Friday

12:36 AM. Friday night, technically Saturday.
Sitting in bed. Intoxicated. Comfortably warm under my blankets.

Heather Smith was supposed to study dance history with me tonight, but she didn't answer her phone.
Nichole was supposed to study dance history with me tonight, but she drank a glass of wine and passed out on the couch after a short time. It doesn't matter, I didn't really want to study anyway.

My name is Carolyn Barry. I am twenty years old and I currently live in Urbana, Illinois. It is not an interesting, exciting, or worthwhile place to live.
I am 5 feet 4 inches tall. My height rarely varies due to shoes.
I have blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Small feet, breasts, and wrists. Long enough eyelashes to scrape the front of my glasses. I don't wear my glasses very often.
I am a dancer, sort of, and I like to cook and cut hair. I give pretty good massages, too.
I have no choreographic values.
I like sound, but I don't really listen to music, though I enjoy when other people have it on. I hate it when somebody tries to get to know you by asking you what kind of music you listen to. It makes me want to respond with "Sometimes I have sex to John Mayer."
I met my boyfriend over a conversation about Martha Graham. I think that Martha must have been a really interesting person. Crazy, for sure. She died some time in the 90's I think.
I think my Granny is dying. I guess at 85, what else are you really doing? When I was little my Granny lived next door to me with her two dogs. I used to sit on her back porch and jabber on about whatever I talked about when I was that age and try to hold a very squirmy, eccentric miniature doxin on my lap.
When I was little I liked to wear backwards baseball caps. I still do really, but I'm not as cute so I can't pull it off as well.
I also wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a zookeeper, a gymnast, a teacher, a carpenter, a chef, a nomad, an actress, a mathematician, and a butler at times as well. I never remember wanting to be a dancer.
I'm too tired to write this stream of consciousness biography anymore. It's dumb anyway.
Goodnight.

Irrelephant

I saw one of John Jaspers pieces the other day. I forgot which one, but one element involved a tv on stage playing one side of a video chat. Sometimes the woman on the screen would hold up this pink stuffed elephant. Later on, in response to something, she laughed, and said, “that’s irrelephant.”





Now, whenever I see or think of an elephant, which is surprisingly often, I think about irrelephancy.

"I just have to keep it together this week." And the screen goes black.

What are we all doing living just to get through the next big obstacle or just for tomorrow. What kind of definition of live is that? What kind of joy could it possibly bring a person to always be looking for something better or easier than today. It might give us the joy of false hope, a future that is hypothesized and if even it became true, would we take the time to realize it and then be happy that moment or would we just keep reaching for that next step on the ladder.

What are we. Where did we come from. Where will we go?

I want to build a bird feeder to put on my balcony. The apple isn't working.

This is the first entry.

Hello all.

It is currently 4:31 pm on a Saturday. I created this much anticipated, absolutely necessary, soon-to-be popular blog last night while drinking a beer after all of my room mates had gone to sleep and left me bored, buzzed, and alone.
Sleepily, I thought to myself "boy, I wish Heather Smith were here to keep me company," and was suddenly energized and enthused to create a blog where we could post our inner most thoughts and feelings.

Yesterday I used the word "satisfied" to describe my feeling.
Heather used the word "mutual," buy don't even get me started on that.

Today I am more than satisfied because my belly is filled with delicious sushi, my cabinet full of organic boxed soup, and my mouse, Princess Flegerannetta tucked awa-- wait, never mind about the mouse.

Today, I am... very satisfied.

-Carolyn Barry