Below are the most recent 6 friends' journal entries.

Sunday, November 29th, 2009
kdorian	9:36p	I've cut a lot of salt out of my diet... I just dumped a big pot (dripping, giblets etc., & neck meat from a 23 lb bird) of home-made giblet gravy down the sink. This was intentional. Having made it up, adding no salt in cooking, it was so salty it was inedible. I've already had to give up ham as a main meat; I can't eat more that a slice (half that, for some brands) before the salt starts to get to me. The turkeys are OK as is, but I'd like to make giblet gravy I can eat next year. And who knows how salt-sensitive I'll be next year? So for reference, for next year, are there any processors who do NOT add saline solution to their birds? Current Mood: annoyed (Comment on this)
antigoneschase	6:14a	For the health and sanity of Nrys/Iriock/Second Chance systems and relationships, I think we need to set some ground rules and expectations for when we all are face to face next time. Things I need for my own sanity (and this is for BOTH other systems): 1. Time to myself at least once a day, for at least 2 hours. I realize now that I really do need it. It helps my mood and it makes me HAPPY to see the people around me, instead of resentful that I didn't get any time to myself. 2. For everyone to just pick up after themselves, so we don't feel like we're spending all of our time taking care of the house. We want to have fun too. Picking up after yourself doesn't mean putting things in piles, but putting things AWAY where they are meant to go. I try to keep the house up as much as possible, but when no one is doing their part, it gets utterly ridiculous really fast. 3. Dishes done by people who are NOT ME when I cook. And in a timely manner. This means either you all can do them together, or you can take turns. I don't care HOW they get done, just get them done, and get over it. We're all adults. Let's act like it. 4. Not eating out every meal. Or even every other meal. It's unhealthy, and we gain weight every time, and it makes this body VERY ill. 5. No pets bought on a whim. Every time, we then spend the rest of the year figuring out how to take care of said pets and feeling bad that they aren't getting as much attention as our own pets. I love animals, and we get caught up in the moment. Please let's keep Iriock sane by not making this an issue anymore. 6. Not spending $300-500 per week during the time Second Chance is here. It throws our budget off for 2-4 months and causes stress and panic. I'd like to NOT have that be a problem. 7. A pre-determined plan for at least 30% of the time. And not just "I want to get out of the house" but things like "On the weekend of the ______th, I would like to go to St. Louis, because I hear there's a great art show/game/festival/etc." MY trying to plan things out for everyone doesn't work, because I just don't care enough to plan it all out. It's not my tourist vacation. I'm more than willing to go wherever people want, even to drive all over hell and back, but I REALLY don't want to plan it. Nor do I want it to be expected that I'll pay for plans. If you find a really cool plan, and it's going to cost $10-$20 bucks a person, either expect to pay for everyone to go, or to at least run it by everyone to verify we have that kind of money. We are po' folks. Let's keep it in mind. 8. I REALLY don't want to hear whinging about how little money there is for things. I stress and panic about money. Tell me your budget and either let me keep track of it (and I WILL make you stick to it) or don't tell me the budget and simply say "there's not money for that". Trust me, it will save us ALL a lot of stress. 9. I hate being told who can be out when. Let's knock that off. Multiplicity in Iriock is an organic thing. People will come and go and sometimes you won't know them, or like them, and you're just going to have to DEAL with it. That means sometimes people won't get time they want. It means sometimes in the middle of a "scheduled time", you may get kids/animals/walk-ins/frienamies/etc you aren't expecting. Roll with it. It'll make everyone happier if they feel they aren't being BANNED from being out. 10. Each relationship between the bodies is important. Nyrs doesn't disappear from Iriock's life just because Second Chance is in the house. This is really to remind US. Because we SUCK at figuring out how to balance our life. We are going to try to do a LOT better at this, by taking time to spend JUST with Nyrs sometimes when Second Chance is here. That isn't a "I don't want to spend time with SecC", it's "I want to have a marriage left when SecC goes back to the UK". Because... um, I almost didn't this last time. Or the time before. Or the time before that. And I'd like to NOT spend 6 months trying to get my relationship back to some semblance of normalcy. Okay, that's it for now. Now it's you all's turns. Post the things you need. And I assure you that this will get longer as I think of more. Discuss it in the comments, bitch, rant, growl.. whatever. Feel free to say "you're being really harsh" or "amen" or even "Fuck off, Iriock people" if you want to. I'm cool with it. I'm just wanting to open a dialog the three of us haven't had yet. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 26th, 2009
rainstar	1:47a	Missed Connections Poem (I call this "Missed Connections" because that was our topic for a student poetry group I'm in. It deserved a better, angrier title, which I will think of.) Missed Connections “How was your experience?” she asked me, in that upbeat, casual tone. The tone you use to ask someone “How was your trip to Disney World?” We assume we know the answer, but it’s more polite to ask. So I thought about this question and weighed my options - running off wasn’t a choice this time, as it had been a few other times. Lying was a possibility, it wouldn’t hurt anyone, but it would keep me up at night, make me throw up. All I could do was take a deep breath tell the truth in as little detail as possible “I hated the first two years but last year was better and I think this year will be good.” I lost her at “hate,” the way I lost all of them “Why?” she asked, her eyes filled with horror, like I had told her I was dying but didn’t mind. “Just a lot of things,” I told her, “It’s not worth getting into.” “Like what?” she persisted. “There are too many things to name. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” But I found things to name. I always did when they pushed me. And those thoughts, those memories I’ve worked hard to lock out creep under my door at night and surround me, strangle me in my sleep I tell those people not to worry I say, “If you like this now – really like it – not pretending, you’ll like other things later. I’ve seen it. Don’t worry.” But they will worry. And I feel guilty. But they’ll be fine. I can see where they are, where my peers once lived, someplace I never quite found. It’s not only new ones I’ve missed a connection with – it’s everyone. Five years ago we bonded over basic shared feelings - the winds of summer that caressed us, allowed our souls to dance that vampire that crept upon us, the one we called Labor Day. Five years later, I still see connections, but different connections, ones I’m not part of I’ve been to the health center, gotten scripted advice. I’ve said, “That doesn’t work for me.” “Try again,” they’ll tell me, but I spent two years trying I got better once I realized I could only trust myself. A friend once gave me hope, that what we want is all the same. I might have a place with the others who feel unwelcome. When we talk about differences, this is what I need to say “What’s it like to be an introvert on an extroverted campus?” “What if being busy or involved doesn’t make you happy?” “And what does it mean if you didn’t like coot? Was that a sign? Should I have turned back before it started?” I want to say it, but I can’t. Because our discussions always focus on more extroversion, more involvement, never how to deal with unwanted pressure, and I leave stigmatized further than when I walked in I came into this year thinking positive thoughts so glad to be where I am instead of where I was I was just beginning to think I might like college But I’m not allowed to feel that way. Every classmate expects me to bond with them over how sad we are that we’re leaving. I listen to endless memories of the best times they’ve had here, which they pass on to the freshmen, who’ll say the same thing in four years. When I step outside, they’ll ask me again to pledge loyalty to this school, as I count down the minutes until it’s over. Current Mood: furious Current Music: Hope It Gives You Hell! (Comment on this)
rainstar	1:39a	Vital Signs: A Poem from Last Year (Note: When you go various auditions at Colby, such as BMR, shows, or a cappella groups, you are often asked to fill out a survey with some questions that have nothing to do with your skill level or what you are trying out for - it's basically to assess what kind of person you are. This peom is based on one of those surveys, and while some of my anger was directed at not getting into certain things, I mean it in a more general sense about how I've felt at Colby.) Vital Signs Which band do you like better? I don’t know either one. What difference should it make? It makes all the difference. I could run back to my room and download a song of each, but I’d be just as likely to pick the wrong one. So I’ll choose at random and hope for the best. What’s your favorite ice cream? I like cookie dough best. But in a character exercise what would that reveal? I think it sounds fun, a warm and cozy kind of fun - that’s how I used it in my story, when my character almost drowned herself; Maybe that’s not the best choice. There’s mint chocolate chip, a more confident kind of fun. I hate mint chocolate chip, but who’s gonna know? What’s the square root of nine? That’s easy…or not. Three can’t be the answer cause anyone can say that. I need a witty remark, but I can’t think of one - there’s something I’m missing, an innuendo I don’t get; maybe I’ll come back to this one. What’s the craziest thing you’ve done? Nothing you’d call crazy - I know what you’re looking for, I don’t have those kinds of stories. I’ll say something my friend did; she doesn’t mind sharing. I’ll have to thank her for letting me use her life as my own. Tell me something false. I’m enjoying this, really. I don’t feel intruded like you’re testing my vital signs; it’s just a fun opportunity to express myself. Tell me something true. I hate this test! More than any midterm or final. I know how to act cheerful and perky and alive; I can read a monologue or sing a song if that’s what you’re testing But if you’re testing to see if I’m actually alive, don’t waste your time; I’m not. Not by the new standards. Heart rate and pulse replaced by confidence and energy. making five friends per day running sixty miles per hour reading ten pages per minute; I have no vital signs. But I am alive, and if this test doesn’t prove it I’ll find another way. But I tried to show you, I wrote a song for you, one that won’t leave this room. Maybe I’m not alive, not by your standards - I guess it’s time I started making my own. Current Mood: crappy Current Music: Hope It Gives You Hell (Comment on this)
rainstar	1:25a	What I've Been Meaning to Say So I have an itching need to write right now, but I'm too exhausted to think of anything creative, so I'll just do what I've been meaning to do, but haven't been able to. The reason I haven't been able to is because I was feeling not only betrayed, but also threatened by someone who might be reading my journal. Last year I wanted to open up and trust all these people, so I posted a facebook link to my journal that only selected friends could see. That way, my college friends (who dont have insanejournal) could also see what I was writing. But one of those friends, the only one who I think actually read what I wrote, does not want to be friends anymore. I will not go into the details of what happened, but basically I am really scared that she and this other person I have a problem with are watching me, trying to see if I'm actually okay, which I'm not in any way. I took down the link, but if she remembers my username and website, she could find me. I like to think that won't happen because she probably has better things to do than stalk me, but I feel like I have to be careful now, which is not okay. It's bad enough I have to be careful in poetry class, the place that's supposed to be my refuge. So I'm writing whatever I want here. Anyway, here's a poem that I couldn't turn in to class, partially because of the subject matter, and partially because it is to much like prose. I have a few that are too much like prose, which I might also post as separate entries. The lines might look weird on this one because it's copied from Word. I But here's a poem about what happened: (Untitled Yet) I got dragged into this office, not by physical force, but that smile that says, “If you don’t comply, we will drag you across the lawn.” They watched me as I packed; I should have brought something better to eat than the half-chewed leftover cough drops in my pocket. Along our nice evening stroll, they asked if I was attending some concert, and I played along, knowing full well that there would be no concerts tonight. I sat across from her and didn’t take the candy she offered. I recognized the ritual; she asked irrelevant questions to assess whether I was intoxicated or high; listlessness lives in voice tone and dishonesty resides in body language. Her tone and movements indicated that we were best friends. “I’m not worried about you,” she said, like the others had said infinite times. And I want to scream, “I’m fucking miserable! But that’s okay because I’m not going to hurt myself?” Everyone doesn’t hurt themselves in horrible times, but it was okay when I suffered alone? I don’t trust anyone who cares more about functionality and fitting in than actual happiness. I told her that I know they all care about stats – I knew that was how they perceived me. She claimed I wasn’t a stat to her, but when the meaningless questions ended, and I swung side to side in her chair on wheels, I was informed that I couldn’t stay. And the only thing longer than the drive home is waiting to be picked up. My skin began to heal when I made the call home; my lungs laughed again, like it was summertime. But she told me to speed it up, cut to the chase, stop the blood transfusion so that she could make my source of my hope drive two hundred miles in the freezing rain. It would be two in the morning when they arrived; she asked if anything could fix me, while waiting. I told her mastering clarity. If I could get my point across, transfer my pain to some innocent reader, then I’d be better. She tilted her head and squinted through foggy glasses. “Mastering clarity,” she repeated, as though I had spoken a foreign language. I described every instance when I didn’t get my message across, the specific issues I had, while she frowned and nodded politely, as I had done when my teacher explained the principles of stoichiometry. “This seems like a life goal,” she finally told me. Not something I’d accomplish by tonight. So tonight, I would have to leave. “Thank you for cooperating,” she whispered, as a best friend would, as if I had a choice. We all know what happens if I don’t comply, right? But worrying is not the same as caring. Current Mood: drained Current Music: Stranger to the Rain (Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 24th, 2009
techno_goddess	10:56a	I'm on Dreamwidth If anyone would like an invite code to Dreamwidth, comment and I'll send one the next time it's available. I may have one or two now. (5 Comments |Comment on this)