Elizabeth and Richard
Originally uploaded by freyjawaru.

Drunk (or tipsy) (or something) at Richard‘s party last night. I had a terrific time (as the rest of Kasey‘s photostream will demonstrate) despite total physical exhaustion from a 10 1/2 hour kitchen shift. A lot of fun people, interesting conversations, and mainly just the intensity of being briefly collocated at an intensely transitional and transitory time of life.

& now it’s Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting outside Kopi drinking cold coffee and trying to read about homophily and structured information and mainly just want a warm bowl of soup and to crawl back into bed for a long time.

so some serious stuff is going on for people around me, and i want to be there – but i’m also in this kind of weird place of needing to assert my SELFness, and needing to keep things for me apart from everyone else. i’m trying to figure out the balance between school and friends and work and me, and sometimes it ends up weighing in too much in one direction or another, and sometimes i sit down to write an entry and end up writing something incoherent. that’s just me.

on an attempt to write something lighter and sillier, here are three things from the last week or two.

one, an excerpt from the best email i think i’ve ever received from a professor, in reference to a group project:

Lab groups for the Database assignment may have a size of 1 to 3 people. A group of 1 means that you can work alone. No groups of 0 will be allowed.

two, i was almost hit by a car over the weekend, and all i could come up with to say in response to the bitch almost running me over was dude

three, photos from thursday night’s drinking_GSLIS outing (and a roundabout greeting to new-er readers):

fwha

My response to Ben sTone’s challenge to fuck with his art

i can see how he thought i was crushing the walnuts with my fingers. they were small, and the meat came apart easily. it was summer when i met him, and the steps were warm with sun and my feet bare. my hair, white since childhood, was long those days, and i was used to people staring. his eyes were hungry and tired, and i took him by the hand. he sat at my table drinking lemonade while i made pesto, and then we fucked on the kitchen floor, and he laughed when i told him he would always associate crushed basil with the the texture of my skin.

he liked to tell people i was the perfect girl and that i possessed secret powers and that my white hair came not from the premature onset of age but from a chemical imbalance that allowed me to control the universe. he liked to tell people that i crushed walnuts with my fingers, and that when we first met i picked him up with one arm.
and it was good. it was good for a long time – the fucking like mercury, our bodies like chemical reactions, the slow dazzle of our love. when he was asked how he scored with a girl like me, he would squint his eyes closed tight – those too piercing green eyes – and whisper “chemistry…..”

—–

what comes after, though? in one ending he finds my body with my heart pierced through by a steak knife and a mysterious note behind my head. my body is whisked away and destroyed, and he spends the rest of his life waking up from a beautiful dream to the reality of life without perfection.

in one ending he finds my body not so perfect after a few months or years or lifetimes, and all the stories of super powers can’t hold it together when the chemistry fades and the crashing together of bodies can’t conceal the change from summer to autumn and my skin’s winter-white.

in one ending he finds my body with my heart pierced through by a steak knife held just so, and the curve of a slender throat and long dark hair against my skin’s winter-white, and he stands in my kitchen crushing basil between his fingers as i carry my boxes in one arm, the hand that once drew his in shielding my eyes against the too-bright summer morning.

they say that when you’re happy, you’re just like everyone else, and when you’re alone, your misery is unique. i say that in love, in death, in loss and in chemistry it all comes down to the turn of the knife.

There were two points during Daniel Lanois’s set tonight where I literally couldn’t breathe. It’s been a while since music affected me that palpably, and during the intermission Carl and I sat quietly together, floored by the intensity of it. Today was a long, frustrating day punctuated by moments of wonderful.