I have no idea what I want. I can't tell whether I love someone, or whether it's a matter of attraction for the wrong reasons, or its really just a passing fancy and that I really just like thinking about them, or if its all just an illusion based on expectations and a false perception that there is anyone out there aside from a few people that are actually worth my time. My attentions are currently spread in various and entirely useless directions, and I don't have the wherewithal to try to break out and pursue anyone. I guess that's the trouble, I naturally spread my attentions, but I spend my time around someone who is very possessive of the people who pay him attention, and though I want to break out, I have yet to really find someone whose positives outweigh all of his, to be worth it enough to say "I want to end our situation." And that's the trouble as well, I don't actually want to end what we had, but I can't live in that by itself. I have no clue what to expect now that he thinks I've slighted him, but I'm sure it will be unpleasant for at
least a little while.


Typically, before I ever get to putting words on a page, I've said most of what I was going to say a dozen or more times to myself. I was going to write some self-important drivel about inspiration and originality, but I'm going to stuff that for now. I'm in danger, or perhaps crisis of losing my best friend. All because I was not perceptive enough to ask permission, or at least let him know that I was going to make a little side trip, and that it happened to be with some friends of his as well. Now I'm suspect of running around and I'm losing a hell of a lot of privilege, which honestly probably should have happened sooner, but I don't want to lose the respect or understanding that I had with him.

 I have no idea what to do here. I've said I'm sorry, and that it's not what I want, but I don't particularly have a choice if he decides to cut off. I do wish he would figure out what the hell he actually wants, and tell me. It's amazing to see someone who doesn't believe in "love" or "relationships", but shits his logic degree when its clear he's reacting in a very emotional way.

Right now, I don't know what I need either, aside from a sedative.


More stressful and vivid dreams, more unrequited/complicated love, more crushing financial responsibility leaving me feeling paralyzed. I feel indescribable as of this moment. I want to run as much as I want to somehow instantly fix everything as much as I want to lay down and never get up again. I feel this become mostly a negative feelings purge journal. I suppose I need it. I feel lonely and cared for simultaneously. Everything around me is momentarily discomfiting. It will go away, and it will come back later. I'm slipping into depression again, and I need it to go away fast. I can feel myself struggling to stay away from it as I gauge and try to prioritize carefully my sleep, my diet, my activity level, and my daily planning/organization. It's difficult to be vigilant against something when its the very thing that makes you feel so fuzzy around the edges.


How can I be so happy to see that someone I love has found love, but just as heartbroken that I'm not in the picture?


Such a strange deja vu premonitory sequence played in my head, and it started with a video of Julee Cruise singing something from Twin Peaks.

I remember seeing the one comment, one like on my friend's status where it was posted, and trying to play the link but youtube wouldn't let me play it on mobile, though somewhere down the line my friend thanks me for saying anything because he feels like sometimes people don't care. Then as I'm browsing other videos Sam comes into my room to talk about my other romantic interests/concerns. He's obviously bothered by it at first, but we have a lengthy and honest discussion in my room.

And none of this has actually happened, but I felt as though part of it was supposed to when I was looking through the videos after following that link. I sometimes wonder about the finer workings of this universe.


I want to run away, but you can't really run away from grief. Even if I could, I can't afford to go much beyond my own apartment right now.

I fell for someone, much harder than I ever thought or expected I would. And they don't want me. Or at least, they don't want a relationship, and don't seem to think I'm high-commitment material anyways.

I feel like a prisoner in my own body right now. I can't even see them in person to talk to them right now because I lack the means, and they're...preoccupied.


I have been at a slight unease, and I ache for autumn, even thoug it is yet an unfathomable whisper in my memory. It is dry and breezy, and there are already trees surrendering their leaves to the ground. If only that were a signal of seasonal change instead of a symptom of this awful drought. The entirety of this week is to be miserably sunny and warm.

Yes, I know. My first peep in weeks, and it's just to blather about the weather.  Well, perhaps more than that. There are efforts afoot that I haven't reported on here, though they've been longstanding and tedious enough that it feels trite to explain them in any detail when I've spoken about such matters elsewhere. Suffice it to say that job hunting is an emotional and physical drain, I'm actually trying my hand at sewing beyond pillows and basic hand stitches, and I have a lot of art films to write about, and even more to watch.

 I've also had a great deal of internal emotional struggle that I don't care to elaborate on right this second, since the situation is a tad complex, and the walls(or rather, the windows) may have eyes.


So, I've had an enriching couple of days with art film. Courtesy of Sam, I watched a DVD full of David Lynch's short films. They were wonderful. It was neat to see his handiwork in regard to animation(he began as a visual arts student), as well as the general execution of some of his ideas in shorter form. The Grandmother was a real treat. And The Cowboy and the French Man(or was it the French Man and the Cowboy?) was entirely ridiculous. I don't think I've ever laughed that much at deadpan, bare-faced humor and purposely(I hope) bad acting. Stereotypes can be fun to mess with. :P

I also had the surprise pleasure of finding and watching Begotten. I was completely unfamiliar with E. Mehrige, the director(though I'm also unfamiliar with plenty others), and it seemed to me that his directing profile did not really reflect the type of film this supposedly was. But I checked it out.

Eighty minutes of 8mm, black and white footage later, I was kind of stunned. Overtly raw and sexual, it was a sort of horror of metaphysical entities. I found myself entranced by the light and shadow play, as well as the jerky motions of the Son of Earth and the strange robed men who find him. Along with having no dialogue, there are very mysterious moments in which you only catch a few frames of a specific shot, and with the grainy footage you may only get an implication of what you think you may have seen. It does seem purposeful, and adds a dimension of reality where there shouldn't be as if you were really witnessing an awful event but it's happening so suddenly that you're not entirely sure that what you're seeing is actually happening, or of the actual intent of the entities involved.

The other quality that really stood out to me was the use of sound. There was a very complex sound design, despite having no dialogue. There were musical moments, but they were few and rather bare. The focus lay in ambient sounds.There would be segments where all you could hear was some sort of cricket or cicada, then perhaps a bird, or liquid trickling, or metal banging, or gravel crunching. The sounds were obviously reflective of the story, or even premonitory as to what would happen in a minute or so. Sounds would then be blended so that perhaps you heard the cricket, then prevalently gravel but still with crickets in the background, and sounds added and subtracted from that, and so on. Most of these sounds made returns, and I often found myself being somewhat disoriented by the fading in and out and refocusing of certain sounds.   


I have time again. This weekend was a blur of frenetic stage energy. I'm actually pretty proud of our department. And I did grow as a performer. So in all, it was still worth the ball-ache.

I'm bored, which sounds bad, but its actually kind of great because I only feel bored, instead of bored and depressed, which has been the status quo for a while. It means I can motivate myself again instead of feeling as though everything I do is to no avail.

I've been thinking more about my possibilty of being polyamorous. I'm not sure I'll be applying it any time soon, but since I've accepted the fact that I desire other people (and honestly have during mine and Sam's   relationship), my anxiety over his future hookups seems to have disappeared almost entirely. It was all related to my own guilt and shame. Go figure.


Today was okay. I felt good about the work I did, and it wasn't too, too stressful. I've even come back from my little brain slump on lumosity. Unfortunately I feel kind of whooped, so its been difficult to concentrate much this evening, and I've somehow turned down another chance to see a local band I've been wanting to see for a while now. I guess I am just not feeling the bar scene tonight. And anything that requires me to be on my feet just doesn't sound appealing as of this moment.


Oh, but Tuesday wasn't so bad. I feel like I don't include enough of the days where I'm okay, or at least not feeling so shitty that it affects my entire day. That includes about half of the days where I don't write.
My heart has been pounding for the past hour. I feel like my body is displaced, floating in and around objects. I'm a little dizzy, but not too bad. Mostly I've been staring into a dark window into a hall for the past fifteen minutes, seeing if the void really stares back. I keep thinking about the exchange I had with Sam earlier, about my state of mind. Of course psychology and psychiatry is rife with inadequacies and inaccuracies. I don't even know that I need SSRIs, but at this point I'm willing to try them if it will help my daily attitude and motivation. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired already, but now that I know its something that can be altered, I plan on doing what I can to obliterate this sense of despair, and I'm reaching for the tools available to me. I don't pretend that a pill is going to fix my problems. What I am hoping it will do is eventually get me to a consistent state of motivation so that its easier to work through the many personal issues I'm now confronting in the open. I wish that I could say I know what's best for me. I don't. But I need to at least try to look out for my own interests in the way I see fit, even if it goes against trusted advice. I feel just a little in over my head with this medication, but I also feel my stress catching up with me in a way that causes a very dark sensation to creep into my chest and steal my breath. I'd rather deal with the former at this rate.

I can't help but notice I feel the need to write often after talking with Sam. What can I say? The bastard stimulates my brain.


Bad Metaphor

The acceptance
The realization
The wisdom I seek

Is like the sunlight
which filters through
the blinds in my house

Of which I dare not open
Not yet, for I know
I will show all how naked I am


This doesn't even apply to a relationship, but its still an idea I've been trying to wrap my head around.


Someday I want to be able to have new connections for myself. I already have new eyes on me. They aren't necessarily the ones I want, but its a reminder that the world is large and that I can forge new paths, even if there's still someone close to my heart. I've even thought that perhaps I'm meant more for a polyromantic path, and perhaps polysexual, but its too early to tell. I just cling too dearly to one fabric in particular right now and until I can love it without dragging it into an abyss, I don't think its a good idea to forge anything new.

There is no *enough*. No one person can ever be enough, because they are only human. I put him on a pedestal so high into space that I likened him to a distant star, of whose virtue I could never even touch, and I think I likened myself to a servant after a while. I would even punish myself if I didn't do something the way he asked it to be done(not physically, just mentally). How sickening, and how horribly appropriate for an ambitious narcissist and an appeasing depressive. 


I feel like I should not be alone right now. I need someone who I can talk to, face to face. So far I've had no luck reaching anyone though. Night before Easter at 11:30, I don't expect many people to be up. Not the singers at the very least. Jessi isn't answering. Most of the people I see online have no car or are out of the area. I need a friendly face.
I hate this, I'm making myself ill. I sincerely hope I'm wrong and I hate that I assume every female he interacts with is someone he could be intersted in. And yet I don't think I'm wrong, and that makes it feel as though the bottom of my stomach has dropped out. And he's been out of town with this person since Wednesday, and the chances of them having times by themselves are likely, even alongside a group of people. I want to be outside of myself so badly right now.
Empty hands
with which we have only tears to fill
The remnants of a mosaic of dreams

Dry lips
No longer embraced
No more romantic thoughts implanted

Untouched body
No longer explored, admired
nor of wondrous curiosity expressed
more cursory or habitual

Empty eyes
No longer are side glances returned
No excitement
No expectant joy
No flicker of a lasting impression

Lonely Breath
on a cold sheet
in a dingy room
by a leaden heart
to an indifferent stone

I'm miserable and stupid for writing this


I strongly desire to just look at my face in the mirror and be proud of it. Be content with its form, and accepting of its flaws. I believe there was a time I could do that. I catch a glimmer, sometimes. I've found that its difficult to describe my own face. I've actually tried on many occasion but I tend to stop myself short. I don't want to make myself sound more ideal than I am, but it gets to the point where I can't own up to the qualities I truly believe I possess. This obviously applies to more than just my face. My therapist asked me to make a list of positive qualities I think I possess. She also said to put marks next to those I'm afraid to own up to. So far I don't think I've found a single one that I am confident of. This is about more than presumption(as in, the worry that my view of myself does not reflect reality), and is instead focused more upon confidence. The first is not actually as important as I make it out to be. Humility is nice, but its those who believe in themselves who get so far so easily, even if their confidence betrays their actual skill. And I'm afraid to take the risk of being wrong. I'm not going to get anywhere with that attitude. :/



I try not to post work from other people on here. It's about my reflections, typically. However, I found in this little writing a reflection of myself. http://8-bitreality.com/archives/2691

Granted, Ive neber tried to take my own life. But I've experienced those moments of despair, of suffering so deep and often unprovoked that it turns you cold. You don't know how to enjoy things. You know there may not even be a good reason, only that you feel horrible and would just rather die than to keep experiencing a numb, foggy existence.

The worst part is when someone asks you what is wrong. Its not that the question itself bugs me, I just often feel mute. I'm not entirely sure what's wrong, nor do I know how to express it. But most people don't want to know or don't know how to publicly deal with the fact that you're in the midst, so you just fake like you're tired. I've never attempted but I've certainly been tempted during bleak times.


Well, I've been attempting to explore the large and fascinating world of avant-garde film I've decided its really difficult to find and try to watch all good films by period, so I'm just going to try and stick with a few good directors from each era. So far my exploits have consisted of Luis Bunuel(pretend there's a tilde), Jean Cocteau and Man Ray(what a name). I enjoyed all of the films I saw so far far different reasons, though most of them have to do with innovation in the cinematography.

Just for reference, I have watched(all French so far, unsurprisingly):
la Ballet Mecaniste
le Sang d'un Poete (this was probably my favorite)
L'Etoile de Mer
L'Age D'Ors
 At some point I'll move past the title "The ___ of ____".

I'm trying to decide who I should focus on next. It looks as though Bunuel does work for a long time, up into the 80s it looks like. There's also Stan Brakhage and Kenneth Anger who have already piqued my interest just by descriptions of their work, but that's leaving a pretty big time gap. Those are both from the sixties. I still wanted to try and do this chronologically. Perhaps I should try to find more films directed by Orson Welles? I don't know that his work is particularly experimental. I suppose the story for The Trial was a bit more abstract, but I don't know that he made it habit. Same goes for Alfred Hitchcock. Even though he didn't start off as a "Hollywood" director, I can't say whether he was avant-garde or not; I haven't really watched anything of his. I suppose that's part of my problem in this, I'm just going in blind. I have no background in film, really, aside from the basic concepts I learned in that ethnicity class and the theatre stuff I know. I guess I'll just start watching what little I have compiled, and hopefully that will take me down different paths and I'll stumble onto something magnificent by accident. That's sort of how I got started.
Holee SHEEEEEEIIIIT. Note to self: when having to take an emergency contraceptive, expect a much, MUCH more painful period that usual. And I'm out of acetaminophen  and sodium naproxen, so all I have is shitty ibuprofen which hasn't worked on me in eight years. I did chug some stinging nettle dilution, so hopefully that helps a little. But most of my pain mitigation routine has had little effect. The pain is almost unmanageable like it was back in high school, though I haven't felt like crying yet at least. You do start to feel ridiculous after a while, because you're suffering the same as someone with a fatal stab wound or something and you realize you shouldn't be such a baby, its just your period, and then you find out that some women actually have to go to the ER for serious pain med injections, and you wonder why the hell you never went in to get one, especially that one time when you were fourteen and you were screaming and crying for six hours and in so much pain that you nearly blacked out.

I'm partly writing to distract myself as much as venting my frustration. I feel like I can't even get up. I do need to eat something soon or I'll start to feel really anemic, and then I really won't be able to.
Well blogspot, you win this round. I was patient enough to wait and just make sure you weren't being a total fuckup.

I'm already surfeited by these long-ass and extra opera rehearsals. If I were being paid it wouldn't bug me, but as it is I'm giving away some work hours when I really need the money. I don't even like this opera but I'm a fucking professional and I'm going to do my best job no matter what, and I also really want to see the opera production to be in an actual theatre, which is what I wanted from the beginning when I came to this school. I'd sing Gilbert and Sullivan if it got us under a proper proscenium arch.

Anyway I'm just stressed and tired and barely focusing on actual courses I've been taking because I'm worried about how I'm going to get money to pay June's rent and all the other bills and I've been trying not to give in to a few of my vices because I've been trying to take care of my voice for a competition that could win me some money to at least stay out of the hole. However I feel like I have very few ways to mitigate the stress. Nothing particularly bad has happened aside from my little "scare", I'm just busy and I think maybe that gets to me a little more than the average person. But today in particular I just wanted to cry and drink and smoke and eat a shit ton of chocolate and skip rehearsal tomorrow and tell everyone else to eat shit and die.

So, I really just took a moment for myself. I stopped thinking about what I ought and ought not to do; or about what a horrible person I think I am or what I need to do to improve myself. I let myself give in to those little vices. I left my phone inside, poured myself a vodka tonic, went outside, drank, listened to the sound that gave my kreteks their name, looked at my surroundings as always and tried not to think about anything in particular. And you know, I didn't have any sudden revelation. I didn't feel any less depressed, or suddenly come up with a solution to fix a worldwide issue. But I did do what I had wanted to do, and that was to relax. I also realized how the top of one of the trees in my complex looks line a swirled tip of a soft-serve cone. I wanted to stay out there all night and smoke, but my sense of responsibility towards my singing voice did pop in and tell me to take it easy.

All those days I had maybe several hours to spend, and yet I couldn't get myself to settle down and play a single game either because I wasn't in the mood, or because I was so stressed about what I should be doing that I couldn't settle down even though I knew I wouldn't be doing any work. My innate sense of guilt keeps me on the edge of my seat, and so I waste valuable hours of possible self-fulfillment and discovery noodling on fucking facebook because I don't want to commit to any sort of time for a hobby or project. Which is partly why I'm enjoying the finger knitting .

I'm drunk and I need a burrito. That's it for tonight. I have a wacky dream to recount but I can save that for later. <3>


That's the daily struggle!!! 


I'm annoyed. I've begun to take a real interest in the larger world of art film. I love the things that other people have shown me, and my interest has been piqued enough that I wish to expand my knowledge. However, I'm annoyed because I wanted to start with a historical view, so I was going to view "The Blood of a Poet" directed by Jean Cocteau and other avant-garde films of the time, and youtube has been utterly non-compliant. It stopped four times in five minutes, and is still being a bitch. Boo.
I was just sniffing his pillow. Wow, I think I've gained my creep points for today. Restless energy is bad for me. How did I become more stressed after my recital? Is it the money thing? That is a major concern. All I can say is that I hope I win the Dinsmore competition. I don't relish asking my family for money. I'll probably quit my job if I find something better as soon as opera is over. I did talk to a girl who works at a dessert counter connected to a Greek restaurant. She said they're always accepting applications, and they are already tiring of the high school girls that often work there. It seems like a nice place. I've also seen liquor store hiring signs, as well as a couple of bussing/dishwashing "for hire" signs in local restaurants. I haven't even been looking, but now that I'm noticing signs the little lights go off in my head that I should be pursuing some other work. If I begin applications and resumes now I may have offers/interviews by the time I have more of my schedule free.

No matter where I've gone today, the scent of gardenias is overwhelming. A reminder of specific moments in time. I could believe that smell is the strongest memory trigger.


Aaand there goes my audition time. I was really looking forward to the competition, especially as I put more work into the pieces and realized how much I loved them. But you know what? I fucked up. I didn't notify my accompanist soon enough. And I can honestly say that I don't think I deserved to be part of this competition due to that fact. Always treat your accompanists well, kids. Or collaborative pianists, whatever they choose to be called.
I can stil become markedly jealous over someone's ability to just unashamedly be themselves, despite how stupid, silly or superficial they may be at times. I've been guilty of taking myself far too seriously, and trying to posture myself for others in every role of my life. I heard a saying once, that if you find yourself as being a chameleon, that is, you can change yourself into anything for anybody, then you likely have no identity of your own. I think that's a little simplistic, not to mention I'm paraphrasing at best, but it has some salt to it. I think "I" went into hiding for a while. Though its been long enough that the "I" needs a little redefining.


It's always a nice feeling when I acquire a new craft skill. It may have just been for a class assignment, but it's still a new skill that I've acquired and can use and potentially build off of. There's a certain satisfaction that comes from seeing a direct result of your knowledge. It's the same feeling of slightly giddy pride that I get when I look at my poetry, my art, my cooking, and even the sets I used to help build. Anything I think has been done well. I enjoy making, building, and  creating.


It's fucking lonely in this little goddamned box.


It is so difficult to watch myself sing. Why do I even make other people sit through it? All I see and hear are when I'm not matching the intensity of my facial expression to the text(even when it feels like I'm really trying hard),or comically changing vowel shape in the middle of a long note, or my support is not correct and I'm flat/reedy/have unstable vibrato/strained, and it just makes me GAAHEFDRRERGIDHVODVHOFVIUHRvisdofvhslidfuvhweolirufhvp;aeidikxcfjruv ,ndcfrju.


I hear all the time how good I supposedly am, and maybe I'm not doing as badly as I think. But I don't see that as any guarantee of success. I'm finding it hard to have a competitive spirit when I don't honestly think I deserve it, like I'm just pretending that I can sing. Bigger, richer voices generally have more troubles in their formative years, according to my teacher. But I'm not even really sure my voice counts as bigger. Bigger than whose? The five foot nothing coloratura? I guess. I mean, according to the video it seems like I had a healthy sound in the hall, but that's all I can say. Maybe I'm still bitter over never really getting the heyday I wanted while at this school. And I feel like now  I'll be stepping naked into the "real" world.

I've been considering what sort of life I want to live in the future, likely apart from my training, or any remaining schooling. The motivating factors for me are: love for what I do, economic stability, freedom to shift schedule and location, and opportunities for creative/personal growth.

The first seems to be a given. I know that if I tried to do something I couldn't enjoy, I would just fucking kill myself. Though I know I'll have to do mundane jobs in the future, I can live with it if there's a finite amount of time I have to do it to do whatever it is I enjoy, or that I will have opportunities to do what I enjoy alongside my mundane job. The fear of course is working college-oriented jobs for the rest of my life.

Creative and personal opportunities are just that. As in, my career will either give me opportunities to do more abstract thinking and problem-solving, or give me the time in which I can cultivate and accrue more skills of my own. I have that time now, but it seems poorly directed.

Those two may exist mutually in the career I choose; there are multiple choices within those criteria. However, trying to fit in both economic stability and personal freedom together may prove to be an issue. It is true that economic stability will give rise to a more flexible personal life. That also requires patience, which I hope to have more of in a couple of years. I know for a fact that I no longer will tolerate poverty, so I will have to figure out what is "enough" for me, in the words of Michael Morgan. However, in most cases, it seems that "enough" for me is a bit more than even rather successful musicians make, and they break their back for it.  I don't want to be at the beckon call of every rehearsal director, nor do I think I can sustain an every day 9-5 position. If there's nothing that seems to suit the lifestyle I desire, then perhaps I'd better get creative. I'm bad at compromising quality, though its difficult to call that a negative quality.


I wish I could be nearly as eloquent and organized in my speech as I can be in writing. I feel constantly inadequate in conversation. Whatever little neurological stutter that causes me to use words that, while being similar in meaning, are obviously incorrect and I really meant the other one, is very frustrating. Not to mention whenever I can't decide how to end a sentence, or I don't actually have anything else to say but my voice keeps going as if I did and that if I just keep talking I'll find whatever other thing I might have been trying to remember to say but then I don't so I just kind of trail off instead....

There are other obvious problems. I almost laughed at myself when I tried to reply during that  Philosophy Club talk, and all I was really trying to do was to say was "it's vague" but I felt the need to clarify by over-explaining in an atmosphere that requires succinct, precise language. The next time I go, perhaps I just should not speak unless asked to do so. :x 


I could spend all day and night with my feet in front of a warm fireplace. Provides me with such a comforting and perhaps primitive sense of satisfaction. Fire good. :3


Moving Forward, or...something

I went to my first therapy appointment yesterday. Since it was the first meeting, I was mostly asked a lot of questions in a clinical manner, asking me whether I experienced certain symptoms, as well as being asked to identify the symptoms I associated as being abnormal, as well as their frequency, intensity, context, whether there were certain triggers, etc.

It's a tad early to confirm, but the therapist was already fairly convinced that I may have dysthymia at the very least, and quite possibly major depressive disorder. Both sound rather apt of my state. I just never want to be that person who looks for a medical reason to excuse their behavior. It seems as though I've had it for a while though, at least since I was 13 or 14. I'm a little upset I didn't get the right kind of help sooner. I guess all the "grief counseling" I've had in my adolescence wasn't what I needed after all. I'm hoping that this limited amount of therapy will give me better ways to cope; I'm open to medication if therapy isn't enough, but I'm aware that it can be a lengthy and unpleasant process.

As far as the Sam situation is concerned, I just have to deal with loving him without caring about how his actions affect my life, and vice versa, because they shouldn't. This also means not caring about an unknown future date that we might reconnect. If it ever happens, it will be because he enjoys the person I've become, not because I made myself into the person I predicted that he may want. I've known this for a while already, but I still had a barrier in my head that kept me from really accepting this as a reality. I think that my weird mental break on Saturday(I think it was Saturday) really broke down that wall and pushed me into a more open state. It's still going to be difficult, I can tell. I chose the harder path to take by living with him. And yet I wouldn't have it any other way. He is quite possibly the most valuable friend I have ever had, and one of the more valuable people in my life in general. In that way, I'll probably never stop thinking highly of him. That being said, I will generally  try to weigh his words more equally to the other dear ones in my life, as opposed to just going along with what he says(though he's often in the right).

For now, I just want to see what's it's like to be me again. Perhaps I'll even find some sense of contentment.


I don't know when I stopped being creative for my own growth and pleasure. I've never quite considered myself a writer or artist by trade, but I did care and enjoy it enough to try to improve, to expose myself to different styles and mediums, and to try different methods of execution and improve upon what little technical prowess I do have.

I certainly know why. I am aware that I've always been a little sensitive to critique; after all, its more for me than it is for anyone else, but I do take some pride in what I do. It's a very private thing for me to show my work to others, especially those who know anything about what I'm doing. The works are a tiny peek into my mind, and an extension of my personality.

When you start spending a lot of time with someone who has impeccable taste, and who has been exposed to various art mediums and has very high standards, it's both enlightening and intimidating. 
Whatever I showed him at first he seemed to just shrug at. I couldn't blame him, partly because he had no special love for the visual arts(or so he claimed at the time). Same went for my photography, and whatever commentary I got from him on my writing seemed minimally interested as well, though I do think that at least on one occasion he told me my poetry was bad. Other than that he just didn't seem interested. I think I took it as a personal affront. And since I like to share with my loved ones what I create, I think at some point I just didn't want to make anything for him to look at. I didn't dare bare my soul in front of him anymore.

Even now, I feel a burning shame for some reason any time I'm expressing my thoughts, whether in a journal or making a drawing, and he asks me what I'm doing. I won't lie to him, but if he has to see my stuff then I don't want to be around to see his reaction. I don't want to hear how stupid, how silly or how artless I am. Because that's not why I do it. I'm not trying to be some highfalutin artiste, but I do hope that everyone sees something beautiful in my work. Because it's me. And maybe I put his thoughts on a pedestal still. And its only because his opinion still holds too much value to me. All I can do is try to be more open.

Old Shit

Just trying to get all my typed poetry in one place. I remember a collection I made some time ago. I lost it back when my old laptop went down. I figured I should transmit all my remaining stuff to one place that isn't facebook, for various reasons. I know they're all old and the imperfect work of a naive college student, but I love them anyway.

Hello World,
You look nice today,
But you could look better.
I'm sure you want to clean up,
Get rid of all those nuclear zits
And grease stains.
You've also put on some weight,
On your shoulders, chest, and heart.
We need an epidemic makeover.
But don't worry,
I'll probably live to see you again.
I'm sure you'll look much better.

Word Up





  The Spirit

Is past, is transparent
As reality
Is Passing the wonder to your
Is wandering from
Wander to Wonder,
To wording, to phrase,
Cannot be Phrased,
Cannot be phased,
cannot be treated,
Nor heated,
or Beaten.
Unsweetened, and
Freed from restraint!
From Thing,
And Person,
and Place.
Spirit is none to be,
except to be.


Much abated,
Chaos that has

Merrily we roll along,
Stabbing songs,
Meshing throngs,
Stabbing throngs,
Meshing songs,
and puppies.


Hairy Harry harried Hairy Henry.
Hairy Henry hurried when harried.
Hairy Harry could not tarry,
But Hairy Henry hated being harried.
Hairy Harry hurried,
While Hairy Henry tarried,
and stabbed Hairy Harry in the back of the head.

Nervous Murphy

Nervous Murphy stands before the stairs,
Attracting attention in his underwear,
The people in the hotel lobby below can only stare,
As he liberates himself by whipping it out right there.

Hammers in Spring

Jewels germinate in geriatric fashion,
carrots cannot contemplate fate.
Pliers pull on prairie faeries,
Bunnies barrel into batches of mates.

Yellow yarrow yells to friends,
Sensual serpents spit instead,
Every errand is earned in earnest,
when wrens wreck where wrens would win.

Late larks lapping the lake,
Gnats nap near the night,
Everyone settles for the time,
and come tomorrow we'll try again.

 Warm is the night and faster the beat,
Of air all around and of grass-stained feet,
An energy pulses in all of their hearts,
To celebrate life and the ice's depart.

The willows and reeds all rise from the thunder,
Encouraged to waken and sway to and fro,
The creatures of young all grow to the rhythms,
From every hare to the guppies below.

A whirlwind of color settles in view,
The dancers are somber now in review.
"We take in the energy given to us,
Inanna's again of more than just dust."

The stamping rhythm again echoes cross the lands,
but no more are they dancing,
The warm stench of wet earth they hold in their hands,
For now it's rain's turn to be stamping.

 All of them love,
And all of them
But Fairy Foibles
Will catch their eye.


I never expect my assumptions to be correct. When they are, it tends to be surprising in an unfortunate way. I invent hypothetical conversations in my head which confront issues with other people, and try to make the responses resemble whoever is speaking to me, but I always expect my ordering to fall apart in real life, or to be surprised by one or more of the actual responses. My stomach fell pretty hard when that didn't happen. What a miserable person I must be, to avoid my emotional baggage and to be devoid of any willpower whatsoever to the point where the other person feels they must be the bigger person and cut me off.

I walked for nine miles. I actually had left the apartment as soon as he had, with the intention of not coming back that evening. I didn't want to be there, confronted by the fact that I might never feel his touch again, or worse, imagining him touching someone else. It turned every square inch of my skin into flame and anguish. I was Medea. I was one or all of the Furies. I was motherfucking Kali. I had to go somewhere or I would destroy the apartment. But I couldn't talk to a friend, not at the moment at least. I knew I'd just be sobbing and incoherent and spitting mad and sounding far too upset and possibly obsessive.

 I can't say I didn't get sound incredulous looks from folks on the main street when I absolutely couldn't contain myself. I wanted to go somewhere where I could scream without a pillow, to be allowed to just be in nature by myself and grieve and lick my wounds and scare away small animals. I didn't quite get there. Unfortunately it was a sunny day and no matter where I went around the little trails on the river there were others just enjoying their day. The beautiful houses in the neighborhoods, the happy folks, the soft, sandy trails. It was overwhelmingly beautiful and it just made me hurt worse. Eventually I just turned around because my feet hurt and I was quite tired already. I had to go home; I hadn't even fed the cats.

I know I can't disassociate my feelings from my physical desires. I was foolish to try, or else, I wasn't trying at all. I was too busy fantasizing. And that only makes me feel worse for him. I thought I heard him choke up just a tad when he admitted why we was being unapproachable. If he did, then I wasn't sure if it was for me, or for himself, or for the both of us.

Though to say that I'll stop being sad when I can disassociate/stop being intimate is an oversimplification.

On a related note, I got a call from the school's counseling services(read: therapy). Perhaps I'll finally be able to talk to a professional.


It's done! The "culmination" of my undergrad voice studies is finished. In all, I'm glad to say I did it. Now I have to make enough money to reabsorb the expense. It was around what I expected it to be, but I wish I hadn't overextended myself just so I could be satisfied with the results, especially with my physical audience being so small. Still, it paid off big time for me emotionally. And I'm glad he came. I know I pressured him a bit, but I know that if he really didn't want to come at all he would have just made an excuse and have me borrow the car.

There is much more on my mind, but this doesn't feel like a suitable place or time to post any more at the moment.


It's okay to feel bad some days. It's okay to feel bad some days. It's okay to feel bad some days. Fear of panic just brings more panic. It's pointless to chastise yourself about a state you didn't make the decision to be in directly. 

I hate wishing I had more of this or that quality of another person, whether it be  physical or expressive. I can only be who I actively work myself out to be. Everything is deliberate, even if its subtle.


Well, the 16th is officially done with. I am going to sleep so hard. I would like to not have to do a ridiculous amount of tasks that require a lot of energy in one weekend.


I want to throw things. I don't have the will or focus for anything. I can't go back to sleep, not until he's home, at least. I'm burning inside, but I can't cry. When will I stop suffocating? I feel a fluttering, a curling at the back of my brain when I try to relax.

It's so strange to read these when I'm calm because they sound so ridiculously dramatic, yet they seem so accurate a reflection at the time. Even now someone might be rolling their eyes at the hyperbole. But...I can't really stop myself. I won't. I've chosen to see this as a sort of emotional spectrum journal. I can't ignore it.
If there's one thing I do miss, it's going out to events with him. I didn't even do anything tonight except to get poor sleep. And now I've worried myself awake.

And when on earth am I going to stop worrying about him having a liaison with someone any time he goes somewhere by himself?? The knowledge that it will happen someday doesn't make me any more prepared for the event. Frankly, it just makes me ill.


So today has been...well, emotional, for lack of a better descriptor. I finally called for a consultation with the school psychological counseling services. They were even able to put me on a waiting list for private appointments, and directed me to a group if I didn't get a call back from them to start those in the next week. Regardless of if I'm "suffering" from a specific ailment or not, the fact is I still have these intense emotions lingering, or sometimes lack thereof, and its becoming difficult to rein them in during my everyday activities. And today I seemed to have a lot of triggers aside from the phone consultation. On the upside it seems I've been able to stabilize another very important technical concept in my voice studies, which is great because with such limited voice right now I can't afford to wear myself out, and I need to do good work. I'm so tired. But I have quite a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time. I think the end of my recital will be a huge relief.


So, Philosophy of Science is still challenging. But I'm proud to say that my average is climbing. I've gone from barely passing, to an 85% on the last module. Given, it was a lot more about history than it was about conceptual thinking, so it was a little easier overall to absorb. But I still hope the trend continues. I consider the sort of thinking done in this class as a sort of training for the class(es) I plan to take in the fall. I still need to get into a better mental shape, and I want to stay there for as long as possible. I've been sort of neglecting my Lumosity training, though I did check in yesterday and the day before to make sure I wasn't backsliding too far. The good news is that I'm still in pretty good shape since I'm being continually stimulated, but I do continue to use the site to gauge what might be my problem areas for the day, to keep my sharpest abilities sharp, and to bring up my weaker areas(speed, attention).

I'm going to complain about period shit for a moment. I don't get to, really, unless I'm around female comrades. Though I've had mine for over 13 years, in some ways I've never entirely gotten used to it. I've found ways to mitigate the pain, to manage the cramps, bloating, intestinal problems, back/pelvis/leg pain, the anemic-like weakness, fatigue, the depressed feelings, and so on. After learning just how disruptive my symptoms are in comparison to many women(like missing school because of symptoms, though that's still rarer now than it was in high school/community college), I'm seriously considering getting hormonal help. I admit I'm a little scared, not only because of my family heart history, but also regarding things like weight gain(which is still manageable) and mood swings/depressive symptoms(less manageable). That and the fact that I am a chronic failure at taking regular medication. I would have to make an extra, conscious effort to make sure everything was working. I also found out I should not get an IUD, not even because it can be displaced, but because it actually causes heavier bleeding. For someone with an already heavy flow for the first four days, that doesn't sound terribly appealing.

I remember taking an evaluation to see what my chances were of having PMDD. I remember being a little confused because the questions kept referring to the time before my period starts. I ignored that but otherwise answered questions about symptoms truthfully, and in fact it said I had a 99% likeliness of having PMDD. But as I was reading more info, I became confused. I had always thought premenstrual symptoms could refer to symptoms that occur before or any time during my period, because I had never heard of a separate condition that addressed the same symptoms during my period. I figured since they were all the same that they were all PMS symptoms, even if the "pre" part was a little counter-intuitive. In fact, there were a lot of details about me that I didn't know were kind of on the edge of "normal". Even though a "normal" length of a period is considered from 2-7 days, the percentage of girls who experience 7-8 days like me are likely fewer than the percentage of  girls who have 3-4 day periods. I used to just say eight days, but by that point its so light that I think its just whatever didn't totally come out on the seventh day. Eight is sort of abnormal. Which, I don't know, maybe I am. But they've always been this long for me, and they've always sort of followed the various phases. I never knew either that different women could have different amounts of lining, even if it were two women of the same size and lifestyle. And I most of all did not know until last year that I experience primary dysmenorrhea(which about 30% of women experience, though its typically experienced more during adolescence) practically every month, and that's the condition the symptoms I have are attributed to.

This is my body. This is what it does. I don't live to complain, but I also should give myself a little room to not feel ashamed or as if I'm just searching for sympathy when its just okay to admit you don't feel up for much, or are feeling particularly crappy. I have to admit, I wrote this in part because I'm cramping rather badly and I want to lie down, even though I'm not actually tired enough to sleep and I know I'd just spend the night tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable while at the same time trying to make sure I don't leak. Which basically means I can't lay on my back unless I have a pad that goes AAAALLLLL the way up my backside. Not so fun. So I decided to vent my frustrations a little. :P


I'm quite tired already, but I can't quite sleep yet. I've been doing not much of anything for the past hour. I feel like I don't have the mental energy to use on games, or else none of them sound appealing, but yet I sit here doing nothing. I'm upset, and I can feel the waves and they come, and yet my eyes remain dry. It's almost worse than a breakdown. There seems to be an imaginary dam somewhere in my brain.

I actually found myself incredibly angry at Sam the other day. Irrationally so. When I was panicked because I was late and trying to find his car, I just imagined what his reaction might be like I always do. I felt if at that moment I were faced with him and the imagined reaction, I would have screeched at him. So often it just seems I can't go a single day without upsetting him. There is no pleasing him sometimes. It's not as bad as before we broke up, some days are fine, but other days it feels like he is  belittling me. I'm just doing my best and trying to take care of my shit. I don't have time for his expectations. I've been so angry and upset. I don't even think he really deserves this kind of wrath. I don't understand why I'm so pissed.


God damn am I guilty of so many of these. Especially number 15. I can't say that personality types are exactly a hard science, but there does seem to be some consistency when looking at reoccurring traits. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/26/highly-sensitive-people-signs-habits_n_4810794.html


I just realized that it has been a few days since last I cried. In a way I'm amazed I didn't notice sooner. And yet I'm not totally surprised, because I haven't really felt a shift in mood. I still "feel" about the same. So I don't know if I'm having a shift in attitude(as in, letting go of stuff or becoming more comfortable), or if my body is just sort of cutting down on the emotional stuff for now. To be fair, its very difficult to go through that for long periods of time and be any sort of functional after a while. I just didn't think my body had a cutoff point. Still, I'm glad for the break. This week is going to be a little rough, and I might just want to cry by the end of it. I've never been part of a "professional" opera production, so its both exciting and a little nerve-wracking.

I suppose if I start to feel on the edge of breaking again, I can just find that video that's a string of different individuals' ridiculous laughs(including that guy with the fucking 'hyonk hyonk hyonk' laugh). I seem to fall prey to laughter pretty easily. Although that might just result in a confused laugh-crying state, wherein I'm still upset but I can't stop the physiological reaction to other people's laughter. Which I've experienced, and it actually feels a lot more confusing and creepier to experience than it looks to other folks. D:
There is a robin's egg on the ground which I cannot save. I turn and they fill the space on the ground, surrounding me. But they are all dead. I know they have been cold for hours, or otherwise the life was shaken from them. My heart weeps for them, vomiting blood into a sunken area of ground to create a pond. I place the eggs carefully within, letting them bob gently. It resembles a carnival game involving water and ping-pong balls. They move together, slowly, creating a vortex. A partition comes to the edge, and I am invited in. My lack of blood makes me light, and I walk on top of them as I am guided towards a swirling tunnel in the center, made of eggs. I walk on one stair that appears and reappears in front of my feet, moving me forward and down. I hit snow. It is blue. I squeeze a clump in my hand. It is warm. I eat it, and I am turned into liquid. I seep into the snow, leaping in and out of it to move. I hit a piece of ice. It is a frozen lake, made of a mirror. I look at myself. I am blood.  I cover the mirror. I see a different landscape in its reflection. I sit up, and I am somewhere else. I am made of separate parts of marble. There is no sky. The ground is made of large crystals, and I sit in a purple puddle. I see foothills. I run to them. They look soft. They caress my retinas. I jump on the top of one, and it sends me upward. I fall into the no-sky. I grow wings. I stabilize myself. I find a nearby planet with nothing on it, except a gold staff. I take the staff, and it unpins the planet, sending it spinning. I find the world. I save the world with my staff and my wings and my marble body. The world dies. I cannot save it. There are worlds around me in ruin. I killed them all. My heart vomits blood.

This is not a story.
I can see this course being quite difficult if I cannot remember the precise language expressed. Every test question answered seems to take a piece of my certainty with it. I hate the questions where he asks which things were stated, and even if the answer would fit the situation, it has to be the one he stated. I can't remember whether he said "Steve is fat because he eats too much" is c. a rude thing and not necessarily true. I could watch the whole damn lecture three times and not remember whether he said that or not unless I was looking specifically for that information. Luckily he doesn't construct his test questions that way all the time, but it is frustrating nonetheless. Any assuredness of my answers goes out the window when it comes to precise language. Does the thermometer explain high temperatures, but not cause them? Or does it predict high temperatures, but not cause them? I actually thought it would be the former, but since that's not what the guy said in the supplementary lecture, it's not the correct answer.

The only conclusion I can come to is that while this course will be very good for me, it's going to push my brain to the limits of uncomfortable thinking. I just hope I can actually enjoy it and not be too butthurt over being wrong now and then.


"What do you want out of life?"

"...my own?"

Five years ago, if you told me I would give up my interests for those of someone else, I would never have believed you.

Today has been in an altered state. Or just me. But its more poetic to think about it the other way. One moment I'm fine, perfectly content, and the next my mind is roaring.

 It began to suddenly feel like spring on Thursday, regardless of the fact that the vernal equinox doesn't happen for another month.

I've been appreciating the time I get by myself lately, but today the silence has been deafening. I try to fill the stillness with music, with tv, games, activity, homework. If I can no longer focus on homework then I attempt to dive into another activity that takes my attention, whether its unpacking, drawing, writing or reading. I should be practicing but I don't think that's happening today. I think I'd just start crying.

I really crave peace in the outdoor world right now. But when I finally give in and go outside, I don't know where to go. I still want privacy, and all the places I could go are quite far.

I've been thinking of libretto ideas. I would take commissions but I need to demonstrate to myself first that its something I can actually do well. I find the idea of Dante's Inferno really appealing. Really, I don't think there is a setting of that which exists in operatic form yet, which is surprising given the different versions of Faust that exist, and Dante is as much of a heavweight in the literary world as Goethe is. However, that would be a huge undertaking as a first project, especially considering the fact that I still haven't read the entire thing. At the risk of going into Sam's literary territory, I would love to try a Lovecraft tale. They're short, they're weird, they're beautiful, and the opera world needs more serious horror/sci-fi material. Of course, there are still the Nabokov tales which fall under similar guidelines. Oh jeez, I bet youth subculture of opera would form if there was a series done of Poe's short stories(if his estate gives the rights, of course). Hmm, better not. Though now I wonder if art song settings exist of his poetry.


I can be incredibly silly. How to be myself? Stop trying to fit into the expectations of others or my assumed expectations of others, I guess. The harder part is recognizing when I'm doing it. It happens almost subconsciously, and it's often not until long after I'm involved that I start asking myself why I'm doing something.

I'm a little peeved still that he seems to think I stole the idea of chemistry from him. I understand his stance, but I wish he would give me a little more credit now. I'm trying to step away from that old me. The "hard sciences" do not belong solely to him and it was not the first time I had ever considered studying a science. I wanted to become a nuclear scientist for the Navy when I heard how high my ASVAB scores were in high school. But I didn't have the grades they wanted. There were a lot of other things that I was "into", but I had no idea how those actually related to a career. Someone describing themselves as wanting to grow up to be a "scientist", "businessman", or "artist" sounded incredibly vague. I didn't actually know what I would do after high school, after I figured I wasn't that good at the visual arts even though I enjoyed them, that I couldn't be a scientist for the Navy (sounds ridiculous but for all I knew that was the only place I could study nuclear physics), that my chances of becoming a famed actress or writer were close to nil, and that I had fucked up on a lot of other things and even though that "7 intelligences" retarded test we all took pointed me out as being good at kinesiology, I didn't want to be a fucking gym teacher.

I did know that at that time the most joy I was getting out of school was in choir and percussion ensemble. Music seemed to come easily enough for me, so I embraced it as much as I could. I'm starting to think I gave it the death squeeze by mistake. :/ Even at Shasta, I didn't know for at least the first semester what was expected of me as a music major, and I didn't have any of the classes I was supposed to have. I remember enjoying the hell out of my chem lab at Shasta, but I didn't realize at the time what was meant by "for the liberal arts" as a course descriptor, and was pretty discouraged by the fact that that class and chem2a were not really equivalent. The longer I spent without being enrolled in a lab or something, the more terrifying the prospect became of trying to do it over. Did I give up on what could have been something great? No use wondering about it right now. And even though I'm using my past to rationalize future decisions, I'm not going to drag up every little polished rock. It's about using the past to help identify what I'm still interested in now, not just what I used to be interested in. I remember when I wanted to be a veterinarian. Today that would be a hell no.

Perhaps it is a little early to stop the spinning wheel and declare a new major. But I'm trying to find something that both stimulates and challenges me. I may think of something similar, or a specialization within the field. Or it could be entirely different. I'm past that freshman fear, I suppose. Knowing that I'll already be done with a degree, that terror of not knowing whether I'll be good enough to understand something or pass a class doesn't even apply. I DO have a life-long fear of finding out I've been utterly unintelligent my entire life. But that's different. Even then, all humans have their idiotic moment in the sun. Perhaps I should be giving a little more credit to stupidity. Anyway, I just don't feel like I have anything to lose at this point. I may as well see what sort of tough stuff I'm made of, quite literally. 


A note to the past

It's sort of amazing to think you're 29, if you're still actually around. I have no idea, but I like to think you've found happiness somewhere in your life. Maybe you've even made it back to Huntington Beach. I remember your real name, and I don't know what you go by nowadays, but you'll always be Dirk to me. All searches come up empty-handed. I don't feel the need to contact you directly, I just wish I knew that you were doing well. I'm aware that this message may just hit the ether and not be heard.

Happy Birthday Dirk, wherever you are.


I'm getting tired of finding something new to cry over multiple times a day. Or not new, just a constantly renewing source of fear/frustration. Even in other emotionally traumatic events, I don't remember ever crying this much, this regularly. It's exhausting and is seemingly unproductive. I feel fractured, and as though I'm never entirely aware of what's going on around me because I'm too concerned trying to figure out what I should be feeling or doing. It seems that none of my reactions to anything lately have been appropriate. In the end all I can do is tell myself to shut up and try to calm down(which doesn't typically work for long), or else find a place out of view to break down in until I can get a hug or something. Whenever Sam asks me what's wrong, I find it difficult to answer, either because it was spurred on by a variety of legitimate concerns, or specific concerns that I had a highly inappropriate response to and I really don't want to admit it, or even none at all which just makes me feel crazy.


Today is an off day. I don't feel horrible, but I definitely feel lonely. He's here, but not here for me. I have to get used to that. And yet how dare I say that? He still does so much for me, and if he doesn't proclaim his love for me as he does it, I think it doesn't matter? Bullshit! He could get a place anywhere, but he wanted to help me. He wants to be around someone he can trust. And it's not like he moved in and ignored me. He cares. And yet I'm still upset that I can't get a proclamation that my brain and vagina are valued above all other brains and vaginas.

And now I'm more upset at myself than I wanted to be. Why do I treat myself like such shit?

How can I possibly think that someone else can love me unless I stop the self-loathing?

...or do I really deserve the care and concern of anyone?

And yet even when I shower(ed) affection on him, it was never about me being worthless before him.  I just really want him to succeed, in all things. Everyone should have some sort of support network. In terms of money, he has his family of course, but in terms of presence there aren't a lot of everyday faces. I'm not all-sacrificing. Though I have always been the sort of person to try and go the extra mile for those I really care about.

God, I really need a fucking shower.


This is my first module test for philosophy of Science. I've read, re-read the chapters, watched, re-watched  lectures, written the journal answers, and have done and yes, re-done the practice quizzes. Is it bad for me to be frightened of the final test?

So much information. So much precise information.

I can't rely on rote facts or common sense; this is conceptual learning completely apart from what or how I've learned about anything else in school. The practice quizzes were not too difficult, but a few of the wrong answers definitely left me asking what I possibly did incorrectly. There is no room for vagueness. If the one of the answers does not reflect exactly what is said in the text, then it most likely is not the real answer even if it still sounds acceptable.

Update: I can't say I did amazingly, but I did pass. Most of my incorrect answers came from a podcast about thought experiments. I should have listened to that one more time, because I couldn't really remember anything that Baggini brought up that became a test question besides the experiments themselves, which were not any of the test questions(and yet I remembered his name :/ ).

After that though, I have a much better idea of the teacher's expectations of what are the important points to remember and think about. And I'm just a little proud of not having done it at the last minute.


It seems as though I have a constant stream of homework, and I'm kind of amazed I'm keeping up with it(at least it seems), even though my anterior cingulate cortex is on fire. Perhaps I ought to stop falling asleep next to the fireplace. :P

It's interesting to note how I can function much better even when having a bad day. It actually drives me harder to do well, sometimes, because I don't want my emotional state to absolutely control my every-day functionality. My teacher has remarked that she finds my resilience remarkable(heh). Perhaps I do have some tools which I take for granted, or simply don't notice since I cannot look outside myself.

If you tell yourself you're stupid or hear it often growing up and you are not sure whether or not to believe it, or even worse, that you absolutely believe it even while trying to gain an education, does it take a measurable toll on your cognitive abilities even if you were not stupid to begin with?

I know that if I continue to dwell on this, it will only hurt me in the end. And the longer it goes on, the more we both will suffer. I need to get a fucking grip. GET A FUCKING GRIP ON YOURSELF.


Today was most definitely supposed to be "I have no class so let's be super productive and clean and practice and catch up on online lectures today!"

Instead it became "Let's be sleepy and disoriented and weak feeling and have what should be considered drug-induced dreams and be unsure that reality is really the thing you're waking up to today!"

Seriously, dreams of hiding in the woods to plot to kill a psychotic new girlfriend of a completely fictitious ex-boyfriend, trying to stop another ex from stealing bacteria and viruses to unleash on all our old high school teachers, and another about the Metropolitan Opera's use of orphaned babies as stage props, yet they openly refuse to act as an adoption service or intermediary. There was also something about a rollercoaster going through a museum and a trailer. And seriously, I would wake up in my room and think that it was not where I was supposed to be in real life, that I was still supposed to be somewhere in my dreams.

It was entertaining, but I am wondering why the hell I've been so tired and just all around out of it for the past two or three days(they seem to have blended together).

Random aside thought: Sometimes it seems like there's a slightly different way I write on here than I do on paper. I may have written this somewhere before but have been too ashamed to hit "publish". But yes, I write differently on here than I do in my written journal, and even more differently from either than when I write on loose-leaf paper. And I think it has to do with a little more than just the editing process. Most of the stuff I do on here is still first take save for spelling errors. I think there's a difference in the organization of thought when I'm not conscious of the fact that I'm writing out letters and on here I can focus more on what I want to say next. It feels more compartmentalized whereas on paper I'm figuring out how to string various thoughts into something comprehensive.

There are benefits to writing on paper though. There's more of a flow. Stream of consciousness writing is fun, and it's much more effective with pen and paper.


Esther entered either side of the ether of ethics whether they withered or weathered it out.

The baron of Barbary babied his barnacles with barium and buried them by bare barbarians.

He favored the fervor of the faraway father who went further with his favorite farthing.

This is what happens when I try to sleep before my brain is tired enough. Anxiety and assonance jumbled with alliteration.
Note: this post contains a moniker to so I can speak in regard to someone I don't know terribly well without upsetting them(not that it's likely they'd see this).

I had a dream(surprise) regarding me and a girl I've met before. Let's call her Banana Split. I had a dream that she was on her way somewhere, and she had to stop at my place for the night. It was just me there, but I also didn't have a couch, so I just let her sleep on some blankets on the floor. She thanked me and went to sleep.

Banana Split ended up not waking up until late the next afternoon. I asked her when she had to be wherever she needed to be; I was a little concerned she had overslept. She said "no time in particular", and then invited me to come with her. I asked her where, but Split just told me it would take no time, and that we'd be safe. That was enough for me.

We drove, and since it was a dream and driving is usually an unmemorable event unless you add something to it, it was indeed no time until we were there. It was a park, a state forest park of sorts, and it was made mostly of gnarly short oak trees. The black branches wound themselves around and back toward their trunks, creating tunnels and staircases up and down. Banana Split led me into a meadow of sorts with a picnic table and some of her acquaintances, along with some of Sam's friends/acquaintances. It was an adventuring party of some sort. We climbed in, around, over and under trees, drank, had a bonfire in the meadow, drank some more, and climbed to the top and spoke with each other for hours.

I understand that dreams can mean absolutely nothing, but they can also send us valuable messages. That dream wasn't anything spectacular: in fact, it was a rather pleasant dream. But the way I felt when I woke up was another story. It left me very lonely. Obviously I don't take it quite so literally. Though I think Banana Split would make quite a good friend, I would say the probability of that happening in this reality is close to nil. But I think part of the issue is that I have no close female friends. I mostly don't enjoy being around women. I often can't hold a serious conversation around them, or they can't talk about something that doesn't revolve around romance or children, or anything remotely in the "weird" category is too much to handle, or even worse, they try to use it as some kind of label. "Oh, I've played D&D and I read Edgar Allen Poe. Aren't I just so WEIRD/GEEKY/NERDY?" I. Don't. Care. I don't care. It's cool I guess, when it's brought up casually in discussion or something, but those who try too hard often don't succeed.

That being said, there are plenty of times I haven't been able to relate to someone, or I just feel like I'm supposed to say something. It usually ends in me saying something retarded and everyone thinking a little less of me. I was pretty ostracized growing up so you'd think I'd enjoy being alone a little more. I still enjoy being alone actually, when it suits me. But I still don't enjoy being lonely.

Thinking back to the dream, why her? What does Split represent? I think in this case, just many of the qualities I want in a friend which are lacking in many of my other "friends". Sam has a lot of the same qualities, but I think knowing me in the duration that he has gives him a certain bias that he may not be able to overcome, as objective as he claims to be. I often wonder how much she actually knows about me. It also leaves me asking the question: Of which person am I actually jealous?

Sometimes it feels as though I don't actually "keep" friends. I just sort of blow in and out of their lives. A great portion of them I have no special love for. That's fine, fair-weather friends are not a crime. But it's as though I'm lacking any sort of deep connection with any one person. I'm more solitary than I realized, and I'm not sure if that harms or helps my current situation. Even if I were  just reading too much into a dream, the rest of the issue remains.


I'm incredibly sore. Not a terrible feeling though, considering what I'm accomplishing. Plus, I'm getting some badly needed exercise. It's just shocking how much one's state of mind can be altered by the change of view out the window, or by the fact one knows they have enough space to store their things.

I still don't know quite what I'm going through. But for once, I feel somewhat hopeful.


Why is it, that I manage to hate the same illumination responsible for the dingy night sky, when I so depend upon it whenever I fancy a late walk?


attach themselves to anything and everything
knocking limbs without intending or intention
Entanglement, vicious or gentle
is mainly determined by external force
Is a knot an omen, or simply a tangle
is there ever a direct connection for these strings
or merely perceived
One object
will never be close enough
to another
to actually touch it
without binding
and therefore altering the other
unable to separate
damaging each other
in and through
around the opposite's proximity
have no foundation
if you tie one
in on itself
it becomes
an endless
in and of itself
the same of the ones
bound together
yet they become larger
encompass more space
can hold more within them
than can one tied in on itself
and yet
some are longer themselves
than two or more together
and have difficulty
finding an equal
or being more than the whole
are enough for themselves

I can't sleep. Typically when I stay up late, its because I want to stay up late, but I actually kind of want to sleep and my eyes feel glued open. I think I'm just excited about moving, especially after having already stayed here for a night(didn't sleep well last night either). So I'm writing and listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers and Radiohead. Easier to listen to while someone is sleeping behind me than metal.Maybe I should take advantage of the relaxed semi-creative state the whiskey put me into. I've been fairly stable the past couple of days. Minor outbursts really, with no one around to witness them, thankfully. It still happens more when I try to sing. Hopefully I can get that tapered down when I start voice lessons again. I know it's just a relocation, but it does feel like a real change in perception. Hopefully a new chapter in my life.


Yesterday and today have been strange. I guess I'm in moving mode. I'm happy to be getting into another place, something with more room and a nicer setup. But my emotional state has been...off? I don't know. I'm haven't been sad per se, even though I almost broke down earlier. I feel almost disassociated from the people around me. Like I've switched off for the time being. It probably is because of moving, and the semester about to begin again. I need to conserve my energy. Maybe this is a good thing. Or at least for now. It doesn't feel bad, but it doesn't feel particularly good, either. Usually I hold some demeanor in a specific mood. It isn't calm, or serene, or content or happy. But it isn't anguish or sadness or irritation or anything like that either. It's like analog static. It's there, it makes a noise, but it doesn't motivate me to do anything. Maybe I'm just stabilizing. One can only hope.

It seems I think differently when I write on here than in my regular journal. And I write differently in my journal than I do on loose-leaf paper. It's a slightly different me who is writing. Is it because there is a potential audience? Or does it have more to do with the medium? Handwritten versus not, the ability to edit instantly versus using a pen and trying to follow a track that morphs as you write. Could be a melange of things.


I'm a little frightened. I suppose it's still acceptable for me to be in a state of emotional upset from time to time, but I've been rather on edge lately. Thankfully the past couple of days have been fairly mild, but I'm scared of another attack. I don't have them often, thankfully, but I do know that the more often panic attacks come about, the easier is it to experience another. The last time I was in such a state was probably during the time I was taking MIDI, and I was so sure I was going to fail. My fears escalated to the point where I had two attacks and had to leave for the restroom during the class, and then I had two more later that afternoon. I've had others too, though I was too young to recognize what they were at the time. I thought I was done going into perturbing emotional states when I had  left Redding.

Panic attacks are terrifying whether or not you've experienced them before. It's similar to a tsunami. There's an upwelling of emotion just as if you were normally upset. Then it partly subsides as if you were calming down. I'm not sure which kinds of thoughts trigger mine, but that's typically the point where things turn. There's a sense of anticipation, but less like the kind where you're expecting a present and more like the sensation of waiting to hit the water after veering off a bridge. After that is a total loss of emotional control. I would say it's relieving, except you're too terrified that you won't regain control again. You're wallowing in your own despair and confusion, unleashed upon the material world.

I'm not attempting to romanticize this. It's a real concern, one that I hope will not visit me too often. I've experienced enough emptiness in my life to never want to feel it again. I was miserable as a teenager, self-loathing to the point of being slightly disturbed. Some of that followed me into college at Shasta. Having reflected upon it recently, I would not hesitate to say I had some sort of imbalance. Thankfully I have not yet regressed to that level, nor do I want to. But I can't say I haven't been suffering some sort of depressive symptoms for several years. I would never allow myself to be diagnosed with depression unless it was truly chemical depression. Is it possible that I've been suffering from it for so long that I mistook it as a character trait? Still, when out of curiosity you take the common diagnosis evaluation for depression and where severe depression is a 54 and above, and you score a 63, perhaps it warrants at least speaking to a doctor. I always wonder about those evaluations, what the probability is of tailoring your results. I don't know. But I have a decision to make.

I'm a little sad because I'm pretty sure this is from the new Star Trek movie. However- it still struck me with its message. This is probably my biggest fear, the most pressing concern about my life. That I will constantly undercut myself and in return be unable to fulfill my desires in life until I can no longer function. And I know I'm capable of doing just that; it happens all the time. There is no worse self-fulfilling prophecy than that of constant failure. It is so mentally crippling that I think it necessary to constantly seek out validation from others. Especially in regard to singing, where I cannot honestly tell how good or bad I am, and have to use teachers and colleagues as my eyes. When I am by myself, I am wading through pitch in the darkness. It's impossible to tell whether I am making any progress or where I am. It makes me not want to sing at all. I need something more quantifiable.


For some reason I find it somehow "lesser" to admit that I personally identify with the lyrics of a song. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that no two people experience things the same way, so to apply someone else's words to whatever situation it is describing feels like a falsification. I often relate to some parts of a song, but not others. Though is not the purpose of lyrics to express the human emotional spectrum, and to gain a sense of empathy? Why do I attempt to deny it?

There are a few pieces I have found a great deal of likeness to in thought lately. They may be situational, or they may be universal. I won't spoil which are which.

The Dead Skin
by Sonata Arctica

It's me I hate, not you at all
I am my own medicine,
Turned into a poison.

I think I gave you a lot,
And not enough... I know
Tortured myself, same as you,
Without losing my sanity.
Where's my applause?

I see no reason to live in Hell.
How can life make me feel so incomplete?

I had a weakness and my walls came down
My tears won't reach the ground.
Burn my new wound.

I know I cannot feel regret for anything
If I was numb, I'd end this once and for all
I feel the burn, still...

I cannot face this day, my guards are down
I cannot love myself... weak, sad clown.

I see myself, in fading colors,
I see no hope there, where I always used to...

I fear your words, the things they mirror.
Maybe that is all I am, just a reflection... please help me...

I see no reason to live in Hell,
When you smile, you make me feel incomplete.

But it's all ending, the clock's rewinding,
We don't mean anything to me.
You think I killed this silence for us to make things right.
The words are loaded, once connected,
One torso, one head,
One solid reason, the pain!
If love's the neck, kept us together, and apart...
Now it's broken!

There is no cast, no salvation,
When it is broken, it will stay that way,
Believe me when I say this
I would not if I did not care!

Tears don't mean anything, if we don't know when we're sorry.
No one will win today we can't play this game... this way.

We cannot soar and still stay on the ground,
Don't wanna see me, hear me, hate me...

Jealousy's a phantom,
Something that was never, ever meant to find me,
But now its pale green eyes have destroyed everything.

You know how it must hurt, and I know,
There is nothing you've done to deserve this.

Apology's a policy,
Sometimes it really has to be, it's kept me afloat thus far...

This sure nuf's one nice
loose noose, perfect times...
Are we happy in this hell?
Is there someone who can measure,
Whose pain is bigger?

It all has ended, the clock's rewinded.
We don't mean anything to me.
You think I killed this silence for you to end the night.
The words are loaded, unprotected,
One torso, no head,
One valid reason, the life's suspended
If love's the neck that kept us together, and apart...
Now it's broken...

There's no cast, no real solution,
When it is broken, it will stay that way.
Believe me when I say this
I would not if I did not care.

Who needs who, when and what the hell for?
Who wants to suffer and be hardcore?
And who's strong enough to peel off the dead skin?

I cannot face this day, my guards are down...
by Rush

I've got my own moral compass to steer by
A guiding star beats a spirit in the sky
And all the preaching voices -
Empty vessels of dreams so loud
As they move among the crowd
Fools and thieves are well disguised
In the temple and market place

Like a stone in the river
Against the floods of spring
I will quietly resist

Like the willows in the wind
Or the cliffs along the ocean
I will quietly resist

I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
You can call me faithless
But I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
And that's faith enough for me

I've got my own spirit level for balance
To tell if my choice is leading up or down
And all the shouting voices
Try to throw me off my course
Some by sermon, some by force
Fools and thieves are dangerous
In the temple and market place

Like a forest bows to winter
Beneath the deep white silence
I will quietly resist

I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
You can call me faithless
But I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
And that's faith enough for me

Like a flower in the desert
That only blooms at night
I will quietly resist

I don't have faith in faith
I don't believe in belief
You can call me faithless
But I still cling to hope
And I believe in love
And that's faith enough for me
And that's faith enough for me

And that's faith enough for me
This last one is from an art song by Alma Mahler, though 
the lyrics are by an 18th century poet who went by the pen name Novalis. 
And I swear I will sing this one day.

Few know
The secret of love,
Feel  unquenchable
Eternal thirst.
[Holy] communion's 
Innermost sense
Remains a secret to us mere mortals;
But who ever 
sucked in the breath of life
From hot, beloved lips,
Whom holy scorching waves
Tremblingly melted the heart,
Who with suddenly seeing eyes,
Divined heaven's 
immeasurable depth,
Will eat from His body
Will drink from His blood

Who has fathomed the essential meaning 
of  our earthly flesh?
Who can tell,
that he understands the blood?
Once all is flesh,
One flesh,
In heavenly blood
Floats the blessed couple.

O! That the ocean
would blush
And in fragrant skin
Would upwell the rock!
Never would end the sweet delecting,
Never be saturated the love;
Not close enough, not intimate enough
Can she have the beloved.
By ever more tender lips
The relished will grow 
more and more to the heart.

Hotter lust 
Trembles through the soul,
More thirsty and hungry
Becomes the heart:
And so persists love's indulgence/pleasure
From eternity to eternity.
If only once would the sober-minded 
Have a taste,
They would gladly leave everything behind,
And sit and dine with us
From the table of longing
Which never empties.
They would recognize love's
Immeasurable fullness,
And praise the nourishment
Of flesh and blood.


Somewhere along the line, I stopped trying to consider my dreams as achievable in reality.  It became more of an alternate reality, wherein I made a hypothetical situation that whatever I wanted to happen did happen. But when I let the stress of my temporary situation take over somewhere down the line, I stopped planning for the future. And not necessarily my career, but everything I wanted for my life. I began to take "one day at a time" too literally. What is one to do when she wants to be the Most Interesting Woman in the World, but has neither the funds nor the education in which to do it? I would like to say I'm tenacious, but that reeks of bravado at this point. I want to have impact. I want my life to have meaning. But in which ways? I find myself floundering. I have already determined which ways I can have a niche in music. I've already somewhere abandoned the idea of becoming a professional opera singer( or "star", whatever). But I would love to find singing work in the metal scene or the video game scene. I've begun painting again, though I'm not sure that will lead anywhere. I think it would require more courses for me to become any good, and even so it may be more for my own peace of mind over anything.

I know I'm following a bad business model by comparing myself with someone else, but this concern partly arose after hearing about someone else's "bucket list". I realized none of my desires had been organized into any sort of achievable goal. They just sort of drift along, half-conceived, not even written down so that I might turn any of them into a reality. I think I will make a dream list. A list of everything, anything I might want to do in life, and then narrow it down to things which are possible in my life. Now let's see...

Dream List
-Write a major work of fiction
-Write a libretto for an opera
-Receive a PhD(NOT in music)
-keep a garden
-Visit these countries: Japan, China(mostly the forested areas), India, Finland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Germany, France, Bulgaria, Greece, Scotland, Ireland, Iceland, New Zealand, Canada, Argentina, Chile, Peru, Croatia, and others yet to be determined.
-Buy a cottage by the ocean, likely in Northern California or Oregon or somewhere just as cool.
-Sing a title role for a national/international opera company
-Visit/climb some portion of the Himalayas
-Hike the entirety of the Pacific Crest trail
-Hike the entirety of Lassen Volcanic Park
-Visit the Piltvice Lakes of Croatia
-Read The Divine Comedy, The Inferno, and the Purgatorio in Italian and English
-Read Faust in German and English
-Read The Canterbury Tales
-Be responsible for a scientific discovery
-Master at least ONE language instead of stumbling around in six different ones
-Find Bigfoot if he's actually a thing that exists
-voice a cartoon
-sing for a video game soundtrack
-sing as a guest for a metal band(a good one)
-tour with a metal band
-make a trip into outer space
-live outside of the US for at least one year
-be considered someone's mentor
-take an ayahuasca journey or otherwise achieve a dimethyl-tryptamine-induced state
-Go spelunking at least twice
-Find the gumption to dive Blue Hole in Belize
-Sail across an entire ocean
-Witness a volcanic explosion
-Walk from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean, or vice versa
-Make a scuba trip to The Great Reef
-Make a submarine ocean expedition
-Hike the Rocky Mountains
-Hike all the mountains ever
-Live with entirely "sustainable" technology

That's all for now, though I'm certain there's more to come later....yet it is quite a mental breath of fresh air.

On another note, I still have the issue of caring too much about what others think, especially those I consider close to me. It's an incredible drain which does nothing except to cause me worry and to waste my time and energy. I feel like I'm spending my life to wait for someone to get up and begin their life before I can do whatever I'm going to do. I should be pushing myself, no one else. If I'm bored, I shouldn't expect others to entertain me. I should be doing something for me.

I'm also at an awkward point where I'm finishing a degree in something which I feel no longer applies to me as much as it used to. If I can buckle down though, I'll at least have a Bachelors, even if I have to go back for another one. A degree is a degree, and may at least help me get office work or an expected wage if I'm hired within that field.

My life is itchy at the moment. Uncomfortable at best; I'm hurrying up to wait. I don't know what to prioritize. I need a car before I can move my life anywhere in my own direction, but I think that goal is a bit closer to reality. I'm still in awful dental health; do I try to time getting my damaged teeth removed so that I know I'll have money for new ones? That will take a long time. Or do I get them removed ASAP for my health's sake, and hope I can pony up money for new teeth before the bone structure in my mouth moves too much? I'm in awful debt otherwise. I wish I didn't need to do so much this year as well, or I'd be able to better prepare for when I need to be responsible for all of my income.

I'm still in dire emotional straits. I don't even like thinking about that one. It would certainly be easier if I weren't possessive or jealous of other people's traits or more open to sharing myself regardless of criticism or secure in myself(which may be the root of all of it).

Someday I'd like this blog to be about something more interesting than the ways I feel about stuff. You know...things people take interest in. Like the things on my list.