Oh, thank God.

Sun. through Wed. of this past wk. were what I have come to call "The Week from Hell." I realize that a wk. consists of seven, not four, days, but enough bad shit happened in those four days for me to feel justified in referring to them as The Week from Hell.

Mercifully, this was followed by a brief respite in the form of a Fri. trip to Charleston. I was able to see Jennifer for a too-short but fulfilling visit before I got my hair cut, which is always fun since I have the best hair person ever, followed by as painless a trip to the car mechanic as is possible, and rounded out by a wonderful visit w/Jill and her Australian friend, Monica. We went to a ukelele/jazz concert (sounds weird, but it worked well) where we enjoyed a bottle of half-priced wine and good conversation. We then went to a photography exhibit put on by two Honors College students that was really quite good. The photos were all portraits of friends of the photographer's, but they weren't posed. It was more like candid shots of ppl.'s faces while doing everythg. fr. smoking to stuffing a whole cupcake in someone's mouth to convincing your drunk friend to stop unbuttoning his shirt. I bought a print of what looks like an attractive though somehow too-smooth guy holding his cigarette as he whispers smthg. into the ear of a girl who looks as if she's mesmerized by a snake she knows will bite her. Wary, mocking, but still intrigued. I visited w/Gary for a little while before driving back to SAV in my surprisingly *awesome* rental car, keenly aware of the fact that as soon as I pointed the car in direction of home I was overcome by nausea.

At one point in the evening, Jill was talking abt. visiting her former housekeeper, who is now too old to clean house, but who is still devoted to Jill and Gary and vice-versa. Apparently, this woman's house recently burnt down, leaving her homeless and completely bereft of worldly possessions, and also w/o the means to replace them. She was most upset abt. all of the "nice thgs." that Jill and Gary had given her over the yrs., most of which were actually just hand-me-downs, but were special to her b/c of their origins. Jill said that as soon as she found out abt. her housekeeper's predicament, she and Mariel (Jill's daughter) spent several hrs. buying their friend new clothes, toiletries, and other needful thgs. She gave up her time and her money to do everythg. that she could for someone she loves and who has loved her. It seems like an obvious thg. to do, but I have begun to realize that this is perhaps not so obvious as I once thought. I think that was the best part of the evening, being reminded that there are ppl. like Jill out there and that I am fortunate enough to have some of them in my life.

Of course, stifling my laughter as Australian Monica bitched out some young English jerk for throwing his cigarette butts on the ground was also pretty enjoyable. You damn English act like you still rule the world. ;)

So inappropriate.

So there's this guy in my Physics class who has the most beautiful hair. And I really want to touch it.

I'm not sure what his ethnic origins are, but Middle Eastern or Turkish seem possible, given his complexion and nose and various other little details I have noted during my surreptitious sidelong glances. This guy is beautiful. I mean, like how exotic Ottoman princes look in movies or romantic paintings or whatever. He almost reminds me of a sexed-up Jesus, w/his big, inscrutable brown eyes and a perpetual expression of serenity.

But it's his hair that gets me.

It's black, falling just below his shoulders and he keeps it in a low ponytail. Usually I find ponytails of any persuasion on a male to be completely revolting, but w/this guy, I just want to reach out and touch it. It's so lovely. It's the perfect texture and has this amazing sheen -- not greasy -- more like it's so soft and healthy that it actually radiates. The girl I babysit LOVES to play w/my hair, and her favorite thg. to do is to put it into a ponytail and take it back down and then put it back up and take it back down, ad nauseum (or until I can no longer feel my scalp and make her stop). That's what I want to do w/this guy's hair. I want to slide the elastic holder off of his ponytail and run my fingers through like a comb and then wrap the holder back around it. And take it off. And put it back on. And take it off. Ad nauseum.

Luckily, he sits behind me, so checking this undeniaby odd urge has not been much of an issue, but today I was walking behind him after class and my hands actually started tingling, like, I was digging my nails into my palms to keep myself fr. extending my fingers toward the coiff.

I feel like a stalker, except I don't actually follow him anywhere (on purpose).

But, seriously, this guy is hot, so if any of you single ladies among my acquaintance would like to run down here in the next wk. to check him out yourself, I would encourage that. And I swear that if you hooked up w/him I would not touch his hair. More than once.

"You could have made a 100%!"

So lamented my Physics professor after handing back my test w/its grade of 70%. He also said, "I expected you to make a 100%," which really boggles the mind b/c I cannot imagine what would have given him the impression that I know enough abt. what's going on in that class that he would *expect* me to make a perfect grade on the test. Perhaps he was misled by my regular attendance, or my perpetual grimace and occasional nodding during lecture, or maybe he honestly thinks I'm smart enough to do that well. I dunno. Either way, after going over my many mistakes w/Dr. A, I have determined that while it is possible (though not likely) that I am smart enough to have made a 100% on that test, I just don't care enough to try. I simply can't be asked.

All of my mistakes were the result of simple carelessness (lots of missing or misplaced negative signs) or an incomplete understanding of the concept at hand, not b/c it was hard, but just b/c I didn't feel like spending 10 more mins. making and memorizing some stupid flashcards. Seriously. I barely made a C on a not-too-difficult test b/c I'm f-ing lazy, end of story. Lazy ppl. do not do well in med school.

I need to sort this out.

On the upside, I still did better than most of the ppl. in my class (of course), so it appears that a curve is likely for our final grades, though Dr. A has been resistant heretofore. Goody for me. I have another Physio test on Wed. and am fending off contractions of panic that are coming more and more frequently as I realize I have less and less time to read all of the stuff I have been putting off for the last four wks....

....And yet, here I sit during my four-hr. break b/t classes NOT studying.

brilliant.

Balance.

I tried to end the last entry on a lighter note, but in case it didn't work out, I also thought I would include a few thgs. for which I am grateful:

1) Lent is over in less than a wk. -- praise Jesus! I will be celebrating the end of my Lenten ban on alcohol on Easter Sun. by extending the sacrament of Communion beyond its allotted 20 mins. during Mass and imbibing two bottles of wine (one red, one white) to joyously commemorate Jesus's miraculous return fr. the dead. I will probably be less enthusiastically celebrating my own similar miracle the next morning when I drag myself to school at 8am.

2) Today is mine and Eli's nine yr. anniversary -- how old are we?! Yes, it was on this day nine yrs. ago that I made Eli ask me to officially be his girlfriend. I have happily spent the last nine yrs. making Eli do an assortment of thgs. he may or may not have wanted to do. He seems happy, too.

3) My St. Andrews crew. We have been forced to move on separately w/life, but we maintain generally good contact and talking to or otherwise hearing fr. y'all makes me so happy. (Yeah, it's sappy, I know. But I talked to Benjamin yesterday and I'm going to CA to see Mar and Sarah in a few wks., so I'm becoming giddy w/excitement.)

4) I stole this fr. Duncan's blog b/c I thought it was good geeky fun:

Go to Wikipedia and look up your birth day (excluding the year). List three neat facts, two births and one death in your journal, including the year.

6 February

Neat Fact #1: These are actually two facts, but I got such a chortle out of the irony of them occurring on the same date that I put them together:
a) 1820 - The first 86 African American immigrants sponsored by the American Colonization Society started a settlement in present-day Liberia.

b) 1900 - The international arbitration court at The Hague is created when the Netherlands' Senate ratifies an 1899 peace conference decree.
hahahaha.... While Charles Taylor's trial is not to be held at The Hague, I think those of you w/a grasp of current events can see why this was funny to me.

Neat Fact #2: 1952 -- Elizabeth II becomes Queeb upon the death of her father George VI. At the exact moment of succession, she was in a treehouse at the Treetops Hotel in Kenya.
...Which is exactly where I would want to be at such moment. In fact, I might never have left the treehouse if I were her.

Neat Fact #3: 1998 -- Washington National Airport is renamed Ronald Reagan National Airport
....*tear* Ah, for the days when the Republican party was all abt. money-making and good parties, before it got all mixed up in this religion business. Pour yo' 40 out for Ronnie! (PS: He also shares the Best Day for a Birt-Day w/me, which is why the airport was renamed on 6 Feb. This does not count toward the requested two bdays.)

For some reason, MY birth was not included in Wikipedia, but I found these schlubs:
Birth(s) #1 (notable ladies): 1912 -- Eva Braun (HAHA!), 1917 -- Zsa Zsa Gabor (HAHA!), 1913 -- Mary Leakey (I love primates, too!), and 1976 -- Kim Zmeskal (I had a poster of her when I was a gymnast. Clearly, she was quite a bit better at [and more dedicated to] gymnastics than I was.). Also, 1577 -- Beatrice Cenci, Italian noblewoman who conspired to kill her father. I don't who she was, but I like 'er.

Birth(s) #2 (the fellas): 1564 -- Christopher Marlowe (he was a spy, a poet, a playwright, he liked to pick fights, and he may have been Shakespeare, if you go for conspiracy theories -- rock on), 1756 -- Aaron Burr (I don't care if they're illegal -- duels are f-ing cool, esp. if you're the winner), 1931 -- Rip Torn (HAHA!), 1932 -- Francois Truffaut (pretty fly for a French guy), 1945 -- Bob Marley (jammin'), and another musical superstar and the love of my life when I was 11, 1962 -- Axl Rose (leather pants in the "Sweet Child O'Mine" video -- ARGH!). Also, 1910 - Carlos Marcello, Tunisian-born gangster. I don't know who he was, but I like 'im.

Death: 1918 -- Gustav Klimt. The only thg. that consoled me after this loss was Magritte's embarkation upon his prolific Surrealist career shortly thereafter.
Also, oddly: 1986 -- Frederick Coutts, the 8th General of The Salvation Army (so are they a *real* Army??), and 1989 -- Chris Gueffroy, last person killed escaping over the Berlin wall (if the rest of the Communist military had continued the fight for so long, maybe they would have won the Cold War -- haha!)

I sometimes want to die (and take a few ppl. w/me)

So the other day I was riding w/a friend of mine to Savannah. Immediately after turning onto the main road out of town, we were forced to come to a complete stop in the middle of the road to allow a funeral procession to exit the funeral home on the left. I did not pay close attention to the caravan since such thgs. make me want to cry b/c I know what it's like to forever lose a loved one; to sit through the memorial thinking in no chronological or emotional order of memories you shared w/this person in life, punctuated by visions of their smile, their laugh, and the recognition that you will never see these thgs. again; to gather your shattered concentration long enough to drive to the burial site; and to then watch as your friend or family member is lowered into the ground and dirt is thrown on top, forming a progressively impenetrable barrier b/t you and them. Death is a big deal. And it makes me cry to think of other ppl. having to experience that sort of loss b/c I can think of how it felt/would feel for me to be in their position. So I didn't look closely at the motorcade slowly entering the road in front of us, but I DID notice it, esp. since we had to sit in the middle of traffic for several mins.

My companion, the driver, apparently managed to miss what was happening right in front of our faces.

On the way out of town, I became increasingly confused and angry as he complained abt. how slow we were moving, abt. why there were so many cops on the road (to allow the procession to move unimpeded), how a funeral procession should not hold up the rest of traffic (I guess they're supposed to race to the cemetery and hope that everyone makes it??), and abt. how dumb it was that ppl. in our lane were going so slow when the procession wasn't even near us. It occurred to me after this last comment that perhaps my friend did not know where the caravan was, b/c it was directly in front of us and I told him as much. Three times. I pointed it out THREE TIMES, saying w/what I thought was complete clarity, "THAT [pointing at the long line of cars moving in our lane of traffic] is the funeral procession." I had hoped this would penetrate to my friend's brain and heart and elicit a more sympathetic response, that he would consider the emotional state of the ppl. in that line of cars, would remember the times that he lost someone he loved. This, it turned out, was over-optimistic of me.

The sighs of exasperation continued and then got worse when we moved out of the town proper and the speed limit went up, but we were still moving at a muted pace. My friend ultimately sped up to try to pass the whole line, but met resistance when he encountered ppl. in the right-hand lane who had pulled over or slowed to a speed even lower than that of the funeral procession, as drivers are wont to do OUT OF RESPECT TO THE BEREAVED. This is esp. true here in the South, where, as my stepfather once lamented, ppl. are more likely to pull over for a funeral than an ambulance. In fact, ppl. here pull over even if they are in the opposing lane of traffic. It's just smthg. we do out of consideration for others who are trying to grapple w/one of the most difficult facts of life. This, too, was lost on my companion, who proceeded to cut INTO the funeral procession and to scoff at my explanation for why ppl. who were not going to the funeral were still driving as if they were.

The crowning moment came, however, when we had to make a left-hand turn on to another road, the same road onto which the procession turned. It turned out that my friend had cut in front of the last person in the line of mourners and she was desperate to try to keep up w/the rest, probably b/c she wasn't fr. around here and didn't want to get separated fr. them on some country-ass road in the middle of nowhere. As we approached the left turn lane, my driver started to move into the lane and was incensed to find that the driver behind us was scurrying to close the gap b/t herself and the rest of the funeral procession, resulting in my friend nearly side-swiping her as he moved over.

One guess what happened next.

My friend had the audacity to not just honk at the woman -- which I could almost have excused, since it's sort of a natural reaction when you're on the road and smthg. happens that could endanger your safety, regardless of who is really at fault -- but further, to hurl obscenities and slurs and give her the finger. He flipped off a person hurrying to follow her dead loved one to his or her final resting place, trying to be there for the last moments of that person's time above ground.

I have never been so upset in my entire life. I think I hit him. I definitely yelled at him. He attempted to defend himself by saying, "She's probably not even going to the funeral!" I just wanted to cry, get sick, and throw myself out of the still-moving car. I wanted to kill smthg. he loved so that he would know what that person was feeling. I wanted to be as far away as possible fr. this person whom I have somehow grown to love, but who is so incapable of thinking of others that he couldn't even act appropriately when presented w/the most obvious occasion for sympathy. It didn't even matter if the woman wasn't going to the funeral (which, as it turned out, she WAS), the point was that my friend didn't know whether she was or not, but rather than thinking beyond himself and erring on the side of caution (which would have allowed the woman to get in front of him w/minimal fuss), he threw a fit and behaved in a manner so vulgar and insulting it made me want to die.

I will never understand how ppl. can be so thoughtless, so thoroughly selfish that they ignore any common sense they might have (and my friend is quite smart; he has the raw ability to think better of his actions) and act in ways that make it physically painful to be alive in this world. I j u s t d o n ' t g e t i t. Though I have tried to inure myself against what I have long recognized to be an inevitable fact of human existence, I have met w/little success. It hurts just as much now as it did yrs. ago and what hurts even more is that my immediate reaction when someone behaves in such a careless, hurtful manner is to hurt them right back, purposefully, pointedly, and deeply. My first reaction makes me worse than them b/c I want them to hurt. I didn't just want to yell at my friend, to call him names, or point out to him the ways in which his behavior made him THE Biggest Jerk in the Entire World. I didn't even want to hurt him physically, not really. What I wanted to do was take smthg. fr. him he loves more than he knows. I wanted him to hurt fr. the inside and I wanted to be the one to do it.

I was inexpressibly angry and hurt by my friend's utter lack of consideration for someone else's potential emotional state, but his behavior and its impact on the other driver was, at the root, the result of carelessness, not premeditation. My response was considerably more directed. I'm not sure, but I have a feeling this desire for wilful retribution makes me pretty close to evil, which does little to make me feel better abt. being alive in a world already so full of it.

Or maybe it means I should find a cape and a sidekick and become a masked crusader for justice. I dunno. Eamonn *did* just send me the Guide to Real Ultimate Power, so I figure I could probably be jump-kicking ninja-for-justice in abt. five days. If anyone is interested in subsidizing my super-hero bid, I wear size XS and my weapon of choice is the laser beam. I'll supply the telekinesis.