Funny things can happen when you force yourself to write,
Like you can go on a tangent about Lapis and Malachite,
And generally sound crazy even if everything is alright.
Snow and booze, girls and dreams, parties and solitude,
A blog can catalog only so many things, my mind and mood,
My fears, my hopes, my highlights, my depressions, my attitude.
There’s more in between these topics, I’m sure, but they’re private.
The names, the depravity, the nitty gritty, the hereto oblivion.
But every human, surely, has those moments they’d rather not archive.
Like hacked computers, a blog can get a little weird, tell too much,
Spill a virus into the heart of the stagnant programmer,
Drain the lithium-ion of the soul, in need of hand picked cobalt.
Back to Normal
So, after a week or so of being sick, things returned to normal this week(2/23/15)-(2/28/15). I missed no classes, I made up missed work, and, let’s see… I think what was most important was just being out in the open again. Not bedridden. Not too sick or tired to want to hang out with people and do things. So, in fact, going out Friday night to a new place, with new people, doing very old things, might have been the most important thing this week. A mellow, “let’s drink and play Call of Duty” felt like something I hadn’t done since after High School / before Sophomore Year. It’s a very Long Island thing, to me. Like I didn’t make friends in Pittsburgh that kind of just lounged out like that, who were content to relax on some nights. It was good. It felt like my kind of tempo.
“Friday the Thirteenth, Twenty-Fifteen, may be up there for top five best days of life ever.” – 3:36 AM, 14, February, 2015.
The Vagina Monologues
Last night was epic, a word I seldom use without cringing afterwards. When we filled 360-ish chairs for the Thursday night showing of The Vagina Monologues, I was impressed, shocked, and proud…
Then we filled 500+ chairs for the Friday night performance. Then we had to turn away another 100 people who wanted to get in. Then we raised over $2,000. I was ecstatic, hard to contain. Triumphant, face-distorting smiles, and shouts of joy. I was so happy to be a part of this, and I’m glad the show ended with smiles on my friends’ faces. If anything stressed me out about the show the last few days, and the last few weeks, it was so far away in the rear view mirror–that, that… I don’t know! We were flying down this road and the white dashes mixed with the blacktop and became a gray blur.
So I packed my tote bag, Skyy Vodka, lime juice, shaker, ice, and martini glass, and arrived at an after party. And the drinks were good and the conversation kicked ass–“Come on Eileen” was played–and I struggle to finds the words to describe this moment but I must…Because well, there was a moment where most of my friends and acquaintances were just topless and free and I realized this is me. This energy, what it stands for, I love it, and I love them.
So yesterday really tested how much I could function on a bad night of sleep and a nice cup of cappuccino. What I found was that through my Piano and Poetry courses, up until Roman Civilization – I could handle it. I played piano well, discussed poetry like a normal person, ate, had coffee, read Moby Dick for two hours. It was like I had gotten eight hours of sleep. Who could tell? Except when I made it to Gender, Sexuality, and Women’s Studies. “How’s you’re day?” “Well, I’m running on three hours sleep, ha, ha.” —I realized that little tidbit of information is more alarming to people, than charming.— During that class I started to zone out, not be as happy and smiley as I should be. I also did the math and realized I’d be away from my apartment for a full 12 hours by the time I got back.
With fifteen-minute chunks between classes on Wednesday, my food options are rather limited. There was a window where I could have quickly gobbled down a Chicken Sandwich, but it didn’t feel right. I mean, it had been hours since I had a bagel and cappuccino, I was starving. And there they were, a rack of Chicken Sandwiches, Chicken Nuggets, Fries, all from Chik-Fil-A. And it just… oh. It just didn’t feel right. Hand my money to Chik-Fil-A, then go take a Gender-Sexuality class. Make a small donation to “Pray the Gay Away” camps and “Defense of Marriage” organizations, and then go learn about intersectional oppression. It’s not like eating at Chik Fil-A is an inherently bad act, but once you know where the money’s going, it feels like a two-faced, ignorant act. So that’s another thing that made (1/14/15) pretty messed up – hunger.
Podcasting, Society6, WordPress, Linkedin, Bandcamp, Moby Dick, Sappho Was A Right-On Woman, Piano, Vagina Monologues… Many assets. Many facets. Accounts. Passwords. Assignments. Projects.
So, I should be working. I have essays to write, books to read, and I’ve wasted some time today and I don’t know why. I know how miserable I get when I have to cram work into Sunday, so, why do I slack off on Saturday? I guess things didn’t start off amazing: I was insanely stuffed up this morning as I was trying to go to bed -and when my alarm went off at 7AM I had only gotten two hours of sleep- so I went right back to bed. This means that I missed a volunteering opportunity with the Secular Alliance which makes me feel bad, since I’m the acting secretary, but I don’t know if going downtown to pick up trash was going to be a smart decision if I were sick with two hours of sleep. But am I making excuses? I wish I knew. When I get things done, I do them well, whether it’s art, writing, or other works and projects… I’ll make it up to the Secular Alliance, and I’ll get my essays done – but these times when I’m recovering or “wasting time,” they hurt. On one hand, I need to do things – I feel great when I’m doing things and getting things done! On the other, I naturally do nothing on Saturdays, no matter how much I feel I should. (that’s not always true, but it feels like it’s harder to do things).
Three things you should learn
Riot Grrrl will never die
Every girl is a Riot Grrrl
Stop boys violence
When the schoolwork piles up and I feel stressed out about things, like the future of my college life and post-college life, reflecting on the past can help a lot! I like to think about how far things have come since a year ago. One little book, Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home led to an “identity activation” for me… I identified as a feminist before reading it – but reading it changed something in me. I wanted to get involved, I wanted to learn things, to make a difference – and a year later I totally have! I’m in three clubs that are fighting for gender and sexuality equality, and working to create safe environments for people.
It’s like, I’m pushing a stone up a hill right now, and that sucks – but if I look downhill I can see how far I’ve come. I’ve become a much better person, and I shouldn’t get discouraged just because I have a challenging weekend. It’ll be rough tomorrow, and the day after that – as there are essays due Monday and Tuesday… but they’re only two days.
I can work harder than usual for two days.
Today wasn’t horrible, though it followed a pretty turbulent yesterday. Sunday had the common ups and downs of a day packed tightly with the work and play that is scrambling to do Monday’s homework, and managing to watch football simultaneously. My alternate weekend mission was to finish Season One of The Wire, and as of right now I’m halfway there. Everything was okay until my frail psyche fell apart at what felt like another rejection, and I submitted to self-hate thoughts, until a few friends picked me up again by the end of the night.
Freight trains. You can hear them chugging along every night here in Pittsburgh. They start as early as, 11PM I suppose, but I’ve heard them blowing their horns as late as 4-5AM.
My little breakdown episode is symptom of a larger problem, one that needs facing and fixing, soon.
This is the first proper “What’s Up?” in a pretty long time. So, what’s up? It’s 5AM, the sound of the morning freight trains can be heard very clearly over, what must be the sound of dump trucks from Waste Management coming to empty dumpsters or something. My life is not on fire right now, which is all I could ask for.
I don’t do it often enough, but when under pressure I really, really work well. I fact-checked a thousand words of a classmate’s paper, a process I enjoyed more than I thought I would, since classmates made fact-checking to be nothing short of hellish. In reality, it felt like detective work, finding facts and proofing information on the internet. I followed up on my potential internship positions, made a few phone-calls, and found a dry cleaner to get suits pressed at for interviews. Furthermore, I attended a study session for Psychology 101, and squeezed in a proper re-read of the textbook chapters tonight. All of this, while dealing with the crisis-management that was discovering a bed bug last morning at 3AM, which spread more fear and psychosis around the apartment than I ever could have anticipated.
But my life is not on fire, I’ve started a pleasant conversation with a new girl, I still feel refreshed from being home over the weekend, old passions have been rekindled, and despite the fact that I have three, four hours tops of sleep before classes start at 10AM, I’m going to own those three-to-four hours, wake up, have a New York bagel, and do this all over again tomorrow.