"And she cried out in eternal ecstasy- for never before had she felt such hate and love for life."

I haven't been on Mindsay in what a year? God how time flies. And it's strange how you meet people you learn to love, or love instantly. I've done it. I've finally had someone visit me who is worthwhile. And it's funny that I met him right here on Mindsay. I probably won't visit this place anymore: I just have moved on. But if you want to see him: pstick 

Sorry it's been so long everyone! It's my birthday today-19, can you believe it? I feel so old-and I also start classes today. Come stop by and see me, I promise I'll start my writing up again soon. I just have to get into the swing of a new semester first.

In case you were wondering rush went fine. I had a great time, but I didn't end up getting into the sorority I wanted. (Most girls didn't this year b/c we have the biggest class in history.) So I'll do it again next year. I wasn't as heartbroken as some of these girls here-you should have seen the hysterical crying. I went out to eat and laughed it off...no wonder they hated me ;-). Anyway, things have beeen going wonderfully, and I'm already having a great birthday. Hope to hear from all of you soon, and like I said, I promise: the long, philosophical entries will start up again soon.

I need someone deserving of me, and someone who will argue with me.
If you know of anyone, tell them to look me up.
Please.

I made a resolution to myself, a resolution about choosing.
I've decided that I'll start to choose for myself, not wait around and pretend that it's alright to love everything.
For example, I'll choose exactly which to do with myself when I graduate.
I'll choose where I want to live, where I want to work, what I want to write.
I'll choose who I want to be with.
Which always seems to be the hardest thing to choose of all.

She held the drink her right hand, letting her long dress sift through her other hand's fingers.

************************

 

Once, in reality she smiled to herself and, glowing, her white teeth shone through the mirror towards the window, hitting the water outside with a Mediterranean force. An orange on the table. They wanted the Shakespeare by her bed: a large ring of dust had settled near the binding. It wasn't their decision to step around the clothing, their dirty shoes rubbing grime into the silky cloth, tearing the thin pieces. She grabbed one of his hands and held on for support, words blowing like wind around her ears.

"But duty strikes me as doing something. If you are too afraid it may be the wrong thing, you may let everything go."
"Being is doing, and if doing is duty, being is duty. Do you follow?"
"At great distance."
"To be what one may be, really and effcaciously, to feel it and understand it, to accept it, adopt it, embrace it--that's conduct, that's life."
"And suppose one's a brute or an ass, where's the efficacy?"
"In one's very want of intelligence. In such cases one is out of it-the question doesn't exist; one simply becomes a part of the duty of others. The brute, the ass neither feels, nor understands, nor accepts, nor adopts. Those fine processes in themselves classify us. They educate, they exalt, they preserve; so that, to profit by them, we must be as perceptive as we can. We must recognize our particular form, the instrument that each of us-each of us who carries anything-carries in his being. Mastering this instrument, learning to play it in perfection-that's what I call duty, what I call conduct, what I call success."
**************

I love language.

My parents got one of those ugly green frozen concoction makers for Christmas. It's a silvery piece of plastic junk that looks monstrous in our otherwise light and cheery kitchen. Every morning, as I'm eating my cereal, I stare at it in disgust, wondering who knew my parents were such alcoholic partiers, who knew that they would revere it as if it were a solid gold Buddah figurine.
I used to let my hand rest on it as I waked towards the dishwasher, taking in its hard surface, it's divets and it's red plastic logo. Margaritaville, it read, reminding me (of course) of Jimmy Buffet and Hawaii and a particular mango sunscreen that I wore when I was taking surfing lessons. Kaleb and Dusty laughed at it when they saw it. "We can use it..." they joked, and their faces reminded me of lime drinks we used to make when we were younger. Soon afterwards, though, they ignored it, understanding that it represented something more than getting drunk, or summer, or crossing lines.
*****************

I remember once a party Kaleb threw for himself in honor of his own birthday. His house had been dirty before the hundred or so people came over; dirty dishes on the floor, the tables, the mantle, resting in the armchairs. Clothes littered the couch: big piles of Peach's Disney princess underwear, Kaleb's band t-shirts, their father's favorite camoflague cap. Beer cans were neatly laid on top of these piles when I arrived, and a particular odor of sweat and sand filled the air. I kissed Kaleb hello, though his breath disgusted me and the way in which he cinched my waist with his arm made me pull away from him. He was already drunk, his eyes were wild and ready to fight anything that made him angry, his hair was tussled like he had already been trying to egg someone on.
"Jesus, Kaleb," I said, grabbing his hand and pushing it away from me.
"I'm waiting for it," he yelled at me, raising a purplish drink in my direction. I asked him for what.
"Something," he laughed, and I knew I wanted to keep his small bits of philosophy a secret from everyone. I wanted it only for myself.

*******************

"How culpable was he
That last night when he broke
Our tribe's complicity?
'Now, you're supposed to be
An educated man,'
I hear him say. 'Puzzle me
The right answer to that one."

"Casualty" by Seamus Heaney (one of my favorite poets who ever lived...should check him out even if you despise poetry).

He keeps me alive.

What's wrong with me? I feel weird, like I've missed something I was supposed to remember.
I keep looking behind me, thinking I'll realize that I'm almost nineteen and I haven't accomplished anything. Usually it doesn't bother me, but after discussing career options with my counselor, I feel like I'll be the perfect hermit.

I think a lot of people think that last entry was true. So, cool.
Anyway, it's from a story I've decided to write, although admittadly it's a little cheesy and stupid; And even though I was drunk last night when I wrote it in, I guess that's no excuse for bad writing. Either way I'm glad that Christmas break is almost over because I miss the classes and my professors and my utter sense of hopelessness when I realize exams are coming up. I miss my friends too. Because the ones at Wake are completely different from my friends here.
My girlfriend Jesse asked me, Have you slept with Dusty now that you're home yet?
And I laughed and told her that I don't sleep with people like that. Which I don't. I don't think she really understands me or my friends here. It's a different environment. Love is an art, existing is an art.
I've made excuses for a long time just so that I'll have my way all the time. Dusty and Kaleb are still waiting for me to make a decision about them, which I'll never do. And Christopher started calling me a long while back, asking if I'd spend some time with him. Dusty got wind of this communication between us and gave me the silent treatment for days. He lectured me afterwards, calling me a child, immature, telling me I was acting like Kaleb: like I didn't know what I want.
"I know what I want, D," I said. "But I'm not going to stop halfway. I want all three of you."
He hung up on me, but later bought me books.
He understands me, but he doesn't like it.
In one splendid memory, Kaleb and I were dating and sitting on my couch while Dusty held a coke in his hand. Kaleb's eyes were on the television and I watched as Dusty looked out the window and unscrewed the cap of the coke. It doesn't mean much to anyone else, but when Dusty turned around and caught me staring, a flash of knowing passed between us. We were silent but I smirked. His mouth didn't move though his eyes lingered on my face, still thinking of outside the window. I laughed suddenly and broke the reverie, but only because I was scared. I didn't realize then what love was.