On stealing other people's history.

Golden dreams flow like water / and the water always wins, for good or bad, once you let it in.

I find myself, as I get older, though hardly old by any standards, to be a collector. A collector, not ncessarily of things, but of ideas, thoughts, stories and other people's histories. Even in speaking to my own grandmother, I feel like a voyeur, like I'm listening to a history I have no right to. No right, maybe because I did not live it, or mayhap, because I'm not really her granddaughter. Well, not by blood anyway, but you would be hard pressed to find someone who didn't know I was her granddaughter, at least, in mind, proximity and spirit. No matter how strained that connection has been, I've counted on it - my last, great defender - but I digress.

Would I have more of a right to the histories of my blood-kin? That, I cannot answer. Yet, anyway, and it has always been 'yet.' I have no trouble with figures in art history. Though, that may be because the timeline I study there is more important that a single face, a single name. Or that it's far less ...tragic than the words of a Holocaust survivor, or images of my grandmother living in Germany, post World War II, before coming to that States. On a ship. I was on a plane, though I don't remember it. I never had to spend two weeks on a ship, crossing the Atlantic, hoping life would be better. My mother was on that ship too. It's times like this when I wish I were able to ask her about things like that. But, again, I digress.

Maybe art history is different, because in some small way, I am a part of that timeline. That maybe, I am ...brush-kin to these people, and their history is my own. The history of one's craft certainy belongs to you? Again, a question I cannot answer.

My ...fascination with Holocaust studies started last summer, when I was fool enough to take "Confronting the Holocaust." Fool, I say, because I did not know the toll this study would take ...is taking. It's not all terrible, though, and I am, for once, glad I was such a fool. I now have bonds with people that I never knew I could have such a bond with. There are others who don't think I'm weird for this interest. It's almost ...nice.

I bawled my eyes out more times than I can remember. I fought, not to understand, but because I didn't WANT to understand. I didn't want to know WHY. The semester previous, I has taken a Social Psycholoy class, and a lot of the models of social interaction and group dynamics mattered here. I didn't care - how could anyone be so cruel? As the class continued, it slowly dawned on me that I didn't need to explain it away, I had the tools for understanding, and that was the key. There are people to blame, but you can't blame everyone. Being willing to understand ...maybe 'understand' isn't the right word? Being able to ...remember, maybe, is the point. For every person who remembers, there is one less person who would allow history to repeat itself. I don't think I have the courage or greatness of character to do some of things Holocaust rescuers did, and I pray their necessity will never be seen again. But I would hope this candle lit within me does not burn in vain, that I WOULD do something. I am afraid of bring a coward and dishonoring the stories and histories I carry. So that I could be worthy of carrying them. So I no longer feel like my studies are only a way to live through the greatness of others.

I hope I someday get the opportunity to bring the words of these people to someone else. That their words do not die with me; not in the sense that I am the only one who carries them. In the sense that I hope my candle isn't snuffed out before lighting another.

That I know at least one person will bare witness when I am gone, and things like this will eventually cease.

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Of Whaling and Thesauruses

Currently "helping" my dear Elysse with her paper on whaling. By "helping," I mean, I'm basically her thesaurus, and occasional grammar coach, and a wall to bounce things off of, and ...whatever. Sometimes I tell her brother to sush. And I'm taking her to class. And I tell her to stop looking at Supernatural related things.

...Are there any jobs for "motivational sitters," as Ginger likes to call them? Because I would be awesome at this. ...I AM awesome at this.

I really do want to teach someday, because I like watching other people learn. Especially when they want to learn. Especially when I feel like the information I'm giving them is actually making a difference.

I feel like my lack of continuous inspiration causes me to seek out and inspire others.

I miss making art. I feel like I'm suffocating at home.

Gods, I need a new job. I was apparently supposed to go in for training again today, but I forgot to transfer the date to my phone, so I was not reminded. Boss lady called, thinking that I might be dead. Nope, just forgot. Missed the first training test. What a day to miss. Christ. She didn't fire me for it though, so that's a ...plus, sort of, maybe, kinda.

I need to go get my glass at Alverno. And move my stuff inside. And get that stupid table skirt from Jenn. And my vacuum from Mel. And, you know, my soul back from ...wherever.

Heads, Procrastination, and the Small Couch.

Where is your boy tonight? I hope he is a gentleman. Maybe he won't find out what I know.

I'm procrastinating on finishing my last project for the Italy class. As much as I love images of Judith, I don't have the stomach for anymore severed heads tonight. I don't think I ever did. Oh well. 'Tis why I'm the maidservant and not the heroine.

I finished transcribing the Italian journals to A Wisco Away - http://awiscoaway.blogspot.com/

At least I've accomplished something with my life. I'm at Elysse's, stealing internet. I've had a total of maybe 4 hours or some such of internet since I got back from Italy. Considering I have my phone, I haven't missed it overmuch. I do miss WoW though.

Anyway. I still wonder why I get the small couch at Elysse's, considering I'm almost a full head taller. Oh well. I'm not here for sleeping. I keep trying to work, and it never seems to keep working.

I'm using my procrastination to have a discussion, in graphic detail, with someone on Omegle about snorting cocaine? I don't think this conversation is HR approved. Nope. Not at all. This is bizarre. Really, really bizarre.

From Biblical heroines (whose stories are difficult to find, but there was Elysse in a pinch with a million and two versions of the bible), to strangers with cocaine habits.

My life get a little more bizarre every year.

Fraying Strings, Cracking Wells

Well, I did not, in fact, get fired. I sometimes wish I would, just so I wouldn't have to feel guilty for wanting more in my job than slinging tea and hoping to make people smile a little more, and frown a little less.

That seems to be one of the few things in my life that I feel guilty about. Amusingly enough, it's what I'm least attached to. I'm not sure what that says about me as a person. A dozen regrets, a dozen guilts, in 23 years - if that number were less, I'd be concerned about being a sociopath. Luckily, I have feelings most of the time. Most of the time, I have too many. I once told someone that I can't feel things in halves. He didn't run away that time, surprisingly, but I think that may be more due to my managing not to profess my undying love than to him understanding what I meant.

Maybe I don't give him enough credit. Maybe I give myself too much, and I'm not really as clever as I think I am.

The Beginning, or Lack Thereof

New blog. Good.

I like new things ...but only when they're new on my terms. An uneventful day, really. I would start a new blog on a day nothing happened, eh? Work tomorrow. More tea happness. Let's hope I don't get fired. Whoo.