A v (~B & (~C v (D&E)))

I just noticed that the folks at blogger placed an option for my gentle readers to flag my page should I start bringing the objectionable content.


I was orignally going to post objectionable things, such as the word cunt in as big a text size as I could muster, but then I bothered to check what it was and I decided I liked this page better unlisted so I flagged it myself.


I simply must keep my street cred. I am pushing the envelope.

I am a man on the edge.



PVC's birthday was yesterday, but unfortunately she's been suffering from a stomach virus so it was a bittersweet day at best. I've been tending to her all week and this is the first real break I've had, but I have homework in the stupid Symbolick Logicks.

For all A if B then not B and not C or it is not the case that for all D, E equals F and not not G and there exists at least one H if it is not the case that it is not the case I and not J if K or L and M or not N.

From this, derive it is not the case that if O then it is not the case that for all P there exists at least one it is not the case that not Q or R and not there exists at least one S for all T and U or V if not X if and only if for all there exists only one it is not the case that not not if Y then there exists for all Z it is not the case it is not the case if then and only if or not or either or neither nor it is not the case that there exist for all at least one if and only if not.

Or.



I'm going to go ahead and put that off for right now, maybe see a movie. They have Crash playing at the little theater on campus, it looks like a laugh riot.

In other, good news, my Arabic professor does not want to skin me alive for not taking an Arabic class for a year. It turns out that my previous two instructors were not actually that good and while that may not justify me running scared it's nice to know that I wasn't just completely stupid for failing to make what seemed to me to be several large leaps in logic and context.

It is not the case if there exists at least not one for all or and if and only if is not equivalent to then.

If A and not A, then anything can be true.

Once a system of logicking becomes intricate enough to include arithmetic, and thereby all of mathematics, it can no longer be self-contained as there will always be at least one truth that cannot be proven by the system itself.


Because math is stupid.

I'm actually only half-sure what that means, I need to look it up, it has something to do with some guy named Peano.

We don't really have to understand that.


That's confusing, I think.

I have to skidaddle.

...okay...

This morning, at 7:06 AM, I was walking to class and I saw some crows perched on a lit streetlight against the dark and overcast sky. They were just silhouettes against the grey sky.


It was pretty.


Crows are intellegent creatures, and quite gregarious.

4 out of my 5 classes are quite interesting.

The building I see looking to my right through a window is large and byzantine and I think it's quite nice, for a building.





Just thought I'd let you know.


THIS JUST IN, LIKE RIGHT NOW:

So apparently Roomate nearly made one of the nice office girls cry and got us normal parking spaces.



In case anyone might be wondering why I'm choosing to live with her again.

100...degrees...in the shade...

But it's a dry heat.







I've been rather busy lately, school starting, trying to organize my half of the apartment and the like.

My apartment complex is funny. They assigned Roomate and I parking spaces in a line. That is to say, if we were both parked where we were supposed to be, one of us would be blocking the other in at all times.

Now, you might be stuck on the fact that they actually make parking spaces that would lie directly behind other parking spaces, but I've had about two weeks to digest that fact, so I need you to try and keep up.



The nice girl suggested we "switch keys" everytime we need to go somewhere.


Hilarious.





I'm still busy, so I can't stay long, but if anyone was curious I seem to have picked up this odd neurosis for milk, something I haven't had in about two years.




I average about a half gallon a day.


Carry on.

0

Yeah, anyways, so my roomate tried to commit suicide the Saturday before last, and that was stressful.

I thought about writing about the entire day, and I was going to mislead y'all into thinking that I had been a complete bastard by cheating on my girlfriend with either her sister or Felix and now I was feeling bad about it.

I didn't do that by the way, I just had a couple of idle fantasies that day that I felt guilty about later.

I have no idea why I was trying to write the thing like a suspense novel, that's going to bother me now.


Anyways, I got the call from X-roomate at about a quater til midnight. X-roomate and Roomate are on-again off-again boyfriend and girlfriend, the whole story about how his girlfriend came to live with me is pretty complicated, and involves drugs, corrupt policemen, legal drama of the self-representative variety, sexism, and fleas. It's a story in and of itself.

If those two make it, it'll be the Greatest Love Story Ever Told.

I'm digressing. I got the call, I was at the bars with Felix and friends, I was medium rare drunk. X-roomate is in Charleston, Roomate has taken a lot of pills, and somebody has to take her to the hospital, but I can't tell anyone (Roomate is that kind of girl that other girls love to hate and the people we know would seize on this so fast). I am no longer drunk. I am hesitating, I am telling Felix I have to go, I am hesitating, I am running, I am not wondering why there is no ambulance, I'm not thinking. I am not calling Roomate for fear she would lock me out. It's only a half-mile, but the most direct way is across a torn up "roadway", plus I don't exercise, so it takes me almost five minutes to get to the house, where I run into Roomate coming out of the bathroom, she walks to my car, I'm saying something, she's saying something, I don't know what, but my hazards are on and I'm running redlights. If a police officer decides to come after me I will wave for them to follow and then I'll have an escort--

















She doesn't...look like she's dying.






She's sobbing and saying she's sorry.

She feels embarrased to be putting us through so much trouble.

Why wasn't there an ambulance?

Because she didn't want one.





And now the hospital, where the nice lady directs us (me) to fill out a card and I'm back and forth, and now I'm back, and I'm whispering that she took a lot of pills, and she's nodding kindly and pointing to the nurse who's letting us in and Roomate's sitting on the stool and the nurse is asking and she isn't answering so I say what I was told and that is

23 pills of Effexor, at 75 milligrams apiece.

And I am done.

And I have no idea if it's deadly, or even harmful but this is one situation where intentions are very important. And her phone is ringing, and it's her friend, she must have called her, and I am taking it, I am asking what she knows, my first instinct is to keep those In The Know as few as possible, I am telling her, she is on her way, and I am answering questings, and I don't know her birthday, or her home address, I only know her name and phone number, and that she used to cut herself, and must be doing it again, because now there's a cross on her arm, as detailed as a tatoo. And X-roomate's calling me and I'm talking to him and the lady at admissions and then there's her friend but I'm shushing her because I can't handle all four things at once, I and I feel bad about that, but now we're talking but we can't see her yet, so we have to wait and I'm still sweating and breathing hard and the lady tells me to sit down.











Okay.

I need to calm down.

And so we wait.
































































I forget what we said, I made a weak joke about wearing a 14 year old's shirt (Roomate's little brother, all of 14, is 6'2", and I used to be able to fit in his cast off clothes, but now they're too big for me) which Roomate's friend, Seagreen, laughs at far too loudly. We're both tense.


What just happened? Why am I at the hospital?

But now we can go see her, she's rated herself to guards outside her door. She's got the monitors hooked up, but she seems fine. She's drank about a liter of charcoal, which will neutralize and expel everything in her digestive system. She's joking and doing what everyone says she does best: complain. Work sucks, our house sucks, and school sucks. But not a thing on what the hell happened, and I don't know what to do so I don't press her. Roomate and Seagreen aren't quite chatting it up like it's Friday night in down town Athens, but it's pretty close for being in the ER under Suicide Watch.

I am standing up because my legs hurt, I landed wrong a couple of times and I haven't run like that in years.

Seagreen and I are back and forth between the waiting room and the ER ward. There are various people calling and who need to be called, i.e.: her parents. But not yet. There's a special nurse talking to us about sending Roomate to a mental hospital for a few days, and did any of us have any idea she might do this, and I don't, but Seagreen had some phone conversations with her, and she has a history, and I have nothing useful to say, and I guess Roomate's going to be okay because no one's mentioned anything about her health since the charcoal so I guess that takes care of everything then, right, okay.



That was easy...

The next 7 hours are us waiting with her as she gradually shits out all the charcoal and embedded pills and waits for the van to Augusta. Seagreen has to leave to go to work but I stay until the van comes and then I'm back at Murder Wilkerson and when I walk into her room it's like walking into a dead person's room.

On her desk what I think is her diary and there are pill bottles scattered around. In the Effexor bottle there are seven pills. 23 + 7 =30, and sure enough it's a thirty pill bottle.


She counted them?

She said she scarfed them all down in a moment of heat.

Maybe she did what I did.


There's no note, but I violate her privacy by reading a few pages of her diary, and it was about what I expected, a lot of anger, and things I shouldn't have read, but there's also a drawing of what must be her arm with cuts, one of them cross shaped, smeared with something that you would have to convince me wasn't blood.

There are two glasses of apple juice, both half-drunk.

The fan is going, the light is on, and all the pill bottles are open.


She picked Effexor, the drug that she had fought to get off of 5 months ago, she said it did more harm than good. She spent a lot of time crying and screaming at people because of the withdrawel symptoms. Everyone whispered that she was crazy, and smiled while they did it.

Everyone smiled and snickered.


They aren't bad people, they've just been on the wrong side of Roomate's mouth.

She can cut you down to size.

These people are the ones we can't tell.


Effexor is a capsule, pink, with a purple W on the top half, and 75mg and the bottom. In my mind I have designated it "The Murder Weapon", though no one is dead.



PVC takes Effexor, 3 times as much as Roomate takes.


I told her about this, omitting names, and made her promise never to take too many pills.








X-roomate told me that morning over the phone that he doesn't think she meant to kill herself really, he thinks this was a literal cry for help.





My theory is more radical: I'm not actually sure that she even took the pills.

It's a thought I can't make go away.

But she at least wants people to believe she tried to kill herself, so we should act accordingly, but:



Roomate went back home with her parents for a few days, and came back with them a couple of days ago to move her stuff into the new apartment.




Everything, everyone, seemed normal. Roomate and X-roomate are back in their on-again phase, her parents are smiling and being friendly (they like me).


Did nothing happen? No one seems concerned.

Am reading too much into it? Roomate once said, in her patented maybe-I'm-insulting-you-maybe-I'm-not voice, that "Sean, was like, just born."

Referring, of course, to the fact that there's a lot of things that other people know that I don't, because I sort of raised myself.


Everything's back to normal, I don't understand.



When I put a gun to my head, I needed help, but no one was there.

But she has people.


But maybe they don't understand crazy people like us, maybe they just want things back to normal as fast as they can.

When I spoke to her mom over the phone that morning, she kept saying "This was really unexpected."



Did she think I needed to be convinced?


I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to do now, I guess. She seems fragile now.

I'm not really one of her friends, she doesn't dislike me but I'm not her kind of fun, but pretty much none of her friends know, so now what?



I want to help, but I'm not sure how. Or if I'm overreacting, and don't even need to.



Okay.

1

I got the keys to my new apartment yesterday.

I only moved about two carloads of stuff in, really only enough to fill my closet. Then I ordered a pizza and had a couple of beers as I looked around the place.

New carpet, white walls, and not that many lights. The bedrooms actually have no lights in them at all.

It seemed almost spooky for a while, being in an empty, creaky apartment all by myself (maybe I've gotten too used to living with people, maybe I couldn't live alone anymore), but I slept well and the sunrise over the trees and the river was quite pretty. The only good view of the Oconee is where I live.


Something happened Saturday.

Nobody died or anything, but I'm still conflicted as to what is proper to put here and what isn't.

But it's over.


It isn't really, but, you know...


Anyways, I have a new apartment.

91.83

That's right, fuckers.


I knew those people whose names they never tell me screwed up.

Again.




What a poorly run class.

I liked the teacher, though.

88.751

Which is probably my final average for the class I was taking over the summer, fresh off my calculator.

It's a math class, and I'm horrible math-wise, so normally a high B in a math class would make me ecstatic.



But I think the writers of this last test, that I got out of 15 minutes ago, screwed up.



I was unnaturally studious about this test, and I went over everything at least twice.

I'm pretty sure I earned the gold.





We'll see.