{5,6}
Tonight we watched When Harry Met Sally which I saw the last half of a while ago, but never the whole thing. Anyway, it's a depressing movie, and if you think you're misremembering it, yes, it does have a happy ending and they get all married and stuff and it works out. That's what makes it depressing. Things don't really work out in real life. He keeps dating thin, pretty anthropologists with big tits--and yes, it is your basic nightmare-- and she never answers the phone to talk to him ever again, and after a while he stops calling anyway. And there's definitely none of this crap of meeting up on New Year's Eve and making witty chatter about Auld Lang Syne. It's a fairy tale.
Maybe this isn't the best mood in which to write my BDJ article. I shouldn't let silly things like movies get me.

Dude, March has 31 days.

Okay, I did fail to see the asshole-gets-the-girl moral of When Harry Met Sally, which Pro has pointed out. Maybe because I like assholes and so I fail to see them for what they are. I'm proof for your point, Storey.

And here we are at 5pm, and I have accomplished very little today. Although laundry is in the works, which is good.

Nope, still not feeling the optimism. But who is surprised?

{5,4}
In procrastinating real work, I read through the last few months here, and I noticed that I've been talking a whole lot about lessons lately. But even when I'm not explicitly talking about them, they're there. They add up toa resounding message: IT'S TIME. Opportunity, bust wide open, give me space to escape.

{5,2}
It's about fighting now. This weekend taught me conflicting lessons. It was a blast, free of tensions, which teaches me one very important thing. But at the same time, I noticed my knee-jerk reactions hitting their targets instead of being diverted, which teaches me another important lesson. What is the sum total? I'm not sure yet.

{4,6}
An hour, maybe a tiny bit more, was all the waiting left. Gah... this is the point I'm taking away with me, and from which I'm never coming back. I'm taking my soul elsewhere.

{4,5}
That night may have been the crucial moment between the past and the future. Although I've made that claim before only to have it fail. This week has turned me on to some substantial things... Monday I felt like half my brain was missing, leaving me incapable of action, but as the day went on, I realized, fuck this, I know what I'm doing and I don't need any backup to tell me when I'm right. And last night the fiction smacked me in the face, and I was too tired to care, which told me that maybe it's all over. And tonight, I see that my anticipation for the weekend is only heightened not in spite of but because of its lackings. Beautiful indifference is back, and how I've missed it.

{4,3}
Maybe what hurt me was being unneeded. And so I was nasty about it, contrary to later spin. I'm not exactly bubbling over at the moment either, to be truthful. But I'm getting sick, and I have a midterm and a paper due, and I have to get up early, so I can't let feeling useless get to me.

{3,6}
Ah yes... ides of March. So that explains it. Maybe the weekend will be okay.

{3,3}
The last 16 or so hours have been full of mild frustrations. I was quite happy about maybe getting a new kickass laptop, so that eroded away the down feeling I had from watching Quadrophenia, but then I had to go and read the Crimson, which set me on a three hour rage. But I think The Crew sent out enough emails to make a difference for a while, and maybe there will be more later. I was supposed to go to bed early, so instead I decided to sleep through my morning class, which I have never missed. I got up and showered and dressed... and realized I was going to die of exhaustion if I didn't sleep more. I'm a weenie. But I didn't get up early enough to get a real lunch before class because I got up 15 minutes too late, and then class didn't start until wicked late anyway because they were having problems with the projector. And now when I'm supposed to be reading, I'm in the computer lab because it needed paper. And I dragged another of those awful paper boxes down, although my back appears to be in tact this time.

But I am going to be ordering a kick ass laptop tonight, I think! Yay!

{3,1}
There was so much amusing about last night. And so much difficult but still sort of amusing about today, despite (maybe because of) the altogether too early and too long meeting with Tom about the Band Room being a precious space. I'd rather hear that than hear "You kids are all dead!"

I'm finally starting to stamp out the little imp. Starting. Okay, I'll really get to it soon. I mean, I'm going to be hardcore... right. Why can't I be brutal when it saves me?

{2,7}
I had a lovely evening out, and was thoroughly enjoying myself. I made the smart move of busting out right at the millisecond when I saw things going downhill and saw myself getting pissed. I came home, and, knowing that hanging out here not quite happy is untenable, decided to go downstairs to watch the rest of the UNM/Utah game. But as I went to leave the elevator, there were some guys getting in and they said to come hang out with them, and they live on my floor, so I said sure. And so I just hung out with them for a half hour or so. And so my good mood was maintained. There are a lot of lessons from tonight I need to analize in fuller detail.

{2,6}
I'm indirect, and I get yelled at. I'm direct and honest, and I get rejected. Why don't *you* fucking be direct and just let me know I can't win no matter what I do? That way I can go off and live my life somewhere else.

One. Stop the bad habit. Two. Get your money back and don't be nice about it. Three. Don't discuss things while drinking. Four. Don't discuss things while sober. Five. Develop apathy. Six. Spend more time with people who are actually good. Seven. Meet new people. Eight. Make new friends. Nine. Forget. Ten. Forget. Eleven. Forget. Twelve. Forget. If only it were so easy.

{2,4}
Those who walk in pairs have shoulders for pillows, and not just any shoulders, but the shoulders who lifts their worlds. Home is far away from happy.

Dude, I look over and see that Scully is laying on top of Mulder holding his hand with one hand and touching his crotch with the other. Dirty dolls. I didn't even put them like that.

{2,3}
I think the ol' Pro is making fun of me for my haphazard philosophy. But it works, dammit.

I wish it would snow and kill my midterm. Or, alternately, it should kill my section with the psychobitch. Or maybe psychobitch won't be able to come in and Steve Mitchell will substitute again. Either way I should be in bed, but I'm procrastinating sleep.

Oh yes, I am entirely for the caveat. It would be easy if there was no treatment of me as an ends at all because then I could just say Fuck You and walk away. It would also be easier if there were no benefits for me in the equation. This is all getting very obtuse, I'm sure... but suffice it to say that under the narrow circumstances of which I'm thinking, my use as a means is outweighing my treatment as an end, and that pisses me off. This is not to say that under much broader circumstances my treatment as an end is unsatisfactory. Quite the opposite. But yes, I'm all for the caveat.

Psychobitch hasn't emailed me back, even though she checked her email from campus... this probably means we will have section. I may not go, on the other hand.

When it snows, I get crazy ideas, like going all the way across the river to play on the practice field, where the snow is untouched and there's fields of it, or dressing up in a large furry costume with an animal head and dancing around the yard. Strange primal impulses. Maybe cabin fever. You would think I'd feel like staying at home considering how nast-tastic it is out there on the streets. It's like puddle central. But no, I feel like running errands.

{2,2}
The lecture on Kant today got me thinking, and helped me pinpoint the rationale behind my seemingly irrational feelings. But it's simple: I'm being used as a means to and end and not being seen as an end in myself. I'm a tool lined up in a belt of tools. And it doesn't even matter if I'm a favorite tool or the least favorite tool if I still am a tool. The solution, as I see it, is to avoid those circumstances in which I am a means and not an end, because this isn't the case in all circumstances, so I can't be unfairly dismissive. But I can be pained with fairly good reason.

{2,1}
The hardest part is being misinterpreted as to the source of my dismay. It's not territorialism for the most part, although to deny those impulses would be to lie. It's disappointment on the level of disgust. How can an essential piece of my life possibly be so vile? And how can I be a part of that vileness? How do I extract that which is vile from that which is virtuous? I just wanted to turn away for a while, forget about the foulness.

What should I really expect anyway?

{1,6}
Better than Christmas.

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