Poof Goes That Dream - I'm Sorry Sidney

I found out today that I will never be a spy or any other kind of supercool agent; for all kinds of reasons, one of them being that I can't reanimate myself after being poisoned (although it's not like a had the chance to try) OR shoot a mosquito from five miles away with only a pen and a pebble as tools.
I was quite shocked and rather disappointed. This is not something I usually tell people, but I always saw my future as a mix between a more dramatic episode of Alias and Commander in Chief (yes, I do believe I would also be an excellent President, thank you very much). I saw myself juggling a brilliant political career and my romantic life while being active as a field agent for a super-secret but thouroughly virtuous organization and saving the world from some unknown crisis every once in a while.
Now that dream's gone poof. All that's left is being a surgeon, writing the next Moby Dick, winning the Acadamy Award for Best Everything, fighting evil aliens in another galaxy, fighting evil monsters in another dimension, traveling in time to meet awesome people and designing the shoes for every occasion.

Halloween, Embarrassment and Why I'm a Sybil

Halloween is around the corner and I have no costume. Now THAT's a horror. I was God last year, so I didn't really need a costume (hardy freaking har har; I know, I'm not at my best today, funnywise at least). Maybe I could go as Sarah Palin, that would be scary. Too obvious, I know. Maybe I'll go as a ghoul bride. I think I can pull off the undead thing. Little bit of white, little bit of blood smeared around my mouth...why not? Problem solved. Vonderfuuul...(<-that's my Dracula voice, in case you didn't know).

I found out today that people read this stuff here (although 'people' might be a bit of an overstatement) and now I'm all embarrassed. Now I feel pressured to be supersmart and original. Dear Reader, know that you are cause to self-doubt and fear of failure. It used to be so much fun, being sarcastic and cynical and slightly pathetic when I was having one of my moody why-is-life-so-cruel days. Now I have to wonder whether I can proficiently translate my sick and childish sense of humor into my writing and deep stuff like that. But, argh, what am I saying? Everybody loves an audience, right? Uh-hu. Anywho...I just (re)watched a great movie the other day, "My First Mister". Leelee Sobieski and Albert Brooks have this great dialogue:

Randall (Albert B.): Shut up, Sybil, shut up.
Jennifer (Leelee S.): Sybil?
Randall: Yeah, you know Sybil? The woman with the eight home phone numbers? It's not necessarily a bad thing. A plethora of personalities can be very enchanting.
Jennifer: Fuck you.
Randall: Fuck you.
Jennifer: Fuck you!
Randall: Fuck you, all eight of you.

Do you know Sybil Dorsett? Her real name was Shirley Mason and she got famous for having a very severe case of dissociative identity disorder, meaning she had 16 co-existing personalities. Someone wrote a book about it, then it was made into a movie and recently they made a remake fo the 70s flic for CBS. Google her; the story is so far out.
Don't you think we all have a plethora of personalities? The people we know all know a different side of us and we behave differently around each of them. It depends on how well they know you - or want to know you. I guess we just display different aspects of our personality. But sometimes I think the aspects of my personality are so far apart that it doesn't seem possible that they are all part of one person. And maybe I'm just really full of myself (I'm grinning right now, just so you know that I once again think I'm pretty funny when I'm not. I'm typsy, that's the problem.) Okay, shutting up now.

0209 Hours

It's two in the morning and I can't sleep. I don't want to sleep. But I need to. Dyou know that feeling when you have a thousand thoughts drifting through your head and a million feelings twirling in your chest and you desperately try to make sense of some of them? Lying in the dark, staring at light reflected on your ceiling from outside and listening to the rain and the wind and the cars on the wet streets, wishing to fall asleep so that you may forget about the things you think you should have done differently or not done at all, turning every stone of regret, again and again. For once, I'd like to go to bed and not regret a thing. Right now, I wish I could just sleep and dream.

Romantic

Today I discovered that I'm a Romantic in every sense of the word. I love English Lit.

I also discovered that walking in the rain might seem romantic in the freaking movies, but it ain't so in the real world. It messes up your hair, gives you wet feet and drops of water trickling down your spine...might sound sexy, but really it's just very unpleasant.

Still, I love Fall, it's the most beautiful season of the year. The smell of dead leaves, the rain, the gloomy skies, the autumn sun...magnificent.
I wish I had a Tardis. I'd go back to some age where they didn't have any cars in the cities. I bet that made Fall even more beautiful. Hmm...

The Indiana Jones of University

First off: university is friggin' great. Even though they teach us to formulate these kind of statements a bit more elegantly, I think there's no other way to say this. Having said that, I must admit that I am not (yet) a shining example of a student. I got trouble keeping track of assignments, deadlines and all that fun stuff. When my fellow freshmen say things like "So, did you get the text on Semiotics?", I usually say something like "Hmm...interesting. For some reason, I don't have a clue what you're talking 'bout." It's like a mental rolling stone that just appears out of thin air because I had to start talking about tomorrow's seminar, I just had to push the stone statuette and activate the deadly trap.
Of course I always make it out alive somehow, but most of the time I am forced to check my e-mails, just to see whether there's anything else I might have forgotten - which feels like reaching into a snake-and-spider-ridden whole to turn the switch so that I can continue on my perilious venture; I know that some nasty beasty could bite you at any moment or that some prof might have some additional homework he'd like me to do for the next day.

Unfortunatly, I have not (yet...) hooked up with a racy blond, so that's how far my Indiana-ness (I'm sure you were wondering how far I can take the Inadiana analogy). But just imagine what a disaster it would be if I had to handle my studies and some fiery stunner; it would be my end...or would it?

NEXT WEEK: The Amazing M. will present THE JEDI METAPHOR...tatata!