Friday, one week later
Who knew that exporting a mySQL database was so easy? Now that I know, I'mma do it all the time. This is related to secret happenings, yes.
Speaking of the unknown, I went on a blind date with the Communist Party of Illinois the other night. We were meeting up for dinner and to watch the debate together. The food was good, the debate was interesting, and then they showed me around the offices, and we talked about green architecture. Then they sprung it on me. I asked what went on in the building, and was told it was the headquarters of the Communist Party of Illinois. And their newspaper. And that most of the other people there worked for the party. And then they tried to find me a job.
Overall, I think the Communist Party of Illinois is very nice, certainly a good host and with definite culinary talent, but if you're reading this, Communist Party of Illinois, I think we should maybe just be friends. Unless you're hiring. I can totally edit a newspaper.
Friday
Life continues to seem surreal, as it has since that fateful night in late April of Seven. Was it April? Time, never something I was good at, eludes me still. This is why I take notes, and half-changing topic, why I take all my notes in a single notebook. Otherwise, how would I know when things happened, or what order they happened in? Yes, these are two different questions, and they have, as noted above, two different answers. I haven't yet figured out why I care when things happen. The latter issue I find inherently interesting. Anyway.
We all know the first law of the Internet. But what does it mean to see your darkest, most twisted imaginings (second law is the one about the fetishes, remember; I know this sounds bad if you get those mixed up) played out in hypertext? It makes them a little more real, perhaps, but what if reality is a zero-sum game, there's only so much to go around? I see something now on the Internet, I think, "Yes, but does it really exist?" Which may not seem so bad. But consider one does on the Internet these days: correspondence with friends and relatives; digesting news and politics (interjection: politics are not news); banking, shopping, and other acts of commerce. I look at an ad for soap, soap I've used, or a vice presidential debate, or a friend's blog, and I think, "Well, yes, but does it really exist?" Which to some of you nearly as far down the blue brick road as myself still may not seem that bad. But I catch myself wondering, waiting in busstops, petting a neighbor's cat, smelling coppery scents when I walk into a room. Does it really exist? The bus? This cat? A hidden vein of malachite?
I'm not sure if the problem is with the Internet, or with me. I'm not sure there's even a problem. All I know is, I've had something like this happen before, when I fell asleep and don't remember ever waking up. Perhaps the dream is finally fading?
If I do wake up back in seventh grade study hall, I am going to feel so awkward when I unthinkingly use twenty-first century slang. But I guess that's what seventh grade is about anyway.
Tuesday, twenty-first week after Pentecost
Someone tell me the season after Pentecost will be shorter next year, or I'm switching calendars again.
So I had a dream the other night where I broke all my teeth. I didn't even realize it until I went to eat something, and bits of teeth fell out and rattled on my plate. From then on, every time I talked or tried to bite anything, more chips and crumbs of teeth kept falling out of my mouth. It didn't hurt, but it was somewhat distressing. For a long time after I woke up, I didn't want to move my mouth, because I still felt like my teeth were shattered.
This is not the most disturbing dream lately, of course, just the most relatable. Well, OK, last night I was fighting cultist alongside a girl who I suspected was an android. There was also a recurring dream, one I hadn't had since I was much younger -though to be fair, as I've grown older, the frequency of recurring dreams has dropped drastically. But my point is, cultists with giant carnivorous plants, helpful robots, and strange persistent injuries aren't anything terrible, and recurring dreams, perhaps because they're so familiar, are rather comforting. The day I woke up and immediately thought "Dreams, they complicate my life," (sung in the familiar style, of course), that was something else.
Wednesday
"Jolt? I once considered buying that." -student Jason, 07/31/2008
Read Galactic Pot Healer, by Dick. I liked it, I really, really liked it. I can feel it already, inching its way up the billboard chart inside me, trying to become my favorite book. I'm not sure I should let it; after all, we just met.
Going to the library every day is something I do. Lately, I go to the library, return a book, check out a new book, read it that day, and return it the next. Every day I read a book (plus some Tolstoy), whether it's from the public library or from Lauren's private one. They are not all good books. I'm sorry, I get sidetracked. What I'm trying to say is, this is a great pleasure and a great pain to me. How long can I keep it up? How long until I can wrest myself away from such a trap? This is the problem with being unstoppable; one can't always tell in what direction one is traveling. Or rather, seeing two locomotives run head-on towards each other, one never is quite sure which train he rides on. Call it hyperposition if you must, but I won't be collapsing anytime soon, I fear. I will continue to cast puns, however; this cannot be avoided.
The (other other) bard proclaims, "At last, I'm the first to predict the past, I can see into the previous and have the last laugh." In the above train of thought (hee hee), hardly a trivial thing.
Tuesday
"You don't want your blind friend walking around, trying to find your bathroom." -Ruthie, 07/09/2007
The apartment is now beautifully arrayed, though there are still some boxes yet to be unpacked and some cleaning to do in the kitchen and bathroom, and of course we haven't painted yet, as the new doors still need to be put in. Eric, our landlord, says this should happen sometime this week. Exciting.
For those who read this and don't have facebook, I thought I'd put up some links to the pictures I've taken so far:
Other than moving, I've mostly just been looking for work, applying to jobs, and being discriminated against because of my gender.
Thursday
"I would cook in a chainmail bikini." -Anna M, 09/11/2008
"Bruises on my knees, scars on my forhead."
On my forearm, actually, but we did sort of take break for pasta. Well, Lorange took a break, I had just gotten home and was like, "I'm making pasta!"
So that was fun.
later that day
Reading Anna Karenina, I respect Levin, but I don't understand him. And I like Oblansky, because I am told that everyone likes him, and his way of speaking and considerate actions toward his friends recommend him, but I can't respect or understand him. But Karenin, Karenin I understand, I indentify with, I empathise with. And that makes it a very difficult book to read.
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