00:23 - August 07, 2003 kitties
i.... am going to miss the feral cats in my backyard so much when i leave. at the beginning of the summer (boulder summer, at least: beginning of may) they were a bit over a month old, living behind the fence by the next door neighbours' garage. we fed their mother; we called her Wild Kitty, but other that that we had no name for her. when she was done eating, she would go back behind the fence and feed her kittens. they were too wobbly on their feet to walk. she had to carry them one by one in her mouth when she transported them from one hiding place to the other (across the street). after awhile, the kittens started to come out with their mother, and started to eat the food we gave her, and then were friendly enough to let us stay in the backyard while they ate, and then sit in the deck chairs, and then kneel in front of them, and then pet them. now, we can pick them up. now they will sit on our laps, and purr, and rub against our legs, and poke their faces inside the house. if we don't shut the door fast enough now, frog will rocket through the kitchen and into the sunporch, where he will meow balefully at the back door window, then rocket back. max will stumble blindly around the basement steps. and dweezle will hide around the edge of the back door to scare the other two when they come back out.
two nights ago, i went out to play with them at 1:30 a.m. as soon as i sat down, on the concrete with my back against the screen door, frog and max crawled into my lap, curled up, and fell asleep, purring. i didn't move for an hour. and tonight dweezle sat in my lap contentedly and thoroughly cleaning my entire right hand, and climbing up the outside of my shirt. pretty soon they're going to be grown up. they are almost five months old. when i come back, they'll probably be off raising their own families in someone else's backyard, or they'll have forgotten me. and i don't want that to happen. i want to bring them with me. but there aren't pets allowed in our apartment.
for now, i'm going to share the cuteness. dweezle frog and max (left to right)
00:07 - August 06, 2003 FINIT
arr, i didn't want the fat entry showing up first, but also: YAY! i've finished my (second) audition tape for boulder's music school. this time, i did it right. three pieces by me, three pieces not by me, all on a tidy tape with no apology note about how i couldn't learn a third piece because i was lazy, and furthermore, i was a non-piano player who was lazy. (they declined me then, but they claimed it was because of my compositions not being 'traditional' enough. sigh.) it's kind of funny really, because i've been taking exclusively music-major classes this past year because of the kindness of the theory/composition head, or.. chair, or... organizor?? i don't know, who signed me into the appropriate classes. i told him about the history i had in music and he just bypassed the entire bureacracy... i love people like that. thank you, prof. bruns. but the irony lies in the fact that on the tape i'm submitting there is a piece that i wrote as an assignment for theory II, a music major class. so i'm submitting a piece i wrote while effectively a music major in order to become accepted as a music major. riiiiight.
this has been a test of the emergency stream-of-consciousness system.
22:41 - August 03, 2003 despite everything
This is a stupid rant, but so be it: I have had ENOUGH of both of my parents, independent of each other because they're divorced, constantly telling me I'm fat. If it were a matter of health, or even honesty, they would have something, and I would just think, 'Ouch, but duly noted.' As it is, the poke in the stomach followed by the 'Hannah, look, your belly is hanging out over your pants! That's not the most flattering look for your body... your pants and shirt don't meet.' is just not welcome, it's just not necessary. And the pinching of the sides isn't either. Maybe I'm insane, but I really... I just don't think I'm fat. And it isn't even fucking important. But I don't. I'm 165 pounds, but I'm 6'2". I remember why I never wore shorts for my entire childhood; it's because my father called me 'Thunderthighs.' And then all through middle school and high school people would be asking me if I was anorexic, but at home I would be getting, 'you need new clothes, again? aren't you done gaining weight yet?' Dad, I was 6 feet and 115 pounds. Where else am I going to go but up? If you start at that skinny, everything is going to look fat from there. Every bit of stomach that isn't pressed flat against ribs can be pinched and laughed at. Despite all common sense, I wish I was back at that 115 as well. Despite all common sense, I wish my ribs still showed and everything I tried to buy was too baggy. Despite everything, I still half-believe my parents, even when I know in the other half that not only isn't it true, but it doesn't matter... not at all.
