Friday, October 28, 2005

Graf # 14

Isearch Status -

I am having increasing difficulties. I'm mostly struggling between schoolwork and work work, and I'm afraid if I tell them I can't work certain hours, I'll get fired. I need the money.

I have the first three parts of my essay done- but I don't really like the way the last two sections are written. I've done a lot of research that I haven't even looked at, the illeged stack of printoffs that Goldfine hates so much. He says it's a security blanket, which isn't true for me. I have it because I like to go through the hard copy and highlight everything I'm using and not using in different colors and not be worried whether or not I will lose it to some file or server crash. I have all of my sources in one solid spot where I can keep my eye on them and keep them organized. What I like is that when you print something off from the internet, it has a nice little footer that has the internet address where you found the info, all ready to be smacked down into a bibliography. It also helps to have the hard copy when I can't get to a computer.

On a more personal note, I'm finding out some more information on my health insurance and ways I can get counseling and some advice. If I do have bi-polar, it's best to find out and get treated before I become insane.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Graf # 12

Research History

What have I done in the past to get answers to my own personal questions? Well, I've meditated, for one. I figure that if it's a question you need to really ask yourself and need the answer to, you can find that answer within yourself. On more superficial questions, like information about guys I've liked, I've asked friends about them, watched them sometimes, basically went right up and blurted whatever I needed to say out. I've gone on the internet and done research on homemade remedies and how to properly dye one's hair with koolaid powder. I've read books on occults and vampires, I've watched and read erotica to help and influence me to write my own, and to help me draw the naked human form with increasing accuracy, and for other, personal reasons. (haha). I've read self-help books, called my doctor for odd questions, gone to city hall to find out information on state laws, been to national monuments... I've done tons of silly, crazy things to find answers to questions. It's almost a hobby. I amuse myself because I'm a curious person.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Classification Essay

Every band has what is called a fan base, the group of wild crazy people who worship them as if they are gods and their music is the elixir of eternal youth. A lot of people say they are all the same; just one screaming mob of strange, obsessive people, but I think different. In my opinion, there are three types of music fans. There are the "crazies", the ones who are so infested with obsession that they can't see the band without screaming, and the "listeners", who casually like the band's music at their own convenience. Then there are the in-betweens, the "Band-Aids", who go to the concerts, respect the musicians... they basically do their best to support the band without going to the extreme. They're all fans, but each adds their own personal touch to the crowd. I've been through all three of these stages, and it's a long and mostly enjoyable journey to take through, if you love music as much as I do.

The "crazies" are the wildest of the bunch. They are also known as "Teenies", "teenyboppers", or just plain "obsessed". These fans do such nonsense things like name their pets and stuffed animals after each member, and then proceed to use #2's, #3's, etc when they run out of names to use. They also like to write "I love {insert band name here}" all over their notebooks, and cover every inch of their walls with pictures. At concerts, they scream and chant the band's name over and over, making it very difficult for others to hear the music. They tattoo themselves with the band's logo, they write all over their faces and arms and clothes, they do everything they can possibly think of to let the whole world known that they love that band. They're insane. At one point of my life, I was part of the "crazy" fan base. I did name my pets and stuffed animals after the members of the band, and when I ran out of names, I would resort to the #2's and #3's, etc. I bought all of those girly teen magazines and had every inch of my wall and ceiling covered in posters and pictures, and I even celebrated the members' birthdays with fellow "crazies". It was fun, but tiresome. It's a lot of work to be a crazy.

On the other side of the fan base spectrum, is the group that I like to call the "listeners". The listeners are just the fans of the music, period. They don't worship the band, they don't celebrate their birthdays, and they don't attend the concerts very often. The "listeners" are, in most cases, a product of being a "crazy" for far too long. A "crazy" becomes a "listener" when he or she gets a life. They forget everything they were obsessed about, and may even forget why they even like the band. Most of the time, a "listener" is the older fan, the more mature. As of right now, I'm leaning more towards the "listener" side. I'm much too busy to take all of this time to be obsessed. I've grown up; I don't feel the need to be that supportive. I listen to this band's music once in a while, when I can get the time. I still have that fondness towards them, but no longer feel the compulsive need to know everything about them down to the color of their toothbrush.

In between the "crazies" and the "listeners", is the group known as the "Band-Aids". A "Band-Aid" is exactly that. They aid, or help the band, in whatever sane way they can. They are often members of what is called the "street team" where they help to promote the band's music by posting flyers and giving out music samples whenever they can. The "Band-Aids" attend the concerts, maybe have a website devoted to the band, and still have a poster or two up on their walls. When I was a Band-Aid, I had a website for my favorite band; In fact, I had several. I was part of the street team, and I actually got to meet them. I felt official. Being a "Band-Aid" is the stage where a fan is a little confused, and is in the process of converting to either side of the fan base spectrum. It's a comfortable position, but still, it takes a considerable amount of time, which I ran out of.
Now, I’m stuck somewhere in that spectrum, and, like I said, leaning more towards the “listener” side. I still have a strong admiration for the band, and I will, once in a while, wear their t-shirts. I still listen to their music obnoxiously loud, and yes, my stuffed animals are still named after them, (after all, once it’s got a name, I can’t change it), but I have changed. I’ve realized through all of these stages of fandom, that I’ve matured. My musical tastes have matured, and also my sense of self. Being a crazy was a lot of fun, and I’d go through it again if I had the choice, because it was a great part of my life; I was blissfully obsessive. Being a Band-Aid was a bit more stressful because I couldn’t devote all of my time to that band anymore, only some of it. I still felt quite important; I had a purpose. Today I am a listener! Now, I can fondly look back at all of these memories, and say… I’ve seen it all.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

ISearch - What I Know

What I know is this: I'm driven to find a solution. I know that I can give it my all, and I'm willing to do anything to make this better, in order to help my life, and the others around me, who love me the most. I know someone who does have bi-polar disorder and anxiety, someone I am close to, and who could probably help me out quite a bit. I know that Bi-polar disorder involves extreme mood swings, and is very difficult to cure. I know that there are drugs available, one of them being lithium, and I know that I can talk to a teen counseling hotline if I just need to talk.

I am an angry person, but I can be just as cheerful and happy-go-lucky as anyone else. I'm a constantly breaking tidal wave. My feelings are small and then they build and escalate until they crash over everything. I know that my feelings are slowly dissentegrating my relationships with my family, and most of all, my fiance. I know that these people just don't understand why I am the way I am, they don't understand that I have a problem.

I know that I overreact to simple things, I know that every day I think suicidal thoughts and have an overwhelming desire to make myself bleed, and the only reason I don't is because I made a promise not to. I can be elated at one moment and the be ready to jump over a bridge the next. Is this just how I am, or can I be fixed?

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Classification Intro # 1

Every band has what is called a fan base, the group of wild crazy people who worship them as if they are gods and their music is the elixir of eternal youth. A lot of people say they are all the same; just one screaming mob of strange, obsessive people, but I think different. In my opinion, there are three types of music fans. There are the "crazies", the ones who are so infested with obsession that they can't see the band without screaming, and the "listeners", who casually like the band's music at their own convenience. Then there are the in-betweens, the "Band-Aids", who go to the concerts, respect the musicians... they basically do their best to support the band without going to the extreme. They're all fans, but each adds their own personal touch to the crowd. I've been through all three of these stages, and it's a long and mostly enjoyable journey to take through, if you love music as much as I do.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Graf # 13

Classification Essay Reaction

I think these essays are mostly interesting. Finding a topic might be hard, but I think I'll manage. I think the essay about the three types of men (snakes, snails and puppy dog tails), was the most interesting, and I've been there, and the one that goldfine read in class about the flea quishing. That one was funny because i do that sometimes, but I don't sit for hours and pop fleas. I think that person has a little TOO much free time.

Freestyle # 6

Smiles and tears have rained down on me this week. I've felt sick and well, joyous and morose, and all I want to do now is sleep... Sleep, sleep, sleep; Drift into that wonderful world of subconsciousness where anything can happen and I can bend everything and everyone to my will. I'm exhausted from working so much and I'm gaining weight. It makes me hate myself more. Someone decided they wanted to push my buttons at work and they definately got the consequences of hitting the switch. I'm hoping that I can reinstate my workstudy into one semester, so I don't have to keep commuting back and forth to work everyday. I can't afford the gas, or the energy. I'm bored as hell, and there are random thoughts coming in and ou of my brain, like I wish that the people in the lobby of acadia hall would stop blabbing about stupid things, and that the computers in here need to be fixed, and I wish I was making more money, and that I'm glad I got to see Sallon last night because I missed his ridiculous disobedience. It's funny, because he behaves perfectly when he's with me, but refuses to listen to Joshua. Yesterday was his mother's birthday and we gave her our gifts, and pampered her silly. Josh's card that I helped him pick out made her cry and blubber like a baby, and it was truly a hallmark moment. for once I felt included in that family, and I'm hoping it will stay that way, instead of the incessant name-calling and ridicule I receive on every visit.

Prompt Reaction # 6

The safest place in the world....

The safest place in the world is dark. It's warm, and it smells sweet, almost like springtime, but not quite. I can retreat there whenever there's an element of strife threatening my inner calm, even when it feels like it's that darkness that's causing the problem. This place has strong, solid walls, but they are flexible and gentle as they contain me in their security. In this safe place, there is no light for the eye to see, but for the heart to feel. It's bright and golden, almost celestial. The light reminds me of the warmth of the sun, and my soul basks in it while my eyes remain closed. My skin is buried inside of this sparkling, brilliant darkness, and its heat radiates throughout my being. In this safe place I can mellow and fall asleep to the steady rhythm in the walls; I can dance on a thousand sighs, and still feel as though I'd enjoy being blind. My safe place helps me to feel alive when I feel as though I shouldnt exist, and gives me a reason to be. The safest place in the world, to me, is in my lover's arms.

ISearch - Why I'm Writing

Like I said, I gave up. I’ll give it to you straight out- the reason I’m writing is to find out if there’s any hope of going back. I'm the kind of person who is insecure. Not the kind of insecure where I don't know who I am and where I stand, but the kind of insecure that is harder to define. I don't know exactly what my real emotions are and which ones are just elements of paranoia. I have institutionalized myself to pain, and I have tried to break that barrier down. I've convinced myself, on the inside, that there is something wrong with me and there's something wrong with the world. I've refused to trust either person. When it seems like things are going fine, I always make sure something goes wrong because it makes me feel like I'm in control, and I don't even realize when it is I do this. I push the very person who I can trust the most, farther away than any other person could do the damage, when I want nothing more to have him by my side. I'm destroying the one thing I hold sacred, and I don't even know why.

I’m writing because I’m tired of being miserable, I’m tired of feeling angry and not knowing why, and most of all I’m looking for an answer, and a sense of hope that I can’t seem to find within myself. I don’t have any other drive. I cannot find any ounce of faith in myself, and barely any in others. I don’t accept anyone or anything no matter who the person is, and I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t want to be insecure for the rest of my life. I don’t want to push anyone away. I want to find solid ground and get help, I suppose. I've taken every approach I'm willing to take in order to help myself and it seems as though I've just dug myself in deeper, so I'm looking elsewhere. Just the other day, My fiance and I were walking through the woods having a discussion about reading, and why I read so fast, and he made a simple statement, and I just dropped like a hammer. I stopped talking and I stopped thinking, I was just overcome with an anger and resentment and I couldn't figure out the source. It started a fight, if you could imagine, and ruined the whole outing. I sank into myself, and felt nothing but loneliness and despair. Why can't I have a conversation without hating myself?

I'm writing because I need a solice of some sort. I need an answer, whether it's the answer I want or not. I want to find a solution to this problem, an ending to my current downward spiral. I need answers to some of these questions.

- What is it that causes these sudden outbursts?
- Is what I feel a "real" emotion, or is it just a chemical in my brain making me overreact?
- How can I find a way to love myself?
- Will routine help?
- Is it stress?
- What is bi-polar disorder exactly?
- If I do have it, how can it be treated?
- Can I treat it on my own, without drugs or psychotherapy?
- If I do take drugs, what are the safest and most trusted? Which ones have the higest success rate?
- How could I find counseling, or a psychiatrist, for no cost?

Friday, October 14, 2005

I-Search Background - EDIT

I don't really know where I could start on a background for this topic. The only place I can think of is the beginning- not where my questions began, and not where I started to change, but really where my life began, and how it led to the person I am today. I did not have a stable childhood. Not having a sufficient income most of the time drove my mother to do some desperate things in order to provide for my sisters and I. There were times where the only thing we had in our food cabinet were boxes of generic mac n' cheese and a couple cans of tuna. My mother worked constantly, three or four jobs at a time, and so most of my 'growing-up' involved babysitters and kind relatives. With the low income came the lack of stability as a whole. We never stayed in one place for too long. We were always moving, state to state, school to school, from one town to the next. People ask me where I grew up, and I can't answer them. I can only say one depressing word, and that is "nowhere".

I've never had a father. I've never met him, and I never will; He is no longer alive. I know his name, Patrick, but I don't know anything else other than that he was the love of my mother's life... when she was 15. He died when I was seven years old of a heroin overdose, never knowing of my existance. I was not raised by any fatherly figure. I've never known what it's like to have a dad.

Since before I can remember, my mother jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend, never finding anyone who fit her lifestyle. I barely knew any of them, I was too young. When I was eleven years old, she met the one man that would change my life forever, and not for the good, either. His name was John. That's all I knew. He moved in at some point, I don't even remember, but I remember what it was like after my little brother, his son, died. The real John came out then, and shoved his brutal self into my world in a way that he could never be pushed out. He was an alcoholic, verbally abusive, and a violently angry man. I don't know how many telephones he broke. I just remember countless trips to the store to buy a new one the day after he had ripped it from the wall... again. I think his behavior had a big influence on how I grew up... or rather, how I progressed.

In school I was never the popular kid, I was poor and did not sport any stylish clothing whatsoever. I had the goodwill grabbag in my closet, and thoughtful donations from family friends and relatives. Occasionally the wal-mart special grabbed a spot or two, but even that wasn't good enough. I ate lunch for free, and I was the kid who didn't have anything to munch on during snack time. We couldn't afford it. I sat by myself most of the time, but made a few friends, who in the end turned out to be not worth the energy. Then, the time came when we finally stayed somewhere, for more than 2 years. We had claimed our residence in the town of Walpole, Massachusetts, and there I was in the same school for 5 years. I made some friends after about 3 years, and felt quite comfortable with my life. I had 3 years of high school left, normal clothes to wear, and friends. I had a social life. I'd never felt so happy.

As you can expect, that did not last very long. When I was 16, that life was wrenched from my fingertips once again, and I moved here, to Maine. For several reasons, I became very hermit-like. I arrogantly secluded myself from everyone and everything, never feeling any hope or optimism that anything could be good again. I did not go out on weekends or after school, I baby-sat most of the time. All summer, save for one, I watched my little sister, so my mother could work. All I remember is the animosity building and building until one day, I gave up. I woke up one morning and my life crashed before my feet, and so I slept. I crawled into the only safety net I had, my dreams. I only got up to go to the bathroom. I slept for 3 days straight, and then decided not to move for 7 more days. A few threats of suicide drifted into thought, and interrupted my existance, and on several occasions I was left in my own drunken stupor, throwing up all my hopeful chances of alcohol poisoning. I gave up on everything, on everything I loved, including my family, on all of the things I enjoyed. I gave up everything I wanted, and got lost in what I thought would be my only fate. This, dear reader, is where my quest begins. Why did I give up my sense of self? Was is because of all of these circumstances and more left unmentioned, or is it just purely psychological? I'm better now than I was then, because of the wonderful support that was given to me by my boyfriend, who is now my fiance and the love of my life, But I'm still in that emotional tornado.

Today, I am not an emotionally stable person. There are days that are up and days that are down, but the ups are too high, and the downs are way too low. I've read on depression, I've read on all the different types of emotional disorders, but there's only one that seems to fit the profile, and that is what is known today as Bi-polar Disorder, or Manic Depression. I'm searching for an answer to one question that nobody else has been able to answer for me. Do I have it?

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Graf # 11

Writing an essay about animals would have been difficult for me. So, instead of writing about why I love animals, I wrote about why I love my animals. I have a strong connection with my pets, particularly my cats for a lot of reasons, and I figured that this is my tribute. This is for them, and for me. If I had chosen to write about my love for animals and wanting to work with them, it would have been impersonal. The essay would have been deemed "not ready" and thrown back at me with suggested improvements. My pets were my only solice for a very long time, and it's my respect and appreciation for their affections that drove me to write this essay. When I had nobody at my side, they always were there to provide comfort and nurturing that I was denied from those I needed it from the most.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Cause Essay

You’re stepping through the door, it’s unusually quiet. You sneak in slowly, shutting the door quietly behind you. You listen; you watch closely all areas of the hall, alert, prepared for attack. You hear a little noise, a pitter patter, a clickety click: little claws on the hardwood floors, tap tap tapping, coming closer and closer. Then you hear the low growls, and then a full bark, those deep-throated, protective howls. You stand completely still, waiting for him. He’s closer, in the hall, and he sees you! You turn to run, but there’s nowhere to go! He’s bounding towards you, tail wagging viciously as he leaps at your chest, and attacks you with his razor-sharp tongue! I know what you’re thinking… ‘Razor-sharp tongue?? What?!’ Yes, his tongue. You are being smothered and loved by none other than man’s best friend. There are a lot of people in this world who have a pet. I love animals, and I’m sure you do too. A pet is a comfort, a companion, a friend. A pet is a relief; a calm from the storm. Your pet could even be your favourite person! I happen to like animals more than people for an abundance of reasons.

I remember countless nights after a long day, curling up in bed, and hearing my old, antique doorknobs jingle. My cats, Fret and Merlin, would let themselves in my room. Both of them were polydexterous, or double-pawed, and could open doors and hold things with their front paws. They'd open the door, and push it open with their paws or their noses, and hop right onto the bed. While Fret would curl up at his guarding post on the bottom left corner, keeping a watchful eye on the window (he's very protective), Merlin would come right up to me and snuggle. He'd crawl right under the blankets and spoon himself right up to my chest, if I was laying on my side. If on my back, he'd lay his big fluffy self right on my chest and bury his little fuzzy face in my ear. Now, he had a bit of Norwegian Forest cat in him, which is very similar to a Maine Coon. Needless to say... He was a big, soft cat, with a big, soft heart. I lost him some time ago, because someone decided to use him as a speedbump. Fret is still around, and still as wonderfully arrogant as ever. He loves me very much, and turns his rump to anyone else except for my fiance, for some strange reason. What I'm trying to get at, is that having them as pets helped me through a lot of my daily woes and strife. They were my companions, and I could always turn to them for comfort.

I have a dog, two actually- Malcolm and Dakota. They're crazy. They jump, paw at you, whine and bark and whimper when you get in the door, but they, like Fret, are very protective also... Well, against other animals anyway. Dakota especially. She's short and small, but she's a tough girl. We have a farm across the street from our house, and she tends to bark at any animal that trespasses onto our territory. Both of the dogs go insane if there's another dog outside. You'd think there was a war going on, the way they howl. Dakota likes to keep them in their place. My dogs are my guardians, they make me feel safe. The don't discriminate, they don't judge, they love unconditionally. I can always rely on my dogs when I need to feel safe, and at home.

My pets are my favourite type of people. They're playful and loving, and they make me feel like I play an important role. I take care of them, and they take care of me, no questions asked. They don't tell me if I look fat. They don't care if I have pimples on my face or if my clothes don't match. They don't care if my feet smell, or if I eat a lot of junk food. They care about who I am, and that I make them happy. I feed them and cuddle them and keep them warm and safe at night. I think that every person should act like an animal and maybe everyone would be a lot happier. Now, I'm not saying to eat by sticking your face in a bowl, or to lick your privates, or sniff someone's butt, no, I'm saying, "Don't judge, just be happy with who people are". Respect everyone who respects you. I love animals more than people because they know how to get the best out of life, and live it to its fullest.

After my two years here at Eastern Maine Community College, I plan to go on to some Veterinary program at UMO or elsewhere. I'll create a career based around love and care and kindness to animals, whether they are my pets or someone else's. I've had so many pets in my 18 years that I probably won't be able to remember them all. I've had 17 cats, 5 dogs, 5 ferrets, an iguana, countless fish, a water dragon, 4 lovebirds, 2 snakes, a rat, a sugar baby (a little flying squirrel), a crow, a raccoon, and 2 little sisters (they count as animals). That's a lot of time, energy, love, and vet bills. You could say I'm committed.

Prompt Reaction # 5

You’ve lost It! Where is It?

Uh Oh...
Don't tell me I lost it... OH NO!
Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!
What am I going to do?! HE'S GONNA KILL ME!
Ok! Ok Kasey, think rationally! Retrace your steps. Where were you when you first had it?
The kitchen.
OK! To the kitchen, then!
I am in the kitchen. I was standing by the stove when he handed it to me.
"Don't lose it!" He said.
"I won't" I said.
I'm a liar! I lost it!
Well, from the stove, I had it on my finger... I went to wash the dishes while he was outside.. I took it off there, but I put it back on when I was done...
From the sink, I went to the fridge and grabbed an apple, and I ate it. I don't think I ate the ring... it was still on my finger.
I went into the living room and sat down... turned on the tube... and... still there.
I'm in the living room. I'm sitting on the couch!
After I watched my show, I got up. What did I do next?
I went outside to see what he was doing.
I'm outside. He's working on his car, changing the oil I presume.
Sat in the hammock. I'm sitting on the hammock, ring is still there.
Then I went inside, into my room.
Up the stairs I go, through the hall to the door, and... in my room!
I sat on my bed, took it off to put on some lotion... and then?
That's it! That's when I lost it! I set it down on my nightstand, yes!
I'm looking, looking, looking, not here! Not here?! OH GOD!
Maybe it fell... I'm looking, looking, looking, under the bed? Not under the bedskirt, not in the dust bunnies, not under the bed at all!
On the floor? Under the nighttable... looking, looking, looking... ruffling my hands under, all over, and OH! Could it be? I'm pulling my hand out, blowing off the fluff, and, YES! It is! The ring! I must have knocked it behind when I went to shut the light or something!
I'm sliding it back onto my finger, going out the door, through the hall, down the stairs, through the living room, back through the kitchen and waiting...
A moment later, here he comes, back in the house. "Got my ring?" he asks after washing the motor oil off his hands.
"Yup." Right where you left it, dear.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Cause Outro

After my two years here at Eastern Maine Community College, I plan to go on to some Veterinary program at UMO or elsewhere. I'll create a career based around love and care and kindness to animals, whether they are my pets or someone else's. I've had so many pets in my 18 years that I probably won't be able to remember them all. I've had 17 cats, 5 dogs, 5 ferrets, an iguana, countless fish, a water dragon, 4 lovebirds, 2 snakes, a rat, a sugar baby (a little flying squirrel), a crow, a raccoon, and 2 little sisters (they count as animals). That's a lot of time, energy, love, and vet bills. You could say I'm committed.

Graf # 10

These I-searches look.. a wee bit... extensive. I'm scared. No, not really actually. Some of these papers were pretty boring, like the very first one. Not interesting. I think that goldfine is pulling our strings, saying to write things the way we are now, not even talking about structure and grammar and spelling and all that nitty gritty stuff. I think he's prowling, lurking with that information, ready to spring the bad news up on us when we think everything is fine and dandy. I can't wait. In the meantime, I'm researching The subject I chose for my i-search.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Prompt Reaction # 4

Who's the first person you remember?
The first person I remember is Joshua, my boyfriend, now my fiance. I remember the first time I saw him smile, and the first time I ever heard his voice, the mellow, caramel sounds formed into words. He's the first person I can remember because I think about him all of the time. There isn't one moment that I don't. I remember the way he likes to mix his food all together before he eats it, and I remember the very first time I touched his rough, callused hands. I remember our first kiss, his soft, dark hair, the curls tangled in my fingers. I remember how he loves Nirvana, how he plays the guitar. I remember how impatient he is, how frustrated he gets when things don't go at his pace. I remember his hazel-blue eyes, how they change with the clouds and when he cries. I remember nights lying in bed, hoping he's alright. I fondly remember hearing his voice, whispering melodies in my ear, sometimes tone deaf and wonderfully relaxing. I remember dancing when there was no sound but the beating of our own hearts, and the night air engulfing us. I remember running away from him, laughter from the chase, that he's ticklish and has the heart of a child, innocent, honest, and playful. I remember how he loves cars and hates heights, how he laughs, amusing and extremely contagious. I remember how badly he wanted a puppy, and the joy on his face when he came and brought Sallon to see me for the first time. I remember how he always wears his class ring, and his refusal to admit that he likes my cat. I remember how he hates to shave because sometimes it hurts his face, and because it takes too much of his precious 'sitting on his butt watching t.v while the water heats up for his bath' time. I remember how he likes to try new things, no matter how gross it is. I remember his faith in God, and I remember watching him sleep in my arms. I remember the first time he confessed his love for me, and the first time I'd ever seen him cry. I remember the strength with which he's gotten through his life. I remember sitting on the couch, watching a movie, I remember the first time he'd spent the night, it was the first full night's rest I'd gotten in three years. I remember the comfort he gives me with every moment we are together. I remember everything, and there are countless amounts of memories, so many that I can't mention them all, it would take hours, days, weeks. I remember him because we are making new memories with every second we spend together. I remember him because I love him, and because he saved me from myself.

Freestyle # 5

Up and down and up and down, the wall comes up, all around and you tear it down, down to the floor in bricks and cement and crumbs of fear. A single word builds it up again and then... you take your hammer of a heart and smash it to bits, you destroy that boundary with a single... kiss. Why does is go up in the first place if you can tear it down so well? Once I was like Humpty Dumpty, and OOOH! I fell. I fell down, down, down into a tunnel, a funnel, a tornado of sorts, where bits and pieces of my debris were scattered and bent and broken to pieces. Eventually the wounds heal, but it takes time, and you glue them together so very well. Why do I keep ripping them apart, I wonder? I don't want these open wounds, yet everytime they heal I find a new type of damage, not easily concealed anymore. Perhaps I am beginning to institutionalize myself to... pain? No. Well, the wall is down, tumbled to the ground. What will be the magic word to keep it that way?

Monday, October 03, 2005

Freestyle # 4

Dear Diary,
I went to the movies the other day and made an observation. Nobody goes to the movies on a saturday night anymore. There were people at the movies all the time on a saturday night before the whole clubbing thing came around. I sat in the stadium seats with my boyfriend and stared at the empty seats. Maybe nobody wanted to see the movie we wanted to see, but it's a Tim Burton film! WHO DOESN'T LIKE TIM BURTON? Well, if you don't, I feel sorry for you. I love Tim Burton films. They're so delightfully decadent. Double D. Speaking of Double D's, Tiffany has dyed her hair a disgusting bleach blonde. She looks like an easter egg. My grandmother came to the dorms to bring me meatballs and to harass my fish because of its awesome name (llewellyn). She thinks it sounds gross. She's the one who went and names her car after her dog, Brandy (who is a sick cow of a rottweiler with a terrible temperment). I had some phenominal sex last night, which I'm sure half the dorm residents are aware of (ahem). and I'm in a wonderful mood. I'm perhaps a bit open but I don't care, I'm feeling quite good. I have to go now, and get back to bed. I didn't get to sleep til 3. (ahem.)

Freestyle # 3

I'm... tumbling, falling, cascading, where did my sanity go? It's down, down, in his mouth, in his eyes, he has it, all of it, and I'm laying here, helpless, writhing, shaking, shivering... not cold but hot, so very heated, a red flame flickering and growing hotter and spreading across the sheets. His hands are dancing, devil's fingers, callused fingers, rough against my skin, wrapped around, in and around. He's traveling upwards, leaving me helpless, moving over, pushing, bending me, breaking me, throwing me around, under a canopy, under a canopy of satin and lace.

I've... tumbled, fallen, cascaded, my sanity has returned, weak and powerless. It's up, up, out of his mouth, but still in his eyes, and he still has a hold some of it. I'm laying here, weak, not writhing, not shaking, still shivering and hot, but the flame has died down to embers, smoldering in the sheets. His hands have rested, nested in my hair, angel's fingers, soft hands, soft against my skin, touching lightly, tickling lightly. He's blanketing down, cradling me, lulling me, under a canopy, under a canopy of satin and lace.