Stories

I would like to curl away into a book and never come back.
This place would be mad, musical, magical, and mine.
I want to dream forever.

Late night in Park City

Fuck, Dad is gonna kill me for being up this late. Talked to Gowri and Nick. It was good. Had troubles with melancholy today, but am feeling better. Really miss said people, Matt, Emily, Ilian, Danielle, and Kailyn and feel that anyone of them will fill the companionship void in my Utah trip in a way that would make life a lot happier and bearable than it has been. I need one of my own, someone I can level with.
Well, right now what I really need is sleep.
Oh, and life is shifting into patterns again. Fancy that.
And I finished The Great Gatsby today, which left me a bit unsatisfied, but which I think was kind of the point. I'm glad I read it.
Dream time.

Alone in the Hotel Room, and Meant to be Working on French

Was having a dialogue with myself today, pacing, thinking furiously, and ended up composing a poem out loud. I workshopped the end when I put the whole thing to paper, but it was still a process heavily dependent on playing with the life the words took when spoken out loud. Hm.

Shine

There are places where the wild time flows, moments scattered like shards of a crying sky that wraps itself around your heartbeat while you sleep. The soul of the soil sang to the Sandman who whispered in my ear of all there is to love and fear here in this tiny little infinite place.
As I pace I try to trace all that I am right now into this immortal moment. I don't have enough skin to live with, enough to feel and touch the world's width. I told him, "I don't want to die young." He replied, "I don't want to die old."

Doesn't want to leave with his memory faded and cold,
would rather burn out bright in a single spasm of light. He forgets that stars shine for eons before sighing away in their final phoenix song.

I would rather live long, like the sun,
spreading light over everything I look upon.

Bushels of Books and Ballet

I am realizing more and more how amazing opera is. Saw a ballet with Sara today, and it wasn't just beautiful, it was entertaining. As in, it cracked me up, and yes, it was supposed too. I think it's better that way. It meant that the more sober, beautiful parts were more powerful than they would have been otherwise. Anyway, I mention opera, because that's what they were dancing to. Maybe you have to have an ear for it, I don't know, but the music was filled with story and feeling to me, and it improved the dancing.
I also bought about $40 worth of books from Bonanza, which is closing. This is highly upsetting, as Bonanza Books is one of my favorite book stores

...and I never did finish that post.

Pride

This post has been deleted for my own sanity and, haha, pride. (that actually was the original tital)
You didn't want to see it. Either you had your heart broken or you will at some point later and then you have enough of that nonsense on your own time. I'd like to throw mine out with the trash, given the option.

Apparently...

ENFP - "Journalist". Uncanny sense of the motivations of others. Life is an exciting drama. 8.1% of total population.

Free Jung Personality Test (similar to Myers-Briggs/MBTI)

It said:
Extroverted (E) 69.23% Introverted (I) 30.77%
Intuitive (N) 70.27% Sensing (S) 29.73%
Feeling (F) 52.78% Thinking (T) 47.22%
Perceiving (P) 84.38% Judging (J) 15.63%
So apparently I'm pretty even on the feeling/thinking front.
Also, this proves that Kelly was right, which makes sense, seeing as she's been trained in this since, um, birth. (which makes it really awkward when you think about the fact that her parent's mis-typed her for a long time, what with it being their profession and all. Sort of a tragic misunderstanding of there daughter. I think she figured out her actual type when she was, like, ten.)
Anyway: The ratios on the feeling thinking make it make more sense to me now.

Yarg. I slept through most of the day, to compensate I suppose for not sleeping at night. That was one of the most debaucherous nights I've had here, I think. Also, debaucherous should be a real word.
You know, I thought that making out with somebody was one of those things I wanted that wouldn't actually help me at all, but I actually feel a lot better now. Huh.
It's interesting knowing that you're reading this, Kailyn. I kind of enjoyed the total anonymity I felt before, but there is something about knowing that somebody does read and care about all these words that makes them a bit more satisfying too. Also, I have the sort of brain that is good at la-la-la-ing it's way along in the face of unexpected attention. Which is to say, I suppose, that I am good at ignoring it.
Still. Last night was interesting. It went through such different sequences. First the melancholy sort of aimless drifting after house managing, then the fun of the one-acts, and then Yoshi had his talk with me. It wasn't anything I hadn't already figured out for myself, but something about hearing him say that he was no longer in love with me made it real in a way that it hadn't been before. "In terms of the emotional distance between us, I find it annoying to be around you right now because you're my ex-girlfriend, and that's just going to take time. I'm usually fine, but it's when you latch onto my flaws that I have to leave the room. I do think you're a wonderful person though, and would like to close friends with you again eventually."
You think I'm a wonderful person. How nice. Ass. I don't know. Something about that particular phrase is just... ugh. Like when people ask if a girl is pretty and someone says "Well, she got a great personality."
It was hard I guess, because it made real for me the fact that I don't really matter. I don't think that he's not in love with me anymore, so much as he never was. It makes me feel a bit used and discarded, though I know it wasn't really like that or that it was never his intention at least.
What was interesting was how I dealt with it. I mean, Matt was with me for a bit, but I pretty much had to deal with this one on my own. I found myself in this tiny nowhere-room in Titsworth with some mats, a broken piano, and a mirror. I'd never been there before, I didn't even know it existed. I doubt that most people do.
It was such an awful feeling. I was alone, so I got to release myself to those all-consuming, body-shaking sort of tears. I used to do that in front of other people more, but I don't like to as much now. Maybe it's part of the whole "growing up" thing. I don't know. As much as I wear my heart on my sleeve, I rarely have allowed people here to see COMPLETE breakdown.
That's what I did though. I broke down every bit of myself and what had happened to me, examined all the parts, cleaned some, threw some out, and put it all back together. I got into this funny space where I was able to see the girl in the mirror as someone standing in front of me rather than a reflection of myself. I looked at her, saw her in the midst of my own overwhelming tumult of emotion, and saw potential. This would make me a better actor, artist, writer, storyteller. So I took my tears and started doing lines from the end of Lear. I was suddenly in control of a great storm, the words flowed out of me like power, like that certain breed of truth the feels like magic. It was probably one of the best performances of my life. By the end, I had finally stopped crying. The storm had subsided, and I felt strong, centered. I sat there with myself a while longer, singing until I felt fully transformed, and then I left the little room and sought the rest of my evening.

Taking Care of Business

It late, but not inordinately so. I have drugged myself a little bit, with valium, so hopefully I will fall asleep without too much difficulty. I received Agyar today in the mail, along with a lovely note from grandma with $50 birthday money. I'm falling behind, and it is beginning to become worrisome. I found myself unable to study tonight, so I did a shitload of laundry and cleaned my section of the room. This will make it easier to work in here tomorrow.
I'm excited for Traviata, especially as it is finally starting to lodge its way into my head. Also, I'm just really looking forward to having more Emily time. Thursdays are hard, so it will be a nice reward.
Rebbi just got home.

Chipper

I was chipper for most of today. Yesterday night I was awful, really heartbroken and such. Today, I couldn't have cared less. I hung out around him and Sadie and felt fine. I felt like myself again. It was fantastic. Unfortunately, I'm not doing so well right now, but so it goes.
It's gotten to the point where I really do type faster than I write, but there is definitely something captured in manually creating the shapes of the letters that simply cannot be recreated in typing. Still, there are certain ways in which typing allows for a much freer flow of words, especially when you aren't intending for anyone else to see what you are writing. Maybe I'll show all this to someone someday, but for now, I really like knowing that I'm not doing this for anyone but myself. It also is helping me translate my thoughts to words with greater ease. I mean, by sentences are actually beginning to resemble the structure of my thoughts. Maybe it doesn't have the poetry of other writing, but it sounds like me, and I like that. Then again, what "me" sounds like probably varies a lot depending on the person I'm talking with and the subject material, but I think this looks something like my actual inner narrative, in that if I actually slow my thoughts a little, my fingers are fast enough to type a thought as I am having it. This is new. I've never been able to write at the speed of thought before.
I didn't do my homework. I didn't do anything, really. Nothing worthwhile.
My dreams have been odd lately. More lucid at times, and I remember them more clearly. Two nights ago I had a horror dream á la Matt Chen. A set of siblings whose parents were dead went camping at this lake. One by one, there were all killed by something in the lake. A ghost-like something would pass through them, drawing them towards the water. They each died a different way, and they took on some pose of the sibling-death before their's before their own demise. Each one died differently, and each death was chilling in some way. Once they were all dead, it was revealed that thing in the lake was their parents. They'd killed their own children to reunite the family. It was sick. Then they were in this great room, with high ceilings and windows. Their mother was speaking to them, and one of the siblings accidentally knocked a window open, allowing a small flock of Red-Wing Black Birds the escape. The mother was furious, she berated them, "You idiots! Now the secret is out. They will tell God. The condition for such alternate realities as this to exist is that God does not know. God cannot know."
Which is odd and creepy.
Then comes a sequence of family time, though all I remember is the mother talking to one of the daughters (who, come to think of it, looked vaguely like me, though I was a third party observer in this dream) in a mirror, about school and stuff. It was actually kind of sweet.
Anyway, then people come looking for them, and they have to fool them into thinking that they're still alive. I don't remember whether or not these people are killed as well.
Last night I dreamed that I was way, way up in the evening sky, airplane-level high. The world was a mesh of dark purples and blues, and there were stars out. I was scared of how high I was at first, but then I simply let myself fall, my limbs spread eagle, my face towards the earth. I simply let myself fall, knew that I could trust myself to it. It was one of the freest sensations I've known. Eventually, I conjured up a pack and parachuted down (I did mention a certain level of lucidity, I believe.) At the end though, there were two people, one crashed, the other held the corpse in their arms, and wailing tumbled down, down a hill, until they hit a fence and their death. They must have been in love. I don't remember, exactly. What I do know is that it was gut-wrenchingly tragic, tragic in the way that makes you fold in on yourself. I looked on what happened, horrified and distraught, and I knew that I had to remember what had happened, that this was the most important thing in the world. I went to tell somebody in the dream about my dream, but they made it so I couldn't talk. I still don't remember what happened perfectly, and this bothers me, because I know it mattered. Whether it matters in this world, I don't know, but then and there I know that it really, truly mattered. How often do I find things in this world that really matter?
I must try to forget as little as possible.