are these things ever really inevitable?

Are they? Yes, I think some of them are. And some of the things that happen are purely luck, and some we make happen with the sheer force of our will. And that makes the world confusing, because we cannot say yes this is the way, no that is not the way. Because there are so many ways. Sometimes it is fate, and we cannot change. Sometimes what happens is a creation of our minds, and most of the time its a muddled in between state that will never be known.

It's odd that I enjoyed political theory so much, when these questions of what is reality just tire me out. I think I liked that it took big questions of right and wrong and justice and nature and laid them out simply like geometric proofs. Passionate and yet emotionless.

We just finished our work on "The Violet Hour." Please do see it, if you ever get a chance. Not just our performance, but any performance. Or read it again and again. I'm really all wound around it in wonderful ways.

laws of the land

So I spent a lot of yesterday gearing up for tax time. This feels exactly like when I tried to do an entire year's worth of latin translations the night before they were due. And I did them, but did they end up in real human sentences? I really doubt it.
So, like, I'm "doing my bookeeping" but it's totally nonsensical. And about every fifteen minutes I picture the IRS descending on my house and hauling me away in chains and making me sign a piece of paper that says I will never try to do this on my own ever again. Which, hey, would be a great idea! Not doing this myself! But as it turns out I'm way too embarassed to go to a professional and say hey, I only make 150 dollars a month from this business, but I can't keep track of even that. I also needed to think about this in August, not late February. But in August I was thinking about how all my melons got stolen, so I was kind of busy.

Well, back to the grindstone. I hope you all write me when I'm in jail.

it feels like a short pier

So I'm applying to college. Again. So I applied twice in high school, then to transfer out of George Mason, then again to transfer out of Oxy, although I didn't end up going. I think I just needed that UVA acceptance to feel right in the world. So for the fifth time I'm ordering up those SAT scores. Gugh.

But I have to think that I want to learn this better. I want to know how to sew, and I want to think about design, and I want to meet other people who want to think about design and talk about it and I want to be better at this than I am. And if I go to VCU it's cheap as hell. So that's nothing to sneeze at. But I feel silly. I feel absurd, like all of a sudden looking down and realizing that my toes have popped out of my shoes and I've been walking around like a hobo for the last few months. But it's not anyone else's life, it's mine. These are my toes, and I'll put them wherever I want.

The Scourge Continues

A big fat flea crawling on Pistol's head. Unmindful of the fact that it has been below freezing for days, or that there have been no fleas in this house for 2 weeks now, or that there is no reasonable way that the dog could have picked up said flea. It's like how in the Middle Ages they thought that bugs just appeared out of nowhere. I see what they're talking about. What eggs could there possibly be? Where have they been hiding?

The whole thing makes me want to sit down and cry. I am helpless. I am scarred and bloodied and beaten and overwhelmed by fucking bugs. There is no way around it. And I let this bundle of flea sleep in bed with me. Because there's no way I could say no to him. Sigh.

cold toes

The wind is whipping through this two-bit town. I made an adorable skirt yesterday, one with pleats and a 50s boomerang print, but even with wool tights and legwarmers, it's just too darn cold this week. My feet hurt, here in the house in my pippy longstocking socks. When they touch the drawers of the desk they're a little sore with cold. Blarch.