Open Space Escape

There is no escape. Try as I might, I am stuck here forever. In this place where I am always trying to get somewhere but never do. It's like that dream you have, where you are going down a long hallway, or through a series of doors. You are going somewhere, and it is really important that you get there as soon as possible. But it just stretches out forever and you end up just walking in place until you wake up. But you get more and more panicky until you are frantic about getting to where you're going so it really just messes things up for you.

But this is real life. I can't wake up from this one. Sometimes I wonder if all the moving around has accomplished anything for me. I like to believe I'm 'getting somewhere', but am I really that far ahead of where I was 10 years ago? Let's see...I'm still living in a place I rent, and I have to live with other people because I can't afford to live on my own. I still have to borrow money from my parents from time to time (they love that, by the way). I still have a crappy, thankless, dead-end, no money job. I'm still in school. I'm still single. (As in completely, not even any prospects, never been in a serious relationship EVER single) I'm still so weird that no one wants to be alone with me for more than 30 minutes or so. All of my possessions fit into a small room. One thing has changed though--I had a social life 10 years ago. Oh, and I was in shape back then too.

So wow, all this time and so little progress. I guess that explains a lot. It makes me wonder if I should just shoot myself now and get it over with. Give the world a little more space, since I'm not making good use of it. They say they want open space anyway. (course, they'd probably just put up a parking lot anyway)

Maybe this is my distinguishable trait: insignificance. Invisibility.

Hippie Chiro

I went to the hippie chiro this morning. I've gotten pretty used to the cultish deep breathers that go there. I just go in and get adjusted and leave and don't worry about it until the next appointment. Those people can have their crystals and their life forces and all that other hooey. But today, this woman lost her shit in the office.

I'm lying there face down, trying to ignore the fact that there are other people lying face down in the room near me. Which is actually kind of difficult, because they all take such deep cleansing breaths, you could hear them out in the waiting room. And then I hear a sniffle, and then a couple of quick catch breaths, and then that unmistakable whine of crying. And it didn't stop. She just kept going. It really bothered me, and I wanted to leave right then. I thought she would stop or go in the other room or something, but she just laid there crying, no sobbing, about god knows what. It just seemed like it was for no reason. There had been no talking that might have prompted her, no running into something. She just lost it.

And I got frustrated, partially because I figure if I can keep my shit together in public, anyone can. What could possibly be so bad she would lose it at the hippie chiro's office, where they cultivate an 'atmosphere of healing' and all that other touchy feely crap?

Anyway, note to self, if I lose it at his office, no one is going to say anything. They'll just let me lie there and cry.

Day 31

Day 31. This is supposed to be the year that I get my shit together. I only have 11 more months to go. I'm not making very good progress. A couple of days ago I re-read the resolutions I made about a month or so ago. It's funny how things you said sound so different later, even though they are exactly the same. And I don't feel any different about any of them. They are still things I need to change. In fact, I could stand to add a few more things to the list. But one thing at a time.

So here I take stock, realizing there isn't much of which to take stock. I am still behind in what I should be doing in school. I suck a lot, and not improving a lot. My feet still hurt, but I think we ruled out The Gout as the cause. It's just run of the mill pain. My family is in a shambles at the moment, and it will get worse before it will get better. I am still sleeping in The Middle, with no hope of getting out. Or the possibility of respite. That's my life stock after 31 days.

The Market

It seems like lately I've given a lot of thought to what it means to be in love. Does anyone really know? I'm thinking no, because no one can ever really explain it to anyone else. It seems like it should be so simple, but it's actually really complicated. Is it really something that is unexplainable with logic? Or is it actually more logical than anyone gives it credit for? If you enjoy someone's company and you are attracted to them physically, doesn't that constitute the basis for a healthy and productive love? Are you supposed to be opposites? Does love mean you find someone who can provide the things you can't provide for yourself, or is it finding the person that is like you? Is it chemical? Can it be practical? Is it really out of our control, or do we ultimately have a choice in the matter?

I look around me every day and see people in love. And I wonder how they got that way. And I wonder if they really are, or if they are struggling. Or if it's just someone who's company and body they enjoy, so they don't worry about it any further than that. And I wonder why it's so impossible for me. Because these people aren't extraordinary superhumans. They are just regular people. They have weight problems and poor grammar and body odors and weird laughs and stupid jokes and health issues as much or moreso than I do. But they get it. Love just lands in their laps and they tra la la down the sidewalk without knowing what they have. Or worse, someone just hands it over and they walk away because it's just not good enough for them. When I found it, I lost it almost before I knew I had it. And I scratched and clawed to try to keep it and it didn't work. It didn't want to stay with me. What do those people have that I don't? What makes them so deserving?

And I see these people, throwing around the words like they are nothing and I want to choke them. I said them once in a moment of hysteria and I actually meant it. And it actually meant nothing. But it pains me more because I actually did mean it and now I can never take it back, but it will also never make any difference. Is this how all those people who invested in Enron felt? Like it was all a sham, that their hard earned salaries went for nothing? Like this self-proclaimed, rock-solid "firm" (ironic, that's what they call them) told them everything was supergreat and then let the bottom drop out? Because that's what I think when I look around me.

I played the market and lost everything.

Queen Pygmy

Queen Pygmy, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Unequal

Today it hit me how old I am. Or at least how far behind I am. I try not to think too much about my parents' opinion of me, mostly because they don't really know who I am anyway. But I'm sure it must be difficult for them sometimes, to have a daughter like me. It must be pretty disappointing. I'm sure they thought that by now I would be an adult doing adult things, but I'm not even close. They're probably wondering if I'm a lesbian since I'm not married yet. And there are no more grandchildren for them to spoil. Only the perfect sister has provided that.

It must be terribly embarrassing for them to admit to their bridge club friends that yes, they do have another daughter, but she lives far away in the land of California. No, she's still in school, yes, she's going on thirty, of course, she's no spring chicken anymore and no, she's not married. She doesn't even have a boyfriend. We don't know what she's doing. We would think she would want those things too. But she's what we like to call 'a professional student'. No, we don't know what she's studying. We don't think she's given any thought to a career or a 401k or benefits. We just don't know where we went wrong with her. The others turned out so normal. Well, except for the youngest, but I'm blaming his father for that. We just don't understand her. That's why we don't talk about her much. What a disappointment she turned out to be.

I'm sure the one thing my mother wants before she dies is to see me married and pregnant. And that's really about the least likely thing that's going to happen at this point. Not that I don't want that, but the hitch is that it takes more than one person for that to happen, and I'm a surefire male repellent. I have years and years and years of flawless performance in that area. If it were a sport, I'd be a world champion. Male Repelling: unequaled.

This is Me

I like books. They are nice. I hate the price of books. They are not nice. Plus they don't make any sense. I just dropped over $200 on 5 books. Ridiculous. Hopefully they will be the best books ever. Because I've been swindled by plenty that aren't.

Sunday. Day of rest. Or day of all the rest. It seems like I should be looking forward to it, but for some reason I'm not. It's just stretching out in front of me like a desert, with nothing to promise. Sure, there's lots of stuff I can do, but right now I'm just not into it. I haven't had time to mope very much lately, and it's really getting to me. This busy stuff kinda sucks.

I'm tired of appointments.
I'm tired of phone calls.
I'm tired of grading papers.
I'm tired of checking e-mail.
I'm tired of reading up.
I'm tired of planning.
I'm tired of tech support.
I'm tired of schedules.
I'm tired of errands.
I'm tired of socializing.
I'm tired of getting culture.
I'm tired of checking in.
I'm tired of helping out.
I'm tired of being concerned.
I'm tired of self-help.
I'm tired of eating healthy.

And it's only been one week. Actually only 6 days. Not the start I had hoped for. I never realized how important moping had become. Now it's almost multitask moping. Mope during lunch. During the commute. In the elevator. During the walk to class.

I don't think I'm ever going to get out. I've realized that recently. I think at some level I always thought I would feel better eventually, but it has become apparent that there is a one in a billion chance of that actually happening. And I'm not that lucky. I have a better chance at winning the lottery. And I don't buy tickets. So this is it. This is me.

Funny

Pony raids supermarket

Cold Mountain

Cold Mountain, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Burning Bridge

As we all know, I'm going crazy. And I really don't understand myself. I don't get why I have impulses, but then my thoughts are the complete opposite. Lately I've thought, I hate this person, or this person is a bad friend, or this person is annoying. But then I think of all the reasons why I should feel this way, and I come up with nothing. I don't really hate that person, that other person really is a good friend, and that other person isn't all that annoying. But my gut reactions are telling me something different and it's confusing. Plus I'm afraid I'll slip.

One thing I almost never do is burn bridges. It's just not my style. I don't know why. But when I'm having these gut reactions, I worry that one day I'll blurt something out (as I've been known to do) that will be so damaging and hateful that whoever I said it to or about will stop speaking to me forever. It's really tempting somtimes. Because frustration will do that to you. Make you say things you think you mean, but you really only mean it at that second. As soon as the sounds leave your lips you wish you could inhale them right back into your body before they get to their target.

I'm wondering how long before I say something that will last forever without forgiveness. Something that will wedge itself like a popcorn kernel between teeth. I'm always hoping it will go away. So far it hasn't. I've already burned enough. I don't want to torch a bridge too.

Novel Sleep

It seems like sleep is beginning to become something of a novelty. Sickness kept me from sleeping at night, and so did the medicine. But I'm worried it might stick around for a while, because sometimes it does. And there are few things worse than lying awake at night with nothing to keep you company except the thoughts in your head. And as we all know, the thoughts in my head aren't too much fun. Whether it's the family, school, work, him, or just plain feeling sorry for myself, it can make a night rough.

It makes the day rough too. That's when sleep wants to happen. So I'm sitting sipping cider and trying to stay awake, because doing my work isn't that fascinating. And he has work too. I wonder if he'll slow down soon. It seems like he should. But, as cursed as my thoughts are, will we be talking then? I often think back to the old days when we would talk for hours without pause. It seemed like we would never run out of stuff to talk about. But now we sit in long silences, that aren't necessarily uncomfortable, but not exactly engaging. Did we run out of stuff to talk about? Do we not want to learn anything more about each other? Are we no longer interested? Does it even matter?

Well anyway, these are the things I get to think about as that thin silver line of moonlight sneaks between the blinds and the sprinklers come on and I think about that little lonely goat in my backyard. And then it all starts over.

White Flower

White Flower, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

The Weather Inside

I'm sitting here waiting for my cold medicine to kick in so I can get some rest tonight. Hopefully I'll be able to wake up in the morning too. Or not. That was my last dose, so hopefully my body will be able to lick this sometime during the wee hours of the morning.

I wish there was medicine for all the other crap that's wrong with me. But alas, I am incurable. Infested with a cancer that never does anything except fester inside me. Some days are better than others, though. Lately I've had a string of bad days. I wish I knew where they came from and what caused them, but I have been unable to trace them back to their source. They just seem to pop up at random and make me and everyone around me miserable. I have no explanation for any of it. All I can say is I'm sorry. And know that when I turn out the light at night in bed alone (again), chances are I'll cry for a little while before sleeping. And there is no stopping it. It is the weather inside me. My insides haven't seen sun in a while.

Give it Up

It seems like some days, there's just no point. No point in trying to look good, because the people you want to notice won't. You could show up in the most amazing thing on earth and they will still just sip their coffee and look behind you. But what did you expect? You were told long ago you weren't THE ONE. You were even informed when someone else was beautiful. They were probably behind you anyway.

So why don't you just give it up and stop. If you aren't there, you won't be obstructing the view behind. It's so pathetic to try to get someone to notice me. To make them see that I'm still here. Still as interesting as what's behind me. Still worth talking to. Still trying to make some sort of difference. Still pleading to a deaf jury. So pathetic. What a loser. Give it up. There's no point.

Class

I need a break. From everything. And I haven't even started. It seems like there is nowhere I can go to get away from everything, because everything is always there. And there is no place to find anything, because it's always empty. Even my head seems to have other people in it all the time, figuring out what I'm thinking, how I'm feeling, or what I'm going to do next. Being background noise can be preferable.

Class ends tonight. As fun as it was, I'll be glad. It was also very difficult. It is hard to teach and be fair. Especially when you actually care about people. Which has always been my downfall, in pretty much everything. Caring will always get you into trouble.

Background

Sometimes things are predictable. They come out to be exactly how you think they will. Even when that's not what you expect.

I know that people have things going on in their lives; things that are incredibly important. So do I. The only difference is, I don't have someone who calls for the daily update to my drama. And yes, that is depressing. I want someone to care about my problems as much as I do. But that's really asking too much. I know that. So I go on with everything as if it were normal and try to pretend that it actually is. And no one notices. That's fine.

Right now there are a couple parts of me that are swollen and sensitive, and the tragedy is that it doesn't matter. It alters the way I think for a while. But no one cares. Not even a little. My life is as little as I think it is. I am as insignificant as I think I am. And those swollen parts--who would even ever notice? It's not like anyone looks twice to begin with. Unfortunately, I was born with lots of "personality", so I have a talent for fading into the background.

24 Things on the 24th

The first day is over. I guess it went ok. It's all kind of a blur right now, thanks to the cold medicine. Already it seems like the semester is going to be so busy I won't be able to pop up for air until May. Time is now. After five weeks off, I'm not sure how I'm going to handle having stuff to do every day. My me time will be alarmingly little. Who knows what that will do for my already waning sanity.

So I guess these are the goals I'd like to accomplish by May:
1. Finish my film
2. Work on at least two or three other films
3. Work with the best people
4. Be one of the best people
5. Don't give up
6. Be overproductive, not overproduced
7. Listen, then do what I think is best
8. Help, not hinder
9. Don't compromise
10. Be particular
11. Talk to lots of people
12. Get out
13. Work hard
14. Don't cut corners
15. Make something out of nothing
16. Improve
17. Collaborate
18. Practice
19. Read everything I can
20. Make it happen
21. Use time. Don't let it use me.
22. Get organized and stay that way.
23. Swallow the bad stuff. Chew on it later, if I still feel like it.
24. Keep my schedule

Foggy Life

Tomorrow is the first day of the semester. The first day of the fourth semester at the fourth university in the fifth field of study in the third state. You would think I would get over that first day of school feeling, where you have to have a good day or the whole semester will suck, but I can't. So I'm always a bit nervous on the first day. Last semester I was such a wreck I needed the sippy cup of wine to take the edge off. But the truth is, I'm always pretty edgy. Regardless, tomorrow I will try to do something fun with my hair, and pick out something good to wear (not too dressy, not too casual, but something to make me look good) and then forget about everything by the time I get home tomorrow night.

This is the beginning of a very strange semester. Because it looks so foggy from here. I sort of know where I am now, but who knows what or who I will be when I come out on the other side in May? This semester feels so much more uncertain than any I have had so far (and that's a lot of semesters). The strangeness also comes from the fact that I can't even pinpoint what is so hazy about it. I'm taking the minimum of classes, and they are all pretty straight forward and self-explanatory. And they should also be a lot of fun. But something feels different this time; as if I'm entering into a time that is going to change me forever.

And it seems stupid because how could that be? What is it about this semester that is so different? But, as I told someone just today, you don't get to make choices in your life; you are not in control. Life controls you. And in a way, it does.

D's

I'm sick. I'm sad. I'm sleepy. I'm all doped up on cold medicine and really just wish there was someone here to take care of me, or at least call to say hey. What's up.

But The Middle is a lonely and vast place. It swallows you up in no time at all. And there is no escape. So you will lay there with the sniffles and your doses, willing your phone to ring and wondering what day it is. Wondering if there's even anyone out there. The goat is. It's head-butting your door. If you don't get your goat, the goat gets you, I guess.

I want a do-over. I lost a year. Maybe two or three. I lost the past week to sickness and doctors. I'll probably lose next week too. Lose it to doctors and diseases and doses and dizziness and depression and disillusionment and disappointment and desperation and all that other stuff that yanks your life out from under you.

Feleeni

I cleared off my bed today of all the little things I've left on it because it's big enough for me to still sleep with them there. Just some papers and a couple of books. I also put all the pillows back on it, and ran into an old friend underneath them: little stuffed Feleeni. He's a quirky dog/cat thing with elastic legs, polka-dotted paws, and a head that turns completely around. He's pretty cool. He didn't used to live here. He used to live at the other's house, among the law and order of the carefully stacked pillows. And now he lives in limbo. He arrived here unceremoniously in a plastic bag, along with the sweaters, books, and jewelry that was no longer welcome. The things that were no longer happy.

But I didn't want them either. Or Feleeni. And so he found his way to the botton of a stack where I wouldn't have to look at him and remember what I was thinking when I bought him for 'us' and how I felt way back then. But it doesn't really matter because the reminders of way back then are constant and sharp. At least mine are.

Hello Feleeni.

Thanks and Sorry

Every now and then I end up on someone else's blog and I find myself reading, if not for entertainment, for sheer morbid curiosity. I mourned the loss of Spicy Monkey, and the other guy that only posts about once a month. I even check out the womanizing Tony Pierce sometimes. But lately I've found myself here. It all started with him commenting on mine, me commenting on his, and now I've seen him link to me a few times. He's even checked out my photos. I find it kind of weird that someone would find my blog interesting enough to not only read it for more than 10 seconds, but to return AND tell other people about it. However, it's also kind of flattering. So thanks.

But I am tired of the generalized name-calling.

In general, I try to keep my political rants to a minimum, mostly because I feel that nearly every politician is full of shit, republican or democrat. Or green or libertarian or whatever they're calling themselves nowadays. So I link to political places instead of talking about them (that ticker board for the Cost of War sure was interesting). People should make up their own minds when they get the facts, not let someone tell them what to think. So I disseminate information rather then spew opinions.

But here is the question: Why do republicans so often rebut criticism of Dub. by screaming ..but Clinton!!....? I suppose democrats aren't the only dodgers.

It's almost like the old ruse of pointing and yelling "look, up in the sky!" and then running like hell when your opponent looks away. Clinton wasn't perfect. He let a lot of people down. In fact, I don't think there has been a single great president during my lifetime. But I really hate Dub. Make no mistake about it. I hated him from the second he announced that he thought drilling in ANWR was a good idea. You know, for business. Oil business. For all those needy Hummers. And that was before the WTC.

So anyway, aforementioned blogger Bobensero cited an article from the Washington Times, but left out tidbits like this: "Critics Say Bush Inaugural Too Lavish for Wartime," (those words "for Wartime" are the important part) and this "In 1997, there was grumbling that the inauguration cost too much." and this "A Jan. 20, 1997, story by USA Today estimated about $12.7 million of Mr. Clinton's inauguration was financed by U.S. taxpayers. Initial estimates indicate the District will foot about $17 million in security costs this year." So if you really want to compare, Herr D made his good hosts in the District of Columbia pay for more than the scapegoat. And that's to make sure someone doesn't bust a cap in his ass, even though it would serve him right. In case you really wanted to read the fine print.

But I'm not blind. I know that everyone in politics is shady. But while there is a republican in the White House (actually, just this one) I'm going to let everyone know that I wish he weren't. And the mantra of Clinton did such-and-such is no defense for the man that sent my brother to war, raised the deficit by astronomical amounts to do so, lowered the regulations and standards for the meat packing inustries, and raised the difficulty of being anything other than a white straight christian male to the point he thinks he needs Constitutional Ammendments to back him up.

Every day I hope that he will finally be outed as the criminal he is, and be put to death by the very system he set up.

Arch Enemy

When I was younger, people told me I had perfect feet. I have very high arches, the kind that make my footprints look like just a heel and toes. I had a dance teacher tell me she hated people like me because we never had to work on our toe point; it just came naturally. Men often commented on how pretty my feet were. Yes, I thought it was weird. Other girls have pretty eyes, or nice legs, or hair, or mouths. I got feet. Great.

Anyway, as odd as it was, it was still nice to know that at least one part of me was popularly recognized as being pretty or perfect. But you know where that gets you. Because in the last month, I've had several people tell me that the bone structure of my feet (i.e. my super-high arches) is the reason my feet are so messed up right now. My arches are now my enemy. They have caused me so much grief and pain and made me wonder if it's ever going to go away. If there's ever going to be a time that I'll be able to wear heels again, or play a sport, or just lead a normal foot life again.

So I guess that the moral of the story is that there is no such thing as perfect. In fact, the things you think are perfect are most likely to be the things that end up hurting you the most. Figures.

Sunset

Posted by: quintessa

Sunset

Inauguration: Lifestyles of the Rich and Heartless

This is what $40 million will get you (when you're not having a party)Inauguration: Lifestyles of the Rich and Heartless

Bigger Badder

Bigger is not better. No matter what anyone tells you. Smaller is better. Sensible is better. Bigger is just that-bigger. In recent years I have become more and more irritated that people seem to think that great big vehicles are the answer to whatever question they may have. No, that SUV isn't going to make you look sexy. Or smart. Actually, it makes you look like an overcompensating, polluting, wasteful, idiotic jackass. First comes the Explorer, then the Expedition--what's next-- Extinction? In this day and age of recycling and the hole in the ozone, it sickens me to think that anyone would think, well, it's ok cuz it's just a Hummer. Wrong. Because there are too many of them. They may sleep six, but the majority of the ones I have seen barrelling down the road and taking up two parking spaces have only one person in them. Nice going. You got a vehicle all your friends could fit in, but so did they so you're all driving separately. No wonder traffic sucks. In addition, it boggles my mind how someone would willingly purchase something that so inefficiently uses a resource that is non-renewable. Yes, that means once it's gone it's gone. (I'm also mystified by the myth that anyone willing to own a hybrid is often considered a hippie, but that's another story)

But actually, all this is going somewhere else. Yep, the Inauguration. What a waste(for so many reasons) of $40 million dollars. I'll add right here that the initial 'help' the administration offerred the countries that had just been ravaged by 30 foot waves was less than that. But a party is worth more than their lives? This has got to be consumer waste at it's worst. And the fact that this "president" is ok with such gluttony is alarming, or at the very least disheartening. It seems to me that the guy has his priorities all screwed up. And anyone who thinks this was worth the money, remember that when you're filing your income tax. The guy who's getting it wants to have a kegger at your expense. If everybody takes one less deduction, maybe it'll be enough for the strippers.

Tally

My life sucks. And this time I have actual proof. I tallied it up. And there's a lot of stuff in the "Gee You Have A Shitty Life" column.

My DVD burner isn't working. It's brand new. Tech support is useless. I need to copy my films ASAP so I'll have a reel to show people. I need copies by Jan. 31.

My feet are fucked up. Physical therapy starts tomorrow. Plus I'm sick.

Gran is possibly on her death bed 1000 miles away, and dear ol' dad sent an E-MAIL to let me know. Thanks pop. Thoughtful.

France rejected me for their hoity-toity film program. Fuckin frogs.

Bitterness is starting to set in. You'll get used to it--I did.

My ex (you know, the one that shattered my heart into a million pieces but I still love anyway, even though he just wants to be friends because he's still in love with an ex who was soooo great that his memory of her was enough to get him to dump me without a second thought) seems to have more fun with lesbians than me. And he doesn't want me near the cabin in the woods ever again. But then again, I get the feeling I won't be near the cabin by the beach anytime soon either. And then he'll leave altogether like he always wanted, and I'll be long forgotten. But at least I'll still have my broken heart, right?

How did I end up so cursed? I'm sure there are plenty of things that could still go wrong at this point, but I'm having a hard time thinking of things that could be worse than this.

Pygmy Me

I'm on my way to see a lonely movie alone, while a lonely goat bleats in my yard. Poor little pygmy. I've been left today thinking about how important bullshit seems until something else comes along that makes you realize how stupid you are.

Yesterday I was struck with this feeling that the friendship I'm trying to sustain is doomed. Mainly because I'm psycho, but also because I'm too starved for attention for him to go on feeding me. The well has run dry. I can't be who he wants me to be because he's not what I want him to be.

Every time I think I see a little ray of hope, my heart skips a beat. But then I read and re-read and realize that the words have nothing to do with me. They are for someone else. There is no pining for me. And now I've even been replaced by strange but (of course) beautiful women on the beach. I'm not even attractive anymore. I don't get stares. He leaves it to other people to tell me how I look. Maybe it doesn't even matter to him anymore. I could almost be invisible, if I weren't such a pain in the ass.

So I'm a less noticeable version of what I used to be. Not attractive anymore. Sometimes entertaining. Sometimes annoying-Especially when my hearing is not so good. I thought there was distance, but perhaps I was wrong. Maybe it's just that I'm overlooked. Looked over. Because the fitness club is right behind me and I'm too little to be in the sightlines. Pygmy me.

Pink

Pink, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Erasing Time

Alright, I give up. I'm finally sick with some crap someone brought to work with them and gave to me like a little present that I didn't want. It sucks to be sick when it's sunny and warm outside. But at least there was some believable diagnosis for my foot. Maybe I won't have to worry about "The Gout" after all.

School starts again next week. I'm starting to get nervous about it like I always do. But it's also strange because it's going to keep me busy and that's what I thought I wanted. In the last couple of days I've realized how much I really just enjoy sitting out in the sun with a book. I think I was a cat in a past life. I also stare at the birds when they fly around.

I'm trying to imagine what my life is going to be like for the next 15 weeks and I'm really having a hard time doing it. Supposedly I'll be making an important film and working on other people's important films and taking care of my health problems and fixing my terrible diet and writing and being creative and productive and pretending I'm fine and not broken-hearted and everything is perfect. But most of all keeping busy. Which is not exactly what I want to be, but it seems like some sort of solution.

I like doing nothing. I like being still (mostly). I like not making appointments. I like when Tuesday looks the same as Friday. I like not having to worry about other people. I like mid-afternoon naps. And that is all going to end very soon, for a long time. I'm not sure if I'll be able to cope.

I have already felt the distance that has formed between me and the person I'm closest to. It will only grow wider in the coming months. By May we will probably barely be able to recognize one another. We will forget. We will be too busy to change it or fix it, if we even want to. That's what makes me sad. It's not really the loss of the schedule; it's the loss of the person. The schedule is merely a distraction to make the distance seem less tangible, less palatable. Then there will be the excuse of not talking because we have no time. We used to make time. Now it has to be erased. Filled with other stuff that will be less fun, less important, less meaningful. I hate schedules.

Itchy Parts

Yes, I'm a lonely individual. I'm a strange individual. I think about it every day, wondering if there's something I should change or if this is secretly what I want. But I can be a very stubborn individual too. And as a good friend used to say,"Don't go changin'."

My body is still working against me. It is trying really hard to get sick, and I'm fighting it every step (painful steps-on account of "The Gout"). But my throat is swelling and laughing at me when I drink juice and eat healthy stuff. And then it gives me headaches that feel more like cotton candy is in my skull. But my back feels better, so I guess that's good news.

I started thinking last night about last year when he went to NYC and I stayed behind because of some stupid job that I loathed. And because of school. It was the beginning of when he really started writing to me and he wrote some really good cards then, even though they were explicit enough to make me blush and wonder if the postman had read it. And it makes you think how quickly everything vanishes. One second it's there and it's never going anywhere, and the next it's just a cloud of smoke. All you have left is the memory of what 'poof!' sounds like. That's all you get to keep. And it makes you lonely.

But loneliness is sort of one of those things that you bring upon yourself. Because there are always people around. Being alone is almost impossible. Being lonely is half choice. The other half is that there are so few people that scratch that place inside you that needs scratching. So it just sits there and itches. But is that them, or is it me? I guess it's true that it's hard to scratch my belly when I won't roll over and let you touch it. But the downside is that showing my belly is also dangerous. That's sort of like natural instinct to not let the soft parts of you show. Because not everyone wants to scratch the itchy parts.

Updated List of Prohibited Items for the United States Capitol

Updated List of Prohibited Items for the United States Capitol

Rothko Reality

Rothko Reality, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Freak Schedule

I have to force myself to do things. That's what sucks about me. I have to force myself to do things that normal people automatically do. Get out of bed. Eat. Work out. Make appointments. Go to work. Run errands. The other stuff I do without having to think about it. Write. Watch movies. Listen to music. Draw. Go to school. I'm backwards. This is a big problem.

I made a schedule today that is more or less just a suggestion to myself for the things I should be doing. I have to keep a weekly schedule to remind myself to get up, go to sleep, work out, go to the chiro. And I also had to put the other stuff in so I could see how it all works together. And it looks like I'm pretty damn busy. I hate that.

But it seems that the more I examine the ways that I am completely different from every other person on the planet, the more self-evident it becomes as to why I am always alone. Who wants to be with someone who forgets to eat? How does a normal person forget that? It's fucking crazy. But it happens. No wonder no one wants me. It occurred to me today that I haven't been with anyone new in almost two years. And except for three months, I've pretty much been alone the whole time. I think it's starting to affect me in ways that I can't quite detect. There's the obvious ways, but lately I've found myself in places in my mind that I haven't seen since those awkward days of junior high.

Those days where you are trying so desperately to get attention that you end up making a fool of yourself and wishing you'd just kept your big mouth shut. Days where you start getting nervous about saying the wrong thing at the wrong time so you constantly look like a fidgeting idiot. Days where you really really really want people to like you so you do stupid shit that you wouldn't ordinarily do. You try to buy all the right stuff and see all the right movies and listen to all the right music and have all the right opinions, but no matter what, you are never going to get there. You will always be outside the circle, always a misfit. Always awkward. Always alone.

There is no hope for freaks like me. Even the other freaks don't want me. They have even said so. So I make schedules to feel sort of a little normal. To feel a little less lonely. Even though all the things on it are things I do alone. To tell myself, I don't have time for people. But really it's the other way around. Freaks and schedules don't really mix. Freaks get shows, not schedules. Everyone knows that.

Walking Pneumonia

Another freakish dream. I can't help but think they are there for a reason. I made an attempt at being social like I promised. I had a decent time, even though I had to stay longer than I wanted. Plus my feet and back are hurting a lot. Hopefully another visit to the hippie chiro will fix it.

Sometimes I wonder where all this is going. All this trying to fix things. For what? Because it only seems like I'm shellacking over all the stuff that's hurting me and not really fixing anything at all. Just preserving it like a bug in amber. I wonder if most people have the veneer I'm trying to create. Is it even possible to be truly happy? I used to think so. I'm not so sure anymore. It seems like you have to sacrifice one thing to get another; that it's not possible to have all that you want. Or maybe it's just me.

I'm so tired of feeling like I don't belong around other people. I'm tired of feeling like people are looking at me funny whenever I open my mouth. That weirdness and heartbreak are diseases with no cure. But I kind of believe it myself. Because if it were a disease one could recover from, I would have recovered at some point, right? This is like some sickness that affects you in such a way that you can't imagine ever feeling well again. It feels like you will be sick forever.

I've always had good physical health. I don't get sicknesses worse than the flu. So I guess this is my sickness. My condition. My walking pneumonia.

Closed

Closed, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Dreams

My face is tingly again. And I've been coughing up a lot of junk. Is this what's supposed to happen? Is this healing? I guess we'll wait and see.

One thing I'd like to fix is what's going on in my head. Or maybe not fix, but at least understand. Lately (as in since I came back from vacation a few days ago), I've been having very strange dreams. And they are vivid and feel very real, even though I know they are not. But the part that is distressing is that they are very unsettling and nightmarish. And they aren't even the kind of dreams you can explain to anyone because you don't even understand them yourself. They are just a series of disjointed images strung together without any connection between them. When I wake up I still feel like they are going. I still feel what I felt in the dream.

Is this normal? Do they mean something? One dream was animated. That's weird. One dream had a giant swimming pool. And in one I told some guy he wasn't letting go of me because I was too cute, and then I remembered that I have glasses and cute girls don't wear glasses and he let me go. One deam had my fingernail painted a weird color. In one I went to the Academy Awards because I was nominated for something, and I found out they were giving out bracelets they had gotten on sale. And I was wearing a weird hat. But I had long blonde hair like I've always wanted. But I still felt out of place and nervous.

There have been about 4 dreams that have been like this, leaving me with this uneasy feeling upon waking. I'd like to know why they are here all of a sudden, and if it means something I should know. It seems like it should, because I have so many things in my head that need fixing. I just have to figure out how to do it.

Emotion-ectomy

What a weird day. Part of me wants to say that it was a day of bouncing from emotion to emotion, because it was. But the other part feels like it wasn't, because it didn't seem as traumatic as it usually does. (although my foot hurts as much as it usually does, which sucks)

I went to hippie chiro, and I always feel a little strange when I go there. A little scared, kind of conceited, skeptical, comfortable, and completely hopeful that he'll fix everything that's wrong with my life and my body. And I wonder if this can work for me because I'm such a fucked up and secretive person. Because all his patients are in one big room at the same time. What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? But I know I'm just being stupid because it's not like I have anything really serious to hide. And if I did, I could always make something up.

But it's also annoying because the other people who go there are "believers", with their heavy breathing and meditation bowls and whatnot. It makes me wonder if I'm really joining some sort of cult instead of a chiropractic practice. But I'm not paying, so I'm willing to give it a shot. Plus I get free massages.

And the hopeful part of me is thinking it's going to work. But I'm not sure if that tingly feeling in the right side of my face afterwards (for about 2 hours) is a good sign or a bad sign. But at work I noticed I was walking different, hopefully for the better. But my foot still hurts like hell.

And strangely enough, I seem to be moving between emotions more quickly and smoothly than before. The things I'm remembering are just as painful as before, but they seem to have some sort of distance from me for some reason. I can't explain it. Because when I realized today that I wanted to talk to him and couldn't, it made me really sad. But it seemed like more of a true emotional sadness than a complete physical sadness. My body didn't slow down or slump or any of those things it usually does when I'm unhappy. It just seemed to let my mind do its thing and go on with its business. I'm not really sure if that's a one time deal or a from now on kind of thing. And I'm not sure if it's a good thing anyway. Should my body be able to disconnect from my emotions? Should I separate them on a permanent basis? It often seems like putting them together is what got me in this mess to start with.

I'm sure this is a procedure that is going to take some time. But hopefully I'll be able to get it all out and live a relatively normal life eventually. Maybe people won't even notice after a while.

The Century Foundation

Check this out:
The Century Foundation

Mutiny in the Body

My body is revolting against me. I'm losing. It seems my physical state is deteriorating rapidly, probably because of my already plundered emotional state. The hole in my chest isn't creating as much pain as it was. But other stuff hurts. My feet, my back, my neck, my throat, my head, my eye. Not to mention the heinus state of my nutritional health (which I'm desparately trying to correct). And today even my skin was working against me.

We were sitting in the dark, and then he moved and rubbed my shin for just a second. And I felt like the skin of my whole body was rushing down there so he could touch it too. I felt betrayed by the very thing that's supposed to keep me together. And the worse part is that I'd been sitting there wishing I could kiss him and wrap my arms around him like I used to. But I know he's not thinking of me like that. I might as well be a nun or Janet Reno. And that's like a fate worse than death. Because I still want to have potential. But in reality, my 'potential' evaporated along with everything else. So my skin was migrating and I was salivating in the dark. And the only thing that made me stop thinking about it was trying to remember what year my mother was born. It's stupid.

But I'm keeping my mouth shut because I'm trying to keep things light and friendly. And I'm tired of always being crying girl. So all I could say was 'it's good to see you' when I really wanted to say something else. But I'll save it for later when we're being serious. Which is also silly because then it will sound like some overwrought bullshit that doesn't sound sincere at all.

But I'm trying. I want to fix things without making them worse. Which can be a very difficult task. Maybe mutiny is better.

Year Ago Today

During a conversation today I hit a strange kind of wall. It was a realization filled with the feeling of, oh my god, it's been a year. I had this conversation a year ago today. But last time it was in a completely different context. It was shocking in a weird sort of way, because I wasn't expecting it.

I've been plagued by my own memories for quite some time now; you'd think I'd be used to it. Nope. Not even close. It's like waking up every morning and suddenly realizing (again) that your arm got severed last year. Last year you could still throw a pitch. You were getting ready for spring training. You thought you might even go to the Big Show. And then you were a bystander caught in someone else's carnage and it was all over. And for some reason, that gaping hole in your body isn't enough of a reminder without the memories constantly nagging you.

I went through some photographs today. There was one of my most favorite beach, the one I frequent more than any other. I looked at the picture for a minute before I realized I took this picture before I ever met him. And it was weird to think back to that time when I could go to that place and it just was what it is. And he was just down the street the whole time. Suddenly all my photos were divided into pre-him, post-him, and in-the-middle of him. It's really sad to see your life reduced so quickly into three categories that are really all the same category. What's a girl to do?

Because the photos only aggravate an already festering memory. Is it even possible to make a fresh start? Frankly, I don't think an old dog like me can learn a trick like that anymore. I'll be like the three-legged cat: anti-social, solitary, independent, and bitter. Damn.

Subconscious

I woke up this morning with the most terrible feeling. It came from a dream I'd been having that is very vivid in my mind, but also unexplainable. There were strange occurrences, people shifting identities, shifting locales. And there was also that strange thing that happens that you see the person very clearly in your dream, and you know who it is, but your mind is telling you all this is really about someone else that you know that isn't visible in your dream.

So I woke up with the feeling that I am not a nice person. That I am doing things to hurt lots of people. That people are often judging me on what they think they know rather than what is actually happening. That I'm making rash, irrational, and irreversible decisions. That I'm not being honest with myself. The people that I hurt are both people I'm close to and people I hardly know. That I'm constantly trying to cover things up that I'm not doing right.

It's strange. I feel like my subconscious is out to get me. Maybe because it knows I'm trying to take over. But then I have to wonder, how much of this is really true? Maybe I shouldn't have control. Because maybe all those bad things are really part of what kind of person I am. And I don't want to be that kind of person. Ever.

Claiming Life

Many apologies. To both of you reading this faithfully, sorry I haven't posted for a couple of days. Travelling often interrupts this stuff more than it should.

So anyway, I'm back now, realizing that it's almost like I never left. My sorry little life was here waiting for me, complete with crappy thankless job and broken heart. Yes, I thought maybe I would come back and a different life would be there, but alas. Not so.

And for some reason I'm really overwhelmed by it all. How did my life get so out of control? It's like trying to catch a piano. I don't even know how it got this way. It just sort of edged away from me little by little until I got here and this is it. You can't turn your back for a second, or life turns on you. Just like that.

So now I'm stuck dragging my arthritic, undernourished self from place to place, waiting to pounce and claim my life back. Waiting for the moment life least expects me to take over, and then stage a coups. But it still sounds ridiculous. And impossible. Like trying to ride an ostrich. And tomorrow is the big phone call; the one that is going to define a lot of things for the next few months, maybe even years. So I'll try to wrestle it to the ground and hope for the best. Which is all I can really do anyway. With everything.

The Dentist

I'm trying to learn how to let things go. Because I expect other people to be able to do it. But for some reason, I just expect more from my family. I expect them to make time for me, to treat me like I'm important. And some of them do. But some of them treat me like an inconvenience that they endure rather than a visit they look forward to. I hate that. I don't like feeling like the dentist. And sometimes they do that.

I just want to be able to visit them and be able to be happy that we are all together instead of thinking things like why don't they want to see me? Why is money more important than blood?

Same Old Halfway House

Been travelling today, but I don't really feel like I've gone anywhere. Just shifted a little. However, it was a perfect day of moving. As the plane took off, I could see the terrain of the ocean floor, and then we banked and I could see the city shifting around beneath me. The bridge to work, downtown. The high-rise where his mother lives. I can't see his house, but I can estimate where it is. I wonder what he's doing right now. Maybe sitting outside reading the news. Maybe walking on the beach. Maybe back in bed, but I doubt it.

The plane rose above the thin layer of clouds; the sun cast its shadow on them. The shadow of a plane, with a rainbow colored ring surrounding it like a bulls-eye. Beautiful. I was lucky enough to get a row to myself, but I fell asleep fast enough to not be able to enjoy it. Except for the leg room.

I woke up with the embarrassment of realizing I'd been sleeping with my mouth open, but fuck it, I don't know any of these people. The bright white outside the window startled me for a second. The fresh snowfall rested softly on the peaks of the mountains. I don't think I've ever seen them with so much fresh snow. The occasional ribbon of road cut through them tentatively.

As the plane came down, I looked over the fields of undisturbed snow, sitting there like a sleeping cat, just waiting to be messed with. Irresistable. Mom and Dad were late, but not enough to make me wait or worry. And they brought the winter coat so I wouldn't freeze, but I've grown soft in the California sun and the cold air is still a shock to my lungs.

And that feeling returns, that feeling of being displaced. Because I know I don't belong here, but I don't know if I belong there, either. But there is no halfway house for people like me. I am neither here nor there; I belong nowhere to no one. It's odd. But here there are no responsibilities, no strings. Just the same old stuff.

Helicopter

Helicopter, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Blue Riff

I went to jazz night again. I like it a lot. And I had company this time; the only person I can invite to things like this. The only person who actually listens. It was a struggle. Because I kept wondering if I should have done this by myself; if I need more alone activities. But I figured I'm going away for a few days, so why not. And I desperately want to believe that my emotions are at least a little bit under control. Enough that we can spend time together without me freaking out.

I realized I don't think I'm quite there yet. Because I really really wanted him. I wanted to go somewhere private and put on a record and do something else. Not that I wasn't enjoying myself. I was. I just wanted more. Always more. It's hard sitting still with these thoughts when that person is sitting right next to you. It takes an awful lot of concentration. Or distraction. So I listened to the riffs bounce around the room and let my feet bounce with the beat, but not too much because I don't want to look like an idiot. But my mind is still wandering, meandering around where it should not. And I wonder, am I even attractive to him anymore? Does he even think of me in that way? And I'm thinking the answer must be no because this all seems so far from anything in his mind. Not that I can ever tell what's in there anyway. And I start to feel like dead weight. Dead weight that was jettisoned when he thought the ship was sinking. So I concentrate even harder on the bass solo, and the sharp cracks from the drummer. And then it's all over.

We pause outside. Or rather he pauses. I look and realize and wonder again if I should have come by myself. Because I can see pain in his eyes and it hurts me too. The dark inside me wonders if he came up here in part to torture himself. Because it sounds like something I would do, not him. And it also hurts because I feel like less again. And because he could have talked about it or something but refused. And it made me sad to see him so. I thought he was in recovery. No. And we walked together in the cold. And then he unceremoniously walked away. Without pause. My solo takes over.

FARTFULL work bench

IKEA | home | Children's IKEA | Children's furniture | FARTFULL work bench

Argument with a Stomach

I'm still kind of new to the idea of eating as a habit. But my stomach is starting to remind me. Normally, I eat once a day. Twice if I'm really on the go. But it seems like lately I'm eating all the time. And now my stomach is making these squeaky noises and I've only been awake for about and half hour. Usually I make it for at least four hours before I start to think about food.

Is this my body's retaliation against my brain's forgetfulness? Against my own laziness? Or is it that my brain has finally realized that 112 pounds would only be an appropriate weight if I were five inches shorter?

But my brain is powerful. Because I like being thin. I like being able to wear whatever I want, and not have to worry about losing some before beach season begins. I like that my clothing feels loose on me, even though it's not designed to be, and wasn't when I bought it.

A dumb as it sounds, being thin is the only part of me that most people would consider "normal". It's the only place where I conform to what society wants and expects. Granted, I'm still no match for the Calista Flockharts of the world, but I could give Sarah Jessica Parker a run for her money.

And the irony is, I LOVE food. And not just, oh I like to eat burritos kind of love. I dream about duck breast and prime rib and lobster bisque and risotto and chocolate truffles and wine and goat cheese. I appreciate food as a form of art that is always new and wondrous. Perhaps that is where I have run into my obstacle. Because I have come to feel that eating should not be something I do merely to stay alive. I should be something I do because I genuinely appreciate the flavors and textures of each dish. And leftovers fall short of the mark of excellence. So I'd rather skip it.

But my stomach says otherwise.

Telluride Trees

Telluride Trees, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Year of the Butterfly

Today I had to run errands. I hate doing that. It makes me feel like a productive member of society. And I found myself buying gourmet hot chocolate and wine glasses. And thinking about going home for four days. I'm actually looking forward to it. The weather back home is currently significantly worse than the balmy weather of Southern California. There it's sub zero, with 6 inches of snow expected to fall tomorrow. But I'm actually excited about it.

So how messed up must I be? Messed up enough to be looking forward to seeing my entire messed up family. Messed up enough to not mind temperatures that are colder than a well-diggers ass(a favorite saying of my father's). Enough that the inherent drama of seeing my sister and the bittersweetness of seeing my grandmother in failing health is not making me cringe. I actually want to go home. I actually want to see people. I'm wondering if I'll ever want to come back. And that's what makes me feel like I'm messed up.

I decided this has to be a good year. Because last year was pretty rough. It was a long, lonely, heartbroken road. I can't say I'm not still on that road, but I'm hoping to find the fork for the way out. It's true, misery does love company, but so does happiness. I've been shying away from company for such a long time, the idea of having it seems utterly foreign now. And it seems difficult. Because I'll have to make sure to keep my insides where they belong-inside. So this must be the year of distraction. Of ridiculously full schedules, previous engagements, and of course, lots and lots of denial. The Year of The Butterfly.

Day 3. The Prison

Last night I read through over a year's worth of postcards. And it was very sad that the number of sad ones far outnumbered the happy ones. I started crying around the 10th card, and didn't stop until the end. I desperately wish I had more of the ones that talk about being giddy and speak so poetically of my physical attributes. And I wondered: when did making love become having sex?

I started thinking about lots of things we talked about back then. I started thinking about how we talked about having kids. And I wished he had said, let's stop wasting time and have one. I would have said, ok. And right now, instead of being a weepy-eyed waif, I would be a glowing mother of the most perfect child on Earth. And it would be amazing. But it's not.

And today I received one more postcard. But it's really not a postcard. It's the most bizarre photograph I've ever seen. I can't even imagine where it came from, but it's twice as odd because he sent the actual photo. The Kodak logo is slathered all over the back, underneath his familiarly strange handwriting. And he's even marked it with a festive stamp.

I don't know what to think of the newest addition to my collection of correspondence. This one is so much more hopeful than the cards of recent past. I want to believe that it has something to do with me, but second guessing has become second nature and I don't know what to think. Is this some false hope he has put on for the sake of a new year? Does it involve me? Is there something I should be doing? Saying? Thinking?

I have never wanted anything but to free him from his prison of grief and sadness. And suddenly, out of nowhere, he shines a light that screams of revolution. I want to ask; is it real? Is it a dream?

Carousel

Carousel
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

WWID?

And on the second day...

I started thinking about the current state of my affairs. Or the lack thereof. And the state of my insides. I started thinking about what I know I want, what I know I can't have, and how those things affect how I act. And then I started thinking about hypotheticals; about how I would act if certain situations presented themselves.

What Would I Do?

If someone that wasn't a total perv or really creepy actually asked me out? If he tried to kiss me? If the man I really want said he never wanted to speak to me again? If he told me he was seeing someone? Or getting married? Or moving far far away? What if he wanted to ask me out on a date? Try things again?

These all seem like such stupid questions, mostly because they probably aren't going to happen. And the simple truth is, I don't know what I would do. In any of those situations. And it seems like these are simple questions that should have some sort of answer. But my insides are so inside-out that I don't know what's what or where anything goes. And maybe it doesn't even matter. Maybe I'm so dead that these questions are already moot. Because I can't have feelings for people anymore.

Day One Progress

Day One.

I was aroused in bed by a late morning phone call. It helped me decide that staying in bed is just fine. Because the only other option is being productive, and I don't want to do that. I can do that any other day. So I watched a couple of dreams and took a nap and hobbled to the kitchen for a truffle. Maybe I should share them, I thought. Maybe I should work on being a better friend. Then I was shown what a bad friend I am by a friend calling me. I never returned their call yesterday. I see I'm off to a great start. They wanted me to come over, but I could only stop by on my way to work. Man, I'm a great friend.

So I went to work and had a little discussion about this little injury that forces me to hobble to the kitchen for truffles and they told me to file a claim, so I did. And those sharp shooting pains that are coursing through my foot at this moment are making me glad that someone else is going to foot the bill. Pun intended. And then work sent me home early, but I generously offered (and did) to polish some glasses before I left, as long as I could sit down while doing it.

And I left work thinking about calling my morning caller, but felt kind of silly since I didn't have anything important to say. I just wanted to hear his voice. And that sounded kind of desparate so I restrained myself and called the other friends instead. And they said come over; we'll watch a movie, and we ended up going out to see a movie. And even with less than a dozen people in the theater (including the three of us), at least four of them couldn't stop themselves from verbally showing their approval or disapproval of the screen happenings. (contrary to popular belief, I don't need to hear anyone say, Right on or Oh my god or Tsk Tsk during anything)

Even so, I guess I did something today besides feel sorry for myself. Even though I need some more work in the "being a friend" department.

WorkingForChange-A year to forget

I hate end of year countdown lists. But just in case there's anyone out there who needs to remember some of the defining moments in the world during 2004, or needs help figuring out how to make 2005 better, here you go.

WorkingForChange-A year to forget

A Toast

Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

2005

2005. When I was a little kid, I couldn't even fathom what things would be like this far into the future. And now here I am, working in a lame job, going to school for the 26th year, still hoping that one day I'll be something. It does seem like an appropriate time to make a new start and change my life, but frankly, I'm way too tired. I'd be satisfied to never get out of bed again. I'll change my life some other time when it's more convenient.

So last night I worked 12 hours so rich but cheap jerks could gorge themselves on food and wine and then dance like idiots and ask for more free champagne. And right now my body hurts so bad that if I were an animal, the vet would advise you to put me out of my misery. It's almost like my body took all the emotional pain that I've felt for the past year and pumped it into every nook of every joint so I could experience it up close and personal just one more time.

Because if there's anything I want to change about my life, it's pain. I'd like to give that up for good. So maybe this year can be the year that I don't feel pain. It's a tall order, I know, but I think it's about time. Maybe that means I have to unplug and disconnect more often. Maybe it means I have to strain myself in other ways. Keep busy. Convince myself that I'm too busy with reaching my goals to have a relationship with anyone. Fill my schedule up with work and school and projects so there is no time for anything or anyone else. Which, in actuality, creates a form of pain all its own, so there's a whole new set of problems. Sigh.

Cost of War

Cost of War