In the office…again. I just made myself a mug of Hy-Vee brand black Chai tea with water from the probably bacteria-infested fountain across the hall and I stirred in three – count ‘em, THREE – packets of Sweet ’N Low. Since I’ve banned myself from purchasing ANY food that doesn’t come from the grocery store, getting a mug from the Union or a diet soda from the vendo downstairs are not options. So, I’ve settled on the tea. I would have opted for caffeine pills if I had them, but I don’t, and I’m exhausted…again.
In just a few weeks, I won’t be writing five-page poetry analyses until 3 in the morning and then waking up the next day at 7am to bike to the library to finish the paper before work begins at noon. I’ll be back in DBQ, spending my nights in front of a campfire or seized by the soothing massage of hot tub bubbles. I won’t buy any tea, generic or otherwise, and probably won’t drink soda. During the days, my eyelids will be light and my eyeballs will be clear. My body will be rested and happy.
In just a few weeks, I won’t be kept awake by the following:
- The abrasive, wall-penetrating tone of Room-mi’s cartoon-like language, rising and falling, swooning and accusing, all in Korean so that I can’t even understand what the conversation is about, I just get to listen to the noise of it
- The car alarms from the parking lot below my window
- The constant wind that shakes my apartment building high up on the Kato Plateau. It’s Wizard of Oz wind. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw a witch pedaling a bike out my window, three stories up.
- The sentences, paragraphs, and pages that write themselves in my head as I try to fall asleep. Lately, it’s the only time they’ll come; I have no access to them during the day when I sit down in front of a blank Word doc. So, when they appear in my mind, floating along the hazy balance of awake and asleep, I have to write them down or I’ll risk losing them forever.
- The muffled thumping from the apartment next door – more specifically, bed thumps – more specifically than that, sex thumps
- The eye-burning glow from my UltraBrite computer screen as I type out bullshit assignments that I don’t have done for the next day and that I know I could have done better if I would have started them sooner.
- The essays that I know I should write but never do.
- The fear that I won’t hear my alarm clock or that the batteries will fail in the middle of the night and I won’t wake up until dinner time.
I might, however, be kept awake by:
- The irresistible lure of old Roseanne episodes on Nick at Night.
- Knowing that I can stay up late downloading songs because I don’t have to be anywhere the next day.
- The sentences, paragraphs, and pages that write themselves in my head as I try to fall asleep.
But at least I’ll be home, and the sun will be hot, and the stress will evaporate. And if I get tired in the middle of the day, instead of consuming liquid uppers, I’ll take time between the far-more-distant deadlines and lazy, undemanding summer pressures and I’ll nap.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Sunday, April 23, 2006
A warning....
....I type this blog a bit...under the influence. Pls forgive errors, rants, ramblings, and rumblings. My arms are tingly and heavy. The tiny joints in my fingers feel like the mechanical, ping-ping articulation of the The Terminator's robotic hand. I went to Good Thunder tonight, for a party. The route I took to get there was windy, with turns, snaked around hills and flattened out over fields. The road home was one: 66 - straight on home. My point here is that this blog will be more like the route there, winding and difficult to follow, than it will the road back. No...I had a better, clearer, cleverer point when I started writing that, but I've lost it somewhere along the way...no doubt on the road there, along it's curly-cued, multiple-county roads, but I know that the way back is straight. Jesus H. Forget it. I'm stoned.
What do I want to talk about? Carrie's party was fun tonight. I wish I had taken some pictures so that I could frustrate myself by trying to figure out how to get a freaking photo posted on this blog! Vivid description will have to suffice:
The fire was hot, and had orange-ish flames. There was a narrow walkway made
of retaining wall stone that went through the yard. It was hard to navigate
sometimes. The woodwork was simple, clean, overall attractive. They had a
kick-ass dining room table.
Anyway, there was a lot of good food there. Someone brought their child, a little girl, and she was speaking fluent Spanish and I thought it was just so adorable. When her mother or father weren't around (the little girl kinda just flew in and out of the house, so these times were common), I would try to communicate in her native tounge. "Hola!", "Como say llama?", "Bailas!". She ran away. Later on during the night, she was back in the kitchen, this time accompanied by an adult, and speaking in fluent English. So Impressed. SO IMPRESSED! There wer some cute men there, so that was good. Also, Carrie gave me a plant! She thinks it's iris, but she dug it up from her yard and put it in a pot and gave it to me! So Nice. So NICE! I wish more people gave me plants. I think I should give plants to people. And it's even more fun when you don't know what's in the pot. It'll be a surprise, like mine will, like my plant from Carrie.
It's been a long, crazy year, and now it's come down to the last three weeks. I feel joy and I feel pain. Some professors inspired, some professors sucked (one in particular: TouchDown); some essays soared, others died before they were even conceived; most days were "good" as in "sane", a few followed the gook down the drain. An expectation died (and hit hard), a blog was born.
It's wierd when people you think you know reveal to you what you don't know, and you never would have guessed it, or you might have and hoped you'd never see it. Or worse yet, when you want so badly to like someone, and have it be reciprocated, but then they do something that makes you realize you don't want to be friends with any person who could act like that or say those things. And why? And how could you ever understand her? You thought you could be the one, but it just couldn't happen. What will I do the next time I see her, after the way I see her has changed so drastically?
Oh, God, I almost forgot: Roo-mi (pronounced "roomy")! My Korean roommate! The following photo montage is a small example of the food I live with:
Shrooms? Well Room-mi, I had no idea.
These are bags full of old, crusty rice that she scrapes out of her giant rice maker. She saves them. And leaves them on the counter. Eugh.
Ha! This one is my favorite. Notice the Betty Crocker cake mix on the top shelf. Her one, American indulgence.
I live with this shit - on the counters or the stovetop, just sitting for days, out in the open sometimes, stinking up the entire place, so much so that my clothes have the permanent weird-food stench. It's like living in a barn, when I get into the city, among the cityfolk with their startched up Sunday bests, I can smell the manure-y cloud of stank emanating from my clothes. By I can't smell it in the farm, in the middle of all the farm-scented air. Point: my clothes stink. Lydia said she smelled it in my car, "big-time". I smell it as soon as I unzip my duffle bag back home. But it all blends in here in #733. I cannot wait to be rid of her and in my own place next year.
If you'll indulge me in a brief brainstorm about the things I will not miss about Room-mi:
the smell
the food (on the counters, overflowing the freezer, and even on the porch)
the phone conversations at 2AM, shouting Korean and laughing that annoying half-laugh
the pink rubber gloves that are stored ON THE SINK, like you can't put them UNDER
THE SINK
the freaking dishes - put them away!
the shuffle-walk
the never getting your own mail deal. you're welcome. again.
oh yeah, the not being able to speak English deal, too. that's annoying.
Ha! Hearty chuckle! Room-mi just came out into the kitchen and was surprised to see me. "Oh, hi" she says. Then I flash her a goofy smile with my eyes half shut that probably lasts a little too long. She gets into the kitchen and says, in that so odd whisper in english that isn't quite soft enough to not be heard, and is just english enough to be understoond, "HeHe...she's drunk..he". Ooooo Room-mi! Yes, yes, I am drunk. And burning insense. And flicking a lighter. Oooo she bugs me. And I'm a reasonable person - it takes a lot.
In summary, I hope this long, winding, rambling road has been a fun one at least, and that through it all, you see the true path, straight as an arrow, quick as a clear thought, that was there all along.
What do I want to talk about? Carrie's party was fun tonight. I wish I had taken some pictures so that I could frustrate myself by trying to figure out how to get a freaking photo posted on this blog! Vivid description will have to suffice:
The fire was hot, and had orange-ish flames. There was a narrow walkway made
of retaining wall stone that went through the yard. It was hard to navigate
sometimes. The woodwork was simple, clean, overall attractive. They had a
kick-ass dining room table.
Anyway, there was a lot of good food there. Someone brought their child, a little girl, and she was speaking fluent Spanish and I thought it was just so adorable. When her mother or father weren't around (the little girl kinda just flew in and out of the house, so these times were common), I would try to communicate in her native tounge. "Hola!", "Como say llama?", "Bailas!". She ran away. Later on during the night, she was back in the kitchen, this time accompanied by an adult, and speaking in fluent English. So Impressed. SO IMPRESSED! There wer some cute men there, so that was good. Also, Carrie gave me a plant! She thinks it's iris, but she dug it up from her yard and put it in a pot and gave it to me! So Nice. So NICE! I wish more people gave me plants. I think I should give plants to people. And it's even more fun when you don't know what's in the pot. It'll be a surprise, like mine will, like my plant from Carrie.
It's been a long, crazy year, and now it's come down to the last three weeks. I feel joy and I feel pain. Some professors inspired, some professors sucked (one in particular: TouchDown); some essays soared, others died before they were even conceived; most days were "good" as in "sane", a few followed the gook down the drain. An expectation died (and hit hard), a blog was born.
It's wierd when people you think you know reveal to you what you don't know, and you never would have guessed it, or you might have and hoped you'd never see it. Or worse yet, when you want so badly to like someone, and have it be reciprocated, but then they do something that makes you realize you don't want to be friends with any person who could act like that or say those things. And why? And how could you ever understand her? You thought you could be the one, but it just couldn't happen. What will I do the next time I see her, after the way I see her has changed so drastically?
Oh, God, I almost forgot: Roo-mi (pronounced "roomy")! My Korean roommate! The following photo montage is a small example of the food I live with:
Shrooms? Well Room-mi, I had no idea.
These are bags full of old, crusty rice that she scrapes out of her giant rice maker. She saves them. And leaves them on the counter. Eugh.
Ha! This one is my favorite. Notice the Betty Crocker cake mix on the top shelf. Her one, American indulgence.
I live with this shit - on the counters or the stovetop, just sitting for days, out in the open sometimes, stinking up the entire place, so much so that my clothes have the permanent weird-food stench. It's like living in a barn, when I get into the city, among the cityfolk with their startched up Sunday bests, I can smell the manure-y cloud of stank emanating from my clothes. By I can't smell it in the farm, in the middle of all the farm-scented air. Point: my clothes stink. Lydia said she smelled it in my car, "big-time". I smell it as soon as I unzip my duffle bag back home. But it all blends in here in #733. I cannot wait to be rid of her and in my own place next year.
If you'll indulge me in a brief brainstorm about the things I will not miss about Room-mi:
the smell
the food (on the counters, overflowing the freezer, and even on the porch)
the phone conversations at 2AM, shouting Korean and laughing that annoying half-laugh
the pink rubber gloves that are stored ON THE SINK, like you can't put them UNDER
THE SINK
the freaking dishes - put them away!
the shuffle-walk
the never getting your own mail deal. you're welcome. again.
oh yeah, the not being able to speak English deal, too. that's annoying.
Ha! Hearty chuckle! Room-mi just came out into the kitchen and was surprised to see me. "Oh, hi" she says. Then I flash her a goofy smile with my eyes half shut that probably lasts a little too long. She gets into the kitchen and says, in that so odd whisper in english that isn't quite soft enough to not be heard, and is just english enough to be understoond, "HeHe...she's drunk..he". Ooooo Room-mi! Yes, yes, I am drunk. And burning insense. And flicking a lighter. Oooo she bugs me. And I'm a reasonable person - it takes a lot.
In summary, I hope this long, winding, rambling road has been a fun one at least, and that through it all, you see the true path, straight as an arrow, quick as a clear thought, that was there all along.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
That's good and all, but EVERY day is Earth Day
I just got back from a refreshing rollerblade along the flat, treeless, refuse-dappled landscape that is my immediate surrounding area here at The Summit. I was cooling down on the porch with a half glass of Crystal Light when a blue-shirted brigade came out of the door underneath me: four girls and one guy dressed in matching light-blue tie-die t-shirts, toting garbage bags and pick-up sticks. (my apologies for all the hyphenation.) They are picking up all the trash around the pond, which is no small feat. The "nice view" I had off my porch when I moved in has turned from quaint patch of nature just beyond the parking lot to booze/cigarette paraphenallia catch-all. (I can't help it. I love hyphenated words.) I commend them for getting out there and doing their part, even though it is Earth Day and they might not be out there otherwise. It's a lot more than most people do.
And now, for a moment of self-congratulatory reflection: I feel good about my conservation efforts over my time at The Summit. I can count the number of times I've driven to campus on one hand, and that's including sub-zero, severe wind chill weather. I have walked or ridden my bike as much as humanly possible, risking tardiness(okay, sometimes causing tardiness), illness, sunburn, sweaty pits in class, and blisters on feet from new footwear. I carpool. I keep my tires full and the car light to save on mileage. What else, what else...I take short showers, don't leave the water running while I brush my teeth (you can save up to two gallons a day!), and I've stopped buying individually packaged foods to eliminate waste. (Some items are just ridiculous - break through the shrink-wrap to get to the individual box and then open that to a plastic bag that holds the goods.) I do more and need to do even more than that.
In elementary school I was in a play called "Every Day is Earth Day." I was a bird. One of the songs was a rap called "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle." Awesome. The melody is going through my head right now. Here's a little taste of the lyrics:
Recycle, recycle, recycle now/
I can teach ya if you don't know how/
So get your mama and your daddy and your sista too/
'Cuz recyclin' is the thing to do/
I didn't have any lines, but I had a kick-ass costume thanks to Pa and his infinite creativity. White leggings and a long sleeve-shirt underneath a body suite made of bright orange, yellow, and red feathers. But the kicker was the headdress. A Styrofoam halo of feathers, bobby-pinned into my permed, red hair. I stood in the back next to KT (a trash bag) and Andrea (a tree). We have it on tape somewhere.
Anyway, thanks light-blue-tie-died-shirt people for reminding me that it's Earth Day. I'll be thinking of you tonight at Carrie's bonfire when I'm roasting mallows over the fire and dreaming of summer nights under the stars in my relativley unaffected-by-pollution-so-that-the-nights-are-still-clear-city.
And now, for a moment of self-congratulatory reflection: I feel good about my conservation efforts over my time at The Summit. I can count the number of times I've driven to campus on one hand, and that's including sub-zero, severe wind chill weather. I have walked or ridden my bike as much as humanly possible, risking tardiness(okay, sometimes causing tardiness), illness, sunburn, sweaty pits in class, and blisters on feet from new footwear. I carpool. I keep my tires full and the car light to save on mileage. What else, what else...I take short showers, don't leave the water running while I brush my teeth (you can save up to two gallons a day!), and I've stopped buying individually packaged foods to eliminate waste. (Some items are just ridiculous - break through the shrink-wrap to get to the individual box and then open that to a plastic bag that holds the goods.) I do more and need to do even more than that.
In elementary school I was in a play called "Every Day is Earth Day." I was a bird. One of the songs was a rap called "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle." Awesome. The melody is going through my head right now. Here's a little taste of the lyrics:
Recycle, recycle, recycle now/
I can teach ya if you don't know how/
So get your mama and your daddy and your sista too/
'Cuz recyclin' is the thing to do/
I didn't have any lines, but I had a kick-ass costume thanks to Pa and his infinite creativity. White leggings and a long sleeve-shirt underneath a body suite made of bright orange, yellow, and red feathers. But the kicker was the headdress. A Styrofoam halo of feathers, bobby-pinned into my permed, red hair. I stood in the back next to KT (a trash bag) and Andrea (a tree). We have it on tape somewhere.
Anyway, thanks light-blue-tie-died-shirt people for reminding me that it's Earth Day. I'll be thinking of you tonight at Carrie's bonfire when I'm roasting mallows over the fire and dreaming of summer nights under the stars in my relativley unaffected-by-pollution-so-that-the-nights-are-still-clear-city.
Uncomfortably enlightened.
I'm sitting in the office on a warm, sunny, springy Saturday afternoon. Came here to do work because I have SO much shit to do between now and the end of the semester. I wrote a gigantic e-mail to Ship, an unneccessary e-mail to my family, and now I'm finally writing my second blog. None of this is in the name of correspondence or productivity, it's all procrastination - my nemesis.
The "Comfortably Numb" remake by Dar Williams and Ani DiFranco just came on mvyradio. How freaking applicable. Damn you meaningful coincidences.
The "Comfortably Numb" remake by Dar Williams and Ani DiFranco just came on mvyradio. How freaking applicable. Damn you meaningful coincidences.
Friday, April 7, 2006
I have a crush on Angelina.
I Google her image. When I know Entertainment Weekley or E! News or one of those other ridiculously celebrity-obsessed shows is on, I tune in to the first few minutes to see if an Angelina story is coming and then I flip back to the channel periodically in case I can catch Angelina. I got a free trial membership to Netflix; rented 8 Angelina movies in just a few weeks; saw young Angelina, androgenous Angelina, schitzoid Angelina and slutty Angelina; so that I could fulfill my guilty pleasure through the mail and not in a video store with clerks who would probably take note of a young woman who only rents Angelina movies. I defend her against my friends and list all the reasons she's better than Jennifer Aniston (far too many for this blog). I wonder how she looks naked, although from all the images I've seen, I can piece together a pretty good fascimile. I wonder if she drinks red or white. I wonder if she's ever read Dillard.
I like the idea of Angelina. I want to be like her, not with her.
While I'm on the subject, Scarlett Johannsen is pretty freaking hot too.
I like the idea of Angelina. I want to be like her, not with her.
While I'm on the subject, Scarlett Johannsen is pretty freaking hot too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)