NEW STUFF FOR YOU OUR FANS!

Rachel and I got a new blog. Because this one is a sham and the whole relationship between all of us fell apart in less than a month's time. Laura moved out and her boyfriend Will has taken her place. rachel may be going next.

Our new blog is : unadornedconfab.blogspot.com

Hip hip hip she's got real hips. 

I forgot too

I completely forgot this blog existed

It slipped away somewhere between Winter and Spring

where most of my memories seem to scurry.

Rachel and I went to an Obama rally tonight

sometimes I think that we are conscious of too much. I mean how do you turn off the skepticism? 

Would we choose to switch it off if we really had the chance?

I think I would vote no on the previous rhetorical.

I want so badly to believe that someone is actually aware and willing to do something for us.

I'm sure this thought has been thought before

this blog blogged

this ash ashed

but really... who will save us?

During my Vonnegut obsession I frequented a column on Inthesetimes.com entitled "Dear Mr. Vonnegut"

One letter posed:

"Dear Mr. Vonnegut, I have not so much a comment or a question for you, but rather a request: Please tell me it will be OK."

To which he replied:

"Dear Joe, Welcome to Earth, young man. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, Joe, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you've got to be kind!"

Upon re-reading his response, I don't know why I reacted so strongly, 

but the first time I wept in a public place (a strict badass/Sagan rule breaker).

But I think it was the first time in my young adult life that I had witnessed anyone being real. There are no remedies to the human condition, no prescriptions, or words of advice to make your trip a little easier or more economic. You just have to hold your breath, swallow it down and hope that someone offers you a glass of water. 

I once thought that Mr. Vonnegut would save the world. He would stand up tall and geriatric facing a crowd of hopeful onlookers in front of the White House and look sorrowfully into the crowd, tears streaming down his wrinkled jowls to announce with grand gestures, a heart bursting with kindness and want for the American people and proclaim that everything would be OK; that he had come at last to lift us from our deepest caverns, coax us down from our mountain peaks, embrace us with his nicotine stained hands, and finally finally make us all whole again. He would devise community projects, distribute purpose with firm handshakes (maybe throw in a couple winks), he would hand out hope without disappointment, and bestow upon us the gift of a future without a desperate and hostile path. Then he died. 

I mean he was old anyways. I was being foolish, I was longing for what every young adult desires: to see their hero call the shots, design the cars, feed the hungry, house the homeless, and most importantly, call us up every other Sunday to join them for a long cup of coffee and invigorating conversation. But unfortunately, we are most frequently disappointed. 

But right now, I feel this breeze.

I was explaining this to Rachel during breakfast-dinner at the Waffle House.

It's like when you are sitting in the kitchen and you feel this gust of air. It's nearly insignificant, but every now and again it swells just enough so that you are forced to look up and turn your head in search of an open window. Then you stand up and walk to the living room to see that the door is actually open, so you close it. 

This breeze, though, seems to have no origin. Wherever I look, the windows are tightly sealed, the door locked, the fan unplugged. It's like being in a room that is only partly enclosed. You're not quite cut off from the rest of the world, they're still looking in and you're still aware that anything could happen at any moment, that you do not have control.

I feel that. It's not novel, I've experienced this before. It is usually followed by something big (relatively). I felt this breeze when Taylor died. I remember the morning, Icq'in on the family Gateway and obsessively glancing over my shoulder every 5 minutes just scanning the room for some opening to the outside, but I never found it. I eventually discovered the source of my discomfort, but it originated from no screen door or blasting vent. 

I think something is going to happen. I think that Obama may be honest. I think that he may very well be vying for our needs to be addressed, maybe even resolved. I think he is my Vonnegut in red, white, and blue armor. His dialogue is unique. He is addressing issues so directly and with such fervency that he couldn't be lying. So many politicians skim actual problems when describing the trajectory of their economic policies, but their game is easily revealed. But Obama asks the questions that I ask: Why is this happening? Why are we ignoring the billions of wasted dollars, the glaring corruption of lobbyists and corporate tax breaks, energy mongers, and lucrative prostitution circles? Why are they allowed to go about their foreign policy blunders without addressing these incredibly visible and poignant issues? 

BUT I know I know I know that he's just trying to win my vote. I know that he can't actually care about me. I can't pretend that I trust him or anyone else for that matter who consciously chooses to step up and run for such a powerful political position. There has to be something he's not telling us, something the media is hiding. Some character flaw or secret scheme to take over the world. I mean, there's something right? 

Or am I paranoid? I mean I know that I'm paranoid about a lot of things, but I feel like this we must not yet shed our inhibitions or let our firm distrust be swayed by charisma and grace. We cannot allow ourselves to be wooed by a young face and fresh organic produce promises. If I think about the repetition of history (and I rarely do), I am aware of several dictators who were adored by their citizenry because they arrived just in time to save their mother lands from a devastation of all hope and purpose. How do I know that the same will not be true about our dear Obama? He has all the ingredients to be a textbook dictator. He promises change, a large shift in government structure, a new vision for the economy, racial/religious/sexual/economic equality. He's charismatic and charming without being suave or overly emphatic. He knows how to speak, he knows to whom he is speaking, and how best to formulate his dialogue based on this god-given awareness. He's perfect. And I mean, he may very well be perfect. For all I know, he is the saint of all saints that we have been hoping and clasping our hands for. He may be the solution or at least an acidic catalyst to begin addressing and resolving pressing global issues. 

But he could be lying.

What I really want is this: I want him to sit down and have a cup of coffee with me. I want him to shed himself of political flattery, slouch, relax, look me in the eye and be real. I mean really real, just for a second. 

And I want to ask him:

"Are we going to be OK?"

And I want him to say "Yes," I need him to say "yes."

i forgot

Hello, blog. I forgot about you. 

Today was a bad day. Not a bad day in the epic, literal sense of "mother fuckin EVERYTHING went wrong," just a day where nothing feels right. I spent a long time walking around campus today trying to find someone to sign my advising forms. No one would sign them. IU doesn't care if I go to London, they just want to know I'm graduating so they will be paid. 

Fuddasheebee.

Tom is my knight in shining armor. He smoked me out, took tomorrow's shift for me, and ranted on and on about how I should just kick everyone's asses because I deserve London more than anyone he knows. 

So, staring out stoned onto the familiar intersection of Indiana and 3rd, tears inexplicably come to my eyes, mimicking the oh-so-melancholy rain that had just begun to fall. People like Tom make life worth living. 

It's not that I'm so negative and coldhearted about the world and my life and existence... it's just that I'm so unsatisfied with what I've seen thus far. I'm anxiously seeking and not finding. Sure the lights look pretty on the lake, but is this WHY we're here? No. Beauty (natural, manmade, or in people) is not an explanation of why we're here, but rather a reason to keep us from killing ourselves. Beauty gives us motivation to continue looking for the 'real' reason we're here, while also providing a distraction, a moment of ecstasy; a thoughtless, timeless space where we can forget about our individual existence and become wrapped up in everything else's. 

Ok. So this realization is not that mind blowing. It may even be considered slightly negative and it certainly hasn't remedied my state of existential melt-down. However, at least it's pretty here and there are fun things to do and wonderful people to meet.

whatever

All my friends have died

Girls

We are falling down on the job here

we are supposed to be providing our audience

with titillating insight about our girlish lives

this means sex drugs illegal things

and most importantly

our opinions on the state of the word.

More imperative than our audience is ourselves

And by this

I mean that we are supposed to keep updated on each other's 

lives through this blog 

(this of course excludes the Sagan/Rachel interaction, because we all know that it is frequent and few details are left out of that intercourse)

So that just means the sagan rachel laura audience interaction is being disrupted

which is still quite vital

vital to our souls and our minds and our other things

So I have yet to tell Laura this

Rachel, hold your breath

I'm going to Canterbury next year

that's right. I got in

what up

yeah

so how's the affair going?

Whoooo

Welcome February! What a month you are. Did you know February 13th has the highest suicide rate of any other day? Well regardless, welcome and feel free to stick around for a while. To be honest January was getting a bit old anyways...

haploid in the moment, proceed with caution

Sometimes I forget that life is pretty awesome and eternal and beautiful. Sometimes I get cold and frustrated and hungry. Sometimes I just really want to take a steaming hot shower, but something outside of my control prevents the instant gratification. Sometimes when my mom tells me about what is really happening in our lives, our familial financial state, the varying degrees of healthcare my outer relatives are receiving, the state of the economy and my place in it; when she tells me that I would rather just nod and make small noises of comprehension than actually realize what thin ice it is that i've been skating. I like to think that I am in control of my place in this whole thing. But the stubborn alternative high school student never knew a goddamn thing.   I liked to think that i had the ability to debate the middle aged patrons of Bob Evan's with enough knowledge and grace to keep them coming back for more. But really, they saw through my bluff. And now, looking back, I realize what it was that I was lacking. Why I was never fully involved in the relevant discussion. I lacked passion. And to some degree I think I still do. I mean. I get overexcited or angry or really happy. But these are all fleeting emotions that can change momentarily. Never have I experienced an enduring passion, a need to know more, want more, touch more, get more. I envy Rachel because of her ability to engage a new topic so intensely that she is unable to concentrate on anything else. While I see the crippling effects of both extremes, I wish that I could just find something in the middle. 

I was thinking about Taylor a lot last night. I can't remember what her voice sounded like, or even the vocabulary she used. Every attempt at auditory recall comes out sounding squeaky and awkward. I remember exactly what she looks like. But i can't really remember details of the things we did together. But I do remember that when Taylor was my best friend, I was a passionate person. I was obsessed with music and knowing everything I could possibly find on the internet about certain bands. I loved school and applied myself heavily. Taylor and I used to talk for hours upon hours about our views of eternal life, or religion, or who if we would marry if we were forced to at the moment. Just days before she died, we even discussed what we would say to each other upon the effect of our dying. We loved each other so much that we promised, if it came down to it and one of us went, the other would kill themselves to join. But when it came down to it, I even lost my passion for that. I barely visited her grave, I took her pictures down from my walls. I curled up into a ball and never came out again. 

And I believe that I am still encapsulated somewhere in the moments after her death. I have yet to escape that abandonment. I am still standing on the railroad tracks with a bottle full of pills. 

Sorry about the melancholy. Our friend Josh Ward overdosed 2 years ago today. Funny thing about people dying in Warsaw, It always seems to land on the 28th. I think there are three different people who died within 2 years of each other on the 28th of some month. I guess today is a good day to die. 

I'm not really depressed though. Just disenchanted. A little nostalgic, and a whole lot of lost. 

Sometimes I just need to talk about Taylor. Because I really think she was the last good thing I ever saw. 

TACO PUPPIES

employment concerns

I WANT A JOB AND I CAN't GET ONE!!!!!!!!!! DAMN IT

I AM GOING TO HAVE TO CLEAN HOUSES IN THE NUDE!

Robo Trippin'

When the world hits the skid, I'm goin off the grid.

So Rachel Lyssa and I were talking about what we are going to do when the economic shit starts to hit the fan. We all decided that the best thing for us to do is break off and form a new colony somewhere far away from the flying shit. So we started to compile a list of important skills we will need to learn before going off the grid. Some of them include: archery, first aid, alternative cooking methods, basic construction, and edible plant identification. We are thinking that over the next couple of summers we are going to take survivalist classes, so that if we are put into an compromising situation, we can skip off and start anew. Along with this also came funny things that we would teach our cut-off children, and whether or not we should hire strippers to watch our children when we are hunting. But nonetheless, we are totally serious about this. I am really excited. I think if anything, the idea of being self-sufficient, even if there is no great collapse, is much better than being vulnerable to the environment around us. I think this will be cool and I totally hope we go through with it. 

our country

is so fucked.

Seriously, even if none of my endless conspiracies are true (however, I still maintain that they are), our country is running out of money, the stock market is dropping, and our money-saving recession-proofing isn't working. Middle America is paying other people to "save" their money while huge corporations makes a profit, thus perpetuating our own downfall.

How is the revolution going to start with no start-up money? The baby-boomers are retiring, and there's no money for our generation to do the same when our time comes. Can a president really fix this? What's next for US? We're in limbo, in college, preparing... preparing for what? Is there going to be anything left for us to do when we're finished learning?

Imagine: no vaporizers coming in the mail, no Fazoli's meals out, or large Target expenditures. Beer and cigarettes?--as cheaply priced as possible, in order for our addicted youth to maintain vices, but not health.

So, of course... let's just buy up stocks, knowing that the multi-million dollar corporations will be the last things to fall, if they ever do. Is this ethical though? Once again, perpetuating a way of life that pisses of other countries in its selfishness, and is ultimately heading for our generation's downfall.

I'm nervous.

oh so little time

I can't believe it's only been a week since the beginning of the semester. So much has happened really it's incredible. I'm trying to think where to start... I really liked "One of those loose connections that has everything to do with the location of your body..." I totally relate to that. Except in the business community that's really the only kind you have :/

Joel called me a couple days ago all upset and told me he doesn't think he can handle where we're at and all that. So I guess we're not talking anymore.

I reformatted my computer, nice and clean. Like my room.. sort of I think it needs another cleaning this weekend though.

I got really really drunk on saturday last week and was wondering outside on my own. That was pretty dumb. Marijuana is far superior to alcohol why don't we all just admit it. The worst thing that can happen high is eating too much.

We started having practice again last week. That proved to be very difficult. I think a lot of the girls are feeling discouraged right now, including myself. Winter is a hard time for rowers because we're not on the water and we spend all our practices just basically working out. This is not very fun at all, especially for me because I'm never really sure if I should be working out with them or encouraging/giving tips to them. It's hard to say what they want/need more. I'm also having a hard time because I'm feeling a lot of pressure with the other two novice coxswains. They're both quite close and have a tendency to unintentionally (I hope) gang up on me. Also, one of them (who's name is also Laura..) is a business major and is skinner (by a lot) than I am, gets better grades than I do, really I could go on for a while she basically is like a better version than I am. Which is very frustrating because normally in the event that someone is better than you you can like say "well maybe they do that better but I do THIS better" and somehow it feels ok. I can't really do that with her because its like everything I do she does too. I really just want to get out to our beautiful lake and feel at peace again.

Side note; our first regatta is 6 weeks from now... not like there's any pressure there.

Last week I got to spend a lot of time with Julia, that was really nice. I really like how easy it is to be around your family. There's something so real there. Like no matter what they HAVE to love you so there's no pressure to be someone you're not. That's a good thing to have in one's life.

I'm pretty busy this semester I'm realizing. There's not too terribly much time in the day. And certainly no time to relax. I'm pretty much a straight shot from around 9-8 monday-thursday plus crew on friday and saturday. It's really weird to be this busy because in high school I literally did nothing. I basically played video games and socialized all the time. Which is funny because I pretty much don't do either of those now. I'm finding myself more and more thinking that people are just too much of a hassle. Either they like me too much or the other way around. When was the last time I was anywhere remotely on the same page with someone else? Pretty much never. I just can't get over that disconnect. I want there to be something there but there's always something in the way. Like being in a room with a mirror on both sides but you can't ever see the other wall because your own reflection is in the way. I feel like I keep trying to make it work but I get blocked every which way.

People are just overwhelming to me I think. I'm very self-reliant. Maybe (yes) too self-reliant. It makes it hard for me to remember why I need people. I think I've finally realized the real truth. The truth is I DON'T need people. I don't need them at all. But they're nice to have around.. and that's really what it comes down to. It's just nice.

Why not try to make life a little nicer for yourself?

I hear you... that pencil lead yeah that one.

Have you ever noticed? That when you have a cold, all sounds are amplified 10 x more than usual. I'm in a computer lab for Phonetics. The girl next to me is talking. We both went to the wrong classroom initially, so we rushed over to the library together, did the usual "Glad I'm not the only one, what's your major, My name's Kristen... blah blah" One of those loose connections that has everything to do with the location of your body and nothing to do with who both of you are, your interests, social status, musical taste... etcetera. It's kind of like bus conversations, when the driver runs up on a curb and you kind of look at the person to your left and you both shrug your shoulders together. 

Anyways. She's talking to me in a low voice, because she is a freshman and she hasn't yet learned that a class exercise means you can do just about anything with the alloted 15 minutes. But I can't hear her. She sounds like she is in a vortex. Somewhere incredibly far away speaking to me over a static ridden walky-talky. Instead I can hear the processors spinning in the computers  on the other side of the room, and the ancient fans working quickly to cool off the great machines. I hear fingers on a thousand key boards, it's the loudest orchestra of unsynchronized musicians. Who are unaware of their presence in the musical piece. And the talking girl, her name is Kristen, She readjusts her pencil to transcribe the word penny as it is written on the board. And I hear them. The thin slivers of lead click and bang together in the plastic encasing. It's deafening. So I turn my attention to the computer. I check my e-mail, nothing. Then I check this blog. I read Rachel's last post and my vision starts to move in and out of focus. I turn around to look at the professor and the entire room appears to be a bright pink washed world. So I close the blog window and re-direct my gaze to my hands. 

Overwhelming. I also noticed. That when I have a cold, I cannot dress myself properly. Like today, I look like someone who walked out of a 90's trash bin, awkward and mis-matched. ah well.

I feel good right now. Beyond my sickness, I feel this giant weight is relieved of my presence. I feel like I can do exactly as I please, that I an make decisions without concerning myself with who it will affect. I must only worry about myself. And this is huge for me. I have spent the majority of my life feeling the pains of others so deeply that I used to cry at night of pity. Pity for my friends and family. Not that they felt pity for themselves, but I felt it for them because I knew that they would not. It has been a long time since I have cried on another's behalf, outside of a commercial or film. But I still walked around with this kind of pressure. Pressure to care what my mother wants to do in her career. Pressure to care what new enclosure my father has built for the goats. Pressure to appear sane in front of my family, to appear put together and glued to my life's decisions. Pressure to pretend that I check my oil once every two weeks like my dad has been telling me since I got a car. Pressure to concern myself with the futures of my non-college- attending friends. Wishing and hoping and sometimes stooping to pray that they don't go back to Warsaw to work in a factory. But something changed. The moment I broke up with Sam, I feel like I woke up. I woke up buried in the bottom of a waste bin, and climbed out, and shed all of that pressure. And while I still care, I don't feel it. I don't feel it every time I take a weakened breath, every time I pour another cup of coffee.

And that feels great. 

entirely unsatisfied

hello fellow bloggers. let me first say that i am excited about my initiation into the wide world of interent bloggage. thanks to everyone who made this possible. also, i think it's awesome that we can make links, change font colors, and download pictures into our posts. this is top notch.

that being said, i suppose i should delve into the deep recesses of my mind to find something both interesting and audience appropriate to write about; something that will entertain as well as inspire self analysis and raise psychological questions.

however, i'm terribly bad at that and can't really think of anything to say. the truth is that i talk to both of you on such a regular basis that you pretty much know what's going on in my head. things like getting my shit together have already been discussed; we are getting our shit together as a family. look! we even have a blog! and a working washing machine! we're well on our way!

to be quite honest, most of my thought/subconscious has been filled with meloncholy worry of late. it doesn't seem that big of a deal to me that julie fucked tyler, but honestly, it has created a huge friendship gap in my life. i'm already lonely. i won't bore you guys with details because like i said, i talk to you all the time. but honestly. lonely. and now i'm away from julie and i'm very selfishly feeling abandoned and like she's caused more problems than she solved. something occurred to me today-- i really hate myself. i love myself too of course (even the briefest analalysis of the human psyche reveals self-obsession among our breed). however (not to get off topic as i so often do in real-life conversation), my epiphany is this: julie is just like me. sometimes almost too much like me. her mistakes are comparable to my mistakes, we share similar upbringing in a financially sound family, we are into the same things, we are both crazy and aware of it, we both are lush escapists... but... i hate things about me. and i hate them about her too. so sometimes i find myself hating her, most often when i'm hating myself as well. and then this whole sex thing just really pisses me off. like... she had everything. matt (whom i've had numerous off and on crushes for), tyler (who supposedly was into me, but apparently not....even though i didn't 100% share the affections), and even new york (!!) and respect from people like peter cavanaugh who was once such a large part of my life.

and now that i'm off on this tangent, i might as well admit that i still think about dan all the fucking time. i'm not regretful, sorrowful, or concerned; more pissed, competitive, and comparative. i always think about how different my life was "one year ago today...". and it's stupid. and i'm sick of it. with a little help from my own stubborn and horny despondency, dan literally drove me insane. i'm ready to be over him and in charge of my own life. it's hard to have someone call all the shots musically and socially, while still being financially dependent on you and a huge jackass. furthermore, it sucks to have that taken away, thus letting one person change your life's status quo. i guess i should have been getting over this in the summertime, but i was running.

i think we're all still running.

Reflections

I don't know about you but I really like to eat when I'm bored. It's sort of funny that I don't like to do anything particularly interesting when I'm bored, like reading a book or drawing a picture. Instead I like to sit, and eat, then feel bad about eating when I'm not even hungry. It doesn't seem fair that my natural reaction to an unpleasant feeling, in this case boredom, is not only NOT a solution to the issue, but moreover an additional irritant to the situation. I find that a lot of times I just end up making things worse when they weren't that bad to begin with if I just do whatever I want. Take for example procrastination. Say I have some assignment due in a couple of days. I'll think "gee I should get going on that.." then just not, instead I'll waste my time online or playing pokemon or something. Then as the due date looms closer and closer I move into more of a panicked state, which somehow cancels out any ability I once had to concentrate on the assignment.

It would seem maybe I just like food a lot or am a procrastinator at heart but it's really more than that because other times I keep myself busy and start things ahead of time. The shit really only hits the fan if the situation is more advanced. I think I need to reevaluate my reactions to moderate to severe unpleasantness. I should try to be more productive and then I could be happy with days. I just don't understand why self-sabotage is a completely natural response for humans- like feeling sorry for oneself.

On another note, I had a dream last night that I had an affair with this married lesbian woman who was a librarian at my high school, which I was attending (again?). Then she died in some sort of horrible murder and I was escaping town in my car because everyone was looking for her secret lover, who was actually me. I totally blame Sagan for putting the homosexual topic in there but that is like the 3rd high school dream I've had since break began. Must be the parent's house environment...

Murder murder she wrote it right.

I watched Murder By Numbers tonight. It's a two thousand something film with Sandra Bullock, Ryan Gosling, and most importantly Michael Pitt. If you have yet to see this fine film this is a spoiler warning. In the end, it turns out that Pitt's character actually did the killing, although Bullock assumes Gosling was the killer. After this revelation, the film cuts to a shot in a hallway outside of a courtroom. While a Deputy calls out Jessica Hudson (Bullock) the camera pans back to reveal Bullock sitting in a bench around the corner. She is facing her ex-husband who nearly killed her after stabbing her in the chest with a kitchen knife seventeen times in the chest. While this is all fine and well, the protagonist is facing her demons, it also serves as a very important reminder of something that Laura and I talked about in the car today. It is a sentiment that I hold closely as I make most of my decisions. Without failure there is no possibility of success. If Bullock had not discovered that Pitt was the killer, she would not have been able to testify at her ex-husband's parole hearing. Why is that? Because she realized that there is not second chance. That we are stuck with the life we chose, or that others have so deftly dealt us. She once believed that Jessica Hudson was dead and as a new woman she could move on from her nearly fatal past, but through the trials of a murderous high school student she realizes her fallacies, and she testifies. This may sound like a brief synopsis of a rather mediocre film, but what I am attempting is quite different. I often struggle with my own connections to the past. I attempt to escape or ignore exactly what constructed me. This attitude is nothing more than a farce. I am only trying to make excuses for who I am, or who I think that I have become. We so often let our own fates slip from our control. And while I fall far short of passivity in my own decisions, I have noticed a tendency to allow others the responsibility in my future. This is something that I want to change. Fuck that shit, I'm golden. 

- Sagan