Amazingly, Rachel and I actually went Goldsworthying this break. Pics will come later, I guess. We made two fan-like walls of sticks in the mud beside the path. So that people would walk through them. Or, that was the idea. Instead, for some odd reason, people walked into them. We couldn't figure out why. When we were taking pictures, they would completely ignore the wide-open path and actually walk into our sticks. I don't know. When the path is utterly open and available, why would you suddenly walk off it and right into an obviously man-made structure? It's mind-boggling. They just couldn't see it.
I told this to the SLA, and Ashbaugh said that he thought I was being too critical in labelling these people stupid when all they were is ignorant, and went on to compare their ignorance to that of many people unaware of current events. I said that the difference was that to find out news you have to make some kind of effort, even if it is a small one. And to truly understand the news, you sometimes have to put in a lot of research. Like, to really understand the Afghanistan war, you'd have to know Afghanistan's geography and history and culture, and you'd have to understand the West's motivations and know about all the major political figures. Whereas to not walk into something, all you really have to do is look up and change directions.
I'm beginning to think I don't really like Ashbaugh all that much. Not because of that, just because I'm only now realizing that a lot of the things he's said, like right-wing things, that I've been interpreting as satire are actually real expressions of himself. He's just so ridiculous that I didn't take him seriously.
When Rachel and I were looking around by the stream, I found 2 dead frogs. A medium-sized one and a smaller one. Aparantly Rachel's parents found about 4 at the other end of the creek. Rachel suggests climate change as an explanation. She suggested that I try to edge the frog over to the bank so that we could take a picture of it that Environment Hamilton could potentially use. So I'm jabbing at this dead frog with a stick, stirring up a ton of sediment, and I felt like I was totally violating something. It just made me feel sick to my stomach, and I'm not exactly sure why. I've dissected a pig, and had no problems, so I wasn't sure why this would be so different.

Exams are in 2 weeks. I have to give a presentation about cadavers to my English class without Spree cutting me off. I told Mr. Shipman this morning, and he seemed to think it was totally reasonable. But then, he is Mr. Shipman. And we were trading bodysnatching stories this morning. The other day he did something really nice for me. I was incredibly tired, and for some reason couldn't roll my film. After trying for about 15 minutes, I came out and asked him for help. And he replied that if I took the attendance down, he'd roll it for me. And then he rolled my 2nd roll, too. Which was sweet. I said that I didn't know why I could do it some days and not other. "I know," he said reassuringly.
"Yes?"
"Because. The Photography Gods do not smile on you."
"I was going to build a shrine to them one day when I had nothing better to do...but I'm always busy in your class."
"Well, yes. And, you have nothing to sacrifice."
"What? There are tons of grade 11s around here doing nothing..."
"Hah. There's some of them that I'm really ready to sacrifice right now..."
"Well, then technically, that's not really a sacrifice, is it?" At which point he wandered off.

Today I did my genetics unit test. It was all multiple choice, and I haven't decided yet if that's good or bad.
Marsha was pleasantly surprised that I had actually practiced over the break. Says she's going to get a pianist in for my Elegy, and that she wants to work with me on sight-reading a lot more heavily.
Mrs. Spleit is freaking out as usual.

mood: tired music: LOTR Tatters Re-mix

So, I've been hit with this wave of seemingly insurmountable depression. I think I may have every single symptom. I'd check, but I forget where I left my pysch textbook. And I feel apathetic and unmotivated towards usual activities. Hah.

It kind of snuck up on me, and now I'm wondering where it came from and why. I also feel an anxiety and general unease. As if something terrible is about to happen, or I'm making a terrible mistake. I feel like I'm watching an approaching tidal wave in slow motion. But I have no idea why.
Rueven does, though. He hypothesised that this depression is seasonal (not necessarily meaning that I have SAD - anyway, if I did, I don't even think he'd bother diagnosing me). So we flipped through my file (amazing - this is my 3rd year with him), and sure enough, I've had a bad time in the past 2 November-Decembers. Although I seem to have perked up in January-February. So I guess we'll have to wait and see if I get better then. We're not sure if I'm getting depressed becuase of changes in climate, or because we're coming up on the season of stressfull holidays, concerts, and exams. Or if it's something else. One thing we're pretty sure about, my depression isn't being cause by Coffeehouse stressing. Although I do often erroneously attribute underlying anxiety to that event in an effort to explain my mood, which only exacerbates it. I also think my menstrual cycle might have something to do with it.

It's really affecting me, though. I can't concentrate enough to do my homework. I'm really doubting whether this English presentation will ever happen.
I want to write a poem, mostly becuase I told myself I would. But it'll probably just come out sounding really emo and lame.

Joe is AWOL. However, Alex has cheered me up with tales of his boyfriend(!!).

location: at home mood: depressed music: Tori Amos & Rickie Lee Jones

I saw Rueven today, and told him about school problems. My bio mark has dropped by 10%. I told him that my falling grades felt like slowly slipping into mud, and that the descent felt inevitable. He talked about behavioral patterns, but reassured me that I can choose to do my homework. (Sometimes I forget this.) He suggested that I combine fun things (Joe) with homework, which I traditionally avoid and worry about. He says that Joe doesn't necessarily have to help me with my homework (which is good because he surely can't), but that if I do homework at Joe's house while Joe writes, the work might be less daunting. I have to do a lab report this weekend, so I'll try that.
To motivate myself, I'm using this thought: after I habitualize schoolwork, things will get easier.
As I was leaving, Rueven remarked that my birthday was coming up and asked what I would do. I said probably something quiet, and explained that I don't like to be the centre of attention because I worry that my response to presents and attention is always inadequate. He asked what I wanted, and the first thing that came into my head was new paint, to replace my rotten acrylic. After I was out of his office, I wondered what other things I wanted, and thought of Warchild donations. And other donations, I guess. For a minute, I wished that I'd mentioned that to him becuase it would make me look like a better person. I then briefly chastised myself for thinking that, and not being a better person. And then I let it go and stopped worry about it, which I was impressed with. A year ago, I think I probably would've chased that thought cycle around and around my head and gotten upset over it.

Hallowe'en was fun. I was Delirium, from Sandman. (Hope recognized me instantly, so my costume must have been decent.) I wore Mom's wedding hat, neon fishnets, and a shirt that says "HI". Joe and I went to Rose's to hand out candy. Joe, dressed as a thing from The Village, crouched on the lawn and swirled his sheet around. He really scared quite a few kids. (One boy had his mom go up to get his candy for him. So I gave him a rocket.) My favourite children were the little lion-girl who was so fascinated by Joe that she didn't even bother to get candy, just stared at him, and the developmentally disabled boy who attacked Joe. He threw part of his own costume at Joe's head, and if his father hadn't restrained him, he would've lunged at him. Leapt for the jugular, I'm sure. Rose and I gave candy based on how good the costumes were. Mostly we were in agreement, and I had a lot of fun judging everybody. I often get annoyed at how so few people hand-make their costumes, how they just all buy these crappy plastic things that all look alike. What's the point of it? How much fun is a costume if you didn't create it? I think it's a good excersise for kids to do, because it teaches problem-solving. You have to figure out ways to make things work with limited materials and skills, and you have to be able to visualize end products. And at the end, you can feel really proud of it. I'm always disappointed that most people don't do things like that, like how our family did it. (I'll admit to some bias on this one.) So controlling candy flow is a way to strike back. It's like voting. Limited, but still empowering.

Speaking of voting. We have an election...just a few, few weeks before my 18th birthday. I'm so frustrated. If only the election had been a month later! I know who'd I'd vote for, too. (Fred Eisenberger) It especially annoys me how adults (esp. teachers) are always like, "get involved! Make a difference! (we don't respect your opinion enough to treat you as a citizen), WHY ARE YOU SO APATHETIC?" Obviously, our form of government is so impenertrable or confusing that it's too difficult for us to understand or connect with. I think that's the real form of first-world oppression. In previous generations, minorities were violently, physcially put down. Now, in our politically correct era, decision-making processes are just so complicated that victims can't understand enough of what is going on in order to change it. (Or they can't find the time and effort to beaucrize enough to get results.)

Anyways, I'm late for Joe.

mood: better music: Living it Up - Rickie Lee Jones

Today in Bio I got back a quiz and a lab report. 70% and 25%. 25%? I knew I did badly, but not that much...At first I felt like pretending shock, but I'm not really suprised to see the dive in my marks (my first ones were in the high 90's). It feels almost inevitable. School just marches on and on, and I can't keep up. I need a chance to rest, to just work on being happy (this is still a hard thing for me), and I feel like I'm not getting that, with all the projects and rehearsals and events in my life. I don't know what the solution is. Thank mushrooms I have Rueven tomorrow.

Maybe I should take some of my diary in for him.

Who assigns labs on Hallowe'en, anyways?

This year I did two pumpkins. A sullen one and a scared one. One day I want to make a whole host. And have a scene of pumpkins. I think that this is my true calling.

mood: depressed

Rehearsal was hard today. Mrs. Spleit made me come for the 1st violin sectional today, so it was about 4 hours long, and went a little overtime. For some reason I'm hearing everything flat. I don't know why, but it's really annoying.

I'm so tired. Partly from anemia, partly from stress. I don't think I'm sleeping very well. I keep waking up. But also there's a certain amount of emotional fatigue that I just can't seem to shake. If I were a cartoon, I would have a little grey cloud following me around. It would lag behind, too. I saw Rueven yesterday. I mentioned my fatigue, and he said not to discount emotional reasons for it. We also talked about my perfectionism, especially in science class. He says to think in terms of learning experiences. Instead of getting upset over 80's. I also mentioned possibly playing for Coffeehouse. He was generally encouraging. Says it might be a good idea to get Laurin to sing the singing parts for me. Then all I'd have to worry about would be cello.

He stressed that I really had to come next week, that "there is too much going on in your life". So I don't have to feel so guilty about taking up his time. Or other people's time, I guess. I know that I'm nowhere near the worst case he has to deal with. Yesterday he came in muttering about emergencies. And when I left, I heard him walk into another room and say in a soothing voice, "Now, you have to..." To which a hysterical girl cried, "I can't! I can't! I can't!" I hope it's all okay...he's very professional. By the way he talks to me, I can never tell whether it's a hectic or relaxed day (if he has any of those.) Actually, come to think of it, even during the hectic days, when HOPs are interrupting him and he replies things like, "oh, they cauterized it? Oh, okay", he still always walks in a relaxed way, like his legs are on vacation. I wish I knew more about his life, like whether hectic days bother him, and whether he has a family. But to ask that would kind of undermine his job. I am his job, and I don't think patients are supposed to ask these things. Sometimes I feel guilty for taking up his time. I know there are people out there who need him more, and I'm blocking them. Like a competitive inhibitor.
But maybe I'm kind of a relatively-sane break.

Speaking of therapy, I think I convinced a guy in my art class, Alex, to get some. I've been talking to him about depression, which he thinks he has, and suggesting that he go to his doctor. Today he told me that he did, and she gave him a pamphlet to read, and he has a follow-up in a week, and thinks he's going to go on antidepressents. I wanted to hug him. Wish I had. But Sean was hanging around and I don't really want to open up too much around Sean. Just don't feel comfortable. I did invite Alex to watch Orgy Of The Dead with us. Sadly, he has work.

On an unrelated topic. I feel I should say something about my Dad's work. Because it DOES occupy my thoughts. I don't usually write about my family in my journal, becuase although there may be problems, they don't feel like problems I can resolve. Like my Dad's work. He got a job in a chicken plant. He's a chicken-inspector. Making sure the corpses all have their heads and bits. It's boring, repetitive, tiring work in a refrigerator. But the worst is his schedule. He has to get up at 4 AM (he leaves at 6 - but my Dad needs time to wake up before he's functional.) And yesterday he didn't get home until 10:30. He worked almost the equivalent of 2 workshifts in one day. In a refrigerator. Possibly without even a supper break. I think this job is like a countdown to how soon he'll get sick.

I feel kind of amazed by him. His determination and strength. I know I couldn't do it. And when he doesn't have work, he basically works a full job trying to get work. Job interveiws and ads and temp agencies. I think that's one reason it bothers me that Joe's dad is so careless about work, and barely even tries to support the family. I don't deny that trucking is a hard industry, but it's one that he chose. I don't think my Dad has ever turned down a job, no matter how ridiculous the conditions were.

I worry about him. I don't know how he's brave enough to work this job. I don't know if the exhaustion of working is better or worse for him than the frustration of not being able to provide for us. I know he assigns a lot of self-worth to it. Of course I'd rather he didn't work in these places. I don't know exactly how he feels about it (except fatalistic). But I admire him so much for it.

Yesterday Dr. Samantha Nutt from Warchild Canada came to talk to our school. It was really cool to meet her, since Smitty has talked her up so much. SPA practically worships her. She has huge bags under her eyes. Which isn't surprising at all. You can't expect someone who runs Warchild Canada to look like a cosmetics comercial... At the assembly, she showed us slides of Westdale in Makabola, DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo). The school we built. (So it's named after us. Which is funny because all the people there speak French. Also, I kind of hope that it's in the eastern side of the village.) It was great to see all the new desks and flowers. But her coming to the school did make me sad. It made me re-evaluate my role in SPA. I have political opinions, and I want to do things. But I'm wondering how effective I am in an organization like SPA, which mainly organizes things. I don't think it's my strength. Is this the most effecient use of my energy? If I used lunch hour to do homework, I might have time to volunteer somewhere else, and do some hands-on action, which I have an easier time conceptualizing.

I think maybe one reason I got depressed that day was that this isn't really what I want to be doing. I want to be working with people, maybe as some kind of pyschologist. Or doing something that produces something that I can see. I want to be in a position to help people. How I want to help them. Which is not as an organizer. I hate organizing things. I always have trouble with dates and times and talking to the right people, and getting the right forms signed. It's too abstract for me. I don't think I'm effective at all. It's hard to justify being a part of SPA. But I also don't know if I could justify not being a part of it.
I feel frustrated, and sort of weary.

And like my schedule is too hectic and busy and I'm STILL not accomplishing enough.

mood: depressed music: The Old Man on A Back Porch Song

Huh. We just got a new computer. So I wonder if this thing'll work now?

I have been feeling so apathetic and stagnant for the past two weeks. Like some kind of fat worm sleeping underground. That you wouldn't even realize was alive.

I didn't even practice at all.

So today I set about reversing that trend. Actually practiced my Bach as soon as I got home. (Which was at 4, due to a mix-up on the day of my Rueven appointment...so Don drove me to Burlington for no reason.) And attempted painting. I think my white acrylic is becoming sort of a menace. To possibly even the planet's health and safety. Definately a threat to my brushes, which are now kind of permanently slimy. I should've become a writer; they don't need to spend any money on supplies.

So after I discovered I can't paint worth half a damn, I checked my e-mail and am writing. And waiting for Joe to call.

I've been having trouble sleeping lately. General anxiety, I guess. I keep having bad dreams. Not really nightmares, but bad. I think my distinction is that there is no escaping a nightmare, but I'm learning to control my bad dreams. One of my latest involved a guy who kidnapped women, burned their eyes out, and then fucked their eye sockets. And I had to stop him...with my magical...dream-force. I looked in a dream book once and found that that would probably be classified under a "shadow". A shadow is the part of you that you detest and fear. So I'm subconciously fighting my violent, cruel, and authoritative urges. Which I guess is not a bad thing. But it makes me a bit tense, and I have problems falling asleep. One thing I've found to help is Joe. I get him to read to me (bits of the Fellowship), and I drop off almost instantly. So, I should move in with him. Or force him to come over and put me to sleep every night.

The real question is, is it possible to write a dream book that isn't flaky?

Hey! Check it out! My new comp has iTunes, and the person who sold it to us has got two Ricki Lee Jones albums on it! Also Joni Mitchell, Turtle Island String Quartet, and some classical music. This rocks!

I think I want to preform something for Coffeehouse in December. But the idea makes me really nervous and insecure. Will I be able to play well? Do I have enough time to prepare? Will my back-up remember to come to the rehearsal? I think I want to sing the Salish Song we learned at camp, but I need two more boys.

I'm thinking of drawing a cartoon of me and Rachel lifting up rocks and couch cushions calling, "boys?...boys?..."

I'm so rotten at drawing.

mood: distant music: You've Changed - TISQ

...monthly! Tonight was the James St. Art Crawl. About 8 galleries on James open up once a month, and it's just like trick-or-treating. You go down the street, stop, tour, chat, and eat. I made my dinner doing that. Cakes, crackers & brie, bread dips. Not very nutricious, but extremely fun. The first place we went into, the Loose Cannon, had a collaboration exhibit. Two artists worked together to produce a series of canvases. One guy burned the canvases (I'd assume with a lighter) to make sepia-coloured shading, and occasionally holes. Then a woman embroidered details onto the figures, and painted overtop of it all. Absolutely gorgeous. My favourite involved plaid, wallpaper, and cut-out birds. Another few featured rust-coloured windmills against serene blue skys (that had wall-paper patterns fading into them).
My other favourite exhibit was the work of a woman, Stephanie Hansen, who, when I asked her how she did her work, said, "Nothing is hard to do. But it's almost impossible to imagine". (She's like a motivational speaker, but more local.) My favourites of hers were sculptures of people made from papier mache climbing or swinging from structures made of wicker or branches tied together. I thought it was the coolest thing. She also had paintings that were mostly made of words. Some could have been from A Softer World (asofterworld.com), and others were more like fridge magnets that you'd give kidnergarten teachers. It was all very happy. She invited me to a workshop-type thing that she might be having. I'd really like to check it out.
We (me, Rachel, Judas) ran into Shipman's family. He seemed a little akward being with both us and his kid ("Go to the Print Shop, they have good food, yeah!!"), but I enjoyed it. He's a really great guy. He seems (well, is) a bit gruff, but when he gives critiques he's incredibly sensitive. He looks at the individual kid and then critizes them based on their level and ambition. And that's a tough job. Although I am willing to believe he might've been unfairly biased against Elizabeth. But who could blame him?

This week has been hard. I've felt exhausted and hungry all the time. I kept meaning to practice, but every time I got home, I would go straight to bed. I couldn't help myself. After a week of this, I caught on: I haven't been taking my iron. I didn't even really notice that it was helping me until it wasn't. Yeah, I'm a bright one (in my defense, anemia lowers IQ scores.) Today I was having a lot of trouble counting to four. Judas found this very amusing, and bailed me out. By helping me count to four. I'm suprised Chamber practice went as well as it did...and I actually played almost competently. But I don't like how Mrs. Spleit is suddenly obsessed with winning Provincials. We've only been winning for the past four years, but now that we've done it before, we HAVE to do it again. She's acting like this competition is a necessity. (Well, if you need to win, don't invite crap players to join the group...) It was better before we started winning. I'm just glad there are no national competitions. Anyway, Chamber went reasonably well (except for one embarassing incident where my finger fell off the string - the equivalent of a soprano screech, except from a section leader [and therefore, theoretically capable person].) But I have really got to start taking my pills.

Last night I started crying to Joe becuase I felt like a lazy fat person who never betters themself and is a waste of fat space. And this past week, I have been that person. But I shouldn't be so quick to dismiss biological explanations. You can't blame somebody when they're starving (which is basically what anemia is - but starving from the other end of the equation.) But you can feel bad about it.

mood: exhausted music: Joe's family watching endless amounts of TV

***So, I have a livejournal now?
I hope things work out with it and my computer. I guess we'll see if I keep it...
I feel completely uninspired to modify or update it. But I should at least go add some cool friends. Cool friends like Garnet.

Thanksgiving weekend. Ho hum.

I'm happy to be off school for a while. But when I get back, Shipman wants me to make a series of prints in 4 days. I'm not sure how possible that is. I think he's wanting about 3 or 4 pictures. I hate the developing process, but i'm pretty tickled over what he's said about my work so far. He says that my pictures are very odd, and that I do Interesting Things, but I need to improve technically. I always take it as flattery. My developing is so bad, I'm grateful for the compliment. If he wanted to be a jerk, he could just laugh at my contrast. Or, my not-contrast.

The assignment I'm working is 'things that are black'. Fortunately, this designer store, Milli's, that I ride past on my way home, has mannequins wearing all black. I guess it's in. Their mannequins are very white, and very slick. They don't have hair or eyes or really look like people at all. It's not like I strategically planned it, but Shipman said I come up with the neatest things. I should get some credit, anyway, for being brave enough to ask them for permission. One of the ladies was looking at me very suspiciously, and I thought she was afraid of me breaking something. Shipman says she was afraid of me stealing something. He told me about his friend who goes around to designer shows as a corporate spy, taking pictures and later figuring out how to reproduce it cheaper. Capitalism can get weird.

School is going pretty well, I think. The grades that I've gotten back seem good. I'd like to see if i could get a 90 in bio. My first photograhy assignment got a 77%. I'm pleased with that. I feel like it should've been in the 60's.
I've been a good student so far. Regularily doing homework and the whole bit. But it's very physically stressfull. My jaw has tightened up like a wrench. In the summertime, I was eating veggieburgers. Now I'm lucky if I can squeeze in half the bun, the buger, and the cheese. No pickles for me! Without the top half of the bun, the ketchup really does get messy. Also, my method of eating is to try and squish the food against my teeth until it goes into my mouth. Not really attractive. If I was an actress in food commercials, my career would be over. My stomach's also been horrible. I didn't realize how well it was doing until all the pain suddenly hit me again, like a piano falling from the sky. One of the worst parts is being too sick to have sex.
I told Rueven about it, and he told me relax myself by breathing. Prana yama. However it's spelled. I'm just supposed to breathe to a certain amount of seconds, and then concentrate on visualizing things. I find it easiest to visualize letters. Apparantly a lot of people do faces.

I've been scared for the past few nights. Not of anything specific. Just of fall, I guess. The dead seasons. I've been trembling through the house turning on lights. Maybe this is more Rueven-fodder. Or maybe I'm just a wimp.

In what's probably the most actual news of this entry, Rachel has just e-mailed me a limerick dictionary. All the definitions are limericks. That's a cool thing for my day. The other thing was a graveyard. http://www.oedilf.com/db/Lim.php

mood: impressed music: The horror movie that Joe's watching