Smallhouse Log

Tuesday, Fourth Week
"Damn it, Ian, those were my flying monkeys!" - Shannon Wood, 01/16

Has it been that long since I've updated? I know I've meant to post many times in there. In any case, the most recent things are that I was worried my computer had a virus that would cause it to be formatted (it doesn't) and that I'm pissed off because the pictures I thought I'd taken off the old Akim site turned out to be duds. Meh.

Last week was Kuviasungnerk. Did not break any toes this year, but got frostbite on the soles of my feet, from which I have finally recovered. Ran in my T-shirt loincloth for the Polar Bear Run; it was fun. Odd things: Last year - Two nude girls, everyone keeps something on until 'Ready, set....'; this year - about ten nude girls, upperclassmen, and everyone, guys and gals alike milling about in the buff for a good ten-fifteen minutes beforehand. Andy from Dewey ran nude; he'll make a good Scavvy. (Can you believe I just used that word? Those girls are a bad influence, I tell ya. Every day I talk more like them.)

Barely convinced Stuart Gazes to let me stay in Physics, met with my advisor, dropped the compiler course, all on the last day of Add/Drop. Whew! Then I ran the Polar Bear Run, and got the frostbite. Then I missed both the IV/Brent House Evensong/dinner and the concertin the ballroom, because I had to make up a physics lab. Agh!

Saturday was movie night. Both Bill & Ted movies; good times. Afterwards, enjoyable converstaion. Anna, incidentally, has a fairly low tolerance for alcohol. I kept having to remind myself not to hope that she'd do something [irresponsible? curious? seductifying?].

Which brings me to the introspective stage of the post. Well, I'm not sure if 'introspective' is the best word. Perhaps 'contemplative' would be better. The thing is, to the best of my knowlege (which is, admittedly, rather slipshod on the matter at the moment) Lisa Champion, ex-girlfriend, good friend, and one of the coolest (and cutest) people I know, recently converted to Christianity; that is, she was, it would seem, touched by God in the manner she had always demanded as a prerequisite for faith. This pretty much slots her into the category of 'Ian's ideal woman'; however, also renders her unavailable. If I were to pursue her now, the reason for my change in attitude towards her would be obvious, and, to Lisa at least, rather insulting. Not to mention it would involve me being somewhat of a shallow opportunist, which I'd rather avoid being. Moreover, it would not be healthy for her 'young' faith (nor, to a much lesser degree, for my own) to be in an amourous relationship with me. Thus, I still cannot and will not date her. Looking around me now, it is of course obvious that even if another such transformation should happen with another certain physically and emotionally attractive young woman I know, I would be in the same position again. Not that I do not desire that transformation; indeed, I pray for it; but I still lament that it would not improve my own situation. Arg.

I think I should start ending every paragraph with pirate talk. Avast.

So I was talking with Erin today; she seemed healthy, and she's off that psycho-diet, but it appears to have done her good, mentally and physically. She sent me some pictures. Looking at them, I was musing about how her eyes had always been one of my favorite of her features, and then my roommate looked over and commented on her eyes as well. I found it curious, though I guess I can't claim it's at all strange; the girl certainly does have distinctive eyes.

So, a while back I went to one of the dinners at Brent House; the one with Brother Wayne. Man, monks are so cool. He talked about mysticism as a part of spirituality. During part of his talk, I was struck by the thought (which I'm fairly certain did not originate at that point, but earlier) that sometimes the blood tastes like blood and the flesh feels like flesh and I can barely swallow. Communion truely a terrible, awesome ritual, sacrement. It means so much and it's so solemn and horrible, but it's still such a celebration, a feast. Lately, I'm sure my voice is not more than a whisper when I bear the chalice on Thursdays and say "This is the blood of Christ; this is the cup of salvation." I guess I just wanted to get that out of my system, me hearties.

So the other day I had a dream. Geoff laughed at it when I described it to him, and yes, it has humourous aspects, but it haunts me. I think it's the first ever dream in which I've died. It goes something like: We live in a grand old hotel, much like the Shoreland, but taller, and with a railinged balcony-lined shaft that extends from the lobby all the way to the top of the building. In the dream, someone mentions tome that this girl, whose name I can't remember, and who is possesed of multiple personalities, is in such-and-such a mind right now. I go up to see, knowing that this is the mind wherein she is, to put it bluntly, sexually aggressive. After a brief encounter of middling intensity, I head back two floors down. As I reach the railing on the balcony-walkway of my own floor, she cries out to me, and I stumble over the railing, and begin to fall. As I fall, I notice that she, too, has fallen down the shaft. In a very Halo-esque manner, I see her body go limp before she evn hits the lobby floor, with her name printed in the air over her head. Then I, in turn, die. During this fall, despite knowing that it is the girl who is actually to blame for our mutual fate, I feel guilty, the guilt of killing this girl. A few moments after my death, stillin true Halo fashion, I re-spawn, still feeling guilty, and with an understanding that she did not similarly return to life. A bit later, I awoke, matey.

In the dream, I could not remember the girl's actual name, and I remember feeling guilty, first when I went up to take advantage of her state, and then doubly as we both fell. However, upon waking, not only could I not remember her actual name, I could no longer, though I had recognised it within the dream, remember the name of the personality she had been displaying. For this, I even now feel guilty, arrr.

My roommate wishes to go to bed soon, so I'll wrap this up, leaving out the unconnected musing I wrote down in my notebook. Goodnight, ye scurvy dogs.

So, yesterday. Since I was so sleep deprived, I wanted to sleep in. But I couldn't. I woke up after only ten hours, and was unable to fall back asleep. So I was still sleep deprived. I read the rest of God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater instead.

Then I got up and did laundry. After I put my stuff in the dryer, I went back upstairs to make toast. It was when I reached for the butter that I realiszed that the fridge had been unplugged for a day and a half. My milk went bad, my butter melted, everything else is questionable at best, and all of the ice in the freezer melted all over everything else. After getting all that cleaned up to a presentable degree, I went back down to get my laundry, only to find that the dryer my clothes were in had no heat, and did not dry them.

But then I went to the contra dance, after arranging to meet Beth afterward to see Once Upon a Time in Mexico at DOC. The dance was lots of fun. That one girl from Evanston (but not Northwestern) was there, as was Amy Steelman, and halfway through, Dawn, Anna, and Carolyn showed up. It was a grand old time.

After the end of it, that Jenna girl invited me out to dinner with her, Spider, and some others. I had to decline, so as not to stand up Beth. As it turns out, Beth stood me up instead, for which I can't blame her, because she wasn't sure she could make it. And I can't really complain, either, because after the movie, I would up having a conversation with, and subsequently walking home, that intriguing first-year girl from Euphony. She apparantly wasn't planning on coming back this quarter. She's still thinking about leaving. I tried to persuade her to stay, or at least give Chicago a good hearty try before making up her mind.

Then a bus pulled up soon after we got to BJ, and I rode it home instead of riding my bike on icy roads while wearing dark colours at night. And what do you know, Keith was here! If that's not a great ending to a night, I don't know what is.

Yeah, and there was this tiny Asian chick asleep in this armchair in Kurtz, Felt, and Dinesh's room.

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