13:28 - January 17, 2003
why i do not..
Why I don't get drunk and play 'Hit Me In The Face' like SOME people....

Taken by Andrew a second after Chris hit Jeremy in the face. You can guess which one is which by noting that only one of them is in mortal pain and only one of them thinks it's the funniest thing ever that the other is in mortal pain.

10:30 - January 17, 2003
taped
someone had a tape recorder sometime last semester and apparently this is how I talk. I don't know if I was high or not but I fervently hope I was.
I don't have anything better to do than transcribe a tape because I can't venture into the outside world without DYING, thanks for the concern.

'I think, I don't know, it's how you were brought up more than anything... like, yeah, I could probably wipe my ass with a page from the Bible.. now that you put it that way, but.. I can't picture not being able to; it's just paper to me.... and you can get free ones in hotel rooms! See, that's the only difference to me.. whether you can get a replacement. I mean I wouldn't wipe my ass with anything I couldn't get replaced for free... I'd save it. But that's not the problem for everyone else, is it? I mean... ::laughs:: it's the BIBLE. If you ask anyone that's what they'd say. It's the BIBLE. Like it's, I don't know... written there not to do that. 'Don't wipe your ass with the Word.' Hey, why does everyone use that as a measure for how valuable something is? It's like people asking other people who they think are racist whether they're all right with black people... or Jewish people or Irish people or whatever the racism is suspected to be of, and when the person says yes, then they ask if they'd be all right with their sister dating a black person, Jewish person, etc? And for some reason the answer's always different? What is that all about? like.. really. It's a weird measure is all.'

Why don't I remember these things?

23:04 - January 16, 2003
multi-coloured parrot
oooooeeee... I'm delirious. The nurse said I had no fever, that it was 97.6, but I see now that she was LYING! as although the thermometer reads inside temperature at 73 degrees I am bundled in three layers of sweater, along with a quilt ripped from my bed, wanting to sleep, needing to sleep, yet completely unable to sleep because I have already done my sleeping for the day at the absolute wrong time, plus it's cold. whine whine. I'm entitled, though. So I stick my tongue out at you.

Reading 'House of Leaves' with a fever is a bad idea.

I hate to admit this even here, but there is one stereotype that got its ass temporarily kicked (or supported) by reality yesterday at the anti-war meeting. The rest of the Education building smelled fine, but the second we opened the door to the meeting room I was bowled over with the stench of body odor. Dirty hippies.... grrr. Do not carry on this misconception! And leave my poor nose alone.... I could smell you guys through my cold.

Truthfully, I'm a bit afraid, more than usual, that I'm going to die, because for the past few days I've been waking up in the middle of the night with a sudden lurch and intake of breath, realizing as the slow fade of black fades back out of my vision that I hadn't really been breathing for who knows long. When I sleep with my throat this bad, I forget to breathe because it hurts so much. I almost passed out this way a few hours ago, lost in a book.

Still delirious though. Keep thinking I see a multi-coloured parrot outside my window for some reason.

10:54 - January 16, 2003
to bed with me
The walk from the music building to the arts & sciences building by the rec center is a long walk. It's an even longer walk back. I got to Linguistics and couldn't breathe or see or think... the flu finally caught me fully. It's had me by the toes for a few days, but it just swallowed me whole. All the way to Wardenburg Health I had to concentrate on each and every breath and the cold air was torturous and biting and I had to stop and rest nine times.

Upon entering the health center, I practically threw myself at the foot of the woman at the front desk. 'Help me. Take care of me. Fix me.' I longed for the soft hands of a nurse and someone feeding me soup and helping me out of bed to the downstairs couch (home memories...) and the sweet tones they use when they know the slightest raucous noise makes your head blow into tiny bits.
Instead I got a blond Barbie-like figure who, when she spoke, sounded exactly like Principal Victoria from South Park; gave me a throat culture with such utter lack of finesse that it took her four tries to finally get it right; and yelled silly instructions in my ear (no sweet tones for Barbie) pertaining to getting better that couldn't possibly apply to anyone living in the dorms. 'Why don't you sit in the bathtub and soak? Why don't you put on a humidifier? How about you make yourself some tea and gargle with water with just a sprinkling of salt?'
How about her getting a clue? You'd think that working in a CAMPUS health center would alert her to the conditions of living on a CAMPUS. Sheesh.

With that, I take my phlegm filled self to bed.

11:12 - January 15, 2003
the weed entry
There is a kid in my honors Aural Skills class who is eleven years old. He reminds me of me when I was eleven; complete with delusions of grandeur, total bragging rights, and annoying unrelated comments. He's slightly more brash than I was, as I was pretty shy, but that only makes him impossible to deal with. Of course he is brilliant, music-wise, or he wouldn't be in a college class. His ear rivals mine, his transcribing skills far surpass mine, and his rhythm skills aren't even in the same league (that is to say, he kicks my ass.). I'm pretty impressed, but as time goes on I find myself wanting more and more to kill him, because while everyone is struggling away to hear the difference between a V7, V6/5, V4/2 and V4/3 except for he and I, his hand is waving wildly in the air and he's yelling, 'I already know it! I already know it!' When the teacher takes time to explain to the rest of the class how to hear it, he sighs loudly and taps his pen and yawns and fidgets and periodically goes, 'i KNOW it already.'
I know he's just a kid and I probably would have done the same thing, but being in that class takes a whole lot of restraint on my part. I'm just itching to lean over and whisper in his ear how he may be a prodigy NOW, but wait until it all evens out and he's just like everyone else, just like what happened to me (like a bitter old aunt). I won't though, right? It would be nicer to keep my mouth shut, right? Or should I 'advise' him?

And now since my mind has started turning (thank you, Ryan) (and no, that isn't sarcastic) (everyone else see comments on the entry before last), I've been trying to justify smoking weed in light of my refusal to take aspirin, etc, to myself. In a way it is the same thing, but in a way it isn't. The whole thing might be just as simple as 'I like smoking weed, therefore I'm going to' and the rest of this entry will just be hollow justifications, but I'll try my best not to have it happen like that.

I have an ideal state that I see as my 'normal' state. Since I'm (I suppose, though I hate this term) clinically depressed, my ideal normal state is generally higher than where I usually am, but this is where I place 'normal'. I believe that I should be able to achieve this state without any outside help, which is where Paxil being evil comes in (along with a whole lot of other reasons, but we know those already after I bitched about it for an entire week in November). Being sick, whether it's a virus or the flu or a headache or whatever, is below the normal state as well, and although it isn't my fault, my body is able to bounce back from it by itself, in time. I guess it ties into patience in a way, that if I can't take pain for a few days in order to feel better next week, then I'm just being impatient. If it were chronic, it might be different. But, you know, there's no better feeling than waking up one morning after you've been feeling like ass for a week and feeling perfectly fine. 'Fine' becomes 'euphoric'. You can't believe how good 'healthy' feels. You wouldn't get that if you were drugged up the entire time.

Weed isn't something I smoke to rebalance myself to 'normal'. Weed is something I smoke to boost myself from 'normal' to 'high'. (I know, I know, I'm not a machine dial...) I don't usually smoke when I'm sick or when I'm depressed or anxious or whatever.... I only do it when I'm already feeling fine. That way it won't feel like I'm using it as an escape or a shortcut.

Plus, (now for the typical explanation) weed is fun. It makes food taste like the best thing you've ever eaten and ever sip of drink taste like your throat is drenched in it. It makes your eyelids relax and yet somehow you can still see perfectly through the half-curtain you have left. Everything you hear is the funniest thing that has ever happened to you ever. Even when you can't breathe because you're laughing so hard it's not scary, it's funny. EVERYTHING is funny. It kind of takes the world and all its problems, all the problems you worry about every day, seem not only trivial and silly, but hilarious.

It doesn't make you a flat line of emotion, like Paxil, it doesn't magically disappear your pain like ibuprofen, it doesn't cause chills and panic like Xanax, and best of all it's not permanent and it's not addictive. You're well aware of what's happening to you the whole time... nothing's going on behind your back... and ALL of it is funny. When you come down, you don't automatically want more, you just bask in the afterglow and go home smiling. You might do it again tomorrow or you might do it again next week or next month or next year and it won't really matter when. You don't ever hear of anyone becoming a prostitute to fund their marijuana habit, do you?

I'm ignoring Tylenol here because I think it's stupid anyway that I don't want to take it. But in comparing Paxil and weed I guess the most tangible difference is that when I go off Paxil, it's torturous. And nobody even uses the phrase 'going off weed' because it's not a process. There's nothing to 'go off' of. You just don't smoke it or you do, and that's that.

17:53 - January 14, 2003
no meds
Overheard on the elevator: 'And then after we snuck away, we blew up the water tower and peed in its remains.'

WHAT?????

The reason I generally don't take medication, I think, is that some hidden masochistic sector of my brain likes getting better to be a painful struggle. Here I'm talking about ibuprofen.. well, what triggered the thought process, anyway.... but even with the pounding head and rolling stomach and nose so stuffed breathing became an impossibility I refused to open the bottle until it was either do that or puke from the pain. The offing of the Paxil has some effect on me, or so I would think if I hadn't always been like that. But I have. When I'm sick, taking medication, even aspirin or tylenol, seems like a gigantic copout, and though I feel better almost immediately (since, because I never take it, I have built up no tolerance) it feels like I'm faking my own health. And I walk around with my clear sinuses and perfectly balanced head and grumble about how it's not REAL, it's not RIGHT.

I'm a fucking weirdo.

11:16 - January 14, 2003
busted
Speaking of crashing bores.... linguistics.........

. that's all. .

Every time I think it's the altitude sickness and it's not because it goes both ways... up AND down. I think it's the airplane rides, the flying metal boxes of germs flying cross-country. Every time I return to Colorado or wherever I am sick as a dog for at least a week. Coming back from Houston it got so bad I couldn't even smoke weed because it would make my already closed throat close up more and burn and threaten to implode.... whereas when I'm healthy it doesn't even seem to make me cough like normal people. My balance is centered somewhere in my left side so I've been teetering around campus all horizontal, peering sideways at people's confused stares.

Eerily smart Mike from last semester music theory is in my linguistics class and is just as eerily smart when it comes to words. Can anyone else divvy up the word 'difficulties' like Mike? Noooo. Not even the teacher. I guess I wouldn't feel such terrific competitive urges towards him in everything if he weren't just about the only other composition major I've ever met.

Blah blah blah ho hum doldrum blah blah insipid college student talk blah blah.

I have been busted for drinking when I don't even drink, and wasn't drinking at the time of said busting either.

11:33 - January 13, 2003
1stday
1st day of classes is always... um, entertaining, and fun, and quite likely to cause me to smash my head against things.

Also, take my survey and I just may love you forever. Just maybe.

Anyhow, though, music theory's exactly as it's always been; funny little jolly skinny man, striding around playing the piano.... I've got him for honors Aural Skills now too, which is interesting.... apparently it's not just my old teacher who tried very very hard to make it as difficult for me as possible by transposing all the melodic dictations so I had to negate my perfect pitch in my head and therefore FAIL (phew) it's everyone. Maybe I should just accept it as a fact of life, along with things like, 'a watched pot never boils' (true) and 'third time's a charm (not true). 'Theory teachers WILL transpose your entire life. Thank you.'

It is somehow warm and cold at the same time. I stepped outside, started to take my sweater off, realized my lips were blue, put it back on, sweated a lot, swore in exasperation, then just resigned myself to sitting on the bus trying to figure out where the FUCK Guggenheim Geography is.

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