Happy St. Patrick's Day to one and all. Mom and Sara came up to celebrate my birthday early today, and in addition to birthday money, I got a set of four wine glasses, which replace the one I accidentally shattered last week (a tiny glass shard from that glass cut my right index finger earlier today when I was cleaning my room), so now I can actually entertain people if I want to.

Mom also brought up my North and South DVDs. After watching them all at once when I was home sick in November, I was pretty tired of them, but I'm finally ready to watch them again. Except for "Book Three"..."Book Three" makes the Holiday Special look like a cinematic masterwork.

Just like Kenny magically reappears as if he didn't die in a million grotesque ways, let's just pretend I haven't been away since the end of November. I don't know how long I'm going to feel like staying, but for now I'm back.

That's about all I can think of to say tonight. There's plenty of other subject matter, but I don't want to get into it at the moment. My days of writing horrendously long entries are over. I will say this, though. Go see 300. I doubt anyone will make a more awe-inspiring movie this year.

My second bit of paid time ends tomorrow, and I think I'm going to let it lapse, because I really want to rethink my web presence. Again. So, as I'm contemplating revamping, I leave you with an approximation of what I'm thinking of doing, a very rough approximation.

Tempest comes out tomorrow, and my new class doesn't meet in the morning, so I'm off to Cedar Rapids first thing to pick up the next "Legacy of the Force" book at Barnes and Noble. I'm virtually unspoiled for this one, so it should be fun, but I'll just say that as Jacen falls further to the Dark Side that I really wish they'd bring his brother Anakin back. However, I will say that I feel Jacen's fall resembles Luke's more than anyone else's, so perhaps there's hope.

The downer to Tempest's release: it's not written by the phenomenal Karen Traviss, which means Boba Fett and his story arc won't be making an appearance. Bummer, though because it's my favorite arc of the series, it means LucasBooks will be getting yet more of my money this May, when Traviss's hardcover, Sacrifice, comes out. Oh, well. I'll chalk it up as a graduation present to myself.

We talked a little over AIM yesterday, which is about the only way we've kept in touch in almost two years (except for a couple of phone calls along the line). I had to head out for lunch, but before I did I asked if we'd ever talk in person again. She was idle when I asked this, and when I got back to my computer I saw she had replied, but hadn't answered the question.

That's her way. I suppose that's not a surprise. Rather the surprise is that last weekend I was watching a movie with some friends and realized she's not the one, not any more in any case, and that that was okay. The road goes on, and for the first time that's fine with me.

Now if only I could hurry up and get the hell out of college. But that's a whole other story.

Too much on my mind, and I can't lie still long enough to go to sleep. Plus, I really want to get sucked into a book and can't, no matter how hard I try. Of course, that's mainly because Tempest, the latest book in the Legacy of the Force doesn't come out until the 28th, and that's what I really want to read right now.

Okay, this was so odd I had to show one and all:



Weirded out enough? Just check out the product description.

That's enough for one night, methinks.

Woke up this morning to find out that it's apparently the Great American Smoke-Out today, and the ped mall here on Cornell's hilltop is dotted with smoking factoid signs, illuminating the dangers of smoking. I really don't want to smoke a cigarette in the slightest right now, but I really think it would be morbidly funny to pose in front a sign or two while holding a lit smoke.

I don't know about anyone else, but the phrase "Great American Smoke-Out" conjures an image of a big mosh-pit of people lighting up in unison in some public place.

Went shopping for various things this morning, and as Sara said as I talked to her on the phone in the store, there's something calming about doing your shopping early on a Saturday, when everything you need to pick up is housed under a single roof. I grabbed another pair of jeans and a new refill for my Airwick plugin: "Inspiration," a blend of lotus flower and blue orchid. That should keep The Bunker smelling clean and inspiring for a couple of months.

I stumbled across a t-shirt that I couldn't leave behind, too. It says "Made In Ireland." Go figure.

Drove back with the Due South soundtrack playing, and had fun singing along to "American Woman" by the Guess Who--such a fun song, especially in the car, it would seem.

I love mornings.

Tonight I hung out with some friends and drank a cold beer without a headache or fogginess in my head for the very first time, and felt, for the first time since 2003, like I was truly alive and part of this world. It wasn't that there was anything spectacularly earthshattering about the hanging-out time; in fact, it was perfectly normal, and that's what made the realization that I'm at long last looking at the world through my own unclouded eyes again so blessedly wonderful.

The morning has come, shining out the Blacks that hung upon me for so long with a dawn as brilliant as any that rises over the sea to cast light upon the land. It's not that the night is no more, nor that the cold wind of winter will never cut me to the soul again, but today is tomorrow after so many years, and that's enough.

Thanks to Torey for showing me this clip of what's just another day in Vice City.

It's so good being back in Mt. Vernon.

Yes, Donald Rumsfeld has resigned and is gone. Don't think it would've happened if the GOP had staved off defeat yesterday, so thank God for miracles still occurring even in this cynical time.

I am fairly certain I know what I'm asking for Christmas for this year:


Hint to parents: It's $60 at Amazon, which is probably close to the cheapest you'll find it for, sadly, but it's worth it for a soundtrack junkie like me.

Home has left me pretty much out of it. The shower that I just took helped me considerably, but there's still my stuffed-up head and my inconsistent appetite, and of course, thoughts of people I am impatient to see.

Nathan Fillion's on Lost tonight, the last episode of the season until February, and I would love to make a party out of it this evening, especially because, in addition to Mal's guest appearance, the previews make the episode look to be quite exciting (Kate and Sawyer will have a steamy moment to themselves tonight it appears). Alas, though, I'll be watching it alone, but might figure out a way to communicate during commercials--ah, technology.

I've realized there are a number of friends I still haven't told about my abrupt disappearance last Wednesday, but I've related the story so many times I'm sick of talking about it. It seems like I'll have to give the account a few more times when I get back, because I can't stomach to write anything more on the subject right now.

I know I'm going to go crazy in the two-and-a-half weeks I have before my next class starts, but getting back up to Mt. Vernon this weekend will help considerably, no doubt. So far, I've been occupying myself in as many low-energy ways as I can:

( Read more... )

Please excuse last Saturday's desperate tone. I was just beginning to go through a bit of withdrawal from the Effexor I had been taking for a year-and-a-half, and I was having a hell of a hard time dealing with it. Since then, the knowledge of just how difficult even a slight amount of withdrawal from Effexor XR is has led me to dropping it completely.

Tomorrow will be a week without taking the infernal drug, and the intensity of dealing has kept me from updating to let everyone know that I'm still alive. I've told the complete story so many times in the past week that I'm not really wanting to talk about it anymore at the moment, but rest assured that I'm alive and doing better daily. I had to take the month off of classes, and the abrupt withdrawal's the exact opposite of what all the damned doctors told me I should do, but it looks as if I'll be back to (more or less) my old self well before Thanksgiving. And I promise I'll be on again before then.

My advice for all of you for today is this: stay away from Effexor XR at all hazards. You'll be glad you did.

Went to lunch today and felt invisible. Again.

Inevitably someone was sitting in my seat, which I had claimed with my school ID. I grabbed it from him, and he said he was sorry.

Still, I responded, "It's okay; happens all the time." I said it in a reasonable voice, but behind it was the need to scream murderously at nothing and everything.

That sensation of being nothing more than a passing shadow puts me in the sort of mood where I have to ask myself if anyone would notice if I just quietly passed out of this world. Bloody no one, is the answer I get.

You know what, though? I couldn't really give a shit about that in my present state. I've been in the midst of a deep depression for three weeks now that I can't shake because it's been induced by the two warring medications coursing through me.

I do believe I will go mad before all this is over.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, reassurance not quite from my own head hit me like the wild waves of the sea:

"It's not over yet."

Hope still survives, it seems.

Lost is freaking nuts! Every week, J.J. Abrams and company give you a crumb, then place a whole new dessert just out of reach. I really wished I had kept watching this show when it started (I had my reasons for not), but I more or less feel like I am caught up, though I still need to get ahold of the first two seasons on DVD (might ask for one for Christmas; mom, if you're reading this, and I know you are, here's a gift idea...).

I'm feeling the need to scream in front of an audience, but the weekly Lost viewing was cancelled tonight, so Jessica and Rachel still need to see it, and since you're both on my LJ friends list, I'm putting the spoilers beneath a cut. You both missed a corker tonight; you really did.

( Bruce Braley doesn't like seniors, plus he doesn't watch ABC's hit new drama, The Nine, so he's a very bad person )

I don't think my rambling's make any sense, but I mainly wrote them for myself anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

I don't think I've been out of my chair and away from my computer since 6:30 or so. But the final is done, and all that remains is to turn it in. Please excuse me while I collapse.

Oh, and I think I ended up injecting a lot of my sarcasm into the final. That's a fun thought, I think. Miller wants 1000 to 1500 words for the thing, and said he'd penalize for having more or less.

I have 978. Bugger it, I'm not going to spout out some more bullshit for twenty-two extra words.

I woke up this morning sick of exile. So I'm giving the all-clear. Still doesn't mean the chemicals aren't totally whacked up in my brain, but I guess I should get used to that.

Also, am making plans to only stay in Washington overnight on Thursday. I'd rather be in Mt. Vernon amongst friends than be in an empty house through Saturday evening.

I have an entire morning with no obligations. I really like the feeling of that. So I guess I'll take a shower and take a leisurely breakfast. And then? No idea. I'll think of something.

1) I've come to the conclusion that I can't speak or write a word to the girl who I won't name without feeling like a total idiot, and therefore feeling ashamed of myself.

2) The shame has apparently caused me to go into hiding, which somehow got upgraded to exile tonight. There's even a nifty note on the magnetic white board on my door informing everyone of the exile and to "Please leave all messages with my hermit, Usama." (look back through October's entries if you don't know what I'm referencing to)

3) I interlibrary loaned Frank Miller's graphic novel 300, and today it came in. Since the movie's not out until 9 March, I figure this will help pass the time (about an hour's worth). My paper's (finally) finished, so I'm setting my futon down to sleeping position, cracking open a beer, and sprawling out on my bed with the book. There's nothing more relaxing than 300 Spartans kicking the total crap out of a million Persians and then being butchered, after all.