Naked on Jasper, my "brains are damaged." Today has been very strange. It started out all jubilant, and then people kept staring at me, or smiling at me, and I was befuddled, and of course jumped to the conclusion of "awww, look at that poor disabled girl, let's smile so she has a chipper day." Because I'm dumb like that when I'm angry. I kept looking for excuses to be angry for the whole day. None came, except for a conversation on a St. Albert Bus (read: The Polar Express) that I kept turning around in my head so it sounded much more ignorant then it actually was (though it was quite bad) and fought the urge to turn around and scream at the old francophone lady and her stupid friend. They were talking about "the kids" and how much they feared for our "brains, because of the drugs they all take, y'know?"

Earlier, I had a sip with Mooke, and later felt bad because I was basically an uncommunicative twat on most subjects. My mind kept wandering and filling the space in the roof, rather then actually being applied to anything useful. Went to the library later, and found all books = not there. Nothing on Edward Said, and only one book (though actually very useful and fortunate a find) by Spivak. Apparently, Said is hot this semester. This essay is going to kill me. I've never been so afraid of a class in my whole life, and queerly enough, so stubbornly against asking for help. I have to stop doing that, so I'm going to stop doing that. If I fail it, whatever. Ok, not really whatever- it would kill me if I actually failed this course, but I'm starting to just think "I'm done with this" again. Done with school. Don't want no more. Go home, cut grass. So, if I fail this course, I'm going to quit school, that's that. Because I've never failed anything this serious before- I mean, the sheer mention of the cost of the course that I am failing, is incentive to give up and run for the hills. I couldn't look my parents in the face ever again if I fail this course, and dare mention that I should continue going to school after wasting their money.

That's right. Their money. My dad told me last week that I was not going to owe him any money after my degree. I have actually become one of those people that I despise so much, and it makes me feel disgusting, because I sit here at my desk and look at all the shit that mummy and daddy bought for me. The desk. The lamp. The fucking computer. And then, the kid, that boy that I love, who has nothing but a good soul that is not half as disgusting and awful as mine, enters my mind. Look at where his good parts have landed him, and look at where my bad parts have landed me. I sit here rambling shit on things I should be falling-over grateful for, but secretly detest because they are all attached to my body with long strong nylon string, weighing me down, inciting demands through purposes, "illustrating my personality", and whatever the hell else stuff does that seems to fulfill us all.

I've been thinking a lot about dirty bars in New Mexico. Unshaven hot sweaty crowds sitting around neon jukeboxes with bottles of beer and raucous laughter, stories and belligerent songs. Full moons over dirt and dry hot air smelling of cactus. Or, of the ocean at dawn from the entrance of a one person tent, dirty callused beach feet burning in the sun, freshly caught fish. Or, miles of asphalt humming by, as I sing along to the radio that plays all the trash we never admit we still like occasionally. Hm. Everything in this picture is so dirty, maybe I'm still preoccupied by pleasures of the flesh...all in jest, honest.

I have an essay to write, and things to brood over.  ¶ 1:27 AM