Live Blogging! I tell you what I'm doing over several hours

3:17 pm: I think about cleaning up. Specifically adjusting the blanket and quilt on the futon. Branden seems to do that, sometimes he even seems obsessed about it. I don't because Justin is in the other room and I'm worried he'll hear me? I get excited about my hulu queue. There is a new episode of: Legend of the Seeker, Secret Life of the American Teenager, Heroes, Firefly. I have The Book Group already in my queue. I start it. I decide blogging about my inability to clean will help me cope with the concrete ways in which Social Anxiety make my life "bad". The internet goes slowly, or fidgets, or maybe is just sad and it skips on the opening to The Book Group. I miss what I compose in my head to be important constructive narrative components...or something. I'm upset I don't see everyone's couch, is what I'm trying to say. Ameena has a blog: I like the Au Revoir Simone song. Now the song is Matt and Kim and I hate it.

3:23 pm: Ameena has an eventful life. It seemed important. Made me think about school. Was going to write something about my dreams or goals, but my consciousness felt vertigo; I went to check the dictionary to see if vertigo was the word I wanted. The word I wanted was spinning, felt my brain spinning from within my skull, but the real spinning had to be my consciousness in my brain. Couldn't think of the words to describe it, gave up and wrote vertigo even though, to me, it's reminiscent of rich white women on prescription medication (Will and Grace?).

3:40 pm: There's some noise outside the Green Room (GR), Branden probably just returned from coffee with Jeremy. I thought it'd be nice to take a break from The Book Group to talk about how much I adore it. While watching it, I thought I'd write something like: "I'm composing a list of distinct things about this that I like" and then "My list is full and now I'm teeming with excitable enjoyment. Or enjoyable excitement". I also thought some very specific things that I liked, but now I'm embarrassed to write them (maybe it's because now someone comments and the comments make me uncomfortable). One of those things was the wall paper.

3:55 pm: I really liked that first episode of The Book Group. Now I'm going to edit my brother's Sterling Scholar portfolio, specifically the page on being Debate President. The trick, as I see it, is to articulate winsomely the qualities of a leader. The ones that my brother possesses. I mustn't lie like Chelsea Irving (is this slander?)

4:02 pm: The Word document is converting. I don't have the newer version. I opened up iTunes. I was planning on listening to The Books. But then saw Mirah because right now my library is organized alphabetically by album. Then I decided on St. Vincent. What conclusions can be drawn re: my character from this information? The document is open now.

4:04 pm: Don't like the words "fortunate" and "responsible" in the line "I am fortunate to be responsible for...". Going to use a thesaurus to find something I like more.

4:08 pm: I decided what he meant by "fortunate" was: this is cool. So I think "I have the distinction of" more accurately speaks to the honor of the position and something that favorably speaks to his character.

4:11 pm: Is "accountable" a good word? Is accountability specifically favorable in a leadership context?

4:14 pm: Opening an article on Mary Tyler Moore and (second-wave) feminist leadership in my attempts to find a theory of leadership with which I'm comfortable. (Had to thesaurus the word "concept" to come up with "theory". Convinced "second-wave" isn't going to provide leadership qualities that are "feminist enough" for me.

4:26 pm: The article, written by Allyson Jule used the phrase "delicate vulnerability" that I liked a lot. I also noted how much I really liked the Mary Tyler Moore show. And Rhoda.

4:28 pm: In the next paragraph A. Jule makes a rousing case for Second Wave feminism and I feel bad for saying I wasn't anticipating much. I really like Catharine MacKinnon and a lot about the Second Wave. I don't know why I said that other thing before, maybe I was trying to seem hip. I "genuinely" do not know if that last line was meant to be ironic or not.

4:34 pm: Halfway through the article. Mostly it makes me want to watch Mary Tyler Moore. I googled: "Toward a Truly Radical Feminist Theory of Leadership". I ended up on the wikipedia for "Radical Feminism". When it mentions "leadership" it is just to say, "Those nutcase feminists couldn't get anything done. It wasn't democracy but paralysis!" That was a paraphrase. It did say that all "class-striving" was "male-identified", which I sympathize with.

4:40 pm: Finished the article. At the end there was a transcript of that first interview where she gets hired. With that "I hate spunk" line that I say from time to time. I really liked it. She asked for a Brandy Alexander when pressed. Now Mirah is playing. I haven't found a better word for "responsible". Am I doing this wrong?

4:45 pm: I found an article, "Spatial imaginaries: universities, internationalization, and feminist geographies" that I wanted to read because the abstract looked nice, but then OU didn't have online access to it. I have to admit that part of the reason I pursued reading it was because I'm telling "you" everything I'm doing. I thought you'd be impressed.

4:59 pm: I'm liking my new article, which is essentially everything I wanted: Feminists in Social Work: where have all the leaders gone. Lazzari et al. It's going over theories of leadership. At the end of one theory (transactional leadership) it is mentioned (Does Lazzari do the mentioning? How do I incorporate the et. al? Just like that? Lazzari et al mention?) that the leader "takes responsibility for the outcome". That's accountability, right? What does that even mean? What accountability could there possible be for a debate team? Is that just social ostracization if they don't win state?

5:04 pm: Moser & Moser and Rao & Kelleher rejected the "valorization of heroic individualism" (fuck you transformation leadership theory)

5:09 pm: Sometime seems "up" with the font. Convinced this is ultimately "better". Began typing to note that I briefly contemplated adding in the words "I am honored with the distinction of...". Ultimately rejected the idea because it seemed redundant and too self-congratulatory. Now Josephine Foster & the Supposed is playing.

5:14 pm: bell hooks tells me that I should articulate a form of leadership that my brother embodies that breaks free of an ideology of domination, etc. Should I have capitalized the b on bell because it was the start of that sentence?

5:17 pm:

"A feminist theory of leadership should apply to, and closely monitor or observe, all levels of leadership power and influence, both formal and informal; the sex differences that exist; gendered expectations; and the process and goals of leadership. This practice involves reconstructing power as empowerment, for example, making decisions with others, sharing control of resources and educational curricula, and generating ideas or ideologies and knowledge. Redefining power in a culture grounded in power hierarchies (that is, patriarchy) is no easy task." (Lazzari et al 352)

I can't get out of the block quote. I'm scared. And I don't think I cited that right. Where should I put the full citation? I've been "live blogging" for two hours. Is this productive? Illuminating for me or the reader? I don't know. I don't think so. "fuck". "FUCK"

6:04 pm: Watching a longer commercial so I don't have to take commercial "breaks" during the show. The commercial is of 1.5 minute defense of robots. Honda: "You guys! Robots aren't evil like tv and movies say they are!!"

6:55 pm: The weird commercial drama has come to a resolution. He stole the door, diligently churched it up, and brought it to his apartment so that Patrick Dempsey could tell me my relationships would only be fully realized when I bought State Farm insurance of some kind, as some sort of promise. While I always intended on mentioning the weird commercial drama that took 3 breaks to unfold, I was also planning on commenting on how the second and third episode of The Book Group never really lived up to the genius of the first. But where I think the genius lies is when they're in the actual book group. And I'm absolutely in love with Janis. Which is to say the third episode started getting good.

7:05 pm: I think I'll watch Secret Life now.

7:12 pm: "My family called you and asked you to bring me water?"

7:14 pm: "Falling in love, is such an easy thing to do. Birds can do, let's all do it, let's get to it, hurry and do it. Let's fall in love!"

7:20 pm: Grace, the Christian, is starting a masturbation campaign. She's calling it "Just say 'me'" (tm).

7:32 pm: "I don't like schemes...hijinks or shenanigans" Ashley is so cool.

7:34 pm: "Jesus never said 'just say no', Nancy Reagan said 'just say no'". Grace is getting kicked out of the Teen Abstinence Group. Also the "Just say me guy Joe" is handing out stickers. Grace's masturbation campaign is all over school by lunch.

7:40 pm: Ricky (the slut): "If you're my girlfriend, you're going to be sleeping with me" Adrian (the slut): "Don't try that approach, I don't like it" I like the way they're couching this in terms of empowerment, and they're broaching the unease parents have with talking to their children about masturbation.

7:43 pm: WTF Is that the Olympic gold-medal winning gymnast Shawn Johnson?

10:31 pm: Stuff happened and I almost started reading Tao Lin short stories, but I'll go back to watching Secret Life.

10:39 pm: I texted my mom to ask who the better gymnast was. It was Nastia. I loved her. Grace's mother got called into the counseling office. Mom: "Well I'm going to get kicked out of church" Grace: "I got kicked out of TAG (Teen Abstinence Group)" Mom: "Not for this" Grace: "Yeah! Can you believe it?" It's funny to me because Grace had sex a while ago and she thought that made her responsible for her father's death.

10:42 pm: It's Joe! The incredibly bad actor that I'm sure is some sort of joke. At first I was just offended that they could find someone even more awkward and stiff than the main cast, but then I realized it was an intentional casting decision. Now I'm just really glad that I'm in on the joke. heh heh, good one casting director.

10:44 pm: Amy (the girl who had the baby) and her sister Ashley were talking about just say me. Ashley said it was something everyone just does. And Amy said "I don't do anything without thinking about it". Ashley said: "Really? Have you met your son?" And I lol'd

10:54 pm: OH NO! Apparently it takes 4 days until masturbating isn't fun anymore! I discovered this through a montage set to Mr. Sandman that features the girls content in their bed on Monday-Wednesday. But by Thursday they're bored. And on Sunday they aren't even in bed anymore! They're just doing home work.

11:39 pm: I really, really love Janis.

headphones in the dark

My eyes are hurting. I was wearing my headphones in the dark. My eyes don't hurt anymore. They've adjusted to the brightness of the computer.

I tend to think before I write. Think and think. Wallow in my consciousness before I can say anything. Is it my "social anxiety" refusing every thought. Crushing inferiority. What is it crushing.

I read somewhere [source amnesia] that every cell in our body replaces [itself] every seven years. I'm repeating that wrong. Maybe. I can't be sure. Source amnesia. It could even apply to the phenomena! Everything, this whole paragraph is an example. Every word choice could be the wrong one. Is it even called source "amnesia"? Is it even considered a "phenomena" or simply a "concept". That we hear things, even if they say, "Your body doesn't replace itself every seven years, that's obscene and delusional", then, seven years later, I write in a blog, "every seven years I'm [brand new]".

Long chains of (cause and) effect with a source that doesn't exist. May have never existed. Recently I've been considering the viability of lists as a solution to this immateriality of being. But even that consideration is immaterial, mostly it's not there (here? in my head. Is my consciousness a place). Mostly I'm not making lists, mostly (eternally?) I'm in a dark room wallowing in my consciousness.

Am I real? Or does the real world hold nominal superiority; must I get a job in sales or manufacturing.

Should I spend some time dissecting intersecting class, race, and gender privileges that resulted in me even saying those two career possibilities?

Was that last bit "necessary"?

and I can't believe it?

Dr. Irvine (Jill?) didn't post feedback to my midterm. The midterm was weak, Shayna Daitch even said "It could be better", which seems a foolish thing to say, but the midterm was weak. Maybe strictly from the perspective of what I "should" turn it, but even that doesn't make sense. I couldn't think of a better word than "post", and initially I didn't like it, but quickly following I thought about mail, sending things through the post, and I liked the word again, I think.

Madeline isn't saying a lot, but she says she received feedback.

Lindsay Pease hasn't provided me with any feedback, but the context is different because she sent me a nice message and I responded with a long and perhaps "needy" message and she hasn't responded to it and I think (hope) maybe she is preparing something grand, but I think probably it's more than on her hierarchy of who to care about I am low and unimportant, and I think that's a redundant thing to say.

And Kate Sheppard is someone that I've ignored, but the context is different. There was an interview for the newsletter and I responded after a delay and I included a metaphor as my answer to "What will you do with your degree" and I was mostly proud of it, and she didn't include it in her "write up" for the interview, but I still think what she did was rather good, and she asked me to respond and instead I didn't. I hope she just posts what she has, or maybe even I hope that she doesn't. I think I just hope that she doesn't mind that I never responded.

And I wanted to say something about suicide, even though when I talked to Ginger? Her name couldn't have been Ginger! It was Stephanie, although I don't think I ever used her name-she had so much OU paraphernalia and she talked about her cats or her plants and I think that's when we were supposed to bond. Tomatoes, she was growing tomatoes. And that was probably before Toulouse ran away, I don't think we talked him running away, just when he was around, but what I wanted to talk about was the first meeting, the one Lynn Lewis had offered to walk me to (and she was so fond of the paper I wrote about "depression"), and she asked about suicide, and I think if I had said something about it, --- for some reason I have these images of ET and I don't think I saw that movie more than once, but when all of those people in hazmat suits and big tunnels of plastic (am I making this up), but all of this scientific -I think I'm trying to say that it stops being real, or it becomes too real, I don't know if it has anything to do with "reality", but there was just something scary about the way the question was posed, so I said "no", and of course I could never talk about it after that.

But really there's just this moment I'm trying to "expel" or "get out" or "articulate" and I don't even remember any of it, I remember the memory of it, what I actually remember is hiding in the car, I even think I called Branden, but Caitlyn and Shagah knew precisely what to do and they held him as he cried and they waved down the police, although it was the firemen who showed up first, but that seems too surreal, it was all surreal, and I don't remember who told me because I know that I stayed in the car until it was over. I stayed in the car when his parents came, no, I have this all wrong. They invited his roommate over (isn't it terrifying/beautiful how pronouns are ruining what I'm trying to say) to their place and I don't think I ever even made eye contact with him, (even later when we saw him in the library and Caitlyn talked about nothing, but it was shiny and plastic, this conversation of nothingness they exchanged and it felt safe and detached, even after her holding him when he was so broken), but all I'm trying to say is Caitlyn told me, probably much later, but she told me a fireman had said something about "There must be something in the water this is the [number] [suicide] this week" and I can't believe it.

Please don't read this, I just convinced/promised myself that actually sending it to you would make existence quantifiably more interesting.

I think it was junior year specifically, because that was my least "fulfilling" year- I had debate, band, all of those ap classes, even symphony in the morning; I was very tired, unhappy and felt like I didn't "want to keep doing" what I was doing. But in high school generally, I have the memory that I would tell myself that the only reason I was going to school was because maybe I'd get to see you.

I'm "pretty sure" there were some mornings where I'd forget to say something like, "Maybe you'll get to see him today!" and I would just go to school without any real reason, and maybe that's why I've so convinced myself it was a lie. I remember thinking, "You know, I woke up every morning with the hopes of seeing you" because it was always in the context of a fantasy; I was telling you, sometime in the future in a well-decorated apartment; or I was just telling a friend; or maybe I was writing it in my memoirs. I think I mostly "just had the thought" of getting out of bed only with the hopes of seeing you, I don't really remember experiencing reluctance at waking up transform into enthusiasm because I thought of maybe running into you in the halls. Maybe once.

I feel confused. I wanted to write this because I felt so empty and worthless, meaningless, the universe felt so arbitrary and it was 8 am and I was crawling into bed, defeated, and just let my mind wander. I remember thinking, "These thoughts are interesting", although I don't remember what thoughts prompted that thought. Eventually I was thinking about, although I didn't label it at the time, back when my life wasn't as consumed with detachment and meaninglessness. This era, loosely defined from 7th grade until my spring semester freshman year, was contextualized by specific romantic urges. There was always someone I'd think "endlessly" of.

And it was mostly a secret, until it wasn't. But still I tried not to talk about it because even now I think of how embarrassed I am. I'm so humiliated, in nearly every interaction I have, at the thought of mentioning any attraction I've ever had. Even now I'm afraid to type the word "obsession" which is what I think it really was (and is), and as I'm writing this message I'm convincing myself that having a "romantic obsession" is really what gave my life "meaning" in this era loosely defined from 7th grade until my spring semester freshman year.

And isn't that interesting?

Cognitive Dissonance

'I "should" be falling asleep.' I try to think sarcastically, but really I'm terrified of when obligations will want me to wake up and I won't believe in them. I never believe them (I seldom believe them). Sleeping Garrison always thinks it's some sort of exaggeration and everything just needs to "take a step back" or "chill out" or something. I like Sleeping Garrison a little bit better than the Garrison that's afraid that he's not going to sleep. That one is me. I like the me that isn't me more than the me that is me. Me=person typing. Or it can mean Garrison. I don't know if "or" is the right word. I don't know if any of those words were the ones I meant. Probably both. I feel like I just keep typing words and regretting them a little right before they finish. And then a whole lot more when the sentence is done. Like when I'm typing the words I think, "Yes, you're getting somewhere. Just keep trying and these small failures will add up to a Success". When that doesn't happen, I pause sadly; I think I just keep hoping it'll happen eventually. Like at the paragraph. But I think I'm done now. "Fuck."

I wanted to write about why I want to email Tao Lin. I want to email him something like,

I want to hide in your bed, and I want you to be comforted by that when you see my body under the quilt my grandmother and I made and it was the only thing I had with me when you picked me up at the airport.

But when I think that, I think "at best", he would maybe just email me back something interesting and maybe send me some interesting things. It would, if everything went "according to 'plan'", be "just another relationship" that doesn't include touching. I think that caressing someone's (my) cheek is a very good thing to happen. Once Branden cried, but he was lying on top of me so all of his tears fell on my face. It felt warm. I should have been crying, or, I think he would have been comforted if I was crying, too. I think even I wanted to cry, but wasn't. Not as much as he was anyway. But I felt relieved because his tears kept falling on my face and he would rub his face on mine so both of our faces were smeared with tears and maybe some of them were mine.

I told that story because I want someone's tears on my face. But I don't get that. So I send a lot of text messages and read Tao Lin's blog and John Campbell's webcomic and I listen to music. When I'm falling asleep, or sometimes while I'm in the process of reading or listening, I think about emailing these people and "endearingly" requesting of them to take me with them into their lives. To let me sleep in their beds and maybe help with the cleaning. I'm entirely convinced that if someone would just cry tears onto my cheeks when I wanted to cry, but wasn't really, but was comforted when the tears would smear "evenly" on both of our faces, I would be satisfied with "life" and everything.

I think that's what I wanted to say.

But I just remembered that it isn't.

I wanted to mention that I'm trying to get Branden to fulfill all of my "desires" for "social interaction". But he's "long-distance", and sometimes I don't have very good service. And I don't know where to go from there. So I pretend like "celebrities" will fill in the gaps.

Things happen in "my life"

There are classes. They look fine, really. Splendid courses. I could learn a lot. Of course I've already taken Dr. Irvine's class, but when reading off the list to my mother, I hesitated and told her it was "different". I don't like mentioning failure, and they don't even dress it up as nothin' different. Dr. Irvine has given me an F and a D and a lot of moral support. I was planning on finishing that final, planned on her fixing up my gpa, advising me (I still can't enroll until she does something on her computer) and maybe writing me glowing recommendations.

But I'd really rather do this. Or maybe even they have an internship. But I don't know how to run away. Don't know if I need to talk to someone about getting the internship to count for course credit or something. In my head, I'd write an incredibly personal cover letter and I'd talk about my hopelessness, my detachment, my inability to succeed. I'd hope I'd come off "intelligent" and "endearing".

I dreamt about running feminism in debate, but I think an unpaid internship with the aclu prison project seems more "authentic". Feel like debate is for a bunch of "insincere" "ugly people" who are "fifteen minutes away from" playing dungeons & dragons every thursday night over over-cooked spaghetti squash with cinnamon and "brown" sugar.

Still lonely.

Oviedo

I want to believe in the narrative structure of my empty thoughts. Of course empty isn't the right word for it and I blame the computer screen, even with the sunshine turned down. I don't know what it's called. It's not bright. Brightness.

When I'm angry and alone, I think. I guess I always think but a lot of the times it sounds like this. Annoying, bulky, too many Ts, unselfconscious.

From Moab I was inspired. I wanted to write about my family or place.

But in bed that next night, I listened to Blind Pilot and fantasized about Kellen.

About reading these lyrics on my face, to him. I had a contented and maybe amused facial expression. I told him secrets unintentionally.

God, does anyone else just hate my words?

They're so fucking pretentious.

Why can't that stop?

Why can't I write like I think?

I can't think with this computer screen.

I can't write with my thoughts.

I want to claw at the veins in my forearms. It's less of a thought and more of an image, and a visceral impulse.

I want a tone like the one in my thoughts. The word "warm" won't go away in my attempt to describe it. I think it's closer to orange, with the sun turned down. When the jalapeno is roasted. Chipotle, but without those connotations. Mixed with watermelon and hot sauce. Don't think about the sweetness, but of the butcher that hates watermelon. Combine her with the distaste towards the man that hates pumpkin.

Maybe all I want is the color of pumpkin. but without ever thinking that word.

I prefer sensual to sexual. Strictly in tone. Maybe it's the keys.

They're square and pretentious. Or precocious. I don't have a grasp of the different shades of meaning. It's Mac. They're Apple keys. The white ones. Nobody can write their thoughts with these keys. Excluding the type of person that can. Who knows what they write about. Presumably celebrity gossip, indie music, and technology.

They probably don't write about whispers. Clever, subtle whispering about existential despair.

Those don't get written about on macs.

I'm not done because I want to write about Kellen, but I also want to mention all of the veins in my forearms snapping like the silk wrapped around corn on the cob. Pull, rip, dispose. Compost.

Kellen isn't veins. It's just that his name is lying around the house.

I fantasized. I (used to?) believe that whenever I fantasized I was creating an alternate universe where those fantasies occurred. In concrete reality it means I can never experience what I fantasized about, this universe is defined by the absence of the material conditions of the alternate realities I was creating.

And Blind Pilot.

There was the missed connections posting.

But when I think concretely about him, it's sexual but not in a way I can compellingly describe.

Sensual in the tone, or context. goal?

I think it's mostly about the end of Branden.

He provided the narrative ability to think about the limitations of Branden.

What are we doing?

Now I want to be done because I itch.