Lamest thing ever… it’s James’ fault.

Mmmm, good day today. I played hooky (sort of — I was offered a shift this morning and refused it for absolutely no good reason whatsoever) from work; instead, I walked to the store. There I bought a new razor (a Gillette Venus razor. I just used it, and, baby, I’m in love! The triple-blade action is… like… WHOA! And the way the head bends… it is SO COOL. It was really really soft and really sharp and… mmm!! Plus it comes with this awesome-cool carrying case that you can mount in your shower… yah!!), a basketball, and some new Bed Head stuff — “Chocolate Head” — which is supposed to reconstruct hair. Then I went to the park and played basketball, which was hella sweat-inducing, but also really fun; then I sat in the shade with my cold, cold Nalgene and read the Ikea catalogue. What? Why are you laughing? I like the Ikea catalogue. It’s probably the most entertaining thing ever… cept maybe the Linens N Things ads. Anyway, I haven’t made it even 1/10th through, but I am loving it.

After the park, I came home and took a shower, using the new showery things that I’d bought. I don’t know if the “Chocolate Head” stuff has really worked yet, because my hair is still wet, and won’t frizz out till it’s dry, or, alternatively, fail to frizz out if the stuff works like it’s supposed to. Regardless, however, it smells absolutely wonderful and for that reason alone I recommend it.

Another thing that was totally awesome was that, when I got money out of the ATM in order to buy these wonderful things (I bought a couple other things — I’ll tell you in a sec), my receipt said that I have the amount of money I need to pay Mom for college. So whatever I make from now on, I can spend on my books and whatever else. WOOT!

Other things I bought were some new earrings (the cheap kind, just studs), a pair of sunglasses (they claim to be driving sunglasses… I don’t really care what kind they are, but they stay on my face when I’m running and stuff, so that’s cool), and a laundry bag. I am probably WAY too excited about the laundry bag… but, okay, see, the laundry bag is the first thing that I have bought specifically for college life. It is symbollic of me doing my own laundry with my own detergent in my own dorm… carrying my laundry from my own dorm room… EEeeeee!! I am WAY excited for college!!!!

Okay, so there it is. I had lots of alone, out-of-the-house time, and my money worries were greatly soothed. Plus I got good exercise playing basketball, and had a spa-like experience at the end of that. It was extremely therapeutic.

Barista Goddess says: friendster!!!

Last weekend was a little crazy… I worked most of last week, and was scheduled to work eight and a half hours on Friday, from 10 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. I was also scheduled to work Saturday, which majorly sucked, because I thought I would have to miss the youth group retreat. However, my manager woke me up at 7 Friday morning, and basically said, “I’m coming to pick you up now… if you work now, I’ll cover your shift tomorrow.” Hence, I was able to go on the retreat after all!

And the retreat was pretty therapeutic-level awesome. I got to hang with the types of peoples at yg that I actually don’t usually chill with, just because our different circles rotate… differently… anyway, point is, it was a blast, and there was lots of admirable natural beautifulness. Of course, having only three hours’ sleep Friday morning was not really the smartest thing I’ve ever done… but I wasn’t operating any heavy machinery or taking any articles of food from strangers, so I think it was all okay.

Contemplative life-thoughts tomorrow. I know I have some, but they’re in an as-yet unbloggable state, and besides, if I write everything in one blog, it’ll be really long, and give you no reason to come back.

Barista Goddess say: “Fortune favors the brave. And the lucky, because that is actually what fortune means. And frequently the stupid, because they need it more than smart people. Fortune is sometimes nice like that. Fortune also smokes, gambles, and boozes, though, so really, it’s pretty unreliable.”

I feel like I’ve lost faith. Not in the world, or God, but in me. I mean… what can I really do that’s so worthwhile? I can do lots of things, but not really any of them well. I feel lonely all the time, even when I’m surrounded by “friends”, and I’m so lost and directionless. I thought the summer before college was supposed to be happy, carefree, fun…? I just feel uprooted, drifting, bored, and talentless. I’m not suicidal here, just depressed. Is there anything worth doing? Am I worth anything to anyone? I feel like Schmidt, except I don’t even have a little Ndugu kid to support.

Living day to day, sometimes bored, sometimes annoyingly dramatic, I have realized one or two things about my situation here. Firstly, that I’m not good at taking chances. Not because I’m afraid that I’ll get hurt so much as that I’m afraid that I’ll do something wrong, or, as a part of doing something wrong, hurt someone else. Being able to take chances is partly a product of faith, which on a simple human level is itself a product of being loved; at the same time, the ability to accept changes is in some sense a product of loving, the greatest change being the birth or death of a friend.

In a sense, growing up seems to me to be the combination of this — the willingness to take risks, which seem to become less and less risky as one moves towards death — and the gracious endurance of the consequences when they turn out not quite as one expected.

I’m coming to a point, here, at least on a personal level, rather than a theoretical one. My point is that, I’ve been afraid to take some risks, because I’ve felt like the things I wanted to risk were childish, when really it’s the risk itself that’s childish. I don’t want to lose my friends or alienate my family, but I just feel like I need to strike out (in a non-punky, non-offensive way) and stand up for myself and my risks a little bit. Right now, I’m not risking anything, and it’s not that I want danger, but I just don’t even feel alive. I feel kind of numb and asleep and like nothing’s really ever happening. The biggest risks I take right now are physical — like driving a car — and those are not really personal.

So here’s a warning. I might be taking some risks. Watch out. And also, if I seem to just be clamming up and not taking risks, pry, won’t you? Pull me out. I’m bored in here.

Once again, I have changed the blog template, this time to match the look that I’m giving my (new and improved) website, which will be accessible any second now, as soon as I have transferred all of the content properly. Lemme know what you think of the new look! I’ll post again later today, as I figure out something fun and interesting with which to entertain you.

Likes: Ella Fitzgerald, God, boats, hoop earrings, bartending, guitar; CS Lewis; working up a sweat, sleeping, books, minty cocoa; church history, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Loreena McKennitt; sushi, Sinfest, going barefoot, singing; going to movies, holding hands, and that one cute guy who… well, you know who.

Dislikes: the close-minded, being labelled, Brendan Fraser; pickled beets, baked brie, moral relativism, my hair; pretentiousness, soulless activism; insanity; people who think in black and white, speak sardonically, interrupt others, ignore them, or dismiss them and their beliefs without consideration.

Still considering: masonic organizations, country music, CNN; “Waking Life”, facial piercings, short skirts, knitting; Los Angeles, Russia, and Walla Walla; Americanos, certain moldy cheeses, and iceburg lettuce.

Basically, I’m too lazy to blog properly today. Instead, you get rancid poetry.

poem 1: actually it’s a song, and it’s somewhat corny

One day leaks into the next;
time is moving like molasses.
The only passions I possess
I don’t express, I just supress, it’s
rather numbing, this existence;
living in a slow subsistence,
gray and raining every day,
where pain’s exciting, and fear relentless.
I’m looking for a lust for living,
or maybe just to muster something:
the energy to meet the morning;
the strength to breathe and keep on living.

Then when I’m with you, I want you.
I want you to know
that when I’m with you, I am breathing
deep in my soul.
There is daytime in a dark world,
and the night’s not just for sleep.
When I’m with you, when I’m with you,
I breathe.

All my words now are pretentious,
and all my friends seem so contentious.
They all want to know they’re right;
they don’t weigh the cost of the fight.

It always seemed it was important,
it’s what I lived for, it was more than life.
Now all I want is just to know you;
I know I’m blind, but I want the truth.

Then when I’m with you, I want you.
I want you to know
that when I’m with you, I am breathing
deep in my soul.
There is daytime in a dark world,
and the night’s not just for sleep.
When I’m with you, when I’m with you,
I breathe.

poem 2: apology for poem 1

I never express it word for word, the way I want it to come out,
the thing I feel, the fear I try to show or hide,
it doesn’t matter when I show it, it’s always wrong,
I know no one will understand what I meant to say.

The more I struggle, the closer I come,
but it’s still inaccurate, and I feel inarticulate;
I see everything tangled and jumbled together,
the words clinging on each other like rubber bands in a bag:
one climbing on another’s back and strangling him;
one tying itself in a knot where it knows it doesn’t belong;
they’re all biting and bickering about which is the right one,
and I can’t destroy them, so I just reuse them —
but never the same way, and they’re never appropriate.

Language seems so approximate, sometimes I can’t even
get out a sentence; I stutter or fumble,
and gallop from phrase to phrase of disjointed thought and aesthetic shame.

The first draft’s never right, it’s diluted by cliche,
the second time, the phrases grow more original —
but still the meaning seems slovenly and contemptuous,
and the unconscious plagiarism stays where I put it…

And sometimes I realize I’ve been here before, and it scares me,
I feel like I’ll never improve, I can only reuse — not only lines —
but my favorite feelings — like cynical jealousy, balladic romance,
depression, bad attitude, terror, or loneliness —
of course it’s all mine, it’s just poorly presented,
I try to build reason, and construct only chaos
it’s dull, and it’s shoddy, an ugly stumbling block.

It’s not even dramatic; I have to excuse it, or dress up each feeling
to prepare it for performance,
and I don’t even know where to put commas anymore,
it turns downright ungrammatical.

I think what I’m saying is: when I write, and express,
the truth never becomes free,
not because it’s impossible, but I just don’t possess it,
and I’m sorry, because I suppose that means that I’m wasting your time.

If you’re watching my struggle, and reading these words,
you are hoping and waiting for something to break,
and no doubt you’re disgusted that I can’t get it out,
but there’s no promised victory,
no beauty in it;
just a grunt,
a few words,
an outpouring,
sometimes swearing,
a bloody nose,
some bruised feelings,
some shame,
something I think is genius at the time when I write it,
something fake — inorganic — a false note — a thing that doesn’t belong,
then a moment, at the end, when I opt to give up.

Barista Goddess say: “Maybe if people could just be honest and direct, we wouldn’t need art. True, this would mean no Albrecht Durer, Jan Vermeer, or Niccolo del’Arca… but it would also mean no crappy looking Experience Music buildings, annoying art snobs, or large, dorky sculptures scattered like droppings all over public lawns.”

I’m doing one-upsmanship here with Lauren, because she posted on the 4th, and I haven’t posted since last Tuesday. I got to work on the 4th, but, you know, that’s different. Plus also, she was supposed to call me today, and she didn’t, and that makes me sad, because I haven’t talked to her for awhile, and I could do to tell her one or two things, and hear one or two from her as well. So if you see her, you know, bug her. She’s never on AIM anymore.

I changed my blog template a bit. Whatdya think? Dya like it?

My weekend was pretty good. Hung out with friends (Jesse, Juliana, Rachael), saw “Finding Nemo” with them — which I thoroughly enjoyed, Pixar always seems to hit the nail right on the head. No youth group tonight, but had church this morning, which was fine. I still have something written on my hand from communion… *mischievous laugh*

Mostly irrelevant notes:

~ Highly recommend the new Weird Al-bum, specially “Ode to a Superhero”, which is based off of Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”, and “eBay”, which is based off of the Backstreet Boys’ “I want it that way”.

~ I’m almost really REALLY done with high school, for ever and ever. I still have a few loose ends to tie up before Mom will send my grades to Whitman, so I have to finish taking her Chemistry tests this week — by Friday — and I have some Art History stuff as well, which I’m not too worried about, but just a little.

~ I’m working tomorrow from… like… noon-6:30. I’m not really sure if I really REALLY am working from noon or from 1:30, but I figure, it’s better to be out of the house than in it right now. I don’t know why, but for the past week or so, I have had insane stircraziness — I do NOT want to be in my house right now. I just want to be somewhere on my own, doing what I want to do, independently. Maybe walking aimlessly through a public park, like I did tonight…

~ The Seafair Pirates landed this weekend. Also, the Wooden Boat Festival was this weekend, in Seattle. I missed both. I guess I’m not much of a pirate after all. *sniff*

~ Little moment of random joy: I found LL Cool J’s “Hey Lover” (feat. Boys II Men), which, in 1995 or so, was probably my favorite song of all time, though I haven’t really heard it much since then (it’s not very catchy I guess, though it was pretty popular at the time). I recall having an idea that it was pretty sexual at the time, but I don’t think I really understood that it’s actually all about sex. Anyway, it’s one of those songs that I will always love, a sort of legendary piece of sentimentality.

Barista Goddess say: “Elvis Costello so cool! Barista Goddess know, though, that all the angels want to wear her black boots.”