Just some recent thoughts of mine:
I’m very fortunate.
I’m quite happy most of the time, and I enjoy the way I plunge into despair occasionally.
I’m in love, and I am loved.
I’m inspired but somehow not very excited about the world.
My hair is red.
I miss you, statetheradio.
i’ll stop with those titles now.
I have no motivation to do ANYTHING (oh god another pointless ranting post)(just kidding, i’ll spare all 2.3 of you that will ever read this).
I have discovered an easy way to make cheap mochas that will last you through not 1 all nighter, but 2 or even 3 if need be (hah weren’t expecting that were you). All you need is access to chocolate, hot water, and $1.75 worth of coffee of your choice. My chosen chocolate medium has so far been swiss miss hot coco powder: I fill a mug up 2/3 of the way with hot water, toss in a packet of SMHCP, and then fill the rest of the cup up with organic coffee. 1 large cup of coffee has lasted me through 8 of these mochas, and I’m only about halfway through the cup. I think this mocha method is very effective because it only delivers small amounts of caffein at a time, over long periods of time, to keep you zombie-grade functional for longer than you thought possible. Another perk of this method is diabetes, since you conssume approximately 8 million grams of sugar per SMHCP packet.
In other news, so geological time line of this blog, with major events BEFORE the blog’s creation in brackets:
And thats pretty much about where we stand. Just thought that might be interesting…I have some ideas but I’m still letting them ferment. idk maybe you’ll see, maybe not. I think, maybe, something can come of it. vamos a ver, vamos a ver…
OSHIT I HAVE A LAB DUE TOMORROW thanks alot internetz.
yay im posting again! not that anybody particularly cares. and honestly this is probably gonna be a one time thing cus im kinda bored. But i did make an observation recently that i would love to share with the 2 people that will ever read this:
college is stupid. at least i think it is. we pay lots of money to go learn “valuable things” that will hopefully help us be…successful? in life? but…define successful. Can you be successful and also completely miserable? maybe, but I think that defeats the point of being successful. my point is that i’m majoring in something I love, but i also love at least 2 other big things that are either academic or related, yet i simply dont have time to do either of them. i’m majoring in biology…biology is awesome. but so are languages and music. i have a list of a handful of languages i want to learn or continue with, but i simply dont have time. hell, i could teach myself them, i don’t need a class, but i dont have time, thanks to a bitchload of biomajor requirements that have NOTHING TO DO WITH BIOLOGY. i also dont have time to play music. well, actually im making time, but iv only been a college freshman for a month and my grade is already suffering because im not letting myself sacrifice my musical ability. so instead of doing chem homework last night i jammed with beautiful people. but even that “act of defiance” (as my dad says) cant happen very often because theres simply so much work to do. fuck.
i will not let it control me tho. Iv not been sleeping very much, cus i find it more productive to finish class busy work late at night whne i can barely function, and do more important (to me anyway) stuff like learning swahili or playing music when im awake. and if this post sounds confused, its cus like i just said im functioning off not much sleep.
anywayz nice to be posting again, watever, ttyl
Long time no write/see/read/etc!!
Hi, everyone and anyone who might stumble across this!
It’s hard for me to jump right in to what I need to say, because It’s slightly mindblowing and entirely incredible. However, I’m going to attempt this jump regardless, because it makes me brilliantly happy to write.
IT IS SUMMER. I AM HEALTHY. I AM HAPPY. I AM LIVING FOR MYSELF. CUANDO ME LEVANTO, ME SONRIO! I write and play tennis and run and blow bubbles and eat and drink and plant daylilies and kiss without worrying about this and this and that and that. I feel better. I feel like that freshman girl who bounced into Social studies every morning and received compliments about how happy she always looked.
Today I had a doctors appointment, and I was told that not only are my “numbers good” but I seem happier than my doctor has ever seen me before. I love knowing that I can step into my boyfriend’s – who has been with me all this way- car and know I’m me, and no one else, I can change and have and will.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.” -Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut.
During the morning I eat breakfast, maybe play tennis, go for a walk, pet my dog. I read, read, read, check my email, play some harp, and read some more. I have lunch when I get hungry, then I read and read and listen to a lecture and read, for my own enjoyment, my own sake, my own learning. Afternoons are either friendship filled, or abra caddabra relaxing filled, or a thunderstorm balls itself up just for my appreciation. I watch the rain come by from my porch.
“For Me” (June 22nd)
One of the slow nights, with intermediate weather and nothing planned. Time for yourself: to read, bathe, glow, dance, think. You don’t choose this dusky activity, you body does for you. Mine chose to sit by the phone, reading, slowly, mere paragraphs per minute.
You could sense it was one of those nights: where you want to write, you’re filled with the words, but the glue you’ve been using to stick them together is missing. Your mind is lying still, and allusions, syntax, shrapnel from the book you’re half in spin around you. Galaxies of diction, splashing colors, aeons of dedication, sailboats, dreams of diving and mudslides and truth, truth, galaxies of truth, moving gently around you.
Your body might shift every so often, because bits of you fall asleep. But all positions are comfortable: sprawled on your stomach, simply sitting, or a bound up pretzel-like yoga pose that is somehow stretching muscles you forgot you had. They are all comfortable, because your mind is.
It gets later, later, but the time glides. Still mentally rock climbing through your book, you remember, plan, imagine, and forget, draping your thoughts over an invisible stand. What is the result? A few words, jotted down, because you know you’ll need them to capture how this feels. You want, carefully want, to write it all down, maintain it: you don’t want to solidify it. And so you bookmark your place and scratch about seven words, quickly, so the night doesn’t fall apart while you’re concentrating too hard. Your senses, so vibrantly aware of the world any other time, are sweet and calm and mellowed: It doesn’t matter that you smell strawberries. It doesn’t matter that your window is open and the air blowing fairylike through is exactly one degree cooler than your humid room.
Sure, you look around and see the poetry books, and know there is magic in the world. You could step into the bathroom and look into your own eyes, see them flash, and know there is magic. You could turn on the radio and hear distant magic strained through your ears. But you don’t, because this is magic, right here, right now, but with the gliding time effect, there is never a present. The moment has already been created! You are alive forever because this is your magic, and you are reliving it, over and over! It is always in the past: the minute you imagine a present, it is gone! You love it: time is nothing, because all it creates is immortality.
You feel like staying up late and sleeping at the same time. You wish you were more alone, outside, mixing up the stars and lightning bugs. But it would be alright, too, if you were in someone’s arms. Luckily the magic makes it so that there is nothing you desire; why should you anyway? This is the first summer night where you feel as if everything is shining, silvergold and glazed and holy.
You feel wildfire, spitfire, life-love-time-fire in your back; you want to sprint forever because your body is spread out and trembling, ready, waiting. But you stay, lying on your floor, tasting imagined lemon drop… and everything is ancient.
You feel quietly dazzled, you feel lovely, and calmly brilliant. Ready for anything, but knowing there is nothing to be ready for. You can do what you like, think how you want! But all we do, because it is all we need to do, is roll over, and read another page of the book. The night is too perfect, sweet is the night air, tomorrow is never tomorrow, and by the time you finish this page… you know exactly, exactly how it feels.
Hello!
I was speaking via gmail chat with Duncan last night, and he asked me how things were going. I responded with something along the lines of “Not incredibly, but they’re going!”
I wish I could re-express that. Things are going WELL. Right now, I’m in sunny, flat, extended-golf-course-esque Florida. My mom, younger brother and I are here visiting my hilarious retired grandparents. This is our second full day.
How are things going? Things are AMAZING. I’m EATING. Last night, I had ICE CREAM. Yesterday I had BREAKFAST. I went biking for the sake of biking, not for the sake of burning calories.
I’m sitting here, with my laptop on the glass deck table, with quiet sun on my arms and warm wind moving the wisps of my hair. I’m wearing a pink tanktop. I’m wearing white shorts. I’m comfortable.
I paused. I’m not thinking only positive thoughts. I feel large. These shorts were too big for me a while ago. It makes me gulp and get scary urges and mentally shiver. But it’s okay. It is.
The day we left for FL I had a doctors appointment. I had a new female doctor, and I ADORE HER. She was simultaneously professional and personable, which is exactly what I want and need from really any caregiver. First, a nurse took my height, weight, and blood pressure. I knew this was coming, so I preemptively asked if they could blind weigh me– weigh me so that I couldn’t see the number (and in turn flip fuck at the scale and have a panic attack right before flying). The nurse gave me a surprised but slightly sympathetic look and said sure. My blood pressure was higher than it has been in recent checkups, but I think it’s fine, because I’m getting less head rushes and I’m no longer fainting. (It was 102/86, for those of you who care =] )
During my physical, the only thing that was tricky/triggering was when the doctor saw scars from self-harm. She sort of went ” *poke* *poke* Sooo, these are marks from cutting….?” And it was awkward for a minute. Not dwelling on that, she continued and concluded that I didn’t have to have any lab work done! (YES!) She said my BMI is on the high end of perfectly healthy, but it’s totally fine, because most people who suddenly start eating normally and keeping it down gain weight. Apparently I gained a lot of weight during the baaad stages of bulimia because of delayed gastric emptying. Basically, my stomach/other organs sort of expected me to throw everything up, so when I didn’t, they just let the food chill there. Zap, see bad stomach aches, more bingeing… bad
Do you go to sleep with a smile, and wake up with the same? I DO. And it’s an incredible feeling.
I opened my eyes on Wednesday morning, and saw the sun shining on the hillside. I grinned, did a sun salutation on my new, purple, yoga mat, and went to shower. I returned to my room to find that in the 13 minutes it had taken me to shower, the sky had closed up with clouds. My initial reaction was to mentally pout: I want the sun! But I shook my reassembled self and said “I don’t need the sun to shine, because it is shining in my heart and in my head!”.
That was my quote of the day.
I went to treatment for about 9 days. Some of it was bullshit, but I really benefitted. I feel like myself again; I’m living for ME, and not anyone else. A lot of what I need/want/informed my treatment team of became clearer to me. I need my parents to ask how I feel, not just question my behaviors. I need to focus on myself: working for myself, playing music for myself, running or reading or doing handsprings or kissing or attending lectures, FOR MYSELF. I don’t care how selfish that is! It’s my work, my motivation, my recovery. I’m so ready.
[D] and I are in one of those incredible stages in our relationship where we love each other so much, we could spend hours and hours just sitting and grinning stupidly at each other. He’s my best friend, plus a snuggle/cuddle buddy, with a bonus of being a teacher/coach/intellectual source, and a supporting, understanding, laid back, perfect guy. He got in the Brown, Dartmouth, Olin, Harvey Mudd, UVM, and Johns Hopkins.. however, I’m taking credit for getting him into Dartmouth– that peer review essay I wrote for him was incredible. ;)
So, anyone who reads this, I’m back from treatment and I plan to be posting incredibly positive, motivating, cheerful sentiments instead of my previously depressing posts. I encourage you to drop in every so often, especially if you’d like a “Yo, LIFE ROCKS” with a detailed explanation of why it does.
Reason no. 1: The Daffodils are starting to come up.
I remember the preacher, father, clad in brown
Recalling his story of his faded home town
The boy who thought his life was waste
Who believed himself done: never a taste.
A play of friends strew roadside late night
Knowing, knowing, holding on tight.
Headlights, daring, bright in his face
Wild eyes warned of this one reckless race.
Four, three, two run onto the road
And dash, jump, response loving and old.
Friendship irreparable, love graced with loss,
Dan, Dan, Dan, your grave mellow with moss.
Who is to say, God, fate, or mistrust,
Your memory lives through your body to dust.
In saving his life, you sacrificed yours:
As I think and sputter and hurry my chores
As I dream and hate and wonder why,
I imagine the gleam in everyones eye.
Preacher spoke, and few truly heard.
They rustled in seats and spoke the word.
Amen.
This poem was crappily written in… lessee. 4 minutes. HA. For clarification, I had a semi-flashback to a time in NZ. My brothers and I attended a catholic school for the first year we were there, and there were random mass/ceremony/communion type things every so often. At once, in the gorgeous, calm chapel, a guest priest came in and told us a story about being a good samaritan. He segwayed into a very personal story. I will recount it… a very abridged version.
Preacher knew a family, and was very close to them. The son, whose name he never revealed, was chronically depressed. His family divorced, financials became a problem, everything basically blew up in his face. His group of friends had been noticing some changes, and were suspicious he was going to attempt suicide. Fearful for his safety and health, they kept a close eye on him, supporting him in every way they knew how.
One night, they were at a party, and all trouped out together to get some air, and they ended up standing on the corner of the street. It was a brilliant summer night, but X person was not doing well. His close friend, Dan, had particularly noticed this.
A car came along. X attempted to throw himself in front of it. Amazingly, incredibly, selflessly, Dan threw X out of the way, but didn’t save himself in time. Dan, in saving his friend, was killed by the impact from the car.
I remember sitting in my dark blue shirt, kneeling. My legs had fallen asleep. My hair was frizzy and it was hot in the chapel. But I felt this story so deeply, so caringly, I started crying, and I mentally whispered a message to Dan.
I don’t know anything anymore. What an awful post. I CAN’T EVEN WRITE ANY MORE.
State the Radio 