Mix

It never ceases to amaze me how extreme contentment and sadness can mingle together. Strange bedfellows. But they do. Sometimes they almost seem like similar things when they move around inside me. And I will never understand it. Or be able to stop it. It's one of those things like how beauty can move a person to tears and you can't explain why but you can't stop it either.

And so it is. The most beautiful day in the neighborhood. Not a cloud in the sky. Bluish-green water that seems to change colors so quickly it might be part chameleon. Heat in the rays of sun, coolness in the foam of the water. Soft, squishy sand next to firm sand. Swarms of wonderful butterflies flitting magically from the ocean. A book, a blanket, and a boy. A boy I still love. Will always.

He is quiet. I feel loud and boorish next to him. I would have left earlier if he wasn't here. I lay around and wonder. I close my eyes and imagine. I'm content. I'm sad. The ghost is stuck inside me; no exorcist can remove it. I am possessed. I am free and shackled simultaneously. I have no other thoughts. This is the odd zen I have been trying to reach all week. And only because he is here to save me from myself. And he is completely unaware. Which is how I have to have it.

The sadness and contentment have to live far enough down that he doesn't connect it to himself. In the house I take a look at the things I've been avoiding for so long. But I can't look for too long because I know what lives there and I don't want to let it out. I don't want him to see. He has to leave the room for me to even take a glance.

I think to myself, if I had seen this back then, I would have understood. I would have seen the things I couldn't see back then because I didn't know any other way; any other time; any other he. But it is painfully obvious that it is there; that I was only a pit stop. That I was never adored. But I can see that it was possible; that it existed. Just not now, not for me, not ever. Like the greusome car accident, I can't look away. It draws me in. It burns into my memory. I stay far away so the details can remain fuzzy.

But the fuzziness still blurs contentment into sadness; into this burdensome feeling of being a stone around a neck. It sets in like a quiet panic; how to fix it, how to escape. Distance. Quiet. Disconnection. Departure.

1000

Today this blog got its thousandth page view. And the viewer happens to be someone I know. A faithful reader. A sympathetic reader. Intrepid, forgiving, tenacious reader. Props to you for sticking with it.

Flower

Flower
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Packing

Sometimes I don't know how to reconcile all the things I've piled up in this life. It's like I have all these things that I've accumulated and there's all this extra stuff that spills out the sides and ruins everything. I'm always going in ten directions at once. My feelings are always mixed. I don't think I've felt a singular feeling in at least a year. Back when things seemed so simple and nothing could go wrong. It was always right.

Now I have to figure out how to fit anger and jealousy and contentment and love and fear and understanding into the same suitcase. And something is always sticking out the sides. I can't ever get it all packed away and tidy. So I'm always a mess. Even I don't know what's going to come out of me next.

And I am always surprised by my own banality and blandness. I've tried so hard to amalgamate everything that it just ends up being a boring blob of nothing interesting. And I repeat it every minute of every day. If I don't do it, bad things happen. People get hurt, angry, and alienated. It is hard enough to get people to pay attention when I'm acting like a normal person. It is nearly impossible to get their attention when they are afraid you're going to fly off the handle at any moment because that's what you did the last time. And that sort of thing gets tiresome to boot. It's like I hear their whole body sigh as if it's had enough of my bullshit and they are too nice to say anything, and don't want to risk having me say more.

So I play my boring bland music to an empty house where everyone has gone out back to smoke one down because they just can't bear to sit through another one of these boring bland concerts of whiny nothingness. I suppose that I somehow sold out without selling a single ticket. I can hear my voice echoing off the back wall painfully. I can hear the words floating out of my throat, along with that vocal choke that goes with them. It seems like if there were someone here, it would be moving, but I'm singing such a sad little song that they have been chased from the amphitheater. They are through with being moved by me. They are through with histrionic desperation. I have to close my eyes to get through the song because they are burning and I keep looking at the ceiling so I don't have to look at all the empty seats. Maybe I would be able to pack the house if I could pack my suitcase.

Yeah and Nay.

I neglected to mention it yesterday, but congratulations to the Tarheels for making to the Final Four. Yeah for you.

Today's Beef: scheduled, yet unanounced power outages on campus. It is really dangerous to turn the lights off when people have power tools in their hands. So the university is on the top of my black list right now. Jerks.

Tired. Must sleep.

I'm Molting, I'm Molting...

What a world! I settled down in the tub tonight with a wonderful glass of red wine and with steam wafting upwards from the surface of the water. It was the first relaxing thing I've done for myself in quite some time. I needed it really bad.

After lounging like Darryl Hannah in Splash for about twenty minutes, I started to itch--which always seems to happen when I'm in hot water (the literal kind, not the metaphorical kind). I eventually employed the super-scratchy loofah. This is the funny thing about itches--they spread. So I'm scratching my belly, then my chest, then armpits, elbows and my neck. Then thighs, shins, calves and heels. And pretty much everything in between. It felt wonderful. I was like that cat that never tires of being scratched behind the ears, or on that one specific spot on her back. I must have lost four layers of skin. Like being reborn. I feel like a new person.

Like I rubbed away a whole history of things I've been through. Like I rubbed away summer, winter, and fall, Christmas, New Year's and Thanksgiving, just like that. Like I rubbed away the skin he touched. And the skin he didn't touch. And I'm loofah-ing it all away, wondering if this is how I wash him away, wash my hurt away. But actually, I think not. Those kinds of things are more than skin deep.

But on the bright side, now my skin will be new and soft and fresh for a day before it goes back to being scaly and dry like before. It will be touchable. It might even regain the glow it has had at certain points. Like lemondrops sucked to translusence? Maybe.

Gluttony IS Still a Sin

This one will be short because I'm exhausted, it's late, and I still have shit to do. Last night I was so tired I actually had dreams about sleeping. About wanting to sleep, specifically. Even my subconscious doesn't want to play right now. I had to drag my ass out of bed this morning so I could go to school and get really really really stressed out to the point I wanted to cry, and then I solicited a pep talk from the only person that would know what to say. And that helped. But having someone with me to be the voice of reason proved to be one of the most valuable things I had today. Plus my credit card. And a truck.

And here's a shout out to all you religious jerks that insist on getting the family together to go out for an obnoxious Easter Brunch: Fuck You. If it wasn't for you jackasses stuffing your face to celebrate the Crucifixion, I could actually get some rest tomorrow (or actually later today). I hope you are all proud of yourselves. So, when I collapse tomorrow and have to be revived via the defibrulator and/or mouth-to-mouth, just think of me as the chick who wants to die because you are stuffing all that disgusting, sneezed-on, picked over, fru-fru morsels. I'm dying because of your gluttonous sins. Some things will never change.

No Sleep

There are so many things going through my mind right now, the probability that this will be very cogent and/or understandable is extremely low. Sorry in advance.

I am exhausted. I haven't slept much all week (and not for fun reasons), and now it's getting close to ridiculous. I am tired, just not sleepy. Stressed, but not sleepy. Sad, but not sleepy. So, I'm extremely irritable, and am seriously considering quitting my job because they keep messing with my schedule, plus I'm not that attached to it to begin with. In short, they suck.

I made phone calls today. I hate that. I had to ask...no beg..for help because I don't know anything, have no skills, and am generally a moron when it comes to erecting anything animate OR inanimate. Even if, or because, I suck. At the moment, I am having to pray that the goodwill of other people will save me from certain failure and/or mental breakdown. Plus I have no tools, and no truck. This generally hinders the erection process. That was a joke. Laugh.

I am lonely. Even though nothing has changed, I feel incredibly alone right now. The people who are around me are still the people who are around me, and I am in serious need of someone that can stroke me and calm me down and make me actually believe that everything is going to be all right and then kiss me and make mad passionate love to me to help alleviate some of the stress that is causing all of this in the first place. And then tell me that even if I do end up a miserable failure, they'll still be seen with me in public. The candidate I would have voted for (for whom I would have voted) pulled out of the race, not that there really ever was one. I guess you could say he had it in the sack.

Tonight I was watching my favorite show, but not on the forbidden censorship channel. And Carrie's writing was preventing her from getting laid. I know I have had my feet held to the fire because of something I wrote before, even though it doesn't happen often (one of the reasons I don't mention the blah(g) to many people I know). I wonder how many times it has prevented me from getting laid. I wish that was really my excuse (you know, that I'm a famous writer making potential bedmates think twice about whether or not to be with me because I am soo famous and they are afraid I'll give them a bad rap and what-not). Sadly, I think my excuse is just, well, too lame and tragic to share (although if you've been paying attention, you should already know).

I think I'm getting sleepy. Gotta go.

Random Ramblings

Putting complete thoughts today is difficult, so these are just random ramblings.

When I blowdry my hair, I end up looking like the guy from Black Sabbath who visited my junior high and proclaimed that Christianity had saved him from a life of drugs, sex, and rock 'n roll.

I think a reason I am so weird about my weight is that when I'm underweight, I actually have a waist, which disappears as soon as those 10 pounds come back. (which makes me look like a fourteen year old boy)

Southern California weather sucks this year. We've gotten more rain than Seattle. Ick.

Ever notice how many blogs there are that are devoted to being a "better" Christian?

I recently aquired a spensive computer program, and today discovered that I have no idea how to use it. And I don't have a manual.

I think I got into the habit of being "a talker" because my first boyfriend (and I use that term very loosely) was not. He would call and just sit there, leaving me to do all the talking. It was hard at first, but I got used to it. I eventually got good at it. Now I can't stop it. I'm a monster.

I looked up an ex-friend yesterday, and found that she has been writing hippie articles in a hippie town for a hippie newspaper. I wonder if she ever found her hippie Mr. Perfect.

I also looked up an ex-boyfriend; the one who was going to be an architect. Apparently, he's started running half-marathons instead.

I'm nervous about going to France. And I'm sad that there will be no one there to share it with me. I hate being lonely.

Torture or the Truck?

My heart started pounding tonight and I thought I was having a heart attack. I suppose I was, but not the physical palpitating kind. It was the emotional oh my god it hurts kind. I wanted to talk to him and say hello and lots of other things that should never come out of my mouth when he is within earshot. I wanted to throw myself at his feet for the thousandth pathetic time, hoping that maybe this time something would be different. I don't know why.

For some reason, I have this belief that he isn't really listening to anything I say or he just forgets very quickly. I've been trying so hard to be chipper girl lately, that it almost feels like he might think I'm just fabulous and nothing about the whole situation is bothering me anymore. But he's smarter than that, and I know that. But my heart still wants to pour itself out as if it has something new to say that might change his mind. I have been wringing this cloth out for over a year, and not only is it not dripping wet anymore, it's not wet at all anymore. There is nothing left to say. There is nothing that will change his feeling. There is no way for me to change and make everything better and be exactly what he wants.

The thing is, when you spend so much time being chipper, the sadness kind of hits you all at once. When you let it do it's thing naturally, it just kind of drips incessantly. So this is the choice you have, and neither one is very desirable. You can either delay, then get levelled by a tractor trailer as soon as you are alone, or you can do the leaky faucet chinese water torture thing. Break every bone in your body, or slowly go insane. I know the studio audience is waiting, but I really don't know which to take: The torture or the truck?

Tough

It must be tough to be friends with me. Perhaps that's why I have so few. Or at least so few that actually want to be around me. Sometimes I feel like I'm wasting time with people. They always end up hurting me in the end. And there is always an end. Some just take longer to reach than others.

Home

Driving home often feels like going to the gallows. Not that there's anything wrong with my house, but it seems like the loneliest place in the world. No one will be there when I walk in the door. No one will be happy to see me; no one will greet me. It is the main thing that reminds me how depressing my life is. And when there's no sun, I'm stuck inside and there is nothing that can cheer me up. It feels dark all the time. I hate it.

I find myself biding time at school doing nothing. Putting off the drive home, the unlocking of the door, the walk through the foyer, turning on the lights, hearing nothing out there to comfort me. It's a cold house, even with the heat turned all the way up. I don't know how to avoid home. It's like the chain that keeps choking the dog at the edge of the yard. I would sleep in my car if I could. Somehow the feeling that lives in my house is so powerful, so inescapable, that I can feel it as soon as I start down the steps to the parking lot.

Strange Light

I sit here, under an eerie half light, waiting for my posts to post, wondering how this is happening. My stomach turns again, for no apparent reason, then lets out a grunt of disdain for my contant abuse. Laziness prevents me from changing the bulb. Gluttony made me eat that second cookie. Malaise keeps me from going to bed. But I am already there.

This is a strange light, a strange night, a strange fight. My stomach agrees sorrowfully. The hollow ping of something unidentified outside is becoming increasingly bothersome. Just like this light seems to be casting its pekid shadow across a mood that might otherwise be described as boredom. But it is not boredom. There is restlessness. There is resentment. There is fear. There is distress. There is disappointment. There is fatigue. There is an overwhelming desire to throw in the towel and admit defeat. To everything. I am defeated by my heart, by my ambition, by my blood and my standards and my own lofty expectations of what is supposed to happen from one second to the next. Tick. Tock. Two more seconds gone.

The whirr of my computer serves to remind me that something here is moving, but not going anywhere. These mechanisms only serve to cool the engine and prevent total meltdown. Like this light on this night as I wonder about a strange sense of melancholy; my fan is cooling off the parts that burn as they turn and twist and fidget into a chatty frenzy. Chit. Chat. Silence.

happy days are here again

happy days are here again
Originally uploaded by MY LIFE AS A HAINT.

Not my title or my photo. Still Cool. And blue.

Simple Question

Sometimes I think I have nothing left to say, and something will miraculously pop into my head like a cartoon bubble. This morning I was wonderfully without thought as I brushed my teeth, when a thought popped.

Was it difficult to be with me? Was I a terrible pain in the ass? Should I have been better? Nicer? Could I have been?

Of course, he's not here to answer those questions, and I'm not sure if I really want to know the answers anyway. But they still are hanging there above my head, just above those two little circles leading to the big one. I feel compelled to travel back in time and quickly take note of the three month period.

I should have been more forthcoming about my shortcomings. I should have remembered that no one wants to be around me as much as I think they do. No one wants to have to ask to be alone. I'm sure there's more I could know, but will never have the gumption to ask.

Imagining the simple question falling from my lips is nearly impossible. Was I really so bad?

Voyage

Today was better than yesterday. But I still woke up with certain things stuck like post-its to my brain. Like his cream colored flannel sheets. Like the feel and taste and smell of his neck. Like what ever happened to those little blue pills we were going to experiment with? Like the pop of the fire. Like the tangles of his hair.

Gone. All gone. It's been such a long time, and I still have so many mornings that I'm shocked to be in my own bed. It doesn't even seem to want me, as the covers creep towards the edge hoping I won't notice. 'Stuff' encroaches the space where he might lay, but only did once. The last night, in fact. Because the open blinds woke him up, and I would have never made a mistake liike that twice. That was the night I kissed him while I was crying; the last night he would ever hold me and comfort me.

How magically things seem to evaporate. How unfair that pain isn't one of them.

Every day it seems like a new drama; a new episode in a series that is in terrible need of cancellation. The network is crashing, but the show is still going on. I seem to reach a new attitude every day; a new solution to the quagmire, and every day I go to bed defeated yet again. Just when I think I've received an infusion of life, it is sucked out of me and I am left like a dried apricot to be chewed on by whoever happens by. The wind falls from my sails and I am stuck in the doldrums once again, with no land and no help in sight. The scurvy will befall the crew before much longer. It often seems it would be better to drown in the deep than stick to this voyage. What other voyage is there?

Rocks

Rocks
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Takeoff

Takeoff
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Learning

A lot can happen in a year. Or nothing at all. I feel like time might be marching on, but I have fallen behind and have skidded to a complete stop, all the while mumbling, what the fuck? Anyway, I dreaded the arrival of today, mostly becuase I was hoping that something would be different, and of course, nothing is. My heart is still in as many scattered pieces as it was 365 days ago, and there is no hope in sight that there will ever be any more or less.

Today I inadvertently began thinking of today as a day of remembrance, as if someone had died. But in a way, someone did, and it was me. Or we. Or something like that. At this very moment a year ago, I was crying on my couch after being shushed in a movie theater; was being told that he couldn't do "this" anymore, which was unexpected, inexplicable, and utterly devastating. Sometimes I wonder how I didn't drive myself off a bridge, because I really wanted to. Sometimes I still do.

And it has been a difficult year since then, as I have no idea how to 'get on with my life' when a life without someone I love isn't the kind of life worth getting on with. But I have somehow managed to trudge into today as I laid in bed lamenting my serious lack of anything worth caring about. However, there are things I have learned in the past year that I didn't know before. I learned that I have the strange ability (or even propensity) to devote every fiber of my being and my life to a single person. But I also learned that I have no idea how to show affection for that person. I learned that I have a plethora of extremely annoying habits that will most likely keep me single until the day I die. I learned that I have a strange curse when it comes to the opposite sex. I have learned that it is unbelievably easy to fall into every relationship trap that exists, especially that of the 'rebound' girl. I have learned that I had no idea who I was or what I wanted in the pre-he days. I have learned that nothing matters without someone to love and share things with you. I have learned how fragile my self-image is. I have learned what it is like to always be disappointed. I have learned that life is much more cruel than I could have ever imagined. I have learned that I am forever hopeful, and that is probably my biggest downfall.

On the other hand, there are things I haven't learned. For instance, I haven't learned if it was all worth it. I haven't learned if these lessons are good lessons to learn. I haven't learned how to avoid all the pitfalls and wrong turns. I haven't learned how to be better. Or different. Or special.

Helmet

Helmet
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Not My Picture

ms4 108
Originally uploaded by msiscoe.

Far Away, So Close

What strange days these are. For the past few days (ever since the not previously mentioned drunken escapade), I have felt good. Mostly. And I have no explanation for it. Maybe it is adrenaline. Maybe it is the sun. I don't know. What I do know is that there is still a pretty good dose of sadness and restlessness mixed in with it. I can't explain.

But here's a short version of how I got to this place in my head. I got more than tipsy the other night with some guys from class, and at some point in the car, one of them ended up licking my ear and putting his hand on my knee. I was drunk and horny, so I didn't stop him, but I wasn't really into it. (and that was all he did, by the way) There is nothing wrong with this guy. He's smart and funny and talented and nice and all that good stuff. But I'm just not into it.

The truth is, I don't really want anyone touching me except for that guy that broke my heart 363 days ago. And the other night proved it to me. It's not just something I decided in my brain. It's something that I feel in my heart all the way down to my bones. Even drunkenness doesn't make it go away. Neither does sexual starvation.

So today I'm sitting across from the heartbreaker and we're talking and laughing and I just want to say to him, why don't you want me? Because I want you a whole lot. More than either one of us can really grasp. Yes, I want to go on your yearly pilgrimage to Mecca with you. I want you to come to Paris with me. I want you to meet my parents and I want to name our kids together. And these aren't the fabrications of an idle mind. The are the wishes of a devoted, hopeful, and tenacious heart.

He hugged me goodbye before we parted this evening. It seemed like he was pulling me closer than normal, and as much as my mind resisted, my heart nestled my face into the curve of his neck where it likes to fit and where the smell of him lives most accessibly. And while my mind is saying don't even think about it; it's too far away, my heart is screaming it would be so easy; it's so close.

Baseball vs. Libido

So yesterday he came over with lunch and we ate outside. We talked about random stuff, and let the conversation lull into silence periodically. It was nice, because I felt like he was actually paying attention for once. But at the same time, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and hear him tell me something I didn't want to hear. He didn't. I wondered if he chickened out. I didn't bring anything up. I didn't want to spoil a decent afternoon.

He made a comment that was sexual in nature referring to me. I didn't know what to say, so I ignored it. Of course, I'd like to respond and let the afternoon progress into something physical, but my heart won't let me (at least it remembers). I wanted him so bad. It made me realize how easy it would be to fall back into everything with him. It would be frighteningly easy. But also difficult. It made me sharply remember how attracted I am to him. In my head I was going over all the parts of him that I know. It was difficult to think of something like baseball.

So, I leave the house and go to school, and I'm so worked up by a man that didn't even touch me that I could jump on any man who showed interest at this point. So I have to be careful. Because that's not me. It's my libido.

Coming Over

He called this morning and wants to come over and have lunch. I don't remember the last time he wanted to come to my house. Honestly, I'm a little scared. Usually when he asks me to do things with him, it means he has something he wants to tell me and things he wants to tell me are never good. But I'm not really sure what it is. It could be something about the ex that he wants to get off his chest. It could be that he has the hots for the brown eyed girl in class and wants my blessing to go out with her, which I would never give, but that ultimately it wouldn't matter much anyway. It could be some family thing. It could be something about me.

Then again, it could be nothing. Actually, I wish it was so that he could come over and profess his undying devotion to me and we could start over from the beginning, but I have come to realize that that will never happen, so there's no use preparing for it. One thing I do have to do is clean up around here, because if I don't, he will make fun of me incessantly. Sigh. I wish coming over for lunch wasn't so complicated.

The Train

I may have fucked up. I went out for pizza with him instead of repeating 100 times school only. I did write it down 3 times though. I thought that would be enough. I had some beer and got looser and looser and almost told him how my libido is getting out of control, but I stopped myself just in time. I didn't tell him how I randomly and spontaneously wanted to make out with another guy in my class that I have no interest in. At least I stopped somewhere. He asked if I was going to sleep in my own bed tonight, and for a second, I didn't know what to say. Because I don't really want to sleep in my own bed; I want to share a bed with someone. Preferrably him, but at this point, my standards have been lowered quite a bit. I would probably bed anyone who showed even a passing interest at this point.

But I still have to endure stuff. I am soooo yesterday. I realized that today. It's not like I had no idea, but it becomes more and more apparent every day, and when I saw and heard him flirting with the brown eyed girl for the second time, I got really upset. But of course I couldn't show it, or say anything, because then it makes me out to be a crazy person. But I'm still watching him flirt with this girl that I want to punch in the face and there's nothing I can do about it. So I repeat school only a couple more times and it doesn't help.

A year ago, things were so different. We were on a train together, smiling and laughing and wearing sweaters and looking at all the snow. We heard the engine scream the way it does, saw the steam coming out from behind the wheels, saw the river passing by at 40 miles an hour. The clock was ticking. I had no idea. It really was the time bomb ticking on the train. I sometimes look at the pictures from that day and marvel at how stupid I was. I was completely and totally in love with someone who grimaced in every picture like I was hurting him by just sitting next to him. I was so fucking stupid. I still am. Because I am still in love with this grimacing person who flirts with brown eyed girls and refuses to tell me anything about his life. Who refuses to look at me while he's talking to me (or at me, as the case may be) and watches NBA highlights on ESPN instead. Enough that I was compelled to ask him if he was following pro basketball now. He said no and continued to stare at the screen as if I were so ugly and deformed that if he were even to glance in my direction, his face might melt.

What the fuck is going on with me? Why am I so messed up? Why am I so unattractive to the opposite sex? I really don't want to succumb to believing that I am ugly, but I'm really not far away from it. Before you know it, I will be that girl with the acne and stringy hair that no one wants to be around, and no one really knows either. Great.

So the last time I really felt like I was a good person was a year ago, on a train that went to nowhere and back in the span of an afternoon. Maybe I lost it on that ride.

I Wish

He called me today. I really wasn't expecting it, partially because he rarely calls anymore, plus he never calls when I'm out of town, and we got into an argument last night. Or at least I thought we did. Maybe he doesn't, since he called. Or maybe he does, since he went out of his way to say hello today. I don't know. But what I do know, is that he doesn't seem to make time to call me very often anymore, so this seemed different.

I guess it makes me feel less angry about the call from last night. I felt like he was making some sort of effort. I almost wish he wouldn't, just so I could be angry for a while. Because when he's being nice to me I want him back so much I can hardly stand it and I think that the tone in his voice actually means something and I try to read between the lines when there are clearly no lines to be read.

I wish that things could be more clear and simple. I wish my emotions would do what I want them to do. I wish I didn't have so much baggage to carry around everywhere. I wish I had a terrible memory. I wish my coping skills were more finely tuned. I wish I wish I wish.

Cake

Cake
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Argumentative Sucker

We had an argument. A real one this time. And I was tired and cranky and half awake, so i don't even recall much of it, except that he said I had been argumentative in a previous conversation, which apparently makes it ok to gang up on me. First of all, I don't feel like I was argumentative; I was defending a friend that I felt was being unfairly judged. So apparently loyalty is useless, because he obviously wasn't showing me any.

God, what is the fucking point of having friends anyway? It seems like it will only be a matter of time before they sell you out for nothing. It seems like that has definitely happened in this case. Plus, I am always wrong and he is always right. And if I step out of line he smacks me down every time. Maybe that was the kind of girlfriend he wanted, and when I wasn't that, he demoted me to friend, and when I still can't do it, he demotes me even further. Let me make it clear that in this case, I am not sorry, either. He got involved in a conversation that had nothing to do with him, and I didn't change my position. Maybe he forgot that I actually do have a mind of my own, and I can (and do) think for myself.

The thing that I'm not sure of at this point is what is going to happen now. I will be going back to town tomorrow, back at school, and things are supposed to be business as usual. And perhaps they will be. Perhaps not. Because I'm not going to go back and apologize or pander to his whims. Plus I'm still kind of mad. I'm not in the mood to talk about it with him either. I want to keep things short and to the point (i.e. and actual work relationship), but I'm afraid that he'll flash that smile and give me a big he-hug, and everything will be all right, and I'll walk away feeling like a sucker again.

An argumentative sucker.

Feeling Stupid

Ok. I'm tired. I've gotten about 8 hours of sleep in the past two days. I'm cranky, because I ran around a church all day with a camera, which made my arms very sore and tired. Something bit me, and now I have this itchy sore spot on my ribs. I called him, because he said "call me". And he didn't answer. Twice. What gives? This comes from the person who claims to never go anywhere or do anything, yet he is clearly too busy to take my calls. Plus he probably doesn't have anything to say to me, which is pretty much how it is all the time anyway.

I am so stupid. I have said this many times before, and I will keep saying it. Last year we were having fun, and this year it's like we are strangers. The other day he started ganging up on me with another guy, about money of all things. And it wasn't even my money they were talking about. I walked away mad. I walked away frustrated. I walked away feeling betrayed. I walked away feeling stupid. I felt stupid yesterday when I called, and I felt stupid today. I'll probably feel stupid tomorrow too.

On Location

On Location
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

School Only

I have to keep repeating to myself: work relationship only. School only school only school only school only.

But like an idiot, I thought he meant it when he said, call me while you're out of town; I'd like to know how things are going. But he didn't. It's just something you say. "Call me sometime, we'll go out". Like that ever happens. But I'm stupid, so I believe it. And I call. And there's no answer. And there's no return call. And I'm picturing him standing over the answering machine with his hand dangling above the receiver. He hears my voice, and his hand drops to his side and he sits back down in his reading chair and thinks about more stuff that he doesn't want to talk to me about. And he thinks of more reasons he doesn't want to talk to me.

So I'm that girl now. The one that gets screened out. I used to be the one that got screened in; like being waved past the velvet rope. Those days are over.

And today I was eating dinner with the fam and for a second I looked away and had to try to forget about what I was doing on this day one year ago. He and I were eating a hearty midwestern meat and potatoes dinner while gazing into each other's eyes, glad to have some time to ourselves for a while. Our first (last, and only) vacation together. I remember the Western cowboy theme of the old mountain restaurant. I remember the dark wood paneling and the votive candles on the tables. I remember being tired from the flight. I remember being silly in the airport; getting lost in the dark, exploring our hotel room. I thought we were happy together. I was.

Little did I know I only had one week of life left. After that, it would be all over. This was like the calm before the storm. A last hurrah before he shoved me overboard in mid-sigh. And since then I have sunk like a rock, and have recently gotten used to the idea that I will probably never surface again. There will be no more sighs, no more votive candles, no more romantic getaways, no more airport silliness.

The tide has turned and churned and risen and fallen and now I am just a voice on a machine. And an unwelcome voice at that. School only school only school only school only school only.

Dreams Decifered

I remember a lot of my dreams. I usually don't try to figure out what they mean. It seems like more trouble than it's worth. However, I do have a lot of dreams involving a particular ex, and happened to run across a dream dictionary. So these are the possible meanings of dreams that involve either having sex with the ex, being abandoned by the ex, and being lost without the ex. I also dream in color frequently.

Could he really be sending me telepathic messages?

Ex-lover

1. The ex-lover is thinking about the dreamer intensely, and projecting telepathic messages towards her which she receives in her dreams.
2. Incompletions with this person that need to be resolved within the dreamer before he is truly free to move on to a new relationship.
3. Similarities between this past relationship and situations now in the dreamer's life. Solutions to current difficulties may be resolved by the dreamer's remembering how he dealt with the ex-lover.

Sexuality/Sex

1. If the sexual encounter is with someone the dreamer loves and desires, and who reciprocates his or her feelings, then happy times with that person lie ahead. If the encounter is with someone whose feelings the dreamer isn't sure of, it could mean the same, but it could also be nothing more than a wish-fulfillment dream. Look to other symbols in the dream in order to discern its true meaning.
2. If the encounter is an unpleasant one with either a stranger or someone whom the dreamer does NOT like, the dreamer is trying to avoid a distasteful choice or confrontation that perhaps should actually be faced.
3. If the encounter is a pleasant one with a partner that the dreamer does not know, then the dreamer is about to gain something that he's been wanting for a long time. Again, to ascertain what it is, look to other symbols in the dream.

Abandoned

1. A sense of emptiness, of having no one around whom you can depend on. Bewilderment.
2. Betrayal by someone who loves you, like that suffered by the children in the story of Hansel and Gretel.
3. The need for self-sufficiency.

Color

1. Red: Good news. Passion. Anger. A warning to control your temper.
Astrological parallel: Aries.
2. Blue: Enlightenment. Insight. Relief from worry. Assistance from outside sources.
Astrological parallel: Libra.
3. Green: Peace. Tranquillity. The Earth. Money. A journey. Good news.
Astrological parallel: Taurus.
4. Yellow: Intellect. A problem or puzzle to be solved. Possible setbacks. Gemini. Also: Gold: Leo.
5. Pink: Love. Compassion. The attainment of a dream.
6. Purple: Spirituality; status in one's own circle. Increased social life, or the desire for same.
7. Orange: Message from a great Master. Metaphysical or spiritual knowledge.
8. Brown: Illness. Materialism.
9. Black: Unhappiness. A rough road ahead. Something that the dreamer needs to know. In extreme cases, a death—BUT THE DREAMER'S DEATH IS NEVER SHOWN.
Astrological parallel: Scorpio.
10. White: Purity. Success well earned.
11. Gray: Gray is a rather depressing color; some mystics believe it to be the color of the aura of a prison. Some sources believe it to indicate a slow period in the dreamer's life, when he or she is merely "marking time."
12. A swirl of color: Great joy, happiness, success. Dreams attained. Luck in love.

Lost

1. If the dreamer is lost, there is a department in his life in which he has "lost his way." Look to other symbols in the dream to judge which department this is. If in the dream he finds his way, all should be well. But if he awakens before he finds himself, he should probably seek outside help with regard to the matter in question.
2. If an object is lost, or a beloved friend or pet, the dreamer needs to assess what that object or being, and the loss thereof, means to him. For example: A dream of losing one's wallet could mean fear of financial loss. Look to other symbols in the dream to find ways to avoid what one fears.

The Replacement

The man I love is gone. One day, he was just gone. There was this man that was everything I could ever hope for. He listened intently to everything I said. He brightened whenever he saw me. He loved the sight of me sleeping in his bed in the morning. He loved the sound of me walking in without knocking. He loved sitting by the fire together. He loved sitting in the sun together. He loved being silly together. He loved sharing. He loved feeding me. And my soul. And my body. He loved the particular tone of my skin. He loved my new outfits, and the not so new outfits. He loved leaving messages for me to get after work. He loved spontaneous sleepovers. He loved traveling together. He loved gossiping. He loved being alone together. He loved snuggling. He loved laughing. And then one day, he was gone. And I haven't seen him since.

There's just this guy who tolerates me coming into a room. A guy that lets me talk while he thinks about other things. A guy that doesn't want me in his house, his bed, or his private life. A guy who wants to keep me as far away as possible. Who doesn't share. Who doesn't notice new or old outfits. Who wouldn't notice if I showed up naked. Who just wants to be alone. Not a very welcome replacement.

Grandma's House

Grandma's House, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Hidden Stories Hurting

So recently he told me that he doesn't want to tell me something because he is concerned about hurting me. I believe that, but I also think, yeah, right. Because he hurts me all the time, as my previous posts demonstrate. But this is somehow different in his mind.

I know why. It isn't because he's so concerned about hurting me, it's because he just doesn't want to tell me. We've reached a stage in our so-called friendship where he keeps things from me. That doesn't sound like friendship to me. I tell my friends things. I confide in them. I tell them things that I don't tell my family or my co-workers or people in class or strangers on the street. That is what friends are; it's what they do.

I realize that this particular friendship is more complicated than most, but it seems that it is only whatever he wants it to be. If he wants to talk, we talk. If he wants to hang out, we hang out. If I want something, I'm on my own. So what we have here is a one-sided friendship. Or, as I'm more inclined to think, no friendship at all.

So I say fine. Be that way. I thought I was being a good friend by listening to him talk about things that were important or things that were bothering him, but that's not what he wants. He wants someone that he doesn't have to pay much attention to, will leave him completely unburdened, and won't ever ask any questions. So I guess this is it. This is my decision.

There is no friendship anymore. There is only a nonchalant school working relationship of help me with this test and I'll see you in class and are those papers graded yet. If it is too difficult to trust me, to talk to me, to pay attention to me (three new outfits in one week and not ONE comment), to listen to what I have to say, then screw it. Don't bother. Because that's what is hurting me. Not those stories you're keeping from me.

The Forbidden Show

I was watching the Forbidden show again today, mostly because I'm procrastinating. The thesis, unfortunately, refuses to write itself. Anyway, I found myself marvelling at how many relationships these women have been in and out of. Relationship of which out and in they have been??? Sorry. Back to the point, which is not prepositions. They bounce back from heartbreak in this amazing fashion, as if it's nothing more than going from breakfast to lunch to dinner. And here I am, stuck at lunch. Or after lunch, as the case may be. Starving for food and not getting any, because I'm still thinking about lunch.

I thought, if there was a show mimicking my life, it would be pretty boring. There would be no steamy love affairs, no flirting, no dates, no nothing. It would be a woman going from here to there and back again. It would be long looks and downcast eyes; inwardly sad moments and disappointments. And don't forget the self-loathing. There would be plenty of that. Plus a hint of self-righteousness. This is the life I lead. Listening to bluesy Billie Holiday songs and bitter, pleading Nina Simone tunes. Laying in bed at two in the afternoon. Rifling through clothes that will never make a difference. Deep sighs and long escapist showers. Staring at burning candles to induce sleep. Strange dreams. Staring at old paintings. Obsessive worrying. That is the show. Good thing no one has to watch it.

Composers' Political Compass

composers, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

The Composers' Political Compass

Writers and artists have been generally more engaged in the big political debates of their day than composers, and their views are often more easily discerned through their works. So how well can we tell the positions of the great composers ?

Woody Allen quipped that every time he heard Wagner, he was overcome with the urge to invade Poland. The positions of most others are less clear in their work, although we can hear the difference between the assertive nationalism of Wagner and the gentle folk nationalism of Dvořák or Grieg. In the case of opera, of course, there are more clues. Mozart's, for example, dealt with class war (The Marriage of Figaro) and the liberal values of the Enlightenment. Biographies often provide helpful political information as well. Some composers, like Bartók, were known to have championed the underdog and sometimes clashed with the authorities as a result. Others, like Stravinsky, Mascagni and Puccini, enthusiastically embraced fascism. Still others, like Smetana and Tchaikovsky, were tolerant individualists who kept their distance from mass movements.

Because of the relative paucity of information, our composers' political chart is largely for amusement. People like Schubert, Bach, Debussy and Donizetti, who don't seem to have left any hints of their politics, have been left out altogether.

I got this off a website called politicalcompass.org. I took the test and I am happy to report that I fall in the same area as Bartok and Shostakovich(a couple of personal faves), as well as Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, and The Dalai Lama. I think I'm in good company.

Slip of the Tongue

I have this charming habit of pushing unpleasant things to the side and letting them fester for a while before thinking about them again. And this is it today: I marvel at how glib he can be when he knows how easy it is to wound my already fragile self-esteem.

He was glib when he asked me if I wanted to meet a man. I almost burst into tears as soon as he said it. Obviously, he thought I was kidding when I said he broke my heart. But that was many months ago, and I let it slide.

But this time, he started it. He went away for a few days, and when he came back, he asked me if I had missed him. I said yes. He said A lot? And I quietly admitted it. Then I followed with Did you miss me? And he came back with a quick I didn't think of you one time. I'm pretty sure he is kidding, but that's what's so fucking hurtful. He never laughed or said just kidding. It also seems diabolical to leave that possible kernel of truth in my lap, especially since I never asked for it. Asking someone if they miss you always gets the return question. It is inevitable.

So this is the Catch-22. If he did think about me and miss me, then there is some underlying emotion, and he is choosing to kid me about it, or lie about it. If he did not think about me and miss me, then he just brought the whole thing up to make himself feel better and make me feel worse. But the third option is that he never gave any thought to what he was saying because he doesn't care that his glibness can hurt me, and does.

Friendship

Friendships are complicated. Especially this one. I'm still in love with him, and he often reminds me that he does not feel anything remotely similar, and repeats that we are not in a relationship. As if I could have forgotten. I have tried so hard to be normal around him, to be cheerful around him, to give the impression that I am living a full life on my own. Of course it's not real, but I don't know what else to do. The mopey me was so tiresome. For us both. I fear her inevitable return. (Or did she ever really leave?)

But sometimes he hits me with something that I can't wave off and can't hide. My feelings aren't buried, only just under the surface like the apple cider under my whipped cream. The top of it melts so quickly when the cider is hot. I try so hard to support him and make him feel like he can talk to me about things, and apparently I am failing miserably. Because he is still keeping things from me and then couching it in 'trying to protect me'. I believe he doesn't want to hurt me. But what I don't understand is how keeping things from me isn't just as hurtful as telling the truth. And when I know he's keeping things from me, my imagination is promised to run so wild that the truth would be easier to stomach. Plus, I have come to understand in the last ten years that omission is still lying. I don't deal well with lying.

I asked him point blank today if he was seeing someone. He quickly replied no. I believe him. But I know that if he were and I didn't ask, he wouldn't tell. Sort of a Clinton-esque policy, I guess. I wanted to explain that my stomach turned when I read his writing on a paper in class; a paper that wasn't mine, but he knew I would see. The same words he said to me back in the days before I knew what was about to run me over and he was relegated to flirting in a not-so-subtle way.

I couldn't look at this girl as I handed her paper to her. Just like I couldn't look at her when she sat talking to him while he ignored me. My stomach turned, just like it turned when he joked with her after class while I stood there wondering what I should be doing or thinking or saying. I started to shake, just like I did when I confronted him about the quirky blonde rumor that had been circulating in my gut for over a month.

But I can't talk to him about this, because he doesn't want to deal with my feelings anymore. They are more than he wants to put up with. He wants me to be the fun hors'devours, the pigs in a blanket, not an entree. Not the roast lamb with the chianti reduction and the beet coils and lemon zest. But unfortunately, that is what I am. The lamb led to the slaughter; sacrificed in some pithy meaningless ritual that didn't mean anything to the theologan in repose, but meant everything; meant the end for the lamb.

But these days they don't call it sacrifice. They call it Friendship.

Winter

Maybe moods are a substitute for weather. Since I've moved to California, it seems like I have reached the highest high and the lowest lows. I don't remember ever ping-ponging so fiercely before. This is the weather inside my head. And it has been snowing a lot. Blizzard.

The past couple of weeks I have felt the flakes of snow falling in my head, with that chill and the soft deadness it brings with it. I feel numb, but not numb. Dead, but not dead. It is an inevitable darkness that comes when the whole world is one color and there is no sun. It is all gray. It is sunny outside, so my mind makes a winter behind my eyes, so I won't forget what it feels like to be cold. Or to be left in the cold.

So many years of snow have passed, and this is the first that seems to stretch on forever. Warmer temperatures will not thaw this one. It is ongoing and unstoppable. It chills me from the inside out.

FEMA

I am an eating machine. For the past few days, I just can't seem to keep my mouth shut. And every time it is open, there is food going into it. I shudder to imagine how this is translating in pounds, and especially to the pooch of my stomach and the curvature of my ass. Not to mention my thighs.

I know I said I wanted to gain a few pounds, but at this rate, I'll look like a circus grade fat lady by May, which is really when I want to look as svelte as a superstar should. My friends would say I'm eating as much as a normal person should, but I haven't had a normal person diet since Mom was cooking my three squares a day-that's around 70 years in dog years. When I'm not eating, I'm starving and thinking about eating. And of course there's nothing in the house except Goldfish and potato chips. Those are lovely, but not filling. And of course not terribly healthy as a stand alone meal, which is what they've become.

How long before either my hunger or my laziness give up? I must say, I am looking forward to the impending visit to the fam where I will be fed whenever my heart desires leftovers. (which isn't very often, but beggars can't be choosers) When I return, I will have to drag out the dreaded scale and examine the damage, much like the President tours Florida after the hurricanes level as many trailer parks as possible. FEMA might have to be called in.

Sad Sadder Saddest

Today I left the hippie chiro feeling kind of sad because I was thinking of him and how bad I want to be kissed by him. But it was a beautiful day and I didn't have anywhere to be, so I decided to go check out the vintage clothing store I have passed so many days before. I ended up with this red and white striped dress that caused the gay guy to exclaim how well my shoulders filled the dress. Yes, I have big shoulders, And he said he had the same problem with his dresses.

Anyway, his fervor led me to buy the dress; I got as worked up as he was, and I felt like a schoolgirl playing dress-up with an old friend. My excitement lasted even after I left the store, and I couldn't wait to get home and shave my legs so I could wear it to school. It was going to be a good day. I read the mail outside in the sun, and nearly fell asleep in the warmth. It was nice. It was a nice day.

When I started to get ready for school, I got excited again about my new dress. I was hoping for the same reaction from him as I'd gotten from the fun gay guy at the store. I was sorely disappointed. I walked in, he looked up with a 'Hey, you're dressed up' and promptly returned his nose to his papers. I wasn't even sure if I was welcome to join him. But I did anyway. I set my backback down before sitting, trying to give him another chance to notice my new requisition. Failed. I remember when he used to notice when I bought a new pair of socks or earrings, much less a whole dress. And I was sad again.

Because I'm unnoticeable. So I sat, wondering if he was going to look up at all and bother himself with me. I started going through the envelope in my hand and thinking about whether or not I should have come here at all. And he finally looks up and asks me 'So what are you doing here?' like I've ruined his plans or something. And I'm sadder.

We talk about a few things here and there, and the conversation sputters into him looking for rescue from people from class. I thought I had come prepared with lots of conversation topics: the teaching job, the evaluations, the trip to France, the school gossip, the new dress (although that one had been obliterated as soon as I arrived). He asks about a hotel in the Midwest so he can go visit the mother of the woman he loves instead of me and he might as well slap me across the face.

I'm here and he can't even concentrate on the fact that this is ME because he is so busy thinking about the person that really matters to him and taking trips to boring places as a result of her and I wonder about his alterior motives for visiting the mother. I also wonder why I am so boring to him again. Capturing his attention is nearly impossible now, and I don't even know why I still try. And I'm saddest.

I'm hopeless. Pathetic. There is no reason for me to believe that my life will ever be different. That I will ever feel loved in Paris.

Virtual Me

Virtual Me, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Supposedly, this is what I look like. I think the most accurate part is the zombie-like look in the eyes.

Aggressive Knife Holder

Fun. Scary. Interesting. Voodoo?