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so tired
Sunday. 5.1.05 12:49 am
listening to: muse
mood: exhawsted
Okay, so it's very late. Almost two in the morning, and I'm dead tired. Why am I so tired? It's been performance week. Tech rehearsals were on Wednesday and went late. And then I went to hear a friend practice the organ until very late. Thursday at 4 and 7 we had performances. Same friend came and watched me at the first performance. Stayed up very late with my best friend. Friday my family visited me and saw me perform Moments (choreography Michelle Moeller) and then I stayed up very very very late with my friend. We pretty well didn't sleep. And now it is Saturday and I have gone to see a concert at the Denton Arts and Jazz Festival. We saw Tower of Power, who were incredible. "What is hip..." duh du duh... Very nice. And then went and got coffee, which was delicious. And then said goodnight to my friend. And now I should be sleeping. *sigh* I'm gonna be dramatic for a moment. I am disgusted by myself in my drama, but I'll let it go for the moment. Here it is.
*sigh* Life is so complicated sometimes.
There we go. All done. I say that and sigh with a smile. I love the complication of a new friendship/relationship, but the future of it and the effects of it are so unclear that it is rather stressful. I don't know what to do, or what not to do.
So tired.

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today's adventure
Wednesday. 2.9.05 10:51 pm
So, today I accomplished a childhood dream. I gave blood. I remember when I was little I wanted to donate my blood and help save lives. My dad was very supportive, but he said I'd have to wait until I was 18 and legal. Sadly disappointed, I have waited and watched for my opportunity. And today it came. Class was cancelled so I raced over to the blood drive, filled out the info, answered questions, and waited almost patiently. My turn arrived. Blood pressure taken, syringe inserted, blood draining, hand ball squeezing--and you know what happened? Two minutes (at the most) into my blood donation success I passed out. Next thing I knew they were calling me by the wrong name and I was wet. Apparently they splashed me with water to revive me. It's not like I remember. Anyways, unconsciousness was like a really deep nap. I did not want to wake up, it felt so good. So I got a red elastic bracelet for my generosity and special attention for my trauma. And I got to tell the story all day long. It was quite exciting.

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How did this happen?
Sunday. 2.6.05 3:22 pm
watching: music video to the same
listening to: Sondre Lerche "No One's Gonna Come"
mood: bothered

So I've been a bit emotionally turmoiled these past couple weeks. I've been having very strong, very strange dreams, and I'm bothering my friends with my restless unfocus and desire to be with them. I feel things changing, or something coming, and I want to be with my friends but I'm so antsy that I bother them. Or that's how I feel. I'm being myself, but it's not the comfortable self that they're familiar with. Anyways, that worries me, but I suppose that's more of a selfish worry than anything. I wrote a poem that says what all I'm really worried about. The person described in the poem is my dad, whom I love very much. He's probably the one I worry most about when I think about things changing in my life. Normally I'd put a poem in the reading section, but since the poem is really more of a journal cry than a poem I'm putting it here. Just so you know.

The way you laugh and drop your eyes
Or hold my glance in horrored surprise
The hunch of your shoulders, the rhythm of breath
They fill me with dread in the approach of death

You answer the phone with pleasure contained
But talk with me honestly and unrestrained
No judgements passed, no action demanded
Just, “I don’t know, sweetie,” unreprimanded

The death that I fear is not mortal or real
It’s the loss of what is and what I now feel
When everything changes and I go away
What will we do to keep things this way?

What can we do? Anything? What happens then?
What if and wherefore and when will it end?
My tears I will slow because time I cannot
You want me to live though I want it to stop
The past’s been so good and the present so nice
That I’m scared of the shake and the roll of the dice
Is it fate that unwinds my strand?
Or is someone there holding my path and my hand?

I’m not afraid of the dark, not afraid of the crows,
Not scared of the pain or oncoming blows,
No alarm for opinions or other derision,
Not frightened by problems or indecision,
But I’m scared to change and to lose in one night
What I’ve lived for and loved, what has been my delight
A change is approaching, I feel it within
It’s twisting my stomach and singeing my skin
My eyes in terror are watching the skies
As though I’ll see it approach and stop its rise
Pains grip my sides and I lash out in fear
I trouble my friends
And I wish it would end
But the labor’s begun
And it won’t end til it’s done

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Off to the Yukon!
Sunday. 12.5.04 4:21 pm
watching: the sun play hide and seek
listening to: modern Chinese cinema theme songs
mood: sleeeepy
Her feet were shod with adventure shoes. Her pouch was newly restrung with a hair ribbon and a necklace chain and fortified with paper clips. The pouch held all that was necessary for a trek across campus—cell phone, keys to get back into the dorm room once the adventure was over, cash for uncertainties and potentialities, and extra paper clips. Just in case. She looked out her window to survey the parking lot. Nope, he was still on campus. The jeep was parked serenely just where he had left it that morning. That meant he should be in his room. Jumping from the bed she carefully tucked her adventure pouch across her shoulder and hip and ran to the stairwell. Trotting down the concrete steps that separated their rooms by a single floor, she paused as she re-entered the corridor. The stairwell door echoed behind her in closing. All was silent. She peered cautiously around at the rooms and felt her steps heavy on the carpet thick with waiting. She prayed for the right words to ask him to join her. They came. She would ask, “Do you want to go on an adventure?” She’d been working on the speech all afternoon. It went something like, “There’s a trailer parked at the edge of campus that I can see from my room. It could be perfectly fine, but just in case it’s a circus or something I think we should check it out. Secure the perameters, you and me. We can take it down, whatever it is. And then we will terminate our mission with a desultory game of air hockey!” This was the plan when she had energy enough to dramatize it. The simpler version ran as follows: “Would you please take a walk with me on my last day of being 20? Tomorrow I’ll be 21, so this is my last chance. I want to explore and have the adventure end at the rec center beside the air hockey table.” Yes, that was the simpler version.

But now she had her opening sentence, and she had energy enough for the dramatic delivery of her invitation. She paused beside his room, looked both ways, and knocked lightly. She didn’t want to disturb him if he was napping. He had looked tired in the elevator that morning. There was no response from the room. She listened closely. No sounds of movement, no scuffles that could indicate a groggy sleeper walking cross a linoleum floor. Her shoulders fell. He must not be in. She walked away slowly, still listening for any possibilities. Regaining the stair well she walked to her room and plopped down on the bed. Looking out of the window she leaned her head against the glass and traced with her eyes the path of her adventure, the one that hadn’t happened. Their his car was parked, and there the path led into the tree-ish part of the campus. It would have taken them towards the wooden canopy where her class had once been held on a lovely spring day quite unlike this one. “It’s drizzlyly beautiful outside,” she had planned to tell him. “Adventures happen when it drizzles. You know, drizzle could quite possibly be the opening factor between this world and parallel universes. It’s quite possible. Let’s go find out!”

And then they would have passed the tennis courts where no one ever played. They’d be lit up at flickering night and you could see nets swaying like scarves in the breeze. They’d have to steer right, but from there they would have found the trailer that still lurked suspiciously at the bottom of the furthest parking lot. Across the street from there was the golf course, which she’d never visited. Perhaps the adventure would have taken her there, perhaps not. The golf carts like WeePeople cars trundled across the greens. Maybe her professor was out there like he loved to be. Maybe she would have seen him and waved. Maybe the caddy would have frowned to see her with someone else, someone other than him. She smiled. Vengeance was still pursuant in her course, though she had liked to think she had forgiven him.

But they probably weren’t there, just like he hadn’t been. And the trailer was probably harmless, just like her flutters of revenge. And they probably would have stayed on the path, rather than visit the canopy.

But still. It would have been nice to have an adventure.

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Sunday. 11.7.04 1:33 pm
watching: the clock
listening to: random anime music
mood: a bit lonely, but not desperate yet

I have learned something this week. Here it is. Having a crush makes solitutude unbearable. Usually I can be very happy alone in my room doing homework or reading or what have you, but when there is a person that you would like very much to be with, being alone feels like a defeat. Even though I have no direct interest in pursuing my attachment beyond spending time with him, jealousy and fear are seldom far. Everything I do, I wear, he does, he says, becomes more deliberate and closely examined. And then I begin wondering what I did before I liked him. I mean, I've known him for awhile and only recently been attracted to him. I don't think it helps that my friends have been conspicuously busy or absent, leaving me more alone than usual. It gives me nothing to do but wish I had something to do. And then I think who I'd like to do things with. It's not the most peaceful situation, but it's not that serious either. I imagine the rush will run its course soon enough.

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Friend leaves. Him George. Me sad.
Wednesday. 9.29.04 11:37 pm
watching: my AIM screen
listening to: nothing
mood: sad
What does it mean to be sad?
I know nothing is really wrong, that I’ll be okay, and that inside I really am happy.
But there’s a sorrow. How much place do you give to a sadness? Do you honor it with elegies and testimonies? Or do you just remember quietly and smile? Wistful. Things that could have happened that didn’t and probably weren’t meant to. Things that did that were remarkably special. When someone makes you feel something you haven’t felt in a very long time, reminds you of emotions you carry with you but rarely touch, how do you say goodbye?

I think you just do. They walk out the door and you know you may or may not see them again. Perhaps you just accept what they’ve given you and don’t press for more. I think that’s what it is.

He made me dance. Literally made me dance. That has become more important to me than I can really express. He reminded me of how much I love to dance for people, how dance and community are so mutually supportive, and just that I love to dance. To move, to have an audience that is pushing me, interacting with me. I love it. I hadn’t felt that pleasure in movement in a very long time. Like much else in my life, I view dance as something to work at, to achieve at, and to be successful with.

When I realized that I truly love to write, I began to know that what I loved was creation. The act of creating, expressing, and finding is thrilling for me. Making something that is beautiful or grotesque, symmetrical or nonsensical, all at once—it excites me to no end. I have to share it. Choreography, I think, will be the same way. My question becomes how can dancing be creative. If I just mimic movements, work my body like a machine, and get stronger, I will have a healthy body, but I will not be happy. When he pushed me to step past my self-consciousness and perform for him, I found courage. Not at first, actually. He had to do it again. He pushed me again. I began a gypsy dance. He stood up with me and swayed as I moved. His brother began to walk around me, clapping as my accompaniment. It was a circle. I was dancing, he was watching, the brother was supporting. For the first time in ages I felt the joy of dancing. If I could feel that every day of my life—I don’t know what would happen. Maybe I should figure out how to incorporate it.

But I can’t do it alone. Perhaps that is my greatest sadness. George is going back to Romania, and now I don’t know who will be that push, that friend. I am sure moments like the one he gave me are not meant to be once in a lifetime moments. I’m sure it will come again. I hope it comes in the form of someone who can stay or that I can go with. Then I will not have to be sad.

Goodbye, George. Thank you so very much. I pray your flight is smooth and safe and that you find goodness the way you give it. Much love.

“From George/Or, My Renaissance”

When you’re in your truest form
It seems a moment snatched from life
Awakened from deadly chloroform
You forget the wings scratched and torn
Threadbare dreams and visions worn
You shed it all in one joy supreme
When you remember your deepest dream
You feel yourself in all your glory
And find the plot within your story
With all the twists it may have taken
The thread remains with resolve unshaken

But you feel it. And that’s all the difference.
No need to connect thought to inference
It just is. And you’re fine. And you know it so well.
And you wish you could make a potion or spell
That could keep you that happy, that great, that YOU
For in that moment you see it, and you know that it’s true.

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