20:30 - February 01, 2003 just playin
I've been accosted by styrofoam mask-wearing didgeridoo-playing agents of Satan right at my very front door. Their mission: lay down musical tracks, drink Cherry Cokes, and put up signs everywhere that claim Chewbacca and a camel have the same voice. If I weren't feeling so terribly antisocial I would have joined them. I've just hit my people threshold for today though. Since 5 PM yesterday I've constantly been with other people, eating, hiking, playing frisbee in the wind, eating more, sitting around, smoking, singing....
Oh, and we did report the possible girl-in-cage to the R.A. They were 'just playin' ', apparently. She wasn't there then, so I don't know if she saw it that way. I hope she did, though... for real and not in the I'm-going-to-protect-my-guy friends-even-if-they're-huge misogynistic-assholes-way. That is all.
20:58 - January 30, 2003 dorm life
It is very hard to write, or sleep, or do much of anything at all when Celine Dion is blaring from the other room unmercifully, through BOTH closed doors. I'd like to put more than a few doors between Celine and I. A few buildings would probably do nicely.
Russell, who lives next door, swears he heard pounding from above last night and a girl screaming 'let me out of here! seriously!' like she was in a cage or something. She pounded on his ceiling, which I even heard from my room but I hope to god he's making up the rest. Although, I know the guys who live there and I hate to say it's perfectly plausible that they would have a girl in a cage in their room. Their other hobby is fullbody tackling at 3 AM. It drowns out Celine, sometimes. Dorm life....
20:47 - January 28, 2003 grrrr (again)
WHY WON'T THIS GO AWAY?
Ok, i'm sorry. Whine whine whine. I know. I got so fucking para yesterday that I started writing my will out on Microsoft Word with all intent of saving a shortcut to it on my desktop so that if I died that night, which given the severity of everything, I was positive was going to happen, it would all be sorted out. Well, it wasn't really a will in the strictest sense of the word. The bare minimum of possessions were mentioned, but it wasn't the focal point. I hate the concept of possessions, especially when my logic portion, brainwise, isn't working (kinda like right now...) It was mostly just things I wanted to say to everyone. I told this to Andrew on aim in the midst of it and I believe I freaked him out. It was backwards though when you think about it. I mean, say you were dying. Step one would be to CALL 911. Right? Well, for me, nooo, I had to write first. Write, write, write. As always. I disgust myself. Either that or I'm strangely proud.
In any case I'm off to sleep. At 8:50. If I wake up healthy I'll thank everything there is to thank.
13:47 - January 27, 2003 still alive
Oog, so I'm still alive. Barely.
I have to write a short story for a class I don't even know if I made it into. It's a good excuse to be creative though.
20:52 - January 26, 2003 sleeping on cold metal
When you dream for hours and hours and it is all a dream of your body splayed out on the bed, contorted like torture because if you're not exactly in the right position cold metal will rip off all of your limbs, and your hands are distorted, knuckles magnified fingers puffy, under two covers is too hot under one cover is too hot under no covers is way way too cold and it's all at the same time because you don't know where your covers even are, if they're over you or piled in a corner or over someone else.... I had to take two ibuprofen to enable myself to write this entry. A half hour ago if I got up my vision would blank and I would have to sit down and cough and cough. and cough and cough and choke. I called with my door closed louder and louder and louder until Toni came in and I buried my face and asked her for a thermometer and bottles and bottles of water. The thermometer read 103.8, the water would barely go down, and then I begged her for food but she had left hours ago. I woke up at 9 to see Camille leave, barely, and then at 1 to talk on the phone to my mother who was positive I just didn't want to talk to her but in reality I just wasn't able to speak, and then at 3 and then at 6 and then at 8:30. for some reason this is very clear. All last night I smoked a lot and all today I dreamed I was smoking a lot, though my throat passages weren't open I dreamed I kept taking hits and hits and hits. Woke up to Camille catching the bus. I tried to eat an orange but it was rotten. If anybody reads this who can possibly get me some food from somewhere I would be overcome with gratitude if I remembered what gratitude was; it's moment to moment to moment.
I want to be fixed, I want to be magically fixed. I don't know why it's still here. I don't know why it came back. I don't know why I keep dreaming of sleeping on cold metal.
