18:54 - September 06, 2003
addendum:
Last time Chris said that I was in control of my life he went the other way. He said, 'you're so quiet, you never get mad. How are you going to get anywhere like that? How are you ever going to achieve anything?'

Andrew saw my face from across the room and came ambling over and leaned against the couch. 'Farther than we're going to get,' he said to Chris, softly, warningly. 'Fucking film majors, man.' He chuckled and raised his eyebrows.

Chris didn't say anything after that.

12:31 - September 06, 2003
and so it goes
Little snippets; that's all I have.

I'm driving down Colorado Avenue, one arm out the window, the other resting lightly on the steering wheel. Too lightly. Chris is slurring in the backseat. 'You're my hero,' he says, squeezing the back of my chair. 'You have such control over your life.' This comes out of nowhere, and besides, no I don't. One hour ago, he was fighting with Brendan in the garage, hitting him and hitting him until Andrew started yelling. Two hours ago, he was extolling the virtues of Faith No More. A little before that, he was vehemently arguing dogs against cats on the back porch. His argument was that cats are lazy and mean. My argument was that dogs are creepy because they're happy all the time. 'I'm happy all the time,' says Chris. 'Am I creepy?'
'You're only creepy when you get insane,' I say.
'Well, I'm definitely insane,' he says.
'Yeah,' I say.

Brendan is talking a mile a minute, totally uncharacteristic. When Chris starts hitting him in the head he freezes completely still, hands still up in front of him like shields.

'You have kittens?' exclaims Andrew, putting his beer down. 'Like, right now?'
'Let's get a kitten,' he says to Brendan.
'Yeah, let's totally get a kitten,' says Brendan.
'You wanna get a kitten?' Andrew asks Chris.
'Hell no,' says Chris. 'Cats are....' ...and so it goes.

15:12 - September 05, 2003
if things had been different
I've come to the conclusion, based on.... my entire life, that people don't appreciate each other enough. And there's more of a space between them than there needs to be. If the norm is suspicion, then it needs to be turned around. If the standard for brushing a hand accidentally against someone's arm on a crowded stairwell is to apologize, then it needs to be turned into something else. I don't understand why we've got this fixed way of appreciating each other; this one censored way that everyone finds acceptable, but, if you think about it, bland... and a fraction of what it could be. I have a friend here whose shoulderblades push out the back of his thin T-shirt like the cut wings of a bird. Every time I see his back, outlined, I want to run a thumb and forefinger on either side of each of these wings, I want to press on the bottoms and see where the bones trail off into the hidden, thicker layers of skin between. Maybe lovers are just people who agree they want to appreciate each other in every way they know how. I guess I wish lovers weren't all-inclusive. Wanting to trace the curve of a spine doesn't necessarily mean sexual attraction, either. It's just an appreciation. The lewd connotations are strange because I don't understand their origin.. yet if a stranger, or even an acquaintance, wanted to do the same to me, I'd be a bit weirded out. Maybe. Maybe I'd surprise myself and not be. It just seems that if things had been different, touch would just be another way to observe, like they way you look at someone, the way you listen to their voice.

20:41 - September 03, 2003
i can see it all through the 'vines'
Last night: "TO BE PUT IN DIARY FOR TOMORROW�S INPUT BUT THE LINE SHALL STATE: 23:14, 9/3.
it is a perfect extension of our personalities, that lara, you see the morning light as sensual, and i see it as invasive."

"anything seems interesting enough to write about, even the bracelet that held the pipe in the cloth casing, its cross-stitching and the kinks in its uniform, and its three twists that give it three loops. the way the cds in their case tip at an angle off the checkbook, and the pen at a perfect diagonal, oh, if i can describe the setup of things on my desk so sweetly, what else might i be able to describe? i can describe this: oasis is playing and lara�s writing poetry about honey moisture curtains. my palms are rubbing raw against the plastic keyboard."

Today: I'm sitting in the back of the Skip bus staring at the scenery and three 13 year olds get on, who look 10 except for their glittery eye makeup and miniskirts and lipstick. One has a Hulk lunch box. Another says to the third, while wielding a huge Gap shopping bag, 'God. I feel so poor. I can't believe I can't go shopping again until Friday.'
And then the one with the Hulk lunchbox takes a fork out from her lunchbox, and sweeps it through the air and suddenly the fork is extended four feet in front of her; the neck of it was a hideaway neck. I cannot make even one tiny face because any movement will send me rolling into the aisle from the ludicrousness of it all.

And every day we hike or eat anywhere near campus we see these sorority rush meetings happening outside sorority houses, and every one of them just seems creepy and cultish: a dense crowd of girls, all in some colour lacy top and some colour flowy skirt, facing the house, reverently whispering. Waiting to be inspected and judged. Putting on pretty faces. The one we walked by today was pairing off Big/Little Sisters. It looked like an ancient ritual; the two girls walking awkwardly like marionettes into the depths of their new home.

'You should film this,' I said to Andrew, and he stopped short in his tracks and then ran into his house for his camcorder. Chris, Jeremy, Elliot and Chell had challenged the house across the alley to a water balloon fight, but nobody came out to fight so Chris and Jeremy and Chell just tossed whole bucketfuls at each other. Throught windows and over stairways, even in the back door. Andrew is filming every minute. Chris paces the roof like an angry, hulking Superman. I can see it all through the vines.

11:58 - September 02, 2003
it is very funny
::breathes::.....internet.

it's not as difficult as i would have expected to go without, but when two of your six classes are pretty much entirely conducted online, lots of time ends up being spent in norlin library, covering the sides of the computer screen with a sweatshirt.

and this much is true: i'm kinda incapable of knowing what 'bored' means at this stage of my life. just because we've got an art wall which is now covered with beautiful stoned poetry (five minutes of camille's existence), angsty quotes, silly quotes, a picture of chris holding vodka, a design andrew drew which looks like a fish with either no or three heads wearing a bib, scatterjunk (?), leafy vines, etc., etc., and a swimming pool perfect for splashing, and weather perfect for hiking, and free time perfect for filling.

as of now i've seen everyone again. nick, camille and i had planned to go camping illegally in gregory canyon, but when we heard of the fee if we got caught, we decided just to take a sunset hike and come back and camp in nick's side yard. (that didn't happen because nick got sick of people, but i digress.)

in other news, life is dandy. and remember, IT IS VERY FUNNY.

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