Wednesday, 08/18/04 - 10:28 pm.
God bless the spirit of John and Yoko and their endless love that I admire so much, but I needed to change the layout. The girl who designed this was my favorite designer, but she disappeared (so don't bother clicking on "design", she's gone). I love white text on black background. But I still kneel before John and Yoko, the picture kind of reminded me of Joseph and me...I think it was because of the height difference (I was going to say because of the chemistry, but I was afraid it'd sound corny...oh, well, I already said it, so there).
My days these week have been very comatose. I find sporadic activities to keep myself entertained, but all in all, I do nothing but get bored, repeating quietly "there's nothing to do around the house".
The week has been very slow, but on friday I start classes at the university again, the fourth semester (of the career, the second and last semester of the year). I'm kind of dreadful, because I'm lazy. But I do need to get back in motion, see my four friends and Joseph everyday, learn something new, and prepare myself to be useful. I just cannot wait until I start my social service.
The situation of the country has been particularly fucked up this week. It always is, you realize, but in these last five days, horrible things have happened: the bus that drove off a cliff, the 20 -now 18- days deadline to retire the troops from Iraq (and yet the government sent another troop, just yesterday), and today there was an uprising in jail, and 31 prisoners were killed. You may add to that number, 31, the 44 who died in the bus accident on saturday, plus the average six people that are normally killed in a day. And all of them are low-class people, don't think tragedy hits the ones who live uptown. I don't want to sound classist, and I'm not wishing bad upon the ones who live uptown. It's just the truth.
Take the soldiers that were sent to Iraq, for example. They are young men, some still teenagers, who joined up because they can't find any other job and they need the money to feed their family (that usually consists of mother, sister, wife and children, no father figure), not because they're really interested in the army. I pray for them, that nothing will happen to them. It's not their fault that they were sent overseas to fight in a war that's not even ours. The government says they're sent to rebuild, but that doesn't make sense:
1. It's no use rebuilding while it's still being destroyed. They're still at war, you can't possibly assure that a house you (re)built last week won't be destroyed by a bomb the next one. It's a waste of time, money and human resources. Oh, and they can't possibly rebuild all those legendary buildings (I recall a museum) that was the iraqi people's patrimony, nor they can replace all their antiques that were broken in Baghdad.
2. They've sent soldiers, not professionals. If you're going to fix the damage, material or psychological, you need some preparation. Engineers for houses and buildings, doctors and psychologists for people. Like I said, the soldiers joined up because they couldn't find a better job; they live out in the country, and their education doesn't go beyond 11th grade. You can't rebuild with guns, and they're certainly not carrying shovels along with their rifles.
3. We didn't destroy anything over there. Let Bush get another maid, we have our own problems here, BIG, third-world-like ones. The president says we're doing it because "we're friends with the USA". Haha! No. True, the USA harbors all those poor illegal souls whose own government was unable of giving jobs to, and after all, we must thank them for that, even if they're not very keen on the idea of being "invaded" by all those latinamericans that can barely speak english. But the president of this country is putting the interests of the USA before the interests of his own people (who don't want to take part in Iraq's conflict) and that is frankly unacceptable.
And that's all I have to say about that *cough*
I'm saving all the entries of this diary to my hard drive, and then I'll burn them in a CD. It's because of my paranoia, "what if Diaryland suddenly dissapears and all entries are deleted?"...that, and because I simply want to. And have in mind that I've kept this diary for almost three years now, so the memories that I keep in here are priceless to me. And why not? maybe one day they'll be for the amusement of the next generations...IF their advanced technology allows them to descipher something as rustic as a CD.
I've come to the conclusion that I must kneel before the ones who add(ed) me as a favorite. I seriously talk too much, I completely make up for my daily 23 hours, 50 minutes of silence in the offline world. Not to mention some horrible spelling/gramatical mistakes I made in my first months (and the ones I must make from time to time), and the long-ass paragraphs of the earliest entries.
I'm saving month after month, and I read some of the entries in their entirety. It's quite a trip down memory lane. I kind of like me, you know? All sad and funny and pathetic and sarcastic. I've only saved six months for now, from september 2001 to february 2002. Right now I'm falling out of love with The Guy (look at me laughing at him now: "haha. HA!"), I went to and came back from Houston (I bitched about a lost sock for two entries, and, although it's a little sad, I like how the story ended in the third one) and my senior year at school has started. There's no D. in the horizon yet. It's just me being sad and lonely and content.
See, looking back it's kind of exciting, I must admit. It's like living those times again, which sometimes I wish I did. It's reminding me of many things I had forgotten, and it's helped me to clear up some blurry memories. And the best thing is that I read all the stupid things I've written so far (God! why did I write this?!) and I can go: "so this was me then...and I really wrote this for myself". It's sort of fulfilling, like eating cheese cake (hey, that fulfills ME). It's certainly a lifetime, all the things in here. I am so thankful for this diary, and for the ones who allow me to share it with them.