"So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts
What's so amazing about really deep thoughts?
Boy, you best pray that I bleed real soon.
How's that thought for ya?"
~Tori Amos

FINALLY bleeding, you can't imagine the relief. (For all of you who didn't need to know that- if you want impersonal, try some other bullshit journal. THIS bullshit journal talks about my menstral cycle, alright?)

Yesterday was good.....between hanging out with Ben and Nick for the first time in forever and going over to Jeff's, it would have been amazing, but, of course, there had to come that moment of breaking down just before I had to leave Jeff's when I felt the full weight of reality crash into me once again and drive me to tears in his arms.

At least it was in his arms. Beats the hell out of crying in the dark, in my room, alone, listening to whatever depressing CD I put on that day and feeling the tears fall into my ears pointlessly- over and over again. God, only a teenager would brag about that kind of crap.

"YEAH??? WELL I'M TWICE AS MISERABLE AS YOU ARE!!!!"

Let's get real- It's bragging. It's all about impressing people with the INSANE amounts of pity. It's an ego-trip. It's a fucking badge. And I'm young, dumb, and hormonal, so screw you- I like it this way.

So, quick review of today- woke up insanely early, got learner's permit, bought attena for TV, went to Moody's diner and camden with ryan, now going to pick up Ben and going with both of them to portland. And I'm off.

On with it!

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"Wake up, the house is on fire
And the cat's caught in the dryer
Philosophy's a liar
When your home is your headstone."
~Green Day, Deadbeat Holiday

Mark got me Green Day's Warning: for Christmas and I think it's my favorite gift this year. It's awesome.

My cuticles need softening....it's been a while, I seem to have lost the infamous cuticle softening stick. Wonder if Mitch still has the one I got him. (Very, very doubtful)

I need to call ryayn. She called while I was still sleeping- I've only been up for an hour, I took a shower and now am ready to call her. So that I will do!

On with it.

Word of the Day: Flowy. Adjective. "Of or relating to a flow." Slang. Not a word. Never was one.

Perhaps it's the widely anticipated onset of PMS, or perhaps the late hour, or perhaps just my mood, but Amber's usage of this word earlier to night rubbed me the wrong way. Flowy? What the fuck is with that?

Because I do so love parading my intelligence and that of my friends, I shall now copy this conversation of immense disinterest for all of you. Bon appétit!


FieryGwenivere: tell me, what's your reaction to this:
FieryGwenivere: FieryGwenivere: sweetie, no- the saxophonist, piece, and pretty are all oral poetry
FieryGwenivere: And...what else have you seen?
Amber: I dunno...I find them very flowy when I read them...
FieryGwenivere: and words like "flowy" are exactly why I'm a senior-year writer and you're a sophomore-year writer ;-)
Amber: LOL...Linda...please.
Amber: I may not be a very good writer, but don't insult my vocabulary.
FieryGwenivere: Either way, though.....the only place I could really be published is a magazine and the poems you've read aren't exactly magazine poetry
FieryGwenivere: flowy?
FieryGwenivere: try flowing, dear
FieryGwenivere: I was messing with you, clearly you have an advanced vocabulary
FieryGwenivere: but flowy????
Amber: No...
Amber: It was an adjective.
FieryGwenivere: flowing is an adjective
Amber: It's actually slang...
Greg: hmm... flowy... adverb, maybe?
Greg: i knew you when you were a sophomore writer
FieryGwenivere: you did indeed....this isn't my point, though
FieryGwenivere: firstly, the adverb would be "flowingly"
Greg: yes
FieryGwenivere: she's trying to tell me my poetry flows
FieryGwenivere: so it's flowing poetry......not flowy!
Greg: but... i take an approach to language that admits any and all words, even if i don't like them
FieryGwenivere: yes, well, so do I
FieryGwenivere: but flowy isn't a word
Greg: ahah!
Greg: but it might be someday
Greg: and that's the point
FieryGwenivere: no! no it will not!
Greg: it will if enough people say it
FieryGwenivere: I will shoot webster before that happens!
Greg: linguistic rules are nothing but the majority opinion
FieryGwenivere: Then it is my sole duty to stop them!
Greg: stop the onward march of language?
Greg: here's a seminal example of my point: the split infinitive
FieryGwenivere: Stop the poisoned decay of it!
Greg: no such thing
Greg: the split infitive, though:
FieryGwenivere: I tend to disagree
Greg: why is it incorrect?
Greg: because in latin, the infinitive was one solid word, and thus unsplittable
FieryGwenivere: because smug, pretentious bastards say it is
Greg: one grammatical book in the 1700s? said it was, and it stuck
Greg: and so today it is a grammatical rule whcih we must follow, if we're to appear to be people folllowing grammatical rules
Greg: there's no reason why we can't have split infinitives
FieryGwenivere: And there's no reason why we can't all just walk around making up our own languages and having absolutely no idea what anyone else on the earth is attempting to say
Greg: but nevertheless, if i'm writing a formal paper, to callously split an infinitive just would not be done
Greg: well, there is and we do
FieryGwenivere: :-) as you did just then
Greg: teehee
Greg: but you see, that's the only reason we follow rules, so people will be assured to understand us
Greg: but, in the context of your conversation, it was assured that you knew what flowy meant
Greg: so she didn't worry about it
FieryGwenivere: Yes, it means FLOWING
Greg: doesn't matter much, does it?
Greg: you know, she knows
Greg: and that is the only thing that matters, isn't it?
FieryGwenivere: it's heinous, though- as a writer, she should have enough of a love of words to not use something that's such an insult to the english language!
Greg: how is it such an insult?
Greg: it simply adds a different shade of meaning
Greg: any addition, in my opinion, enriches language
Greg: flowy vs. flowing: i can detect subtle difference
FieryGwenivere: it's skin-crawling. It's a completely disregard of the REAL word that actually means what she's looking for
Greg: flowy, for one thing, doesn't flow as well
Greg: complete
Greg: you're walking down a slippery slope
FieryGwenivere: thank you
Greg: (sliperring?)
Greg: it's just a matter of getting points acros
Greg: s
FieryGwenivere: (slippery...jerk :-))
Greg: right
Greg: linguistic obstinance does not become you, and that's my final word
FieryGwenivere: no, it's not.......you can't just go around making up your own words in lieu of learning the ones that exist
Greg: because the tylenol pm is kicking in ,a dn i actually have to get up
Greg: you can and you can't
Greg: when you're dealing with language, you're dealing with compromise
FieryGwenivere: In no way! you just said that to sound smart.
Greg: for her to say flowing might be false
FieryGwenivere: it worked, of course
FieryGwenivere: and you know why?
Greg: why?
FieryGwenivere: because you used ALL REAL WORDS
Greg: yes, to sound smart
Greg: one can't always be trying to sound smart
Greg: there are terms describing people like that, and most of them involved things shoved up asses
Greg: involve
FieryGwenivere: you're right....but one should strive not to sound like someone who would use the word "flowy"
Greg: says you
Greg: but you're bitchy
Greg: ;-)
Greg: (bitchous, bitch-like, bitching...)
FieryGwenivere: I am, yes, but you're on tylenol PM and that's clearly the only reason you don't agree with me ;-)
FieryGwenivere: (Bitch-irific)
Greg: whatever soothes your verbally fascistic little heart
Greg: to sleep
Greg: you shouold talk to my mom, we had a great argument over this once that devolved completely into me screaming "Nazi! Nazi! Nazi!"
FieryGwenivere: indeed.....I shall live without your charming split infinitives for another night
Greg: yes, and i'll take this occasion to charmingly split
Greg: adieu, mon amour
FieryGwenivere: bonne soir, mon amié


Nothing today has thrilled me more than his lovely little use of double entendre there...Unless you count yesterday as today because I've yet to actually go to bed. In which case, I saw the Majestic today with Mark and Jenn, and inadvertantly with Bobby and Serena, and it was such a wonderful movie.....in the scene at the end, he shouts "the bill of rights" at one point in this little speech and it sent shivers through my body the way he did it. It was very much a feel-good flick.


Amber, Greg, and all others I was arguing with tonight have gone to bed, so I am off to join them in dreamland. To charmingly split.

To sleepily go on with it!

Greg and I frollicking in the throes of symbiance- we have fixed the night for each other once again with our mutual love for complements that flow like an endless supply of champagne, and sincerity like strawberries to bring out the wonderful flavors.

Damn, but how I love writers!

I think it would pretty much cheapen the purity and intensity of it all to share any of the conversation with a harsh mistress such as this page, but believe me when I say that he and I take turns blowing each other entirely away in whispering, other-wordly wordly winds.

Thank goodness for Vermont, Breadloaf, our hilltop, the library tables that were slick enough to slide a top of, and his chivalry and walking across the field with him and our shoes getting so damned wet, and waking up to him that morning. Thank goodness for old lovers becoming friends and old friends becoming lovers.

He mispelled my last name in his away message and I find it charming- from now on, you should all use three N's. On with it!

"And so stand stricken, so remembering him."

It's Christmas day, I have all I've been wishing for- a new TV, Jeff, in love with me as I am with him, the fortune of not having to have had to spend more than 5 minutes of the day so far with relatives. My proverbial treetops should be glistening in the december moonlight and my reindeer-red nose should be shining with glea. Jeff called me, that alone once would have me filled with joy unparalleled.

I need Jeremey.

Maybe it's just that I'm in a constant state of making myself miserable, lest I should stumble upon happiness and become weak. Maybe whenever I get everything I want in life, I find some way to lose some of it, or find need for something I don't have so that I can continue to write bullshit like this and feel accomplished when it piles up. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I need drugs, maybe I need hospitalization.

But it's Christmas day, and I've loved him my whole life. I feel like I did in eighth grade. I wish I had a middle school dance to go to so I could cry in the bathroom and feel like myself again. I wish I had a picture of him to stare at and think about how unlike a picture he is. "I wish I had a river to skate away on.

I made my baby say goodbye."

Joni Mitchell and I, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, and whoever wrote the song I'm listening to now ("If I could pray, my prayers would never end. But if you want me to beg, I'll fall down on my knees and ask you to come back, I'll be pleading you to come back, I beg for you to come back to me. Love has no pride when I call out your name, and love has no pride when there's no one but myself to blame, and I'd give anything to see you again.) should all.....go somewhere and be the worthless pile of bullshit artists that we are. We do nothing. We cry and beg and write poetry and music and let the people we love walk out of our lives again and again and again.

I would have done anything for him. The only thing I needed was for him to stay. Damn my pride for forgetting that for the one instant it took. Damn it all to hell.

Damn Christmas and New Years and Thanksgiving and turkey. Damn friends and family and lovers and things that signify pointlessness when added up into a huge equation that embodies everything except him. I have friends, I have family, I have Jeff, I have everything, but in the end it gets multiplied by the zero of him, and I end up with nothing.

And that's all my fault. On with it.

There's an article on compuserve attempting to convince me that they have found scientific proof that prayer works.

Silly scientists, Trix are for kids! (I haven't the slightest fucking clue why I felt compelled to write that despite my failute to find a witty spin to put on it, but I had to.)

I've just finished When Harry Met Sally and at this point, I honestly couldn't tell you whether or not my relatives are here. How marvelous. :-)

So yeah, if you've got nothing to do, call or come over or something. Hopelessly bored and about to start in on yet another movie. What do you think: Batman Forever, Drive Me Crazy, or the Blair Witch Project?

On with it.

Ah, such a great movie.

Having spent the first three post-present-opening hours of the holiday contentedly in my room, I now look for new ways to avoid my family, especially the gaggle of Gorham-bred rednecks that are due in about an hour. This being the groupI have the most content for out of pretty much my entire extended family between the two ugly, nasal-voiced younger children, the two pissed-off, anti-social, slummier versions of me older children (who are infinitely more tolerabale than the others, but almost definitely will not be here), and the two slack-jawed yokel parents, I can pretty much assure you that I am in no way looking forward to this visit. I fully intend to spend as much of the holiday as possible barricaded in my room waiting for the oppurtunity to receive more gifts.

My flamboyantly gay uncle Raymond should be arriving soon, as well- he always gives the most entertaining presents, as at least 90% of his shopping is done 2 hours before stores close on christmas eve. At that point, he ditches any concept whatsoever of what we may actually want or what presents suit us- last year he gave me a 10 or 15 dollar gift certificate to L.L. Bean, of all places.(Because it's open all night- he did shopping last year midnight on christmas morning) The year before was the zenith of humor, though- he gave my mother her very own copy of The Blair Witch Project.

More later, if the hick children don't take over the computer upon their arrival. On with it.

From the comfort of my room, on my lover-ly brand new 19 inch color TV (as if anybrand-new TVs are still black and white), I have just watch America get it's red white and blue ass kicked. (To clarify for anyone who might think I'm making reference to yet another terrorist attack in the year 2001, I'm refering to the copy of Pearl Harbor I received this morning.

I'm about to watch the uplifting conclusion where we retaliate by bombing the shit out of some seemingly inconsequential Japanese factory, but I thought I'd check in in between tapes.

On with it.

Having arrived home from gloucester at around 6, I spent the first part of the night trying to ditch the funk that's been following me around for a while and celebrate what I always considered to be the most magical night of the year, far more wonderful than Christmas. But I found that, when you're the only one doing it, trimming the Christmas tree is just another chore that requires a lot of walking. My family spread to seperate corners of the house to spend the holidays with their favorite appliances, and I decided to join up with the always emotionally there for me Ally McBeal. It left me wanting to cry again, as I have for the past few weeks.

I started thinking, once I got here, just enough to let me reach that goal.

Greg is wonderful, though, and is vying to make it better, and suceeding a little:
Greg: i recall that you do get deep into misery
Greg: which is something that i can never do much about
Greg: except to wish fervently that all of the magically shining jello of the world would collect itself into a pool in which we might swim together
Greg: which might cheer you up
FieryGwenivere: :-) you're so great
Greg: i don't know about that one... for all my wishing, jello doesn't shine and you're in maine
Greg: and besides which, do either of us have a pool to put it in?
Greg: no, hopelessly impractical
FieryGwenivere: Well, I think Jello shines
Greg: only with light
FieryGwenivere: then we shall wish for light, too
Greg: unlike a sparkling deity such as yourself
FieryGwenivere: and we can use someone else's pool
Greg: true, true, and pool's come with their own lights
FieryGwenivere: and, heh, you shoulda wished a few hours ago, I was in massachussetts
FieryGwenivere: but it doesn't matter...we'll wish to fly.
FieryGwenivere: and we'll both fly to vermont
Greg: now that sounds like a plan
Greg: to that field, for that matter
FieryGwenivere: our hilltop, yes
Greg: yes, our hilltop with our sky
FieryGwenivere: and our may....we'll make it may. I have no use for december right now
Greg: no, december has proved itself incapable even of providing fluffy snow
FieryGwenivere: not here
Greg: why not make it june? then we could sit out on the stars without sweatshirts
Greg: not here, either
FieryGwenivere: No, I mean there is snow here
Greg: ahh
Greg: well, that's one thing you have going
FieryGwenivere: and it WAS flufy, but it's harder and crunchier now
FieryGwenivere: And if we want it to be june, it's june. I just like the sound of may better.
Greg: fair enough
Greg: may, only a little bit warmer
FieryGwenivere: and we are sitting on adirondack chairs together and watching stars and reading poetry to each other again
FieryGwenivere: (only this time in a platonic enough way so that it wouldn't upset my guy.....imagine that, someone I have a problem with cheating on!)

Greg has recently done me the favor of changing the course of my life by finding me the perfect school for which to apply in his lovely city, New York. While Greg attends the fabulous NYU, I hope that in a year I'll be his neighbor at New School University. I am waiting with unprecedented impatience for my application kit to come in the mail. Though I should probably start working on my essays- how has my education so far prepared me for an education at Eugege Lang College (of new school university) and something about some soceital issue I'm involved in. Or something.

Greg tells me the school is unorthodox, and I fully intend to write the essays in such a way that only an unorthodox school should have them. Or at least, I fully intend to enjoy writing them.

I've been writing this update over the course of entirely too long and now I intend to stop. Em should be coming at midnight and before she does I'm going to do some work on the future site of this blog- I want it to be attractive enough to win awards which will then draw people to it. Yes, I shamelessly admit to my common, greedy need for a fanbase.

On with it!

Haha, Just figured out why, too- this doesn't post my name, either! I'm a dumbass.

On with it.

There is possitively no way to justify being online right now rather than packing to go to Gloucester. Orginally, we were supposed to have left two and a half hours ago, but apparently the baby was sick last night and this has somehow affected our plans.

Either way, though, we'd be leaving any minute if we were all ready. And I am no where near ready.

Things to bring:
Uncle Freddy's Dilbert book to return
My logbook
Another notebook
Pens
Reading materials including the book Mr. Leighton is having me read, old logbooks, and a couple garfield books
and.....my CD's, I guess.

Is that it? I haven't the faintest idea!

Oh yeah, clothing.

Why do I think the internet would be even slightly interested in what I'm packing for Gloucester?

Ugh, I wanted to make it so it displayed my nickname and not my real name at the end of these, but that doesn't seem to be working out...I shall try again later, I must pack now.

On with it.