I had this odd disconnected feeling. Like I was wearing a big fuzzy full-bodied suit.
I spent a couple hours writing at the La Jolla Village Square Starbucks, and then I went to wander around Fashion Valley, thinking what a lovely mall it is at night. After that I dropped by my biological father's house (he's out of town). I picked up an enormous armful of clothes which I haven't worn in nearly four years. White and tan clothes mostly, from before I started just wearing black everyday . . . Although I've always dressed "bland" I guess.
I also found some old Super Nintendo games and my collector's boxed set of the original Star Wars trilogy in widescreen--not special edition. I took it with me too, deciding it might be fun to relive the legend as it was before Greedo shot first.
I went from there to Magious's house. As he aimlessly web-surfed, I burned in Morrowind-withdrawal agony and played the Super Nintendo games I'd unsurfaced earlier. One of which was Super Star Wars . . . basically a mindless shoot-'em-up that was more fun just for Magious and I to make sport of how un-Star Wars-ish it is.
For some reason, I became really irrationally frustrated at the Cantina level. The end boss was very difficult and I couldn't seem to dodge his attacks enough to prevent my life meter from going down faster than his.
"I'm tired of this mutherfucker," I started commenting, after the twentieth go, to Magious with quiet menace.
He replied not to such comments, only offering the occasional, somewhat nervous, "This is so unlike Star Wars,"
I finally kicked myself outta there and went to the grocery store to buy root beer and two large bags of mozzarella cheese. Then I came here.
Why the mozzarella you ask? It was for a meal I'd crafted through experimentation a few nights ago that I'm extremely proud of.
My grandmother, as she does periodically, had pointed out that there were fresh loaves of long, french-ish bread on the counter. Normally, I haven't much use for bread like that . . . but then, for whatever reason, my brain started working--something that happens only very sporadically.
What if . . . I cut the bread lengthwise . . . put pizza sauce and mozzarella on the flat part . . . and then put it in the toaster oven.
I'll tell you--triumph!!!
I topped it with a bit of garlic powder, and I've been eating it nearly every night since.
But before I could get this process underway on Monday night, I ran into my aunt, who I'd not seen since she'd returned from Seattle. She and I had a long conversation about . . . gee, actually, I can't remember what we were talking about. I only mostly remember having to pee the entire time.
I also remember we watched Kevin Smith's trip to Seattle, and then we watched Lucky the cat sleeping on my bed. I remarked, "Seeing a cat comfortable makes you feel comfortable too," with which my aunt agreed.
After that, I finally did put my meal together . . . then I ran into cryptess on ICQ--she quickly pointed me to a very, very groovy chat room thingy where all present could communally doodle on a little white square. I drew a few little weird, meaningless things, but mostly the time was spent watching toxic_siren showing off her ample talents, which was indeed delightful. That girl can work the image-making!
I ended up starting to feel a little dizzy from multitasking, though, so I finally had to call it quits and go to sleep.
Only, maybe the dizziness wasn't from the multitasking . . . because come to think of it, it was the same dulling of lucidity I'd felt earlier in the evening, and that I feel even now . . .
This evening, the Death and Dying class I'm in took a little field trip to see a bunch of students reading their creative writing.
Trisa's in this class too, and she was continuing her exercise in Treating-Setsuled-Like-Shit by totally ignoring me. Wouldn't even say hello when I greeted her.
I remember thinking it was almost creepy. More than two years of friendship--best friends even--snuffed out like a candle for no apparent reason.
The only signs I had that she maybe acknowledged my existence was when she walked next to the guy she'd told me she hated, that had been trying to make her. She'd been giving him attention a few weeks ago--she actually even gave him one of her drawings which'd made me extremely jealous at the time. Now it seemed maybe she was wilfully trying to make me jealous or something, although the two of them didn't talk.
When we got to the reading, I sat down next her and after a moment, she got up and changed seats. So obviously, it's not that she's indifferent to me. It's that she actively hates me.
Actually it didn't bother me much, beyond the creepiness aspect, until the student reading began.
Almost all of the student works were utterly awful, and almost always for the same reasons--over-self-indulgence coupled with stock phrases and irrelevant imagery. In fact, few of the readers seemed to have any point in their work except, "Look at me. I'm writing a poem/story about something very personal/explicit/hackneyed. Now please revere me,"
For some reason I found this to be extremely depressing, which somehow carried over into my feelings about Trisa's current behaviour. Maybe it was because she was sitting in the front row and therefore in my sight the entire time.
I left quickly and again resisted the urge to try to confront her. I know how futile that would be.
I was still feeling generally just dizzy and not so bad really . . . until I got back to my car and when I was digging around for an Aimee Mann CD I spotted the little stuffed tiger Trisa'd given me a few weeks ago. I'd named him Koohii.
And I was reminded again of that other Trisa. And it came home to me again how horrible a thing it is when people cut apart. As bloody and terrible and messy and bewildering a situation as watching an arm get amputated.
And all I can say is c'est la vie.