Why is a raven like a writing desk?

"If I had a world of my own, everything would
be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything
would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"
~ Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Tonight I saw an adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, performed as a play. It was presented by the Spooky Action Theater and created, performed and written by the original members of The Manhattan Project. This is why I love DC: you can find free events like this one all the time and chances are, it's only about 15 minutes away from anywhere. It was a refreshing end to a day filled with Charlotte Brontë, a manicure and a pedicure performed by very cute, yet incomprehensible Koreans, and let's not forget talking to Rasta. Kdarn and I arrived early-slash-just-on-time at the Mead Theatre Lab after walking the wrong way down G Street. My fault. We were the only non-white people there, a fact I only happened to notice after getting a strange glare from a sweaty white man overflowing from the chair behind where we stood. I glared right back. He looked too cynical to care. Later on that night I realised he must have been a critic of some sort, because from our seats behind his, we could see him periodically take notes. Tried to macko, but his penmanship was past illegible: so he was either a critic, or writing a summary report at his mother's request. Ha.

The play was okay, in my humble opinion. Not greatness, but highly entertaining. The young and vibrant cast of six kept up high-octane energy levels and the strobe lights, which they ensured we paid specific attention to, kept the effects and transitions between acts interesting. Smiled at the Jabberwocky opening act. I'd probably not call this an adaptation, merely a performance of extracts with some humourous interjections here and there. Loved the Bob Dylan impression by the White Knight. I also paid specific attention to the audience: some were highly delighted (satisfied at their familiarity with the vignettes, no doubt) and some seemed not amused. Alice in Wonderland is not for the person who can't stand childish delights and excited humour. I myself was pleased to see the more important philosophical scenes included: Alice inquiring which way to go of the Cheshire Cat, the Caterpillar asking "Who are YOU?", and Alice's conversation with Humpty Dumpty. All in all it was an hour and a half well-spent. Had some Chipotle, the heroin of HU's campus that for some reason I don't particularly like, and headed back home on the 70-bus which was surprisingly psycho-free. Now I'm up, cause I can't seem to fall asleep before 4am. Need to fix these unhealthy hours of mine. Damn Rasta.

Wondering what the answer to the title of this entry is? Not telling. Go read Alice in Wonderland. You'll find it there. Or not. :)

Shoes can solve all sorts of problems.

"Reality is merely an illusion, although a very persistent one."
~ Albert Einstein

I want shoes.

Today I spent the first half of my day sleeping, due in no large part to a couple of beers that I casually consumed last night with dinner...and before bed. One was a Corona. One was called Rabbit something. Piss maybe. It was American, and therefore bad. I think I was just tired of consciousness. Rolled around in my heavenly comforter until around 1:30. Today began another exodus from the East Towers to the West apparently. Yay for renovations. Not yet sure when I have to move out. I think I'll just squat till somebody gets pissed off. The West is gay. Spoke to Rasta a bit, even though he had company and probably shouldn't have been speaking to me. Ahh, the privileges of the Outside Woman. Oh wait, they (or should I say we?) have none. Kidding about the outside woman part. Sorta.

Spoke to a couple friends in Trinidad today. We had one of those lovely conference calls where I could speak to all of them at the same time. It sucked. Felt like crying and hanging up at the same time. Don't even know why. I miss them. So much so that I didn't want to speak to them. Although I'm sure if I were at home, I'd wish to be here. No pleasing me apparently. Got off the phone and apologized profusely to kdarn, whom I was supposed to help move. I'm a bad friend. I helped roll across the last of her suitcases though: Redemption. She and I had lunch at that indian/arabic/terrorist kabob place: Lamb Curry, aka curry lamb. It was pretty good. Then we crossed the street, in adoring appreciation of the beautiful scene before us: blue and red flashing lights illuminating a freshly-arrested middle-aged man; white and grey police cars everywhere. Yes, Campus Police was there too. Partayy. We crossed nonchalantly, disturbingly accustomed to the hell-hole known as Georgia Avenue. Got some McFlurries (apparently they can make cardboard taste like ice-cream too) and sauntered down to the benches at Stokes. We sat and talked. Don't remember much of what we said. Saw the crackhead lady cross the courtyard, cringed at one of her psychotic exclamations, and then mused on how easily I could become her. Somehow that thought didn't scare me. I'm losing my mind.

Gathered up my things, and parted ways with my summer friend. Headed across to the Annex, neither dreading nor anticipating the four hours of Work-for-Housing ahead of me. Only had to endure it once before, and I kind of liked it. Charlotte Brontë kept me company. I love her, and I know that she loves me too. This time the honors laptop that I'm not-still-supposed-to-have kept me company. Time passed by pretty quickly. Went to the vending machine that's too close to my station to get some sugar. Just when it looked like my snack was going to get stuck, two packs of Skittles fell out. I'd like to thank Carbos, the God of Fat, for blessing me with his manna. Rasta called. He invited me to Niagara Falls for a weekend. I didn't give a definite answer. We'll see. I predict us getting stopped at the border for a couple hours and enduring an annoying interrogation about our Caribbean contraband. Even though he's from California. O Canada.

It's 11:49 now. I should start packing up and prepare for my power-walk back to the Towers. I can only imagine the element I'm going to encounter tonight. Guess I'll hafta vaya con Dios. Rather do that than plead with the Campus Escort to come get me right this second. Hot shower awaits. I should wash my hair. Maybe I'll just cut it all off, save me the trouble.

I want shoes.

to no one there.

I am, I said
To no one there
And no one heard
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost and I
Can't even say why
Leaving me lonely still...
~Neil Diamond

It seems cheesy and Oprah-like, not to mention decidedly American, to blame your actions on psychological issues. Like believing that I can't go to bed at night cause my mother kept me up one night all night for being bad, and I was traumatized as a result. That never happened, by the way. Yet still however, I do believe that the human psyche is a powerful thing, and things of the past and present, as well as perceptions of the future, might have more to do with our actions than we think.

Like, I know that my present predicament is as a result of some sort of unconscious need. I'm not involved in this to be cool, or to be rebellious, or solely for pleasure's sake. I'm not sure exactly what that need is yet...or if it's being met. But I just know it. I can feel it. My friends think that I'm falling, and sliding down a slippery slope...but the thing is, I know I am. I know exactly what I'm doing, and I'm doing it anyway. A certain dreadlocked friend of mine said to me recently, "The only way to live is to do whatever you feel like doing." A certain swaydo-lesbian friend of mine might agree with that. And although I find that philosophy appealing, I can't subscribe to it. I wish I were the type of person who could. I'd adopt it and live guilt-free for the rest of my life. But that's never going to happen.

For those of who kept reading this entry to see what my point was, I apologize. I have none.

Occupy.

"Work spares us from three evils: boredom, vice, and need."
~ Voltaire, 1694-1778

I hate to beg for anything. More than I hate standing in lines at any place aside from the box office. Last week I begged, to the fullest extent that my pride would let me, for 'Work for Housing'. That's where they give you housing in exchange for 20 hours of work per week. My first application was rejected, because none of the Community Directors "knew me," so they didn't pick me. So I applied for 'Summer Housing' which is where they give you housing in exchange for money. And lots of it. I resigned to using my Supply Chain Management Research paycheck to pay for housing. That way I'd pretty much break even, and survive the summer. The research would be something to put on my resumé, and it'd help me get into Grad School...which I'm not sure I even want to do anyway. Then my normal job would cover my costs of living. Why didn't I intern on Wall Street this summer? Oh right, cause I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a toothpick.

Today I got a call saying that I had been chosen to replace someone who failed to show up for their 'Work for Housing'. So yay, now I don't have to pay for my housing, and I can probably (notice I said probably) save some money and stop being the stereotypical broke college student. The sum of all of this however, is that I have to work three jobs this summer. I am going to hate all three of them, it's going to be sickeningly hot and I'm going to be sickeningly lonely. I guess being busy and tired as shit will help me stay out of trouble, which I've already somehow found myself in. Why didn't I just go to Trinidad and lounge around all day? Oh right, cause that'd cost money...that I don't have.

Ahh, being an adult sucks. For those of you thinking about it, I don't recommend it.

Once Upon a Time.

Lead me from the unreal to the real !
Lead me from darkness to light !
Lead me from death to immortality !
~ Brihad-aranyaka Upanishad, c. 800-400 BCE, 1.3.28

There isn't much in this life that's worth anything except human relationships. None of the things that 'matter' really matter unless there's someone, or some people to share them with. The dynamics of human relationships are very interesting. All we really have is our perception of reality, especially when it comes to interacting with other human beings. Reality, in human relationships, never matters. And if it doesn't matter, then it really doesn't exist.

I love my friends. They aren't many, but they say you're lucky if you can count your friends on one hand. I'm not really sure what makes people friends, but I think that it's communication that keeps those relationships alive where they do exist. There is no relationship where there's no real contact. I can be friends with my teddy bear in Trinidad if that were so. I think that it's just kind of unfortunate when you have friends that you can't talk to anymore. For whatever reason. This seems to be the general trend in my life these days. Out of the three I thought that I had...one remains alive. As for the other two, I don't know what to say. Maybe our lack of relationship is my fault, I don't know. What I do know is that if I'm the only one trying, then it might not be worth it. I don't think I'm expecting too much either. But again, maybe I'm wrong. I know there may be a lot going on that I'm unaware of, but I can only act and feel based on what I am aware of.

I'm probably being an emotional girl...but that's who I am. I can't apologize for that. I still love my friends. But unfortunately that love is based off what we used to be. If there is still friendship there...then it's surviving off the fumes of the past. That...fills me with sadness.

Maybe I'm getting all of this wrong. Maybe I cannot see what's going on in reality. But reality doesn't really exist. Only our perception of it.

Imitation of Life

Sadness is when...

You have nothing to show for three years of life.

You are your most reliable friend.

There is not one person you can talk to who will, or can understand you.

You can't tell the difference between who you are, and what you show people.

Everything is uncertain.

Your first inclination is always the wrong thing.

Sleep is your refuge.

Your own parents don't know you.

No one knows you.

Nothing matters.