Our Dumb Blog

I haven’t had a real meal today. I ate three canned biscuits this morning at Karen’s apt. and then had cake and fruit at the “meeting of the elite,” as I have come to call our Wed. afternoon “class.”

Maybe I should eat something. I feel like I’ve had too much caffeine. I’m chewing my thumbnails to oblivion.. Maybe I should learn to sit and meditate. In fact, that would probably be a good idea.

Greg used to teach ballroom dancing. Which, I suppose, makes him Mr. Perfect. I’m not sure whether he likes to camp or not.

I was at Karen’s this morning because I spent the night at their apt. She talked me into going across the bay last night with her to hear her friend Dana’s concert. I made pesto at the apt. for her and Nicki, who just had an appendectomy last week and is walking kinda slow and having a hard time laughing. Then Greg came over, and we all went over to Fairhope to hear South’s choir. Paul met us all over at the Waffle House over there afterward. That’s what life is all about. Sitting around, drinking coffee and talking. At least, that’s when I’m happiest. Usually. I couldn’t decide what to get to eat, so I ordered a large O.J., coffee, and a chocolate milk. When we got back to the apt., Greg, Karen, and I stood outside and listened to Greg talk about philosophy and life and love. Love is what life is about, you know. We ARE. We exist. We “be.” God is BEING. God is also love. That’s the whole point of everything, to love. To love and be loved. That’s all there is. Everything else is just details. We can talk all we want to about lofty things or not so lofty ideals, but it all comes down to love. Only it gets so confusing sometimes.

I was in the backseat on the way back, thinking about…. something else… not really listening to Karen and Nicki and Greg discuss something. During a lull, Greg turned to me suddenly and demanded, “Why?!” “Because of hormones,” I said, answering the question within my own mind and figuring it wouldn’t be too far from what he was asking, since he’s a self-proclaimed pervert. He nodded slowly and then said, “Yeah, yeah, I guess it is.”

Karen made up the sofa with sheets and blankets for me, and I took out my contacts and laid down blind with my t-shirt and underwear on under the covers. She and Liz and I talked about the evening of philosophical discussion. “Nicki asked me,” Karen said, “‘Why do you and Joanna hang out with Greg?’ ‘I dunno.’ ‘Greg likes one of you,’ Nicki said, ‘and I’m gonna find out which one it is.'” We tried to determine what kinda chick Greg goes for. “Stupid,” said Karen. “But… who would he talk to?” I asked, knowing that Greg HAS to talk to something or somebody. “I think he’s more interested in sex,” said Karen. “Oh, he’s male,” observed Liz. I had to agree. Liz can’t stand the fact that ever sentence Greg utters slaughters the English language. Yet he’s far more widely read and much more intelligent than Karen or I.

He wanted to know where “Bitter Greg” came from. “Maynard,” Karen explained, “It was sort of a first impression thing, like ‘Genius Paul.'” “I don’t want to be ‘Bitter!'” Greg exclaimed back. “What DO you want to be called then?” I asked. “I dunno. How ’bout ‘Cowboy’?”

Last night was the first time Dana had met “Bitter Greg.” Karen thought he would piss her off because he annoys Paul too. “But, Paul likes Greg,” I said. Karen explained, “Yes, Paul likes Greg, but he annoys him at the same time. Just like Paul annoys Greg, but he likes Paul.”

I said “damn” last night in public. I’m feeling bad about it.

Liz and Karen said that Stephen had called me a freak once, which they found quite odd because he usually can’t find anyone admittedly odder than he is. Karen had spent the evening talking about how freaky Liz is, so when we got back, I immediately told Liz that we’d spent the evening talking about what a freak she is. Then Karen had to say that we’d decided EVERYONE was a freak so that she wouldn’t get upset. I didn’t care. I call Liz a freak all the time. I’ve been calling her a freak since first semester freshman year. She says that as long as I’m around, she doesn’t have to worry about looking odd, since there’s someone freakier than her.

I don’t know. I was thinking this past week that Karen and Greg might should get together. But… I think Karen deserves someone better. I mean, Greg’s a great guy and all, but… I dunno.. I tend to get protective of my female friends. I want them to marry Mr. Wonderfully-perfect-kind-gentle-protecting-gentlemanly-supporting non-jerks. Jerks are bad. Though, I have a feeling I’m going to be stuck with one, since I tend to be attracted to abrasive people. I think Karen is taller than Greg anyway. There just aren’t enough Mr. Rights in the world. Why is that? Why do men have to be such jerks?

Sunny called last night to talk to Karen about French and Wes, with whom she’d just had a huge fight. Wes is a poli sci major and a nice enough guy. Well, okay, he’s not nice enough. He makes a good classmate, but they fight too much to be together, in my opinion. I mean, if a couple fights a lot while they’re dating, how can they ever hope to achieve peace in their marriage? I know Sunny isn’t perfect, no one is, but… I dunno.. Maybe I should just chill and let people I know marry jerks.

I’m tired. Spring break is next week. My plan is to read Moby Dick and sleep. Wait, wasn’t that my goal for Christmas vacation?

As I was eating a biscuit in Karen’s kitchen this morning, I looked at the graduation memo on the door of the freezer. It was saying that women should wear dresses that are not longer than the robes, and to wear black shoes. And suddenly it hit me. My Converse High-tops are black! I could wear them to graduation!

Let’s see, I read a bit of Anna today, though not nearly enough. Played Andy at chess backstage instead of reading. I beat him whenever I play white because he’s not used to playing black. We played two games yesterday and two today. We’re 2 and 2. I’m up in the lab till 4 when it closes. Then I suppose I’ll read some more.

I got a 91 on my Con Law test, which is what i was aiming for (considering I didn’t study). But, If i want any room, i guess i really ought to read the cases next time. I HAVE to read the next one because Schaefer assigned me a 2 minute decision on it. Three people did that for the last one, and i fought with them, just because that’s what I do. “There goes Joanna again,” Melissa mumbled in my ear, “throwing wrenches into the machinery.” “Hey, it’s what I do. Makes people think.” “Makes them squirm.” Melissa has decided that we need to buy small stuffed geckos and throw them at people who make stupid comments. Elizabeth just wants to kill them. I don’t really care. I mean, incredibly egotistical as I am, I think everyone’s comments are going to be automatically less intelligent than what I say, so I politely let them say them anyway. Ha ha! Man, I’m so arrogant. It really doesn’t bother me, though…. unless they say something untruthful and then won’t back down when i challenge them.

Yuck, I’ve still got mascara on. I had to go through the whole make up things this morning, and then I’ll have to do it again tonight. I dunno. I wonder if Sunny really DOES enjoy sticking bobbypins into my scalp. We only had one highschool show up today. Theodore. French classes. The other school that didn’t show up was Blount. “The KKK and the G’s.” In our pre-scene argument offstage (“I won’t!” “Oh yes you will!”) Paul said he was gonna say “I’ll bitch slap you, ho,” but since Blount didn’t show up, he didn’t. Allums came, however. The whole theater dept. was abuzz. He doesn’t come to plays. He’s not on good terms with the dept. either.

I just discovered that I’d make a lousy private eye, or any kind of spy
for that matter.

I nailed all my lines except one today during rehearsal (not counting me
few tag lines at the very end of the show), which was very good. I
sucked yesterday, and the two guys who are in that scene were getting
ticked at me. But today, they made more mistakes than I did, which made
me feel better. During rehearsal, while I was waiting around till the
last scene, Andy Watson looked at me from behind the glass door where he
was talking on the phone and said into it, “Joanna’s here, want to talk
to her?” It was Jeremy calling the 800 number to the school to talk to
the people in the theater dept. It was really great to talk to him
again. He’s coming down to see the student performance on the 13th,
which will be cool. I almost told him I sorta kinda missed him. But
instead I handed the phone to Elizabeth.

I have an SGA meeting tonight, which sucks, because we had one last
week. But, we don’t have one NEXT week because of Fat Tu… er,
President’s Day holiday. I guess I’ll have to be here anyway for
rehearsal, but at least I won’t have to get up. I didn’t go to bed till
after 3 last night.. silly me. Got on AOL to get my mail and got paged
by Elizabeth and Karen. They were talking to “steve” this guy in
Delaware, Karen’s “man.” Liz signed off about 2, but I kept talking to
steve. I dunno, that was interesting. He likes to camp, he’s in the
army, and he’s perfectly normal. He kept asking me if I was a guy. so I
gave him the address of my webpage, and told him to look for the topless
photo. I finally got my brief done when he signed off (it was 4 his
time).

My question for the day is “which is preferable, anger or insanity?”
Then that led to a discussion with Melissa and Tracy about whether you
can know if you’re going insane or not. Melissa chose anger because you
can still control it. Tracy chose insanity because you wouldn’t really
know. I dunno. I’m just having a really sucky week so far. I guess it
could be worse.. it can always be worse…

I guess you never really now how much you’ll miss something until you
don’t have it anymore. And you never realize that you CAN do without it
until it’s gone and you’re forced to vary tactics.

It’s raining outside. My window is open, just like Mom suggested. I did
open it last night. Then I closed it this morning when I got up because
it was raining very hard. I guess she came up and opened it again this
afternoon when it was sunny, before it started raining again.

I was standing on one of the concrete benches surrounding the fountain at
school when the sun was shining. I was very surprised to find it warm and
sunny when I came out. “It was raining this morning, wasn’t it?” I said
from the other side of my sunglasses to a random girl standing outside the
snackshop. “Very hard,” she coughed vehemently. The sun was still
shining when I came back out after spending some time in one of the piano
practice rooms, script in hand, and mounted the concrete bench. From my
perch, I practiced my lines under my breath, gesticulating at the fountain
and pausing whenever I forgot what came next to look up into the sky,
where small clouds were being bullied by the wind into dashing across the
intermintant blue. West, I thought, then corrected myself. Southwest.
That means more rain. And the rain came. It is raining now.

“Joanna!” hollered Melissa from behind her sunglasses all the way over by
the parking lot. I glanced up from behind mine to look at her. “If
someone didn’t know you were practicing lines, they’d think you were
crazy!” “So?” In fact, people who passed by gave me a good deal of room
after looking up uncomfortably. Whenever a theater major passed by, I
began where I was out loud so they could hear. “I guess he can beat me if
he wants to!” I shouted at a pudgy girl with wire rimmed glasses I’ve
talked to but don’t know by name. “I tell you, I LOVE to have him beat
me!” “Practicing lines,” she understood, “Been there, done that.”

“In my opinion he’s the best doctor in the world!” I insisted to
Elizabeth. “We have class, dear,” she informed me as her companion stared
in puzzlement. I collected my things and followed a few moments later.

“What is this?!” Dr. Khokhlova shrieked excitedly when I walked into the
classroom. She always shrieks excitedly. “What’s wrong with you? You
look like a shadow!” If I’m capable of smiling wanly, I probably did so
then. The good thing about Dr. K. is that if she shrieks a question at
you and you don’t answer immediately, she’ll either answer the question
herself or else change the question and then answer it. I shrugged and
tried to figure out which desk was mine as she moved on to altering and
answering her own question.

I knew exactly what was wrong with me as I slumped there in my desk. My
stomach was all in knots. My brain was still smoldering from a
conflagration, smoke from the dying embers filling my glazed eyes, my
unhearing ears.

People kept asking me how I was, as if I could tell them. How can you
describe the feeling when your stomach has been ripped in half? “You
don’t want to know,” I’d say after a moment’s hesitation. Or, “I’m not
answering that question today.” “Why not? What’s wrong,” asked Dion. I
know her name is Dion because I looked on the sheet of new recruits to the
history and political science club and found out what it was. Beforehand,
I knew her as the cool chick in the Presidency and Congress class. I
liked her the first time I saw her. She has twins and a husband, who came
to class with her today. But she asked me how I was anyway. Maybe my
face begged it. I don’t know. I don’t think she’s asked me before. My
suspicions about liking her were substantiated when I asked her suddenly
one day this week, “What do you think, does the Dave Matthews Band have an
upperclass appeal?” She was silent a long while, and I was afraid I had
asked for too much, when she nodded slowly and said, “Yes, I think it
does.” I was amazed. There aren’t many minds on campus that will admit
to working like mine.

All the same, I wouldn’t tell her how I was today. I didn’t tell Paul
either, though I desperately wanted to. He didn’t ask either. He never
asks. He greets everyone else he knows with a “How’s it going?” but never
me. He knows better. And I wouldn’t want him to.

So I’m here with the light on, looking out the open window at the light
rain and punctuated lightning momentarily illuminating the slowly
darkening sky.

I remembered a few minutes before 11 that I had agreed to cut Andy’s hair
today. Of course, I’d forgotten my clippers. He had bought me a pizza
anyway. We sat out in front of Cuyahoga and ate and discussed things.
Three guys approached us with pens and paper asking, almost shyly, “Uh,
are either of you an only child?” We replied in the negative. “What
about a musical instrument, do you play one?” “Nope,” said Andy. “I
do,” I said. “You do? What’s your name?” I wrote my name down in a
blank next to a line of text on one of the guys’ paper and told the other
one how to spell it. “Born in March?” I nodded and wrote my name
again. “Wow, we’re racking up on you!” As they started to leave, one of
them offhandedly read off, “Forget to put on deodorant this morning?”
“Yeah,” I said, as they looked almost pleased and all three of them
scribbled down my name. “What’s this for?” asked Andy. “An exercise in
getting acquainted.” “Well,” I said, “Then let’s get acquainted. You
all know my name by now. What’s yours?”

When they walked away, I said to Andy, “I may be the only person on
campus who would admit to that.” “I think you’re right, Joanna.”

I had some time till my next class, so I went to the BP, filled up my
tires, and bought some lip balm, O.J., and a lemon-poppy seed muffin.
Then I took all of that, except for the lip balm for me, and a gallon of
water from our well and a box full of pills and tea and honey up to Cris
Hyatt’s room. She tore into the muffin, since it’s the first thing she’d
eaten all day. I made her some tea in the microwave down the hall and
gave her instructions on what pills and drops to take when. Then I went
to the Russian Lit class.

I’m up in the computer lab now, since I have rehearsal at 4. A girl just
came and pulled out the chair at the terminal next to me. “Anyone
sitting here?” she asked. I shook my head in reply, as I was in the
middle of a sentence. After she sat down, and I’d finished my train of
thought, I said, “Someone is now.” “What?” “Someone’s there now.” “Oh,”
she laughed nervously.

Occasionally, people will ask me if I still have “that mouse” and I say
“He died.”