Thanksgiving

I never really did anything deeper than write down tasks I could do and some how-to links for different professions.

On another note, a housemate let me borrow a fan, since my old fan is in one of the bins somewhere far back.

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Why can't we flag posts that would be of no interest to anyone 18 and under?

"Warning: this post contains detailed information about student loan payments/housing bubble bursting/Iraq/quantum physics/whatever your parents are talking about."

"Warning: Overwrought whining about not having a girlfriend. What you kids would call 'emo'. Too long. Don't read."

I tried marking this as having 'Adult Content', but logging out and seeing that warning page made me feel vaguely dirty. Many things I write are things that 13-year-olds might handle, and I lock and filter the explicit posts.

However, I know some on the friends list have small children. Should I mark this journal as 'Adult Content'?

I ended up missing the last bus to the train station (forgetting I RVSP'd for a lunch), so I walked to a trolley stop. It was raining, but it wasn't a hard rain, and the sun was out. I tried to take a digital picture of a rainbow hanging over the train tracks, but it wasn't visible.

I walked up and down Boston, having dinner there, beer there, and ice cream there. I realize this is a bad idea financially. I am keeping track of it ("That six pack cost $10? You need to get cheaper tastes," my brother says). However, I took the trolley, and decided to be daring and walk from another trolley stop.

Big mistake. I walked through nice tree-lined streets, past quiet houses, some with and without lights. I thought of a story idea involving zombies in Newton. I started to scare myself enough to avoid the shadowy places. Then I wondered if anyone could see me. I wondered if I look like dinner. I have this amazing ability to scare myself that I cannot apply to anything constructive.

Then I saw a familiar street, and calmed down.

Sleep, however, did not come easy.

In the interest of doing anything but writing, I:

• cleaned the fridge
  
• ordered books on Borders: designing fictional characters, a book to fuel my fantasies of traveling the world, and a book instructing on Jewish prayer
  
• got lunch for tomorrow and tried a new ice cream
  
• won two games of Word Yahtzee
  
• Contact someone who could get in touch with people to help with a stalled novel
  

You know what I should do tomorrow? Call someone who called me about the informational interview. And think of questions about Simmons. I should also get rent and deposit enough money to finally pay off my credit card.

I guess the reason I am holding off on writing is that I have to write letters by a social-climbing anti-Semitic Blackshirt fictional character, and it makes me feel dirty. I know about the shadow, I know about the author not necessarily sharing the views of the character (once a friend of mine and I joked about putting a disclaimer "The opinions expressed in this fictional story are not the opinions of the author. These attitudes were apprioprate for that time, distasteful as they are."). Still, I am going to wonder what black feelings I will be mining here to write it.

I got a bone angel,
with a candlelight halo
and sheltering hands.

I thought he flew away
to a black lace girl,
prettier than me.

I'm never,
I'm never
going to let him go.
I'm never,
I'm never
going to let him go.

I had a licorice man
I don't think he knows
how sweet he is.

If he loves his sugar girl
why is he so sad with her
and always waiting for me?

Why don't I,
why don't I
go to let him go.
Why don't I,
why don't I
go to let him go.

(Inspired in part by psychodrama, T. Rex, and Opium Den)

I have my characters from Birch Circle (the comic book script I am writing) getting into my head in strange times. I rarely talk about this other than with members of my writer's group, but they have little political debates, tell stories of places they have gone, rant about how crappy boy bands are. I want to finish the script, if only because they want it finished. And for the record, I am sane, no voices telling me to kill and all that, dammit.

And I still need to send in my applications. I got an interview with some non-profit dealing with neurological disorders--they may or may not pay me. I could give a care, it's experience. However, I am slacking deliberately on Symbolic Logic homework. Ugh, the trouble is not with me not understanding formal proofs, and different rules, it is with me second guessing my methods of getting to the conclusions. Am I doing this right, following the procedures, or doing all wrong with the sort of confidence of knowing enough to screw up?

I am not a fanatical anime fan, but I like watching random episodes (Tencho Miyo, Ramna 1/2, Revolutionary Girl Utena and whatever looks interesting) and find some of the conventions getting into what I write (what is Meg Dunsmuir but a amalagation of Buffy Summers and Sailor Neptune, with some Celtic solar hero DNA thrown in?). I also have this fixation on KISS dolls. Hey, I liked paper dolls as a kid. And I became more familiar with different series, and the different plots in manga through it. I cannot read Japanese, so actual immersion in manga will have to hold off (and I know there is some English translations, I just don't know where the good ones are).

Why is Arik never there when I have AIM on? We seem to have a relationship. Not just friends, not exactly love, but more like lurve. Very goofy, very flirty, with me not caring that his girlfriend is watching us like a hawk. Ideally, I want Theresa to know that, hey, we are flirting with each other, having intense conversations, and yes, we don't mean to, but . . .I think the phrase for what ends up happening is second base. I have considerably less angst about it than I did a year or so ago. Less of a fear that I will end up alone and he will still have her. Less of the wish that he would rescue me from my loneliness. I don't know how to explain, but I am gaining self-sufficency in emotional matters, feeling less I NEED to be with someone. I want to, often, and I miss certain people, but I can survive.

Bursar block cleared, schedule needs fine tuning (how did I register for Advanced Proficency in Spanish II when I meant to go into Spanish for Composition and Conversation?), and the search for a job that's less of a killing joke than this one.

And now, another random lyric poem, from two different songs, can you guess them both?

I had a heart but I buried it someplace.
I got my head but my head is unravelling.
My body won the race,
can't keep track of where it's travelling.

I dream in pictures pictures of you
the more i give to you the more i die

You walk the tightrope unwilling to see straight
i shouldn't go but you're wrenching dragging shaking me

I'm the clown,
a sweet taste,
and i want you.

Accidentally we talked about the past,
the perfect drug.

Magic that redefined the missing link,
the perfect drug.

The perfect drug
to blow your mind.

You had a dream,
I see the truth--
my soul is so afraid to realize
you had a taste and it made it contagious.

We walked away too fast,
take me with you.

Was there tragedy in the things we did?
Without you everything just falls apart.