I was asked by one of those "I took my first train ride into New York the other day. It's so weird!" fellow students if the person I was talking about was "one of us" / "our age". Then I realized that I am still seen as young no matter how grown I want to feel.

I honestly scanned an image and inserted it into my homework just to not have to turn in a "ditto sheet" for homework. "Ditto sheets" were more hated than lima beans when I was a child. They were the clear marks of busy work and everything that I felt myself to be above doing. Having to fill numbers in on a graph was too much like busy work for me not to complicate it by scanning images around text. This also furthers any case needed to be made about me being a nerd.

Today I wore chinos and one of those shirts that look like button-down and sweater in one. I wore my lace-up heels. And lipstick. And rainbow socks.
Tuesday, September 30, 2003

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The thing that matters most is being respected for that thing that defines you. For most of the people I know, and mutually respect, that thing is intelligence. Intelligence in the form of the ability to understand, embrace. Intelligence in regards to a capacity to learn, investigate and produce. When this part feel violated, questioned or otherwise lifeless, everything else falls apart.

After many years outside of the classroom environment, from being an independent critical thinker to a drone in the spreadsheet, the transition back towards that person is difficult. The boy said not too long ago, "I still just don't think of you and student at that same time." And I feel like it shows. I feel like I am like THEM, the middle aged women with limp hair and sweaters with appliqued forest creatures on them. I feel like I am bunched in with THEM, the people who ask what "wonkish" mean without a tinge of irony or sarcasm.

But then I realize that I am asked about THEM by the fresh-out-of-college kids, their faces still full before the working world beat them into pre-mature wrinkling. I spend my "working days" gossiping with other assistants about THEM.

I but when I have to sit and write, I become temporarily stunned, wondering what it is that I used throw together and how it was I that I was so prolific. When I am to read entire books, I realize that I am reading every word rather than plowing through the book so I could go drinking with buddies.

I over-caffinated myself yesterday. At 2 am, I was my most awake and tried to go to bed. I stared outside, and listened to the patterns my breathing made with the crickets cricking. I realized that I hadn't been this way in years, fully alert, yet at rest. I had suceeded in making myself feel like a student.
Monday, September 29, 2003

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I am supposed to spend my time researching legislation and learning about the great world of public policy. I am supposed to becoming a professional.

On Saturday, Jesse and I wandered around. We looked in local shops and payed for food with change. There was a man training his dogs while wearing a shirt with the like-ness of his dogs on it. The man left one of the buoys he was training with behind. The name "Zeke", in perfect schoolteacher handwriting, was on it. Whether it was the guy's name or one of his dogs' names in uncertain. We became obsessed with stealing it and ultimately did, abandoning it in a tree later. Jesse jumped into the stream to retrieve a baseball. It had the name Ryan on it. It too was abandoned in the same tree.

Later that evening, I took my beads over to the boy's to make jewerly, watch movies and eat Chinese. While discussing why I did not want to watch "Jerry Maguire" on television but would prefer a movie we haven't watched 546 times, I accidentally hit the bead organizer over, spilling tons of beads all over the place. I spent the next several hours trying to fix this situation by resorting tiny beads back into compartments with similar tiny beads.

I did, however, write extremely detailed to-do lists. And organized my papers and files into amazing perfection. Whether or not anything is getting accomplished in relative.
Sunday, September 28, 2003

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If someone were to appear at my side holding a large mug of steamy strong coffee, I'd fall in love with them.
Instead, I made myself a pot so strong it wakes up my dead skin cells. I sat down to work, bleary eyes with 2 Tums, 1 Aleve (still to be taken), a handful of broken pretzel pieces from the bottom of the Barrel o' Pretz and a stack of papers. After a long evening trying to not feel bad about myself, I can still smell the vapors of beer wafting from my belly up through my nose.

I believe that I go through a major personality crisis every fall when all the insecurities I've stored up finally are shed. And getting over it requires buddies and beers.

I had a dream that I had a baby the other night. I've been "dating" my boyfreind now for 9 months and this baby was a product of our early "dates". I just had ot give birth, without being aware of the fact that I'd been pregnant. When I questioned the doctors as to how it was possible, they had an explanation for every doubt. I had a kid and I terribly had no interest in it. I did not want it. When I woke and thought about what it all meant, I knew that you couldn't love someone unless you are willing to let people in.
Thursday, September 25, 2003

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Sometimes, I wonder precisely where I am and where I am heading. Now that I am "here", I am not sure where I need to go next. I knew I wanted to go to grad school, but where is this taking me? I am really going to be doing this for two years?

There are things I desparately miss such as taking the time to myself to knit, walk 10 miles and cook elaborate meals for just me. There are times where it feels as everything is a competing demand for my time and rarely do I have it to myself. But then I think and realize that everything I do it for myself. I am the single-most selfish person. I never move forward in this conversation with myself. It goes on forever until I realized instead of thinking these things, I could have accomplished something.

I touched a slug tonight. And drank very strong espresso. After I touched the slug, I placed my gum on its back. I did not wash my hands until very long after so that from that moment until I returned home, everything I touched became contamined with slug juices. This does not disturb me as the slug was about 4 inches long, spotted and not very slimy at all. Plus, the day before I ran through and elaborate spider-web, getting strands of web around my arms, fingers and even attached to my checkbook. These encounters with nature make everything seem trival.
Sunday, September 21, 2003

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I don't think I have talked about my boyfriend enough lately. As a matter of fact, in effort to avoid being "that girl", I have regulated the frequency at which he is mentioned to slightly less often then my pets. This is just justification to be allowed to mention what I am about to.

I have a very late day at graduate school on Wednesdays and did not get to his house until 8 pm last night. He opened to door, taking the bags from my arms and asking me about my day. On his table was a bottle of wine he'd picked up for me. The very bright yellow sticker on the bottle of wine said $59.99. The brand is not worth $19.99 so I looked a bit confused and he explained the sticker. He did not, however, spend that much money on me. The bottle of wine was probably $9, but he begged the men at the store to put a fake sticker on the bottle. While I was sitting in a classroom discussing the role of congressmen in respondingto constituients demands, he was getting fake sticker put on wine just to get me to chuckle.

In further news that no one but me really cares about, my 1 semester fellowship has been extended for the full year. That means I don't need the loans, I have a paid job for the year, I have tution for the Spring covered and I am set. I am totally hooked up.
Thursday, September 18, 2003

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In those moments when I am trying to fall asleep, I tend to think of some of the most profound thoughts known to mankind. I used to do math in my heads for hours until I had designed entire perfect worlds based on numbers. I would combine theories and then wake in the morning and rewrite papers. I would always think of something so impressive.

The other day I realized that Nemo, from "Finding Nemo" is the word OMEN backwards. I was so impressed with this discovery. I used to be able to spell words backwards with amazing speed until I realized I couldn't spell words forwards too hot.

If I were, say, a 20-year-old pothead still, I would share this information with my fellow tokers and convince them to go see "Finding Nemo" with me. We'd smoke a whole bunch of pot beforehand and spend several hours in a diner afterwards discussing the importance of Nemo being OMEN backwards.

However, I am not a cracked out 20-year-old, so I'll just wait for it to come out on video.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003

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The other day I had a dream that my father's fish died. Specifically, the 4 babies were all eaten by this bigger koi-like fish that he doesn't actually own but was in my dream. This huge fish, which I was told usually hides, came out and ate the babies, head first, and then went after the little blue fish. It was kind of tramatic. In waking life, my father tried to move his babies but something in the second fish tank went wrong and their father and all of the babies are dead. The mother is nearly dead. The blue fish isn't doing too hot for some reason either.

I had two dreams last night. One was strange and twisted. The other was merely memorable. It was raining and raining like it has been doing since last Spring and I was driving in my car. I was wearing a hat I made. It was cold and I turned on the heating realizing it was the first itme I was using said element in my car. The rain became slower and turned to snow. In waking life, it was cold last night and I slept with my window open Time to get out the cushy comforter.

Then I dreamt about the President. This dream is clearly the strange one of the two. This dream is close to torture. I dreamt he was making a speech and talking about the terrorist attacks on the WTC and how, after 10 year, we can all get back to normal and forget out pain and move on. I knew he was confused with the prior ones, but seemed to try to be convincing the public that everything really did happen 10 year ago rather than 2. It was kind of sickening and i was getting so angry and finally, in the middle of this speech that the entire country was sitting in on, I stood but and told him he was wrong. It was dead silent and everyone looked at me. I had done wrong by making people aware of the truth, but letting them know it was only 2 years ago and not 10.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003

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I will never learn. Or rather, will I ever learn? It's been years that I do this and every so often, it happens and I just don't seem to learn. Except for today, I learned something.

The thing I am talking about? alcohol
I had a few glasses of wine over dinner with boyfriend, parents, parents' friends. I had a few beers. I went on a 10:30 beer run that involved trying to casually sit there while cops were shaking down some suburban youths. I had some more to drink. Around 3 am, I went upstairs. I don't recall any of the details of getting into my bed. At 8:30, I was okay, just groggy and fell back asleep. At 9:30, I was mad at myself for waking up again. At 10:30 and for the next 3 hours, I was puking.

I said I learned something though, right? I did. When your stomach just won't quit, when you're puking the crackers you were nibbling on to settle your empty, heaving stomach, some TUMS will do you up good. Seriously. 40 minutes later I was dressed and ready to go buy a fish tank.

So maybe I will always get drunk. And maybe I will get sick every now again, but I know now that a Sunday afternoon need not be wasted if TUMS are on hand. They fix that stomach acid right up.

In other news, I am not mentally prepared for the idea of homework. I am not used to having something to do at home, to have my "day job" run over into my "night job". I will fucking have to get over it.
Monday, September 8, 2003

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I just paid the equivalent of my left kidney for books for two classes. When I finalize my course schedule with the third class, affording the books for the course will probably force me to sell my eggs. Seriously.

I haven't had a cigarette in 3 months. When they give up these 10 minute breaks in our 3 hour classes, I am at a loss of things to do because I know in the past I'd be smoking down 2 or 3 cigarettes, hacking up gobs of lung during the second half of class. Now I, like, check my cell phone messages, wash my hands, walk around the building. Not smoking doesn't really give you anything you can do in 10 minutes.

I used to think smoking made my breath smell. 3 months later I realize I just have bad breath. I use just as much gum and mints as before. Maybe more since I don't hav the lingering taste of cigarettes in relish in.
Friday, September 5, 2003

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I am now a graduate student. I have a box of change in my car for the $1.60 in tolls I have to pay each day. I have a new bag that has folders and class schedules, planners and notebooks, pens and assorted business cards. I am figuring out a new place and new people and wondering if I can do it.

The past few weeks have past so quickly. It seemed long lifetimes and mere seconds ago that I lived in Brooklyn, commuted on the subway each day and drank beer in bars on Friday evenings while smoking cigarettes. Sometimes I wonder who that person was. More often, I look in the mirror at the girl in her back-to-school outfit and wonder who she is and what she is doing with me. I don't smoke, I live with my parents, I drive a car, I'm in a relationship, I prefer wine to beer, I exercise. Honestly, this person isn't that exciting. This person studies government and statistics not casual observations on the subway. This person wants an EZ-Pass. This person is who I am and I have yet to figure out how to translate that here.
Wednesday, September 3, 2003

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