I like fidel castro
(and his beard!)
Today's lesson: Do not take valium if you do not need it.
Yeah, I know. That's up there with "Do not use this brain!" (Remember? I watched Young Frankenstein recently. of course you don't...remember that is...) Well, I had an old fashioned snow day today. I didn't sleep in, but I did laze about completely. I took my valium at 11 in the morning, cause I figured "Hey, I might as well be calm." Um, wait. I had no reason to be anxious at all, and I wasn't. My physics test had been postponed 'cause of the snow, and really, I hadn't been anxious about that before the snow day.
I have far more valium than I need, cause I've been taking half the dosage. And, I have two refills. It sort of freaked me out that I took it for fun. I mean, I know its still prescribed to me whether or not I'm anxious. Swallowing that pill was just what the psychiatrist had told me to do. And who'm to say "I didn't need to take my valium today."
(Myself! I should hope I at least know...)
At any rate, for fun, or for some even more devious reason, I took valium without really feeling I needed it. Whamo! (I just really wanted to say that. It was more like "Blah," if you must know.) I was knocked out cold. I curled up with my cat, down comforter, Ursula Le Guin (oh, so much work for school, and it's so much fun.) and Beatles, and tried so hard to concentrate. I felt my mind become hazed over. This, I assume, is what alcohol does to me. I don't drink much. The few times that I have been inebriated, I've fallen asleep. Cold.
I was dead to the world for most of my snow day. What a horrible way to spend a free day! I guess I always say "I envisioned myself washing all that dirty laundry," and it never turns out to be true. Valium did not help. (I've become really good at stating the painfully obvious.) I used to hate valium though. It's as though, not only have I grown really accustomed to the mental haze it brings, I like it. Am I gonna go into withdrawal?
This is un-margaret-like, if I must say. (and I mustn't say anything.) I used to have principles and stuff like that.
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When I was a kid, I made a few mix tapes to listen to in the car with my mother. My mother likes country music. Now, I have nothing wrong with country music. I really haven't listened to enough of it to form a decent opinion. My mother listened to country radio, though, which I assume is different from true-blue country music. (though I may be wrong and probably am wrong.) I can't stand country radio.
I put "Happiness is a warm gun" on the tape, and when the song rolled around my mother went "What a disgusting song!" Oh, my shame! I'm listening to it right now, and realized that I felt horribly awful about that song, and have since that incident in that car. My mother does this to all the pop culture I've loved. I'll watch Comedy Central, and there'll be some fantastically lewd joke, and she'll sit awkwardly through it. I'll refuse to laugh, but will sit with my ambiguous smile, and she'll say "How disgusting!"
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My friends get angry with me cause I turn on the internet connection (which blocks the phone lines) and then refuse to sign on AIM. So they send me angry emails: "Sign on, Margaret, you [expletive deleted.]" Maybe I'm really annoying them right now, cause I'm online with no AIM or email. (I'll never write a journal entry if I sign on AIM. Plus, all these wonderful wacky complete strangers were harassing me. not that I don't welcome annoying-ness.)
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More inconsequential stuff: My father and I are having CD wars. I stole his copy of Chet Bakers "My favourite songs" and he schnookered the white album from me. It's strange hearing your father sing "But everyone knew her as Nancy." Well, I figure there are stranger things my father could sing. I can't think of any though.
Other stuff: I've been rereading parts of Ovid's Metamorphoses, and those stories really freaked me out. Particularly the death of Orpheus, which I have been mulling over. The women killed their souls. They killed the birds with their own hands. Then they killed the poet in their mad raving. My bet is this: it has some more important psychological meaning. Or something like that. (I've been reading up on Jung. I get this feeling: everything I read that he's written feels over my head, and everything everyone else has written feels like an oversimplification. Which leaves me frustrated.)
More stuff: How did I manage to waste a complete day? (by being human, that's how.) I guess days where I do absolutely nothing are good, if only to remind me how much I prefer being productive.
I owe people email. I almost never owe people email.
There's this patti smith song that I thought was saying "Got no recollection of my past complexion," which I think was much funnier than "Got no recollection of my past reflection." What's a past complexion anyway? She forgot she had acne as a kid, or something? I guess I prefer the absurd to the religious. (the next line goes "So I'm free to move in the resurrection.") This is not the first time I've screwed up Patti Smith lyrics, but I'm really lazy and don't remember what entry I talked about that in.
I think, by making all you internet folk suffer through my drivel, I'm a better person to be around in real life. Maybe that's the aim. Screw writing well. We all know I'm incapable of that.
2000-01-13, Everyone knew her as nancy.
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