Zombies, everywhere, zombies....

A long gap between my last update and this one, I know. I've been heavily occupied as of late, mostly with responsibilities placed far in front of me but which I chose to undertake now, or even earlier, out of frustration, and a desire to be utterly done all the time. So much happened, so much didn't. My best class is about British Literature, a subject I am not well versed in. Yet, I am an excellent student, contributing ideas and answers often. My first test did not reflect this, as Professor Rosso grades severely. Were his lectures and demeanor not so charming, I'd dislike the man. Alas, he is brilliant, and I'll find a way to deal with his grading accordingly. American Poetry, expected to be my best, has shown itself to be my worst. I am overqualified. Far overqualified. Going through the motions depresses me. Especially when discussing talentless hacks like Walt Whitman. The professor is hopelessly behind in our discussions, and I am pointlessly ahead, covering Ezra Pound while the discussion is still straddling atop Dickinson's subtle imagery. A pity, that. Ah well, I'll find some way to entertain myself. Perhaps more debate with that incorrigible born again Christian girl, or a heavy dose of more sewing.

I can sew now, you know. I taught myself haphazardly how, like a child learns how to shoot a gun at his enemy: out of necessity. The results are predictably shoddy, but my jester hat is quite a sight, and I'm very happy with the outcome I'll concede. It could be better, but I am but a courtier. It is acceptable, therefore. My tunic needs minor repairs I'll imagine into being quite soon. And I have green fabric left over for whatever purpose I wish.

Strange feelings have permeated me recently. I sent an extended love confession poem to Brittany in imperfect Iambic Pentameter. I am proud of it. It is good. She's yet to respond, so far. Inevitably there will be something in answer. I think this anxiety is causing my strange feelings. For example, I am rereading Slaughterhouse 5, and for the first time in months, the urge to cut came on strongly, purposefully. Not for release or hatred, just a desire to create in destruction. His famous tombstone, the best epitaph:

"Everything Was Beautiful, And Nothing Hurt"

Only it was on a stone, and there were no lowercase letters. It just sounded like a great idea. I did not, nor do I plan to, act upon it. But it was there, and that is troubling in and of itself. But my medication is still working, pretty well. I've had somewhat mean days, somewhat strange days, somewhat silly days, somewhat unknown days. But no evil days, no bad days really. Things continue, like always. I wonder if Brittany will understand my words. I felt verse was necessary. That...feeling I get when I think I've synced up, seeing time correctly, and the correct and really, the only thing I'm able to do, is what I'm doing. And I feel pulled forward into my words like a bell on a string, batted by a kitten in time. Of course, we always are, but the words I wrote, they were right and important, and flowed from somewhere unseen. Like an oracle, speaking in cryptographic tune.

Literal things of important to read if surreal subjects disappoint or entangle:

-Grades doing ok
-Car seems alright
-My helmet arrived finally, which means I'll soon be fighting
-Chrononauts arrived, and thanks to the pool, cost not a cent. It looks very fun
-I'm seeing Zombieland tonight with my sister and step-father. Unusual, since the last film I was with him was Godzilla, the 1997 version, I believe.

That's enough of that. More exposition: I feel rudderless, and doing homework and cleaning and laundry only seem to assuage this temporarily. I'm worried about some things. Most of my friends seem more or less alright. Darren has shown a lot of rage, a lot of irritation, but he's handling it...enough. I and others will keep him soothed somewhat as long as required. Lindsay is, well, status quo at least. New injury but no worse than her last. Tristan has been distant, Robbie and Bryan as well, if a bit less so. Alex and Sebastian have been warmer than usual.

I've heard barely a word from Darien.

I worry about Jess's emotional and healthful stability. She's under a lot of pressure. She'll probably be alright. Had I any funds, I'd visit. New friend, this Jon character, seems quite nice. Liz's brother Ray and I are getting along well. Galen I've barely seen. Overall though, no more pressing news in these areas.

Hmm. I felt there was more I should have been discussing. Perhaps later.