The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

Woohoo! It's like a hootenanny in my brain, and might I add that it's a whole lotta hoot and a little bitta nanny. It's 2:30am and I've been up since 7 yesterday. Guess who's either going to be really fun or really irritable tomorrow? The story is probably 3/4 done, but we'll have to see about that when I actually type it out. As it stands, it's 13 pages double spaced and about 10 with 1.5 spacing, and sent out to everyone in the class. I cannot wait for my workshop. I hope that one kid who thought my best friends story was about lesbians hates it. But you can't blame a guy for misunderstanding female affection. Guys have it rough. I really feel that way. And that's not just the sleep deprivation talking. God, I hope that this isn't the only I'll be able to write in grad school. I'll have to check myself into an institution by the time it's all over.

I think I fixed the time. It should read around 9:30.

And Amy sits in her room and laughs.....

SON OF A BITCH! and might I add, FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK!
Why is it that boys can never be my friends? Why is it that I'm always friends with boys that I'm not attracted to? And why do they always have to tell me about their feelings in poetry? I fucking hate love poems. Well, only when they're to me. Andrew Marvel and John Donne are alright in my book. You know, now that I look back, maybe I should have kept in touch with Tony because he seemed like the kind of guy who could be friends with a girl, and if not, well, I don't think I would have minded it that much. And he never would have written me a poem.
And I left the bag in the cup too long and my tea is bitter, and I'm agitated and angry and I have to finish my story. Yay, me.

I typo'd when writng the term salt-and-pepper and found out that the word "peeper" is laugh-out-loud funny

I'm always so impressed with strangers' blogs and then I get to mine and think "why would anyone who doesn't know me want to read this?"

I'm useless and no good and not writing my story, but I think I know how it should end now. I've gotten into the habit of writing in my head all day. I hope I don't turn into one of those people who carries around a notebook everywhere, constantly writing down everything. I could be that guy that who sits in a coffee shop all day and writes on napkins. I liked my stream of consciousness writing thing yesterday. It really jump-started my noggin. Work tomorrow from 8-4. We'll see if that's enough time to finish writing the tragedy of Billy Strauss.

I hate that Amy's, "hosted by Blogger" lives at the bottom of her page. It makes it hard for me to find it and click on it so I can get to the main page. I am supposed to be working on my story, but I need to do some stream of consciousness writing first. So...horse chicken coffee gruel button can candle retard frogger herpes turtle jack o' lantern timeshare magnolia vampire goat water pickle sasquatch fungus needle porcupine mussles canopy. Finished. I am ready to write. After I go to the potty.

So that was my awake at 2:30 am and hopped up on caffeine spiel about how depressed I am. I know I don't usually reveal myself as the emotional type, but damn, life sucked for about three and half hours. And now, well, I think I feel okay. The situation is still there, but I realize that I'm powerless to change it, and I think that I can accept that. I think what got me was the realization that even though I'm an adult now with all this influence over my own life, I have less power over my dad now than I did when I was six months old. I'm not a completely new person that depends on him for everything, which is part of the reason he went to rehab for the first time 21 years ago. And seriously, he was the best dad ever for 15 years. That's what makes all this so shitty, that he really is a totally different person from the father I grew up with and idolized, and it's a change brought on by more than just both of us getting older. But there's nothing I can do except wait and see if a higher power will influence the situation for the better.
Wow, this is all so Al. Anon. And I'd like to take this opportunity to finally come out of the closet to you all. Yes, as you all may suspect, I'm a Christian. But a very accepting Christian with some new age tendencies, and absolutely no urges toward evangelicism, so please don't persecute me. And read the song below if you haven't already because you were blinded by the nihilism of my rant. I don't even know if that's the right term, but I've always wanted to use it in a sentence. Every time I hear that song I feel like it's a big ole "eat it" to Dubyah.

So, in the "more to come" department about my father....
let's just say that he hasn't been a very strong person lately, and it really hurts me. I told him as much, that I was mad at him, not because he couldn't pay my tuition, but because he didn't even call me to tell me why he couldn't pay it. His response: he was too embarrassed to talk to me. Of course, now that I know, I'm still pissed, but at least I have a concrete reason now. When we talked he seemed like he was starting to cry, and he left the room for a minute. I didn't feel happy about it, but somehow I felt this grim satisfaction. I made him cry for once. I've shed so many tears over my father that sometimes I don't think I have any left for him, but amazingly they still come, although I think now they're mostly for me and everything I've lost. I want to help him, but the way he was talking things seem pretty hopeless right now, and to tell you the truth, I don't know if I can go through this with him again. I feel like telling him "I'll see you when you get better." It's an awful thing to face, but times like these make me wonder if I really love my father anymore. It makes me feel like my heart is folding in on itself, like a star collapsing into a black hole, infinitely dark and just fucking heavy. And it's an awful thing to face that my father is really killing himself, that if he keeps going down this road he'll be dead soon and I won't have a father anymore. And that's the most frightening part of it, because if my father died it would be like someone cut out my eyes or hacked off my leg. I'm far too much my father's daughter not to feel painfully incomplete without his presence.

I have nothing interesting to say about the war so here's Eternal Life by Jeff Buckley--

Eternal life is now on my trail
Got my red glitter coffin man, just need one last nail
While all these ugly gentlemen play out their foolish games
There's a flaming red horizon that screams our names

And as your fantasies are broken in two
Did you really think this bloody road would pave the way for you?
You better turn around and blow your kiss hello to life eternal
Angel

Racist everyman, what have you done?
Man, you've made a killer of your unborn son
Crown my fear your king at the point of a gun
All I want to do is love everyone

There's no time for hatred, only questions
What is love? Where is happiness? What is life? Where is peace?
Where will I find the strength to bring me release?

Tell me where is the love in what your prophet has said?
Man, its sounds to me just a prison for the walking dead
And I've got a message for you and your twisted hell
You better turn around and blow your kiss goodbye to life eternal
Angel

I saw Chicago today with my Mum at the theatre. Tres Bon! For all of you who hated Moulin Rouge but don't have a deeply rooted distaste for musicals, I suggest you check this one out.
Also, the day I got home Brian bought a honkin' huge monitor. I feel like I'm in front of a movie screen. My eyes hurt.
I haven't had that talk with my dad yet, but we have a lunch date scheduled. More to come.....

In other news:
My Jeff Buckley cd finally came. I will take it for a test run the next time I print.
Sometimes I wonder how I'm going to make it in the real world. I was just thinking, God, I really need this break. The thing that makes me feel pathetic is that most of the time I have no work. I have an English class that I have to do a translation for here and there. The rest is reading, or fun and therapeutic stuff like writing and printing. I realize that maybe I should take the time I have to sleep and use it a little more constructively.
But Yay!! Home!! I have a Russell and a Tracy and a Mum to do many fun things with and a Dad to scold. I'll be blogging about that. I think my Mom should make an apple cobbler, oui? Oh, that reminds me...maybe I should pack or something.

Bilggety Bloggety Bloo
I should be working on my English assignment, but I think I can swing ten sentences about why I chose to define the word "colour" from the translation in three hours.
Time to vent. Certain peoples at work on Sunday made me....I wouldn't say angry, but I was definitely insulted as an educated woman and an artist. Describing the pottery in Tatem as "crap" is not an opened mined and intellectual way of dealing with something you don't understand. Yeah, Curtis is getting on my last nerve. Also, I'm really tired of sitting hostage in the office and playing 20 TEA questions all the time.
In other news, Long Island Universtiy likes me, they really like me. So, I'm 1 for 2, and we'll see what Syracuse and Brown say (Brown is insanely close to home and I can only imagine how great life would be if I could gt a license and a car) but for now I'm just happy that I actually have a place to go to school--in the Hamptons.
We should all get together with plastic kid's instruments and jam every Friday night. I heart the kazoo big time. As Kirsten said, everything is funny on the kazoo.

it's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
it's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
it's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
it's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever
--Lover, you should have come over

My new non-food obsession is Jeff Buckley, and I think my new favorite song is "Lover, you should have come over." Move over Coldplay's Chris Martin, I've found another dreamy falsetto to pine away for. Too bad he jumped into the Mississippi and drowned after his first album. That severely limits the number of recordings I can buy. On a brighter, and also somewhat darker note, it makes everything he sings even more romantic. So, Amy, you should be burning your own copy of "New Year's Prayer" any day now. I warn you in advance that it may be different from the one on the Dead Zone because the cd is made mostly of four-track demos. Also, hooray for Peter Wingfield's guest starring appearance on Dead Zone! It's nice to see him working on something that's not called "Queen of Swords." I just wish that his character wasn't such an asshole so I could have had some girly "Gosh he's dreamy" moments.
Oh, and the basketball team would like you to know that they will be playing Messiah in the finals. "It's big news, the whole campus will be talking about it."