edit: Still not asleep, so instead I will recommend some new musicians to you:

Lloyd & Michael (tweeish, not what you would expect from the name).

Let me also point you to the myspace of The Sprites who have a song called, “I Started a Blog that Nobody Read” which kind of reminds me of the class discussion today.

I can’t tell how I feel about Mike Doughty (this page has streaming music), I’ll get back to you on it.

Scrabbel (yes, spelled that way) has a cool name, but the jury’s also out on this one. It kind of sounds like a less underwater-garbly-midwestern-retro version of Arthur & Yu (but then again, take away A&Y’s muted-like complete rip of every band from the 1960’s sound, and what are you left with?)

Don’t even get me started on A&Y though, I like a few of their songs but kind of as a musical novelty. They were opening for Iron & Wine this past September, and they were pretty bland live. They’re very much a studio band, in terms of the vast difference of sound between the stages (i.e. sounding articulated, mildly interesting, and wholly on key in the studio recordings as opposed to…)

I like bands that can hold their own live, but eh, to each their own.

Just kidding, I listened to their myspace while writing this rant about them, and they’re pretty boring in the studio too. The one good song of theirs is “The Ghost of Old Bull Lee” because it’s the only one that’s really got any complexity to it; alas, I guess it didn’t make it to the myspace.

Two more. Number one comes from the giant music dump I got in the past few weeks, (and now that I’ve had two sources, I can’t remember who this came from) Georgie James. The song I like is “Places” which you can find if you scroll down a little bit, to their embedded application rather than the standard myspace music player.

Number two, I may have mentioned her earlier, but ElfOwl is a friend of Z.’s who makes gorgeous music. She’ll be playing at this show on Saturday night, and I’m psyched to see her sing live. I particularly suggest the song “Marianne” which I definitely mentioned earlier, as it was the inspiration for my poem “Emporia and the Long Drive.”

Ok, I lied. Last one, oldie but goodie (ew, I actually used that phrase.) Matthew Sweet has always been a staple around my house, more recently in his newer band The Thorns, but I am partial to Girlfriend and 100% Fun. In fact, the song “Girlfriend” in particular has been the song I use in the mornings as of late to pump me up. Linking to him is proving difficult, apparently his website is down and his myspace is a more recent collaborative effort of covers with Susanna Hoffs, a name I haven’t heard since I was like, 12, and my dad bought me a cd of hers.

We’ll just go old school. “Sick of Myself.”

So I can’t sleep. So I’m writing here.

The thought’s been plaguing me for a while so I want to put it here: this spring is oddly mirroring last. Sunday night before my mom left the next morning, we ventured to Macado’s for a late night greasy dinner. As we turned the corner to enter the lobby, there was a moment of deja vu under the awning. As I pushed open the door, there sat S. (manager of Macado’s, my cute but ill-fated date of last year who I saw once or twice again afterwards but never for another date) on the bench. I, caught up in the moment, said to my mother rather bitterly, “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” and stalked into the restaurant in my best impression of a-woman-scorned. Mom, having no idea what I was doing, gave the disheveled and up until that moment possibly sleeping boy a smile; he apparently returned with a sheepish grin (her words). When we were safely sequestered in a booth on the second floor I explained the significance.

Mom and I then talked about this spring as a repeat of last, only finding myself in the same situations with a different outlook on life. Talking to M. again. Seeing S. again in his atmosphere (and here I had thought he was history in terms of the restaurant — I did see him once a few weeks ago squiring a young lady into the movie theatre, but only momentarily).

The Wading Girl is playing another show on April 27th, just like they did last year. That was “the magical show,” the one where I bonded with a bunch of drunken seniors, and a stone-sober junior who was slightly forlorn at the fact. We danced and sang, then ate ihop together (the junior and I), and then M. (suprisingly sober) texted me about the plausibility of seeing each other later in the evening (although, technically AM at this point — I know, classy.)

This show though is at Martin’s where the likelihood of getting in for me as a bitter twenty year old is slim. There are no boys these days to vouch for me, say “She’s with us,” or “She won’t cause any trouble.” Hell, there is no somewhat ballsy counterpart who would fight for my admittance while only slightly embarrassing me by repeatedly pointing out that I am just a kid. Loudly.

Anyway.

Everything’s changed. I go downtown and see the same faces, (all the boys with J-names, a Roanoke phenomenon that everyone’s mom decided they needed to be named Jon or Jordan or Jerry or Jason or Justin) but rarely interact (a hello, a ‘how’s it been,’).

I’m a much happier person these days. I wouldn’t trade what I have now for another April 27th or another date at Pop’s.

Speaking of Pop’s, I struck up conversation with one of the owners, and a regular, about film and collecting owls from thrift stores (my new hobby). It was cute, chatting over my strawberry milkshake. That kind of stuff is the Roanoke moments I miss, the times I rarely get anymore what with schoolwork and general malaise.

Tomorrow is Boone Boone Boone, bringing a friend with me so that should be interesting. Z. is playing a solo show on Saturday, and being there for that is more important to me than 1000 april 27ths, more important than all of last year.

Today has been interesting, a nice day to say the least. I spent the morning at the writing center, then posed for some portrait photography for this senior’s photography thesis or something. It was certainly an interesting experience, having never been asked to model before. I had this distinct feeling of, well, not dejavu per se, but you see I was clutching a fur coat around my neck, my hair somewhat teased, with a relaxed look on my face. I felt like my great grandmother posing in some portrait. I felt old and young at the same time. It helped that the camera a modern version of a very old accordion-looking camera. The kind where you use a blackened sheet to keep out the light.

I hope they come out well.

Then I had a lovely lunch with El. Without delving too much into a romantic image (which is to say this is NOT romantic) she’s the first friend I’ve felt safe around in a while. Z. noted that I have recently begun to be distrustful of all of my close friends, pointing out when they have asked me for rides as if it is some proof that they’re only using me for my resources, for my push-over nature.

Later, as fate would have it, I wound up visiting M. at his new and stole music (amicably, of course) from his impressive 200gb collection.

And now I am laying in wait for Z. to come visit me for the weekend (back to consistency, I like it.) He’s taking a different route, so we’ll see if it’s faster. Instead of the normal 421 to 77 to 81, he’s going through Tennessee.

We’ll get IHOP with El. tonight after her shift. We’ll watch tv-on-dvd and sleep and enjoy how spring is overtaking the campus.

I plucked a pinkish seed pod from a tree as I walked back to Main from my car, tucked it in my thrifted 1939 copy of Anna Karenina that I need to read (it has watercolor illustrations!) I’ve felt in a vintage (19th c.) mood today.

One of the album’s that M. gave me was one I’d already heard a lot at home: Matthew Sweet – Girlfriend. What a brilliant album. There are a few albums and songs that give me vivid memories of home, anything by The Church, The Hollies Greatest Hits, Hanson – This Time Around (little known facts: they’re still around, they’ve done other songs than MMMBop, they are all married, they are all in their twenties, how about that!), The Moody Blues – whatever album Nights in White Satin is on, the Left Banke’s Walk Away Renee.

There is this one album that I put on my iPod, Anisa Angarola’s Irish Air’s & Dances, that my dad would play at EVERY. SINGLE. dinner party we’d have at the house. It’s so weird how the mind works, how memory will pull up a very specific image (my dining room before being redone, egg-shell linoleum floors and a giant 1970’s cylindrical chandelier that rarely ever worked right) and scent (garlicky dinners, Italian bread being toasted in the oven).

Well, M. also gave me a Tullycraft compendium which made the inner twee kid squeal. I saw them at Athens Pop Fest ‘07, heard them first in M.’s car as we drove down to Floyd for no apparent reason but to shoot the breeze, watch the sun set, cut slick down a mountain side where Virginia was tucked neatly and glittering into a valley.

Time has progressed since I began this entry. Z. gets closer and closer to Roanoke, and I find myself unable to clean up the room. I’ll greet him in my pajamas, it’s ok.

Did you know I can type 79 wpm? I learned this morning. Fascinating stuff.

Friday night was spent reliving a past passion, the act of going downtown for dinner and mingling, going to No Shame theatre (though it was small, and comparatively un-funny to others I’ve attended,) and just spending time with friends in the city air. I saw a few locals I used to know, though I think with this hair cut and this total 180 in terms of friends (i.e. not barging into a room with an abrasively loud force) they maybe didn’t recognize me.

It’s refreshing to be putting myself in new social situations (I’ve even grown an impressive back-bone these days.) This past weekend has been some sort of weight off my shoulders; not easy, no no, but just, to repeat, refreshing. The sun is out again in full swing and although its not warm, it’s not cold (a new feeling for me — I’ve been cold since last spring, and I don’t mean that emotionally.)

What is new, what is new. I have signed up to read at April 29th’s Grapheon; it was only fair to make an appearance I think — the theme is (from what I can gather by the cryptic title) Karma, and coincidentally, I just recently made a post on my other journal about what I believed to be karmic retributions of sort (also a cryptic notion, the post was about four words long, and never once mentioned the event I thought to be of karmic nature.)

What a coincidence that the theme love poems was so recently crossed out then and “Is it KARMA?” was put in it’s place as the theme! It’s as if I have some sort of power over these things.

I’ve drunk three cups of tea today, and I doubt I’m done rampaging through the stashes; my own collection is dwindling, but luckily there is always (albeit rather limited in selection) tea at Moody. Finally, a constant at Moody that isn’t either completely gross, or something you immediately regret eating.

I’ve found myself to now be fully and finally lactose intolerant, fulfilling my destiny as a nerdy jew. Yeah, I’m the kid who went to cognitive therapy during elementary school due to extreme separation anxiety (and cause I was too damn smart, how about that) and the kid who spent middle school in after-school computer graphics classes, the formative years spent surfing AOL teen chat-rooms and playing video games. I am now the lady who enjoys tutoring for a living, who nags her boyfriend in that jewish guilt way about soda (hypocritically, as I want nothing more than to run downstairs barefoot to purchase a coke) and vegetables, who enjoys bargain hunting and thrifting.

All I can do these days in journals is redefine myself; I must be at that age where it’s prevalent. I keep hinting around this giant falling out I had with friends, but never get straight to the point of how much it’s fucked up my sense of self. Everything my life was based around here at this tight little bubble of emotion has been changed. I enjoy sitting alone at meals (though now I am spending more time with new friends,) I enjoy talking to new people (and don’t automatically think of ways to paint them as inferior,) I enjoy late nights in the Writing Center listening to music and doing homework.

At the same time, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss everything last spring was to my life (not the friends so much as the events that shaped me.)

So I went back a year in my other online journal, thinking I’d see something small that I could relate to in terms of “how much I miss a former state of being.” It was an interesting thing to do, because I didn’t remember the significance of March 9th/10th off the top of my head. It was in fact a pivotal day in my life, one when I realized that I am a lady on top of everything, and I am attractive and worthwhile. It also proved a long-standing theory I’ve had on songs:

“ last week i left my phone number on a cute little piece of paper at the macado’s hoping the manager (S.) would call me. after a night of flirty-eyes and coming-to-our-table-to-awkwardly-subvert-waitress, i was super pumped. boys just don’t LIKE me. not cute ones, not ones with fluffy hair and my kind of build. when we got back into the car at like 1:30 am the mix cd kathy made started to play this modest mouse song, “Gravity Rides Everything”. literally just started as i turned on the car. “in the motions, in the things that you say, it all will fall, fall right into place.”

so, cracked out on boy-love, i wrote that quote on my white-board calendar and made it my ringtone for unknown calls.i listened to it once daily.he didn’t call.

i wished i could go back in time and ask his name like i was supposed to.

friday night rolls around, and after a brilliant day of chinese food, blasting anna nalick around the loop multiple times, mill mountain awkward love (twice! in one day!) we go to no shame. there are 13 or 14 performers which is unusual, at least in my experience, and most of them are funny as shit.

we go to macados. i am discouraged by the fact that i a. will be sitting with 12 other girls; b. M. who was supposed to come meet me decided to get drunk instead; c. we were not in our usual booth (where, let me tell you, both times i saw him previously i was in the same booth, seat, the same OUTFIT [right down to the earrings], and eating the same thing. i’m glad he wasn’t horrified, because i was.)

i see him immediately upon our entrance and he smiles at me a bunch of times. i have to squeeze past him at one point and he gives me a grin and a ‘hi there.’

M. calls me because “txting is too hard when yr drunk”. the noise of the no shame regulars down a booth and our 13 girls made me need to go outside to take my call.

as i walked down the hall i saw S. leaning against the bar. i went outside, where i proceeded to talk to M as he said “drunk” and “fuck” a few times before i saw S. in the doorway (he followed me). he walked outside. we were alone.

i did what any good person in my situation would do and hung up the phone. I stood awkwardly a moment, thinking I had caught him on a smoke break or something. no cigarette was pulled. he holds the door for me and I lean against it.

“What’s your name by the way?” I ask, completely horrified by my own GUMPTION. (i said it.)
“S., what’s yours?” we were grinning.
“C.”
“..Ohhh… that was you…”
“That was me.”
“We found it on the table but I didn’t know who’s it was”
“It was me.”
“Want me to call you sometime?”
[my phone starts to vibrate again and it's M. again but I just press mute.]
“I would love that.”

then we shook hands.

so here is my theory about songs: they’re signs. and if you listen to the ones that are specifically sent to you for moments you experience, listen at least once a day; things might just work out. “

Whereas across the board I could tell you usually that sleeping is my most favorite thing (aside from long talks, snark, and cuddling,) I’ve barely been able to get any. The unfortunate side to this is that it’s not even for a good reason; it’s not like I’ve been hitting the books at eight, finding myself at three-am with a bed covered in notes. Actually, it’s more like I find sites like listography and find myself at three-am (after a nap from five til nine) with an arbitrary site filled with lists of my life.

So here I am at the writing center, going off four hours of sleep. I have alot to do today, most excitingly I will be going downtown with El. to visit my old haunts of last spring. I’ve begun to talk online to an old and complicated friend who I used to hang out with downtown last year. He’s moved on to bigger and better places, though Roanoke has a strange pull on people, and I think he’ll be homeward bound soon enough. He confirmed my fears that the general Roanoke populace hated my friends back then and “wished I’d just come out alone,” or something to that effect. The weirdest thing about him is how he is a recurring character in my life. We met over the internet (scandalous) when I was a freshman and he was a local, met in person a year later, dated for a while, lost contact, and here we are eight months later.

I haven’t talked to my parents much this week, a few arbitrary, “did you do this,” phone call reminders that are starting to get old. It’s weird how a family dynamic can change so suddenly; just like a friend dynamic I guess.

I really want to work on the poem from before but I can’t seem to add to it. It’s a personal moment, something I found as I was writing I wasn’t far enough removed from yet.

K. has been a constant contact these past few days, which is nice. I didn’t think our schedules would line up, she being in Estonia and all. She feels the same way as I do about alot of things, and seeing as we’re both going through the preliminary planning of similar big life events, we’ve connected in new ways of bff-ery.

Friday mornings are always quiet at the writing center.

Cross your fingers that my car is not entirely broken, and that the subaru dealership will fix it promptly.

I struggled to think of somewhere I could go for this assignment, a few minutes without other people around, somewhere I could observe for just a moment. The first place I thought of was this spot on Mill Mountain beyond the exit for the touristy spots, this vista point that I took my mother and grandmother with a former roommate to see the valley. My grandmother hates mountains and kept requesting that we not get out of the car, that we drive back down and get some snacks instead.

I didn’t get to go to that spot before I found something else to write about. This moment was maybe stretching the assignment, since there WERE people involved eventually, I just had about a 20 minute stretch where I was completely isolated. Last night I had a quick hospital stay, the first one since I was younger and having my eye muscles strengthened (what bullshit that was, my eyes still drift in and out of direct focus when I’m tired). It wasn’t anything huge, it was a severe migraine coupled with irritated nerves in my arm thanks to a blood test earlier in the day. I freaked out though, I mean, after a routine blood test my arm started going in and out of a state of numbness and tingling, and then I started throwing up uncontrollably, it was a scary prospect. I’m the lady who doesn’t even take aspirin unless she thinks the headache might cause blood to pour out of her ears, going to the hospital was a huge deal for me. I think at the height of it I had myself convinced that I had a fatal infection. Ah, hypochondria, c’est la vie.

So I chose that twenty minute stretch in a stiff-but-giving hospital bed with a cloth gown wrapped around me, encircled by blue cotton dividers. I was completely alone in my room, and yet somewhat aware of the fact that there were other people in the building. For all I knew, there were people right next to me; but all that mattered was that it was silent where I was, alone inside my throbbing head and swollen eyes. There was a low machine hum that blipped and blooped every 8 seconds, some distant hum of bed rollers being trafficked down linoleum hallways, the starched rustle of sheets.

It’s slightly over dramatic to say something like the twenty minutes alone were “finally time to just think about myself and not other obligations,” because, honestly, I don’t really live my life to make other people happy (at least not as much as I like to say that I do.) I can be as selfish and self centered as any human being. But it was a moment of pampering; albeit not one on par with, say, a day at the spa. No spa I know of gives out disgustingly pink bed pans with their beds. But for a moment I wasn’t living life for what assignments were due, what forms needed to be signed, etc. It was calming in it’s florescent way. And despite the inherent difficulties of being physically ill, I really appreciated the silence, the white noise of the place.

(no introductions, i’ll just jump in here)

pulling into roanoke this morning after another spontaneous and brilliant and well deserved “i’ll just wing it one more night in NC and just leave at dawn the next morning and totally make it to school ten minutes before my first class,” i was met by a surreal haze of smoke and falling ash. the mountains were edged with white smoldering clouds. it was like something had exploded; like i had stepped into a fireplace when i stepped out of the car at the cheapest gas station to feed the gas light just a little bit.

apparently i missed quite a night here in the valley by opting to stay in NC; all the bitter winds and blackened mountains lined with orange flames. when i finally collapsed into my room today after running on mismanaged adrenaline and copious amounts of sugar for upwards of five hours, i could see the remnants of the fires slowly fading away. the one thing i do like about this new shoe-box of a room: the view. even after living with front quad at my bed-side, even though this room is appx 8×11, i still prefer the rolling hills and the solitude living alone provides. i guess being the only girl in a two-child home spoiled me to the idea of having my own room, my own space. i put up with roommates because, well, that’s college. but now that the option of solo living is offered, i’m all about it.

i stuck around the writing center tonight just talking like i hadn’t before; talking so candidly with someone new and not hitting the “can i trust you?” wall, well it somewhat restored my faith in humanity, which is something i haven’t been getting these days aside from hand-held confessionals and late night phone calls. i still have friends, i explained, and this sounds conceited but– it’s just that i’ve never had enemies before, you know? it’s not conceited to say, she assured, and we went on to talk about the difficulties of divorcing yourself from bad relationships (romantic or otherwise); the inherent bravery in just silently picking up and leaving.

the talk was refreshing to say the least; this is conceited to say, but it’s nice sometimes to have a fresh set of ears on a problem (one of the writing center mantras, nonetheless, so i guess we technically did some work tonight after all). it’s not even a problem anymore i suppose. like the brush fires, the ’situation’ was this scary fiery dramatic mess on top of a mountain of issues, but in the smoldering aftermath it left puffs of smoke, ashes falling like snowflakes, a surreal beauty (someone said eloquently, ‘this is so sick but like, it was beautiful to see the fingers of the flames on the mountains,’), just another notch in my ever-expanding ‘college experience.’

i had this flickering thought today that i don’t want a serious job at all. i’ve never wanted to teach (unfortunately, the first thing people think of when i say “yes, i’m an English major,”). my main thought was publishing, an editor, but the problem with my life is that i am neither cut-throat nor ambitious. i don’t want to be alpha dog, or the top of the ladder. i’d rather not be someone’s boss. i like the idea of proofreading manuscripts because it delays the inevitable, “where’s your manuscript,” (invariably the second thing people think to ask.)

i am not ready for class tomorrow (or wednesday)

but i am certainly ready to go get married and do something impulsive like open a record store with my boyfriend.

or learn how to develop pictures.

or play keyboard in a twee pop band.

or write screenplays.

something. i’ll figure it out later.