three in the morning productions

manic monday

My poor sweet lovelorn sister. By her summons, I drove back to Chapel Hill last night after musical rehearsals. I arrived to a locked apartment and had to make the drive to Blockbuster where she was working. Even though I was rather fairly exhausted, I had a hankering to watch anime but since Jemima's Blockbuster has a very sad selection of anime I rented two movies - Amelie, the Count of Monte Cristo as an alternative to Kimera (because that's how desperate I was for anime). While I watched Amelie, Jemima went to break it off with Phil. I've long wanted to watch Amelia ever since I listened to its soundtrack. Amelie was very whimsy, very charming, very french. But it was a french film after all and I simply adored it. When I woke up this morning, there were no signs that indicated Jemima had come to the apartment at all. Of course she had spent the night at Phil's was the thought that made me chuckle a bit in my half-conscious state. I had the keys--of course she had to spend the night at Phil's. That's when I grabbed my phone and saw the list of missed calls. I called Jemima back and even before she answered I began making profuse apologies. She didn't speak angrily to me, she couldn't speak-- she was in tears; and you know after someone breaks it off with their beau and then locking them out of their own apartments so that they have to return and beg the beau who's heart they've just recently torn to pieces for a place to sleep--I felt awful. I frantically promised to make her breakfast.

When Jemima came home she was still in her Blockbuster shirt and sneakers. Of course I didn't realize that the reason she wasn't wearing pants was because she actually wasn't wearing pants until she revealed the short skirt under. But the minute I looked at her, I was afraid that the breakup had triggered her mania. I gave her a hug of a truly caring and sheepish sister not used to showing familial affection and then moved to set her up on the stool before her "breakfast" (cold leftovers from a birthday party that my mom forced me into bringing). While we ate, she rambled frenziedly all sorts of self-deprecating marvels and fluctuated between sheer giddiness and woe. Well then I washed her dishes and promised I would be her chauffer for the day. She had a philosophy class followed by political science in the afternoon, which I thought would be good for getting her mind off of Phil. And the best part: I was invited--philosophy! Political science! As we walked through campus, I was relieved that she had calmed down a bit--you can usually tell that a person is more calm when they no longer have that madwoman's glint in their eyes and they're not carrying on about how they want to cut.

The professor was discussing Descartes' Meditations when we came in. When the topic moved to the third Meditation, Descartes' clear and distinct idea of God's existence, the professor formed a habit of glancing in my direction. I suppose he was a bit unnerved at how intently I was staring at him. Stag was also there, much to my delight, and flanked between me and Jemima. It didn't occur to me until after class, when we were parting with Stag that I'd just sat beside one who had long been held an enigma to my girlish infatuation.

Philosophy class was too impersonal for my taste. I suppose I'm still usd to the intimate learning atmosphere of a smaller class, which was what I found in pol sci. The professor assigned us into discussion groups and at first I felt rather awkward about being an intruding high school student, but it turned out okay. Apparently the professor hadn't given any background information on the topic because everyone had their facts confused. The main speaker in our group, who looked and reminded me so very much of India.Arie represented our babel of ideas, and when she looked back to rally, I gave her my biggest grin and two thumbs up. A lot of the material was on the United Nations, particularly the ICC, and I was happy because it was familiar grounds and I was able to contribute to the discussion a little (by asking a question), even though I was given specific orders (from Jemima) to keep my mouth shut or risk being thrown out of the classroom (window). I must say that I wasn't excatly pro-American policy to begin with, but now I just seethe at how this Great Nation steps on and slaps at other less powerful countries to get what it wants. The ironic thing is that my delegation represents the United States in the school's upcoming Mock U.N.

When we were walking to class, I came across three of my classmates who just recently finished the tour for high school students looking into the University--but I think I got the better tour.

After classes, I took Jemima out to lunch and Mishael called. He's currently in New York, soaking in life. Before he throws it all away, I suppose. He just recently graduated from college, he can have any future he wants, and he chooses the military. According to conversation we've had, he's looking ahead to the political windows that a military background could open for him; I'm looking at the possibility of him lying dead on a battlefield. And I get so angry with him. I think it's a little more simpler than that--it's Glory he wants, to compensate for his own insecurities. He is perhaps the most insecure person I know. He likes the identity of being in a pack--whether it's found in a fraternity or in the military.

I've never really been close to Mishael--not close in comparsion to the closeness that Jemima and I share. But I think I am his favorite--because I never backed down; I am always the one he can turn to if he's looking for a fight. He's promised to buy me and Jemima a parasol from Chinatown. I miss him all of a sudden.

I'll call him soon and then check up on Jemima who's determined on not taking her medication. I left her in an artsy state. I hope she hasn't gone back to Phil--it's a cycle with her. But now I have to think of school tomorrow and then the Cinderella premier. It's gonna be a week.

10.14.02 - 11:18 p.m.

	manic monday My poor sweet lovelorn sister. By her summons, I drove back to Chapel Hill last night after musical rehearsals. I arrived to a locked apartment and had to make the drive to Blockbuster where she was working. Even though I was rather fairly exhausted, I had a hankering to watch anime but since Jemima's Blockbuster has a very sad selection of anime I rented two movies - Amelie, the Count of Monte Cristo as an alternative to Kimera (because that's how desperate I was for anime). While I watched Amelie, Jemima went to break it off with Phil. I've long wanted to watch Amelia ever since I listened to its soundtrack. Amelie was very whimsy, very charming, very french. But it was a french film after all and I simply adored it. When I woke up this morning, there were no signs that indicated Jemima had come to the apartment at all. Of course she had spent the night at Phil's was the thought that made me chuckle a bit in my half-conscious state. I had the keys--of course she had to spend the night at Phil's. That's when I grabbed my phone and saw the list of missed calls. I called Jemima back and even before she answered I began making profuse apologies. She didn't speak angrily to me, she couldn't speak-- she was in tears; and you know after someone breaks it off with their beau and then locking them out of their own apartments so that they have to return and beg the beau who's heart they've just recently torn to pieces for a place to sleep--I felt awful. I frantically promised to make her breakfast. When Jemima came home she was still in her Blockbuster shirt and sneakers. Of course I didn't realize that the reason she wasn't wearing pants was because she actually wasn't wearing pants until she revealed the short skirt under. But the minute I looked at her, I was afraid that the breakup had triggered her mania. I gave her a hug of a truly caring and sheepish sister not used to showing familial affection and then moved to set her up on the stool before her "breakfast" (cold leftovers from a birthday party that my mom forced me into bringing). While we ate, she rambled frenziedly all sorts of self-deprecating marvels and fluctuated between sheer giddiness and woe. Well then I washed her dishes and promised I would be her chauffer for the day. She had a philosophy class followed by political science in the afternoon, which I thought would be good for getting her mind off of Phil. And the best part: I was invited--philosophy! Political science! As we walked through campus, I was relieved that she had calmed down a bit--you can usually tell that a person is more calm when they no longer have that madwoman's glint in their eyes and they're not carrying on about how they want to cut. The professor was discussing Descartes' Meditations when we came in. When the topic moved to the third Meditation, Descartes' clear and distinct idea of God's existence, the professor formed a habit of glancing in my direction. I suppose he was a bit unnerved at how intently I was staring at him. Stag was also there, much to my delight, and flanked between me and Jemima. It didn't occur to me until after class, when we were parting with Stag that I'd just sat beside one who had long been held an enigma to my girlish infatuation. Philosophy class was too impersonal for my taste. I suppose I'm still usd to the intimate learning atmosphere of a smaller class, which was what I found in pol sci. The professor assigned us into discussion groups and at first I felt rather awkward about being an intruding high school student, but it turned out okay. Apparently the professor hadn't given any background information on the topic because everyone had their facts confused. The main speaker in our group, who looked and reminded me so very much of India.Arie represented our babel of ideas, and when she looked back to rally, I gave her my biggest grin and two thumbs up. A lot of the material was on the United Nations, particularly the ICC, and I was happy because it was familiar grounds and I was able to contribute to the discussion a little (by asking a question), even though I was given specific orders (from Jemima) to keep my mouth shut or risk being thrown out of the classroom (window). I must say that I wasn't excatly pro-American policy to begin with, but now I just seethe at how this Great Nation steps on and slaps at other less powerful countries to get what it wants. The ironic thing is that my delegation represents the United States in the school's upcoming Mock U.N. When we were walking to class, I came across three of my classmates who just recently finished the tour for high school students looking into the University--but I think I got the better tour. After classes, I took Jemima out to lunch and Mishael called. He's currently in New York, soaking in life. Before he throws it all away, I suppose. He just recently graduated from college, he can have any future he wants, and he chooses the military. According to conversation we've had, he's looking ahead to the political windows that a military background could open for him; I'm looking at the possibility of him lying dead on a battlefield. And I get so angry with him. I think it's a little more simpler than that--it's Glory he wants, to compensate for his own insecurities. He is perhaps the most insecure person I know. He likes the identity of being in a pack--whether it's found in a fraternity or in the military. I've never really been close to Mishael--not close in comparsion to the closeness that Jemima and I share. But I think I am his favorite--because I never backed down; I am always the one he can turn to if he's looking for a fight. He's promised to buy me and Jemima a parasol from Chinatown. I miss him all of a sudden. I'll call him soon and then check up on Jemima who's determined on not taking her medication. I left her in an artsy state. I hope she hasn't gone back to Phil--it's a cycle with her. But now I have to think of school tomorrow and then the Cinderella premier. It's gonna be a week. 10.14.02 - 11:18 p.m.