Sunday, November 30, 2003

the same black line that was drawn on you was drawn on me

Well, I'm back in Murray. Pretty good times. When I was about five minutes away, the girls called me wanting to know when I was going to be back. That was exciting, so I kicked up to about 70 MPH. I didn't get a ticket like some people. (I heart you, mami!)

I guess home was good. It was good up until today atleast. Leaving is always hard. Not because I don't want to, but because Mom and Dad make it so I feel like getting out of there as fast as I can. After church, we went to Evansville to get me some shoes. (I'm so excited. I got a pair of Vans and a pair of Sauconys. I'm such a poser.) I made the mistake of driving. It's always crazy with Dad in the car. Of course, I couldn't do anything right, and then the stop we made at Thornton's was the straw that broke the camel's toe, I mean, back. I got all disoriented and thought my gastank was on the other side of the car. (It was like that on the ol' Taurus.) Then I couldn't find an open pump. Dad kept yellin' at me, so I stopped the car cross-ways in the Thornton's lot, put it in park, screamed something about "not doing this anymore," and got in the backseat. How's that for a hissy fit? But I can only take so much harrassment. Anyway, that's never a mood to leave home on.

Being back here is cool, but I can't believe we only have a week and a half yet. Finals really don't scare me that much. The way I look at it, they are tests. If I do good, I do. If I don't, I don't. Whatever. But papers. Eh. I have to sit down and make myself do it. Not fun at all. But that's what I'm going to try to do right now. Maybe.

speak kind to a stranger

I spent all day at WalMart. Atleast that's what it felt like. We were there three hours, for real. We got my tires rotated, my film developed, and we got new cell phones. That all took forever. But it's all cool. The Buh-yoo-ick's a smooth ride, I got some good pictures, and I'm loving the new cell phone. For the first time, I have caller ID. So now I'm going to start ignoring your calls.

I have also been to the Pizza Place twice today--which is more than I've been there in the past year. The first time was with Mom, Day, her sister, and her niece. I had some cheese bread. Then when I got home and was all trying to figure out my phone, it rang. Thanks to caller ID, I knew it was Mommie, I mean, Ashley. Her, Holly, and Val were going to the Pizza Place and taking a movie to Ashley's, and she wanted to know if I wanted to join 'em. So I went to Sebree for the second time. We went back to Ashley's, talked to RhinoMo, Meagan came by, and we didn't watch the movie that we rented. But that didn't keep us from getting mad when the DVD kept messing up and wouldn't let us watch the end.

That's about what my day consisted of. Not too interesting. I really should've been home all day doing homework, but what kind of fun is in that? Check back with me when I fail all my classes.

I don't know. I feel like I don't have anything to say, but all the things bouncing around in my head tell me otherwise. But they are questions that can't be answered. At least right now. Kind of things time and hindsight take care of nicely.

Friday, November 28, 2003

exit: light

Well, it looks like I am the last person out of our little web journaling group to post about Thanksgiving. That's weird. I'm usually a bloggin' fool.

So we went to Shoney's. You know, it wasn't bad, but I didn't eat much anyway. I had to save room for supper. That's right, I went with Dale to his Thanksgiving Day family function. He asked me to, so that was cool. I had never been to somebody else's Thanksgiving get-together before, but this was a pleasant first experience. I really like Stanley's family. They reminded me a little of my own and told me they hoped to see me at Christmas. That was a little strange. Me and Dale are strange. For instance, when we left his aunt and uncle's house, we went to Evansville to see a movie. That'd be only the second movie we've seen "just us." He bought my ticket, but informed that I was going to buy his meal at Steak 'n Shake later. Well, Steak 'n Shake was closed, so we went and ate at Jerry's. Yes, the equivalent to the Culver Family Restaurant. I think it was the first time I've been there without my family. Hmm, it was a night of firsts. By the time we left Jerry's, it was something like 2:45 am. Dale talked me into spending the night at his house. He didn't have to pull my arm--I was tired. But we stayed up for another hour or so while he sold me service plans, Norton's Anti-Virus, and SysOps for Best Buy. You know, he's a pretty good salesman. He about had me sold and I wasn't even buying anything. I fell right asleep and was awoken this morning by Dale's computer starting up and my cell phone ringing at the same time. It was my mom. She's out of control. It doesn't matter that I'm twenty years old and that she believes I'm "all grown up." When I'm home, she's got to have a handle on me every second, but she was glad I stayed at Dale's. Mom would rather me spend the night with him than be out on the road up in the wee hours of the morning. Then again, I think she wants me to marry Dale. But as Mom and I have decided, Dale and I are like a couple that has been married for thirty years and is on the verge of divorce. We are just weird.

I kinda miss Murray. I kinda don't. Of course I haven't done a lick of my homework, including reading that retarded book, so I don't want to go back and face academic reality. I just want this semester to be over with. But it sure is going to be wild not being with the Murray crew. Crew like the rowing team. Geri Valesqueza.

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

it might be a quarter-life crisis

Mom and I went with Day to pick up Arenda in Bowling Green today. Her boyfriend brought her that far before he went on home to Alabama. He's cute. But I don't know if I can have her marrying him. Isn't it weird to lust after family?

It's weird being home. Not talking to anyone. It's not so bad though. It's just different than being at school. When we're at school, the only "adults" that we really interact with are professors and the old ladies in Winslow. Everybody around is a kid. Even the people in charge are kids. You know, like RAs and stuff. But then it occurs to me: We're supposed to be adults. Weird times. Can we go back? Like I always say, it blows my mind that at my age, my sister was already married and working full-time for the Journal-Enterprise (such a major publication). I mean, I'm hardly responsible enough to wake myself up in the morning and go to class. And being married? What the world? I've never even had a boyfriend. That's so weird. I am twenty years old, and I've never even casually dated someone. And it's not that I don't want to. I guess I'm too timid to pursue anyone (and I have a hard time even finding someone to pursue), and I don't give off a "hey, look at me, I'm somebody you want to date" vibe. And then I look at people who are in relationships who seem to just be constantly torn apart, and I think to myself, "Do I really want that?" The answer? Yes. I do.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

and under your bed lay a picture long forgotten

Well, I'm home. Things are good. No signs of the 293 Deer. Been talking to my Creole, playing my geeter, and watching John dig. He went to creative writing with me today. He was good fish in class.

I'm really tired, and I don't think I have a whole lot to say besides just kinda checking in. I'm yawning like a mankey.

Ah... A commercial for the Hadi Shrine Circus just came on. Those are some old school memories. I remember being a little, little kid and knowing that the circus happened every Thanksgiving. One year I talked my mom and dad into taking me with just enough time to get to Evansville to see it. That was awesome. The elephants always made me have an asthma attack, but it was always worth it.

Monday, November 24, 2003

maybe i'll sleep inside my coat

Last night I posted my short story Gravel. That was Justin's idea. Anyway, it's not really done. I've been working on it, revising it and stuff. I'm just afraid of reaching the point that adding more is too much.

Oh, yeah. I have once again tried to finagle [I actually looked this up on It's right.] a way to get comments here on my blog. This time, thank you to, I think I have a keeper. The HTMLGear thing didn't work, so I hear. The Chatterbox thing was a joke. Oh, but my SquawkBox. You people better use it. How many times do I have to tell y'all that I'm jealous of the kids with Xangas?

Tomorrow is home thirty, and it's about time. I'm excited. I have a lot I'm supposed to do as far as homework goes, but my true nature will set in and I won't do any of it. That's okay. Maybe I can do it all Sunday and Monday night when I get back. That sounds right.

Well, winter has finally set in. Or wait. Isn't it supposed to get back up in the sixties by the end of this week? What the heck is that? But either way, I got to wear my coat and gloves and hat today. That was fun. I'm not normally the hey-let's-bundle-up type, but today, it was a good time. It wasn't too cold that I had to layer a pair of sweat pants under my jeans. Although that wouldn't have hurt.

Blogging will probably take on a new nature while I'm at home this weekend. Hmm, I hope I have the internet still. I'm sure we do. I signed up for a forty-day free trial from EarthLink. It's been about six months. They still haven't sent us a bill. We'll probably get a bill in a year or so for about eight thousand dollars. That won't be cool. But while it lasts, this free internet sure is.

Sunday, November 23, 2003


My hand was on the horn, and if Hap didn't emerge from his doorway in three seconds, I was going to let it blare for all the neighbors and their dogs to hear. We had been going on these midnight excursions to the abandoned feed-mill on Jack Bailey Road ever since we were kids, and this was the first time I had ever had to wait on Hap. Usually, I only had to stop the truck long enough for him to slide into the seat next to me grinning like he always did when he knew he was doing something he shouldn't. That night, I wondered if maybe he had done something wrong.

. . .

Fowler's Feed Mill had always been mine and Hap's place. We first became mystified by it when we would go there with our fathers. It was still open then. We were maybe six years old, and as any pair of mischievous six-year-old boys would do, we would always sneak off and play. It was a perfect place for hide-and-seek. When that got old, we didn't even have to built forts. We would just cower behind enormous sacks of feed and shoot each other. When one of us, usually me, would accidentally-on-purpose rip a hole in the bottom of a sack and let a pile of grain form on the floor, we had something better than any sandbox. Just as soon as Hap would get all but my face buried in feed, his dad would find us.

"You boys better get out of there." Dragging Hap by his collar and looking back at me, "C'mon, Gabe. Fowler doesn't want kids in here for a reason."

Fowler closed the mill down not long after our dads started bringing us along. Maybe we emptied too many sacks of Sweet Feed.

Hap and I rediscovered the mill the night I talked him into stealing his dad's truck just for kicks. We were fourteen, and Hap had no business driving. I thanked God every time we made it past a pair of oncoming headlights, but when he whipped onto Jack Bailey Road, never hitting the brakes and barely missing the road-bank, my life flashed before my eyes. Frantically grasping at the slick dashboard and fighting the urge to pee down both legs, I convinced him to pull off into the gravel lot of the feed mill. "Here, Hap! Stop here! Now!"

After the dust from the gravel settled and our hearts went back to where they were supposed to be, Hap finally spoke. "Hey, Gabe. Isn't this that feed mill that our dads used to bring us to? Remember, we'd run off and get into trouble." The lettering on the sign was weathered, but I could still make out the name.

"I believe it is."

We told ourselves it was for old time's sake when we got out of the truck to see if we could get inside that shell of a feed-mill, but it was more a matter of keeping our minds off knowing that we'd surely be beat within an inch of our lives when we got home.

I've noticed something in my thirty-one years. When guys experience any kind of emotion at all, we tend to express it by throwing something. If we score a touchdown, we throw the football at the ground. If a girl rips our heart in two, we throw any object we can get our hands on. Then there is the obsession with throwing rocks because they are there. We skip rocks. We forget the skipping altogether and just see if we can clear the river or lake. And if there are old windows that have yet to be broken out, we're bound to chuck rocks at them until we've left our own personal holes in the glass.

Between the two of us, we had to launch something like seven rocks from the gravel lot before we made our mark. After that display of masculinity, we did about the least adventurous thing possible. We opened the front door. It was unlocked. It was always unlocked. It always baffled me that there were no markings to warn trespassers. And for the next seventeen years, not a soul ever bothered us. No one threatened to demolish the broken-down building. It was almost as if there was some sort of cosmic understanding that it was ours. Finders, keepers.

From that night on, any time we'd come across a pack of cigarettes that needed smoking or some firecrackers that needed to be set off, we'd walk out there and take them with us. As we got older, if there was a party that needed throwing, we'd send everyone out to Jack Bailey Road. Hap and I sowed all of our wild oats in the dirt floor of Fowler's old mill. But the mill was more than just a place to wreak havoc.

As we became men, the mill became more of a safe haven. Since Hap's house was between mine and the mill, I would normally come by, pick him up, and we'd head out. About once a week or so, we would go out there just to get away from it all. There were no crying kids or leaky sinks at the mill. There were no bosses to please or townspeople wanting to this, that, and the other. There were just gusts of the night air that rattled the tin roof, asking for nothing more than for me and Hap to stir in the musty mill.

As I headed out the back door one night, I could feel the rusty screen of the storm door on my fingertips and the concern in my wife Sandy's sigh on my shoulders. When I looked over my shoulder, she was drying her hands with the dishtowel and looking at me with curious eyes. "Just what do y'all do out there?" Maybe she didn't believe me when I told her that all we really did was sit out there for hours telling stories, telling lies, and telling the truth. Maybe she thought I was running off to the next town to meet up with a lover. I guess it is an odd habit for two fellas to keep. I kissed Sandy on her forehead, told her I loved her and that I'd be back later, and slipped out the door to go get Hap.

Every once in a while, one of us would cry. When we were kids, those moments were few and far between, but as time passed, things changed and so did we. Caroline Yates broke my seventeen-year-old heart, and I broke Sue Ellen Ramsey's. A long line of girls on the cheerleading squad, yearbook staff, and academic team broke Hap's, but a waitress from the Whip 'n' Dip named Debbie stole it. Hap and Debbie married, and for years, they tried to have children. When the doctors found the cancer in her body, they stopped trying. Sandy and I brought more than enough kids into the world, and if Hap really wanted some, I would have lended him a few. My mother made me promise her, just moments before her tired lungs pushed out their last breath, that I would keep an eye out on Hap. "That boy's going to need you." I guess she was right. He needed me more than he needed my kids. For all of these reasons, salty tears slowly nourished the feed-mill floor.

During those long months when Hap's wife was in the hospital, when the walls of her room started closing in on him and the space of the house was intimidating, he would call me up, and I would spend all night just listening to him tell me about her. As she grew weaker every day, we began going to the mill every night. I didn't do a whole heck of a lot of talking those nights as he told me all of this. I would sit with him on the old counter. I would listen to Hap fall apart. I would listen to the counter creak and groan, threatening to collapse beneath us every time one of us shifted our weight.

He told me how her frail body was almost unrecognizable, lying in that impersonal jail cell of a hospital room. He told me about how he would bring fresh flowers to her room every morning. Even though the tubes seemed to drain the life out of her rather that replenish her, she was able to muster a smile of appreciation. When he spoke of that smile of hers, I was almost able to see it on his face. He loved her, and she loved him. She just couldn't say it.

He told me that as soon as any of those flowers began to wilt, show the slightest sign of giving up, he would quietly whisk them out of the room and into the dumpster behind the hospital. He would bring more in the morning. He prayed, as he tossed each vase of feeble flowers into the dumpster, that he could have one more day to buy flowers.

He stopped buying flowers just three days after Hap and I sat there until golden hints of morning peeked in at us through the cracks in the mill walls.

For several nights after her funeral, Hap didn't want to go to the mill. I can't blame him, but it worried me, him being in that house all by himself. But I didn't push the issue. It just seemed to me that when something was wrong, or something was right, we'd go out there, have a beer, and grow old. So sometimes I would go by myself, but I couldn't bring myself to go in. I'd never been inside without Hap, and it just didn't feel right. I would sit in my truck and watch the chickens. Even though the mill had been shut down for two decades, Wilsey Gaines' chickens from down the road still roamed that vacant lot pecking for corn, but all that grain must be long gone, all pecked away or decayed. I think they just pecked at the gravel. I remember my grandmother telling me that once, that chickens swallowed bits of rock. It helps them digest.

Within a month, Hap was ready to go back. "Gabe, it's time. I can't keep myself holed up in this old house too much longer. I gotta get out. Can you be here in just a few minutes?" I assured him that I could, hung up the phone, and grabbed my keys.

Going out to the mill was like clockwork again. He was so eager to get out there, to find that familiar comfort in aged lumber of the mill walls, I suppose. Every night at 10:35, right after the Channel 9 Nightly News went off, I was in his driveway for no more than two seconds, enough time for him to hop in. He never missed a night. Sometimes, I wished that he would. Those every-night trips almost became a burden. Sandy's sighs kept getting heavier when I'd get up from my recliner and turn the television off. I knew instead hanging off at a run-down mill every night, I should have been at home with my wife and kids, but instead, I remembered what my mother had said and kept an eye out on Hap. He needed me. He needed me to keep him company.

. . .

I went ahead and honked, examining the warm, yellow light that came from every window in Hap's little house. He was still keeping all the lights on to fight the loneliness, but there was no sign of his lean shadow stirring. Where on earth is he?

I killed the engine. Hap's driveway crunched under my boots. It was late November, and we were a couple weeks past the first frost. The gravel and grass glistened in the glow of the security light. Frozen stillness. I neared the house, expecting to feel the warmth that seemed to radiate from it. Despite the cold, I was surprised to see my breath when I called out his name. I ascended his frosty back steps and knocked on the door. "Hap?" I listened, but all I could hear was the buzzing of the security light. I tried the door, but it was locked. It finally occurred to me that he wasn't there. I hadn't noticed that his truck wasn't in the barn.

Before I even neared Jack Bailey Road, I could see the glow. I wasn't quite sure what was going on, but my heart dropped with my foot onto the accelerator. And for a split second, as I swerved onto that country road, I was fourteen-year-old Hap driving his daddy's truck with fear pumping through my veins. I slid into the lot, paralyzed by the hungry flames that had already devoured the feeble old feed mill and were licking the sky, begging it to quench her thirst.

After my heart returned to its normal place and the news went off, I drove out to where the ashes of my wild oats, my tears, and my best friend had finally settled. I threw some rocks from the gravel lot. At nothing in particular. Isn't that what we do to express our emotion? I believe it is.

hair clip

I'm on something like my seventh round of Spider Solitaire. That's a good ol' time. I've been kinda chillin', cronchin' on my leftover ice from Sonic, and talking to Dale. You know, I can really get aggrivated with him sometimes, but in times like now, I'm glad to know he's there. He had just took a break in his hibernation to get some food, and I just happened to catch him. I do miss him. He kinda falls into that category of people I kinda lose track of. We're probably gonna hang out a little over the Thanksgiving break. And he'll probably end up ticking me off somehow. Or I'll have a really good time, and then the first time I talk to him online when I get back, he'll ruffle my feathers. It's inevitable, but he's really one of my best friends.

I am not myself tonight. I straightened my hair for the first time since chili was a nickel tonight. This mess is long. I need a trim atleast. Or maybe I'll get it all cut off. I'm not really sure why I have all this long hair. But I don't know what I'd do with it if it wasn't. Hair. Such a dilemma.

Saturday, November 22, 2003

happy birthday, blog

Woohoo, Winslow waffles. I'm about to pop. And as soon as I get through rambling here, I'm going to hop in the shower. I feel like I have a layer of rodeo on me.

So I just talked to Mom. They're getting ready to go to Nashville to see my aunt, my dad's sister. And she also informed me of a change of plans as far as Thanksgiving goes. I was all prepped to hear that I was indeed going to have the traditional meal, but no. Instead of eating at Cracker Barrel in Calvert, we're going to be eating somewhere in the Henderson-Evansville area. But looking on the bright side, the 293 Deer can enjoy his holiday in peace, without us threatening his life. Mom also told me that she received the John Mayer CD I sent her in the mail and that, if they can figure out how to change discs in Dad's player in his truck, they're going to listen to John on the way to Nashville. How cute is that? My nearly-sixty-year-old parents riding down I-24 in a Ford pick-up listening to John Mayer. I miss 'em. If Murray wasn't quite so out-of-the-way, I would have them stop by on their way down or on their way home. But I'll see them on Tuesday.

I guess I need to call Sissy. She called me last night while we were trying to decide somewhere to eat. Before I knew it, we were going in to ol' August Moon, so I told her I had to hang up. Being the thoughtless, self-absorbed person that I am, I didn't realize that the whole point of the phone call was so that Victoria could talk to me. When I was talking to Mom wallago, she told me that Victoria really wanted to talk to me. I guess it's a going-off-to-college thing, but I have a hard time keeping up with people that aren't here. It's almost an out-of-sight-out-of-mind situation, and I'm probably gonna burn in hell for that. I really need to make more of an effort to keep in touch with those people I love, but don't get to see too often. Like I mentioned a post or two ago, those are the people who are most important to me. Why do I just let those relationships fall apart for these four (coughcoughormorecoughcough) years I'm in college? Because as time passes, it is definitely not going to get easier to mend fences. Just so you know, this has been very revelational for me just now.

To end on more of a celebrative (yes, I made that word up) note, as my title suggests, this is my blog's one month birthday. What a month it has been. Let's look back on my life one month ago today according to my blog entry: It was the first night Justin and Ryan came over and we took a little ride in the back of the Camino to WalMart. That seems so long ago. Who knew...

i want an arena-pro

It has been another pretty good day. Went to class. Winslowed. Hibernated. Shuttled. Rodeo-ed. Been hanging out. I think those are decent ingredients for a recipe for a good day. The rodeo was fun. I wonder how hard it'll be to get this honking "EXPO" stamp off my hand... Ne' was there 'cause Derek rode and she's got the hook-up with all the MSU rodeo alumni. She sat with me the whole time she was there. Drove me nuts. Am I bad? I mean, this woman really just needs to grow up. It's just weird, and I don't like her stalking me like she does. She always gripes about people not leaving the past behind, but I really feel like she is a constant pull to the past. Maybe it's bad that that's what she seems to be to me, but I don't know how to deal with her. As a matter of fact, I've never really been good with dealing with much of anything.

Friday, November 21, 2003

i succumbed

An edited version of what Justin might say in my situation: Screw a bunch of A.S. Byatt. That'd be the author of this stupid, stupid book I'm reading. Yeah, so I'm supposed to have six chapters read by tomorrow. I'm still in chapter four, the chapter I was supposed to have read through for Wednesday. Oh, well, I guess if I just get the idea of the book down before the final, I might be okay.

All this talk of wanting to go home and Thanksgivingy things made me realize something on the way to humanities this morning. Okay, first, you have to know that I've been professing my love for my sister's sweet potato casserole for something like a week now, anticipating it's Thanksgiving Day appearance. But as a craving for Cracker Barrel hit me on the way to class today, I remember. Yep. We're observing the holiday at the new Cracker Barrel in Calvert City. I do love the CB, but what the world? Maybe I'm being a selfish, mindless, college-aged ingrate. But isn't there some sort of law somewhere that states that if you move off to school, you get the royal cornucopia treatment 'round the holidays? But maybe if you aren't pictured in the family portrait, you are exempt from that right. In that case, I would indeed not apply. You know, the BSU does this thing where you can take a foreign exchange student home for Thanksgiving. Do you think I could sign up for that? You know, somebody could take me home?

Okay, please know that I am completely not serious about any of the above. It is true that we are eating at Cracker Barrel. It is true that my family took a portrait without me, but it was under extenuating circumstances that I wholly understand. I'm sure as soon as I get home, I'll wish I was back at school because Mom and Dad will argue over something petty. It always happens. And then I'll get mad over something. And Mom will say that she wishes the dorms hadn't closed so I could've just stayed in Murray. And the gettin'-up-and-goin' to Sissy's on Thursday will inevitably be a big up-roar where Dad threatens not to go, and Mom and I will sit in the driveway, knowing that as soon as he gets his crap together, he'll be in the car in a few seconds. For each of those twenty deadly miles, Dad will be on the look-out for the 293 Deer and swearing that if Mom (or me, if I get the guts to drive) doesn't speed up, slow down, ride the white line more, or ride the yellow line more, we're going to die a deery, deery death. When we roll into Calvert, the fun begins. The variations of somebody-versus-somebody else will ensue immediately. Those battles are all kinds of fun. Or not. I'll be ready to come home come Sunday. But despite every bit of this, and more, I do love my family. Family has always been very important to me. I was never a friend-oriented person until a few years ago. But it seems like so much changes. And sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on my family these days. I love my friends and all, but as sad as it is, they oftentimes come and go. But family is a different story, at least for me. I know some people's families really aren't much to be desired, and their friends are the only family they have. I'm glad to say I have both. But I have this fear of losing both, too. It's so jarring to me that someday, my parents will be gone. And I really don't know when that will be. I do have older parents. But they don't seem that old. Well, at least my mom anyway. My dad might as well be eighty for all the griping and carrying on about the weather that he does, but he's in pretty good health for an almost-sixty-year-old dude. But my mom is still very young at heart. We are really close. She's always been my best friend, in a mommie-sort-of-way. And I don't know what I'd give if I could just sit and talk to her right now.

(Why all the depressing blogs, folks?)

Thursday, November 20, 2003

love's great...when you're not in it

Today has been quite alright. It's strange. I normally don't care so much for Tuesdays and Thursdays, but they've kinda been good lately. Humanidades always sucks, but there's nothing quite as fun as drawing our little comedic renditions of people and suicidal states on notebooks, folders, and the pages of Western Literature. I took my Spanish oral exam. I rocked it pretty darn hard. And can I mention how much I love my creative writing class? Today, we decided that we need to have ENG214-02 reunions next semester. I would so be up for that. As long as KT and DH aren't invited. EDP was, well, eh. The best part is that we got out fifteen minutes early, but I didn't get back to the room until about five minutes later than I normally would have because I saw Michelle on the footbridge. We stood there and talked about sexy Hovie for like twenty minutes. I do think I'm going to send her a Fresh Ink card when she graduates. She's kinda my mentor. She's a senior English major, so she's always hooking me up with advice.

I have to make a very embarrassing confession. A couple minutes ago, I was in here by myself 'cause Mary was braiding Holly's hair over there on the other side of the toilet. I was getting ready to wash my hands, and "The Middle" was on Holly's RealPlayer. Well, there for a couple seconds, I decided to get-down on some air guitar. As I was striking one serious chord, I cracked the knuckles of three of my fingers on the sink. Boy, did that hurt like a mankey. It didn't really help that those are the same three fingers I shut in the bathroom door yesterday. I'm about clumsy.

I got my Michael Peterson CD today. I'm so excited. First of all, I love mail, especially packages. Second of all, I bought the tape after I saw him in concert (opening with the Dixie Chicks for Clay Walker) back freshman year of high school. It was an awesome tape, but I really don't have a clue what happened to it. A week or so ago, I got this unresistable urge to get the CD, so I ordered it off of for something like $3.50. That's including shipping. The CD itself was just a dollar. How amazing is that? And it's flawless. It wasn't still wrapped, but there isn't a single scratch on it anywhere. Yay,!

Well, I guess I'm gonna crack down and read that stupid book for English. I told Holly I can't go to her tournament game because I have to read. And I really do. So besides the fact that my professor is expecting me to have read it, I better keep my word to Holly.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003


It's Wednesday, right? That means it's productive day. I came back from lunch with every intention of being productive. I was going to do my web visit for EDP, read the people's short stories I'm supposed to read for tomorrow, and study for the Spanish oral exam I have tomorrow at 1:30. I sat down, seriously, to do it all, but what did I do? I laid down and took a three hour nap. So my day's been productive, wouldn't you say?

Okay. Here seems just as good of a place as any to write about this kinda flashback I've been having lately. It's one of those very vivid memories that you don't realize you have until you remember them until nearly fifteen years later. I'm guessing it's either been fifteen years or a couple less:

I'm a small kid like I said, probably more like six or eight years old. I'm sitting in the back of my dad's little, rusted-out, yellow Toyota pickup truck. It's parked under the hickory nut tree. This is at the "farm," as we call it. I guess it's a farm. It's surrounded by our farmland. That's where I lived until fourth grade. So I'm sitting in the back yard in the back of Dad's truck under this tree, and I'm listening to some old, old, old Judy Garland tape (it was a white tape--I remember) on my headphones. Of course, the only song on it that I knew was "Over the Rainbow," so I just keep rewinding the tape and listening to that song over and over.

It's a strange little memory. But just the other day, I remembered it so clearly. I was basically an only child because my sister got married when I was seven. I never had playmates at home, so I always entertained myself in strange ways. I was always partial to trees and vehicles. Weird, I know. I mean, I never climbed the trees or anything, but I would always find one in particular to sit and play under. The one at home was the hickory nut tree. The one at Nana's house, I don't even know what kind of tree it is. But we, me and her grandsons, called it "heaven." It's funny to me that I could go up to either one of those boys and mention "heaven" to them, and they would know exactly what tree I was talking about. And about the cars. I don't know. During temperate weather, I would go and sit in my mom's car or in the back of my dad's truck pretending. I was a big make-believer. I guess I had to be.

But I just want to say that it is somewhat of an eerie feeling to suddenly have childhood memories, ones that you didn't know were there, but as soon as you remember, you know without a doubt that it happened. I do that a lot. I guess what makes it weird is that I never really know what I might remember.

goo daddy

Today has been alright. You know, besides all the tornadic activity and having to traipse through the four and a half feet deep lake that is Murray State University's campus. It didn't really hurt my feelings too much that we didn't get to BarbCobb's class until 10:00. Forty-five minutes of her is plenty. I swear. And then Hovie gave me my short story back. He gave me an A for the first draft. I'm really excited about that. Justin says I should post it on here. Maybe I'll do that after I do my revision. Orrr [cue light bulb above my head] I could post my first draft on here and then take suggestions on revision. Ah, yeah, right. I'll post it eventually. Maybe.

Tonight we rolled out to Ben Ton. That was a barrel of mankeys with Pizza Hut and the bonus room. Never lets ya down. Isn't that a slogan for beer or something?

I should be reading four chapters of Possession for ENG221 for tomorrow. That book about equals suck. On the back, there's a quote from a critic that says something like "One of the year's best books!" It must've been the only book he or she read that year. Maybe I'll post & publish and then read a page or two ('cause that's as far as I'll get before I gouge my eyes out) of that book before I go to bed. Or maybe I'll just go to bed.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

don't stop, get it, get it

I have a headache out of this world. And I ask myself why I am sitting here staring at this bright computer screen posting. It really helps matters. But somehow, I don't think the computer screen is the cause of the headache. It could be the immense heat in here. Or it could be these words: In the hot tub, bubbly.

I feel so very carefree right now. Okay, that sounded about like the gayest thing I've ever heard. But I just really don't care about much right now, and I don't feel too guilty for it. That's a first. I am oftentimes apathetic, but not actually. It's more like procrastination, but that doesn't keep me from worrying. Yeah, I might not be doing my homework and furthering my life, but that doesn't mean I'm not worrying about it. But this very moment, I'm not feeling too stressed. "But this morning, there's a calm I can't explain. The rock candy's melted. Only diamonds now remain." Okay, not really, but that's the lyric that popped in my head.

So I'm not feeling too wordy. I don't have much to say, but I'm all addicted to this blogging thing (I keep wanting to call it xangaing, but then I remember, I don't have a xanga). Therefore, even if it's just a few lines, I have to post. So here it is. In all its crappy glory.

Monday, November 17, 2003

los pollos de mi cazuela

Today definitely qualifies as a better day. I turned that piece o' junk research paper in, so now it's out of my hands and no longer hanging over my head. I scheduled my classes. That went surprisingly well. I called as soon as the lines opened for my group, got through, and scheduled without a problem -- all in ten minutes. That, in and of it self, is a reason to go party. Then I went to Spanish where I learned I got As on both my test and my in-class composition. And after lunch, I came back and took a really long siesta. It's a great day to be a Mexican.

Sunday, November 16, 2003

32 ways to kill time

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Cassidy.
3. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Whatever is on PBS. It's still on from where we watched Austin City Limits.
4. WHAT ARE THE LAST 4 DIGITS OF YOUR PHONE NUMBER? Home is 6457. Dorm is 4869. Cell is 1994. Take your pick.
6. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Bittersweet. Do they still make that color?
7. HOW IS THE WEATHER RIGHT NOW? Nice and cool. Good for my window to be open.
8. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My creole to make sure she didn't fall asleep during ACL.
9. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX? Eyes and hair. Don't know what the deal with hair is. There is also the shoe-to-pant ratio (a lot like Holly's hair-to-mouth ratio, which also can be important). And then there is this wrist fetish I often get accused of having... But truthfully, eyes and hair.
10. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THIS? Well, I'm ripping off Justin. Yes, I like him. Didn't I declare tonight that I like retarded people?
11. HOW ARE YOU TODAY? Strange. In denial of the stress I should be experiencing.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DRINK? Sweet tea, Mountain Dew. Those are probably my top two, but I'm not picky. Oh, I'm all about some chocolate milk. And English toffee cappucino.
14. FAVORITE SPORTS? I'm sure you would never believe this, but I don't play sports.
15. HAIR COLOR? Brown.
16. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, and I was just commenting the other day on how I am so surprised that I don't.
17. FAVORITE MONTH? October, and not just because my birthday's in it. I love fall.
18. FAVORITE FOOD? I never know what to say to this question, so I'll just say what wild and crazy food my taste-buds have just taken to: cottage cheese with pineapple.
19. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Yesterday afternoon I put The Count of Monte Cristo in, but I fell asleep halfway through. I can't believe I missed the sword fight at the end...
20. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR? I don't know, but I'm going to throw out there that holidays aren't my favorite. There is something so surreal about holidays that I don't enjoy them like most people. I think I try too hard to think "Hey, I'm supposed to really be loving this day!" that it's over before I've really had a chance to enjoy it. Does any of that make sense?
21. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT? Put simply: Yes. That could explain a lot, I guess.
22. SCARY MOVIE OR HAPPY ENDINGS BETTER? Though I don't necessarily see these as binary opposites, I'm gong to go with happy endings. I'm not much on scary movies.
23. SUMMER OR WINTER? Winter, I guess, but I'm more of the non-extreme-season type. Spring and fall, right here.
24. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs are good. Kisses would be nice.
25. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS? Never really had either, but I'm putting my money on relationships.
26. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Either, but I've been on a chocolate kick here lately.
27. DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO WRITE BACK? (I'm just going to answer these questions according to who will post it on their webjournal, mmkay?) I love reading other people's responses to these things.
28. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Holly might do it. I don't know.
29. WHO DO YOU THINK IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Ashley because she's a slacker and doesn't do her xanga anymore.
30. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS? Reppin' the Springer 2E in the 231 half of the Freak Suite with Holly Nicole.
31. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING AT THE MOMENT? The College English academic journal. Atleast that's what I need to be reading for my research paper.
32. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? I don't have a mouse pad technically. It's a laptop, so it's a touch pad. But if you want to know, it's all greasy and dirty. Lord-only-knows what is embedded in my keyboard...

Saturday, November 15, 2003

talkin' 'bout good things and singin' the blues

If you ever want to feel like you are in a fine combination of a time warp and an alternate universe, go to Waterfield Library on a dark, rainy Saturday afternoon. It'll work every time. I would almost rather not turn in a research paper and fail ENG221 than spend another minute in that place. I had to get out of there before I went nuts. I know it's a library and all, but it was so dang quiet. I need some sort of noise, I guess because all we do around here is listen to music. (Or maybe I can blame it on Dixon Elementary.) I swear, I started making copies of periodicals just to hear the copy machine run.

So Justin came by tonight. Always a good time. I finally played a little guitar for him. I get all nervous about playing infront of anyone who has the least bit of guitar-playing skill because I feel inadequate or whatever. I know, I have no confidence at all. Anyway, we got all mesmerized by watching Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion, and that somehow prompted a good ol' Webco yearbook lookin'-at. It's always fun when non-Webcoians look at the yearbook and point to who they think is hot. You never know what to expect. Adrienne and Michael Smith ring a bell?

I've been eating at really strange times. Today? 3:00 and 11:30. What is that? I guess if I didn't sleep half the day... Anyway, after running through McD's, I was walking back into Springtown from my car I heard a curious yet familiar noise coming from the Hester slash College Courts region. I looked up and there was the biggest gaggle of geese I have ever seen in my entire existence flying south, or more like southwest. I guess this comes from my mom's thing about thinking honking geese are precious combined with being friends with Dale, but I just think they are beautiful.

I'm listening to a little SRV right now. John Mayer was on Austin City Limits with Buddy Guy and Double Trouble tonight. [Note: It was taped the night before the concert we went to.] That prompted me to dust of my Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble CD, but I'm listening to Life By The Drop at the moment. I really love this song. It's one of those that kinda makes you reminisce and stuff. It's also one of those that makes you want to learn how to play it. According to Justin, I shouldn't play other people's songs, but shoot, I don't know how to write music. Maybe I should try. Maybe I will right now. Or maybe I'll just look up the tabs to Life By The Drop.

Friday, November 14, 2003

blogging: what i do when my roommate's not here

So I got this really cool idea to blog in rhyme, but you know, that's much more work than I'm willing to put forth. Maybe someday.

I went to ESO's poetry reading. I didn't realize it was raining. Walking from my car to Fine Arts and back was a little cold and wet, but that always makes for nostalgia. The reading was good. Boy, there are some interesting people out there in the world of English. And I wonder, do I belong? Eh, probably so. Speaking of weird, when I got inside Fine Arts, I hopped on an elevator, and I was glad to hear another girl asking me to hold the elevator for her. It's a little creepy being on the elevator in Fine Arts. By yourself. At night. So we only make it up to the second floor (we were going to the sixth), when the car stops and some fellow reminiscent of Norman Bates steps in and asks us to hit seven. The elevator door proceeds to close, but just as it gets closed, it opens again. The other girl keeps hitting "Close Rear Door," and it keeps closing. And opening. And closing. And opening. We were already late for the reading, so we thought, anyway. The guy gets off and goes I-don't-know-where. We get off and get into the other elevator, with a fully operational door, that stops on the third floor where a foreign maintenance guy thinks he's found the elevator that needs working on. We inform him that he's got the wrong elevator, he thanks us, and we finally make it to the sixth floor.

I love walking into that art gallery. You can smell the art. And I mean that in all seriousness. I don't know if it is the smell of pastels, charcoal, oil paint, and linseed oil or what, but art has a smell. It's a very comfortable smell to me. I have just diagnosed myself as utterly weird.

Anyway, I saw something tonight that made me want to do the post in rhyme, poetry, something. But since that didn't work out, I decided to haiku it. Seeing as she is the be-all and end-all of poetry, I'm going to take Ann Neelon's word for it and claim that even though this doesn't fit the traditional 5-7-5 form of haiku, it is still haiku.

Twenty-five miles per hour
Yellow lights flash in beat
With Bigger than My Body

no way november will see our goodbye

[10:38 am]

I really hate not being able to blog, so I'm sitting upstairs with the periodicals in Waterfield writing this in my ENG221 notebook. On my way back to this secluded corner I'm sitting in, I stopped by the newspaper shelf. I spent something like ten minutes just looking at the past month and a half's front pages of The Gleaner. Now I have soy ink up to my elbows. I miss home. Not really in a homesick sort of way, but more like having the strange realization that life at home still goes on without me. I guess I think there is this little sphere that kinda follows me wherever I go and that's all there is to the world. But no, there is a little place called home that still exists, and I miss it. I love it. It's really weird. When I think about being home, I think about going to Henderson. And when I think about going to Henderson, I think about WalMart. Maybe it's because it's one of the few old-school, completely un-super WalMarts still in existence. But by the time I graduate (six, seven years from now), there'll be a Super WalMart out on 60. People in Henderson are fighting like mad to keep that thing from moving in. Why?, I ask myself. Super WalMart is the stuff. But then again, Hendo's regular WalMart has to be the coolest of the uncool. I will indeed miss it. I might shed a tear.

So in my old age, I've learned that I space out a lot. Like remember when we were kids (because we aren't still?) and you're all looking at somebody and they ask you if you have a staring problem? Yeah, well, I think I do. Seriously. I have these little seizures, as Val calls them, all the time. It's particularly bad when I'm walking to and from class by myself. I was walking between Fine Arts and Oakley [insert universal sign for that sidewalk], and Rosemary broke me out of my gaze to say hi. I don't even want to know what retarded look I had going on my face.

Okay, I would like to mention how incredibly ridiculous I am. As I am hand-writing this, I'm going back and editing it, with little arrows and brackets and all. I should probably stop before I hurt myself. But before I do, I want to comment on how weird I am about being prophetic. That's not really what it is, I guess, but I experience "paranormal coincidences" all the time. What provoked this was me noticing the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association's Journal. Just yesterday I heard of ASHA, as it is called for short, for the first time as Lesil was explaining her CDI research project to Ashley. Now, how weird is it that of all the journals in this library, I chose to sit directly infront of that one? Hmm, what are some of my other examples? I have this really creepy thing where I think about people less that thirty seconds before I see them. In the past couple days I've done that with "Amy Ramage," JT Fuhrmann, Lauren B., and Bo. That's a strange assortment of people. THEN, there's the whole Atticus/Finch/Atticus Finch phenomena that is just too confusing to explain. See, when I think about these things, I don't realize that they are going to come to pass until they do, so I can't prove anything. But it's some scary crap. I've always done it, but it's been happening A LOT this week. Hmm. Wonder what that means?

Anyway, I've been sitting here half writing and half staring off into space, and now it's time to go to Spanish. Maybe I'll find out how I did on that test.

[PS - No. I didn't get my test back. It'll be Monday.]
[PPS - I saw Kenny Cat "walking" today. He was putting his Celebrity Limited Edition in the back of his van. I may have been earning me some hell points because I do think he needs that thing.]

Thursday, November 13, 2003

you can't love too much one part of it

Well, I have this time when I usually have class, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to blog. I mean, I've already been productive enough today, right? For starters, I went to humanities. That's being a good student. Then I came back and did my David Laundryere. I typed up my "research paper" so I atleast have something to take to English tomorrow. I decided that I'm probably going to take COM181 even though it's not going to bring me closer to graduation, but I wouldn't say that it's not going to further my education. We all need to learn about interpersonal communications, right? Anyway, so now I've figured out my fifteen hours for next semester, starting everyday at 9:30 and finishing everyday in the 12:00 hour, except for that COM lab. I'm a little confused about that. But anyway, that's a good time. Went to lunch. Came back and got my Local-83 membership kit. That makes me completely fourteen years old. I love it. I played a leetle geeter. Now I'm sitting here listening to Heavier Things. John Mayer has been invading MSU's campus, might I add. We saw a Heavier Things 2003 Tour tshirt this morning. And when we were leaving HUM this morning, the fella Holly and I conveniently refer to as "John Mayer" was singing "You can't love too much one part of it..." from Wheel. Always puts a smile on my face. Why am I fourteen?

Speaking of being a child, I'm a copycat. I'm all jealous of those kids with the Xangas, so I added me a little feature there at that bottom of each of my posts where you can send me comments. It's not like I really write much of anything worth commenting on, but I gotta keep up with the Joneses, you know. I guess it would be easier to just transplant myself to, but I'm no traitor. Keepin' it real with Blogger. It takes a little more work, but I can also do all that "currently playing" business.

Currently Playing:
Heavier Things by John Mayer

+Split-Screen Sadness

Okay, that was just too much work, and it looks like crap. Ah, why do I need to put that on here anyway? Y'all already know the only music that plays in the 231 is John Mayer...

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

dela is climbing the walls

[Mmkay. I wrote this first part earlier, but accidently clicked "draft" before I posted it. I couldn't figure out why it wasn't showing up. Now I know.]

It's all dark and rainy and quiet, and I love it. I don't really have any assignments gnawing at me for the moment, and it's beautiful. I love just sitting here and listening to the quiet. I don't know how I was ever bored. That's saying the state of having nothing to do is bad, but oh, how I beg to differ. There's hardly anything better.

Today was alright. I think I did a lot better on that Spanish test than I originally thought I would. I went and talked to Hamurabi. He's about the most worthless advisor on the face of the planet, so between me, my MAP report, the Murray Bible, and Advisor Holly, maybe I'll graduate some day. Maybe I won't. Eh.

After I blogged last night, Becca came by. It's been long time, no see, lemme tell ya. Especially since we used to be best friends. We went down in history as a statistic when, after we were roommates for one solitary semester, we basically quit talking altogether. I guess the fact that she moved to Hester didn't help, but not to say that it was all her fault. There was some kind of strange tension between us during Christmas break last year, and that, I think, perpetuated the deterioration of the friendship. But it was really good to see her. I love her to death, but I guess we just were not meant to be roommates. I don't really think what happened was anyone's fault. I think we kinda grew up and out of each other. When we see each other, we always still laugh. We have so many memories, but they seem to have faded into the background of my mind. It's so weird how people come in and out of our lives. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this. And I really don't have anything else to say right now, so maybe I blog later when I can form a coherent thought.

[This is now.]

So Cranium Fest fell through. Who knows what happened, but you know, I'm cool with that. I don't know that I was really in the mood to play. I'm more in kind of a laid-back, chillin' mood. However, I did hang out over in the other side of the Freak Suite for a little while. Me and Lesil belted out some good ol' crunchy music, as her cheap little three-hole punch served as my guitar, microphone, bow, and fiddle. Her multi-purpose instrument was her keyboard wrist rest (I guess that's what you'd call it). That's about as wound up as I got tonight. That's as good as it gets.

I could almost convince myself to go to bed early tonight. I don't really have anything to do for tomorrow. Do I ever do anything for humanities? If you said no, you get a gold star (thank you, Lewis). And I don't have creative writing. Paaarty. And I really don't know if I've ever done much of anything for EDP. So I have this huge break from like 11:00 until 4:00 tomorrow. Sounds like a good time to sleep, if you ask me. I don't know. I'll probably go meet Justin at 3:20 because that's just the way things work. Of course, if he decides not to show up, I might beat him within an inch of his life. Because I'm like that. You know, a violent, begrudging person.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003

i'm okay if you're okay with wastin' time

*sigh* It feels good to breathe. When I'm stressed out about doing something, I don't breathe until I've finished. So right now, I should not be breathing, but I am.

Today has been an interesting day to be me in the world of academia. We started things off right in Humanities. [Note: You'll probably never hear me say that again.] I got an 85 on a paper that I didn't even watch the movie that it was over. I racked up 5 points of extra credit by displaying my Rule of Thirds skills-- thank you, Cat-Dawg. That pushed my test grade of 92 up to a 97. And we're all cool. Until I have to come back to the room to finish up that short story. I called upon the muses and got the last-minute-crunch adrenaline a-flowing. It worked. I was a page short, but you know, what can you do? But right before I got to enjoy the satisfaction of turning that draft in, I was handed my long-awaited graded poetry revisions. Yeah, I got a B+ on them and the poetry part of the class altogether. Must I reiterate? I probably deserve a B+. I should be happy with that. But I have sources that tell me some people who did not deserve As did indeed receive them. Looks like I'll be slashing some tires tonight. With all of that out of the way, it was time to prepare for tomorrow. I was supposed to have three pages of my research paper done. But in a vision, I remembered ol' Marcie Johnson saying that this draft could be hand-written. So what if that three pages of crap I wrote doesn't have sources, even though that was the whole purpose of the assignment? Now I should be studying for that Spanish test tomorrow. Luckily, I know that I'm not going to be alone when it turns me over its knee and rips me a new one. My whole class is sucking it up. But that's probably not going to stop me from attempting to slit my wrist (the correct way, of course) with the test paper. It'll probably take all class period, so I'm probably just going to hand Mica a blank, slightly bloody test. That'll get me far in life. Oh, yeah, and I'm sorry for that graphically morbid mental image I just gave you.

Enough whining, right? I guess so. But my life is so boring that it's about all I know to do right now. This semester is whoopin' my tail. Not so much that I'm not going to do well, but it's taking a lot out of me to do it. Of course, all of this would be easier if I didn't just waste all my time away. But what fun would that be? I just tell myself that when due dates and test dates come around, I either have my homework done or I don't, I'm either studied up or I'm not, and when that date has passed, it has passed. (Anybody feeling a little Epictetusy?) I have to ask myself, is it really worth getting all worked up over? Most of the time, the answer is no. I just wish I could convince myself of that.

Monday, November 10, 2003

because i have no original ideas

current clothing: My new Heavier Things Tour 2003 longsleeve tshirt that I'm oh-so-excited about with my Berea College Fall Preview tshirt under it. My new jeans from WalMart that I don't really like, but I bought them because I needed them.
current mood: I'm really stressed and a little jumpy. And it's my favorite mood. It's called watch-out-I-might-cry-at-any-moment.
current taste: Hmm. The number six from BK I just ate?
current hair: 'Froin' it as usual. It's all fuzzy and wadded up in a pony-tail-ish formation.
current annoyance: John's whining in the live version of Comfortable we have. I love him, but sheesh.
current smell: I smell like Corvette Lanes. That's promise.
current thing you ought to be doing: Many, many things. My short story for one. It's due in eighteen hours. I hope my bra holds out.
current jewelry: None. I don't do jewelry much.
current book: The next book I have to read is Possession. I think Michelle, Jennie, and I are going to rent it from Blockbuster. So much for that book...
current refreshment: Well, I did have the Burger Kink, but its remains are in the garbage can right outside Springer.
current worry: Getting this story done and surviving the rest of this week. It's-a gonna be rough.
current crush: It's been a while since I've really had a crush, I guess. I don't wanna talk about love, 'kay?
favorite celebrity: Doesn't this question kinda stick out? We got all these "current"s, and them BAM! There's a "favorite". I don't know. Celebrity? John Mayer, of course.
current longing: To be done with this semester. I've really enjoyed it, but I'm starting to get a little frazzled with it.
current music: Well, you know, when I first started to answer this question, Man on the Side was playing, but then I had to use the bathroom. Now we got Sucker. Good stuff.
current wish: That I didn't have to do any homework and I could sit here and play guitar.
current lyric in your head: I don't really have any mental lyric conflicting with what I'm hearing, so the words to Sucker. "Your tired words, your tired words are all the same...."
current makeup (if you're a girl!): Whatever's left from about 9:00 this morning, which is not much at all. It wasn't much to begin with.
current undergarments: Some WalMart goods. I'm not even sure.
current regret: Pulling out infront of those three cars as I was turning left onto Chesnut. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't guess I looked. Anyway, I still feel like I'm about to have a heart attack.
current desktop picture: Mankeys runnin' free.
current plans for tonight/weekend: Um, tonight I have to finish that story. And this weekend? Well, Holly and Val are rollin' out for UK. I figure I'll stay here, do some homework, and watch these four walls close in on me.
current cuss word du jour: There for a couple days I was kinda dropping bombs all over the place, but I'm trying to stop. But you can only imagine the words that flew out of my mouth as I went up on two when I pulled out infront of that car.
current disappointment: With the mood I'm in, I can go into a lot of disappointments that I'm sure this question wasn't even referring to. I'm gonna just keep movin'...
current amusement: As far as entertainment goes, me and Holly are really strange about just sitting here and rockin' out to some music. I didn't realize how odd that is until the day that Adrienne pointed that out. But we're all cool. It's a good time.
current IM/person you're talking to: I'm not talking to anyone. I have my messenger set to away. Yes. I leave it there even when I'm at my computer. So?
current love: Round Two of my favorite songs on Heavier Things. Here's to you Clarity, Split-Screen Sadness, and Only Heart.
current obsession: John, of course.
current thing or things on your wall: Lots of random stuff. Plenty of music posters. Pictures. I don't know. Go read Holly's.
current favorite book: The Murray Bible. Not really, but I've been seeing a lot of it lately.
current favorite movie: Mmmkay. I always say The Count of Monte Cristo to answer this question. But I haven't watched it in forever, so I feel like I don't have the right to claim it anymore.

and then i found twenty dollars

I've been working on this short story, and I'm not feeling so good about it. I don't know, I think it'll be alright, I just gotta get going. I figure I'll have a creative enlightenment at about 1:30 on Tuesday. The story is due at 2:00. Whatever works.

I keep getting distracted by the box my new guitar tuner is in. I keep catching it out of the corner of my eye and thinking, hey, that looks like a box of condoms. It really does. I guess I could put it in my guitar case. But that would make too much sense.

I just hung my Springer-Franklin udai up on the bed post. Nothing like the smell of stale cigarettes and grease. No, really. I declared tonight that I enjoy second-hand smoke. What the crap is wrong with me? But it's true. I've inhaled it all my life. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I'm addicted to it, but I don't really mind it so much. What I do mind is the way someone smells after they've sucked down a cigarette. Or sat in Log Cabin for a while. Anyway, about hanging up my hoodie, it about looked like Wednesday in here earlier. We decided that this room was out of control and we'd clean it up a little before Justin and Ryan got here. (Don't feel special. We really just used y'all as an excuse to put all of our junk up where it needed to be.) But I didn't make my bed, but I guess the least I could do before I crawl in it is remove all the stuff that I wouldn't normally sleep with. *surveys bed to look for more inappropriate objects* Oh, look. There's Michelle's short story, oh, and my comb under my pillow. Sheesh.

Hmm. There's a John Mayer Haiku Contest with first prize being tickets to any show of choice with a meet and greet. Wouldn't that be awesome? Maybe I should submit some. You know, Ann told me that my haikus were the best poetry I wrote in class. But what does she know? If that woman doesn't give me my grade on my revisions this week I think I'll hunt her down and...

Sorry. I guess I need to calm down. Despite that fat cup of cappucino I just had, I think I'm going to try to go to sleep, but I'll probably just end up lying there thinking of John haikus. Catch y'all on the flipside, homes(es).

Sunday, November 09, 2003

what's going on

As usual, I'm blogging when I have much more "important" things to do. This being a fabulous means of procrastination, but this time, it doesn't feel like procrastination. I just really don't want to do my work. I'm just in a weird mood, not saying that my lack of work ethic constitutes a weird mood, however. But I sit here and think of all the stuff I have to do in the next month and I get something not unlike nauseaous. But then I think, hey, in a month all this stuff will be gone. Then I get excited, but then again, I get sad. Christmas break means being home. I love home, I do, but I love being here. This semester has been so different, in a good way. Due to circumstance, if that's what you want to call it, I think I've grown up in a couple ways. I can say that, but I can't really put my finger on examples of what I'm talking about. But I've also made so many new friends. Going home means not being able to see them. But getting away is good. I'm all for retreating out of a place you've been for so long. But sometimes, when you come back, what used to feel right feels foreign. Some aspects of home are starting to feel that way. I guess it's a "life goes on" situation. I've moved on. People at home have moved on. I shouldn't expect everyone to be on the same page anymore.

My sister called this morning (well, okay, it was like 1:00 pm, but I hadn't been up long, so this morning). She was on her way home from some women's Christian retreat thing. She was so excited. And she told me she wanted me to go next year, and the strangest feeling washed over me. The physical response to that feeling was me rolling my eyes. I just rolled my eyes at my sister's suggesting that I go to this retreat! (Before, of course, saying, "yeaaah...") What has gotten into me?! I can say that I feel like I've grown up a lot this year (not just this year, and last year, too), but I know I can say that I don't feel like myself anymore. The identity that I once had, the part of me that gave me peace in knowing that being me is going to be okay, I've somehow been giving it little, unnoticed pushes off this proverbial cliff. I'm not saying I used to be a religious nut-case and it's time to get back to that. No. I'm saying I'm a Christian and I've somehow lost sight of that, all the while playing some little hey, I can do Christiany things and it looks good game. It's a mindset that I've lost, or maybe it's a heartset.

Sorry, I didn't mean to subject you to my soul-searchings, but I guess you read this to see what's going on in my life. And there it is.

Saturday, November 08, 2003

they played trumpet to it

Honestly, I don't know how to start this blog, but I guess I can say that I've just had the best (and weirdest) last twenty-seven hours of my life.

I can start out by saying that Illinois is about the weirdest state on the face of the planet. A prime example of this weirdity would be Cagle's Phillips 66 gas station in Vienna. Lauren wasn't feeling too hot and me and Holly had to pee, so I pulled off at this little gas station. It looked really promising--except for the ominous rope with orange tape dangling from it that crossed the entrances to the parking lot, but one of them had been knocked down. I barrelled on through. Shoulda been my first clue. Turns out we all barge in there and use the bathroom and the place hasn't even opened for business yet. We finally figured it out when there was nothing on the shelves and all the vehicles in the parking lot were construction trucks. Oh, well. Besides the fact that there were no mirrors in them, the bathrooms were nice.

After about a million miles and every John Mayer CD, we arrive in Champaign, but we really don't have a clue how to get to Assembly Hall. We took a few turns by instinct, followed a few sign, and then there it was. The Great LloydShip. AKA Assembly Hall. It was so effortless that we thought maybe we weren't in the right place, but we were. We go in, by our precious tshirts and stickers, have a seat, take out lives, plot them out in black and white. No, really, we took our seats and met Cindy Lauper, or AssCrack, if you will. I feel the need to call this woman a non-trad. I guess, in a sense, she was. I don't know how old this woman was or how many drugs she has done or is currently doing, but she felt the need to talk to us the entire hour before Teitur came on. It got to the point that we all started feigning serious conversation just so she wouldn't talk to us. Then the greatest thing happened. A tall, shadowy figure walked out on stage to introduce Teitur, the opening act. It was John! It caught us all so off guard we about wet ourselves. And then there was Teitur. He was really good. We're looking into getting his CD. After he finished up, we sat around waiting for John, and with my little binocs I spot none other than the infamous H. Scotty Crowe. After he worked the floor for a while, pimping like a mad-mad, Holly and I decided that you only live once. We walked down to the edge of our section and hollered for him. We had our cameras in hand, ready to snap a picture of our favorite road-journalist. He finally looks at us, waves, smiles an unconvincing smile, and keeps going--seeing we were wanting to take picture. That bung-hole! I'm sorry I didn't have a boob hanging out for him to caress. I wash my hands of you, Scotty. But before we knew it, it was John Mayer thirty and commenced the best concert I've ever seen in my life. He was awesome. We stood and sang the whole time. Well, except for the times we decided to protest the songs that we didn't want to hear. My momma sat there with her high-powered binoculars zoomed in on lord-only-knows-what, except for when he sang Your Body Is A Wonderland. She jumped up and wished she could sing along. I think the only line she knows is "bubble gum tongue" (uh-uh-uhng). We all had a fabulous time. There is so much detail I could go into, but I just don't what to say. I love him. The band was awesome. The horns were great. JJJ is a phenomenal drummer, and hey, he's quite hot. I have a concern though. What was dela's deal? He hid the whole time. He and John didn't interact at all. Are they breaking up? I can't bear the thought. Anyway, it was a really personal show. Maybe he feeds all those lines and heart-to-hearts to all of his audiences, but I'm gullible and don't care. For those Any Given Thursday fans out there (and I ask myself if there would be any AGT fans reading this...), he went for a shoe-tying. The second time he's done that on stage, he says. I feel very special. John, can I marry you? Please?

Since I did all the driving up there, Mom drove home. I tried to sleep, but it didn't work so well. We couldn't stop listening to all the songs and recalling moments from the show. Oh, and how much we love him. We kept saying it as if the other people in the car didn't know or don't love him equally as much.

Okay, I guess I need to do some stuff. Like take a shower. Maybe it'll heat me up. It's something close to .73 degress in here, maybe less. But before I go, let me pull a Scotty (even though my love for him is over) and give you the setlist from the show.

No Such Thing
My Stupid Mouth
City Love
Covered in Rain
Bigger Than My Body
Something's Missing
Great Indoors
Why Georgia
New Deep
Come Back To Bed
Your Body is a Wonderland
Tracing (solo)
Daughters (trio)
St. Patrick's Day

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

she be zapatoin'

It's been something of a long day. And it went like this. Classes, lunch, nap, a lot of ambiguous time that I don't remember, supper, and a million hours of studying for humanities. I think my brain is going to fall out. Now I'm doing some laundry.

Oh, yeah. I just remembered how I spent a lot of that time I couldn't remember. I argued with Dale over my major. So I am an English education major (well, it's an area, whatever), but I was talking about how I hate my education classes. I think I'm going to stop taking education classes for a while and get into English. I'm loving the English thing, so I'll see if I want to teach it or if I want to do something else with it. So ensues this huge argument about how he thinks technology (his "major") is superior to English. I'm being civil and telling him that I really think English is important but that I don't really "get" technology. It's good and all, but it's not my thing--just like English is not his thing. Then he really started ticking me off, kind of offending me. But for once in my life, I stood up for something and defended it. I don't do that very often, especially when he provokes me like that. But this time, I was pretty confident, and it made me realize that I do take pride and understand the importance in language and my study of it. I guess my favorite thing I said was this: "And language is an artform just like anything else. Take painting or dance for instance. You take something basic, like paints or your body, and manipulate it to make something beautiful. Not everyone can do that." I was kinda proud of that. Anyway, I guess he does that as a friend to teach how to defend what I believe (and I will probably be grateful one day), but it really fires me up. The point being: For once, I've persevered and stuck it out. Go English studies.

Yay. Tomorrow is the Freak Suite Retreat to Big Ed's. Tomorrow night we got guests a-comin'. And Friday night. *gasp* Juan Mar! *dances*

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

hey, we're listening to this one

Goo mothren. It has been an interesting night, and it's just 9:00. First of all, we're listening to Tim McGraw's A Place in the Sun. It's a good time. It's good to get back to your roots every now and then. That's what it seems this week is about.

Okay, so you can go ahead and make fun of me if it's what you have to do to get through this story:
We supposedly have John Mayer's cell phone number. It's a long but convincing story. So every once in a great while we call it up. You know, listen to it ring, listen to the voicemail greeting ("Hey, this is John Mayer. Leave me a message and I'll call you back." It's definitely his voice.), and hang up. It's a pasttime. He never answers. So I call, but earlier I had been talking to my mom, but she had to hang up and told me she would call me back. My phone rings, and I exclaim, "Muh Creole!" I answer it and it's a guy's voice, "I just missed your call." "No, I don't think so." "This is John Mayer." I freak out and hang up. But you see, it wasn't his voice. Holly calls on her phone. He answers. She hangs up and says it's not his voice. We run down the hall to tell Lauren since she hooked us up with the number. While we're down there, my phone rings again. This time it was Mom. *sigh* I talk to her for a little bit, but I hung up because I felt like I was going to pass out. Then I get up the nerve to call back. This is how it goes:

'John': Hello.
Me: Yes, I just called this number on accident and you called me back. I just wanted to make sure I heard you right. You say you're John Mayer.
'John': Yes. This is John Mayer.
Me: Really?
'John': Yeah, this is John Mayer. What's your name?
Me: Cassidy.
'John': Did I meet you at a show or something?
Me: No, but I'm coming to Champaign this weekend.
'John': Oh, good, good. Maybe I can hook you up with some meet-n-greets or something.
Me: Oh, really? How would we go about doing that?
'John': Um, just come by the bus. Get there early before the show and come to the bus.
Me: Um, oookay.
'John': Hey, listen, I'll call you back when I get outside. I'll call you back in a little bit.
Me: Mmkay, bye.

Yeah, so much to my surprise, my phone rang a few minutes later. It was a guy. He sounded country, as this 'John Mayer' guy does. (Keep in mind, John Mayer is from Bridgeport, Connecticut. This fellow I've been talking to is not him.) But it turns out, it was RhinoMo calling me. Anyway, I haven't heard from this guy again. And why should I? He knows he's caught in a lie. John is performing in Ottowa, Ontario, tonight. I know better. So I think I'm going to call him back tomorrow and let him know that I'm not a blooming idiot and give him a little piece of my mind. And maybe I'll ask him how he got a recording of John on his voicemail message. Would the real John Mayer please stand up?

And speaking of the real John Mayer, guess who's going with us now that Jenny's not. Yeah, my momma. How funny is that? But she's real cool. I love my Creole. And my Creole loves John Mayer. I can almost guarantee you she will freak out more than me, Holly, or Lauren. And we will be freaking out pretty hard. I can't wait.

Alright, so I should probably go, but I just had to blog all of this. I have lots of things to do. And shoot, it's going to be a holiday before we know it.

Monday, November 03, 2003

take me to the magic of the moment

We Monster Balladsed tonight. (Because it is a verb.) Very reminiscent of Webster County days. We listened to it like three times. We can't listen to something just once. No. I kid you not, we listened to Heavier Things approximately twenty times one day. That's when you know it's love.

You know, I'm going to issue an apology. I keep blogging without much interesting to blog about. But what else would I do with this time that I should be doing homework? That's what I thought. So I sit here with my hair in a towel. According to Val, it's the worst thing I can do to my hair. But I don't feel like drying it just yet, much less straightening it. I think I'll dry it here in a year or so and have poverty-hair-in-a-pony-tail tomorrow. Sexy. As usual.

I've decided that I'm not a friendly person. Yeah, I had that epiphany. Like, I don't acknowledge people. Maybe it's because I'm lazy. I don't know. When I'm with a group of people and everyone's telling a person "bye," I never say anything. I figure everybody else has got it covered, so why waste my breath? I mean, I like people and all. I really don't have an explanation for why I basically don't talk to people until I have to. Like I just did it. Meghan just walked in, and I didn't say a word to her. I did it earlier with Beth. It's not that I don't want to talk to them I just don't. Where's my decency? I don't know. Maybe I'm becoming an introvert in my old age. I think that's a possibility.

Mmkay, so I've looked at this little text box going on ten minutes now, and I don't know what to say. I think that's a good sign that I should just scrap this post and go to bed, but I'm going to post it anyway.

highway to the danger zone

Sheesh. Mondays are long. And I'm not done yet. This morning I had to do that stupid presentation. I don't know if I did okay or not. I don't care. It's over. Then I decided to spend my hour between classes in the library coffee-shop area, if that's what you wanna call it. I haven't done that in quite some time. And Lance came by. I was excited because I haven't talked to him in forever--we used to be big library buddies. He said he kind of randomly decided to come in there and figured I would be in there. And I was, but that was coincidence to because I'm not in there much anymore. So we had a good time between him reading the Wife of Bath's prologue and tale and me working on Spanish. He got all excited about my new $111 Spanish book. I had to take it from him before he got it all, um, dirty. Then I went to Spanish which is almost always a good time. Came back and ate lunch with Holly. We decided to finally go to WalMart. We've been out of water and Dew for far too long, so we fixed that. Then we went guitar case shopping. We went to Jameson Music first. Before we left the parking lot we decided to take a picture of Holly "riding" some stuffed alligator that was laying beside a motorcycle--because that's the stupid crap we do. After going to Main Street Music and deciding that I didn't want to spend a $100 on a hard-shell case, we went back to Jameson's to get the $40 piece of dookie that's laying on my bed right now. When we walked in the door, the guy in the store offered to give us the alligator that was beside his motorcycle. He saw us playing with it. Apparently some guys from the tattoo place put it out there as a joke. The funny thing is that the music store guy really wanted us to have the alligator. It's probably still laying in the parking lot. Anyway, so I just got back from the last meeting of the Bible study I'm in. I'm kind of glad it's over because I have a lot of stuff I can do during that time now, plus the study was Is that bad? But I really do like the girls in the group. I'm a little sad it's over. But I still have FFG on Mondays, which I have to go to here in a little bit. *tired sigh*

Why are we vampires? We don't have any lights on. And it's dark outside. And a million degrees. Grrr. Nothing feels right. Today has just been weird. Just a lot of different, unusual, unexpected, and surprising things.

Aaah! Light! *covers eyes and shrinks back into coffin*

eh, i can't think of a title

Back in Murray. I feel like I've been here all weekend somehow. I went with Val and Holly to eat Los. *sigh* Los. Anyway, I did some homeworky things, went to an FFG meeting, and then I went to Michelle's to work on our presentation with Jennie. We'll see how that goes. I'm glad it will be over tomorrow.

My head hurts. I don't know if it's because I've not had good sleep in a while, or if my ponytail is too tight, or if it is all the fumes emitting from the bathroom. Me, Holly, Ashley, and Les are paying Val to clean it. How pitiful is that? I don't even want to know what's she's scraped off of that floor. Eh, who cares. It's what? A buck seventy-five outta my pocket? Well worth it, I say.

So I don't really have much to blog about. It's late, and I have things I should be doing besides sitting here typing this. And it's hurting my fingers anyway. It's been a while since I've played this much guitar, so my fingers on my left hand are a little, um, tender. But I better toughen up 'cause it looks like me and Les are going to have to start our benefit concert series again.

Okay, I'm going absolutely nowhere with this blog. Sorry to have wasted your time. So let me throw in something that might make this worth reading for those of you who understand the beauty of this: I saw the Tror today at the Poole Resternt. It almost made me want to be in high school English again, just for a fleeting second. But it should be illegal for teachers to look that good. There should be some sort of screening on that type of thing.

Sunday, November 02, 2003

there's no substitute for time

I do believe this is the longest I've gone without blogging since I started this thing. And there's a lot to blog, I suppose.

Where do I start? I'm home this weekend. I had a beautiful drive. Me and the 293 Deer enjoyed our Icees and the colors of autumn. I came home to my new guitar. I really do like it. The low E peg is acting a little funny and the whole thing has a fretting issue, but I don't care. It's mine. I heart.

Last night I spent the night with Sissy and Victoria at Randy's parents' house. That was interesting. Let me just say this: I don't like sleeping in basements without natural light. You have no clue what time it is when you wake up. I woke up at 10:15 this morning to pitch blackness. Not cool.

Today we had our family get-together in Smith Mills. It was a little fall event--with little pumpkins and pseudo-leaves on the tables. We watched all fifty-three reels of film my sister spent twenty-two hours transferring to video. It was a time of reminiscence. Very Wonder Years style.

Tonight I went to Dale's. Good times. I took my guitar and it got the SDT Stamp O' Approval. He played it most of the time I was there. We spent a little time playing some songs together. I impressed him with my limited talent of being able to kinda play the intro to Dust in the Wind, after which he, of course, told me I was playing it wrong. But it was fun. Then when I told him at 12:30 that I had to leave, we went out to his driveway and talked until 2:00, when my mom called. It's been a while since we've done that. I really miss having him around, though I don't know that I would trade the way things are. I feel like I've grown up through the situation. I've really done okay without him in Murray, but tonight, on the way home, it really hit me how much I miss him. And all that sounds cheesy, I know. But when you've had somebody that close to you like we've been to each other for the past two years, it's hard when all that changes. Times change and people change, and it's really easy to lose sight of something, as near and dear to your heart as it may be, in the shuffle of life. At some point this weekend when I was driving, I was thinking about people who used to be in my life that aren't any more. You know, that's a really sad thing to think about. I thought about people who have passed away, people the world has kept turning without. I thought about close friends that I've had that I still cannot believe that the friendships just fell through the cracks like they did. And then I realize that I could be letting it happen, making that same mistake again. I don't want to do that. Relationships like this don't just walk in my front door, kick off their shoes, and prop their feet up on my coffee table every day. Yeah, so tonight, I cried. It was good.