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Saturday, April 30, 2005

In under twelve hours I'll be flying across the nation to hang out with a group of extremely cool folk (with one or two possible exceptions*) from Echoing the Sound. On Sunday, we'll be attending the Coachella Festival, where, for the first time in five years, I'll see Nine Inch Nails, the band that changed my goddamn life, motherfuck.

It will be good to get away, even if it's only for a weekend. Matt and I are always at our best when we're travelling together. I can feel knots in my back untangling just thinking about it.

*You never know until you meet them. My full judgement is reserved until then.

Catching my eye on the interwebnet:

King Lear is slowly breaking my heart. We've been watching the Olivier version in my Shakespeare class at HACC. The effort it took to keep from breaking down and weeping in class on Friday during the last scene of act four was physically painful.
How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave:
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like moulten lead.

Sir, do you know me?

You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

Still, still, far wide!

He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity,
To see another thus. I know not what to say.
I will not swear these are my hands: let's see;
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured
Of my condition!

O, look upon me, sir,
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
No, sir, you must not kneel.

Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
And, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.

And so I am, I am.

Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not:
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

No cause, no cause.
dear melissa &matt
we went to see dad this morning he's got a hose stuck into his kidney
andthe other side will bein his bladder soon it is done by a lazer
only take half hour or so don't know how long he will be home

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

I just called Mum. Dad is still in hospital. He has some sort of tumor "between his kidney and his bladder," which I take to be on the ureter. It's blocking up his urinary tract, so this afternoon he is going in for surgery to have it removed. Mum will visit him tomorrow and find out how he's doing.

Monday, April 25, 2005

I have a new Nine Inch Nails shirt. It is a flimsy, cheap piece of shit. I can't believe this is the official merchandise. Seriously, this thing is going to last five washes, tops.

I have a With Teeth hoodie to play around with as well. They're a lot nicer, but large enough to clothe an average Mexican village. I look like I'm wearing a bedspread. I'll see what I can accomplish with a sewing machine a little later on.

An M-Audio Omnistudio arrived on our doorstep today. Matt and I have started jamming whenever we're together at home for more than an hour before 10pm and neither of us is asleep (about twice a week). We've been experimenting with piano/drum machine and piano/bass combos - I seem to improvise best when I have a bass line I can work around, but I'd love to be able to shed that reliance eventually. The other day we invented a great piano/bass line, but it's impossible for us to record the two instruments separately simultaneously with our current setup, so we rushed off to eBay and found ourselves some gear (like we needed an excuse). I'm keen to get it down properly tonight so I can start arranging it into a coherent track and searching through poetry books for some lyrics.

I decided that I don't have time to go to kung fu class today because there is too much to do. It's overwhelming. The house is a mess, my todo list is dishearteningly long, the clock is deviously spinning his arms faster whenever my back is to him, and my mind is all over the place.

Plus, as you can see from this handy chart I just created with two spare minutes I don't really have, I am recently prone to frowning:

Yes, it's true! I have reached a state of such blogging zen, I no longer care if the world knows when I bleed. Extrapolate this graph, and you too will know for certain exactly when Mormolyke is most likely to snap your head off, or when she will beam at you with a kindness borne of hormonal balance.

I tried yet again to call my dad's doctor last night, forgetting it was Anzac Day in Australia and the surgery was closed. Damn. I'll try again this coming Friday. I wonder if dad's out of hospital yet.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

My body aches in a hundred different places. On Friday night I successfully passed my first kung fu test; I'm now an orange belt! I sure feel like I earned it. The test was two and a half hours long, and though there were some moments of respite for the beginners while we waited for the higher levels to complete their routines, it was pretty grueling (if I stick with it, I'm sure I'll look back on this blog entry one day with bemused contempt). Consider: thirty-three different punches, ten repetitions with each hand ... I punched 660 times before putting my arms down. And that's just the punches - there were also blocks, kicks, and knee kicks, as well as stances and breathing exercises, and the obligatory sit-ups and push-ups. The fact I managed to get through it without being too tempted by the idea of passing out is a testament to how much fitter I have become in the last few months.

The worst pain is in my pectorals and adductors.

I'm hoping to start cycling to Henry V rehearsals this week to improve my endurance, if the weather allows. Where did all this motivation to work myself physically come from? I was always such a sedentary child.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

I spent the last five minutes writing these haiku on ETS about the most odious puling fundamentalist Christian currently on the board. I don't know if anyone else finds them amusing, but I managed to crack myself up.

Rolls of Christian fat
Shake like Jello about my
Fundie thunder thighs

Flimsy arguments
How shall I beat back my foes?
Make words bold and red

As they hit the keys
Dancing like my flawed logic
Fingers smell like cunt

I am so alone
I know the true way to God
Persecute me please

Have I found a friend?
I lean closer, watering
My tongue finds his fly

Born-again nutjob
How sad the realization
No one likes you here
Dad has had no appetite, and his leg has been swollen for a few days. I was considering procuring some hash cookies for him; I was going to broach the subject with his doctor tonight. However, I just received this e-mail:
-------- Original Message --------
Subject: joe rpa
Date: Thu, 21 Apr 2005 22:16:56 +1000

dear melissa & matt
we took dad to his gp down the rd - she sent him to have a heart xray
it was ok with his heart - but she insisted on sending him to the heart
specials. -mum thought in his condition he will die whin one week so we took
him RPA- he got ammitted straight away .
This morning we went to see him- he was a different person .
He eats normal - and the swellings gone down- as they [excised - I will spare you the fairly graphic description of a catheter bag, which he may have to wear all the time]
As he can't wee - becomes very lost in thought - sleeps all the time - won't
Eat - this is at home.
He bleeds in the Hospital toilet from his bum- mum phoned his Dr in the
Hospital asked if he might have bum cancer as well . He said maybe and
will discuss it with the other Drs tomorrow - but he may forget - mum will
talk to them again.
Will keep you informed.
Love Cindy and Trevor.

I guess by "bum cancer," Mum is referring to rectal or bowel cancer. I guess. Dad called prostate cancer "bum cancer" for a while, so I'm not entirely sure, but it's the only interpretation which makes any sense. My mother is apt to jump to medical conclusions like this so I'm not taking it very seriously until I hear from the doctor.

The catheter bag sounds like a damn good idea. I don't know why they didn't try it sooner.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Tripoli is obsessed with my lavatory habits. Every time I go in there, she pushes the door open (the latch doesn't work), wanders in, jumps on the edge of the bathtub, and appears very interested in what's going on. It's almost embarrassing. She even watches the flush. What an odd cat.
My favorite flavor of ice-cream is irony chocolate chip.

The really craphouse Tempest paper I concluded a few days ago at three a.m. while crying over my dad is being photocopied and given to the class as an example of how their papers should have been written. It's like the universe is trying to balance my recent bad news by artificially inflating my grades. I feel ridiculous. Of course my history exam and paper haven't been returned yet, so this theory of mine is likely to fall flat shortly.
My really good friend Zach, whose picture you can see below from the hookah lounge, was mugged and SHOT AT last weekend. Some fucking crackhead punched him three times in the face, took his wallet (with the princely sum of eighteen dollars inside), and then SHOT AT HIM before leaving.

I just can't understand people who advocate guns. I have never, never heard of anyone I know being shot at during a fucking mugging before. Sure, people I know have been mugged and beaten up on the streets of Sydney, but being fucking shot at adds a whole new dimension to the experience. Zach's on drugs to calm his nerves.

The best part of the story is that Zach lives across the road from Mayor Stephen Reed. When Reed heard the shots, he called 911 from the direct line he has next to his bed. The cops were at the scene before Zach had finished calling 911 himself, and they were super-helpful. Later, Mayor Reed came out to comfort Zach and assure him that if the mugger returned, the mayor was "packing heat." Needless to say, Zach will be voting for Reed in the upcoming mayoral election.

Apparently, percentage-wise, the violent crime in Harrisburg is higher than in Baltimore or Philadelphia at the moment. Hey, does that sound like a great reason to move or what!? That's what I love about real cities. They may be filthy and crime-ridden, but at least they're honest. Harrisburg is clean and sleepy and beautiful, and underneath the surface there are thousands of inbred redneck racists and crackheads with guns.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I missed calling Dad's doctor last night because bloody Comcast was down, so my VoIP phoneline was out. Ironically, I've heard that the reason Comcast's cable internet has been so sketchy lately is that they're upgrading their servers so that they can also offer VoIP. Pfft. They can get lost. I hate Comcast. Vonage all the way.

I tried calling today, but he isn't at the Burwood practice until Friday afternoon Australian time. So I guess I'll find out more this time Friday morning.

Monday, April 18, 2005

In further procrastination news, after an eighteen-month delay, I have FINALLY uploaded our professional portraits to the wedding photos site. But in case you're too diabetic to click through all the schmaltzy goodness, here they are:


I get the feeling I should at least wait until the album comes out before I post it on Know the Score, heh, but here it is for those few who visit my blog because I love playing this song too much to keep it to myself.

As usual, if you see/hear errors or some such, let me know.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Of course, I've been listening to With Teeth at every opportunity since it leaked a couple of days ago. And I've been listening to Right Where it Belongs since the track leaked a few days before the album. At first, it merely stuck in my head, but in the last couple of days, it's made me cry a number of times in the car. Obviously, it's this album's Hurt equivalent, but whether it reaches me because of current events in my life or purely on its own merits is up for debate, I guess.
See the animal in his cage that you built
Are you sure what side you're on?
Better not look him too closely in the eye
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
See the safety of the life you have built
Everything where it belongs
Feel the hollowness inside of your heart
And it's all right where it belongs

What if everything around you
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
Is it all you want to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
Would you find yourself, find yourself afraid to see?

What if all the world's inside of your head
Just creations of your own?
Your devils and your gods, all the living and the dead
And you're really all alone?
You can live in this illusion
You can choose to believe
You keep looking but you can't find the woods
Are you hiding in the trees?

What if everything around you
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you used to know
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection
Is it all you want to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks
Would you find yourself, find yourself afraid to see?

Friday, April 15, 2005

A ray of sunshine:

Holy. Fucking. Shit. That was unexpected.

Incidentally, I managed to score 93% on the Spanish exam that I didn't prepare for because I forgot it was on Tuesday. Hmph. If I can score an A without even trying, why the heck should I try? It makes no difference if I get 100% or 93% - my GPA will be the same.
Still crying, can't fucking write the conclusion to this stupid fucking Tempest essay. Should be the easiest thing in the world. I've lost my brain.

"please do not worry"
Every time I read this sentence, I choke. I have to stop reading it, but I can't.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Subject: dad
Date: Fri, 15 Apr 2005 13:47:51 +1000

yes I just visited the doctor
we asked if you could talk to him about my condition
he was very happy and said yes
he has three surguries -1 at burwood 1 at newton rpah and and
another a kogorah
he suggested the best time would be next monday 18/04/2005
he will be at burwood from 3pm to 8pm on that day
he asked what did you do and as mum said on the phone
you were at college and a part time actress in the USA
he replied that he spent 6 months with a uroligist in
that was the happy part of the visit
I asked him what stage was i in and he replied
stage 'd'
that needle was a hormone injection-i get to have one
in 3 months time-and hopefully the hormone injection is
please do not worry


Stage D prostate cancer. "Stage D Cancer is not curable but is treatable." He'll die with it. Whether or not it will kill him is up for debate, but he'll die with it.


You know, it's not like my dad and I are best buddies or anything. If you add everything up, we get along well and that's about the extent of it. But ... he's my dad.

I asked Mum on the phone how he's been eating. They're divorced, but they still live in the same house (messy, don't ask). She says he won't eat much in the way of fruit or vegetables because he hates them. He'll only eat mashed avocado on toast at the moment. She asked his doctor what she should do about his diet, and the doctor said that diet won't make any difference at this stage, and she should probably just give him whatever he wants to eat: luxury foods, junk food, just let him decide - it doesn't matter. If that isn't a harbinger of doom, I don't know what is.

I'm crying, and I feel ridiculous because I never felt that close to him, but I guess we've both been through so much together that we're close even though we're not close. The moment I felt closest to Dad was when Mum flipped out while we were trying to get her admitted to a psych ward once when I was 14 or 15. She was behaving perfectly normally in the ER although an hour beforehand she had been raving, and Dad and I were afraid the registrar was going to turn us away. Suddenly, she fell to the floor and started kicking violently and screaming, "DON'T EAT ME!! DON'T EAT ME!" Nurses, doctors, and security came running from all over the building. They shot her up with tranquillizers and dragged her away. Dad and I looked at each other in the sudden silence and started giggling uncontrollably. The nurses stared at the two of us in disbelief. We were both shaking, but we couldn't stop laughing. I don't think anyone will truly understand that moment except Dad and me.

Whenever Mum was in hospital, usually at least once a year, Dad and I would do whatever we wanted. We ate plenty of fast food and TV dinners, which we both preferred to Mum's cooking. We went to the cinema and spent money having frivolous fun, which Mum never usually allowed. We joined local video stores, and Dad let me rent R-rated movies. I watched the Exorcist when I was 11 with my dad. He fell asleep, but I woke him up during the "Let Jesus fuck you!" scene. He said, "Oh my God!" but he let me keep watching.

Dad introduced me to Inspector Morse, which I was obsessed with as a teenager, and lots of SBS programming like Derek. He likes Law and Order too, and most of the BBC comedies and Australian sketch comedy shows that I also love after first watching them with him. He's not an intellectual - he doesn't ever read books - but for a non-intellectual, he has pretty good taste in television. He got me into crosswords when I was very small. He never did cryptic crosswords, but he encouraged me to start completing the simple crossword in The Courier Mail when I was in primary school, and I took it from there.

We never hugged much. When I was a toddler, I got it into my head that I didn't like hugging or kissing men, and I would cry and scream whenever made to hug or kiss my father, my stepdad, my uncles, or my grandfathers. So it's not a physical closeness at all. It's not even a mental connection. It's a closeness of experience.

When I got married in 2003, I wouldn't let him walk me down the aisle. I wanted my mother to do it, because I was so much closer to her. She refused, so in a fit of stubborn feminism, I insisted upon walking down the aisle myself. He's frowning in most of the wedding photos as a result. I'm wondering if I'll consider that decision rash and beat myself up over it now. People become saints when they're dying.

I really don't know what else to say. I don't know why I'm typing this, but I guess it has made me feel better.
This is the most blog-happy day ever! Can you tell I'm procrastinating because I don't want to write a stupid paper about Pleasantville for my English class?

Anyway, Remind me not to ever stand for hours outside the White House for no good reason with a CD player in my bag.

Click for more photos from the Citadel!

This is what happens when you kick canvas bags with stupid pussy feet!

It hurt! But I didn't notice the skin peeling off and the blood until I put on my thongs and walked outside. Ow ow ow ow ow oww!
My arms hurt from kung fu yesterday. See, even though they didn't actually kick my arse, I saw Pai Pono-Li whisper something to Shen-Shung Paul before the class began, and I'm sure what he said was "See that apologetic-looking girl with weakling arms in the corner? She hasn't been here in three weeks. Make sure you keep her doing push-ups until you're certain she'll be in pain tomorrow morning."

So this morning, my arm muscles are creaking. However, they are also kind of bulging. I just flexed them in the bathroom mirror and was so impressed with them, I had to take a picture.

And that's just my left arm. I tried to take a picture of my right arm, but the impressive-looking muscles in my left arm are still quivering with fatigue (because I am a soft cock), so I couldn't get a decent shot.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005


From my internet acquaintance, Kleptonin.

I went back to kung fu today after a three-week hiatus. I thought they were going to kick my arse, but they were very understanding. Pai Pono-Li even sat and talked with me for a while about Dad and gave me some information on macrobiotics. They are really good people.

I'm testing for my orange belt next Friday night. It's going to be painful, so say the others who tested before me.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

I don't really know why I did this, but I recorded myself reciting "Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It's my favorite poem, and I've had it memorized since I was 15, when I used to perform it at eisteddfods.

Listen to me wank my vocal cords.

Saturday, April 09, 2005

The hellish week of college catch-up is over. I completely screwed my history exam; I have no idea how many questions I managed to guess correctly. I am woefully bad at multiple choice exams. I'm also apparently much better at classes which involve face-to-face time than I am at virtual courses. It's a pity my work/theater schedule necessitates some virtual credits if I want to get out of HACC by Fall '06.

I somehow managed to bang out a ten-page paper for history (on the topic of early African-American music) in under twelve hours. It's an awful piece of work. I basically wrote the paper before adding my citations, which is completely contrary to everything I believe when it comes to composing papers of integrity. I may as well write off the course. When I was in high school, I graduated with the modern history prize. Now I can't even scrounge an A at community college. Of course, there's a long list of variables on which I can blame my poor performance - the fact it's a virtual course, my heavy work and theater commitments, my lack of prior knowledge of this period of American history (in high school we stopped after the Revolutionary War and picked it up again during WWII), bad news from home - but in the end, the only real reason I'm not doing as well as I should be is my own lack of discipline.


Despite my shoddy preparation, there are many aspects of my history and government courses which I find completely fascinating, such as the evolution of the two major political parties in this country. Perhaps it's general knowledge for most Americans, but coming from Australia, I had no idea that the Democratic Party began its life representing agrarian interests, decentralization of power, and states' rights (in fact, I always thought Jefferson espoused Republican ideals until I discovered that he basically founded the Democrats). I didn't even realize that the Republican Party arose out of the emancipation movement, which just goes to show you how clueless I am. A hundred and fifty years ago, I would have cheered for Republicans. It also boggles my mind that the Democratic Party was known for most of the 20th century (perhaps unfairly) as the "war party," and that until fairly recently, they had an unshakable stronghold over the South. It's incredible how the tables have turned in such a short amount of time. My cynicism regarding staunch party supporters has been validated and reinforced. Isn't it funny? Take a short trip down Memory Lane, and everything you think your party stands for is bullshit.

Echoing the Sound has really gone to shit recently, and I'm distancing myself from it. For some reason, it's been invaded by a half-dozen or so mewling Christians, who all spend their time choking on each other's genitals in an orgy of desperate mutual affirmation. The amount of ridiculous misunderstanding and ignorance evident in a recent thread about the impact of the Pope's stance on condoms is so painful I'm not even bothering. I get along very well with thinking Christians, but these compulsively back-patting creatures are just awful.

There are also far too many Bush-supporting members. I much prefer to hide my head in the sand when it comes to the number of Bush supporters in existence, which is why I'm on ETS in the first place. Backstage a few weeks ago, Trent Reznor said that Republicans "had no business" being fans. If only they were bright enough to come to this realization on their own.

I haven't heard any more news about my dad, although Jason has given me a brighter outlook by pointing out that Dad's doctor can't know for sure if the cancer has spread until after the ultrasound this Friday. This could mean that Dad was exaggerating the extent of the cancer on the phone or misunderstood his doctor. I hate not knowing. Again, I hope Dad lets his doctor talk to me. Because I have no idea of what's going on, the more research I do, the more freaked out I become. If I had a concrete diagnosis of the stage and spread of the cancer, I'd have something to hang onto, some limits to help contain the panic.

I'm astounded at the outpouring of support I have been receiving from everyone, even people I haven't spoken to for months and others who I didn't think knew me well enough to really care. I feel like a charlatan. I'm not the one who needs support, Dad is. And I know, across the other side of the world, he's not getting much in the way of support. I doubt Mum and Trevor are much help, considering they seemed quite willing to let him attempt to kill himself two years ago. His mother died last year, and he's estranged from the rest of his family. He doesn't have any friends, he doesn't belong to a church, and I can't see him volunteering to go to a support group. I don't know how to address that. No wonder he cried when I called him.

And yet, his lack of close friends or family is his own choice - if you consider personality a choice. That's always been such a huge part of how I feel about Joe. I feel so, so sorry for him sometimes, but when I look at the reasons he is where he is, I wonder how much pity he deserves.

But now is not the time for objectivity. He has cancer, and that's frightening. For me, too. I don't know why, exactly, but I'm scared.

God, imagine how screwed up I'd be if Mum got sick.

Monday is my birthday. If you're in the Harrisburg area and you're up for some Indian food and hookah smoking, I'm planning an informal birthday dinner at the newly opened Citadel restaurant on Second Street from 7pm.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

So I just called Dad (the call made him cry, actually, which is kind of freaky, because he's not much of a crier), and he says the cancer is pretty bad. He says it's spread to his bladder, but he doesn't know what stage it is at or the Gleason score or PSA level (I guess the doctor didn't tell him because clinical details like that would be meaningless to him). But if it's in his bladder, I guess that's stage IV, which is not great. His treatment, hormone injections only, seems to square with the most common treatment option for advanced prostate cancer. I've told him to get a second opinion on treatment options. He's getting his first injection Friday week, as well as an ultrasound. They are trying to avoid removing the entire prostate.

Thank Christ he lives in Australia - everything is going to be practically free of charge because he's a pensioner - the hormone therapy's full cost is $1100, but it's only going to cost him about $12.50.

I couldn't bring myself to ask him if the doctor has given him a probability of survival. I just couldn't ask. How the hell do you ask something like that?

He's going to tell his doctor to release medical information to me at his next visit.


Part of me wants to be super-positive, even flippant. "He'll be just fine! Yay, sunshine!" A slumped, cynical part of me keeps whispering in my ear, "He's going to die. You know, he's going to be dead in three years, and they'll be the worst three years of his life. And Mum's life."

"SPREADING" - I'm going to go ahead and assume that this means it's not early stages anymore. Great. I'll find out more tonight when I call.

For God's sake, if you're reading this, male, over 50, and I like you, get your prostate checked.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Exam is over. I think it's a B. That is, there were 15 questions out of 100 that I wasn't sure of, and from the last exam, it seems that however many I am unsure of is the number I get wrong, since the ones I felt sure of but answered incorrectly make up for the ones I was unsure of but fluked.

I'm really upset at myself for a number of reasons, and I want to get so drunk I can't move and maybe indulge in a little weeping, but I have to drive to college twice this afternoon/evening for classes, so alcohol is out.

There is a giant worn hole in the seat of my pants. Everyone can see my bottom.
Shit. Going insane. No sleep. Realized I left Coachella off the Henry V rehearsal conflicts, just sent an e-mail correcting the error, probably too late, likely blown all my karma. Have to take an exam in two hours, freaking out.
Bwahahahaha, I hear my father-in-law fell for my prank. Apparently he got all excited. April Fool, Bill!!

Someone always falls for the pregnancy trick. If my mother had been reading, she'd have believed it too. That's why I haven't ever told my mother about this blog.

I'm finally watching the lessons for my Government class, since I'm planning on taking the test tomorrow. The videos are hilarious. Most of them were recorded before the 2000 election, so they keep going on about how foreign policy and defense spending aren't very important issues. Also, there's an interview with Karl Rove, who states that he doesn't believe dishonesty in political campaigns will ever work because voters won't allow themselves to be duped.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

I found a secret cache of photos of Matt and I at Erin's (not Matt's sister) wedding last year ...

For some reason, I think we both look about five years younger. Have we been so busy lately that we've visibly aged? Or maybe it's just the hair. I look older with long hair, and Matt looks older with short hair. When we're old fogies who are desperate to look young again, I'll have to remember to get a buzzcut and keep Matt's hair away from scissors.

My exams this week are going to suck terribly. Terribly. I'm covering negro spirituals in my history assignment, but in order to get good sources, I may need to drive up to Penn State college's library tonight after the final Glass Menagerie performance. It's a two-hour drive and I need to sleep, but I have four days to finish this assignment as well as study for my history exam and my government exam - and I can't rely on the results of my midterms to help me if I don't do so well, since I scored dismal B's previously.

God, I am so doom-and-gloom. It's probably the crappy weather. I need to snap out of it.

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Depressed from lack of seratonin and the news that I will have to miss a Philly NIN concert because of a Henry V rehearsal.

Friday, April 01, 2005

My period is three weeks late, and now I've started throwing up in the morning. And I've needed to pee more often - I thought at first that I had a urinary tract infection, but now I'm not so sure.

Part of me is just so happy about having a baby. And Matt was even more delighted. We're going to make such wonderful parents.

[edit 2:17pm] Muahahahahahaha!