I apologize hugely for not writing recently. I wrote a post not too long ago (okay, over two months ago) but I'm not sure if I ever posted it.
School is crazy, my private life is almost nonexistant (except for when I hide in my room under the covers) I've got too many groups/clubs going on, and writing is well...
One of these days I'm either going to write myself to death, or give up altogether.
But, just a snippet from life: I got a phone call last night.
My first thought was "Oh Fuck, who's calling me now."
My second was "Whose number is this?"
So I answered and this is how the conversation went:
Me :"Hello?"
*Staticky and creepy breathing*
Me: "Hullooo?"
"HELLO?"
Me: "Oh shit, yeah, Hi."
"Hello is anyone there?"
Me: "Yeah, Hello?"
"Monica? This doesn't sound like you."
Me: "Yeah, it's Monica."
"Oh good, I'm calling to tell you A***** needs a bath because she's starting to itch at her crotch and--"
Me: "Auntie? Auntie, you've got the wrong Monica."
*More Staticky breathing*
"Oh! Well I was calling Monica to tell her that she hasn't given A***** a bath in two days and that she was really starting to smell, but I'm really glad I got you instead!"
Me: "...."
"I've been meaning to call you, how are you?"
Sometimes, I wonder about my families.
Regards from Purgatory
Monica
Friday, May 13, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
A Peek into the Secret Room
It's cluttered, but a comfy kind of clutter that speaks of a single person trying to fill a large room. Clothing litters the floor, but never fear: there's nothing to trod on underneath. The walls speak volumes, or none at all. Plain old while paint, bumpy, but the shiny plastic kind that makes it easier to clean up after small kids glows fairly unobstructed, except for a poster here and there.
Two scrolls with cartoon characters fill up the gaps, trying desperately to make the walls seem less bare. A well-cared for Star Trek poster hangs proudly, covered in plastic and mounted on cardboard, in the center of the wall as though it's kind.
One wall is entirely covered by memories. Photos of random people, chickens, trees, a half eaten birthday cake that says "Happy Swett Sixteen" and a proud portrait of a friend running at a Hummer with a metal pipe in his hands. A smile lights up his face. 8 1/2 by 11 computer printouts hang with drawings addressed to the owner of the room. A cat-boy here, a girl with her rat there, a random drawing of a boy under a tree. They all hang proudly as gifts should. A wrinkled crayon drawing sucks you into its vortex from its comfortable spot in the corner, bright colors glowing despite the black paper it was drawn on. A friend drew it, and, frustrated, ripped it to pieces.
The owner of the room painstakingly glued it onto another sheet, and there it hands, signatureless.
Above it is a mish-mash of colors in acrylic on a piece of tough paper by someone whom no-one knows. The owner of the room found it in a scrap pile, and carefully painted a figure on top, almost blending in with the whirlwind of colors.
Three bookshelves are propped with little pieces of wood underneath keeping them from tipping forwards from their sheer weight. All three are identical, save for the lavender one hidden behind the door. They weren't chosen for beauty, they are mere press board constructions holding priceless collections of worthless things that only the owner finds valuable. One is so full of books that the shelves bow, and books hang off the ends. Another has three shelves of VHS tapes, and one of DVDs and video games. The third is new, and merely half full of books.
But it's getting there.
Some of the furniture belongs, and some doesn't. The coffee table by the door has been there since the empty fish tank actually hand fish, and is now mostly littered with pocket-lint, receipts, and coins that haven't yet made it to the glass piggy bank hiding behind the movies. A white press board dresser holds socks leaking off the top and a sewing machine that's seen better days, with cat hair clinging to the seems.
A big bed takes up most of the room, desperately filling in the spaces as though that's it's entire purpose. The blankets are tucked in on two sides: the far side and the bottom. It's obvious where the owner sleeps, for the sheets and polar fleece blanket don't quite stretch to that side and there is no debris on the mattress. on the other side are spare blankets, pillows, lonely socks, little blue empty packets that used to hold gummy fruits, notebooks, textbooks, and letters from home.
A square coffee table on the tucked in side is meant for most of these things, but a pillow takes the place of honor, along with a box of crackers, more letters, and plastic bags looking for homes.
The closets never close, and no matter how many times the owner rearranges the clothing hanging in specific patterns they always stick out funny, hangers tipped in all directions, and look like someone didn't even try to make the clothing hang straight. In the far corner many scarves strangle the bar, twisted and hanging nearly to the floor. Rainbow, silk, wool: you name it, it's there.
Yet another coffee table has insinuated itself in the bottom of the clothing closet, and houses every single pair of shoes known to man. Boots, heels, clogs.
There are even a pair of roller blades underneath.
Boxes from a friend sit up top, forgotten, with only a few hats and some cat treats to keep them company.
The other closet is a geometrical design of boxes and things that simply need to be out of the way. Some are closed, some open. Some are laden with quilts and blankets on top. One is kept company by a backpack stuffed with as many old school things as possible and two bags full of cotton fluff meant for making plushies.
A refrigerator takes up most of the top of the utility shelf hiding amongst the boxes, and no matter how it's reposition it always leans a little to its left.
A large suitcase looks emptily propped in the corner, but upon further inspection is houses two more inside, an overnight case, and all the yarn in the world. On top are propped two styrofoam pads that used to be the sleeping place of the room's owner before the queen-sized bed magically appears.
A green desk looms over the coffee table with the fish tank by the door underneath the nostalgic photos. It's unused, the foot-space stuffed with boxes and the top piled with more.
Beside the bed is a dresser with drawers half empty because they stick and simply take too much time to open before school. On top are more sheets and an old-fashioned television with a VCR. A pantry table is slid between the wall and the dresser, and houses two weeks worth of dishes, a lava lamp, a desk lamp, a photo of a smiling Japanese girl, and a glowing digital clock with numbers big enough for a blind person to see.
The room's owner can only see it from less than a foot away without her glasses.
Cords frame the head of the bed, taking up the few inches between the mattress and the wall protecting the sheets from mildew and dampness.
On the door is a world map, with the little country of Japan circled. On the hall side it says Monica and from the door handle swings mardi gras beads from well meaning but young cousins who probably didn't imagine they would end up being cat toys for an enthusiastic kitten at 2 in the morning.
Beside the open door is a tattered box, well loved by cats, and stuffed with clothing that the owner has been meaning to donate for ages.
She'll get to it eventually.
But even though half the furniture isn't hers (including the bed), and the floor isn't clear, and there are little wrappers everywhere, it still smells clean and homely. Like laundry straight out of the dryer, or cleanly vacuumed carpet.
For her, it's enough.
Regards,
Monica
Two scrolls with cartoon characters fill up the gaps, trying desperately to make the walls seem less bare. A well-cared for Star Trek poster hangs proudly, covered in plastic and mounted on cardboard, in the center of the wall as though it's kind.
One wall is entirely covered by memories. Photos of random people, chickens, trees, a half eaten birthday cake that says "Happy Swett Sixteen" and a proud portrait of a friend running at a Hummer with a metal pipe in his hands. A smile lights up his face. 8 1/2 by 11 computer printouts hang with drawings addressed to the owner of the room. A cat-boy here, a girl with her rat there, a random drawing of a boy under a tree. They all hang proudly as gifts should. A wrinkled crayon drawing sucks you into its vortex from its comfortable spot in the corner, bright colors glowing despite the black paper it was drawn on. A friend drew it, and, frustrated, ripped it to pieces.
The owner of the room painstakingly glued it onto another sheet, and there it hands, signatureless.
Above it is a mish-mash of colors in acrylic on a piece of tough paper by someone whom no-one knows. The owner of the room found it in a scrap pile, and carefully painted a figure on top, almost blending in with the whirlwind of colors.
Three bookshelves are propped with little pieces of wood underneath keeping them from tipping forwards from their sheer weight. All three are identical, save for the lavender one hidden behind the door. They weren't chosen for beauty, they are mere press board constructions holding priceless collections of worthless things that only the owner finds valuable. One is so full of books that the shelves bow, and books hang off the ends. Another has three shelves of VHS tapes, and one of DVDs and video games. The third is new, and merely half full of books.
But it's getting there.
Some of the furniture belongs, and some doesn't. The coffee table by the door has been there since the empty fish tank actually hand fish, and is now mostly littered with pocket-lint, receipts, and coins that haven't yet made it to the glass piggy bank hiding behind the movies. A white press board dresser holds socks leaking off the top and a sewing machine that's seen better days, with cat hair clinging to the seems.
A big bed takes up most of the room, desperately filling in the spaces as though that's it's entire purpose. The blankets are tucked in on two sides: the far side and the bottom. It's obvious where the owner sleeps, for the sheets and polar fleece blanket don't quite stretch to that side and there is no debris on the mattress. on the other side are spare blankets, pillows, lonely socks, little blue empty packets that used to hold gummy fruits, notebooks, textbooks, and letters from home.
A square coffee table on the tucked in side is meant for most of these things, but a pillow takes the place of honor, along with a box of crackers, more letters, and plastic bags looking for homes.
The closets never close, and no matter how many times the owner rearranges the clothing hanging in specific patterns they always stick out funny, hangers tipped in all directions, and look like someone didn't even try to make the clothing hang straight. In the far corner many scarves strangle the bar, twisted and hanging nearly to the floor. Rainbow, silk, wool: you name it, it's there.
Yet another coffee table has insinuated itself in the bottom of the clothing closet, and houses every single pair of shoes known to man. Boots, heels, clogs.
There are even a pair of roller blades underneath.
Boxes from a friend sit up top, forgotten, with only a few hats and some cat treats to keep them company.
The other closet is a geometrical design of boxes and things that simply need to be out of the way. Some are closed, some open. Some are laden with quilts and blankets on top. One is kept company by a backpack stuffed with as many old school things as possible and two bags full of cotton fluff meant for making plushies.
A refrigerator takes up most of the top of the utility shelf hiding amongst the boxes, and no matter how it's reposition it always leans a little to its left.
A large suitcase looks emptily propped in the corner, but upon further inspection is houses two more inside, an overnight case, and all the yarn in the world. On top are propped two styrofoam pads that used to be the sleeping place of the room's owner before the queen-sized bed magically appears.
A green desk looms over the coffee table with the fish tank by the door underneath the nostalgic photos. It's unused, the foot-space stuffed with boxes and the top piled with more.
Beside the bed is a dresser with drawers half empty because they stick and simply take too much time to open before school. On top are more sheets and an old-fashioned television with a VCR. A pantry table is slid between the wall and the dresser, and houses two weeks worth of dishes, a lava lamp, a desk lamp, a photo of a smiling Japanese girl, and a glowing digital clock with numbers big enough for a blind person to see.
The room's owner can only see it from less than a foot away without her glasses.
Cords frame the head of the bed, taking up the few inches between the mattress and the wall protecting the sheets from mildew and dampness.
On the door is a world map, with the little country of Japan circled. On the hall side it says Monica and from the door handle swings mardi gras beads from well meaning but young cousins who probably didn't imagine they would end up being cat toys for an enthusiastic kitten at 2 in the morning.
Beside the open door is a tattered box, well loved by cats, and stuffed with clothing that the owner has been meaning to donate for ages.
She'll get to it eventually.
But even though half the furniture isn't hers (including the bed), and the floor isn't clear, and there are little wrappers everywhere, it still smells clean and homely. Like laundry straight out of the dryer, or cleanly vacuumed carpet.
For her, it's enough.
Regards,
Monica
Friday, December 24, 2010
Look Ma! Two Posts in One Week!
The snow kinda melted today. Which was sad. But there is still plenty in the lawn, even if it's damp and unpleasant to play in. It's 3 a.m. and I'm finding myself staying up to see when it snows again. It's supposed to snow tonight. Last time it snowed at 5 in the morning, so I guess that I'm up for a long night....It'll be worth it, though. I love to watch the snow fall.
This holiday seems to have been a long one. It's only Friday, albeit rather early in the morning on Friday, and I've only been here in Yakima since Monday, but it feels like I've been here forever.
My cats, my t.v., my new bed, my blankets....they seem like a washed-out dream from far, far, away that can barely touch me anywhere but in my dreams. The warm heavy feeling of my polar fleece blanket and the gritty crumpled feeling of my sheets are fading into obscurity. My back isn't thanking me for my sojourn, however. No matter how well I've been sleeping at night, an air mattress isn't the best choice in the world to sleep on if you are prone to back problems.
It's interesting: I really can sleep anywhere. A desk, a bench, against a wall, on the floor, on an air mattress, in a damp and freezing tent. But when I sleep next to someone, I almost always wake at the crack of dawn. Whether I go back to sleep or get up depends on how thoroughly I awaken, but I always do this.
Why don't I when I'm in a stranger's house sleeping alone?
I wish I knew.
I hate that feeling of dislocation. That feeling you get when you wake suddenly, like someone shook you, and you have no idea where you are, or why, and you have the sudden urge to hit whoever comes into view first. Sometimes I wake up for no reason, and sometimes I have the dire urge to pee, or get a drink. But I always fling my eyes open like something's startled me. I won't move, I won't sit up, I'll just lie there and wonder "Why? Why is this happening?"
Sometimes I'll get fed up with it, stalk out to the couch, and sleep there. Others I wake up, resigned, and either watch t.v., or read. Occasionally, though, I lie there under the sun comes up, or until I pass out. Whichever comes first.
I kind of wish I've been having this feeling in my Aunt Jackie's house, in her spare bedroom, sleeping on the slowly leaking air mattress: then I wouldn't feel like I'm slowly leaving my life in Monmouth behind.
Regards,
Monica
This holiday seems to have been a long one. It's only Friday, albeit rather early in the morning on Friday, and I've only been here in Yakima since Monday, but it feels like I've been here forever.
My cats, my t.v., my new bed, my blankets....they seem like a washed-out dream from far, far, away that can barely touch me anywhere but in my dreams. The warm heavy feeling of my polar fleece blanket and the gritty crumpled feeling of my sheets are fading into obscurity. My back isn't thanking me for my sojourn, however. No matter how well I've been sleeping at night, an air mattress isn't the best choice in the world to sleep on if you are prone to back problems.
It's interesting: I really can sleep anywhere. A desk, a bench, against a wall, on the floor, on an air mattress, in a damp and freezing tent. But when I sleep next to someone, I almost always wake at the crack of dawn. Whether I go back to sleep or get up depends on how thoroughly I awaken, but I always do this.
Why don't I when I'm in a stranger's house sleeping alone?
I wish I knew.
I hate that feeling of dislocation. That feeling you get when you wake suddenly, like someone shook you, and you have no idea where you are, or why, and you have the sudden urge to hit whoever comes into view first. Sometimes I wake up for no reason, and sometimes I have the dire urge to pee, or get a drink. But I always fling my eyes open like something's startled me. I won't move, I won't sit up, I'll just lie there and wonder "Why? Why is this happening?"
Sometimes I'll get fed up with it, stalk out to the couch, and sleep there. Others I wake up, resigned, and either watch t.v., or read. Occasionally, though, I lie there under the sun comes up, or until I pass out. Whichever comes first.
I kind of wish I've been having this feeling in my Aunt Jackie's house, in her spare bedroom, sleeping on the slowly leaking air mattress: then I wouldn't feel like I'm slowly leaving my life in Monmouth behind.
Regards,
Monica
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
The Holidays
I've been feeling rather ho-hum for a while, so sorry for not writing.
Also, I did National Novel Writing Month in November (NaNoWriMo) and was very busy trying to churn out 50,000 words. I hit 52k, good for me :) The book isn't actually finished, though, so I should probably be using my free time to add more to it, but I just haven't been able to look at it, let alone touch it, since the last day of December....That's twenty odd days of ignoring, and trust me, I'm pretty good at denial.
This will probably go on for quite a while.
Classes are over. Finally got to sign up for Winter term (You don't even want to know about the Financial Aid fiasco this year) and I'm a little disappointed at having to take four courses....
I get pretty stressed pretty easy, and it's actually quite hard for me to do a lot of stuff, consecutively, without getting tired and having to sleep.
I've been napping fairly often, recently. Nothing so crazy as a two hour nap everyday at the same time or anything, but still.
I'm just worried that I'll have too many hours to spend at school and I'll start sleeping in classes again. I managed to keep it down to four occurences (Twice in two different classes) this Fall term, and I don't want my pride at staying awake for school to be blown away by more classes.
Doesn't help that I signed up for a twice a week three hour drawing class *sighs*. Yeah, I know. We all know how thatwent last year. Although it was quite satisfying :) The only thing that really irks me about that class, though, is that it's from 3-6 p.m. Tuesday/Thursday which pretty much nixes the idea of a night job. Not that I'll find one, but one can always hope! But I suppose it's better than the 6-9p.m. one I took last year...
Signed up for Spanish 202, and I even managed to get the same teacher: Gonzalez-Viana. Best teacher I've had so far, actually, even though I did enjoy Watts....But I like him more. I learned a lot, even if he never understands my questions, lol.
Taking two literature classes this term, I could shoot myself. But I'm only doing it so that I don't have to take three next term. Then I really would kill myself... I'm taking the second British Literature course, and the second American Literature course. I was going to take them 12-2, 2-4 on whichever days they were that they were back to back...but I accidentally clicked buttons to sign up for two 12-2 classes on alternating days, which is actually nice because then I can take that art class and I don't have to sit through two literature classes right after one another.
Then I reallywould sleep through my classes...
The art class, btw, is a figure drawing class. I wanted to take the uh....I forgot what you call it but you learn more about perspective and architect type drawing (I'm actually not bad at that, when I have a ruler and...systems! That's it, it's called Systems in drawing...), but my Spanish class would have cut off the last hour of that class, and it's two days a week rather than four (like Spanish) so I deemed Spanish more important and chose another art class...
Sad, I really wanna take that class.
I'm in Yakima right now, visiting my dad. Well, I haven't actually seen him yet: I traveled up here as a surprise for him, and didn't get in until midnight last night and he goes to sleep pretty early. So I bunked at an Aunt's hosue across town.
She's pretty cool.
It's snowed here, but it's not too deep. Guess I'll have to unbury my snow driving skills *cracks knuckles*. It's been a while, but I'm sure my "faithful" readers have faith in my....
Sadly, her car doesn't have four wheel drive, studs, or chains, but there's not much ice and they have pretty regular snow-plows, so I should be all right. She's got all-weather tires, though, and that's better than what I had with my Buick Park Avenue on Christmas '08 when I was driving everywhere in the snow and ice with absolutely no idea as to what I was doing.....
It's weird, though. I was here for Christmas last year, and everything just feels the same. Like I never left. Took the same route over Snoqualmie Pass (even though I tried my darndest not to), ended up at the same station around the same time, all the buildings are the same, there's a thin layer of snow everywhere....
Yup. Yakima is pretty boring, and there's definitely snow everywhere which slows pretty much everything down.
Well, I have holes in my shoes, and a dad to visit, so I'm off to shop and see him...
Happy Holidays
Monica
Also, I did National Novel Writing Month in November (NaNoWriMo) and was very busy trying to churn out 50,000 words. I hit 52k, good for me :) The book isn't actually finished, though, so I should probably be using my free time to add more to it, but I just haven't been able to look at it, let alone touch it, since the last day of December....That's twenty odd days of ignoring, and trust me, I'm pretty good at denial.
This will probably go on for quite a while.
Classes are over. Finally got to sign up for Winter term (You don't even want to know about the Financial Aid fiasco this year) and I'm a little disappointed at having to take four courses....
I get pretty stressed pretty easy, and it's actually quite hard for me to do a lot of stuff, consecutively, without getting tired and having to sleep.
I've been napping fairly often, recently. Nothing so crazy as a two hour nap everyday at the same time or anything, but still.
I'm just worried that I'll have too many hours to spend at school and I'll start sleeping in classes again. I managed to keep it down to four occurences (Twice in two different classes) this Fall term, and I don't want my pride at staying awake for school to be blown away by more classes.
Doesn't help that I signed up for a twice a week three hour drawing class *sighs*. Yeah, I know. We all know how thatwent last year. Although it was quite satisfying :) The only thing that really irks me about that class, though, is that it's from 3-6 p.m. Tuesday/Thursday which pretty much nixes the idea of a night job. Not that I'll find one, but one can always hope! But I suppose it's better than the 6-9p.m. one I took last year...
Signed up for Spanish 202, and I even managed to get the same teacher: Gonzalez-Viana. Best teacher I've had so far, actually, even though I did enjoy Watts....But I like him more. I learned a lot, even if he never understands my questions, lol.
Taking two literature classes this term, I could shoot myself. But I'm only doing it so that I don't have to take three next term. Then I really would kill myself... I'm taking the second British Literature course, and the second American Literature course. I was going to take them 12-2, 2-4 on whichever days they were that they were back to back...but I accidentally clicked buttons to sign up for two 12-2 classes on alternating days, which is actually nice because then I can take that art class and I don't have to sit through two literature classes right after one another.
Then I reallywould sleep through my classes...
The art class, btw, is a figure drawing class. I wanted to take the uh....I forgot what you call it but you learn more about perspective and architect type drawing (I'm actually not bad at that, when I have a ruler and...systems! That's it, it's called Systems in drawing...), but my Spanish class would have cut off the last hour of that class, and it's two days a week rather than four (like Spanish) so I deemed Spanish more important and chose another art class...
Sad, I really wanna take that class.
I'm in Yakima right now, visiting my dad. Well, I haven't actually seen him yet: I traveled up here as a surprise for him, and didn't get in until midnight last night and he goes to sleep pretty early. So I bunked at an Aunt's hosue across town.
She's pretty cool.
It's snowed here, but it's not too deep. Guess I'll have to unbury my snow driving skills *cracks knuckles*. It's been a while, but I'm sure my "faithful" readers have faith in my....
Sadly, her car doesn't have four wheel drive, studs, or chains, but there's not much ice and they have pretty regular snow-plows, so I should be all right. She's got all-weather tires, though, and that's better than what I had with my Buick Park Avenue on Christmas '08 when I was driving everywhere in the snow and ice with absolutely no idea as to what I was doing.....
It's weird, though. I was here for Christmas last year, and everything just feels the same. Like I never left. Took the same route over Snoqualmie Pass (even though I tried my darndest not to), ended up at the same station around the same time, all the buildings are the same, there's a thin layer of snow everywhere....
Yup. Yakima is pretty boring, and there's definitely snow everywhere which slows pretty much everything down.
Well, I have holes in my shoes, and a dad to visit, so I'm off to shop and see him...
Happy Holidays
Monica
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Crummy Memory
It occurs to me, rather belatedly, that I never bothered writing a blog about what classes I am taking this term. Which is odd, considering that I signed up for them last Spring.
I am taking British Literature, Spanish 201 (Year two class one) and a writing class called Rhetoric.
Don't ask me what Rhetoric is, at this point, I know even less than I did before I started taking this class.
You're probably thinking that it doesn't sound like I'm taking very many classes, right?
I'm not.
I'm only taking 12 credits. I wanted the time to work. But sadly, I've made out 14 applications and only got one interview. I had hoped that because of the specific classes I have to take, and the fact that I managed to take them all before Noon this term that I would be able to do the same thing next term.
No such luck.
I need to take the second half of American Lit. and the second Brit Lit class and they are both only offered after Noon. Which bites.
How am I supposed to get a job?
My roommate has applied to at least 30 places.
Everyone, including family, keep telling me that I should just keep trying and what the news says about the crummy job market isn't necessarily the truth.....
It so is the truth.
The job market bites.
I started writing this entry with the purpose of explaining my classes and teachers and etc. but I find that now that I've started I'm not too terribly interested anymore.
So...
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
I am taking British Literature, Spanish 201 (Year two class one) and a writing class called Rhetoric.
Don't ask me what Rhetoric is, at this point, I know even less than I did before I started taking this class.
You're probably thinking that it doesn't sound like I'm taking very many classes, right?
I'm not.
I'm only taking 12 credits. I wanted the time to work. But sadly, I've made out 14 applications and only got one interview. I had hoped that because of the specific classes I have to take, and the fact that I managed to take them all before Noon this term that I would be able to do the same thing next term.
No such luck.
I need to take the second half of American Lit. and the second Brit Lit class and they are both only offered after Noon. Which bites.
How am I supposed to get a job?
My roommate has applied to at least 30 places.
Everyone, including family, keep telling me that I should just keep trying and what the news says about the crummy job market isn't necessarily the truth.....
It so is the truth.
The job market bites.
I started writing this entry with the purpose of explaining my classes and teachers and etc. but I find that now that I've started I'm not too terribly interested anymore.
So...
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Jack Frost Nipping At My Nose....
Deja vu, much?
No Aunt Charity, I'm doing just fine with scarves and those hand warmers. Although I imagine I'll need to start stocking up for this "bad winter", soon.
School has started.
My cat came back, after being missing for 24 hours. And after me spotting her perched on a fence post 5 patios down and me fence....crawling....to try to go after her. Ended up not catching her until midnight the night after she got out because I went downstairs one last time to check the patio and she was curled up pitifully crying out there...
Ha. Serves her right.
Needless to say, she's not allowed anywhere near the patio anymore, now that she's learned how to climb fences!
It's Sunday night and once again I've procrastinated enough on my homework that I had to make a late night trip to campus. I would've gone to the computer lab only two blocks from my apartment, as I have since last Christmas when I moved, but I wanted double-sided copies so the Library it was.
It's chilly outside.
Fall came early this year. No Indian Summer for us. The trees aren't burnished gold, yellow, or orange. They are green with damp brown pathetic leaves smushed to the sidewalks. Nothing pretty about this Fall. There aren't many squirrels, either, although I've had MANY encounters with Chestnuts....
I should've known what they were right away. I knew years ago that Chestnuts had an intimidating covering that you couldn't get into until it was brown and not green, but it didn't occur to me until just the day before yesterday (when I tripped on a particularly large one and almost fell face first into the pavement) that the weird spiky balls of Hell littering my street were actually tasty nuts.
I picked one up for Chulee, my squirrel back home, but I accidentally washed it in the wash with my laundry yesterday....It's now smooth and feels (and smells) like detergent. Probably not healthy to eat :)
It's 9 p.m. and it's damp out because it rained quite a bit today. 4 Bicyclists passed me by, two joggers, a strange black man with sparkling white teeth that glowed in the dark so hard was he smiling at me, a posse of giggling girls (6), and a few brooding emo boys.
Sunday nights are busier than Fridays and Saturdays, here. In fact, the library is open until 1 tonight, whereas on Friday and Saturday it's only until possibly....6.
Weird, yeah?
So it's cold. Nipped my nose and everything. Actually had to keep my hands in my pockets. The trees aren't pretty, and leaves clutter the gutters and stick to my sneakers. My breath rasps and my nose stings.
For some odd reason, all of these feelings shot me right back to last fall when I lived in the dorms. I kept thinking: I better hurry home to Miki. I can't wait until I'm back in my dim dorm with the amazing heat. I should turn here for the parking lot and cross it at a diagonal. I wonder if anyone is in the rec room.
But she's not there.
Someone else lives in our dorm now.
I don't live on campus, I live farther away, even though I seem to be more timely (not by much, mind you) than I ever was when I lived ON campus. But doing this midnight jaunt to the library on a school night in a (near) rush to finish homework really catapulted me back.
I remember late nights in the Art Building in my drawing class and trudging home in the mist and chilly/damp nights to our steamy dorm room where my glasses fogged up right away. I remember skirting around the dead construction area on shredded bark and tripping across a damp lawn by the smoke shack where everyone always waved hello.
The path I took every morning is gone.
The shack has moved.
The construction fence is torn down, a building replacing the gigantic whole in the ground that I woke to every day for nearly 3 months.
Nothing looks the same. Nothing feels the same. It's cold outside, and I feel like there's nothing out there to warm me up.
So I'm going to sign off, print out my rhetoric assignment, walk home with my shoulders hunched against the cold, and huddle under the fuzzy purple blanket that Miki left behind and try desperately to read my homework.
Instead of letting my mind reside in the past.
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
No Aunt Charity, I'm doing just fine with scarves and those hand warmers. Although I imagine I'll need to start stocking up for this "bad winter", soon.
School has started.
My cat came back, after being missing for 24 hours. And after me spotting her perched on a fence post 5 patios down and me fence....crawling....to try to go after her. Ended up not catching her until midnight the night after she got out because I went downstairs one last time to check the patio and she was curled up pitifully crying out there...
Ha. Serves her right.
Needless to say, she's not allowed anywhere near the patio anymore, now that she's learned how to climb fences!
It's Sunday night and once again I've procrastinated enough on my homework that I had to make a late night trip to campus. I would've gone to the computer lab only two blocks from my apartment, as I have since last Christmas when I moved, but I wanted double-sided copies so the Library it was.
It's chilly outside.
Fall came early this year. No Indian Summer for us. The trees aren't burnished gold, yellow, or orange. They are green with damp brown pathetic leaves smushed to the sidewalks. Nothing pretty about this Fall. There aren't many squirrels, either, although I've had MANY encounters with Chestnuts....
I should've known what they were right away. I knew years ago that Chestnuts had an intimidating covering that you couldn't get into until it was brown and not green, but it didn't occur to me until just the day before yesterday (when I tripped on a particularly large one and almost fell face first into the pavement) that the weird spiky balls of Hell littering my street were actually tasty nuts.
I picked one up for Chulee, my squirrel back home, but I accidentally washed it in the wash with my laundry yesterday....It's now smooth and feels (and smells) like detergent. Probably not healthy to eat :)
It's 9 p.m. and it's damp out because it rained quite a bit today. 4 Bicyclists passed me by, two joggers, a strange black man with sparkling white teeth that glowed in the dark so hard was he smiling at me, a posse of giggling girls (6), and a few brooding emo boys.
Sunday nights are busier than Fridays and Saturdays, here. In fact, the library is open until 1 tonight, whereas on Friday and Saturday it's only until possibly....6.
Weird, yeah?
So it's cold. Nipped my nose and everything. Actually had to keep my hands in my pockets. The trees aren't pretty, and leaves clutter the gutters and stick to my sneakers. My breath rasps and my nose stings.
For some odd reason, all of these feelings shot me right back to last fall when I lived in the dorms. I kept thinking: I better hurry home to Miki. I can't wait until I'm back in my dim dorm with the amazing heat. I should turn here for the parking lot and cross it at a diagonal. I wonder if anyone is in the rec room.
But she's not there.
Someone else lives in our dorm now.
I don't live on campus, I live farther away, even though I seem to be more timely (not by much, mind you) than I ever was when I lived ON campus. But doing this midnight jaunt to the library on a school night in a (near) rush to finish homework really catapulted me back.
I remember late nights in the Art Building in my drawing class and trudging home in the mist and chilly/damp nights to our steamy dorm room where my glasses fogged up right away. I remember skirting around the dead construction area on shredded bark and tripping across a damp lawn by the smoke shack where everyone always waved hello.
The path I took every morning is gone.
The shack has moved.
The construction fence is torn down, a building replacing the gigantic whole in the ground that I woke to every day for nearly 3 months.
Nothing looks the same. Nothing feels the same. It's cold outside, and I feel like there's nothing out there to warm me up.
So I'm going to sign off, print out my rhetoric assignment, walk home with my shoulders hunched against the cold, and huddle under the fuzzy purple blanket that Miki left behind and try desperately to read my homework.
Instead of letting my mind reside in the past.
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Sunny Skies With 100% Chance of Rain
Marin is gone.
My kitten, I mean. The little one I posted photos of months ago. My roommate calls her Molly, it's easier for English speakers to pronounce, I've found.
Last night there was the oddest sound coming from the neighbors house, and it was giving me the worst headache. I thought for a while you could hear it throughout the whole house, so I didn't bother getting up and moving elsewhere. But Audrey came down and called me crazy so I stood up.
And couldn't hear it anymore.
In my searches as to where I could hear the sound, I checked on the back patio. The cats were back, Audrey was next to me, and there was no noise. Checked to make sure no cat made it out, shut the door, peered through and didn't see a cat, then twitched the curtains shut.
Shortly therafter I moved my laptop up to my room where it was warmer and where I couldn't hear the noise anymore. Ryou, my older cat, joined me. I thought it was odd that Marin didn't, but Audrey still had her door open so I thought that possibly she was bugging her, or laying in the hall, or was passed out downstairs.
I didn't think anything of it.
I had nightmares last night. I tend to dream a dream, then dream it over and over again over the years. Otherwise I don't dream much. There are like, three or four dreams that I've repeated since I was a small child and they usually snare me like a spiders web and refuse to let me go. As a direct result, I overslept my class this morning. With ten minutes to go and I wasn't dressed, fed, or even awake, I didn't bother trekking the ten minute walk waaaaay across campus to my Spanish class. There was just no way I was going to make it, anyways.
The only cat in my room was Ryou.
Now that is odd. Marin usually chases Ryou out, or Ryou sleeps in my laundry, or downstairs. She very rarely sleeps on my check or in my bed, and only if Marin is otherwise occupied.
So I ran a quick search through my house.
Nada.
Not in the cupboards, not in my room, or the bathrooms, or the kitchen, or the living room, or even on the back patio.
She was gone.
I went to my ten to noon class, but barely paid attention.
I've been all the way around the neighborhood, now. I've barely talked to the neighbors, only the ones that were outside, but I don't hold out any hope that anyone will see her.
She's small, for one, and two, there are upwards of 50 cats in a block radius of my house. And that doesn't count indoor cats. We have a HUGE feral cat number around here. She'll prolly get ripped to pieces. Although, mebbe not, considering how much of a bruiser she is.
On the other hand, I've met more ppl living around here than I have in the past 8 months. The guy across from me that keeps Japanese drinks in his kitchen window is a paraplegic, for instance, and said he'd keep an eye on his back patio while out smoking for my cat.
Leaned out my window a minute ago because I heard meowing and the new neighbor kitty corner to me (also out smoking) said she'd keep an eye out.
Turns out the neighbor directly across from my bedroom window has two cats that sit in the patio window and stare at mine. No wonder Ryou likes to sit in my window so much...
I just wish she didn't knock my books off of my bookshelf all of the time!!!
So, if you're a local here in Monmouth, please keep an eye out for my cat.
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