William S. Burroughs apparently donated a fuckload of money to this school or one of the major sponsors or donors of this academic institution was madly in love with him. Either way, that means that while we have almost all of his writings, (39 linear feet of bookspace) no one is actually capable of checking his books out. This irritates me in many ways, especially since I'm in the library and still haven't read Queer.

Burroughs (William S.) Collection.
William Seward Burroughs (1914-1997), writer of the Beat Generation. The collection includes first edition books in many languages, manuscripts, drafts, correspondence, periodicals, pamphlets, broadsides, video, cassettes, sound recordings, audio cassettes, and graphic images from 1938 to the present. Restricted access and photocopy policy. To use manuscripts; present letter of introduction from professor or scholar; to photocopy, contact Burroughs Communications Inc. Purchased from Robert H. Jackston, 1984. 39 linear feet. (See also Ted Morgan Collection, Entry 22, and Claude Pelieu Collection, Entry 25.)

Dicks.

So I went to talk to a professor whose class I missed last week and I told her whats going on with the black out thing, and she seriously got distraught and told me my homework didn't matter and to GTFO to the campus health center. NAO. And cripes, it is one thing when friends are yelling at me, because they are supposed to care and all but when professors tell me school doesn't matter anymore, the ante has been upped.

Just as I suspected (the reason I didn't go to campus health in the first place) the doctor saw me and was all ":| er... you should go see a real doctor, we aren't equipped to deal with you. Like, a neurologist or something, k?" ... So they scheduled me with one of their slightly more real doctors with a background in neurology, and I have to cancel work this week to get in. I hope my client doesn't fire me. ._. They did take my blood, but that was probably just to make me feel better and because I offered up that I was anemic when I was younger. The receptionist got freaked out, the nurse got freaked out after hearing the word "black outs" and the doctor outright said that what I am experiencing is "weird". Now my head hurts and I want to cry because their reactions make it worse.

I've finished season four of The L Word, decided I will be Marina Ferrer when I grow up (this is an attainable goal).

I like my internship a lot.

On my way into the library, I accidentally found myself in the stuffy English writers section and began to scurry, but Oscar Wilde grabbed me by the collar and I couldn't resist. I've got two tiny pretty books to take home with me: De Profundis and his complete plays. Oh, these books are so tiny, if they are old, I might never give them back.

In other news, some Asian dudes (a pair of brothers) seem to be holding my phone hostage and demand I call them and come and will give it back in return for asking nicely. The question is, how am I going to call them without a phone?

Ah well. I am going to obtain Fight Club, maybe some House of Incest, maybe I'll go all out and finally read the collected essays that go with L'Regard d'Orphee that I quote like mad, and probably some Thompson. Anyone have any cute lesbian stories for me to read that won't leave me dreadfaced for bad end?

QUICKLY, said my brother, gesturing towards me from across the street. QUICKLY, there is no time to explain. Can't you see, I've got Vincent Black Shadow!

Naturally, I saw the enormously menacing machine growling from beneath him, and ran towards him. A jerk in my muscles contracted. I sat up in bed. I looked at the clock. Shit! It's only six AM! What am I doing awake?! I don't know what day it is, but I can't think of a damn better thing to do than Vincent Black Shadow.

I reorient myself beneath the sheets, falling back into sleep and dreams of journeying cross-country on an epic motor vehicle. VROOM.

...

I jerk up in bed again, awakened by my ringing door bell. The red letters across the room read roughly 10 AM. 10 AM, isn't it Saturday? Screw this noise, I CAN'T WAKE HERE, THIS IS BAT COUNTRY. ringringringring. The man can let them in. ringingknockring. Where is the goddamn man!? Finally, I embarked to the doorway, glaring through the slats of my window. A contract of mine awaits.

"Hey... wasn't this meeting for Sunday? You're a day early!"
"... today is Sunday."
"..." :C
"Go get dressed, our client is waiting."

I know how my brother, the international playboy and contract professional feels now. Someday, I will be like him, only I'll leave this damn town.

Either way, I got paid, and I did good work, and it was exactly how I wished it to be. Also, I am allegedly malnourished.

Also, in disturbingly seriously news I MIGHT BE HAVING HORRIBLE NEUROLOGICAL PROBLEMS. THREE BLACKOUTS IN A MONTH. NOT ALL FROM ALCOHOL, FOR THAT MATTER. Three periods of having no recollection, but apparently to others, sounding reasonably articulate and communicative, spanning each about an hour... that is very scary. It would be one thing if I changed personality and sounded totally gone and didn't remember things (lol, you lush), but from what I'm hearing, I'm saying things that are entirely in character for myself THAT I CANNOT RECALL FOR THE LIFE OF ME. What the hell is happening to me? Am I dying? I'm so seriously terrified to go to a doctor. I'm only doing it because my best friend wishes it.

I kind of theorize that I am beginning for find existence so dissatisfying that my body is literally rejecting it and shutting it down so I can go back to trekking on Vincent Black Shadow. Forever.

No more of this world. I want to face the Gods.

Tomorrow is my first day of school.

I took a day off today. Mostly, anyway. I decided today was a day off, and apparently my recreational activities are primarily reading and reviewing my client's manuscript; also some cuddles and candy and caffeine.

Rockstar and Full Throttle taste nothing alike at all. Monster is still my default, and I think Rockstar is less effective. The flavor of Full Throttle isn't too bad, surprisingly. I still have a slight bias against it for being a Coca-Cola product and having an advertising strategy involving manliness as depending on whether or not you drink an energy drink. Silly companies, women need manly energy drinks also, just like some of them need manly boozes (not me, in the latter case. I only drink fruity girly things.).

Reminder to self: Send someone a Failed Attempt at Gonzo Correspondence sometime.

So... I FINISHED EDITING MY CLIENT'S MANUSCRIPT. Now I have to go through and consolidate my notes and make sure my handwriting is translatable. Really, it only took about ten days.

TEN DAYS until Seeker leaves, also. You had better come hang out with him now. Pretty much this has been the best month ever.

Also a month in which I have bizarrely copious cash flow. In and out, it keeps pouring around. I got about $200 from the guy I sold my Burning Man ticket to, and then I also doled out allowance, and now I'm going to get paid at the end of this month, and people are paying in all of this owed money and I keep finding more bills on my floor, and pretty much this is all going over quite well. A vacation month should always be full of lots of random accumulation of money.

I met a kid I went to high school with the other night; he drunk dialed me and we went to IHOP and asked each other invasive questions. I need to call him back. Funny thing was, I invoked him indirectly. Jess and I walked past his house on the way home, and I mentioned him in passing. Somehow, he knew just as I walked in to call me. Weird, he didn't even know where I'm living now, or that it's so close.

These days feel epically long. I'm quite, quite sore. Just.. heh. Stuff to think about. I am more muddled by the insanity of getting through a manuscript entirely than I have been from those vodka mixtures lately. Just... wow.

Naja, ich weisse nicht wie ich fülten sollen. Am meistens ich hasse es als jemand an mir scheit. Fuck. Das is wie man kann meine ganzes Tag zerstörte. Dieses morgen, nach 7:30 AM, hat Marcia am Telefon schreit, wie meine mutter liebt mich nicht, wie meine mutter hat ihr egal nach meine sicherheit. Ich wunschte das die Hundin wurde halt zu -- Marcia ist nicht meine mutter!! Ach, und so ich hatte auch viele Obst gekauft am Fry's. Obst is wie ich heitert mich auf. Erdbeeren und Orangen und Trauben und so was.

Ach. Und spaeter, als ich nach hause war, hatte ich meine alte Xanga liest. Ich fulte als ob ich wohne schlimm. Ich mache keine Fotos von meine Freundenin, ich schreibe nicht Tag von Tag... Ach, habe ich keine locale Freunden, gang ich nicht nach Trinkenpartei, mach ich nichts wie ich sollen machen. Fuck. Meine Deutsch ist schlimm, aber ich habe keine Lust auf Englisch zum schreiben oder denken. Vielleicht, habe ich Lust jetzt auf Spanisch zum sprechen, wie ich hatte als Kind. Als Kind, (am wie man nennt ,,Second Grade'') lernte ich selbst Spanisch zum lesen. Und so jetzt, verstehe ich es, aber ich weiss nict wie man es sprechen sollen. Schade. Sowieso. Naja. Und so weiter. Ich will wie so, ,,expressions'' benutzen, wie auf Englisch, aber weiss ich keins.

Es tut mir leid.

Cooking Mama 2 is a nice game.  I neglected my DS for about three months, and picked it up again, suddenly talented.  Playing Cooking Mama 2, customizing Mama's outfits and being cheered on by her welcoming Engrish makes me feel like.. I really love Mama.  She's so cute and sweet, and I dressed her like a blue queen, with a monocle.  I wish I had one to cheer me on in everything I do, and to comfort me whenever I make mistakes. <3  Just... d'awwww. 

Oddly, my break from Brain Age^2 seems to have made me a lot smarter than I was before... I'm getting a lot better scores now, and remarkably doing so without cheating.  Before the break, I had an age of 46, and I'm down to 32.  So close to being optimal! Huuuu...

August impends.  So soon... the party is coming up, and I am making invitations right now.  I have a lot of things to do before then, and in anticipation of the month's cessation.  I still have a few papers due, and then school will start.  I am pretty sure that this class is indeed coming along nicely.  It's about time.  I think I'm also going to start writing some journal entries in German, just to get back into shape for DE-Comp. class... ugh.  Last time I tried to take it the instructor was a creepy bitch who was convinced I was plagiarizing and singled me out repeatedly until I just stopped going to class. ;_;  I am socially anxious, yes, so that was just killing me.  I need my German minor so badly. 

Ah, you know, two years; two and a half years, who knows? I've got a better idea of my plan than most people I've graduated with somehow, despite being a much more languid scholar.  (That sounds so much nicer than a lazy student, doesn't it?) If nothing else, I've always had an idea of what I wanted to specifically do, while everyone else seems to be switching majors all over the place. 

An aside? Just watched Slayers REVOLUTION episode 4.  I am glad Zelgadis is back to being cool again.  He is my boyfriend, after all (hard man, good to find, etc.).  Oh, and impending Trickster Priest next episode.  How invigorating. That means the plot is really starting.

I'm going to post a to-do list. 

• ( Here. )
•  

D: COMPLETE BY SATURDAY.  GO GO GO GO GO.  ACCEPTING CASH OR COMPANIONSHIP DONATIONS. 

W-what?! Okay.

Based on a little less than 80 words, I pounded out a little over 1000 words, in a little over 45 minutes -- and make it look damn good.  So for every word of structure, I can squeeze out about 13 words of elaboration. This does not include any editing or fine tuning.

A "novel" length story, as widely defined by the internet, is 50,000 words.  Many aspire to accomplish that 50,000 length work in thirty days, in a Project Which Will Not Be Named.  A structure in which this is a more attainable goal is one in which a writer composes approximately 1,666 words a day -- or to be safer, 2000 words a day, for 30 days.

Do you get where I'm going with this?

If I require an 80 word structure for 1000 words, with a ratio of 1:13 for elaboration upon said structure, I should then perhaps require a structure of 160 words per 2000, a projected ideal cost of an hour and a half of my life per day.  Necessary for a novel-length work, it follows, is a structure of 4,800 words.  (Speculated ideal cost of composing such a structure... five hours of my life total?).

One hundred days from now until November 1st, 2008.  Thus, 2400 hours.  Within 2400 hours are 480 instances of five hour spans of time wherein one could possibly construct an outline for a novel.

Hmm.

I feel good right now. I feel love right now.

So full of positivity and hope still. It just keeps elevating, you know. I finally see that goal I was chasing after so desperately this entire summer; Opportunity, younger brother of Lady Luck -- he knocks. It's so close I can taste it, I must simply let him in for tea.

That Luck and Opportunity thing, I was in high school and doing my best to resist everyone's insistence that I'd love Neil Gaiman, and I made my own godlike-entity-embodiments for a story that I never ever completed. I tried to write it on my first NaNoWriMo. Ah well. I think my problem with novels is that I over-complicate things.

I am surrounded by such nourishment lately. It is satisfying. But I would like to share it, and I never can share it enough. I love you. I love you...

Sublimation is proving oddly beneficial. I am so rooted in German thought, it's bizarre. Being nocturnal might also have some part in this shift. What I love about the night is the silence and the solitude; those hours... those magic hours between 3 and 6 AM are so beautifully empty.

EDIT: I had a dream that W.H. Auden was a pedophile. I don't know anything about him, I can't even recall anything he wrote. Anyone know if there's any foundation for that or if I just have been listening to "Little Girls" too much lately?

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

I haven't had a cup of anything caffeinated for more than twenty five hours. Really, I'm just totally good with my wrists and fingers for computer motions. I haven't even slept in two days. I actually did all this clicking so damn fast that my computer began freezing, and there is a meter on this quiz, and I exceeded it totally by double at least.

Uhhhhh.... yesterday was pretty much complete fail. I had to cancel a job interview for some really shady magazine publication (they wouldn't even tell me what the magazine was called!) because I had to go to a doctor's appointment, so I wasn't prepared for anything whatsoever and due to bad planning and having embarked towards my job interview initially, I ended up missing the appointment. I'm super stressed lately -- and honestly, this is more out of being overwhelmed with opportunity rather than failure, so I called my doctor and was almost about to cry, and explained my situation. (With lies. Good ones). Then she gave me another appointment at four-thirty. And honestly, I hate this bitch so I don't want to see her anyway, but if I miss it it will cost me $190 or some shit, and will be billed to my mom, and she will yell at me. I missed the second appointment as well, because I reasoned poorly again; I thought I should go home and refresh myself for a bit at least until I recalled it takes about an hour and a half to get out there. Shit. So I got on another bus, which happened to be stalled behind a complete failbus at the station for about 20 minutes, and then they kicked us all off and told us to walk back to the bus two stops down, as that one wouldn't be stuck, and so we left, and I was late, and my stop didn't even exist, but I found a place to transfer to another stop, but it was already four fifteen. I called back and apologized and ugh... horrible. I called my little sister, out of the blue, because I never talk to her and I couldn't think of anyone else to call to distract me.

Then I decided, despite my tightness for cash, that I'd go treat myself to dinner for once. And I hadn't eaten all day either. It ends up the restaurant was empty, but the kitchen was still open at least. I ordered a lemonade and a salad; it was very pretty inside, very trendy and cool, and it had a lovely bar. Since there were only two people working, the head chef and a waiter, they both talked to me a little, gave me some company, and I ate rather slowly, savoring my one indulgence.

The chef came to talk to me, and offhandedly I mentioned I was distressed because I couldn't find a roommate, and suddenly he perked up. He works from ten to ten, and he lives very far away from the restaurant and I live very near, and I told him the terms, and basically he just needs a close place to sleep, so he doesn't care about anything, and said he'd bring me food. And booze. O_O Then, after my meal, he asked if I wanted a drink, and I said I wasn't 21... but he didn't care. I told him I wanted a vodka and sprite, but instead he just gave me A WHOLE GLASS OF VODKA and some water. And incidentally, that vodka was excellent enough to drink straight. Hells fucking yeah. That's what I'm talking about! He came over this morning to check out the place, I showed him the room, and he likes it enough. All he has to have is a bed, really. Mom approved. And also she just sold one of other houses that was a financial burden to her all along.

Everything works out when I apply no effort to life whatsoever.

Last night, I just kind of exploded at mom and told her everything she's been doing to hurt me. And I know a lot of emotionally dense people; in fact, most of the people closest to me are emotionally dense (this is what I get for having an INTP addiction)... so she had no idea and took all of my criticism and suggestions extremely seriously. So, um, progress.

So, altogether, as a direct result of my failure and decision to mope at a random restaurant, my problems decided to solve themselves and then some.

So really, again this has proven I live some kind of Dostoevskian fairy tale.

So close. So goddamned close, and yet so far...

I had exactly the kind of roommate I've been hoping for e-mail me a few days ago. A nice, older person, with a very stable job and lots of references who wanted to live here for at least two years. Like the two years I'll be staying here, right? Strong emphasis on being non-invasive, respecting privacy, and keeping the household calm.

Goddamn.

Then she called me back and told me she's got a 17 year old daughter she wants to share her room with also.

I'm not allowed to have that kind of arrangement. She would have been so perfect, if not just for that!

I also applied for about six different jobs last night and revised my Monster profile. Why aren't I hired for anything yet!?

I'm having one of those closet-manic days, where I apply to everything and want to respond to everyone.

I wish I were like this more often.

I wish someone would respond.

It's tempting, really tempting, to just swallow some pills or cover myself in cuts or vomit or sit in a cold shower crying. It'd be tempting to hate myself and give up, to say "fuck it all" to everything and everyone.

It'd be tempting halten zu sein.

And I'm in pain right now, very alone. Yet, I still have to take Oneesama's advice, because it's gotten me so much this semester. I'm not doing it perfectly.

I'm giving a half-assed beat up excuse for my best right now, but at least it's better than nothing. I can't even eat right now. I am exhausted, but I can't sleep. I need to be held, to be taken away and told it's all okay. The show must go on...

Darren Hayes understands me right now, in general.

*DYING OF FINALS DISEASE ITS TERMINAL*

Everything hurts and this essay is still incomplete. At least I don't have have to learn a skit by an hour.

HOLY SHIT YES

I don't have to have a script in a foreign language memorized by tomorrow (today) morning!!! However, I'm badass with the fury of my recitations, and can memorize 10 minutes of speech five minutes beforehand, so I wasn't worried about that.

I'm just worried about the six pages of literary analysis + 400x500 pixel poster I have due by noon.

Want to pass out. Also a little jilted, but in every sense but romantic.

So, I got an internship for the fall. 

I'm a Site Design Editor for a creative publication magazine now.  I'm not surprised, since the managing editor told me I would be "perfect" for it, when I applied.  I wish I were surprised, it would be more fun.  I am pleased, nonetheless.  It will look good on a resume and give me an easy A.

Today, I gave a $20 check to a Rastafarian publication as a donation for a CD and their magazine.  Usually, I call the check back right after, but in the purpose blank, I wrote "lulz."  Somewhere, out there, someone is profiting off poetry by cashing a check for lulz.  This brings me a sense of peace and accomplishment.  The solicitor also knew how to spell "ennui" without me telling him.  Yes, these lulz are indeed deserving of my money.  I am listening to their chill dub grooves now. 

I picked up two late paychecks today.  I went to the doctor's, also.  They gave me an eye test because I said my eyes hurt.  Apparently, my glasses are also "perfect." 

I'm writing prose again lately, and I enjoy it immensely.  I also sent in my Burning Man application at last... please accept me.  I am going to post it in my writing journals for additional ego stroking.  Me + Art = Ego.  I want to find the beauty in the world, so I look to myself, the thing I have most control over, and create the new dream from inside out. 

I don't mind having clear cut goals and destinations for a little while, like right now... it's strange how my week fills up when I least expect it.  Striving towards something, some place, some victory... is most worth it if I believe fully I can get there.  And I do. 

I just made an awesome smoothie: banana and avocado.  It was highly rewarding.  It tasted green, creamy, and mildly sweet.  Honey is also a good edition, if it doesn't strike you as sweet enough as is.  It was sweet enough for me as is, btw. 

TONIGHT: FUN WITH VODKA.  Let's see what I can mix with vodka that I haven't already tried.  I'm a little scared, but it's in the name of science, right?  Following that: BRAINAGE + VODKA.  Following that:  School -- NOT HUNG OVER.  Then: Vagina Doctor! *flourish* 

I'm going to beg for my job back; it's a serious occupation to me, not just something to pay the bills (I don't have any bills), but something I'd sincerely love to pursue at least into grad school, so, I'm hoping horribly that my utter psychological and career need would be enough for them to let me please have hours.  I do love my job.  I miss it. 

Most women in my age range seem to be squeeing and gushing and railing over the delights of male/male romances and sexual interactions.  It's not that I dislike gay romance at all; I'm fond of a few pairings myself, but I honestly find it more difficult to get engaged with than femmeslash.  I don't experience maleness or having a male body, so things in reference to it don't really seem to apply to my emotional experiences.  I don't  really relate well with most women, but stories and situations involving someone with a body like mine are easier for me to place myself in, just as stories and situations with someone with a mindset like mine also appeal to me -- hence my obsession with quixotic and brooding characters or fiction involving two women for example.  Strangely, I liken psychologically myself more often to male characters, but I hardly sexualize anyone I'm attracted to IRL. IRL attraction, for me, is more about emotions and aesthetics -- I'd much rather objectify people to whom I have no particular emotional attachment... as a result, I hardly collect dirty images of my favorite characters.  I've been told that women are trained by society to hate their bodies, and that's why so many women latch on to slash and boys touching -- projecting unashamed sexuality onto the other where the self is tainted.  But no, I don't really hate my body.  I don't think I have a particularly distorted body image... in fact, I feel beautiful sometimes and appreciate praise a great deal.  I don't feel a devastating need to be thinner and thinner...
I don't so much sexualize "the other" -- I cannot experience having a penis, so what about reading about having one should appeal to me?   I sexualize likeness.  I don't know what it's like to have a male body, but I do know what it's like to have breasts, so, that calls to me.  I feel a little left out, to be perfectly honest; you all seem to have so much fun with the yaoi all the time.  I just feel like a rare outsider girl, appreciating yuri more.  Perhaps that not fetishizing "the other" is simply plain homosexual desire.  Homosexual: Same-sex: Sameness. Narcissism? I don't really know.

WHY IS EVERYTHING DISAPPOINTING ME?!

Augh.  I wasted the whole weekend cleaning and calling and waiting for my roommate to come over, who suddenly stopped picking up my calls the day before the house showing...  I called him a few times the day before, then his inbox was full, then I called him the next day and it wasn't full, so obviously he wasn't incapacitated. 

Wasted today waiting for a phone call from my father, who claims to want to spend time with me... but I should expect nothing from someone that lunatic.  He was supposed to buy me a bottle of wine and maybe watch a movie or TV or some shit, help me fix the electric scooter I'd otherwise toss. 

Wasted the morning; just as I was about to go to school, after doing all my homework and studying, the bus zooms right past me and I run after it, but too soon it's in the school zone -- the dead zone where they won't stop, and it's useless because even if I caught up, it's not like I could've gotten on.  Stranded.

Fuck last night, too, I actually wanted to sleep, but then I discovered a lot of homework I'd neglected in lieu of house preparations, and stayed up the whole night working on it.  Sigh.  At least the day sleep I got was full of dreams of conversations in which I actually got advice on relevant life issues.  But it's raining...

I'm afraid to eat for fear of messing up my kitchen.

I want some cuddle.

Lolita: Preteens in Bed?!

The Withdrawal really fucked everything up.  I hate it so bad.  I'm back in that place: I have a job, but I'm not working.  Damnit, because I couldn't submit hours earlier, there's no room for me.  I don't know if I should look for another job or not; I can live off allowance just fine, and maybe I should seriously devote myself to studying this year; it's not like six-to-eight hours a week would be any better spent not in academe.

I haven't done any cleaning since I went on that cleaning spree and cleaned half my kitchen.  Tomorrow, the new roommate comes by and checks it out; I'm almost entirely certain he's going to stay, based on his personality, but I do have to make this not a dump... it's relatively clean, actually...it just needs polishing and putting away of items.  He's a nice, amusing guy; a gay Filipino who's hobbies are listening to music and collecting issues of Vogue.  He bought me a drink at Starbucks the first time we met, even though we were strangers.  Isn't that nice? 

I've been picking and scratching away at my skin and I can't stop.  It's becoming problematic; my face has become raw, and it's increased my emotional paranoia.  I don't know how to stop.  I don't have trich, but this is still an unhealthy behavior.  I need something else to do with my hands.  I also need some way to stop the constant itching.  Maybe I have allergies.  Everywhere.  Allergies all over my body. D:

I just got handed a therapeutic sun clock.  It's supposed to emulate sunlight so I'm not so depressed.  This morning my ab exercise machine broke, so I ordered another off Amazon... I hope it's a legit item.  It was only $25, with shipping, so it can't be that big of a loss. 

I'm throwing you out.

You'll never be mended, now ineffective.  I've waited for remedy that still has not come, and you've occupied space in me that has not been useful at all.  Goodbye.

I'm trembling, perhaps from malnutrition or helplessness or unpreparedness.  As tenderly as I've envisioned you, this story might just be too big for me, as have others in this vein.  I'd hate so horribly to leave another incompleted.  Twitching... please, please let yourself be told.  I almost want to cry.  Severe chronic sleep deprivation?  Accursed Zolpidem?  Fuck, I'm having a panic attack over a poem.

Either way, I've fought.  I've fought with myself to survive.  I think I'm going to win, if I can just last a few more days.  Please don't let me be permanently ruined.

I finally made it successfully through a day, accomplishing what I needed to at school and work, despite having worked myself into a fine anxious froth this morning.  I also managed to do my morning exercise and even eat breakfast. I even rode the OJP.  I've been slowly destroying my body lately, drinking nothing but soda and only eating one nutritionally bereft meal a day, and not sleeping at night, and it needs to stop. 

I don't know.  I need cuddles and reassurance.  I get to go to a social-like event tonight with a small activist organization I've become involved with.  Clam chowder will be provided! I was going to back out because of my anxiety, but I think it's better if I push myself a little to get back into the world and get my life in line.

I desperately need to get my entire house cleaned and to obtain a roommate. If I don't, I'll be forced to move back in with the family, and I absolutely require my autonomy.  I think I'd die living under a familial regime and being coddled.  Please, please help me become independent.  I'm serious.  I need guidance right now, because I've never needed to really be independent before, and I can't afford to lose my freedoms. 

Prioritizing, being motivated, getting things done...keeping a schedule.  Routine.  I am a complete INFP.  I don't do shit unless I feel personally, emotionally moved to do so.  Obligation is utterly foreign to me.  Nonetheless, this absolutely needs to be learned.  I must adapt entirely.

In other news, Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass, is totally eating me.  I love having a DS, and I love this game.  I've never really played a Zelda game seriously before, and the DS is my first Nintendo ownership.  I don't regret it at all.  I don't like how the game save data for games like Cooking Mama is saved directly onto the cartridge, though.  That makes it harder to loan the game out to people, if you've already unlocked everything.  When everything is already completed, it destroys the pleasing sense of accomplishment inherent to playing a game. 

Introspection is what I do.  Luckily, enough people find this interesting or insightful enough to stick with me. 

I NEED A NEW LAYOUT.  Halp?  I want to build something themed around Dali's Hallucinogenic Toredor. I also want some different icons.

Now, I should finally force myself to eat a second meal today.  Nursing myself back to health is a battle with languor.

It's all about languor.  Cuddles plz.

Annoying you curmudgeons with my annual lesbian Christmas icon!

Also, I have a performance in a little less than two hours, and I'm trying to make myself un-nervous and singy, but it's raining outside, which might make my bus ride a little soggier. Generally speaking, I feel sadistic and uncreative, and today, two packages arrived that I wanted greatly; both are smaller than I anticipated, but all the same, welcome. I have most of my Christmas gifts ready to wrap, and I need one more to show up. If it doesn't show up, I will again be a disappointment this season.

I hate what the holidays have become. I already know what I'm getting, and that's kind of...taking all of the surprise out of it. I don't want to complain, or else I'd sound ungrateful, but anticipation has always been part of the season for me. In other words:

I'm gettin' a Special Zelda Gold Edition Nintendo DS bundled with LoZ: Phantom Hourglass.

*cough* Bragging rights aside, I hope they don't ask me if "x" game they purchased already is fine with me, too.

Performance performance performance. Took a pill to sedate me, let's see if I calm down.

My sleep has been getting better. I've created a new dream world, that I keep returning to time and again. It's full of roses and sparkling lights.

Orgy's "Fiction (Dreams in Digital)" is totally about me.