| 10:59 pm |
July 22, 2008 |
Tory and I, spring semester, 2008.
This summer I have filled holes in walls and floors, built a brick walkway, mowed the lawn, made pasta, carved a chicken, navigated the streets of Atlantic City on my own, replaced a door, and had my first real experience with cohabitation.
Small accomplishments that make me feel bigger.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 9:35 am |
July 12, 2008 |
Today,
Will comes back?
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 12:06 am |
July 4, 2008 |
The rain falls heavy and slow tonight, but the fireworks still light the sky.
I am weak, and all I want is you here. I am trying, I am trying, but this will not stop until I am dead to you
or you come back to me.
Selfish. selfish. selfish.
|
| (3 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 2:30 pm |
July 4, 2008 |
It is Independence Day. I plan on getting drunk, watching fireworks, eating meat products, and generally getting over it.
My problem is my dependency on sex and the hormones is releases. If I am not having it somewhat regularly, my outlook on life goes to shit.
Excuses, excuses.
2005
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 9:37 pm |
July 2, 2008 |
I cannot think, I cannot write, I cannot speak; I cannot dream.
I can read D.H. Lawrence and feel sorry for myself.
I can listen to Pink Floyd and hide in a room that is no longer mine.
I hate this mood, but moreso
I hate the predictability of its return.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 6:07 pm |
June 28, 2008 |
There is an upside to you being there and me being here. I do not have to live like that wandering child, and you do not have to be bored by my work ethic. My lack of provided entertainment. I am smoking fewer cigarettes and thinking more. I am in the process of creating a quiet space for myself; one room versus the entire world as I know it. Province Creme paint flecks, a symbol of my accomplishments. Dear god, what am I doing?
Substituting a week's work for a week's life.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 9:27 am |
June 3, 2008 |
It is not often that I am humbled by anything other than criticism, but the way that Baltimore looks during the day, at night, from thirty stories in the air made me want to throw myself over the side of the building. How could I go on living in the face of my own insignificance, my ignorance?
I have never felt so alone in my life.
It is this that I am thinking of now, in a dining room in Olney. I have a thousand little choking thoughts in my throat, just like my virus, that make it hard to swallow. This is bigger than me.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 9:43 pm |
May 18, 2008 |
Three more days, two more lonely loftbed nights, two exams, two rooms to empty, one car to fill, one car ride.
Jersey. Will. Summer.
I am doing this mostly for my own benefit. My own sanity, my own distraction, my own record. I would like nothing more than to be in Baltimore tonight, like Will (that lucky bastard), drinking and fucking around and just NOT CARING.
Unfortunately, I must care (or so I tell myself). I have not seen my roommate in two days. Normally, this would be a beautiful gift, but she was supposed to move out today. You cunt. I want your space to put my half-packed suitcases and for your
aura to dissipate and
let the air clear in this tiny cinderblock hell.
-----
20 May, 2008
She is gone! and I was right.
The air smells crisp and
clean and
new.
And, OH MY GOD; she left Girl Scout Cookies.
I am going to eat them all.
One more night.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 9:38 pm |
May 13, 2008 |
Brownies.
They sneak up on you.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 1:57 pm |
May 6, 2008 |
Two more weeks, seven lectures, one speech, two train rides, countless Metro rides, car to the River, two different rooms to pack up, dozens of list to make, four exams, another car ride. Jersey. Will. Summer.
I am ready, I am ready, I am ready.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 8:17 pm |
May 1, 2008 |
I took down my Team M picture today. I am clearing out this room, little by little.
I had the privilege and the pleasure of taking the cut with Evan and Rebecca on Wednesday night. Smoking from a small piece, and watching Evan drive a lime-green Beetle with his knees. We were in a different century, a different world. Nothing existed but the trees and grass and Pink Floyd's Emily. I am glad that I do not take it twice a day, like they do. It was an experience that would lose its poignancy with repetition.
There is something about journeys when I am blazed- car rides, train rides, cab rides in the city.
I am happy that this year is almost over. I am going home for a visit next weekend, to see Carrie, Chris, and Traver. To pack my life into boxes, and to begin another great purge of my adolescence. I think I got rid of most of my stupid memories over winter break, but I plan on going back with more distance and objectiveness and trying again. Anything that I have not thought of once over the last seven months is going. If I can survive, two hundred miles away, without it, I do not need to keep it.
This trip, the packing part, at least, is not really imperative enough that it must be done so soon. It is certainly not important enough to leave campus around six in the morning, catching a train from Union Station around seven-thirty. I just feel like this is something I have to do before summer starts, before Will moves in.
I think I just need some time home, with my sisters, and Chris, and Carrie, and Traver. That is why I am going.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 9:12 pm |
April 22, 2008 |
Even as a business student, I
hereby solemnly swear that if
I must ever learn about the
Federal Reserve System and all
its intricacies AGAIN, I will
scream.
This is time number three, in
two semesters.
I am not really complaining. It is not difficult, just boring.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 10:26 pm |
April 13, 2008 |
My temperature keeps fluctuating. My head is swimming, and there feels like there is a vice around my skull.
Yet, I am quitting, I am quitting, I am quitting,
and so are Will and Ryan.
the absence of a small flame
has turned the world to water-
we rock (hand to chin to hair to
hand) and the breeze, the current
pulls at our limbs.
My thoughts cling like silt and
a small place screams with
anxiety- I will not feed it.
The sun I used for a
blanket, wrapped its warmth around
me and focused on Anything Else
(the smell of the wind in
your throat) has set
too soon and
I cannot break the surface of
this ocean, addiction.
Twenty-four hours. Yes, I have arrived.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 12:36 am |
April 10, 2008 |
Wednesday night and one more death notice in my inbox. My former professor. One more shock. One more night of S being drunk. One more shock. One more night of S admonishing me for caring. One more shock. One more night of her debate to do Ritalin. One more offer.
I am tired of being shocked
to the point where I am just not, anymore.
Tomorrow I am escaping to Olney, for some (goodoldfashioned) love. For a relationship where I can be honest. For a person around whom I do not have to tiptoe. For a bed and two arms, and a mouth that smiles, and eyes that tell me they love me. For Will, and for my own sanity. To fall asleep and to wake up, and to fall asleep again.
Again, and again, and again. Six more weeks, and then I will be
gone
from Maryland, until
I have shaken it off and am
begging to come back.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 7:36 pm |
April 1, 2008 |
I am tired of irony. I do not find it to be ironic that today, as campus awakes for the first time, I cannot. It was a day like today, a year ago, that made me decide to come to Maryland. A day when everything seems alive, and nothing is silent. I love winter, and the way that it turns me into the only piece of brilliant life in a grey landscape, but there is something about spring that I cannot capture. And elevation. A rising. A scent. A feel.
I detest Ritalin. I told myself never, never again, because the sense of focus and purpose and euphoria is not worth the feelings I return to once the high is gone. How useless I am the next day. How everything aches, my nerves, my heart, my skin. I lay in bed at six in the morning and watched the flashes behind my eyes and nearly begged for sleep to come. I told myself never, never again. My best friend needed me and I did as well as I could for her.
In a way, it was also what I needed. Worked out our problems, strengthened my resolve.
To take a bath, to fall asleep in the arms of my lover would be utter bliss. To be done with school, and to have no responsibilities but to visit the cherry blossoms. To never have to make a difficult choice, or to explain to someone why you are worried about her. To make friends easily, to find comfort in any situation.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 8:08 pm |
March 31, 2008 |
I remember this. And I miss it.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 5:04 pm |
March 31, 2008 |
A MacBook does not have a backspace key. Every mistake you make must be deleted, purposefully, deliberately, finally (until you hit ctrl+z and it springs to life again)
Ryan played us a ten minute piano ode in the florescence of the CCC, and it was beautiful. A complicated and quick-fingered soundtrack to the evening. The air is full of mist and fog outside, and I have never felt so ghostly and solid at once. I haunt hallways and lounges and the dreams of my lover, his subconscious the only thing to fear. My response is to hold him tighter and wait for morning.
On the wagon, off the wagon. Who can tell? The one thing that has changed is that any deviation from sobriety is a well-considered choice. Now, where is Ry?
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 3:58 pm |
March 26, 2008 |
I had a dream last night that I could set my hands aflame, like the human torch, at will. Unfortunately, it could only work when I was angry.
I would just concentrate and then, ignition.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 5:07 pm |
March 25, 2008 |
Two months into ortho tri-cyclen low, and I wil never have a pregnancy scare again.
The emotional aspect of this situation has changed dramatically; a baby is not just a baby, anymore. It is a child, my child, a product of Will and I, something that will grow up to be a person, a member of our family. I hate this feeling, this new regard for the life of a hypothetical fetus, and yet it fills me with wonder. When did this transformation take place?
All the extra estrogen in my body is keeping me from pregnancy while softening me to the idea. I am suddenly a busty, tender, and emotional claire.
I feel like things are slowly shifting with the weather. I do not want to become one of those people, a reformed partier with my nose in the air, basking in the shine of my inner light. I have come to realize, though, that I am almost twenty and not doing well in school. I am forcing my lover away with my actions. I am watching my best friend slowly rot herself from the inside out with Ritalin.
I am worried about her more than I am worried about myself. I have reached that point, that day where it is Tuesday Wednesday Thursday and I am stoned or drunk or strung out again and I do not have the energy or interest to do anything else. Where I have no money because I spend it all on cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, fast food. I am still sorting it out in my mind; this is not a proclamation that I will never smoke again, because I do not want that. I want balance, and order, and financial security.
Time in Olney, sick in bed, time in Jersey, roaming the neighborhoods I know so well- that was good for me. Thinking about things could be good for me too.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 12:55 pm |
March 14, 2008 |
I managed to crawl out of bed (as some may say, off the floor) this morning and to the Incon, but I barely made it. Robitussin. DayQuil. Tissues. Water. Happy spring break; I have a monster of a cold.
I have a friend hiking the Appalachian Trail, starting in Georgia and ending up in Maine. This is supposed to take him five-and-a-half months, and I am supposed to be available to cover for him (if he "breaks his leg or something," he says so flippantly) in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut. His hike through there should coincide with Will and I being in New Jersey for the summer.
Oh, Jersey, I will see you Friday. I do not truly look forward to it.
I guess I am just trying to write something that is not about drugs (oh, damn, I said that word again). I do not hate this lifestyle, not in the least, but the words never change to describe it.
On a Thursday night I sat in front of a bookstore in Rockville (I do nothing in that town but smoke and wait) and realized that I actually must be a little homesick.
Surprising.
My boyfriend lies sweetly sleeping in the bed above me. My heart aches sometimes, to be around him. To not. Whenever he drinks he falls in love with me all over again, it seems. For his own comfort or mine, he makes a slurred list of titles for me. Girlfriend. Lover. Best friend. Partner. Fiancee.
Sometimes the people you find by chance are the people that you cannot end up without. Case in point, William. Stephanie.
Nothing more mournful than trains in the distance
sightless, tasteless, a constant
presence in this state of (oak
laurel and) loneliness.
|
| (2 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 4:58 pm |
March 5, 2008 |
For about an hour, everything was beautiful.
I have four condoms sitting in my desk drawer, courtesy of William. We do not even use condoms. Hello?
I feel as though I could scream. I have a speech to write and no motivation to do it. I have not had a cigarette all day.
For about an hour, everything was beautiful, but a combination of vicodin, THC, estrogen, and progestin does not serve me well the morning after.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:44 am |
March 5, 2008 |
I am frozen.
Last night I took a journey though heaven and hell. Dear god,
I am out of cigarettes and my headphones are broken. I am tired of feeling guilty and jealous and
I am scared of ultimatums. I got one, and I was too stoned to do anything other than sigh and agree.
Not that I would have disagreed. Never.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:02 am |
February 25, 2008 |
I got stoned last night with Jennifer. We listened to God's Playlist, which I am recreating all by my lonesome right now (if you have a good library, put it on shuffle and start with Beck's Loser. God will then manifest himself in subsequent musical selections)
I have a midterm at two pm today of which I was previously unaware (what excellent grammar!). I thought it was on Wednesday.
God has abandoned my playlist. He does not grace the itunes of those who are not worthy.
read about the past.
|
| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 6:07 pm |
February 20, 2008 |
I am an extremely accomplished Claire. Chapter of macroeconomics, chapter of accounting, online accounting homework, chapter of macroeconomics, online macro homework. What remains is food, a cigarette (or several), COMM200 article diagram and general preparedness. Kissing my boyfriend ever so softly and sweetly.
Today I stood outside in the snow (still slightly strung out) in flipflops. Smoked a cigarette. Listened to Wish You Were Here and had a slightly strung out moment with myself. I have a gram of pot going stale in my negligent possession. I need to smoke it soon.
Shut up, life; I am busy.
|
| (2 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 1:22 pm |
February 18, 2008 |
I am drinking a delicious milkshake and watching through the network cameras as Will serves overpriced dairy treats to Marylanders. Life is good, I think, in the sense that I disappear from campus for days and days and take vacations in Olney, or Baltimore, or Rockville. In the sense that I am so absent from the day-to-day of college life that my roommate was actually inspired to call and see if I was still alive (after we had not spoken for days, even while I was on campus). In the sense that, although all Quaker women seem to dislike me in the end, I have a smile on my face. In the sense that I am about to go enjoy a delicious cigarette outside the employee door. In the sense that love is an integral part of my everyday world, no matter what part of the state I find myself.
In the sense that
the sun on North Charles Street streamed
into the windows where we
lay, you and I,
William
and breathed in synch
in the quiet
of bliss
And, yes! I know this is useless, and student, and tasteless (insults I will never forget) but I felt the need to let it out. The sun is peeking outside today. The air is warm. Catharsis.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:47 pm |
February 11, 2008 |
This happened a while ago (in college terms, last weekend or the one before may as well be a century past), but it is a good story, so I will tell it anyway.
This is the edit, the edict, the result of many artistic liberties taken on my part.
Begin.
I am in my own place, high.
A bubble, a shell, as illusive as heat waves, it shimmers but cannot by broken by bass or treble, or your voice running through the scales.
This is why I seem withdrawn.
A child can blow bubbles made of soap and water, a molecular solution. I conjure mine, personal carbon and carbon dioxide. A tobacco cloud.
Will, however, communes with his own invented forces of nature. Red eyes like glass, yet never so intense as when he taps into the pain of marble and granite. Martyr and the hope for the world.
"Will, do the robot!" (Jenny bounces and waves like the curls in her hair, a blur of browns and pinks and kaleidescope eyes)
Will (picking his fingers up from stroking a concrete barrier) exerts his singularity in the Great Struggle.
"HOW," (breathless indignation), "can I do the robot when I am trying to take down technology?" Loam and dirt on his fingertips becomes warpaint, and he does the Crip Walk instead.
And then, this.
Saturday night we made our excursion into Cleveland Park, into the dark, down the hall down the stairs and into a Brazilian nightclub-slash-bar. I made friends with Brazilian girls who wanted to be American. I assured them of their own cultural significance, and they taught me to dance to samba. Many shots of tequila were consumed. Salt and liquor and reggaeton and lime, and Andre the birthday boy, no, man, twenty and tiny and so so so so drunk.
I am terrified to grow up. To shape up. After such a record-holding four days, I skipped both my classes on Friday and both today. Instead, I spent the latter part of my weekend being domestic in Olney. I lay in his bed and I walked his dog, filled tanks with gas and watched Magnolia draw pictures of chairs. If life could be simple, if love could be easy, then I would not spend days on the rack of my own mind. I have said it before and I will say it again: love is a journey (everything is a journey, oh holy fools) and I am trying to let my mind rest in that knowledge.
My question, and my general point, I suppose, is this; is anyone else, out there, happy? Truly happy? Happy enough to realize that happiness is not all good times, tickle fights, and orgasms (although all those are important). Is anyone else in love? Does anyone else fall in love as easily, yet as hard, as I do? Hello? Anyone?
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| (3 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 4:31 pm |
February 7, 2008 |
I have gone to every single class so far this week. Although it may not sound like it, this is an accomplishment.
I feel sick.
|
| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 12:53 am |
February 3, 2008 |
I am simply too high to deal with anyone right now.
Two nights in a row.
Two nights in a row.
Who can I party with, now that I cannot trust my two best friends to hold it together?
(and, Will requests that I do not yell at Stephanie.
the question remaining, will I be as angry when I am sober as I am now)
Anger, high, is not sharp and pricking, a sense in your chest or your teeth. It is a small glow, ember, that warms and burrows deeper over time.
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| (2 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 10:29 am |
January 30, 2008 |
---
What this pretty little picture does not include, however, is the fact that self-destruction is a freeway and I am certainly not a passenger. I know you all see it; I do, and so do those that love me. The part I cannot explain is why sometimes I seem to be pressing my foot to the pedal, pedal to the floor, waiting to get pulled over before the last exit.
(a little dramatic, but in my come-down state of mind, showering, this is how it appeared.)
Before you see that as a cry for help, for someone to intervene, know this: the cop's name is Self-Preservation, and we have had many run-ins before. She raised me, fed me, sent me into the world. She won't let me escape her now.
Yes, I can see now that this is not myself talking. I will look back and laugh. Nothing is that dire, obviously. I am happier than I have been in a long time. Great friends, freedom, and the love of a man that I love in turn. My only problem right now is a little stress, no sleep, no food, and a chemical bloodstream.
---
In other news,
although it has been two months, this page has just today recognized the fact that I am a year older. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 9:20 am |
January 30, 2008 |
Judge all you like. I write for myself, not for a reaction.
The world looks different when you are living on auto-pilot. Yes, you hurry, class today and the faint memories of yesterday firmly fenced in by sleep. Do you imagine how the world looks to me? Can you? Life is not something to be looked at directly, when you have not allowed your body time to reset. Thoughts are not heavy things, as unimaginable and tasteless as the smoke of a one-past-far-too-many cigarette. No less enjoyable, but far easier to bear.
Just like I write for myself, I exist for myself. I am discovering who I am by degrees, slowly, and it is becoming more and more apparent with every choice. Different chemicals alter your mind in different ways. I compare the experiences, and the part left unchanged, or so I feel today, is the true essence of personality. The constant of you. The human element. Yes, I seek out new experiences. Yes, I try new things. Yes, I am aware that it is (now) Wednesday. It started out as boredom, curiosity, but now I have a greater purpose: I am, in myself, a grand science experiment.
The choices are not always the best, I see, blessed as I am with logic and a driving sense of my own limits. I do not repeat mistakes, if mistakes they may be, but I do not repent the choice. Yes, it could have gone better.
I am aware that I am making little sense. Normally, when I write, the right words come to me, while the wrong flicker and die. Today I have no strength to capture any sense of cohesion. I choose not to be specific. I once had an air of mystery, afraid of the scope of my readership. I will try to recapture that vague beauty for no other's sake than my own. I miss the delight of saying so much while writing so little.
But, yes.
Any grade-schooler can identify the parts:
today, I am the scientific method in action.
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| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 9:19 am |
January 29, 2008 |
I am so tired of knowing what I can accomplish. Six classes, again? Pshhh. No problem, obviously. Gag.
It is not as if I missed out on anything last semester from working that hard. This one, however, I need a job.
I will figure it out. I will manage. That is why cigarettes exist.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:30 pm |
January 27, 2008 |
I cannot update or delete my interests in my userinfo. I cannot delete friends (if I added you, apparently you are there for good. How optimistic, this view of companionship). I cannot bring myself to unpack that last suitcase, tonight. I cannot wait, cannot, for three (point-five) months to pass, when I never have to set foot in this room again. Never sleep on another loft bed. Never share another inch of closet space.
Everything that seemed to fit so neatly two months ago now seems to swell from every drawer, every corner, and every cubby of my hanging shoe unit. Why did I not bring more home, and leave it there? Why do I need all these shirts? I am feeling very simplistic, lately, coming down off of twelve straight hours of (NOT ANOTHER DRUG REFERENCE), ten of which were spent talking, soul-searching, meaningful, philosophical talking, with my beautiful future roommate. Two trips across campus to seven-eleven.
I chain-smoked nearly a full pack of Reds. My fingers are stained. This has never happened before. Two yellow spots, like a string tied to remember.
Come-downs, hurt, and issues of trust.
I am glad to say that all is well.
All is well.
|
| (4 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 9:06 am |
January 23, 2008 |
"I knew he was smart when he told me he didn't watch tv."
Roadtrip with my mother commences now.
|
| (2 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 1:06 pm |
January 22, 2008 |
What? Is that time right?
Caffeine and cigarette buzz. Listening to The Information. I should be showering, packing, doing laundry. Something!
NYU was beautiful. Bong hits in a weather-stripped dorm room. Colt45. Shots, and a cab ride. Lights and lights and darkness, flying down the streets in horror and ecstasy while Thom discussed Pimp My Ride with our driver. Apartment, beer, and half-disgusted fascination with Jackass 2 on the television. Not my choice, obviously.
Cigarette break.
In a state of vapid concentration, memorizing my surroundings. Apartment building. Iron-wrought fence around a patch of dirt that used to be grass. Empty plastic bottle. The decision to walk up the block, two in the morning, self-pledges that if did not see a place to buy food (so many lights, there must be something) in a one, two, three, four, and five building area, I would turn around. Go back. Another cigarette drag. Pause at the corner, peering, and someone coming.
No panic.
"Do you have a cigarette?"
"Yes. Do you need a light?"
"No."
"Ok. Have a good night." and smile.
The kinship I feel with the world.
Back to the building (thanking the night that I took the time to notice my surroundings) inside, girl buzzing in. My furtive search for 3f (a completely foreign system of numberedlettered buttons). Girl seeing my (obviously trashed off my ass) contemplations.
"Do you want to come in?" holding the door.
"Yes, thanks." and smile.
And, tomorrow, twenty-three hours, back to Olney.
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| (2 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 10:50 am |
January 20, 2008 |
The next stop on CLAIRE'S GRAND COLLEGE TOUR OF THE NORTHEAST (in which the party never pauses) is NYU.
Oh baby, here I come.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 6:48 pm |
January 17, 2008 |
Debugging the computer. Taking a bubble bath. Reading Anna Karenina. Speaking to my boyfriend. Never pulling up another staple again.
A night of nothing never sounded so good.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 10:09 am |
January 16, 2008 |
YOU'RE A PART OF THE FUN WITH A DOLLOP
A DOLLOP
OF DAISY
What a great night. I feel so good.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 7:57 am |
January 7, 2008 |
The sun is up, but why am I?
[Here's a hint: I spent two days in bed drowning in my own misery, and then one day avoiding bed altogether just because I could]
Starbucks is not even open yet. It is too early!
America?!
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 9:51 am |
December 19, 2007 |
So I could take a shower.
Or start packing.
Or go back to bed until I feel better.
Hm.
|
| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 11:36 pm |
December 17, 2007 |
Tomorrow will be a very tough day,
but I am ready.
Concentrate now: finals.
Go.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:13 am |
December 14, 2007 |
I would hate to call it
abandonment, what we are all doing
to each other,
but eleven weeks without James can
hardly be phrased any differently.
While Stephanie worries her life away, sick
at home, imprisoned, and
Will is as far as ever,
I am left. Here,
with James to comfort me, to pick me up,
to feed me, and for me to do
the same,
until he is gone.
Uniformed and sorted into units yet
so woundingly alone.
While I remain.
March is not so far away, James,
but yet it seems a lifetime.
I don't think I have realized yet, but
my whole support system
(besides a phonecall to Carrie or
some other meager attempt)
will be
gone.
I am happy for him, but
I still cried when I pleaded
yelled when I could not understand.
Sat sullenly when he explained to others.
My best friend is joining the Marines,
and there is nothing I can do to change it.
So I smoke another cigarette smoke another bowl ignore the stupidity of the past go on another fucking adventure and
wait
trying not to waste a moment.
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:20 pm |
December 4, 2007 |
"So you have your period, mono, and it's almost finals week."
"Yes."
"But you have me."
"I have you."
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| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
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| 1:35 am |
December 4, 2007 |
I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Hah!
I amuse myself.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 9:12 am |
November 25, 2007 |
I really have never liked my birthday very much.
hold up, wait a minute.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 7:44 pm |
November 24, 2007 |
Dear Shamus: I am
reading King Lear and thinking
of you. It is too
bad that you don't like
me very much. So it goes.
That point behind me,
I am glad things are
(from what I hear) going well.
All my best to Jenn
And, of course, Regan.
I hope she ends up better
Than her namesake. Claire.
Old teachers that touch
your life often are just that,
never friends. Too bad?
I try to network
and build friendships, but very
often seem to fail.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 11:07 am |
November 20, 2007 |
Bake. Wake. Shower. Repeat.
|
| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 1:37 am |
November 20, 2007 |
These people need to get the fuck out of my room. Seriously. I am in an altered state of mind and this is pissing me off even now.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 7:11 pm |
November 12, 2007 |
My Saturday night:
Two Amps, half a g out of three g's of pot, one tab of acid, one 200 mg caffeine pill. Three good friends. Twenty Camel Wides.
|
| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 12:33 am |
November 9, 2007 |
That fucking cunt.
This is why I am not friends with girls.
|
| (1 comments) | 2/3 |
|
| 1:49 am |
October 26, 2007 |
This isn't how it should be.
Therefore, it won't be.
No more lj.
|
| (0 comments) | 2/3 |
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