people than Brown did last year, only 15.5%. Dismissing something fairly unrealistic (after all, my math SAT scores are subpar -- only a 740 -- and I haven't done anythinng in the realm of science or math that would make an admissions officer lean back in his or her seat and say, "Wow!") would be easy for me, because I usually style myself as unsentimental, grounded. MIT's ugly interiors and admirable classically-styled exteriors (though lacking in greenspace) have engrained themselves in me, sadly. When I read the biographies of prestigious persons, there are a few universities that impress me more than any others: Harvard, Stanford and MIT. Harvard, because it's almost a racially engrained prejudice (but I admire its tradition, and I admire the classical mode of education -- whether or not this actually occurs at Harvard is another story, but I hold the conception that it does); Stanford, because I met it on a sunny, warm day, and could feel the fact that it is a Good Place tangibly, where exciting things happen and rigor dominates; and finally, MIT, because I know the people. I have a feeling that I won't get into any of the other ones (I won't get into Harvard, unquestionably) and although Ivy League schools are exciting and famous... there are only three American schools which I believe have a quality of intellectual rigor that is unsurpassable, thanks to their cultures. Even beyond Princeton, the top ranked school in America, whose only tenuous connection to my personal reality is that of F. Scott Fitzgerald. But -- what can I say? "All decisions are final," and so: I am very sad, but I shall adjust, wherever I go. It would be self-defeating if I didn't. That is simply foolish.

(I'm sure Drew Ozier was as disappointed as I am, if not more so.)

[16 Mar 2003|01:05am]
There are some people whose way of expressing sympathy seems more sincere. Some people know how to say things better. My sister, for example, says the things I like to say, "It'll be okay," and that makes me feel better because it's familiar, it's the sentiment I think of myself -- even when things don't work out. She knows me better than any friend or acquaintance can, of course. (Someone said, "Ick." How can you say Ick to me when you realize that this is a dream -- a sentimental but accurate word -- I've been banking on since I was eight years old? Even during my intellectual rebellion, I still liked MIT. But no, she wouldn't have known that, as a near-stranger.) I put things aside, I leave them alone, and then... it is okay. I got into Wellesley anyway, didn't I? I just wish I had gotten into MIT.

She mailed me, also, a replacement copy of Anna Karenina since she saw it on my wishlist. My sister is really underrated sometimes (by me). I wish I could do something for her, but there's no great unhappiness clouding her, I think, and it's been a few months since she tried to kill herself. I know she can't be that happy, if she tried to kill herself recently, but then: Mike is there. They are together, like one. I always look almost a little contemptuously and completely bewildered when she cries in front of me over him. One day, I recall, she comes into the living room looking distressed, and then her face collapses (we are so ugly when we cry -- we are a particular branch of ugly, one that escapes any kind of song lyric description), and she says, "He broke up with me." They're back together but they seem happy when they're in each others' presence and bickering a lot over the phone when they're not. I was there a week; I saw at least one fight. (Sounds familiar to me, but I'm a quiet one. I don't bicker but I make accusations in the form of questions.)

I'm the kind of person who would rather leave suffering alone, so I don't really need to admit to it in the future. The mind blanks these things out, and after a while that kind of pain is a fuzzy feeling. (After all, says retrospective reasoning, it's just school.) Sympathy? I deserve sympathy, but more than that I deserve to be admitted into MIT. I only posted to LiveJournal publicly because I would have to admit it anyway, and why not get it over right away, so I don't have to suffer anew when I tell everyone. This way all the crying gets over at once, all the remembering.

When I took my nap, it had all the elements of a nightmare: Wesner (any dream with his presence is a nightmare; I'm ashamed to admit he was even in my dream; god that's disgusting that I devote any thought to that louse out of school time), travelling with my mom and Monkey and houselady, staying in that god-awful shitty town a little outside L.A. that I did several years ago, wanting to do something and being continually beset by delays. My dream-logic made me realize that I was in L.A. only the morning after I actually arrived, and that I could do something about it. I was on a class trip, in one of the rooms detached from the building where most other people were staying. Gladiola was in the room next to me. (We were all in singles.)

I realized that, in that awful, shitty town, I could take the metrolink to LA and I could see some of my LA friends. But I was only there for the weekend and I had to invent a good excuse for my mother, who was on the trip, so I said: it's not too long to Claremont! Let me get away to visit my sister! I hate being on these things, anyway. Naturally Tod was on the forefront of the people I would call to see if we could get together! right away! except he lives in San Diego -- a journey-on-demand. (Very nearly almost what happened in real life, when I was there. I called him the day before.)

After numerous authorization delays and arguing, I ended up calling Quintus, for some unfathomable reason: because I hadn't seen him when I was in LA? Because he was the most convenient, since he lives near Hollywood? (And I lost Sean's number.) I don't remember if we managed to make plans; I think my dream died then. After I thought of it, though, I wanted to see my sister. (My plan was: I would go have fun with someone, then go to my sister's for a sleepover, then bring her in the morning on a Sunday train to the crappy place where we were staying as a surprise for my mother.) I wanted to see my sister a lot and I still do: staying at Pitzer was a happyplace. I even found airfare to Ontario for $220, and there's only one stop.

As long as I'm happy my health maintains itself, and today... I am not healthy.

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