September 9, 1998.

Day 2 of the new school year. Jenny (the girl who used to live here, not my quirky friend) didn't leave her key when she moved out. Galadrial (my roommate) & I have thus had to coordinate entering & leaving for the last couple of days. Last night she went out & I stayed in to putter, but I couldn't go to sleep until she came home. At 1 a.m. I went to sleep anyway (I was a ridiculously sleepy bunny). At 3 a.m. she woke me up to let her & a guy in (no, I don't know a name. I was a tad disoriented). They didn't lock the door when they came in. This is a problem.

Living here is a bit of a security issue for me. In res I was protected from the calm, relatively safe streets by a labyrinthine network of doors, hallways, common rooms & other people. Here I feel like I'm sleeping on the sidewalk. It's a bit scary. It's nice to have a laid-back roommate, but there's no point in having the grille on the outside of the window if she's going to leave the fucking door open. I don't mind checking on the door before I go to bed, but the whole fucking system is invalidated if she won't lock the door at night.

Maybe I'm angrier about being woken up at 3 a.m. than I thought.

I miss Trevor a positively absurd amount, considering that I saw him on Monday, talked to him last night & will likely see him tonight. I'd like to think that it's something other than panicked anxiety in my new situation. I'm sure he would, too. I don't miss my family. I only miss res a little (mostly the distance...it's going to be a bitch kitty of a commute in the winter). So I think that it's genuine romantic sentiment, despite the autopsy of the former paragraph. Hoorah for us.

"You think too much."

"I read too much; I thought we should kill ourselves. She doesn't read a thing; she believed me. 'Are you really the Messiah?' 'Yes I am.'"

This morning I was driven by hunger to sample the crackers I found packed in with my printer (they were left over from my father's 50th birthday party last April). I was 2 crackers in & ignoring the funny texture until I noticed the tiny brown bug perched on the next cracker, waving it's antennae at my idiocy.

Guess what? I suddenly lost my appetite.

I realized last night that I'd failed to detail Monday night's activities. Since all of these entries will remain on my hard-drive until I get my computer connected again, I could've gone back. But we'll pretend that this is still an ongoing, dynamic narrative.

(C'mon. Pretend? That's better.)

A few months ago, Palaver told me about a Monday night retro party at the Dance Cave; one that differed from all the others in that they deviated from the 13 or so 80's songs played everywhere else. In other words, a good retro night. But I was tied up with a job, not to mention Moosehead Mondays. And now I have no job & a groovy pad in the city. Plus the fact that it was Palaver's first night in town after the long & somewhat unhappy visit with his parents. I also thought that Galadrial & I could bond, as I remembered that she liked the Cave. So I quickly donned the Bauhaus baby-t, purple & black tights, the little black skirt edged with pimp fur, a beret to hide my roots and we were off (I mention my outfit only to provide context for what happened later). As befits club kids like us (snort), we only made it to the Cave as the witching hour began. And Palaver was right: it's pretty cool.

Ian was there, celebrating his birthday with a crew of home-towners. Ian & Sister Sunshine & I shared the same class in first year, and they remain the only 2 friends I've made outside of res & campus newspapers...so I feel a touch sentimental about seeing him on my first night in town. It's a good omen for the coming year. And bizarrely enough, Aaron was there. He dropped out of sight last year and I always felt a little weird about talking about it to Jain afterwards, since we lived in the same city & I couldn't keep track of him. Very good omens indeed. I feel like I've finally made a niche in this town if I can walk into a club on a Monday & pick out 2 friends from the crowd.

The other interesting thing about the night was that I was hit on with Trevor sitting 4 feet away. It was my own damn fault; I was writhing suggestively to "When Doves Cry" as a rather drunk guy tried to make eye-contact. As the song ended, he started shouting things in my ear...things that sounded vaguely like compliments. Who can tell in the middle of the dance floor? I made my fatal mistake when I interpreted, '[shouting/mumble/slur] ready to go?' as 'are you ready to dance to the next song?' I think that I inadvertently agreed to go off with him. I'm really not sure. I think it was the beret...it has odd powers to attract, you know.

one year ago today: worshipping satan