6:16 p.m. - November 07, 2001
braindrip
I'm not sure it I've ever been as stressed out in my life. Probably because I've never cared about anything else enough to be this stressed out... other people get all worked up over homework, while I.. well.. if it doesn't get done, who cares? But this (college apps due tomorrow with counselor interview teacher recs essays filling in stupid bubbles must stop!) (ahem), this is my goddamn FUTURE. If I fuck this up, I fuck up the next four years. Something about that logic penetrates my thick brain, and I freak out. I think I've got everything done. Everything, everything, except the auditions, and those aren't til January, after tomorrow, you have no idea how relieved I'll be. No idea. My wrists hurt, I need a brainleak, no pretensions, I am so SICK of these formal application essays, and I'm not even that stiff with them. Fuck them if they can't accept relaxation. Not that I have much of that. Ok, calm. Brainleak. Brainfreeze. No, stupid brainLEAK. start. now.

My elbow feels strange inside, makes me think of Barney, that silly skeleton Mr. Ware is making us draw in drawing class, I remember how I thought the curve of his (Barney the Skeleton's, not Mr. Ware's) arm was really attractive, and whether that meant I had a sick attraction to fatally thin people, or that the bone was just sensual, in which case it would be okay. I couldn't color it ivory, which made me mad. Julia is posing now, a real live model, not too much different from the skeleton in general body mass (ok, stop, STOP) but anyway, I can't draw her face right. What I wouldn't give, though, to have skin like that. Even if I couldn't draw my face. As it is, I can draw myself pretty well, after all that practice with the mirrors and the fear of narcissism and hiding the sketches from my mother until they were done. One in black and white, stylized, straight on, only color the green of my eyes and the light salmon of my lips; another done when I had black hair, slight smirk, skin too peachy, two with red hair bottom angled, one's mouth open in a scream, the other in a shrugging smile; one with purple hair, the best one I think, blank face slack cheeks, eyes so real I can't sleep under it anymore, another with brown hair upward angled, ticked off, like my grandma's paintings, angry. None with blond hair, none natural, still. I haven't done one in awhile. There are ticket stubs on my wall, Radiohead from the one I didn't go to but Rachel said I could have the stub if I wanted; Hanson from a year ago, multiple Kill Hannah's (one with Caviar one from the Smashing Pumpkins trib and the other I don't remember) the Incubus from Saturday, PJ Harvey from September, the Blank Theory (where DID Jason ever go, anyway?) Flogging Molly, too. I keep seeing Cookie, it never fails, bouncing with his unmistakable hat. Livio crowdsurfed into the lightbox. Kim and Connor in a corner, first time I'd seen them stand still. Still. The next day's party, well, you HEARD about that, you definitely did, and this is not a complaining brainleak but a nice, agreeable brainleak, right? Isn't it time now to eat dinner?

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