December 12, 1998.

Og. Feeling seriously nothing right now. I should be hung over, but I'm not. Not that I feel good - I haven't felt relaxed & comfortable in my body since crunch time began. Just like I don't want to be responsible for another essay and exam, my mind would rather not be responsible for my body right now.

Hm. I had a teacher in high-school who thought that after childbirth, the mind invariably went on maternity leave & just never returned. Sexist as hell, n'est-ce pas?

"Motherhood means mental freeze. (freezehead)"

- the breeders

So. Last night was the night of three parties. It would've been four, but we decided not to show up at the Varsity party after Scherezade decided not to print my Spider Robinson article - without telling me, which makes it worse. Blech. Campus paper politics are just not my thing, not since I quit the UC rag in second year. I'm pretty disappointed with Scherezade, but if she wants to be like this, I have other things to do.

Which is an ugly thing to say. I love that girl, and I cherish the memory of the things we did together, but she's been distancing herself steadily ever she started editing the Varsity. Her temper's gone out of control a few times, and I just don't want to deal with it.

Or maybe I can't. Literally can't.

Anyway, we didn't go. Instead we started off the evening with a run past my old res for Fungtoberfest - and found out that the Boy and I were the only non-organizing people there. Major, disturbing drag. Four more people showed up, but by then the oompa band had had enough of our apathy. Spoke to Lady Godiva and Butler a bit. I found that there is only awkwardness between us - no serious issues, unlike my paranoid fantasies. They're Ophelia's friends, see, and I thought that they hated me on her behalf. Do I ever feel like a loser now.

Rhetorical question, that.

Left after the bratwurst was ready, which in hindsight was a mistake. Undercooked pork is not the best thing to anchor down a binge. But we proceeded on to the Garden, as Stacy had informed us of a birthday gathering that her boy almost attended. He doesn't club, see, so this would've been an event. Danced a bit to New Order before the sausage made me feel queasy. (All the details, pets, that's why you come back to me.) Chatted with Stacy about our various web projects and whatever. Haven't seen her in a bit, so I was pleased.

"This is the moment, you see. Every party has a moment, and next week I'll be able to say, 'you weren't at the party? You missed Dirk singing "Summer of 69" at the top of his lungs!'"

- me
(i am overly fond of quoting myself these days. sorry.)

Finished off the night with a cab to the Reefer Madness party at Saint Stephen's house. Not that it was a party dedicated to marijuana - rather, it was a theme party. You were supposed to dress like a square extra from the film...although I ended up looking like a beat Siren, leading the squares astray. It's the black beret that does it, you know.

Somehow I ended up in the drug room (this never happens to me), and watched a scene of absolute decadence unfolding before me. What with four joints going around the room in rapid succession, it felt like a Rolling Stones after party. Yeah, I'm a bit innocent, if pot seems decadent. Listened to Coltrane & PJ Harvey and watched the Boy start to glow with intoxication. He starts to shine in a very literal fashion, and it's an impossibly lovely sight. Our recent breakup-hiatus-reunion sequence seems to have catapulted me back into the endorphin-charged state of mind that was the hallmark of the summer. New love makes you high; it's a medical fact. Then it wears off. But for me, at least, it's back. I look at him and my head starts to fizz & jump like pop rocks n' coke.

This is why people become more involved in falling in love than maintaining a relationship. It's nice.

And then the whole room took a vote that affirmed that one of his exes is "the universal object of desire." I was the only one who disagreed - I think she's cute, but she doesn't draw me. The results of the vote made me sulk, and I continued until I woke up this morning. Sometimes I get immature, and need to be the only object in his universe. It usually passes quickly.

Hmph. Love makes you stupid, I guess. I just wish I didn't have to own up to it all the time.