if you have to stay, i'll be on the water

every night for over a week, i've been having these dreams. they are about as real as dreams can be without being reality, and i wake up at four every morning without fail.

my sleep is rocky, and my dreams are almost nightmares.

so i have these little interludes in my nights of words and music.

like truth, like ice, like fire

i've been thinking about things i am going to change a lot lately.

my major is one of them.

i've been spending a lot of time trying to "self-improve" this summer.

i have become genuinely happier, with a little help. i've been trying to take better care of my hair and skin and nails.  the weather is not helping with this, but i'm giving it my best shot. need to remember to work hard, both at my research and with sticking to goals. kind of important.

i'm going to be less scared and less jumpy, that is the plan. i am going to be comfortable in my own skin and do what needs to be done.

i am going to take new risks. i am going to be honest. i am going to do what makes me happy and satisfied instead of doing what is expected of me. i am going to be okay with not knowing.

i know i don't hold all the cards. i am going to stop grasping for them.

i may not always love you

the people who play music that i can hear have terrible taste.

I CAN ONLY HANDLE SO MUCH BLASTING OF TAYLOR SWIFT and ASHER ROTH.

OH GOD.

think it might be time to get some huge speakers in retaliation.

say what you will - i don't care. i couldn't resist it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. As finals grow ever nearer, it has become necessary for me to photograph myself in varying states of sleeplessness, stress, disarray, and confusion in order to keep a visual record of why I should keep up in my homework instead of procrastinating.

Obviously this has failed and instead has led me to waste more time by sharing some special favorites of me looking like a crazy person here. I admit to being about 74.3% insane. Here is some photographic evidence.

No commentary necessary.

Apparently rocking the side-pony and a beater. I was probably either wearing no pants or jorts. Seeing how this is in the dorm, probably no pants.

Second occurrence of the side-pony. This time you can also see my boyfriend, the body pillow.

Raspberry beret. Red Bull Cola. Nothing good can come of this combo.

The day after Mifflin. Accomplished nothing, wore a headband.

Me right now. This is wonderment over why I would choose to spend time making this post when I have 12 pages to write.

was i more alive then than i am now?

So, here in the Greek Theater of the SAC, Bade is doing something diligently on her computer. She feels fine. She's eating mangos.

Intensity is sitting on a concrete floor with a water bottle. Not sure why that would be an appealing option. But he apparently feels good enough to drink or eat.

I on the other hand, just ate my body weight in fried food at "Food on a Stick" night. Please see the following for the answer to the title of this post:
In case you were wondering, the answer to this question is a resounding "no." I might die. Or go into a food coma. Oh dear Lord. Ohhh dear.

Brandon and Danielle are so much smarter than me. Todd, on the other hand, ate just as much junk and then ate another cotton candy. He might be a goat, secretly.

Why do I do this to myself? Brigid, I hate you.

do that thang

Last night. Lyrics Born.

So I rolled up to the Majestic with J. Ash, arriving around 10. I am totally cheap, so I decide to wait for Truby so I can use his plus-one. Over the course of a 62-minute wait for that crew, we met some truly unique Madison characters, including an Insomnia Cookie salesman who at one point petted my arm for an uncomfortably long time and a washed up 28-year-old man who is moving to Galway. John was really ready to embrace hip-hop culture, sending text messages like "It's all hood." and pondering the wonders of Three6Mafia. "I can't even imagine how much of their lives they've been intoxicated. Probably years." Indeed, J. Ash. Certainly.

After finally going inside, John and I almost immediately spotted the one and only Lil Rail, everyone's favorite Madison promoter/rapper/actor/networker/clothing designer/awesome user of WordArt. I spent a lot of the night debating if I could approach him about hosting my birthday party in September. Also discussed was the possibility that Lil Rail could host Homegrown out on the Terrace next fall, bringing Midwestern hip-hop to the masses. Isn't that what he does best?

So there was a show, a guy had this weird green laser flashlight, and the girl with Lyrics Born was ridiculous. She gave the opportunity for the ladies to sing "What up? What up?" The highlight might have been the point at which a song ended with a freeze frame of Lyrics Born, the girl, and the DJ all holding their song-ending pose. Awesome. I actually really enjoyed the DJ - he won my heart by sampling both Led Zeppelin AND "Heartless" in his opening set before Lyrice Born came on stage. But things really went up a notch when it was time to give out the handbills for U-N-I and Wale.

Jamaal, the best employee of the Pub by far, made an appearance, as did Lil Rail. Apparently these two stellar men are acquainted because they shared a hug that lasted at least forty-five seconds. Jamaal is also roughly the size of 3.5 Lil Rails in all directions. Jamaal bounced, but Lil Rail stuck around to discuss show promotion and the difficulties of promoting in Madison with some other super-savory characters outside the Majestic. The moment that took the night to the next level, though, involved that other Madison breed: The Scene Kid.

(This story can only be told in the present tense.)

An ultra-hipster promoting a Wongz Wok show approaches John and I on the sidewalk. They gave out the Chinese menu flyer a while ago, and tonight are promoting DJ Benzi at Cafe Montmarte. We chat for a bit, and the kid looks at the flyer. "WUD? You guys know Patrick?" Yes, we say, of course. We know Patrick.

Kid scowls. "I read the shit he wrote on the blog about the Wavves show. Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"Oh," I say, awkwardly, "were you there?"

"Yeah, I was there. And you tell him not to blog about my bands. Tell him that if he blogs about my bands again there will be blood coming down on his head." John and I exchanged glances, both realizing he's pissed about the bands Patrick called out on the WUD Music blog for trying to sneak into Wavves. John had been on security detail; I had been let in against the rules. Noticing our reticence, the kid continues.

"He can't think he can diss local bands - they put food on his table. You've got to appreciate the local bands, they're the ones who keep this whole scene together. You tell him that."

I made some kind of noise of agreement at this and, trying to keep from getting my own head bitten off by this kid, say something about how I would pass the message along on Twitter. I am lame and awkward, yes, truly.

"Don't even do it on Twitter," kid says. "Tell him in person. Say, "Hey, Patrick," he pauses so I can repeat after him exactly what I'm supposed to pass along. "Solomon says, 'Don't shit where you eat.' "

"Yeah," I agree. "Yeah, I'll tell him." John concurs. Solomon leaves.

After a long moment of watching Solomon leave with his girl, J. Ash turns to me and reminds me, "Don't shit where you eat." We crack up and send Patrick the message from Solomon via text (not Twitter). And the response, unsurprising, is one word: Pub.

'cause i'm walking in new shoes now

In real life, I do not like feet at all.

They are kind of gross and in general tend to creep me out. This probably also has something to do with the fact that my own feet are ugly as sin and are the least appealing feet ever ever.

But for some reason, I have lots of pictures of feet on my camera, taken both by me and by other people.

Feet in shoes.

Bare ocean feet.

Feet in Keds.

Ripped Chucks feet.

Kicking feet.

Guatamalan slipper feet.

Feet with rainbow socks.

Party feet.

After that little Dr. Seuss fun, the word feet no longer holds any meaning to me.

In other news:

It was Easter. We went to the Easter Vigil up north, and I almost slapped the girl in front of us. Not a very Easter-Christian sentiment, but seriously, most obnoxious and ill-behaved kid I have ever seen at church. And she had to have been about ten. Come on.

Easter morning, back in Allouez, my grandpa ate a seashell because he thought it was a candy. That caused a serious ruckus. It was also highly entertaining. And weird. And kind of sad.

If you got this far, wow. You made it through a huge amount of bad pictures of feet plus Easter whining. I'm seriously impressed with you.

Triple word score if you clicked that link.