ALL I WANT IS 20/20 VISION, ALL I WANT IS A ROOM WITH A VIEW
My worst nightmare goes like this: I'm in a room by myself, suitcases and boxes of books and records all around me. I'm unpacking in a new city, where I don't have school chums or relatives to fall back on for support, or even a meal together. I have to re-arrange my bookshelves all by myself and simple things like that are harder than they could possibly seem. I feel a little like that right now, having just moved back into the dorm a week before everybody else. I'm sure my parents are going to wonder if this is a good idea, but I'm fine, mom and dad. It's just a little wonky to be in this place again, sans everybody else, with only my crate of records to keep me company. Debbie Harry is doing a pretty good job, but it's still just me atnd my food and machines.

Things to do when despair and lonliness leap up: work on scarves (for Adam and Megan), take a bath, write letters to far-flung people, Ready McRead Read, dress up like different characters from movies, string together some thoughts for a zine, order zines, do research for a trip to New York over spring break (!) drink tea, play bass, play trombone, clean, write songs. Talk to myself. Okay, I can officially NOT BE BORED this week. We shall not let such a thing happen.

Today, before they dropped me off, my parents and I went to the Heinz Regional History Museum to see the folk art exhibit. It was so sweet and amazing! Of course, I'm a real sucker for folk arts and crafts as it is, but this was an amazing exhibit. I was really proud to see how well-represented Greene, Washington, and Fayette Counties were, and also to look at all of these pieced-together, hand-painted frames and such. A lot of the paintings had writing or lettering on them explaining the significance of the images, which was so refreshing in comparison with hoity-toity paintings. "IT IS ALL OVER. SEVEN SISTERS=SEVEN CITIES. SHE IS A CITY."

FORTY MILLION DAGGERS
I have a sudden sense of completion today. I worked out at my old high school's fitness center for what's probably the last time, finished the last page of Honeymooners in the car before driving home, drank three liters of water, and generally felt at peace. Honeymooners is a suddenly quite famous novel by a Pittsburgh writer who was the inspiration for the protagonist of Michael Chabon's Wonder Boys (the professor, not James Lear). If you remember, Prof. Trip Grady was trying to finish a hulking monster of a book . . . oh, but I've already said too much.

It seemed to take a long time to get into, maybe because the fact that I was reading the book seemed like odd coincidence, not some kind of desperate, heavy-handed, fated gesture. But by the time I read the last page, I kissed the dustjacket and drove on into the night. When I'm at school I hardly even sit in a car, much less drive one. There's a definite amount of skill to country driving, especially at night: one must always turn off one's brights when a car is coming from the opposite direction. This can be done by watching for some change in the light on the hill or along the power lines; there are always curves and usually snow and fog. Last night I saw a whole prism lit up by truck headlights on top of Nettle Hill, the second highest point in Greene County.

I found my Dad's records today: Buddy Holly, Learn Morse Code, Johnny Cash, B.B. King (translucent red vinyl).

DON'T HOLD YOUR BREATH TOO LONG; THIS TUNNEL IS A TEXAS MILE
Today's super-jazzy news: the faculty search for the new Modernist prof (tenure track) in the English department has been narrowed down to three candidates and they're all women. This is great news because the department (like many others) is heavily skewed towards male profs, and because the prof currently holding the Modernist position is a woman. In other words, I'm just happy that we aren't skewing the numbers even more. And what's better, these three candidates are each giving lectures on campus sometime this semester, and you'd better believe I'm going to be there if I possibly can. I know that a certain amount of all of this is just academic politics, but it's hard not to feel a little bit bubbly about the new semester and all of that.

Also: I look really cute today, but nobody is around to notice. Har-rumph.

I'D WALK THE PLANK FOR YOU
Happy New Year, everybody. This has been the first New Year in a long time that hasn't depressed me at all. I have my good friends Scott and Ethan to thank for that, I'm sure. I stayed with them and we played Puzzle Fighter forever and Scott cooked mushroom teriyaki and everything was in its right place, so to speak. Still nobody to kiss on New Year's Eve, but I'm sure you know that I don't care that much about that kind of thing.

Also, depression is sometimes just a word for a mood that makes you want to listen to noisy feedback rock and read in bed, and I find those activities to be perfectly acceptable at any time.

NEED A TEENAGE RIOT JUST TO GET OUT OF BED
My day was bloated by lots and lots of clothes shopping. I'm pretty ashamed to say that I face you now with three new skirts, a pair of jeans, a pair of black slacks, a pair of pajamas, a button-down shirt, a turtleneck, and five sweaters more than I had yesterday. Some of that comes from the Goodwill, but still, ugh. Too much mixing and matching to be done. Too, too much. At least I won't have to worry about having enough work-appropriate clothes for a while. Say, "Hi there, clothes horse."

WAVE A WHITE FLAG; PUT AWAY THE PISTOL
I saw "The Two Towers" today and all I can say is: BIGNESS!!! What a huge movie. I like three-part sagas that make the audience feel like a mass of sniveling shits, like a sea of specks in the speck movie theater. Yesterday I went to Morgantown with my mom and her group of Greene County Unitarian Universalist friends. It was pretty lovely. I really enjoy talking to so many wise women who know what they're doing and what they like. It makes me miss my friends from school all the more. Not that I dislike my friends from home, but I see fewer and fewer of them every time I come home, and less and less of the few I do see. Someday I am going to spend New Year's Eve out of Greene County, and won't that be a night? But New Year's Eve has always depressed me witless. I think it has something to do with those terrible countdowns they have on all the local radio stations of the 40 "best" songs of the year. Am I supposed to start another year while ironic butt rock reigns supreme? I'll probably end up crying in an Italian restaurant again.

But I have forgotten: all of the problems in my life have been solved by Megan's gift. Seriously. Now I'm going to go and listen to Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, again and again.