William Burroughs, by Allen Ginsberg
 “There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve.” ―William S. Burroughs

9/30, no. 48

Friday morning, 2:30 am
Ashley: *Walks into the lounge and sees one of the couches flipped over* Why is the couch upside down?
Anissa: Ryan turned it into a spaceship.
Ashley: Oh, okay.

Little things like this make things a little better, bit by bit.

9/28, no. 47

For a long time, I was into things like Boston and crappy old cars. And then I was distracted, which was fun, and then I was sad, which was not fun, but now I feel so free because I'm looking at all the things from which I was distracted! Boston is so beautiful, and I'm feeling an immense desire to walk through Boston Commons and the North End right now...it's the perfect antidote to life. Plus the air is so fresh in Boston, especially in the spring, which is a huge contrast to the nostalgic smokey thick air in the underground city of Boston, that which is the T (subway system), which I also love so much. God I miss Boston.
And for a long time I wanted to drive an old crappy cozy car, one with cloth seats and not a high-tech GPS and media screen for an auxiliary ipod but a drive for a tape, with warm couch-like seats in the back perfect for cozying up with friends after a bonfire or something with tons of food and blankets and music.
When I was distracted, I shifted from wanting to go to Boston to being comfortable with the idea of living in LA (although I never gave up on Boston entirely), and while I wouldn't mind LA, I still don't feel like that's where I belong. When I was distracted I also shifted from a vague desire for junky '98 Corollas to learning about top of the line specs, rims, tires, bodies for cars, and I had an interest for minimalism, the modern look of coupes, a 6-cylinder engine...but that's just not me. I am back to where I was. I am at an equilibrium. Being distracted can be fun. But I'm getting better, and it makes me feel so free from a phase of myself.

9/27, no. 47

When light strikes the cornea, it bends--or refracts--the incoming light onto the lens. The lens further refocuses that light onto the retina, a layer of light sensing cells lining the back of the eye that starts the translation of light into vision. For you to see clearly, light rays must be focused by the cornea and lens to fall precisely on the retina. The retina converts the light rays into impulses that are sent through the optic nerve to the brain, which interprets them as images.

9/26, no. 46

I hate sleeping when I'm sick because it's so hard to fall sleep and stay asleep.

Last night I had a dream that my Psych 101 teacher used to be a serial killer but that was in his long-forgotten past so it was okay, but my Chem 110 teacher turned out to be this insane serial killer who was active with her murders. She held my class hostage in an old castle, and when the police came and arrested her, she kicked me down the stairs.
When I woke up this morning I realized I had slept through my alarms, which was sort of nice to know. It was 10:56 and I thought, "Hmm maybe I can rush and make it to chem" and then I thought "Wait...chem...why do I have bad feeling about chem.." and I remembered my nightmare and I hid under the covers where I stayed for about ten minutes.

9/26, no. 45

"Good people don't just happen." Maybe these words will get me through the month.

On another note, it's raining. It's raining an ample amount (in between sprinkling and pouring, that's how much it is raining) and people say it's going to rain in this manner almost every day for the rest of the year. That's okay. But most people here don't wear rainboots. I don't have rainboots yet, but I don't want my feet to get wet. Little is worse than wet feet.

9/25, no. 44

For the first time, I'm 1166 miles away from home and I'm sick all at once. It doesn't feel any worse necessarily, sickness is sickness after all. Instead of my mom to check my forehead and diagnose my symptoms, I have myself (and Richard, my fellow pre-med warrior down the hall). Lots of fluids, tylenol, Ricola - that's all the same - but instead of my mom's homemade soup I have my Lipton instant chicken noodle soup, something I got sick of after three servings. It does the job, so I can't complain.

Something I sort of actually miss: a quiet house. My whole family is comprised of generally quiet people (including relatives, when sober), so the house would be quiet throughout the day and silent between the hours of 10pm and 6am (my alarm would break the silence and shake the house).

But it's a little different here. People lounge around right outside your door having fun and being liberatingly loud and exercising the no-quiet hours policy of the weekend. It's a wonderful thing to be a part of, not so wonderful when you're trying to sleep.

It's okay. I'll adapt.

9/21, no. 43

lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

don marquis, 1927

9/21, no. 42

From last Saturday until yesterday evening, I did nothing but stay in bed. I skipped a few classes...just to stay in bed. I felt so drained and empty and I just cried and cried for reasons and for no reasons. It felt like I was missing a huge part of my brain, leaving nothing but gaps and emptiness that would take much too long to regenerate.

Around 8:30pm I found the extreme will power to get out of bed, get dressed, look somewhat decent (as opposed to bed hair, oily skin, tear-stained cheeks), and go to Lighthouse, the underground (literally - it meets in the basement) Christian fellowship.

I felt suddenly comfortable being here. I came home to my dorm to see my roommate and some floormates lounging around the room, and I announced the fact that I needed to clean (my dorm had been stinkin it up for a while, and I also felt that my OCD roommate would eventually file a complaint). I'm not consistently the cleanest person, but I find myself going through random sprees of cleaning, during which any speck of dust will drive me crazy. Basically, if I'm gonna clean, it's gotta be an all-or-nothing type of job.

And so my room is clean. And the conglomerate of books that once cluttered my desk (because we use our bookshelf for food) is now neatly sitting in my unfortunately empty bulk cardboard box of cup of noodles. My shoes, which were once scattered around the room, are sitting neatly in the makeshift shoe rack I made (aka my cardboard printer box). So screw you girls at USC and U of Arizona who actually spend money on such things...you guys are idiots, I hope you know. You oughta be ashamed of yourselves. I pity the fool who delves in such decadence.

I also bought a journal on Amazon that is arriving today. I call it "How to be okay while not being with some people and also how to lose weight because my stomach wants me to look like Buddha." (The latter part of the title may be put on a three-month hold seeing as how my parents sent me a "care package" aka "let's get you fat for the holidays so we can throw you in the oven and carve you" package. Just kidding, I know it's out of love...plus I asked for it :P)

On a sidenote, my roommate and I have recently come to the grave conclusion that our dorm hates us. Todd/Phibbs building decided, "Hey let's take the only two girls who wanted to go to Amherst - which has one of the best dorms in the country - and give them the smallest, shittiest dorm in the entire building!" We woke up one morning, got out of bed, and felt extremely cold water surrounding our bare feet - the loosely positioned outlets had caused our refrigerator/freezer to shutdown in the middle of the night, and thus all the ice in the fridge had melted overnight and gave us a warm (but not really) welcome in the morning. And those huge ass mosquito eaters still love our dorm. Really, they do! They (about 10 or so of them usually) all just hang around until we sleep, waiting to rape us or some crazy shit like that.

I've found little to no desire to shop online on Anthropologie/J.Crew. I tried using that as retail therapy over the weekend, but to no avail. Does this mean I'm changing? I don't know what's going on. J.Crew is so pretty. Oh wait, it's probably because I have $3.81 in my account right now.

So these are the trials and tribulations of your typical non-white American girl. They're essentially an off-shoot of "white girl problems," but we get to also complain about white people too and render their problems our problems. It's kind of fun.

9/20, no. 41

Somehow, you see beauty in her, a pile of broken bones, and you know you can repair these bones to create a human. Your unfailing faith in her keeps her somewhat stable, although she doesn't realize it. The pile of bones is a beautiful thing to none but you, and you cradle these osseous sticks, these rigid organs, these weak, weak, ugly bones. She, the crooked broken skeleton, awakens from her comatose. For the very first time, she sees you. Both nervous and ecstatic and unaware how to act, you approach her with open arms, and she falls into you.

It isn't long before these bones you hold grow into a human that holds you back. With eyes anew, she sees your broken heart and the malignant pain in your body. Out of love, she attends to such injuries, and you both grow.

And soon, peculiarly, like the progression of life, the conclusion resembles the introduction. Little else is on her mind besides you - caring for you, attending to you, loving you. She soon realizes that she would be a pile of broken bones had it not been for you. She then sees the necessary attachment, how she needs you, she needs you.

But as her dependence grows, you see the charm in separation as you feel as though your work here is done. You've created a human, a monster, a body of feelings and thoughts and emotions, and you try to make this easy on her, the human, the human human, and you fill her with empty words, hollow promises of complacency, and when she's holding onto you tight (she fills you with warmth now that she is no longer a scattered distribution of mineralized osseous tissue, so she can hold you just as warmly as you once held her) and you say no, no, no, it's better, you'll be better, and you finally get her to let go of you as her human emotions set in and tears begin to drown her face and you are finished...what about her?

9/17, no. 40

A life in lists, III.

1. Skipping my first two classes...so I can study for those two classes.

2. Reusing old posters to make a giant paper crane about half my size.

3. Talking about genitalia for three hours on an almost daily basis.

4. Finding a lost lacy red thong hanging from a pipe in the boiler closet.

5. Being woken up by Richard at 2:30am and seeing his panicked face, smelling smoke, hearing the obnoxiously loud fire alarm...all to realize 1) some idiot from another floor left his pizza in the oven 30 min too long and 2) I was the only one who had to be awakened (everyone else was coming back to campus from a party or was playing video games).

6. Getting 10+ people cozied up on Rachel's twin bed and watching youtube poop videos for hours.

7. Conversations about knitting, babies, circumcised penises, and the Bible - all in one sitting.

8. Crying all night and missing people and persons.

9. Losing and finding, finding and losing hope again and again.

10. The seemingly impossible-to-rid habit of bullshitting everything.

11. The shitty football team.

12. The even shittier jocks who think they're good. We lost to Occidental, I think that says enough.

13. My group of friends, comprised of 1) guys or girls in a long-distance relationship, 2) WASPs, 3) gays or lesbians.

14. The fact that if I need to bitch about something to the videogame obsessed-guys next door, they'll pause the game to listen to my vagina monologues. Thanks guys, it means a lot.

15. Trying like hell to be even somewhat qualified to major in molecular and cellular biology with an emphasis in neuroscience...for all the wrong reasons.

16. "But Ashley you can't get depressed! It hasn't even started raining yet!"

9/15, no. 39

There's a corner of your heart for me.
There's a corner of your heart just for me.
I will pack my bags just to stay in the corner of your heart.
Just to stay in the corner of your heart.

There is room beneath your bed for me.
There is room beneath your bed just for me.
I will leave this town just to sleep underneath your bed.
Just to sleep underneath your bed.

There's one minute of your day.
There's one minute of your day.
I will leave this man just to occupy one minute of your day.
Just to occupy one minute of your day.

Just to sleep underneath your bed.
Just to stay in the corner of you heart.

9/14, no. 38

You were just always talking about changing
What if I was the same man
The same I always was

All these things that you say
Like i'll forget about
The mind-numbing games that you play
I am a gentlemen
Didn't I pay for every laugh every dime,
Every bit in return
And then you feed me some lie
I wont hear one more word about changing
Guess what I am the same man,
same man I've always been

9/14, no. 37

I don't really want to make friends because I don't want there to be any chance of increasing distance between me and my friends at home. I don't see the necessity in going cock-hungry and meeting as many people as possible and making five thousand friends, so I stay in my room or go to Diversions Cafe to read or I go to the lounge to use the computer, etc etc. I still hang out with a few friends regularly, but there is so much more satisfaction in conversation with friends back home.

But I've recently discovered that this type of thinking is abnormal and weird, although it seems rational and quite normal to me. For the most part, everyone else thinks otherwise. And that's fine. I'm in no race to rush out and do five hundred different crazy things every day to bring home insane stories. I feel like this is normal. I feel like this is optimal. But it's getting clearer and clearer to me that my behavior is an anomaly in the long list of college students.

It seems as though people would rather assume that they'll always have you, and they'll run off doing all sorts of things and make little to no effort to maintain a solid relationship with you. They'll do all sorts of things that give them fun, tangible pleasure - partying, drinking, smoking - and that's all cool and I'm all for that, but it just makes me feel like a tired housewife. People get to go far and do all sorts of crazy shit while assuming that you stay home and manage the house. Perpetually remaining a housewife is so worth it even for just a little interaction (especially when you live so far away, a short conversation means so much. Five minutes of talking is worth the peculiar "she's antisocial" glances or "you shouldn't be late, Ashley!" or holding in urine in need of release). People overlook the fact that staying home too long will make my housewife behavior want to leave.

I realize that it's not too hard to get out and take advantage of the social shortcut of illegal substances or constantly finding things to do, but I don't feel any need nor urge to do any of that. All I really want is good conversation, which is something that doesn't need to end just by moving away. But in many cases, it does end.

I'm thrilled for my friends' new lives and new coming lives in the exciting realm of higher education. I'm overjoyed that many have found new relationships and friendships and lives of constant exhilaration and activity. I am so thankful that they're doing so well and thriving off of the utter pleasure they find in life.

I sometimes wish I had the desire to do so myself.

9/13, no. 36

(it's all bullshit, really)

9/12, no. 35

I sold you my hand once and you hit me in fear.

9/11, no. 35

For about one hour or one year or some amount of time in between the two, I partook in an intimate music session with Angelica and Daniel. I feel like I came back from a whole new realm that I never looked at. It was like I was leaning on a door all this time, and only now have I peeked inside to peruse around. From age 4-14, I was taught the science of the piano by a professional pianist and renowned professors, Mona Wu DeCesare and Ornela Ervin, and I played strictly what I saw in the language I was taught: the notes, stems, key signatures, time signatures, ornamentation, tempo, etc. This wasn't necessarily my life, but it was a huge part of it. It's among my few passions that I don't want to ruin by majoring/studying. The piano is still always something I have, it's my cozy socks and warm blanket.

Today was different. It's said that those who learn by the book at a young age can't improvise, and for me this is true. So as I sat seemingly hopeless as Angelica played a tune she made up on the spot and as Daniel played his own songs (something I've learned to enjoy is doing homework in front of his room when his door is closed and he's playing the guitar and singing because he's so musically inclined. Plus, he's brilliant at Chemistry so the close proximity is convenient if I need help). I was terrified because I felt 1) unoriginal 2) scared of condescension and judgment because of my juvenile impromptu pulled-out-of-my-ass piano noise. I set my shaky hands on the piano not knowing what to do, but Daniel just told me to start playing something - anything, so I began with a few elementary progressions and arpeggios. Still at a "piano block," he sat next to me and played a song he had made up that second. As I urged for that ability, I knew that want would get me nowhere, so I played whatever I could.

A few minutes of struggle and help later, we were making music.

9/11, no. 34

Here I am, a collection of dirty skin and weak heart and broken mind in a small cage. Go and share gossip with my loved ones, and bring them to come and laugh at me like you always have. Scrutinize my imperfections and mock me with your new followers, and I pray that one day my death will bring you more joy than my life could.

9/11, no. 33

Ten years. It's the life span of a prepubescent preteen girl. It's also the exact amount of time that defines a decade. Ten years roughly equates to the period during which certain genres of music, art, and/or ideas epitomize that decade. The past ten years have been a development of feelings and thoughts that allow me to sit here and have feelings that I were not able to have when I was 7 years old on September 11th, 2001.

9/11 was a horrific event that presented the United States with a graphic, extreme portrayal of terrorism, evil, and violence. Thousands lost a friend, acquaintance, idol, family member, role model, etc. I personally did not know anyone killed/injured/affected in the attacks, and although that did not lessen my profound sympathy for those affected, it just made it seem further away.

During the past week and a half, TIME (one of my favorite sources) released multiple videos, stories, and photos by those affected by 9/11. What stood apart in TIME's collection was the diversity in the testimonials - usually, the media focuses on students' perspectives on the attacks (on the day of 9/11, most of us were able to grasp the facts, and now we're growing with them) or children/family members who lost a loved one. TIME included all of these, but they expanded and took a different approach by not simply reflecting on that day and how many are still recovering, but also by sharing with the public the lives of others - flight attendants of planes whose passengers included terrorists with weapons, an employee at the World Trade Center who was at a wedding on that morning (she lost an immense number of her coworkers and friends; she was also in the committee to build a Mosque near ground zero, but was harassed because many chose to ignore the fact that that Mosque was to be a center to propel peace, hope, and other inspirational Islamic traits). There were hundreds of videos of a variety of people - all of whom were in some way deeply impacted by the attacks - and that presentation of diverse perspectives really put me in awe.

In short, for an honest conglomerate of recollections on September 11th, TIME is among the many good sources.

A lot can change or not change in ten years. So many citizens' "9/11 story" didn't end on 9/11. An ardent thank you goes out to all of those who displayed and/or continue to display explicit courage during the past ten years.

9/7, no. 32

The title that I find apt for this post is "Boston" by Augustana; the lyrics essentially reflect and closely define my entropic thoughts and feelings, but not in the conventional "boy needs to get away from girl" sort of way.

For what seems to be my entire life, I felt consumed, infatuated, and almost obsessed with the idea of an escape, a better life. I had my dreams (undergraduate years at Yale, transfer and obtain the accomplishment of a Bachelors of Science from Harvard and a graduate school education from MIT) but I was so immensely fixated upon the idea of setting a goal of some sort of escape, and attaining that goal.

The irony is that every time I would obtain such a goal, I would almost immediately look back, reflect, reminisce, miss, and ultimately long for my previous home.

Exhibit A: Moving to San Clemente. While back in Thousand Oaks, I would tell everyone how great San Clemente sounded - the great shopping areas, the miles and miles of beaches, the cute small-town lifestyle - and I sold myself the idea and I was so incredibly excited to move. When I did settle down in San Clemente, however, I cried on a daily basis, a symptom of first-time loneliness.

And now I am in Tacoma, Washington. Whether it was my juvenile habits of "escaping" or fate that brought me here, I'm living a life of greenery, environmentalism, studying, and prologues to new friendships. I'm learning from my old mistakes - sort of - so it's not as bad as my previous escapes were. Step by step I think I'm getting there. I trip and fall here and there but it gets easier to get up and go faster to catch up. I've discovered that it is possible to keep going - for a little bit - while looking back sometimes, but running with your head turned backwards can be a little exhausting after a long time. I just need to remind myself that even if it was my own mistake(s) that brought me here, I can't go back, I just need to look forward. So forward it shall be.

9/5, no. 31

Mom thinks that you're sad and that you're living alone,
And your friends think if you're sad,
You should call them more.
But the truth is that you never needed someone to comfort you.
Oh, you never needed someone to comfort you.

You're no god
You're no god
You will never leave this place
You will always feel alone
You will never feel quite clean in this new skin that you have grown until your old and broken bones are laid into their resting place,
just like the rest of human race.

Until I fall into my place,
just like the rest of human race,
Until I'm laid into my final resting place,
just like the rest of human race,
Who've done it without complaining all the way.

You're no god
You're no god
As long as you promise that you will never leave,
I need only worry about you and me.

We will never leave this place.
We need never feel alone.
We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have grown because our young and healthy bones would never lead us astray.
We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have...

We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have...
We will learn to feel quite clean in this new skin that we have grown because our young and healthy bones would never lead us astray

9/5, no. 30

A life in lists, part ii. To-do edition.

1. Clean my desk. I'll easily conform to the little idiosyncrasies I'm surrounded with, so I checked off the "neat" box on my housing application, although the entropy in room at home says otherwise. I knew that if my roommate maintains a neat living area, so will I. And both surprisingly but oddly naturally, I've been holding true to my strange pseudo-subconscious habit of conformity and keeping my dorm clean, neat, and fresh-smelling by utilizing our small fan and stealing Todd and Kevin's Febreeze occasionally. But this past weekend had a lot of ins and outs, which resulted in a lot of misplacement and lazy shrugging off of the clutter forming on my desk. Today I will clean.

2. Use the library more often. I'm accustomed to coming straight home after school, and college is unfortunately no different from that so far - I go directly to the dorm or sub after classes, usually to meet up with Todd and Rachel. But this is going to change. I'll spend a few hours studying in the library after classes to finish homework and what not, and afterwards I'll go back to the dorm. This will be of my best interest because not only will I be more proactive, but I'll also be spending less time in my dorm. My one of few complaints about UPS is that their library isn't open 24/7 like that of Boston College; it closes at two in the morning. I guess that's good for electricity and sustainability, but fuck it, I love the idea of an always open library too much. I guess

3. Use proper punctuation, capitalization, and grammar. Lists will not be exempt from this rule; I need to be more disciplined in my writing, even for my blog - or else I'll get lazy. And since I'm not a literary genius, I can't get away with broken writing rules, because I'll sound lazy or pretentious. I suppose that the first sentence of each bullet/number for each list may be the exception.

4. Stop sapping and be social. No more of this 'crying in front of the computer while in bed at night when you're roommate is out' business. No more excessive tearing up over missing people at home. Miss people, but don't let it hinder you from making memories and friends here. This one might be the hardest.

5. Take nothing but pictures. Leave nothing but tracks. This is a little saying I had to adhere to during my backpacking trip, and I most certainly am following this rule in my everyday life as well. Consume less (I've gotten rid of using disposable things, I love that my school promotes zero-waste events and habits!) and trash less. My beloved Nalgene water bottle goes everywhere I go, so no more paper soda cups are needed at the sub (our cafeteria). Or, if I must use paper soda cups at a restaurant or fast-food shack, forget those lids - they're unnecessary and are a big waste. Straws are also really unnecessary, but at least my school has biodegradable straws. Being green is a huge behavior at my school, and I actually feel a lot of peer pressure in being environmentally sound (pun!), which I'm really thankful for.

That concludes my heavily-commentated hitherto to-do list of the day/week/month/year. To finish, a couple poems from Courtney:

"Disfiguration Part One"

You have placed me in a jar

And here I sit

in a most undesirable position.

(I also find it difficult

to breathe).

It is unfortunate that

my vision must be so

blatantly one-dimensional

from this angle.

I cannot see

from the outside looking in.

How can you claim to care,

if you coerce me into this situation?

My posture erect,

I become a statue.

I am a statue,

that is my fact.

I begin to lose touch.

I am no stranger to my environment

(The atmosphere is sufficient).

And, if I may,

your name, sir?

"Disfiguration Part Two"

Sir,

here I stood vulnerable once

in front of you.

We exchanged greetings

and you informed me of

a sweet goodbye,

a graceful parting.

Yet here I stand

on my scaffold

for others to see -

a different me,

for I am a deformed face

of a once-young girl,

the girl you choked

while singing softly.

9/4, no. 29

it's been a real lazy Sunday, evidently. I walked to Life Center Church with Juhyun and Justin, where we met up with Talison, Kyle, and Todd. the service was really vibrant and the speaker, Pastor Jackson Senyonga from Uganda, was really charismatic. Justin, Juhyun, and I walked to Quizno's afterwards and then back to campus, where Justin and I met up with Angelica, Tom-Erik, Rachel, and Todd, and hung out in my dorm for a bit before heading over to downtown 6th ave to get some Indian food and just walk around. it was nice. we came back to our dorm building and played Mario Kart and did some work.

this is a poem my friend posted on her own blog almost four years ago. I never found any real significance for these words at least in the context of my own life - for all I knew, this poem's meaning was irrelevant to my life, as I had no boyfriend/serious love interest or anything. it's just the kind of poem that really caught my attention and stuck with me for all these years, as if I was subconsciously chasing the anxious feeling of this poem in order to render these words significant for myself.

anyway, this is it; she only had words, so I conjured up an unnecessary but somewhat apt title: To Boy.

You, sitting pretty there

With a handsome jawline and fine hair

Do give me a blank stare

As I tell you how my love does unfurl and flare

For your undying care.

But you look as though unaware

And my pleading looks contort into a glare

As I realize

Your silence screeches so loud

It deafens the air -

please, please

say you care.

9/4, no. 28

a life in lists.

1. cheddar jalapeno bagels

2. special k red berries

3. excessive doses of gummy vitamins

4. my blue nalgene water bottle. bpa free, bitches.

5. a small conglomerate of books on my desk - including The Bell Jar, The Time of the Uprooted, The Counterlife, Northanger Abbey, Born on a Blue Day, Better

6. Sudoku book

7. my dubbed insolvable Rubik's cube

8. my $0.99 plastic made in commie nation green bowl from Fred Meyer for my keys and ID card

9. yarn and knitting needles.

10. Gorp

11. my expensive Fossil keychain of a floral blue bird

12. Acco 100 ct. Jumpo Paper Clips

13. the small poster I made that says "Who are we to judge the alcoholic, the prostitute, the addict, or the criminal as if we are any better" in font size 58 bold Helvetica.

14. my European-style window next to my bed.

15. waking up to the tree whose branches caress said window.

15. not knowing how to count. this is number sixteen.

17. being constantly reminded of the vividness of life just by going outside, walking down the steps and seeing frisbee players or poets or writers or dancers or tanners or singers or sleepers on Todd Field

18. the video game noises heard through the thin walls from my neighbor's room...sometimes.

19. Soy chai from Oppenheimer Cafe; I've yet to try their dirty chai.

20. REI.

21. the random finds around Tacoma (all the old record stores, independent coffee shops, and utter abundance of thrift stores)

22. speaking of - my $3 long skirt and $6 flannel from Orange on 6th.

23. the people I've met! you guys are great...thank you for being wonderful

24. the people I miss! I am so so so incredibly excited for October Fall Break during which we can reunite and sing songs. you all are irreplaceable and I love you all so much.

25. the fact that Tacoma is great and all even though it's a suburb - it's nice, some parts are quaint, but it reaffirms my long-held promise to myself that suburban life is not for me, and thus I will never settle for or in one.

9/4, no. 27

what to do when the friends in your dorm are reflecting on nostalgic memories at 3 in the morning? reflect back also.

"if I can't have all of you, I'll take parts."

‎"If you could only see the beast you've made of me."

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."

“Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings — always darker, emptier, simpler.”

‎"And if there's any time you want to waste, let me know cause I really wanna be with you."

9/3, no. 26

you gave me love

and showed me pain;

you granted me

some loss, some gain.

you shake the ground

on which I stand

(I shudder back --

you raise your hand.)

I see your face

of apathy

but I feel only

catastrophe.

your smile has charm

and crooked teeth;

the charisma works,

my anger seethes.

you took steps back

to make some distance

to render us broken,

like a shatter, for instance.

when we first met

my heart was whole

but your indifference

now pierces my soul.

9/2, no. 25

success story of the week: I have switched out of my 8am chem class, it is now at 12pm. I also victoriously dropped Math 180 and added Math 181 (integrals). my schedule now consists of three back-to-back classes from 10am-1pm on Mon., Tues., Thurs., and Fri., and only one 10am class on Wed. (and a three-hour night lab from 6-9pm on Thursdays). I call my schedule symmetrical (aside from the lab) and beautiful.

another small success story: during a 10-minute break between my Math and Chem class, I walked over to Oppenheimer Cafe (pictured), the greenhouse-like cafe that sits in the central plaza of the science buildings (if the science buildings were a donut, Thompson and Harned Halls would be the donut and the hole would be the central plaza and Oppenheimer).

in that short time of exploration, I discovered a few things about Oppenheimer.

first, it is small, and it is crowded (not necessarily by people, just be the awkward display of chairs, tables, and computers); ergo, I do not find it to be an apt study environment, which brings me to my second point: it is a bit disappointing, but it's something that I don't see being fixed. in short, it is a disappointment only because I had hoped for it to be my home during my undergrad years.

on the bright side (irony?), it has the best chai I have ever had. the steamed milk was foamy at the top, but not so dry - it was velvety, and the spices were strong but not over the top.

and so Oppenheimer will not be my fortress, but my General Supply Store for weapons (aka chai and coffee).

I didn't know how much work there would be until I started last night. I wish I had started earlier though, because I was looking forward to hanging out with Veronica, one of my RAs, and Tom-Erik and Angelica. so far I really like people on my floor. I still need to adjust from the "just stay in your dorm and skype with people at home!" Ashley to "you're going to be here for four years, make the most of UPS, not home" Ashley.

it might take a little time, but fingers crossed that I soon get where I need to be.

“There lies a man of my heart

A fine and complete work of art…

rest in the bed of my bones

All that I want is a home."