This is the Sound of the Brain Dying.

Song of the Day: Do It Alone by Sugarcult

Just a couple more weeks and this torture I call school will be over. In the meantime, I would rather go to the rack than have to answer another chapter question, make a speech, and/or write a paper. These next two weeks will not be pleasant and I will be feeling that procrastination that I started at the beginning of the semester in the worst places. To make my attempts of getting away from those papers and assignments complete, I took on the position of Assistant Stage Manager at CP's Miracle Worker. Why did I do this? Now I only have a few hours in the afternoons to do my research for two presentations and a geology paper. What's even better is that not only do I have last minute assignments to turn in, I'm also getting little to no sleep since I've been getting home at 12 every night (and going to bed whenever I fall asleep doing three pounds of homework). If I didn't know any better I would think I was in the second layer of hell.

Yes, I have projects and papers and presentations and homework and then exams and Miracle Worker... Though thinking about this brings me down I look to the weekend and I'm happy! This week has lasted a month and I've been looking forward to this Saturday and Sunday since last Sunday. Really, this week hasn't been good-- but tomorrow I'll be going to Statesville for a To Write Love On Her Arms benefit/concert. It's going to be great. I get to hang out with people I like and listen to music that I [might] like. And then I have Sunday! I love Sundays. Truly. Surly. This is the one day I allow myself no worry.

Summer: I can't wait. Granted, I will be working and I have a math class to take but exciting things are going to happen. Cornerstone. Camp Quest. FCP. Greatness.




Everyday I attempt to live the life Jesus did. Usually it doesn't work. I have this thing. With people. I don't like them. There's one of these people in my class who I cannot stand. Cannot. This time it isn't just me-- no one else likes him. And I try. Really. Really. Really hard to not say things to him, about him, or around him because those things that I will say will not be what Jesus would have said. As I'm leaving class today he follows behind me and says something.

Can I be honest? I don't talk to him because I will punch him. I've said maybe three things to him this semester and all of them were sarcastically mean. I'm a terrible person, I know.

"Heading to work?"
"No." Why he is talking to me, I don't know. I was saving him by staying away from him.
"There's a rally for Hillary Clinton tonight-- you want to go?"

My whole body tightens. Who... who in their right minds would vote for Hillary? I am thoroughly offended that he would think I approve of her. I am also shocked that he has the nerve to ask me to go with him. Anywhere. Thirty million words popped into my head. All thirty million of them would have made him cry.

By a miracle of Jesus, all of those sarcastically-dagger laced remarks stayed locked behind my clenched teeth and simply, "No, I don't think so." Brilliant! I keep walking away from him, thankful that he wasn't in kicking distance. It's over. I keep walking.

"Oh, not a political person?"

WHAT?! WHY DO YOU KEEP SPEAKING?!?!? $*#) *$ @*&$ %&$#!!!!!!!

By another miracle, I kept my mouth closed and did a nod/shake and kept walking.

I'm ashamed. Really. This attitude I have towards some people is not good. The point is, I try. A lot. I have an internal battle when some people speak and sometimes sharp words come out. This little blurb of my life definitely doesn't put me in a good light and makes me sound like a heathen but I... I just need to say that I do try and I am sorry.


Carmen.

The Shallow End.

I'm under the impression that my mother still thinks I'm 11. What gives me reason to think this? Well, whenever my parents went out of town, they would always come back with a present. All through my childhood I can always remember when they would go out of town and come back with something for us ("us" meaning myself and my siblings). We, or at least I, would look forward to this. The benefit of my parents leaving was that we would get something small when they returned. The presents were never big, but small and exciting for a kid. We would all gather around, close our eyes, and let the gifts sit in our hands until we were given the cue of "Okay, you can open your eyes now." I can remember necklaces, beanie babies (because those were the coolest things. EVER.), a tea set, a shirt... Small things that only cost a dollar but were better than huge Christmas gifts because we didn't receive these gifts because of a holiday but purely because our parents loved us enough to think of us. A gift without reason.

This past weekend Mom went out of town to teach at a conference while I was at Catawba impressing the socks off of the Tech professors. Sunday morning, while I was still sleeping, Mom knocked on the door at 7am and said, "I have a surprise for you." This is code for, "Okay, you can open your eyes now." I unfold a napkin and what lay inside was a giant chocolate chip cookie. At 7am my mom had no qualms with giving me a cookie for breakfast. She got the cookie for free at the conference because it was left over. Does that make it not quite as special? No. She gave me the biggest cookie out of all the others that she brought home.

I called
because
I just
Need to feel you on the line
Don’t hang up this time
And I know it was me who called it over but
I still wish you'd fought me ‘til Your dying day
Don’t let me get away

I love coffee. This morning, after my math class, I went to Starbucks. I get an iced grande white mocha iced coffee. Monday mornings I look kind of gross because I don't see the need to shower for a math class. I mean, I would rather sleep an extra 15 minutes on Mondays and get clean after class.

Wow. I just made myself sound disgusting.

At this Starbucks there is a waxy, tattooed fellow. Today he spoke to me. Maybe I sound pathetic-- actually, I sound really pathetic-- but I do not care. It is impossible to find semi-waxy guys with tattoos who have a small piece of manners and shower at least once a week. To be honest, I'm not really sure if he is good looking because I'm distracted by his sleeve. Anyway, the point of my pondering is that I'm wondering if I should start showering on Mondays. Is the I-just-rolled-out-of-bed Carmen better than the I-look-clean-and-pretty Carmen?

Screw Clean-Carmen. I get an extra 15 minutes of sleep if I look gross.


Carmen.

If it's boring I'll just shoot them.

I am ashamed; I've let my blog go. It's been over a week. This could be a sign that I have had nothing to write about but life has been pretty busy-- not interesting, just busy.

I bought a Nerf gun. That's the best investment I have ever made. Someone informed me that I am a dork for buying a piece of plastic that only shoots 6 bullets with the nickname "Cheese-A-Nater" but I know that they're only saying that because they've never felt the way a Nerf gun feels in the hand and the happiness of battling two eight year olds in Sara's front yard.

A good part of this past week has been spent in worry. I found out about a scholarship opportunity that required me to go to Catawba this weekend. I later found out I needed to have a portfolio and grown-up things in preparation for this audition/interview. So, I threw that together and I felt very unprepared. Most of my week I was distracted with the fact that I'll be meeting people who are going my make my life heaven or hell, but when Friday rolled around I decided it wasn't a big deal. Sure, I want things to look nice but it's not like my education depends on it. What will I lose if I don't do a good job? Nothing. What happens if they like me? I get money. I only gain in this situation.

*A segment of my audition in reference to a hellish program Catawba puts students through*
Zink: A lot of students hate it but when they get out they're grateful for it. A student once sent me a bottle of wine from Italy in appreciation.
Me: So, you want to send as many people through this program as possible. Maybe someone will send you some cheese.
Zink: Yes, to go with my wine.

My Dad and I left at 7:30 Saturday morning, we got coffee and doughnuts, we drove to school, I got mints, then I interviewed and went home. It's about a 50 minute drive-- not bad-- it went by quickly. Since my audition was done so early, and we didn't have anything else to do, we did go home, slept, and then went back so I could see Tartuffe. That sounds crazy, I know, but that was the best nap I have ever had.

To conclude, all this school/education crap makes me feel old. And stressed out. But Nerf guns level it out a bit.


"You two are a pair of idiots." -Doreen, Tartuffe
Carmen.

Major Tom to Ground Control

It must suck to get drunk. It hit me this morning. An epiphany.

Last night I went to the Visualite to see this David Bowie tribute/benefit. [The Visualite has a great atmosphere. But I still like Tremont better] My ex-co-worker and a current co-worker was playing. Some of it was excellent. Some of it I slept through. One thing I did learn from this show: I can't handle more than an hour of Bowie. I ended up with close to 4 Bowie hours. Uh. Brain. Melting. I wish my (ex)co-workers would have told me they weren't going on until 11.

Anyway, there were some excellent musicians. I can't deny this. Also, Bowie is kind of amazing. I can't deny that either. That show, however, would have been a lot better if I were drinking like everyone else. Except it goes against my moral code. Oh, and it's kind of illegal.

I was exhausted in more ways than one when Sara and I eventually left. Maybe I'm becoming an old lady at an early age but 12:30 is the latest I can stay out without my eyes glazing over. I also tend to get really hungry that late. Sara and I stopped by McDonald's to fulfill our tradition of eating after every show. Food. Home. Sleep.

"It's 11... I need to go home." Uh... I roll out of bed, throw on a hoodie, ugly slippers that look especially ugly with my man-sweat pants and I drive Sara home in the rain. Coffee is the only thing on my mind. However, I feel bad getting coffee when I'll be going to work in just a few hours where I will have an unlimited supply of coffee.

And this is where the epiphany hit me. I'm already exhausted, I have a sleep-deprivation headache, why would I want a hangover on top of it? It's crazy. Why do people do that to themselves? And if I had to go to work on top of it... I just don't understand it. It would suck.

Reason 301 why I don't have any desire to drink.

This is absolutely not related to the concert but more important than the above. I saw Miss Peggy last night. Er, Mrs. Peggy. A woman I haven't seen in 8 years. It made me incredibly happy. She used to watch me and my siblings when we were young. I think I miss her. Now she has two kids of her own who are the age that I was when I last saw her.

My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought I'd need so many people

Carmen.