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Saturday, May 11, 2002 Wandering aimlessly snapping pictures for a future project, I came across a set of benches in a secluded area bordered from the roads by hedges and architecture perhaps designed by someone consumed by Victorian "hysteria". The benches were nailed within a square plot outlined by driftwood logs. Within, the earth was strewn with smooth, dark stones. I picked one up and stuffed it into my pocket. Some of the odd embellishments on buildings could even be out of a designer's hallucinogenic dream--like some of my dreams maybe. Last night, I dreamt of climbing water-soaked metal stairs which were interspersed every so often with steaming bathtubs. I scribbled on the face of a villain in four clashing colors and went scuba diving in the middle of a hurricane and discovered an underwater grotto. And now, when I take that stone out of my pocket, I rub it and it smells of the keys which were its companion in the pocket. It grows cold quickly and I wonder if this is how many people view me: an unresponsive, unfeeling rock. I find it difficult to muster up any enthusiasm for anything anyone else deems important or interesting. Sometimes I wonder if I'm suffering from ennui and attention deprivation. I've been reading more blogs lately, of college students graduating. It's torturous, like the carrot constantly dangling in front of you, tantalizing and elusive. Midterms here aren't even over yet and there are already pictures all over the place of happy faces in graduation gowns and tassels and posts about moving out. I could throw a tantrum, pound on the windows as if they were prison bars, but I would scare the hell out of everyone. They would drag me to a shrink to get my head examined first. Maybe it's a case of weird senioritis. I'm not homesick. I want to flee. The room, the classes, the regularly scheduled meals are like a cage. I'm the parrot whose owner tries to train me to say "Polly want a cracker?" and even if I do say it, the cracker is denied. Some say that the college years are the best time in your life. You're independent from your parents yet you don't have to worry too much about bills and such because they're already paid. I beg to disagree. I've practiced delayed gratification. I hardly went to parties or associated with anyone more intimately than on a casual basis. As a result, I'm a socially inept clod. Most likely five years from now, no one I know from my undergraduate years will remember me--just as everyone from high school (including my teachers) have forgotten me. I'm the domesticated parrot, constantly yearning for freedom, yet when released, would have no idea how to survive in the wild. Links: How do you design a "Keep Out!" sign to last 10,000 years? I'm no expert at this, but I think someone's been watching too many Star Trek reruns. The Integrator. The lazy way out of calculus problems. Mona Lisa on Crack. Exactly how I feel. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 9:20 PM : ]
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