still Friday, October 25, 2002
only now it's 04:43 p.m.

Guh. Forgot to add the weirdass dream I had this morning, under the influence of Tylenol:

It involved Gaav, somehow; he was there in the flesh, and he was facking huge. I mean seven feet tall, four wide, two deep, with hair down to his knees. We were in a vast old mansion for no reason I can remember, and he was looking for something, I still don't know what, and characteristically cranky.

Don't get me wrong; I wasn't there *with* him, so naturally I didn't want to hang out with anyone that bad-tempered who might accidentally step on me, and went to wander around the cool old house on my own. This was how I happened across three separate parties looking for Gaav. The first was a goddess, the second was two game hunters who may have been royalty of some sort, and the third (you won't believe this, I still can't) was a group of about seven naked, sweaty/oiled participants from some orgy porn production. So naturally I did my best to lead them straight to him.

I can remember seeing him through the doorway of the study/library, standing and reading a small book, and myself gesturing silently to one of the game hunters that he was in there, but I'm not sure what happened when they all got him. All I can say is that in person, it's astonishing how Gaav can be so terrifying, annoying, and arousing all at the same time.

Friday, October 25, 2002
02:28 p.m.

I might have gotten something done today, were it not for the Sugar Hangover FROM HELL. It's this crushing, agonizing, take-a-pitchfork-and-end-my-misery sort of migraine that built up slowly yesterday evening, and all night, until the only sleep I could get was during the few hours after the Tylenol I took at four a.m. took effect. Now the Tylenol is not working. I feel as if I may be sick, but I have to wait until my kidneys have filtered the drug from my system, before trying another analgesic that won't do jack shit.

I did learn something about Sarah yesterday which shouldn't really have surprised me, in retrospect. While I can spar (IRL, or in Ehrgeiz) for hours on end happily, her fights must have a beginning, middle, and end. I fail to see why she needs 'closure,' in the practice ring of all places; it's not as if there's any story going on. She says it's different fighting me, because she actually has to think about what buttons she wants to push--she is an admitted button-masher. What's so bad about thinking? Is the joy of learning really that rare?
I suppose she's just not cut out to be a martial artist.

Oh, and this is all her fault:

what fucked version of hello kittie are you?
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Tuesday, October 22, 2002
05:14 p.m.

I think I'm finally learning to Unnerve people. Deliberately, I mean. Already I like to wear black, lots and lots of black; somehow the color is very comforting to me. Apparently a black t-shirt without the name of Marilyn Manson, Satan, or any of his friends on it can, under the proper circimstances, actually be much more intimidating than one with obvious lettering. Or perhaps people were disturbed by that necklace I made from a bullet keychain; it was hard to tell. All I really had to do today to make people part in my path was let my hair fall in my face, and glower as if some conspiracy had stolen my medication. That slightly-detached-from-reality look can really go a long way; exponentially further, if you're carrying conspicuous art supplies. Heh heh.

It probably didn't help that I spent a good third or two of Typography class drawing eyeball electrocutions in black pen. You'd be surprised how little it actually hurts to stick a smooth foreign object that far into your eye socket . . . not that I sit around doing this stuff for fun . . . and then you'd probably be surprised how much it hurt when the current got switched on . . . not that this has ever happened to me, or ever will. It's just the sort of fantasy I dream about experiencing instead of Typography class.

And I've been drawing Ulidh, who did experience it. I so love his name. I can't draw his facial features, as he has so little personality left to him; I don't even know what his old self was like. He comes out as a bleak, scrawny male figure standing alone, or slouching in an invalid chair, composed of despairing black scribbles and stark lines. He does nothing.

It has just occurred to me that his nurse Jules is an angel.

Friday, October 18, 2002
01:25 p.m.

Okay, this was weird, fun, and very very good.

Lost my gaming cherry yesterday to Ehrgeiz & Sarah ("Oh! Be gentle with me!") and the sweet, sweet vision of Sephiroth kicking his own ass around the practice ring. I mean, this guy looks good whether he's winning or losing, but that's beside the point.

In Illustration class, we have been exhaustively trained to mesh the visual with the tactile; a sort of learned synasthesia, if you can dig it. We're not allowed to actually draw a line until we can feel it with our eyes, until there is an actual sensation of touch. The untrained will recognize this simply as the creative trance an artist falls into in the effort of translating three dimensions to two; our teacher has drilled us to take this trance state several steps further, and has warped our little brains.

So there I was, tuning my fingers to the controller, being Sephiroth, wiping the mat with Sarah (to her dismay & my astonishment--I still claim beginner's luck) and at one point I realized that I had become so focused on the match that I had unwittingly fallen into the artistic trance. When my player rolls, I can feel the floor crossing my shoulder blades. I can feel in my arms and legs the blows I'm delivering with my fingers; and when my character's down for the count . . . well, it doesn't feel *good.*

But wait, it gets weirder. I was somewhat hyperactive when they finally got me to put down the controller, and my balance and overall coordination were just dazzling to me at the moment; it would have been a very good time to try and teach myself to juggle, I think. And the whole time I was running my butt off, burning off all the energy I'd keyed up while gaming, I couldn't use any synonyms. My language center had shut down, & I still feel the effects when I try to describe the phenomenon. :P As the weird athletic buzz wore down, however, it kicked in as if to compensate for the down-time, and for about twenty minutes I found myself babbling brainlessly and still unable to articulate (gah!!). I think I'm back to normal by now, but it's not all that easy to tell.

Will have to try it again, Sunday. >;D

Wednesday, October 16, 2002
01:31 p.m.

Saaa. So much just keeps happening. Got to see a NASA launch Monday night, just as I was getting home. Wish someone had gotten a photo of that, it looked just unspeakably cool. Dad hadn't thought we'd be able to see a Vandenberg launch from all the way up here, but there we go.

This is the most intense month of the semester; no vacations, no days off. Never thought I'd be so grateful for simple sanity. No way in hell I'm taking twelve credits at once next semester--need to see an academic advisor re major specs, courses.

Starting to doodle in my notebooks again. I think that's a good thing. . . . :) Still need a kitty (Dewey's a figment, he doesn't count). I've also noticed that every time I'm in a class where I don't want to be, my imagination kicks in and starts scripting lemon. This wouldn't be so bad, if I could actually get to write some of it. . . .

Friday, October 11, 2002
11:20 p.m.

New layout!

...Damn, I never realized how cybergothy this would look, until now.... :P Ack.