this year?

There aren't enough half empty bottles of whisky or tears in my riverhead or mostly-soft inanimate objects to beat the stuffing out of or perfectly unoriginal clichés to get me through this week that some metaphor reached into some metaphorical stanky toilet and pulled out with their bare stanky hands.

And there aren't enough depressingly motivational words from John Darnielle to help me get through this year if it kills me.

There's never enough of anything.

And everything will always happen the way you knew it would.

Or, in the end, we can hope. And I hope that I yank up my inner Brit and carry on like none of this matters, or that it ever did, or that it ever will.

But, lets be honest, there's never enough. And knowing me, there will never be enough ache to get from despair to numbness.

Ultimately, it is the worst tragedy and the most awesome bliss that I am always as right as I think I am. Every time. And I'm right about this year, and everything about it.

Donezo.

Bad to Vurs.

I literally just woke up. My CORE Science Lab started at Eight. The class I vowed I'd work my arse off in and get a decent grade this time around. I couldn't fall asleep, at all, knowing I had to be up at Seven. Come Two in the morning, I popped a leftover anti-anxiety from my last trip to London [harmless, right?] Well, right...About an hour goes by: Nothing. Pop another and I'm out. Completely forgot that two of those things srsly konk you out for most of the length of a flight to London. Needed to get to sleep at that point to have gotten enough sleep when I had to get up in a matter of four hours, but needed to actually wake up too: What a catch 22, hah? Do not remember my alarm going off. I know it did, but I was out.

I mean, what the crap? When are things going to start climbing upwards again? This whole downhill experience is rather tiresome.

come on, and get lonely.

I will rise up early and dress myself up nice,

& I will leave the house and check the deadlock twice,

& I will find a crowd and blend in for a minute

& I will try to find a little comfort in it,

& I will get lonely and gasp for air,

& send your name up from my lips like a signal flare..

I'm basking in my own misery. Simply basking in it. Can positively boring, listless, deeply depressing, only passably productive solitude be exciting? Can I make it? Maybe I'm just preparing myself to direct a Strindberg piece. I should watch Strindberg & Helium - Bringing bright bubbliness to meesereeeeeeee!!

But srsly, the bright side's kind of covered up right now [also, really into alliteration at the moment, at the always] - It's like my former go-get-em, everything is amazing, the awesomeness continues day-to-day outlook is eclipsed by something - Eclipsed by a lot of things.

And maybe it's my own decision. Maybe I choose to be miserable because I allow the things that are getting me down to be bigger than life. Maybe I can choose to overcome that, and I guess, in a way, I am. I haven't quit anything and this is probably the most I've tried in school in years. It's probably the most motivated to work I have felt in all four years at uni.

It's that diploma and that conclusiveness that drives me forward. It's hope that in eight months, the eclipse will end in such a brightness. I will graduate magna cum laude despite years of struggle. I will save enough money that living will not be a struggle.

So I'm stuck in this apartment. So I'm stuck on campus. So I know that will probably bring me down every single day. So I'm currently at the weirdest, most awful thus far place with two of my flatmates. So relationships are hard, and weird. So that fantastic restored-mill Fall River apartment is just out of reach.

Sometimes, timing is perfect and sometimes, it's not. But I'm frickin working with what I've got. And everything that's messing me up is going to continue to kick my ass, but I won't give up on the things I really want.

It's always worth it.

There are good things:

Home-brewed loose Twinings Earl Grey Tea. Apparently, they sell both loose tea and Sugar in the Raw at Stop & Shop. When I get paid on Friday, I'm buying an eletric teapot like the ones I always used in London.

& My iPod is working again. Music sustains me. Despite the fact I'm missing a probably amazing Fruit Bats show in Boston right now. Eight am Labs suck up my life, but school, finally, after over fifteen years of education, it's a top priority. Wow.

& while I may have wacked myself so hard in the face with a screwgun today that my lip drooled blood for a bit, the wiggly tooth seems to have figured itself out and is still in my head. Cool.

& not a positive so much as me wanting more things I'll have to work my tush off for: A new camera. A really super fancy one so I can take rad photos that look really profesh. Mostly, I really want that manual option to make photography worthwhile again. I miss it.

& Okay so those are the only silly little positives I can think of right now? But the list will grow, eventually. Things could be a whole lot worse, even if they aren't exactly how I want them.

..and I will go downtown, stand in the shadows of the buildings,

& button up my coat, trying to stay strong, spirit willing,

& I will come back home, maybe call some friends,

maybe paint some pictures, it all depends,

& I will get lonely, and gasp for air,

& look up at the high windows, and see your face up there.

-mg

things i love, and things i hate: but mostly things i like.

Inglorious Basterds: I had little interest [little meaning, a little, not very little] until I found out that not only does BJ Novak [see: The Office, below] play someone called 'The Little Man' [adorable], but it also features Til Schweiger who I've been in love with since 'SLC Punk.' Til Schweiger played one of my most quoted film characters through high school. Might have to see this movie now, though I'm not a big Pitt fan.

The Office: It's just been on a lot lately and I remember how much I love it. Ricky Gervais's British original is going to be airing on AS Fridays at Midnight from now on. Purty excited, even if it [extremely surprisingly since in every other situation, British is better] pales in comparison to the Steve Carrell version.

'Sixshooter' & my Screenwriting course: Awesome. Really awesome. We watched the Martin McDonagh Oscar-winning short film 'Sixshooter' today and it was so so so wonderful. People with lesser-taste didn't like it for stupid reasons and I was getting annoyed. Whatevs. Point being, I was impressed by Irish filmmaking - I thought it was just their playwrights that made me obscenely happy, but the filmers can rock it too. Also, thrilled that I could just about place their regions by their accents. HAA. Whole time, I'm thinking 'Hm, the main character [played by Brendan Gleeson] has a very subtle accent - He almost sounds Welsh.' I figured he couldn't be from the south, whereas the Kid [played by an extremely talented Rúaidhrí Conroy] sounded to me like he was from Cork. Turns out, he's from Dublin as well, but hey, who isn't. Whatever. Point being, that movie thrilled me - I love dark comedy when it's done right. Buying it off iTunes. Yes.

Ecoli: not okay. Taken over our water. One of my flatmates, who has been downing the tap water, already got poisoning [for the record: She's much better now, a matter of hours later]. The public freak out gradually dimmed as the day went on from 2pm today when we were discussing it in my CORE Science lecture and people were insisting you can't shower. Professor states the reasoning is because the bacteria gets on your skin so say, for example, you get ice cream on yourself and lick it off, you've got the bacteria. Kid behind me responds 'But I showered this morning and I've already licked my hand!' Point being, people shouldn't be licking themselves anyway. I think, when diseases spread, it is a time to realise just how disgusting the general public is on a day to day basis. With swine flu going around, people finally wash their hands, maybe sneeze into their sleeves...So what are they doing the rest of the time? Ew.

Beatles Songs: Use so much F#m, Cmaj7, C#m, B7, and Bm. That's what I learned while sitting there with my guitar for approx two hours, playing Beatles songs. Wow. They loved those chords.

That's enough because I felt more like writing this when I started.

Pining For London: Reason 1

Okay, the physical list of explainable reasons I belong in London and need to be back there now begins here:

I really don't feel like I get as much work done when I'm at home. When I am living in England, a favourite pastime of mine is going to the pub, and getting some reading or writing or whatnot accomplished over a pint. It's relaxing, it's a great atmosphere, and no one there finds it odd! Here, I've got to go to some craphole café if I want to do that. I've got to drink coffee or some other pseudo-intellectual-piss-drink [which, I don't. And you'd be hardpressed around here to find anyone who can bring you a decent tea!]. If I were to go to any bar or even faux-pub around here, by myself, blimey, just to get some work done, I'd be seen as a) alcoholic, b) friendless, or c) just overall strange. And maybe I am overall strange, but needless to say, I'm angry. At the moment, all I want is to be sitting in the quiet upstairs of one of my favourite pubs, spread out over a table that's too big for me, sipping at a pint and nibbling on some chips, getting smiled at by the cute or old guys who work there and guffawin' at tourists.

Every episode of my life lately has been grumpy. Something needs to start looking up and I know just where I would like the improvements to start. Alas.

Pancake Mix: In My Hair

Should probably quit pancakes. But, cor blimey, I am such a hungry jack.

Basically, still miserable. But multiply the misery times fifty because throw on missing England more and more every day, throw on a heaping helping of pining for graduation day and getting the hell out of university, add throbbing pain in my thumb from slipping while cutting open a baseball and stabbing self with Leatherman [okay, that one's slightly hilarious, but painful], inner-apartment-awkwardness, pining for citylife [yes, I do drive the half hour drive to Provvy just to sit in the window at Tealuxe and watch the world go by while I drink my Moroccan Mint tea and get way more work done than I do around here]...

but most importantly, toss in that final burst of emotional pain from the fact that my cat is gone. No, not my sister's silly kitten or the spazoholic little fluff the flatmates and I adopted last year who now drives people crazy in upstate New York. No, the only cat that matters [evidently, the one in my profile photo to the right]. My Thomas who my family's had since I was about six years old. He's the best cat ever, as most people would say about their childhood pet who has made it to a fine old age: One of the reasons I visit my family, and one of the few things in this world that still brings me comfort. My dad and sister apparently let him stay outside Saturday night, which he's not supposed to be anymore because he's gotten so old, and he hasn't come back home. Granted, he could still be wandering the woods somewhere, but as much as it hurts me to say, a coyote or fox or something along those lines probably got him.

I'm sorry this can't be witty and well-written. This sucks and I'm ridiculously upset.

But trying to bring out the Brit in me and carry on. Surpisingly, despite the fact I've probably never wanted to be out of school this badly, I am probably working harder now than I ever have before. What's motivating me, I've no idea.

But I miss Thomas and I would really like something good to happen right about now.

about: kristin learns to cook week.

A more positive note.

Anyone who knows me well probably knows I can't cook. I can kind of bake. Definitely can't cook. Potentially it's the scientific aspect that throws me for a loop.

But determination's got me hooked: I'm improving myself. Somehow, starting this summer I've been on this Improvement kick. Will it happen? Will anything come of it? Who knows, but truth be told, my pancakes this morning were approx 88% better than yesterday's.

Srsly, check out the masterful meals I've made so far this week since KLTCW began:

Tuesday: Chicken mixed up in pasta, and a side of potatoes in a butter sauce. Enough leftovers for lunch the next day.

Wednesday: Kielbasa on toasted bread with a side of my steamed veggie combo. And a Jack 'n Coke, of course. Not my most healthy meal, probably much healthier than I used to eat.

Thursday: Pancakes for brekkers. For dinner, Shells & white cheddar mac [yeah, from a box, whatevs], with deliciously seasoned chicken cut up in it, and a side of my steamed veggie combo. With a Strongbow, naturally.

Friday morning: Pancakes. Last night's leftovers for lunch. Oh, yes.

So, yes, the point really is that I used to never eat complete meals. Like, that kielbasa sandwich would be my whole dinner and then it's like, okay, well, where's the veggies? Where's the health? I've never been an unhealthy eater: I haven't had fast food ala MacDonald's and the like since I was a small child, I'm completely adverse to fried food, not really a soda drinker, you know, all that shtuff. Now, complete, varied, thought-out meals.

I like it! Who wants homemade Mac n cheese this week?

sketchbooks aren't as important as informal complaints.

Most importantly, it's only a couple weeks into senior year, and I really, really just want to graduate. Now. Now Now Now. Unilife is holding me back...from everything. Except misery. It's definitely not holding me back from misery.

Also most importantly, I miss England more than I could ever describe. And it's near impossible to bear since two good friends of mine are going abroad in three days on the same program I did a year ago. It's devastating how much I need to be there.

Basically, I can't have the things that I want most. And I hate when that happens because apparently, it makes me a terrible, non-creative writer.

I somehow need to turn misery into inspiration, or at least motivation of some sort. In Greek tragedy, there was the moment of reversal directly following the climax. If mine has just happened, I hate it. I shall not be Oedipus. In any fashion besides theatrically surviving for centuries, preferrably.

My focus shall now turn left and target itself onto researching, preparing, and ideamaking for the next play I'm directing. Ironically, titled 'Catastrophe.'