MEEEEP... exciiiiiiiited!
03/05/2004 05:04 a.m.

I got my first law school acceptance letter today..... (drumroll) GEORGETOWN! Yay!!! :-)

And, I got a notice that I made it through the first round of cuts for a Governor's Fellowship that I applied for... so in a couple weeks I head to Indy to interview for a job with the governor! Eeeep! :-)

It was a very good day for my mailbox.  I think I love it.  *Smooch*

Inscrutable Elephants
02/20/2004 04:24 p.m.

The last two days have been awful.  I've overdrawn my checking account.  I have to move out of my apartment because I can't afford it.  Guy I dated is writing a book and referring to me as College Girl as though I'm some sort of laughable stereotype.  There's no sunshine today.  And to top it all off, I'm freaking out because some dude will not call me no matter how much telepathy I send his way, and I refuse to let myself call him, and so I'm making myself miserable.  And hating myself for inviting such misery. 

There is a solemnity to the realization that one is a hopeless and miserable.  All I really want to do is crawl deeply under the covers and meditate on the holiness of solitude.  But I keep being visited by inscrutable elephants. You know the kind.  You have up impermeable defenses-- no people, no limos, nothing gets in.  Then this elephant comes along, and just... steps over the walls, doesn't even feel the barbed wire.  And so he's standing in your courtyard, looking mildly around, wondering why you seem so panicked over his presence.  Why?!? Because there's a freaking elephant in your yard, your beautiful once-empty yard!!!  Why is it here?!? It's causing so many problems!!!

And yet, it is undeniable that the elephant adds something to the ambience.  I'd like having it here if I didn't hate it so much.

BAH, TORMENT
12/11/2003 08:14 a.m.
I've freakin' lost my cell phone. Lost. As in sixty-five or so phone numbers lost too. I'm about to cry.

Plus, just to add to the torment, someone I'd been WAITING to hear from called me-- and said, "Well, you have my phone number now, so if you want, call me."

I can't, because I DON'T have the number, and NO other way to get in touch with this person. My roommate says this is a sign. I say it's reason for a massive pity party.
I am currently Dismayed
I am listening to slurpslurp of free cappuccino

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TooMuchToAsk?
12/09/2003 08:04 a.m.
I want two hands, clasped together, sharing palms and possibilities.
But no ring. And I want to remember how to let go.

I want two lips, pressed to mine and sending shivers down the spine.
But no promises. And I want to retain my own voice.

I want cuddling accompanied by conversation, serious and sweet.
But no labels. And I want to keep my own room.

I want intimacy and friendship, with a healthy note of desire.
But no wedding march. I will remember how to say no.

I am currently Nostalgic
I am listening to soundtracks of memories & simplicity

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goinggoinggoing...gone crazy
12/04/2003 03:57 a.m.

i just want you to know that i do NOT have the time to write this:

but i HATE the LSAT, i HATE the GRE, and i do NOT care if i never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever see another application for ANYTHING as long as i live.

honestly, if someone came up to me and said, "All you have to do to win the lottery this month is fill out this form, write an essay, and find two letters of recommendation!" I think I'd throw their clipboard in their face.  Followed by an uncapped pen to the eyeball, if I can find one.

And yet I'm broke as all heck, so the irony that the lottery money would actually pay for me to get my LSAT scores distributed to law schools (assuming I ever actually apply to any, anyway) is only slightly lost on me.  So if you're REALLY wrapped up in the spirit of Christmas, go ahead and offer me the lottery... I suppose there's at least a fifty-fifty chance that I'll take it, and NOT throw things/poke your eyes out viciously.

On that note.... MERRY CHRISTMAS!

(PS. My mood is either "crazed" or "frenzied", but I couldn't think of another synonym (no time for mr. thesaurus these days) and neither of those was on the list. So. Yeah. Now you know what my mood is. Yay.)

Pet Peeve- GRRRRR
11/07/2003 07:44 p.m.

Don't take this personally, and chalk it up to my anal editor's eye (Rachelle-- not a word!), but--

I HATE HATE HATE HATE when people misspell "tongue". (YES, it's T-O-N-G-U-E!)

"I licked it with my tounge." "I can touch my tounge to my nose." "Church tounge, not porn tounge!"

You know how I pronounce that? TOWNJ. As in, rhymes with "lounge". Lounge singers do not have tounges.  Remember that.

Tongue. It's not that hard.  Next time you're tempted... for God's sake, bite your tounge!

Self-censorship
11/05/2003 04:20 a.m.
There's a frustrating paradox about online journals.

They're most honest when no one you actually know reads them-- you can say anything that's on your mind, and no one gets offended.
Also, nobody really cares. And you want people to care... so you want people you know to have a peek at your thoughts now and then.

But as soon as your friends (or whomever) tell you that they read your journal.... you have to start practicing self-censorship.

And in principle, I'm against that. This is my journal, darnit, and I shouldn't have to worry about upsetting someone with my honesty. And yet... I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings... and I still want people to read my journal.

I have no solution. Except self-censorship. Grrr. Why do I bother having a journal anyway?

I am currently Bleh
I am listening to Stupid people's conversations

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IgotakittenIgotakittenyay!!!
09/29/2003 05:53 a.m.
I got a kitten (as you may have guessed from the title) yay!

She's five months old, utterly gorgeous, perfectly grey with such a sheen that she looks silver, like a piece of jewelry I can't afford.

Her name is Leilah, dark beauty in Arabic.

I promise not to write stupid poetry about my cat (I've never liked poems about pets, no offense to any on here) but I really did have to gush a bit--

there's something holy about holding a bit of breathing flesh and knowing it is dependent on you for life

My mother said she feels like a grandmother (better this than for real, I think, by much) but I wonder if it's wrong of me to think that a baby will never be quite this beautiful, if only because it doesn't have fur?

I know, I'm ridiculous. But still. Might as well let you all in on my ridiculousness too...
I am currently Affectionate
I am listening to shivering skin... Leilah's not big enough to keep all of me warm

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O the Agonizing Irony... help?
09/10/2003 12:50 a.m.

I spent four years of high school falling in love with boys who never loved me back (granted, they hardly ever knew.. I'm the type to forestall rejection).

So then I gave up on love, and decided to enjoy relationships for what they were worth, finding connections and experiencing them, acknowledging but not being obsessed with them.

And now I find myself in the uncomfortable reversed position... where suddenly men imagine themselves besotted with me (and I know it's imagination, because three (three? what is this? a situation comedy?) have told me "You are, like, the perfect girl" and we all know perfection only exists in fantasy...

I didn't ask for this, I didn't, I didn't, and so why why why should I have to hurt someone totally innocent just because I can't fall in love back? How do you tell someone you're flattered, but really, you just want to enjoy their company and not try to assign anything magical to the chemistry?

Am I a horrible person?

Can I possibly be complaining about the fact that boys like me? And could anything be more ironic to the memory of a lovelorn little girl, sitting wistfully in a high school classroom, staring out the window and wishing for possibilities?

What's wrong with me?

Poetic Justice
08/27/2003 03:34 p.m.
Poetic justice is staying up all night in an illicit-passion-frenzy (with someone who belongs elsewhere) and staying up all night the next night with someone who's been threatened with the loss of a loved one.
(Stick with me, try to follow)

Poetic justice is dodging tornadoes of emotions (they're like mythical creatures, who if you stare right at them and say you don't believe in them, just might vanish) and finding yourself sitting curled in the concrete hallway of a institutional basement, while sirens overhead blare warnings of "real" tornadoes.
(Am I taking too much license?)

Poetic justice is longing for the diamond 'round someone else's neck that you can never have, and finding later that the solitaire in the window, the one that's for sale but is pear-shaped instead of emerald-cut, was crying over you.
(O but I never cry, remember?)



Let me know when it's time to stop being humbled, Lord.
I am currently Somber
I am listening to the beating of MY heart (not yours)

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