Deep Thoughts: The Oozing Brown Goo Edition

• I have perfected the art of completely ignoring my brother. Even when he is waiter-ing at the restaurant where I am eating.

• I need, need, need to stop buying shoes. But they are GORGEOUS. And they were on sale. And I totally needed a new pair of black heels. And I can't find a picture of them online, so you're just going to have to take my word for it.
  

• I need to find an apartment because if I don't I may very well kill a sibling. But I would plead self-defense--my 9-year-old sister leaves bruises on my arm. Sibling abuse. I'm serious.

• I want to be someone's priority.

• I'm not sure what I feel about Ahmadinejad coming to Columbia, but I--unlike many, many others--do not think it is the end of the world as we know it. (Choice quote: "COLUMBIA NETWORK IS KIND OF LIKE AL-QAEDA NETWORK NOW." Um, what?)

• And I <3 PrezBo. (Choice quote: "Lastly, in universities, we have a deep and almost single-minded commitment to pursue the truth. We do not have access to the levers of power. We cannot make war or peace. We can only make minds. And to do this we must have the most full freedom of inquiry.")

• I finally got a new hair iron after my old one grew melted plastic tumors and is, um, oozing brown, gooey stuff. But the old one was better. Tumors and all.

• Why do boys always want to go bowling on dates? Bowling is not a good date. All you end up doing on said date is staring at each other's butts. Oh...
  

RIP TimesSelect

Bringing knowledge to the people. Or something. But yay for the death of TimesSelect.

Your Closet's So Shallow ...

... It Makes Paris Look Deep.

So, I love the Manhattan Mini Storage ad campaign. I think it's ingenious and I love that it appeals to people's political opinions and that it could only work in New York City (I heart NY) and that it makes me laugh.

(Though I would note that this one--with a hanger and the message "Your closet space is shrinking as fast as her right to choose"--is really, really disturbing on very many levels and significantly less funny than the rest.)

But I find it even more amusing that in response to criticism about their ads, they've put up ads encouraging people to vote on whether they should have "edgy ads" or "just the facts." You can vote on the Web site.

If I ever need storage and am willing to pay for it (as opposed to putting my stuff at the mercy of my parents and vicious siblings for free), they totally have my business.

On Obsession

I worry that I'll be like her. That I'll turn into her. That what I see now as abnormality, illness even, I will one day see as normal. I will one day accept as my own.

And I know I'm smarter than that. I know it can't happen to me. I won't let it. I'm aware, after all. I know what is normal and what is not. I know what is not normal. Right? Right.

Except then I have nights when I spend hours rummaging through boxes of things I haven't seen in years. Things I haven't used or yearned for or even thought about in forever. I spend hours looking for who knows what, little pieces of me I didn't even know I was missing. Little things I don't need.

A stuffed Eeyore in a graduation cap and gown from when I graduated high school. An old, broken jewelry box with a few inexpensive, mostly broken necklaces. A porcelain hand-held mirror with the face of a girl painted on the back, yarn glued on for hair. Little things I don't need that have now taken up residence in my very limited space.

And I spend hours looking for a sweater I haven't used all summer that I just decided right now I need to have. And I watch multiple episodes of a television show I don't really care about in lieu of actually taking care of things that need doing.

And I wonder was this how she was when she was younger? Did she even then save all sorts of things? Did she even then live among piles and piles of stuff she didn't need?

Or was she sort of like this? Getting obsessed every once in a while by a random thing here and there but mostly just being normal. Mostly just dreaming about a future she couldn't grasp in her hands quite yet. Waiting, waiting, waiting for everything to fall into place. Waiting for this unseen future that I now despise.

Would That I Could

(And the bad poetry continues... Sorry.)

Frustration builds.
With you.
With myself.
With everyone.

Would that I could
tell someone
my secrets

Would that I could
tell you
why I am
frustrated
lonely
angry
with you

I wish I didn't care
about you
or them
or anyone