knees

(no subject)

I don't know if anyone really reads livejournal anymore, but I promised myself that I would start writing something every day (hrm. that seems too lofty...maybe every other day?) to keep myself "sharp." God knows the rest of my daily activities (assembling California rolls, reading magazines from the recycling center, taking pictures of the river, etc.) won't do it.

So, I've graduated. I'm done with school--for a while, at least. It's a very strange feeling, especially for someone who really likes being in school. But then, maybe that's because I don't really know anything else. School feels safe: a surefire schedule for at least a few years. When some friend of your mom asks you in Rosauers, "What are you doing these days?" you can actually answer. "College" is a valid answer. But "hanging around, waiting to hear back from one of the 35 jobs I applied for" makes people wince and look at you pitifully. I've come to HATE that look, and I only graduated a week ago.

My goals for this summer:

Read "Mansfield Park"
Convince parents to recycle, set up bins in sunporch
Grow herbs (parsley, cilantro, spearmint)
Unpack
Keep applying to jobs, even those for which I am far under-qualified
Take more pictures of my family, Gibble, and these mountains
Write a short story (why is this so goddamned hard for me!?!?)
Call my friends more often
knees

Alex

I am NOT impressed with him right now.


He and three other guys drove down to Mexico. Baja Norte--you know, the area where kidnappings of American tourists are happening NOW at an "alarming" rate?? Anyway, he promised to call me a few times after he crossed the border. But he didn't. Nothing. 5 days passed, 7, 9. I was worried by then. He's usually responsible, and he's been to Mexico on 4 other trips like this, so I figured he knew how to make an international call. By day 10 I was feeling sick, imagining all the possibilities--stolen car, jellyfish sting, boating accident, gang fight, you name it. I called Alex's mom and three of his friends trying to get some information. Nothing.

So, Alex called me last night, his voice casual, even cold. He told me he'd been meaning to call, but they were in remote areas and phone cards were expensive. Phone cards were expensive?! That was why I'd waited and cried and prayed? Piece-of-shit excuse, if you ask me.

Usually I try hard not to yell at him, or say mean things, or even cry if I can help it. But I just lost it on the phone yesterday. Sometimes people have to own up to outcomes, not just intentions. I realize he didn't mean to hurt me like this, but because of poor planning and stupid choices, he did.
knees

(no subject)

I haven't posted in a long, long time. I've been posting in my paper journal instead. But my hand gets tired so fast and I always end up writing happy, fakey shit in there. I think that I subconsciously worry that someone (my mom?!) will find that journal someday, so I never tell the full, ugly truth in there. I feel safe on livejournal; everyone's on myspace, now, anyway.

I'm trying to find a few 5 credit classes to take next quarter that aren't useless, but also aren't too tough. Dr. Elder's Rhetoric class is out because I'd spend hours perfecting my writing for him (the man is intimidating), and Computers and Composition won't work because Dr. Brigg's, after a few quarters off from teaching, will surely be lethal.

A few friends from my program invited me out for drinks at the Peacock Room last night. My first instinct was to say no (yikes--swanky) but I thought about it, realized Alex and I haven't gone out, anywhere, on a Saturday night for months, and agreed. The Davenport lounge wasn't as fancy-pants as I thought it would be. The music was too loud and none of us could really hear each other all night, but it was okay. I didn't embarrass myself and I got to hang out with James and Carrie a bit.

Speaking of embarrassing myself, I've taken up hip-hop dancing. Yeah. Because I hurt my knees 5 months ago and I still can't do anything involving KNEES. Not even walking. Swimming, yes. But it's freezing outside and I'd have to go all the way to the pool, park, face flocks of freshman in my swimming suit, swim like a dufus, and then walk back to my car with wet, cold hair. It just doesn't sound appealing. That's why I'm doing these hip-hop DVDs. I know, it's so silly. I'm finally getting better at them, but I still don't look like I'm dancing, I just look confused.

That's a secret, by the way. I don't even let Alex watch me do it.
knees

(no subject)

Take a look at your Friends List, and list up to 10 things you want to say to 10 different LJ friends. Do not state who these people are.
Do not confirm or deny any 'comment speculation' ...


1. Every time I start to miss you, you lash out at me again. I feel that you want me to hate you so that it's okay for you to hate me.

2. What happened to our streaky, summer sunsets? You were, and still are, the best to watch them with.

3. I've written and deleted (but never sent) four different emails to you over the year. For some reason, I'm shy around you.

4. I idolized you until I first read your friends page. Now, I keep reading only to remind myself that even the greatest of artists is still human.

5. I thought I had a "crush" on you once. But I thought you knew, so I never said anything.

6. Once, I witnessed you make a fool out of yourself, but you didn't know I saw you.

7. You were the first guy I ever slept with! (Different beds, completely platonic--but you were the first.) I wrote wildly in my journal about it.
knees

(no subject)

My brother is over here, spending the night before he heads to Seattle to check out a community college nearby. We had a good conversation. I hardly know him, though. I keep hoping that we'll get closer as we get older, but I think that I have to work to make that happen, that it won't just happen on its own. We're only linked now by our parents, and I hardly even see him when I come home.

We talked about how fucked up the education system is. How our mom is too smart for modern society, how we feel sorry for her, stuck at home, no one to read her short stories to. How real learning usually doesn't coincide with a school building.

It would have been nice to have him around.
knees

(no subject)

I'm trying really hard to be happy right now. Even though I probably won't get to keep my GSA next year, and I'll have to take out 25,000 dollars in loans for ONE year of graduate school, and I won't get to teach anymore...I'm trying to be happy.

So, to remind myself, happy things:

NPR
Sarah Dessen's new book
Augusten Burroughs
Bike-rideable weather
Dr. McHenry's classes
An email from Scott
This quarter's 201 class
Running
Chapman Lake
Dr. Greene's tattoos
Ollie's thesis defense
The four-leaf clover I found in my used grammar book
The baby pug on 5th street
Korean seaweed
Alex
That Alex cleans my kitchen
Sex (See the relationship?)
Izze sparkling fruit juice
Talking with my mom
When former students come to my office to say "hi"
Champagne mangos
Alex working in Cheney this summer
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knees

(no subject)

Alex and I are proud parents....of a pink and purplish betta. He's so pretty! I never thought I'd like to have a fish around, but he's kind of nice. Er, I think it's a "he."

We bought him yesterday, and all last night and this morning that poor fish was barely moving in his new bowl, just hiding behind this little beer bottle that alex instisted we put in there. i did some research and found out that bettas need warm water, and this water was definitely cool. Alex bought a heater for the water and now Kaz is swimming all over, even doing flips! Yes!

Except he won't eat his fishy food. I'm worried about him! He's like my little child.

Good thing I didn't get a puppy. I can barely handle the stress from a fish.
knees

(no subject)

I want to convert my extra bedroom (currently used for NOTHING) into a yoga/meditation room. But right now the room is so ugly I can hardly stand to be in it at all. It's small, the paint is old and nasty, commerical carpet stained more than unstained...I think I can borrow an area rug from someone, and I hung a celtic wallhanging over the gross curtains...but that's all I have so far. Any ideas? That are cheap?
knees

(no subject)

On Sunday, I got my ears pierced. For the first time. I still do not know what I was thinking. Of course I wouldn't want a nasty piece of titanium sticking through my skin! Gross. I couldn't stand it, and it was just NOT me. I'm not a pierced-ears-kinda-girl, I guess. I yanked them out last night, while Alex gawked, horrified. He was sure that blood would spurt out or something. Nope, my ears were fine. Apart from my entire face going numb and my jaw aching (only for a few hours, though). 25 dollars down the drain, but it might as well have been 25 cents.
God, it feels so good to have my ears back!
knees

(no subject)

I really, really wish that I could feel completely secure living alone in Cheney. Don't laugh. For the past year or so I've been terrified for nighttime to come. What scares me is not the percentage of girls who get raped or robbed in this little town, (must be a pretty small number, at least comparatively) but the feeling that if my turn comes, and someone does break in, I will have no real way of defending myself.

Of course, I take precautions. Besides my deadbolt, I have a hefty door brace, an electric alarm that I don't like to use, since I set it off all the time by accident, anyway, and by the foot of my bed: a metal baseball mat, a large knife that I used to cut watermelon with, and a giant canister of bear spray (which I would never, ever, use on bears).

Still, the possibilities haunt me. What if some weirdo realizes I live alone? It's not hard to discover; I'm constantly running in and out of here, there's one car in my parking spot, etc. I feel like I shouldn't "tempt" disaster, or at least that I should try to prevent it as much as possible, not do anything stupid.

But this makes me so angry, so frustrated. This fear of helplessness and of exposing myself to dangerous situations seeps into other parts of my life. Right now, I'm trying to decide on where to live next year. I've paid a holding fee on a new one-bedroom apartment, an expensive apt. on the top floor with a brand new, solid door and the assurance of sleep-filled nights. BUT. Now I've found the coolest little house for rent. It's 200 bucks a month cheaper than the apt, with two bedrooms, a yard, and good vibes. The only thing is, it's (obviously) ground floor (a.k.a. easy to break into) and close to a sketchy apt. complex (The Gold Nugget, where my friend Hannah actually walked in to find a burglar in her living room in the middle of the night. Thank God for her, he jumped out the window and left her alone).

The house is exactly what I've been looking for. The apartment is obscenely expensive and (apparently) really noisy due to the large amount of frat boys living nearby (groan). Plus, I haven't even seen the damn place yet, even though I've put down 150 bucks.

If I didn't have to worry about "the safety issue," I would be in that house in a second. But I do. I have to think about it, I can't not think about it. Sometimes when I explain this to my guy friends, they laugh and tell me that there is really nothing to worry about, that it's all in my head, that Cheney is a little town, etc. Well, easy for you to say, is what I think. Some of it is in my head, yeah. How could it not be? Girls get raped every day. Girls get raped in Cheney. No place is exempt.

But I'm still torn because I don't want to live my life around my fear. I just want to live safely, so that my joy won't be murdered by tragedy.

A roommate seems like a good idea. Unfortunately, I don't really have any female friends around here. And my current apt, with its broken door and alley-view, is out of the question.

My parents, when I call to talk to them about this, surprise me by saying that they don't want to make this decision for me; I'm an adult. Ho! Just last week you downright refused to let me move in with Alex, or with any male. You wouldn't even let Alex and I stay in the cabin together for one night! I'm so sick of this goddamned hypocrisy.
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