Summer is here in four weeks.

Waffle stretches languidly on the carpet.

There are as many categories as sentences.

The Hours

I want to walk my dog and go to Mass, but I might just take a nap. I feel so worn out. I don’t want to disappoint the priest, who seemed hopeful that such a young person was at Mass. Maybe I could make a habit of going on Mondays.  I am just beginning all this, aren’t I? I could gradually increase my attendance. The words and the ethereal music, with modal tones major and minor glancing off each other, and the burning incense…. They contributed to a feeling that I became seamless, or a star. Calm happiness.

Today, I want to go again, but I have a study sheet for my Learning & Cognition exam tomorrow that is going to take hours, no joke, plus some Logic & Critical Thinking premises and conclusions to abstractijectify into formal logic symbols and truth tables or something… That involves reading the chapter. Yep. No mas mass cuando…escuela…obscuro it. Veritas.

Also, Joan of Arc words to memorize so I can be free of papers when we rehearse tomorrow, as I’m sure Joan was when she lived and spoke. haha

Over

The Mac Attack (espresso, chocolate, raspberry) from Art Six may be keeping me awake…

Tall people are special, often.

I’m not tall. : (

I got the idea to write songs about all the different parts of personality, to teach people about those and help them feel pride in/accept all the different angles of themselves. My first lyrics are

PERCEIVERS UNITE!

Mold – fascinates me

There’s a loaf of moldy bread on my floor from when my dog fished it out of the compost

I dotingly watch its form grow e-ver-yday

PERCEIVERS UNITE!

This mold anecdote isn’t so much ‘creative’ as ‘true’.

Next would be songs for judgers, intuits, sensates, feelers, thinkers, extraverts, and introverts.

It started because American culture specifically favors extraversion. Someone who likes to spend time by himself, who lives according to her own internal vision, who switches gender freely like that, can feel underdeveloped when in fact they’re just differnt. Differnt.

If I could explain that in a fun song format, parents of introverted children might say, “Why, they’re not dysfunctional! They’re introverts!” and harmony would increase between people on earth. That’s my vocation.

 

I followed an extension of my skipping instinct today, a ‘late instinct’, and was late for Learning & Cognition to get some green milk bubble tea. We had a substitute today! No quiz or attendance at the beginning of class… I walked in as they were watching a film about Clive Wearing, the man who is so amnesic that every minute or so he feels as if he has just awakened. When he sees videos of himself in the past, he claims that he was not conscious then. He remains articulate and intelligent, and he retains his ability to play piano and speak from information of that past without being able to directly acknowledge it.

Appreciation for memory has been moseying around my mind lately. Learning&Cognition is a wheel of cheese to my hunger on this subject.

Sara and I split some queso fresco on the last grocery shop. MM

Existential Psychology

Life comes in periods of work and rest. Rest is almost here.

I’m going to make a stack of books in my room at home and read them all over the next few weeks. Then there’s a high possibility I’ll be jaunting about the country in a car. I can hardly wait to get home to my room with space, a wooden floor, and a mirror… Because I love staring at myself in it! Not! I want to ballet it up, yo.

There’s only a statistics exam left tomorrow. It’s at 1 pm. Aren’t you glad you know that now?

Want to act… I miss improv.

Have the urge to disclaim this entry as not inspiring.

Obituary, Continued

So what do I want to do before I die?

I went walking with Waffle, sat down in the field with my spiral-cover journal, and began writing about this.

There’s a supra-goal, first of all, that in whatever I do I minimize my negative mark on the world from that process. I don’t want to leave paths of smoldering forests, voluminous piles of trash, or emotionally scarred people (see Ms. Van der Vat, unstable choir teacher of American School of the Hague). I can already see how modern living sustainably is very possible. It gives me some guidelines in daily living, but of what actions will this daily living be made?

The Peace Corps has been in my head since my junior year of high school. That would take up a few years of my life, living in a village and teaching some kind of skill, blending into the folks there.  I would like to make my own clothes, grow my own food, play musical instruments and record things, write stories, combine my love of writing and drawing in graphic novels…

 

Apparently, that love of writing isn’t flowing here right now. I suddenly feel really bad. I hit my head earlier… I was trying to do inversions, which is sort of like a brief hand-stand in modern dance, and I did one where I felt my weight pass beyond my hands so that my entire body was flipping over itself… I felt an incongruous lack of panic… My vertebrae crackled as the top of my skull whacked the carpet in a perpendicular way.  The rest of me fell to the carpet, and I lay very still, my body angularly drawn in like a crumpled spider. Then I got up and tried a few more inversions before deciding that ceasing would be wise. Now I feel kind of dull. I wonder if I have a minor concussion. I wonder if I’m sleepy because of it. Are you supposed to stay awake if you have a concussion? Then again, it could be the hour, and it could be natural, head-injury or not.

Obituary

I couldn’t remember what my last entry was, so I took that as a sign to write another.

I have a few projects next week, but throughout this semester, I think I can say I’ve developed the work ethic I never needed in the previous fourteen years of schooling. I have systems now. That horsey calendar of mine is a huge proponent of anti-procrastination. Seeing the physical squares, filled with assignments or the blank spaces between them, really gives me the perspective to start working early. I found it interesting that my abnormal psychology teacher said visual demonstrations aid kids with autism… It reminded me of my own diagramming methods of life.

Fortunately, I’m interested in most homeworks of mine (statistics is the furthest from fascination, but still not bad). Interest buoys me.

But boys don’t interest me. Mon ami Joe said that I’m one of the few people he knows who is very happy alone. I think it’s because I want to be happy alone. It seems wrong to me that the addition of another person to your life would suddenly constitute happiness. I’ve been thinking about how I was skating along life last year on antidepressants, lacking meaning but provided with energy. I was energetically… hopeless. I did not believe in love’s existence anymore, which is a harsh clash with my personality. It had been replaced with some cheap facsimile.

I’m not pushing myself into relationships anymore. I’ve veritably drawn back and am re-gathering. My statistics professor (for whom I wrote a song he will never hear) said that personality is extraordinarily stable over time. I know where I’ll return but am still uncertain. How to reconcile a natural hope with the hopeless messages of society? My educatoryin’ is helping.

I’ll get back to you on how this progresses. How I progress.

My current assignment is to write an obituary for myself. Elissa responded, “Creepy”, but the real spine of the assignment consists of deciding on what you want to achieve before you die. At first I faced that familiar blankness that’s been my up-tripping.

You’re empty!

No, I’m not!

There’s nothing in you!

Not true! Who are you shouting at then!

Oh! Good point! Still!

Go away!

So I’ve been making a list of what I really care about. I realized the terminal nature of my life is a relief. That might sound morbid, but I mean, it puts my actions in a different light. The pressure I often exert on myself is lessened when I think that I’m going to pass things off to the next generation. Sorry, guys! Can’t stay forever! Bye!

 

I’m off to the TWU dancemakers’ series now. More later.

OUT FREAK

Here’s where I hit a stopping point, mid-way through the essay. I type two words of a sentence and suddenly find myself hanging, staring at the word “antecedents”. Literary creativity in my brain slows to glacial.

“The antecedents…”

I think it’s that I take objective writing to mean “not self-expressive” writing.  But words flow for expression in my case… It’s a key.  I think I’ll relax a little and write this essay in AMG style. I’ll just see what happens with grading. Maybe my natural linguistic ease is what writing teachers are trying to teach…

FREAK OUT

RAMONA QUIMBY BOOKS GAVE ME BAD COPING SKILLS!

Every book was a build-up of minor frustrations until, at the end, she explodes and yells just how angry she’s gotten and what’s been bothering her.  I read them alot when I was in second grade and decided that this must be the way problems are handled.  She was such a stressed out kid.  I remember one time she got all freaked out and was like, “I’m going to do something really bad!  I’m going to squeeze the toothpaste from the middle!”

I’m printing out my psychology of women essay to turn in a few hours from now… and I have to read an entire chapter for that class in a few hours… I have to write a behavioral therapy essay due tomorrow… and then, while darting around Blackboard to find what I might miss from skipping Developmental Psychology today, I discover Homework #2 has been posted for awhile and is due Thursday: observations of children’s toys or children themselves.  And statistics homework this weekend.   

I haven’t started shouting… yet. 

Maybe I’ll start shouting cyberly… now.

I really want to take a shower and sleep.  Recently, I’ve had two incidents of leaving food in the oven to heat up and forgetting about it.  These resulted in two very charred breadsticks and one very charred cheese sandwich.  They looked like mummies.  I only have one pair of socks left unless you count colorful poofy furry ones received as a Christmas present and some ultra-warm, two-inch-thick, navy blue hiking socks.  There’s a gnat flying around my computer persistently, periodically.  It just flew into my nose for a second.  Last week, I accidentally walked into the men’s restroom.  I wanted to expand on that experience poetically, but I didn’t have time to do so!  WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 

TWO SPACES AFTER A PERIOD!  Who taught me that?  SEE, look, after each period, my thumb reflexively hits the space bar tcktck, two times.  I’ve been doing it since an unrememberable time.  Unrememberable!

Now APA format is telling me “one space after a period” and somehow I was supposed to have never learned the two-space dictum. Dictum, where did that word come from?  That was one of those words where you surprise yourself, you wonder how you pulled it out and from where… Dictum, wow.  IMPRESSED.

When do I get time to wash my socks?  When do I get time to sleep until I feel rested?  When was I supposed to have learned the one-space standard??

 

Okay, I think I can organize this.  I have to fold up the homework assignments into little origami boxes of time and space, instead of them being massive cumulonimbus clouds of foreboding.  

First, psychology reading.  Now.

I can write the behavioral essay later.  At least I don’t have class until noon tomorrow.  If I go to bed at midnight and wake up at eight, that’s a good night’s sleep, plus I’ll still have three hours to translate my outline and ideas into some kind of cohesive writing.

Wednesday afternoon and evening: devoted to Developmental.

Statistics over Thursday and Friday. 

Weekend–FREE.  I’m going to look ahead and start planning already, otherwise I get no meandering time, and I really need meandering time.