Truly truly, my life is pure insanity. Not even the good kind that makes your brain explode all over the walls. I've been walking around for weeks in a stressed, numbed out haze. It was walking around at all moments feeling apprehensive and jittery. Today, at least for a few minutes, that lifted and I was self confident that I could do all my homework and that I could do it well to the best of my ability. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I picked up a bunch of absurd english classes and now I have to finish them, and then it's over. I am looking forward to that over part. I have so many more things I'd rather be doing. (Gardening, reading books I want to read, studying tarot, drinking, etc... )
Ah well, it's over soon. Wish me the best of luck on all of it. Mostly wish me an appropriate state of mind.
Following is a writing prompt for my African-American Lit class....
Q:What is the "invisibility" of which the narrator of Ellison's Invisible Man speaks? What does the narrator mean when he says he is invisible? Length: 1 page
A: The invisibility to which the narrator refers is when he blinks at night. We can only assume that that's why the white guy who bumps into him doesn't apologize right away. We can't really fault him, after all, maybe the narrator should have been wearing some neon sort of reflector.
I think this answer would be disqualified because it's not a page in length but probably also because it's as racist as you can possibly get. It is, however, the answer that I wish I could write, more than anything in the world.
Why do people use the "I'm too old" excuse. I'm calling BULLS on that. Keeping your body in good order requires you to treat it correctly. Eat what you know you're supposed to be eating. Move your body around, get rid of your stiffness. Even if you can't excercise, MOVE. Breath. That's it. That's all there is to keeping a body. And yes I know the arthritis might hit at some point but really. There are no excuses. Because letting yourself decay is not the best option and that's what I see a lot of people do. I'm not even talking old here. I've heard this come out of four people's mouths in the last week. They were 31, 50, 46, and 55. YOU ARE NOT OLD FUCKERS. 85 is old. 95 is old. 100 is old. That's nothing. Just because your memory spans 3 or more decades does not mean you are old. My almost 90 grandmother still gardens, drives, cooks all her own meals. She never complained about not having the body she used to. YOU have no excuse. Stop living in sin and lethargy and do something about it.
Some great wizard's magical messenger, brass-skinned.
A raving prophet, advocating self-mortification and deprivation of the appetites.
A siren-ghoul, who entices the amorous into deadly peril.
A company of desert horsemen, hiding a woman amongst them.
"Finally, on August 6, the two men reached an island - the first land on which they had stood for two years - and their fortunes turned. Hunting polar bear and walrus, they soon had fresh meat aplenty and regained their strength. Threading south through the icy archipelago, they realized by August 26 that they would have to spend another dismal Arctic winter far from home. Using a broken sled runner as a pick, Nansen and Johansen built an improvised lair. There they stayed for the next nine months, sharing the same greasy sleeping bag and subsisting on polar bear broth and bear meat fried in walrus blubber."
How fucking badass is that? They subsisted on polar bear broth and bear meat fried in walrus blubber. Fuck yeah! Those are true men in the highest form. It is men like these that do a credit to humanity and push the thresholds of the human condition. Fucking polar bear broth. Think about that for a while and think about how pitiful your existence is.
Context - The cats were chasing each other around today because they have been locked in the house for three days. And dad says to the cats to stop fucking around and picking fights with each other. And I said that they were just playing because they are bored. And he came out with this classic: "Well they can play all they want until someone comes home with no eye." Hahaha. Wtf.
I've got to immortalize this in the Frida Kahlo diary.
This winter sucks. It's not even technically winter yet and I am very unhappy. The sun comes up late, it seems and then it hangs around for what seems like only a few hours and then bam it's gone again. It is cold, desolate, and unhappy. I miss my sun, more so than in years past. I wonder what is different this year that I should take notice.
I'll be honest, I want to have sex with your mind. You make me think in ways I've never thought before. You make me re-examine my convictions and beliefs under the careful magnifying glass of logic. Each new ad campaign or commercial I see I view only through the veil of Aristotle's Rhetoric. When I see you striding across campus I can't help but think of what I would give just to read a book with you! Simply put, I wish your brain was all over my brain doing some of the nastiest shit we could collectively think of.
I hate powerpoint. I don't hate powerpoint because I don't know how to use it. I hate it because I have to use it. If it meant that computers didn't exist, that I was deprived of my beloved internet, and that I had to use a typewriter I would, if it meant I never had to make another frakking powerpoint. I have to make two in a week. This is really not a problem aside from the fact that it is a major inconvenience and it makes me want to shoot myself in the face.
There are so many more useful and productive things I could be doing with my time if I didn't have to make them.