No more working Tuesday nights. I still have to write my personal essay for class tomorrow and it needs to accomplish a whole lot but I'm useless thanks to work. Fuck work. Work needs to suck it long and hard and then get punched in the face and beat down with big clubs with spikes in them.

shitty shitty bang bang

Dear Fiction teacher,

How much longer do we have to write trite, overly descriptive shit? Because
it is making me cranky.

I got about four lines into my in-class writing assignment today before I had to stop it and just start bitching in my journal.

"Now see an object. How does it affect your space? Describe your space. What other objects might be there? What characters would be in this space? What conversations might they have? Now get to the moment when something happens. Write that moment. What part does the object play in this moment? What images can you use from our one-word exercise? Now get to the next moment...."

I feel like this is a very good way for a very specific type of person to do a very specific type of writing. Otherwise, it produces adjective-heavy pieces of crap that reek of the hyper-conscious efforts going into them. It kills any sense of individual voice or style and leaves behind contrived doo-doo.

I need a drink.

Logic 101

As inexplicably as it went away, my internet came back on. Huzzah.

I am too cold to do anything. I need to finish my dream story in time for class tonight, but my brain is frozen.

I've also come to the realization that I should drop my English department creative nonfiction class. They're planning to restructure the department next semester and split up the literature and workshop components of the class. If I wait a semester, it will be more likely to count towards either the new creative nonfiction major (which hopefully will exist as soon as they think it will) or as something more different from the class I have on Wednesdays. It's even on the one day I have two long-ass classes in a row, and would make my Mondays significantly more tolerable and give me plenty of time to go to the gym before class without waking up early and abandoning my dog for 13 hours. Also, it's only a three credit class and if I take tutoring for two credits instead of just one, I'll still be at the very respectable 14 credit hour mark. So why do I have to talk myself into this? Because everybody keeps telling me I'm crazy to take four writing classes and I kind of wanted to prove that I could do it. But I'm sure I could have done it, and that's not why I'm dropping what I'm dropping. It just doesn't make sense to keep it.

Why is it so fucking cold in here? Windows are closed and the radiator is on. This is unacceptable.

guide me

No internet at my apartment. Can't figure out why, but it is annoying. I am at school. I have now had all of my classes. I am amazed by the low expectations that pretend to be high expectations here. Read 40 pages, write a few pages. That's considered "heavy" for a week per class. I think back to a certain other school I attended and imagine some of my new classmates being swallowed alive. I look like the annoying over-achiever here. I keep telling everyone that I'll drop a class if it gets to be too much for me, but yeesh.

I am hungry and need to find a bank and a bit of food before waddling my ass over to the gym. The personal trainer will be there and I plan to bug the hell out of him and learn how to be in-shape and sexy as hell. I went to the gym briefly yesterday but felt lost as to what to do, so I used the eliptical thing for 20 minutes and left. I think I'm just in a universal "guide me!" phase. I'll even listen and take your advice (at least a little bit).

You'll always be Husband #1 to me

I started school. Two classes today: Creative Non-Fiction a la English Department, and Fiction I. The creative non-fiction teacher seems fabulous and I think we are (pardon the pun) on the same page about the genre and the writing process in general. My fiction teacher kept saying "what do you see" in response to things, and I kept not seeing things because I am completely non-visual but that doesn't mean I can't have a descriptive response, just stop friggin' asking me to see. And he wants us to keep a paper journal - blogs don't count, and we're not even allowed to bring computers into class, which is frustrating for me because I write much better on a computer and we do a lot of writing in class. I'm not sure yet how I will negotiate between journal writing and blog writing since so much of it will be the same. Perhaps I'll have to start going to the journal first and then typing the relevant shit on here later. Still, it feels like having two husbands. My classmates (particularly in the Fiction class) seem to range from Fucking Idiots to Pretty Cool. But perhaps all these things are good in that they force me out of my comfort zone.

Maybe I'll say more about this shit tomorrow, but right now I'm just completely drained and gassy and borderline-incoherent, so I will drink my beer and pass out on my dog.

Children of Motion Sickness

Good day in improv class - I was "on" for once, instead of my usual mediocrity. Spent all day with people from class and went to a movie with Mr. Aluminum and another classmate I haven't really talked about before. He's a physical therapist from Miami with a "hey baby"/smooth operator/wheeler-dealer personality. The three of us saw Children of Men. I think I liked it, but there was a lot of slightly shaky camera work and a whole scene on a boat, so I was extremely motion sick through the second half of the movie and had to run to the bathroom to puke when it was over. Yes, I am extremely lame and should have been picked off by wolves years ago. I'm still moderately nauseous and will now crawl into bed and try to sleep it off before I have to be at work tomorrow by 8 AM. Bite me, 8 AM.

Lots of words without saying anything

I feel like whining. My body still hurts from yesterday's fall. The bruising on my knees is surprisingly minimal, but I seem to have pulled something in my back and my right arm and hand are distractingly sore.

Today I went laptop bag shopping with my mom and sister. I actually got them to come out to me, since I thought we'd have more luck at one of the many cute stores in my general area than we would out in the 'burbs. We went to over a dozen different places and saw many fabulous bags, but my stupid computer is too big. I was running around with a measuring tape and a sinking heart. I love my computer. That is why I want to bring her with me to school and around in general to do my writing. But with the wide screen, there is nothing that will accommodate her. In the end, I thought I found something that would be big enough, and it certainly was long enough, but I wasn't even thinking about the width. I'm going to try to return it tomorrow (assuming I get up before I have to leave for my improv class) and actually bring my computer with me this time and shove it in bags to see. Maybe I should just go online, but I like to try bags on because I am a small person and sometimes they look silly on me. My sister suggested I use the school's computers and just carry around a flash drive, but I tend to like to write in my own random found spaces and I write significantly faster (and frequently better) on a computer than I do by hand. It's kind of like my musical instrument or piece of sports equipment. Yes! It is my tennis racket and it needs a case. I am not going to leave my racket at home and use the ones at the club.

I'm making headway on my alcoholism. I've been keeping my fridge stocked with quality beer and drinking about one a night at home alone. Right now I'm enjoying The Poet oatmeal stout. If I am lucky, the alcohol content will be enough to counteract my deep dark nap I took around 7 PM. Not the smartest move on my part. Sunday I have to be at work by 8 AM. Giant piece of poop. I can't be on this weird schedule of half-sleeping through the night then crashing late evening. And then school on Monday. What are the odds I actually make it to all of my classes this time? I've been very good with my improv classes, so I'm hoping that will carry over. No more hiding in my room and refusing to shower or leave. That is not one of the seven habits of highly effective people; it is one of the habits of useless depressed people. I want to be effective, not useless.

I Georged one of the steaks from my freezer tonight. It sucked. I need to figure out the practicalities of snacking and shopping for Healthy Annabell, now that I am trying to be healthy. You know, aside from that whole alcoholism thing.

May I please go to sleep now?

Quills and Spills?

I spent today at Orientation Part II and running around the Nameless campus trying to finalize the things that must be final in time for me to start classes on Monday. I met one of my professors and the faculty people I talked to all seemed great, and I even met TWO administrative people who didn't completely suck and knew what they were doing and were able to solve my issues. And I am now actually excited about all of my classes. I'm taking not one but two creative non-fiction classes (one in the English Department, one in the Fiction Writing Department), Fiction I, and magazine journalism. I may be insane taking four intensive writing classes, but if I am going to be a writer I will need to be writing intensely, and this way I will have a good sense of which writing route I want to go by the end of my first semester, thus leaving me plenty of time to pursue whichever I choose.

On my way through the turnstile going into the El the heel of my very cute and only moderately impractical boots slipped on a wet patch and I went down, landing on my hands and knees and bumping my head on the turnstile. It sucked. I think I pulled a few somethings and bruised myself rather impressively. After I got myself up again the woman behind me pointed at my feet as if to say "that's what you get for wearing attractive shoes." I punched her in the face.

lower case

Thank you to all of my friends who have been there through the fits of Annabell's Dark Twin. I love you guys.

Last night I subjected NBF to Crying Self-Hating Annabell. We are at that point in our friendship when I try to scare him off by showing him all the ugliest versions of me. It's like I get to a certain level of closeness with a person and then I freak out and get antagonistic because I don't think I'm worthy of such friendships, but then the more the person doesn't mind my terrible horribleness the more I get clingy because they are clearly fabulous and antagonistic because I clearly don't deserve them. It's ridiculous. I hate myself for not liking myself better. How stupid is that? And then I get even more mad at myself because I know it's stupid so I should be able to stop it but I can't. If this friend person is a Boy it gets even worse. I'm too much a head-case to be this much a heart-case. I end up a basket-case.

On the plus side, self-hatred is a good quality to have in a writer, particularly the women. Name me one successful female author without a solid dose of self-loathing.

Evil creepy sadness is being evil and creeping up on me. Back, vile beast!

a-rest-ed

I put myself under house arrest today with the intention of cleaning. Actual cleaning done: I collapsed a few boxes and put a handful of gross things in a garbage bag. Otherwise, I spent the day watching movies and TV and knitting. But honestly, it was kind of a nice day if you ignore the whole nagging self-loathing for not being more productive. I like knitting and old detective movies and remembering why I don't miss TV. It's good to have a day off that isn't consumed by migraine.

Surrender, Dorothy

The other night I watched Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle, and while it was not a very good movie, I am more convinced than ever that Dorothy Parker is my patron saint. From now on, I will refer to all the objects of my obsessive lustings after close platonic friends as "Benchleys."

I'm very frustrated at my lack of cleaning initiative. I had expected today to be my post-migraine manic energy rush and left my schedule clear so that I could clean and do laundry. I did pay some bills and do a necessary Target run, but otherwise I sat on my fat ass and then hung out with NBF for longer than intended. He's very much my Benchley Du Jour. I annoy the living hell out of myself when it comes to boys and Boys and such.

Into love, and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen -
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?

(Dorothy Parker)

I'm somewhat terrified to start school. I've been trying very hard to get my schedule straightened out (let's just say Nameless College isn't very organized or good at communication). It doesn't help that with classes starting the 22nd it feels very soon but far enough away for me to worry and stew. I want to get my hair cut and have my apartment be extremely clean and organized before then, too, but I'm doing that great thing where I freeze up and just want to play stupid computer games and sleep and poke my dog because I'm too overwhelmed by the task at hand. If you saw my apartment, you too would be overwhelmed. I just have to remember that this is so I can write. I have a purpose this time - a stated goal. Take classes to write. Get the degree to write. Clean my apartment to create a more productive atmosphere in which to write. I need a motivational poster with a sunset or a cat or something. Or maybe a picture of my mother with the caption "Fuck her, this one's for ME." Dorothy Parker also kept a messy apartment and never graduated from a fancy college and loved dogs. She also tried to kill herself a number of times and was an alcoholic. So perhaps she isn't the best role model, but I like what she produced.

Here's a thought: maybe if I really do "do it all for the writing," that's why I'm drawn to the pained pining sort of "love" instead of anything more practical or obtainable. No one wants to hear about your non-dramatic content relationship. Boooring. But "Ay, me!" is the birth of so much poetry.

If I ever have a daughter, her middle name may have to be Dorothy. My grandma is Dorothy, as is Ms. Parker. I'd make it a first name, but it's too ugly.

The good, the bad, and the conventional

I feel that today can be most simply put in three categories:

THE GOOD

• I showed up to my orientation and it was completely irrelevant that I was late and unregistered
• I registered for classes that are to start the 22nd
• I got into the creative non-fiction workshop even though it was listed as full and I'd already resigned myself to having to wait to take it
• I talked with a transcript evaluator and got my accepted credits bumped up from the 55 they originally took to 75, and once they get my AP scores I should only have to take two science classes and a history class to complete my non-major requirements
• I mapped out a potential plan for my entire future college courses, earning a BFA in Fiction Writing with a Creative Nonfiction concentration, and it's comfortably do-able in two years (assuming they offer things I need during summer sessions)
• They gave us lunch when we picked up our IDs at the end of the day
• I think I'm actually excited to start my classes
• Lean Cuisines were on sale at Jewel for $2 each

THE BAD

• Between oversleeping and going to the wrong building 5 blocks away, I was half an hour late for orientation and missed the free breakfast
• I may have to take a bunch of really stupid basic journalism classes to get to the magazine writing classes. I'm willing to do it, but it fills up my schedule with lots of things I'd rather skip
• The advisors only knew their own departments, so my journalism questions remained unanswered
• I have to pay a $25 "archive retrieval fee" to the stupid College Board people because my AP scores are more than 4 years old
• The only other person my age at the orientation has a 4-year-old baby
• I still know nothing about my U-Pass, health insurance, or gym availability
• The guy at Dunkin Donuts gave me a free donut, which sounds like a good thing and was very nice but I'm trying to be healthier and I ate it which is not healthier
• My migraine is still lurking. Low-grade, but lurking

THE UGLY

• Since I significantly overslept, I didn't shower and my hair was a mess and I wore my glasses and looked like a complete schlep
• My ID photo. I looked crappier than I try to ever be in public, and then they took my picture for something I have to keep for the next two-ish years
• Your mom

Yes, this is my third post today.

Can't sleep. Head is still hurting, and I'm going to the fiction writing department's orientation tomorrow unannounced. One is supposed to have taken one's assessment tests (like to prove I don't need remedial math or English and hopefully get out of their "this is a computer...this is how to turn it on" class) before one's orientation. Because I got in oh so very last minute, there were no available dates to get "assessed" before the fiction orientation, so the online registration thing wouldn't let me RSVP to tomorrow's festivities. I instead RSVPed to Friday's journalism orientation with an assessment time on Tuesday and emailed the orientation people to find out what to do. Having not heard back, I'm just going to show up tomorrow (I mean, what better place to be at 8 AM on a Monday morning) and assume it will all work itself out. It usually does.

I just showered. That's a good sign for my crawling out of the migraine hole. My own stink was getting to me. I'll still shower in the morning, but I think the wafting stench is part of why I couldn't sleep on my first attempt. I'm also treating myself to some serious Biore stripping. I love these things. I'm attempting my greater cheek region for the first time. Those pores don't really looked clogged but they're quite big so we'll see. Be glad I don't have a digital camera with a really good macro lens because you know I would post the pictures of the gross little pore cloggies sticking up off the strip.

I owe people phone calls. I thought that's what this weekend would be for, but the migraine killed that plan. So people who know I should be calling: I haven't forgotten you.

canineopathy

According to my dog, the best cure for my migraine is for him to lick and paw at my face as much as possible and then hover over me possessively. I don't think it's working.

Brain, brain, go away

Come on, head, cut it out. I have a bar shift today. I like the bar shifts. I like money. I like not screwing over my coworkers. I also like not being in excruciating pain. I can think and do stuff right now, but not without feeling like someone nail-gunned my skull. And this one is in my neck and shoulders, too, which is very uncomfortable. Come on, drugs, do your magic already. This is day 2. Magic drugs should prevent day 2. There's no rain in the forecast, but I'm pretty sure it will rain, anyway. We're clearly between fronts and it's squishing my head. Grrr.

Not cancer

Not cancer. It was just a virus. So completely lame and crazy that there were two months of scariness and a nice scar for a virus that was no big deal. They need to figure out better faster ways of telling if things are cancer. I know too many people who have had fairly major surgery to remove things that turned out not to be cancer. For as advanced as modern medicine is in certain things, there are others that seem so Dark Ages. I have pictures of my brain but the only way to tell what anything unusual is made out of is to chop it open. We can prevent all sorts of diseases but not the common cold. We can save people from Cancer but it usually involves lots of radiation and hair loss and puking and general misery. Too bad I have no interest in pursuing medicine because humanity has so far to go and there are so many useful things waiting to be discovered. Instead, I just want to add to the global overstock of words and books. Laaame.

I'm having a migraine again. This weather may be nice and temperate for a Chicago January but the weird pressure changes (plus general life stress and last night's revelry with E*) do not make my brain very happy.

*E the person, not the illegal substance

some stress, some shopping

I'm in fight or flight mode. Some mixture of adrenaline and fear. Between finding out today if my friend has Cancer and spending last night figuring out that I may very well have more than two years of full-time school ahead of me, it's warranted. But no panicking. At this point, I really don't think it's cancer (does this mean I'm not emotionally prepared if it is?), and I may end up loving school once it's within my interests/life-passions/etc. And they have a science class that involves the aquarium as its lab component. I'm so taking that as soon as I can. It's the history requirements I'm dreading. That's the kind of class I hate most. Hopefully they will be significantly easy enough that I don't have to feel like I'm wasting too much of my time and energy because that makes me really cranky and shut down. But as for this semester, I kind of want to take one class in general fiction, one in playwriting, one in creative non-fiction, and one in journalism. It seems like a lot in the same vein, but if I end up going the magazine journalism path instead of the creative non-fiction path, I need to know that and start it ASAP as it's a program with a shit-ton of requirements I wouldn't otherwise take. They're useful classes for life (copy editing, trade magazine article writing, a grammar class), but if I'm being a more self-indulgent creative non-fiction person, I'm not likely to choose them. Thank goodness I'm being oriented next week so I don't have that long to stress over such decisions.

Yesterday was an extremely successful shopping day with my sister. I got: two sweaters, a pair of undies, a pair of brown boots I can wear with skirts (finally!), and a new grown-up winter coat. Today I will see how many of these things I can wear at once. Maybe not the two sweaters, but everything else is a maybe. Yee-haw.

Get my learn on

From the Department of No Surprise but Nice to Offically Know: I was accepted to Nameless Chicago College for the Spring 2007 term. Orientation starts next week. Spiffy.

2007

Slappy Jew Beer.