This is basically "Why Cassie shouldn't listen to the Counting Crows when already in a melancholy mood."

"A Murder of One," to be specific. Beautiful song. One of my favorites, ever. And depressing as all hell.

I was thinking about things that cannot be forced, partially in connection with my own creativity. I used to write all the time. I started writing stories when I was four and could not yet even physically write, but dictated stories to my mom. From the ages of, I don't know, four until about eighteen I have notebooks upon notebooks upon notebooks filled with stories, attempted novels, poems, songs, even an aborted screenplay. And of course the vast majority of it looks obviously like it was written by a child/teenager/young adult, there's definitely some profound stuff in there and I truly don't know where that creativity went. All of those urges. I thought that once I was in college, with my creativity and intellect nourished, it would flourish more than ever, but instead it's gone downhill.

I was also inevitably thinking about love, in terms of things that can't be forced. You can wish all you like. You can manipulate, cajole, trap, seduce, rape, intimidate, demand, cripple and brainwash, you can kill someone with kindness and be selfless or appallingly selfish and in the end it will not matter, because all the yearning in the world simply will not make someone love you. It's something that can only be willingly given.

I've been in love with the same person for so long that I start to wonder sometimes if it's even him I'm still holding on to, or just the idea itself of the love. If it's just stubbornness and an unwillingness to let go of something that I've wanted for so long. I haven't seen him in so long now and there are no new memories to make. Nothing new to go over. And it'll seem like more of a longing for the past than a longing for him.

And then I'll get a sudden flash of a memory, something so sharp and potent that I can actually almost feel him next to me and I'm left gasping and reeling from it, suddenly missing him so much it's like a physical ache in my chest.

I didn't grow up dreaming of getting married. I never envisioned myself in a wedding dress, even as a little girl. I dreamed of true love, but getting married was never something I particularly cared about. I never even really understood the point of getting married. It never even seemed necessary until I met him. And then I understood why people do it. Because I wanted so much to stand up in front of all the people I cared about and profess my love, and tell the world that he was mine and I was his, and - it just all clicked into place for me then.

He's long gone and I don't know what to do with all this. I've often frightened myself a little with how deeply and quickly I fall in love. I can imagine myself with someone else, but I can't imagine how I could ever let this one go. I'm not even sure that I want to.

I miss him every day.

There was a friend I had for many years. Self-destructive, angry, careless. He treated me badly and I treated him with a ridiculous amount of kindness. And he's been through so much in the last couple of years, and I've been wondering lately if I even still care about him all that much - and even if I ever really did, or if it became about stubbornness once again. Like if I admitted that he just wasn't worth it, that there wasn't much in my heart for him anymore, it would void all the time I spent trying to help him, all the tears I shed when I didn't even know if he would live out the week.

I don't know how to answer that question, and I worry that it was just stubbornness. Because I don't know what that says about me - that I would hold on to something for so long, not to mention giving that person hope that I cared more than I really did, simply because I was unable to admit to myself that I was wrong, that my affection was misplaced.

I don't know. Things are really strange right now and I really don't know how to answer these questions. And I'm afraid of what I might see in myself if I do.

And may bunnies and cats and ferrets and washbears be had by all!

Just dropped in to wish a very happy 33rd to dear Jenny, writer, screenshot artist, heartstring-puller and procrastination assistant extraordinaire. It's been delightful chatting about all subjects important and trivial, bouncing ideas off of each other, and above all, avoiding work together. Thank you for sharing your work with all of us who read it and for being a valued friend these past couple of years. Also, I am very pleased to have been able to impart you with the terms wubby, ooky, catbear, and the exclamation "good gravy!", as well as a generous helping of of ridiculous ideas for your poor characters.

It's been a pleasure. Happy birthday and enjoy the candy!

Well, I'm back at Smith. Moved in yesterday. Classes haven't started yet but they do tomorrow and I just saw my mom off. I'm going to miss her terribly but it's much better than last year, when I was moving into a new house and had very few friends, or my first year when I was totally suspended. This year I know and love my house and I know I have friends (even though Lisa is abroad this semester and I already miss her dreadfully) and I'm fairly well settled. I know my majors, I've declared, I have a better idea of what I want to do with myself, I'm working on finding a work study job and I'm a little more confident that I know I can handle things. I'm just going to miss my mom terribly, that's all.

And the kittens! I'm going to miss them awfully, too. I spent almost all day every day with them this summer and it's going to suck not having their screaming furry little faces around all the time. They got fixed and declawed this past Monday and we got them back Wednesday (Abbey, aka Princess Bitchcat, was VERY happy with the two-day vacation she got from them), and so it was a lot of antibiotic-giving. Those two just don't know to take it easy. Poor Duncan's front paws swelled up to nearly twice their normal size because he got cat litter in them AND is apparently not smart enough not to figure out that maybe he shouldn't be jumping up and down such high surfaces. Mabel, for her part, is a little bit OCD and would not stop licking and picking at herself. I now have cat blood stains from her feet on the surface of one of my notebooks, which is just LOVELY.

Plus they're going to be going insane without the attention and affection to which they've grown accustomed. My mom joked that she'd have to get a baby sling and hold Duncan in it while she cooked and cleaned and went about her evenings.

She also says that if she does that, that's the moment that she officially becomes a crazy cat lady and I am inclined to agree. Still, I can imagine doing that myself. Duncan in particular is my baby, after all.

I also left my computer charger at home - of all the things! so my mom is going to next-day it to me and in the meantime, I'm trying to limit my computer time and I'll try to borrow a charger from someone who has the same computer. It's hard, though. What am I going to DO with my free time??

It really is good to be back, though. I'm a little worried about how things are going to go, but there's no doubt that this is where I'm supposed to be right now and I'm sure I'll end up having a pretty good time. I'm excited about my classes and really excited to be back in Northampton. I want to try to start working out again (which I say every time a season starts or ends, I know), if only for my energy level, which seems to be decreasing quite a lot over the past couple of years. I don't have the same level of energy that I had even a couple of years ago, at all, and I want to try to make that a little bit better if I can. And I want to try to write more again. It's something that I've missed and I have a feeling I'll feel more like myself again if I can figure out how to get that going.

Till then.

Home from the hospital!

I've actually been home a few days, but it's taken me some time to sort out my feelings about the whole thing and be able to take a bit of a step back from it all.

I only ended up being in the room itself for about 24 hours, something for which I am very grateful - it's highly unusual to be there for such a short amount of time. They were able to induce a seizure and other "events," as they called them (an aura, partial body convulsions, etc.), and no abnormalities were found on the brain monitor, which lead them to a diagnosis of non-epileptic seizures of psychosomatic origin.

Now. Those are the facts of the thing.

I don't think this diagnosis would have been so frustrating if I hadn't already spent four years having these things constantly being written off as nothing, as originated from stress, as something that I could control, as something that wasn't at all dangerous and so on and so forth - getting this opinion from "regular" people and doctors alike. The other frustration is that, while this isn't as dangerous as, say, epilepsy (no oxygen-starved brain, for instance), aside from maybe more therapy and guided meditation, there's really not a damn thing I can do about it.

Which is exactly what I had feared. That, in the end, I'd be left with really not a whole lot that I could do.

But hey, at least they didn't have to torture me for more than those 24 hours, right? Breaking veins in an attempt to give me an IV and depriving me of sleep? (The second was intentional; the first, obviously, was not. That was just my veins being totally made of fail. For real, they suck.) They tested me for Celiac's disease (gluten intolerance) for a possible explanation of my stomach problems, which I thankfully do not have. Sure it would have been nice to have an explanation, but not to the extent that I could never have bread or pasta or beer ever again. (Not that I drink much beer, but hey, the option is nice.)

A positive thing is the Mad Men-viewing my mom and I did and have continued to do in the days that followed. It really does live up to all the hype. It's one of the best and most complex TV shows I've ever seen, with wonderful and delightfully subtle characterization, compelling plot lines (though that's totally not why I watch), and sumptuous costumes. I also discovered while watching it that I have already been in academia way too long, as any episode I watched, I felt an essay forming its way into my head as I thought about it. I think in essay format now, whether it's about a book I just read or an episode of Mad Men (or far less highbrow television, for that matter.) This is leading me to believe that pop-culture criticism may actually be what I want to do, and where I really fit in. Listening to an album, looking at a fashion collection, watching a TV show, I can hear the essay formulating in my head. It's crazy...it just seems to be what my brain wants to do and where it wants to be.

So that's a good thing to discover, I think. Speaking of which, I'm planning some Project Runway looks analysis (and gushing), season-by-season. It's been in the works for awhile and I'm excited. Not as excited as I am for the return of the show, but excited. It'll be more gushy than anything else, but it'll be pretty bitchin. No doubt about that.

I have conflicting feelings about going back to school, too, but for right now it's something I'd really rather not think about. I'll just try to enjoy the rest of the time I have left at home, and take it all in.

Last day of freedom!

Well, not quite. But sort of.

Yes, I ship out to the hospital tomorrow for God knows how long. I'm mostly packed up (all clothes that I can button or pull up, nothing that has to go over my head, since I'll have electrodes on my head...lucky I have so many dresses, I guess), and books and DVDs. A coworker of my mom's is lending us at least the second season of Mad Men and maybe the first (she lent it to someone else), Evie is lending me her second and third seasons of Queer as Folk. She's planning to visit me one of the days I'm there, too.

I'm really hoping that the weather will either be cold and gross, or so unbearably hot that I would be miserable being out in it anyway. Because it's actually been pretty nice out lately - for pretty much the first time all summer - and having to be inside through it will make me even more cranky than I normally would be. I have such a complex about summer time - we get so little nice, warm, sunny weather where I am that I feel like I have to take advantage of EVERY MINUTE when it's nice out (even if I don't) and I don't want that to be pissing me off while I'm in the hospital. I won't be able to go outside or even leave my room.

And of course I'll be VIDEOTAPED the whole time! (Except for in the bathroom, obviously.) That won't feel awkward AT ALL. And I also might have a roommate. (Please, God, don't let me have a roommate. Please oh please.)

I'll have wireless there, too, so I'll probably be blogging about all the crazy shit that will ensue. (In addition to taking some pictures of my electroded head - seriously, it's something to behold. I look like some kind of cracked-out, electricity-savvy Medusa.)

Exciting, exciting. It'll give me something to blog about, anyway. Not a whole let else going on in my life...which is not such a terrible thing, really. Not at all.

Sayonara, friends!

Well...

The epilepsy clinic I went to on Monday was quite a good and helpful appointment - the doctor seemed really great and was really thoughtful and thorough. He recommended I do a long-term evaluation which they ended up setting up for August 4. Basically, for about 5-10 days (unless they can induce a seizure earlier) I'll be in a wee room, with a little bathroom, only able to move within said room and not allowed to shower, with electrodes on my head. While they stress my body. Probably by depriving me of sleep and food.

JOY!

The good news is, though, that if they induce a seizure they'll be able to tell, pretty conclusively, what is is: if there's something abnormal in my brain waves and, if so, where it is; and if not, they'll know pretty conclusively that it's psychogenic (or part of a metabolic disorder or something.)

Also on Monday, the hammock collapsed under me, which led to me screwing up my back and getting a bump on the back of my head. Also fun. Also joyful.

Also, strangely, for the last two nights in a row I've had dreams about people from my past - exes of a certain sort, people I haven't thought about in quite a while. It was rather unsettling...probably doesn't mean much of anything other than that I'm really, really lonely, and definitely in a romantic capacity. That's been a void that I've been longing to fill for awhile now and there are so many things that I've left unfinished, and all these people with whom I feel like I have unfinished words, unfinished actions. It's hard to let go when a clean break hasn't been made and my life doesn't really seem to lend itself to clean breaks.

In any case, on Wednesday I will officially leave my teenage years behind and THAT, my friends, is something to celebrate, to be sure. 20s, here I come.

Back from New York!

Well, I actually got back on Monday night, but...whatever.

New York was still awesome, as New York is, but not quite as fabulous as usual. We arrived Wednesday evening which was, y'know, just fine and all, and we had dinner somewhere that must have been unremarkable, since I remember nothing about it. Friday, however, was when the hijinks truly began - namely, hijinks surrounding electricity.

The power went out. The shower was failing to work very well and although we had hot water, we had no idea how long it would last. The power was working in the building, just not the apartment we were staying in - which led to long and confusing interactions with the owner of the building, the person who rents the apartment, the super, etc, etc. Seeing as it was about 85 degrees that day (and my body has been running really hot lately - I can't seem to get cool enough), we had to end up staying in a hotel and Thursday basically became a wasted day. Unfortunately, said hotel was over a subway and so we didn't end up getting much sleep anyway.

Friday was a Met day, which was amazing as ever - my mom and I did the Francis Bacon exhibition with headphones, which was seriously freaking awesome. It was one of those great things we just wandered into but ended up being so incredible. We also went to the Models as Muses exhibit (the actual reason I really wanted to go to the Met, if we're being perfectly honest here), which was also incredible, but crowded and loud. The sets around the clothes, the photographs, and the music was all stunningly chosen - the 60s mod era had "My Generation" playing, the late-80s-early-90s-supermodel era had George Michael's "Freedom" video playing, the grunge era had "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and so forth.

I think I need some pictures of models here now.

Miss Christy Turlington, who appears in the "Freedom" video, among others:


Ms. Lauren Hutton:


Miss Twiggy, of course. Sweet Jesus, look at those eyes.


Miss Kate Moss. I love her and don't care what anyone says.


Anyway.

My brother also came in Friday night and was there till Sunday (and he'll be here again tomorrow! yay!) Saturday I saw Allison and Lianna (yay again!) and that evening hung out in the Meatpacking District, one of the few Manhattan neighborhoods I haven't spent a lot of time in, and I LOVED it.

And Sunday was, of course, Pride. We went to Midtown to watch it and, well, holy shit. Just amazing. The combination of the 40 years after Stonewall floats and the Michael Jackson music playing out of them actually got me a little bit teary-eyed over both. And I saw Miss Jaslene Gonzalez again, this time on top of a float, proving that I am fated to run into her every time I'm in New York. Work it, ChaCha Diva.

Monday was our last day, so we didn't do a whole lot. Overall, it wasn't the greatest trip. My body was seriously uncooperative, which led to some frustrated crying jags because damn it, I was in New York and it was summer and I wanted to get the most out of it so bad, but I just couldn't get there. (Monday is my epilepsy clinic appointment, so maybe I'll at least START to get some answers.) And while the electricity mostly cooperated, it was in and out, which made the whole thing kind of stressful.

Still, it was New York Fucking City. Hard for it NOT to be awesome.