Oh yeah, we saw "Cloverfield" on Sunday. Interesting... headache-inducing... literally...

what i have

I am coining a new mental condition: Briony Syndrome. For anyone who's read or watched Atonement (although much better understood if one has read the book), it would be what Briony had: excessive dreaminess, having an understanding of events not grounded in reality, overdramatizing, romanticizing, a belief that life imitates art. The afflicted might have had more books than conversations as a child.

Quotations

from A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving.... This was my favorite book for a while, read during my first year of college (for fun, where did I find the time)... but it's standing has dropped....

This first quote is one that has always been a favorite of mine. It shows up in the book awkwardly, sort of like the author just wanted to drop that in there, almost suddenly removed from the context of the narrative:

"Your memory is a monster; you forget--it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you--and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!"

This is one that I was never aware of and just read it somewhere. And yes it's written in all caps in the book, as spoken by the title character:

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHERE YOU LEARNED IT--IT'S A GIFT. IF YOU CARE ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU HAVE TO PROTECT IT--IF YOU'RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO FIND A WAY OF LIFE YOU LOVE, YOU HAVE TO FIND THE COURAGE TO LIVE IT."

During my two years of being roommates with Joanna at boarding school, at times I thought how much better my days would be if she weren't my crazy-ass roommate. But the truth is my days would have been so much less interesting, funny, memorable, informed, dramatic, endearing, and (yes) crazy without her. She was almost completely herself around me--which she NEVER was around other people. I got a very insightful look into what a person is like when their guard is down. How often do you get to see that? Almost never. She let me see every insecurity, every thought, every obsession and crush, every quirk, everything beautiful and fragile and appalling about a person. I knew every piece of gossip about her half of the school (jocks/jockettes, j.crew and abercrombie donners) that I generally only consorted with in class. I knew every detail of every fight she had with friends. One time she came up with an excuse to call a guy she liked, and she had me help come up with topics to talk to him about beforehand, and to be in the room to help her out. Do you see how hilarious this is in retrospect? She would very self-consciously make a speech in French while I watched intently, even though I had no idea what she was saying. I let her cry and bitch about boys, and tell her she is right. We were slobs together. We ate crackers and cheese that her dad sent and stunk up the dorm. She made fun of my singing and praised my art, and I will always respect and love her for caring enough to do that. I let her alone when she was upset and wanted to be alone, and that was only once or twice... which brings me to my point...

She would sit by the window with no lights on and just stare outside at our rural Massachusetts campus with a cup of something in her hand, with some mellow music playing. She would ask to be alone. And that is what I did this afternoon watching the snow fall. How I will miss the apartment buildings across the street, the snow, the tree, the cars there, people out bundled in their winter attire with their dogs, my perfect apartment. How I hate growing up. How I want time to stop for me so I can just be.