I have speant the past few days cleaning out my computer trying to free up some memory, as my C drive
is congested as an old man's lungs. Burried amongst old files and forgotten nothings, I found some journal entries I had thought of noding and never did for some reason. After reading them over, I have decided to add them here, where they ultimately belong.
October 10, 2001
... Each day passes more quickly than the last. What seemed like a week has quickly turned into a blur of almost two months, Mondays hazy and Friday nights completely forgotten. Long naps during the quiet afternoons between classes lead to sleepless nights of compulsive laundry sprees, hours spent alone in the room full of big white machines and the never-fading scent of dryer sheets. Just sit under the table, Indian-style in old hospital pants from far off Iowa, T shirt hanging to the knees, reading endless chapters of Buddhist literature, snug amongst the constant whirring of clothes spinning themselves clean to the beat of some unheard music long forgotten as the mind wanders from academic pursuits in favor of that fly sitting on the wall a few feet away. It speeds away, too quickly to be seen by eyes dulled with boredom and aching from the countless pages of information thrust into eager hands. No more quarters left. Time to go to bed.
Today flew by without much time to think about it. I just finished reviewing the events of Monday, but in the meantime Tuesday seems to have come and gone. I got my French test back. It was as I had expected. I feel bad for the other kids in the class; being graded on a curve doesn’t help much when one student gets an A on everything. However, if I had a choice, I would move up three or four semesters to my rightful place when it comes to learning the French language. The department of Romance Languages does not agree, however. I must successfully earn a B or better in at least one semester of University of Michigan French classes before any credit or higher standing will be granted. I can only hope the other students don’t find out who’s messing up the curve.
Wednesday is gone, Thursday is fading. I got another test back, took a few more. My biological anthropology test came back with a grade stamped on it that I was not too excited about. B+. The first step below success, it may as well say D across the front for all to see. I lost thirteen points out of a hundred from various mistakes, most due to my lack of studying prior to the midterm. This was a choice I made and a habit I avoid, so I shouldn’t be surprised at the result. I’m not used to having to study. But five chapters of bio anthro obviously did not have enough time to sink into my simple brain without some help. The days of BS have passed, but it’s for the better. Now I might actually be forced to learn the old fashioned way and not rely on my sponge-like brain absorbency to get by...
November 12, 2001
... I haven’t noded in ages. Or what seems like ages, anyway. I’ve been in this sort of mood lately, a sort of weird state where everything is so irritating and worthless and at the same time the most valuable, precious, coveted jewel in the universe materializes in front of me as a frozen cappuccino for four bucks in between classes. Sitting across from my boyfriend for an hour, at a tiny table, talking about the same stuff. I am annoyed for no reason.
I want to get all As this semester, pull a 4.0 my first year at the University of Michigan. Along with the pressure I put on myself, the old familiar pressure forgotten these past years after I realized high school was a joke, the pressure that drove me insane… along with that, the other stuff has resurfaced in full force. The thought goes through my head, I want perfect grades, I want perfect grades, I was perfect grades, and when it doesn’t happen – for example, the B+ I got on my last biological anthropology midterm - the reason has nothing to do with my incomprehensible stupidity and inability to succeed, but the grades won’t be there until I am perfect. And we all know what that means.
So I didn’t eat anything yesterday. I didn’t tell anyone. I lied about it. Now I admit it openly. I feel pride. I haven’t gone a day without eating in a while, it makes me feel powerful and beautiful, purified. But the times comes when I take the first bite after a fast, the bite that destroys the building perfection and inhuman capabilities of my body to resist what most people cannot go more than an hour without indulging in. Today it was pancakes, my favorite food. Every food is my favorite when I’m not allowed to eat. I had six pancakes, unusual for me. I can usually eat a dozen, and then be hungry in an hour or two. Guess you could say I’ve conditioned myself over the past few years to contain maximum amounts of food in my stomach at one time. But it seems to be a fickle trait, coming and going without warning or consistency. Some days I can eat like a pig and a half, feel fine, whatever. Then there are days that I have no appetite, food looks repulsive, and I hate myself.
All of this comes from my desire to succeed at basic things in my life. Instead of worrying about something I obviously suck at controlling, such as my grades, I turn to the ridiculous idea that if I can just control how I look, everything else will fall into place. I just need to keep telling myself how stupid that is. How stupid I can be. How stupid I am right now.
I am not fat. I am not unintelligent. But sometimes I act like a moron and think like a child. I’m working on it.
I heard from dustfromamoth last week, I e-mailed her to see where she has been. Her writeups were always like diamonds in the nodegel. A lot of them are gone now, along with the author. I miss them both. Sometimes, even though you don’t always speak with a noder, you feel a connection that goes beyond words, a sort of unspoken camaraderie. You don’t even realize it most of the time until the person with whom you are connected to unfortunately disappears. Sometimes they disappear for good, other times you run into them after a while and catch up on old times. Lost time.
I only want to be free from stress, happy without worries, living in a world without mirrors and devoid of… I don’t even know. I’m not going to node this...
My birthday came and went this year, the twenty third here and gone again. My mom gave me a bag full of the cutest Hello Kitty knick knacks, bought from a Sanrio outlet store in North Carolina while she was at a business meeting about a month ago. I was astonished by the quantity but pleased by the choices she made. She managed to pick just what I imagine I would have chosen, had I been there (and thank god I was not there, or the store would have ran out of merchandise). I am now the owner of
- Hello Kitty blue angel playing cards
- Hello Kitty paper
- a large Hello Kitty doll wearing a flowered dress with an enormous head on her shoulders
- three snap-together containers featuring Hello Kitty and friends
- a H.K. lunch box (#4 in my collection)
- a pair of pink and red socks with "Hello Kitty" written on them in puffy pink letters (somewhat over he top, even in my opinion)
- H.K. nailclippers
Mom and dad also presented me with a tiny mp3
player, which I have yet to discover the intricate workings of. I've speant the past few days downloading songs like mad in order to use up the memory on the extra disks they gave me. This is also another reason for the cleanup I mentioned earlier, although it appears to be a futile effort. I can always use the extra 5 gigs on my D drive, although I can't seem to make myself pollute its purity.