| 11 |
[Jan. 4th, 2007|12:17 pm] |
My New Years' resolution: to write in this journal more often. I let it slide for weeks at a time, and mostly because I just can't find anything noteworthy enough to put to type. I could follow the route of most of the other people in this network and make a drunken post, but there are laws against underage drinking, and I'd rather follow them. Drinking has never held an attraction to me; not when it seems like so many adults in this complex turn to the bottle in an effort to relieve themselves from life at large.
I have few things in my life that would drive me to drinking. Things are calm at the moment. Serene, even, if one can look over Ran's riotous party the other night and the hike in rent---how are we planning to pay for that, anyway?
Although, I'll admit...some days last month, coming home from the mall in an elf suit, I would have liked to have aquired an alcoholic streak.
But that's all through for the season, there is no power on earth that will get me to dress up as Cupid, and now I have the next term of school to look forward to.
Second New Years' resolution: ...hmm. I think I'll keep that one to myself, for the moment. I've had a lot on my mind. |
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| 10 |
[Nov. 25th, 2006|01:14 pm] |
I sat down to write up Christmas cards today---something my mother used to demand we do as soon after Thanksgiving as possible---only to find that I only have a handful to send out, really. My only living relatives are my great aunt and great uncle, and I imagine that they'd only hawk over my cramped handwriting, wondering "Touchy who??" to each other with huddled white brows.
Still, I mixed up some ink---rubbing ink sticks is satisfying, for one reason or another---and planned on writing these notes of holiday cheer in my best calligraphy.
I ended up just practicing shoudo. Didn't really focus on what I was doing, or the meaning of the characters---the act of brush against paper, dry and crisp despite the rain (endless, endless rain we've been having; a record November, according to the talking heads proclaiming news)...it was relaxing. Of course, relaxation lead to thinking, and thinking to...
Jiyuu. 自由. Freedom. Liberty.
I should probably yearn for freedom, as most my peers do. I just don't. I am comfortable in this life with Rangiku...even if it isn't always sunshine and butterflies and a bolster to my blossoming testosterone.
Ran, I'd like to request permission to purchase a sweater not emblazoned by teddybears or giraffes. |
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| 9 |
[Oct. 16th, 2006|12:18 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | floor | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  calm | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | rain falling | ] |
This morning, I woke up cold. Around five-thirty, that icy bite underscoring the wind finally bit down fully on the weather, and it's been raining ever since.
I woke up cold. Toes a little numb, wishing I'd slept with a shirt on, shivering like a wet cat. I rolled out of bed, pulled on a too-big, thick wool sweater---one of my father's old ones; it smells like must and a touch of mothballs---and got out some Gabriel José García Márquez to read, and promptly fell back to sleep on the floor.
The sound of rain is extremely relaxing, and the cold is only an excuse to get closer to others. |
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| 8 |
[Sep. 27th, 2006|10:41 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  busy | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | "Behind Blue Eyes," The Who | ] |
Two days until the swim meet. I'll be swimming the 100 IM, 100 butterfly, and 500 freestyle. It should be thoroughly exhausting, but I look forward to it. My homework load hasn't been as crushing as I had assumed it'd be, signing up for classes---though, if I have to read Hills Like White Elephants ONE MORE TIME, I might have to somehow disgrace the memory of good Mr. Hemingway. I've explicated it enough to make my head spin, and really, who uses white elephants as a metaphor for an unwanted pregnancy?
Maybe I'll understand when I get older. That's what Ran is always telling me, at least.
Mr. Iruka, if you come over to drink...please try to keep Rangiku from stripping being too unruly. Thank you. |
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| 7 |
[Sep. 6th, 2006|04:09 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  confused | ] |
I do not understand women. I worried that this lack of knowledge would prove detrimental in my early teens, when it was more or less obvious that I would have to have prolonged interaction with my illogical and hormonally-driven female peers, but I’ve recently learned that most men are just as confused by female emotional patterns as I am. This is comforting, in some obscure way.
There is a very annoying but well-meaning girl working in a coffee shop I frequent often. The shop has free wireless internet and cheap brew, so when it’s crunchtime and I need to get out of my apartment, I walk down there for a couple hours. This girl---the shift manager, I take it, as she’s there almost every afternoon---doesn’t seem physically able to leave me alone. She sends ‘signals’---oh God, she barrages me with ‘signals’---that are remarkably straight-forward: playing with her hair, averted eyes, high facial color, hands lingering near her breasts subconsciously, but not in a defensive pose. It all boils down to the body language equivalent of See Me, I’m Attractive and I Think You Are Too.
I blame this all on the growth spurt. I’m still short smaller than most my age, but I have noticed a marked rise in the baffling behavior of girls around me---and a decrease in the grandmotherly types hawking about and waiting for an opening to pinch my cheeks.
I’ve timed this girl. She ‘checks’ on me approximately once every twenty-three minutes. Now, if you’ve ever had to really put your head into a project, you know that twenty-three minutes without a distraction is far from being long enough to make much headway. I don’t want to grouch at her to leave me alone because some days, I don’t have the cash to buy any coffee---and technically, the wireless internet is only available to paying customers. The girl knows that, and it’s in my best interest to keep on good enough terms with her to ensure my free internet and quiet table-space in the corner.
Even still, I’m stymied. I wish she’d just tell me her name and ask me out so that I may politely refuse her and get on with my work. I haven’t got the time right now to be emotionally involved with anyone, and besides---girls my age are simply and wholly annoying.
…
As an update to my sporting life, I’ve decided to join the city’s competitive swimming team for the fall and winter terms. There will be meets during most weekends, but I’ll be able to a) catch a ride with the assistant coach, and b), get the paperwork portion of my schoolwork done during the downtime between heats. I’ve been told that at swim meets, one usually ends up doing less than twenty minutes of actual swimming and over six hours of sitting and waiting. I’ll monopolize on that between-time, so no, I shouldn’t get behind in my classes. I’d drop this in a heartbeat if it interfered too greatly.
The first meet is the twenty-ninth. You can come if you want, Ran, but you may not say a word about my jammers and/or indecency. Bring bagels. |
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| 6 |
[Aug. 18th, 2006|01:17 pm] |
Thank you for reminding me to update, Kuchiki Rukia...whoever you are.
Ayame got me reading Palahniuk again, more or less against my will. To be perfectly honest, Palahniuk is one of my favorite authors...the only problem is, his books are like a couple-hour drug trip that you have to work your way through. They're difficult to put down, and I have a habit of chain-reading the ones I own.
First Fight Club, with our no-name narrator and soap of the filthy rich. Then Choke, with all of our singularly "American" sex addicts and a cynical and delusional would-be Jesus. Then The Haunted, complete with the depravity of "artists", and the pseudo-fairytale of Diary, and all the gender-identity messes Invisible Monsters creates and...and I still need to pick up used copies of Survivor and Lullaby.
Took that one woman's advise and started up practices with the local swim team. The practices are early-morning---5:00, actually---and it's not necessarily competetive, so I don't have to attend the meets if I don't have the time. I've found swimming to be...relaxing. It's a singular sport, and it's so, so quiet on deck before the drills start...
Ino. I need to have a word with you. |
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| 5 |
[Jul. 26th, 2006|02:18 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  blah | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | "Prove Yourself," Radiohead | ] |
My new best friend, Mr. Tape-measure, has kindly informed me that I've hit a summer growth spurt. And thus, the Mystery of the Pants: solved. I figured out that the easiest way to deal with clothes now is just to get the pants a size too large and belt them. I don't think I'll ever quite fill them out through the waistband, but so long as I don't have my ankles sticking out past the hems like scarecrow limbs, I call myself "good".
Is it just me, or have things been boring, lately? I get up at the asscrack of dawn to get the mundane issues of life out of the way before I leave for the college: breakfast and its dishes, notes and their filing, laundry and its folding. It's so simple, but so time-consuming. I get all that together, brush my teeth and get dressed, and...then what? I'm in the library all day, pulling a stepstool behind me like a drawn carriage. I keep having to remind myself my hair's naturally white-gray, and it's not just the afteraffects of all this dust limning my body...
I think I might need to get a life. Suggestions will gladly be taken in the below box, marked "Comments" for your ease. |
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| 4 |
[Jul. 12th, 2006|06:57 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | blah | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Computer hum | ] |
Rangiku, the pants you got me don't fit. Something's wrong with them. Maybe that brand runs small?
I took the liberty of returning them, and I'll try to find some new ones this weekend.
...I'm really, really tired and I don't feel like typing today. |
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| 2 |
[Jun. 26th, 2006|08:32 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | computer problems, hot | ] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Floor. | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  apathetic | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Heat. And yes, heat has a sound. | ] |
I tried to look up ‘growing watermelons indoors’ on Google, and some kind of---I don’t know, net nanny program blocked the search page. It wrongly claimed that I was trying to enter content which my computer administrator had defined as being adult.
What the hell. Computer administrator? Watermelons? Why waterme---oh.
Oh.
…
Rangiku, I somehow feel that this is your fault. Why do I even let you touch the computer? Deleted the Rangiku: OMG folder, by the way. I think that makes us even, because I really wanted to try growing some decent fruit this summer. |
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| 1 |
[Jun. 23rd, 2006|04:40 pm] |
Summer’s coming. The sun’s been coming up earlier and earlier; setting later and later. I know summer’s coming because of the hot slant of light that comes in through the broken blind in my window at exactly 5:12 in the morning---and I doubly know because Matsumoto has been dragging me to the store to try on bikini after bikini she has no intent of buying. She has a new fascination with instilling in me a “healthy opinion on female flesh” now that I’m supposedly going through puberty, but she knows I don’t care either way.
I hate summer. It’s too hot, too annoying. The students in the summer classes are assholes who couldn’t make it through the school year, so all I hear are “hey, what'd you get on the last homework, Whitey?” (an A, thank you) and “grown any since last summer, kiddo?” (which I haven’t) from those bastards. It pisses me off, but not so much that I’d do anything about it. I need the credits, so I just work through it.
Soon as July hits, this old place just starts to reek, and AC? No. Hardly. My room doesn’t even have a fan, so I lie on the floor in my boxers after classes, dodging that one slant of sunshine that makes it through my broken blinds and grouching at Matsumoto to get a job so that we can get out of this damn apartment complex.
Wishful grouching, I guess. This place reminds me of T.S. Eliot, and I’m not sure why. |
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