Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

i dreamt bees were chasing me down lonely moonlit waterways...  i shook them off and fell asleep on a deserted river bank somewhere, underneath a tangle of dead underbrush.  the dream went black.  when i woke up i saw that someone had stolen my boat.

had lunch with D's family today.  though there were ten of them and one of me they were very kind and against all odds i did not die of social anxiety.

parents arrive tomorrow!

no carbs after midnight?  good thing it's 17 hours to midnight

mmm bacooonnn

lol 8 page paper due tomorrow and i've written two paragraphs and the.. bibliography... but i've pulled this all nighter thing so many times this semester (and particularly this week) that i'm perfectly relaxed at the moment

lately i've been experiencing sudden switches of perspective.  i'll be walking down the street or working on a problem set or lying in the grass, and without warning a bird's eye view of the scene will appear in my mind.  everything is as it is, except for me - in my mind i see myself not as i am now, but as the person i used to be before berkeley.  it's like my immune system is rejecting berkeley, like it's warning me that everything this city and its people have done for me will be (and is already being) undone.

how beautiful it was to be without shame and still loved, if only for a fleeting moment.  shameless like a psychopath, shameless like a naked old man at a foggy, non-nudist beach in san francisco, shameless like a school girl singing to herself on the train, shameless like adam and eve...  try to remember: don't apologize for who you are.

It's not that nothing feels real, it's that there are two disconnected spheres of reality - the reality of the individual and collective reality - and they are separated by vacuum.  though is collective reality less real than individual reality because it's experienced less directly?

last week was the best week, but this week is the worst.  two midterms, one of which is a ridiculous take-home that includes a number of open problems -.-, one pset, one writing exercise, and one essay.  why why why.

"None of us has to go to anyone.  And the idea we do is a mental illness we contracted from breath mint commercials and Sandra Bullock.  We can't keep going to each other until we learn to go to ourselves.  Stop making our hatred of ourselves someone else's job and just stop hating ourselves."

it's early in the morning, i'm in my feminist class for the first time in weeks, and my worst nightmare comes true.
a man in a ski mask flings open the double doors at the back of our lecture hall and rushes in.  heads turn.
ishouldn'thavecometoclassishouldn'thavecometoclassthisiswhatyougetforgoingtoclass
where's his gun?  i look frantically for his gun, but he hasn't got one.  he goes HAAAAIIIIIYA! and punches the air and when his fist unclenches something white flutters to the ground
a bomb?
bombs don't flutter, no, it's paper
the illusion falls away - the bomb is only paper, the man is only a skinny boy in a mask
he sprints to the other side of the classroom, dropping another paper-bomb along the way, and announces that he is a Sexist Ninja.  his catchphrase seems to be "I don't get drunk off one shot of sake."
and then he's gone.

"what an ass," my professor remarks dismissively as the doors slam shut behind him.  everyone laughs, and i want to join in, but all i can do is shake.

Ohh whenever I remember that szary and flylo are my friends on facebook the thought of my castleville posts makes me CRINGE

Everything goes with green.  Green the word, not the colour.

Green and crazy.
Green and lonely.
Green and sick.