Grades and the Freshman Experience

Ok. SO it turns out the Hebrew midterm wasn't so bad for me. A lot of other people in the class had no idea what the hell it was about, but for me, it was fine. I actually went up to the desk when I was finished (for the first time), stood there as she looks it over, tells me what I got wrong and hands it back to me to fix. She does this twice. So I think I'm ok. Also, the whole U thing with the grades turned out to be some computer issue and I'm not failing. I still think she's a bitch though. She calls everyone idiots if they don't understand Hebrew. In friggin 101.

Anyhow, heard some weird freshman college experience shit today. I'm so glad I'm not in a freshman dorm! Apparently, it's normal for kids to just walk up to someone's door and pee all over it because they don't like the person who lives behind it. Then, the resident of the room's comeback is even better: "Dude! You're sick! You just whip it all out and piss all over my door? At least I have the courtesy to store my piss in a jar" (and he points to it).

WTF?

Then, I get woken up at 3 something in the morning last night. Don't really know what that was about, except Jon told me it was Leeba calling him from my phone to ask him to call her suite that's two doors down from me so that she could get in. Another WTF? She could have just gotten my phone book and called directly.

Then, I get up at 7 this morning for Sukkot services. I was supposed to lead the haftarah but of course no one's there enough for a minyan so we don't even read Torah. Joyous. So I'm exhausted, start drifting off in Speculative Fiction which really pissed me off and I found out I got a B on my paper which made me really sad. My flippant style sucks, apparently. No, Betsy didn't say this, but I think it. At least now I know what to do (or not) on the next one.

Two papers due on the same day. Spec Fic essay #2 and Medieval Lit essay#1 and the midterm which is really freaking me out. Anyhow, at least I figured out what the hell I'm writing it on, finally. Only took me all semester until now! Art as the only vehicle to express true love that doesn't channel through G-d in reality. And there's actually lots of scholarly BS on it that I can use to BS it more because thank G-d the Lais of Marie de France are older than hell.

All right, also, Jordana has been sleepwalking apparently and not remembering anything of the random light turn-ons at 2am or such times. WTF?!? I brought it up at dinner and she had no idea what I was talking about. Joy. I thought I was the sleep walker!

I have to go read now. The Man in the High Castle. Very good reading actually. For Spec Fic, so of course!

Going NUTS

I friggin hate Hebrew and that Tzila bitch. I've made at least a friggin 100 on every quiz, turned in all the friggin homework, participate in class, go to ALL the TA sessions, and she calls on me for EVERY SINGLE hard question and I always answer correctly--and she's giving me an Unsatisfactory.

What.
The.
Fucking.
FUCK!?!?!

Well, I'll assume it's because of the damn homework. Because SHE doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. So I do the homework, write down exactly what I'm supposed to do, do it (even if the thing doesn't friggin exist which happens often--don't ask) and then I get it back with a DO! on it and I'm like "do WHAT?!?! I did it!" OR there's absolutely NOTHING to do.

WELL
I'm turning it all back in tomorrow when the friggin midterm is. Someone found out somehow that if you mess up on one thing she doesn't give you credit for ANYTHING. And when do we find this out!?!?!? FUCKING TODAY! And we haven't had CLASS for a week! And the midterm is TOMORROW! Oh, sorry. OVER A WEEK. I HATE HER.

BITCH

OMG

SHE'S JUST LIKE
BARRAS.

Fuck Hebrew.

Follow On

Paul Brady rocks and says it all...

Shutters on the windows, chains upon the door
Sleepless nights spent waiting for an answer
Dreams of heaven falling, panic in the town
Lonely men with fingers on the future...

When all is said and done
You are the only one

Follow on
For the open road is waiting,
Like the song,
We will welcome what tomorrow has to bring
Be it fair or stormy weather
Take my hand
And we'll walk the road together
I won't mind
If it turns out that we never find the end
For all I ask is that you want me as a friend

Days of beauty calling, vanish through a haze
Lost inside some spiral with no ending
Still you bring me loving, free me with a touch
Lead me out to greet the calm descending

When all is said and done
You are the only one

Now

I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.

Song for Jon

*finally some kind of musical inspiration...I guess it took complaining about it to someone to get any...*

I don't know the way to happiness for you
It took me time everlasting-still going for me
The most we can do is just keep-on keep-on keep-on
And then maybe we'll find the answers
what's true

And then we'll go on down and up and all around
to that little-bit little-bit little-bit
of our sweet dreams

But now the time is running fast
and all the pictures on the walls are fading:
That used to be me, that used to be you

So basically, what I'm saying is I don't know
The most we can do is just keep-on keep-on keep-on
And then maybe we'll find the answers
What's new.

Home

There's no home anymore. I guess I realized that when I was eight years old--and that was more than half my life ago. I remember the endless nights screaming over and over again "I want to go home! Take me home" and the reply was always the same: "This is home now. This is home now. This is home now."

I never believed it.

So now, there is no home for me. The grass is just as green on either side and neither side is very green. That's not a bad thing of course. Just...part of it is brown, pale green, or covered in something else.

Right now I'm with Anthony...the closest to home I can get right now--a person. Which is all home really is. It's funny because I didn't talk to him for so long for reasons I won't put on here. If you know them, you know them, if you don't by this point, you never will. I'm glad I'm talking to him again, though. He never ceases to inspire writing with his music. Each time I'm around him, he plays something that starts the words flowing all over again.

It was his music that gave me the death of Aliya. It was his music that gave me the end of In Pursuit of Wind, so I guess I have him to thank for a lot. For being there when other people weren't. For staying and not pretending. Still, I don't regret what I did and he agrees that I shouldn't.

Anyhow, I guess it all reminds me of this time when I was very young. I can't even remember my brothers being around yet. It goes like this:

One day, when my mother was still somewhat of a mother and still a little bit human, she brought me home three cocoons. I watched and waited and it seemed to take forever. But one day, I came home and in place of the cocoons were two beautiful monarch butterflies. The third cocoon never hatched. I kept those two butterflies for a while. They lived on sugar water swabbed onto cotton. Just like with all things, I never wanted to let them go. But they were vibrant, alive, bright, and beautiful. The season was ending and I didn't want to see them die. So I did the only thing I could in order to make them eternal in my five or six-year-old mind. I opened the cage and let them fly.

I still see them flying away. And I remember crying at the thought of never seeing them again. And I remember smiling because I set them free. I guess what I'm saying is that in the end, to truly hold on and make life forever immortal, you must kill the reality and commit it to memory. In other words, set the butterflies free.

And freedom means no home except the wide, wide world. When there's nothing left to lose and nothing to gain but freedom again and freedom again.

Someone said it perfectly...

Here's what I've been thinking lately, except, Jim Croce sums it up better than I can in his song...SO like I played it for Dan Derks--(sorry, too many Dans)--I'll give you people the lyrics:

Which Way Are You Going?

Which way are you going? Which side will you be on?
Will you stand and watch while all the seeds of hate are sown?
Will you stand with those who say "let his will be done"
One hand on the bible, one hand on the gun
One hand on the bible, one hand on the gun

Which way are you looking? Is it hard to see?
Do you say what's wrong for him is not wrong for me?
You walk the streets, righteousness, but you refuse to understand,
You say you love the baby, then you crucify the man
You say you love the baby, then you crucify the man

Everyday things are changing, words once honoured turn to lies
People wondering can you blame them?
It's too far to run and too late to hide

Now you turn your back on all the things that you used to preach
Now let's let him live in freedom if he lives like me
Well your line has changed, confusion reigns
What have you become?
All your olive branches turn to spears when your flowers turn to guns
All your olive branches turn to spears when your flowers turn to guns