i can't wait to move out of this house.

some of the things are worth staying for... the fireplace, the neverending supply of coffee, the laughter and good food. but there are also bits of my tongue i have to bite off, my teeth are receeding back into my gums with the force of my keeping them clamped, and my stomach roils. my right eye twitches. little signs that show i'm roasting inside. i have personally the two most stubborn, unforgiving and unapologetic people in the world here locally.

chip. chip. chip.

in thinking that other people are very selfish, i feel myself to be selfish. it's a horrible cycle, and it makes me feel guilty. pile it on. someday, with all this guilt, i will be a perfect ghoul.

three days, no word. i wish i had a magic wrench to fix my insides.

music: i will be there when you die (godspeed you black emperor)

wohin geht er, wenn er verschwindet ist? tage lang, warte ich auf eine antwort. es ist leer. ich hasse warten... eigentlich könnte ich diese ausgabe auch unten unter 'Paranoia' einsortieren, aber sowas einfach ist nie einfach einsortiert. es ist die leerstelle, die man nicht löschen kann. höllisch. gah.

heut' hab' ich keine Wörter, auf englisch oder auf deutsch. ich, sprachlos! tsk.

musik: when the curious girl realizes she is under glass (bright eyes)

i'm tired of feeling guilty about things that matter.

world hunger, world peace. and that's just the beginning. i'm getting an ipod for christmas, and i'm torn between the convenience and fun of an ipod and the fact that if i were to take the money, i could buy a new jackets for missionaries. i could give food to people living on the street.

the Ukrainian family saw California, and they were never the same. they're willing to leave their home, their possesions, their university jobs and rich family, they'll lie and take advantage of people who are already unemployed, just for that dream of an SUV and a pool in the backyard. it's an evil ambition, and something that i am enough a part of that i understand it and am mystified by it at the same time. once, i thought that protesting against the government would save me from that. but it's not bush, and kerry is self-centered enough to spend his time leisurely often as not. it's not democrat or republican. it's every man and every woman who lives for convenience, each person who drops a child off at daycare to make it to a dayjob for that extra cushion, every sale of a designer shoe or every pill of prozac popped. every time mcdonalds passes another hamburger out the window, america is cheapened. real, authentic relationships are becoming a dying breed, and we selfishly cut our skin for that added proof that we are alive, we have beating hearts, we all breathe and bleed. if only being an animal were enough! we can't all be on the top of the human food chain. we can't all be bill gates.

don't get me wrong, i love nice things. i'm a snob, actually. a snob with hundreds of books and several computers. i have wireless internet and an ipod in the mail. i have a wardrobe stuffed with warm clothes, warm jackets, and a crate of shoes. i own CDs i've never listened to and books that i've never read. i take out trash every week of leftover bits. i scrape food off into the trashcan and buy drinks i'm not thirsty for.

and it makes me sick. people make me sick. human nature is vomit-inducing. we cloud our skies, we look down on each other for arbitrary reasons, we look our entire lives for the one relationship that will make us whole, make us feel real and worthy and alive. silly people... don't you know that you can't provide that for someone else, much less squeeze someone else into that puzzle piece?

damn hollywood.

and i repeat! get off of my soapbox!

if anyone in the world loves me, they will bring me a hot beverage. and by anyone, i mean those who are only a few floors away and not nailed to the green recliner by a cat and a laptop.

the only thing that stands between me and a quality game of starcraft with the grooviest guy ever to sit behind a powerbook is calculus. i KNEW that calculus was going to cause me trouble someday...

if only so many small lovely things happened to me everyday. all i need is a hot beverage, and it would be perfect. but They're all withholding it from me. haven't i been a good sister to you? i NEVER ask for anything. PLUS i sent you clever trevor.

in case the above plea doesn't work, here is an observation: i hate this blog theme. i hate all blogger themes. why? because they're so ... blogger. they ooze pseudo-intellectualism. i need to dive into CSS. or maybe send justin some candy.

music: now it's done (straylight run)

the girl in stasis awaits transformation.

i hate waiting.

it's all in stasis right now, see. there is a month until everything will break. at least i have it to look forward to. the thought of school makes me want to vomit... too much pressure, too many proofs past-due, too many books that are still hanging in limbo (aka the mail). but who am i kidding? i love the pressure. i love the suspense. i love the sense that something unexpected is waiting. just so long as that something isn't a big fat drop in my GPA.

there is also the frustration that comes from desperately wanting something free... i own four computers. how's that for being a lush? well, alright... 2 are the product of practical dumpster-diving, and another is several years old (a lifetime in computer terms... it will never see a another upgrade). i decided to experiment on one pulled from the computer graveyard, and have subsequently ended up pulling out a worrisome number of hairs. if i am bald, i will blame it entirely on bill gates. the bastard. i was entirely unable to even clean this poor computer (nicknamed Hansol, 'cause he's so hot right now... and it's printed on the monitor) of his evil influence. Hansol held onto his native language like a computer should never do. in the end, he refused to boot from a CD at all, and as i do not own a floppy drive, he shall remain window-ed until the end of days. or until i shell out for a USB floppy drive. i weep for his soul.

on a lighter note (and a less tech-y one), i went shopping for lighting for my room. i have a desk lamp that does well and one by my bed, but it was difficult to see all the nooks and crannies, and the spines of my books were lost to the darkness. if you would like to hear how i achieved magazine-worthy twinkling for $2, read on! enter the thrift store. it's a one-room store, and filled with broken things. they were having a sale, though. on all christmas items. christmas lights, a dollar a set! oh, and they look so pretty. they're white and twinkly and soft and i feel special. they're enough to read by, enough to work by, and my room feels positively cuddly. as i am not a cuddly person, this is comforting.

i can feel christmas coming. this is my favorite time of year. not because of christmas, per se, but because of the cold, and the way that people are forced to huddle together and bundle up to stay warm. this is the time of year when mom's closet becomes a topic of much neuron activity and starts to draw my eyes with each passing, and the fattened winter cats seek our laps with conviction. i can wear my half-gloves and embarass my sisters with my scarves. the winter brings out the best in me... the cleanest, most organized, part. the part that takes Q-tips and dust-off to my hardware and verifies and repairs passwords, vacuums neglected crannies and dusts (dusts!).

on that note, it's nearly 4am and i'm going to spend some quality time with my pillow and the yellow cat (who is already waiting).

"Life is a Yo-Yo, and Mankind ties knots in the string."

the fire is roaring, and the wind outside is mashing our house with vim and vigour. (oh, maybe i just wanted to use the word 'vim'.) mom is out of town and so dad took his girls out for the evening. we lounged in a box at the opera house, in high heels and mascara (well, not dad). the opera house was red and padded with red velvet and mirrored walls, dripping glass chandeliers and with shiny marble floors of the kind that are ideal for sock-skating. the music was beyond breathtaking. i turned around in a burst of cello madness, and found my two cellist companions behind me with eyes closed, rapt faces soaking in the notes with perfect attention. after the fourth encore, we hunted down the performers, down into the very bowels of teatro san carlo, and found them not at all. dejected and told to do something that didn't sound nice by a man with a broom, we made our ways outside, drooping, into the rain (the rain!). our friends saw a familiar face, an old man, a bus driver. he couldn't contain the news from the children he drove to high school. "Io porto Yo Yo Ma!" he said, thumbs under his lapels, eyes disappeared under smiling wrinkles. finally the Man Himself came exploding through a side door, followed by his pianoforte accompianist and brandishing sharpies, taking down programs rapidly as they dashed in cut-time through the crowd. we all gave him an ovation as he beamed at us through the window of the bus and drove off. excellent.

hands red from clapping, and noses red from sniffing, the two cellist admitted to having slept through most of the concert. rapt indeed. more pictures to come. the camera flew to germany tonight and will be back on wednesday.






music: Symphony No. 2 in D, Op.36 [NDR Sinfonieorchester] (Ludwig van Beethoven)