Television Multitasking

I've been watching too much reality TV lately. It's strangely addictive. I hate it. I love it. I spend the entire time thinking about how much better I could do whatever it is they are doing. That I could kick all their asses. Which may or may not be true, but I can make myself a legend in my own mind if I want to.

But I can't help but think back to the good ol' days when I used to watch Star Search with Ed McMahon. The singing competition, the acting, the comedy, the modeling. Split up by gender, of course. And nothing much has changed, except that instead of everything going on in one half hour, it takes an entire season of full hour long shows so that they can show how psycho people are when you throw them into uncomfortable situations with total strangers.

It often seems like talent is secondary to who is going to create problems. And people have this strange desire to always see other people cracking up into a million little pieces when the going gets tough. But in the end, it's still just some lame show from the eighties. I had a hard time turning that one off too.

Would we all spend less time watching TV if we could roll these shows into one that gets right to the point? Would we be more loyal to the whole thing? The Apprentice. Survivor. The Starlet. American Idol. America's Next Top Model. The Bachelor. The Bachelorette. All in one half hour. One stop shoppping. We roll everything else in life into one, why not this too? It could be like the mall of television. Is this the one area where people want to keep everything separate? Not multitask with television talent?

Feel Pretty

Sometimes I feel really lonely even though nothing changes. But it seems like I am bombarded by things that keep telling me that I am not beautiful and no one cares about me and I don't really matter. There's no one that wants to take pictures of me and show them to their friends or talk about how great I am. Or tell me I'm beautiful. And since I'm not hearing anything to stop me, I believe that I am more and more ugly every day. Every minute. Every milli-second I'm fatter, my boobs are smaller, my skin is drier, scalier, I'm more awkward, out of shape stupid and lame.

I'm watching TV and realizing that there's nothing different about me compared to the women there, except that they get attention. So someone loves them more than anyone loves me.

I don't know how to fix myself. To get the hair and the make-up and the body and the personality that will make people look at me instead of through me. Aren't I special too? Who's there to help? I know it's lame to want someone to make you feel good about yourself, but sometimes you just need a little boost from someone besides your mom. Not that I get many from her anyway. I'm usually on my own on that one. And sometimes being on your own can be difficult.

Obviously, no one cares about you as much as you want to be cared about. No one wants to pick up a phone and say, you know, I think you're really beautiful. And not just your personality. You're someone I find myself staring at all the time because you have the most amazing shoulders/lips/eyes/neck/toes. Whatever. It doesn't even matter what they like about me, as long as they like something. Find something nice to say about me. Please.

It makes the day so much easier to get through. I just want to be pretty. And feel pretty.

Butterfly

I feel fat. I feel disgusting. I haven't felt this gross maybe ever. I need to turn the TV off because I'm starting to feel as bad about myself as a person could. I hate pretty girls. I hate girls that don't have to wear glasses. Girls with big boobs. Tall girls. Exotic looking girls. I hate them all. I just want to crawl back into my bed and pull the covers over my head and disappear. I don't want anyone to see me like this. Maybe it could be like the caterpillar in the cocoon and I'll come out as a butterfly.

Escape Route

Stress. In my neck and in my head. I can't seem to get rid of it. I am suddenly plagued with this idea that I don't know who I am anymore. I have been away from my regularly scheduled life for such a long time, I have to get reacquainted with it. I lost my place, lost my mindset. I forgot what I was doing. Where was I?

I can't help but feel lost. And lonely. There have been big changes, one on top of the other, so the original is completely unrecognizeable. I seem to vaguely recall that that was exactly what I wanted. But I'm not sure. I guess I wanted something in particular that was different from before, but now that I've obliterated just about every old part of my life and the habits in it, I'm not sure how to rebuild it the way I want it to be. My architect hasn't drawn up the plans, so I'm still sitting on an empty lot. But I have to have some sort of house to live in soon. I can't let my raw self sit in the elements indefinitely.

So I have to come up with something, and quick. But what? I also seem to recall not wanting to make any more decisions and not wanting to have any more responisibilities. I just don't remember how I was going to pull that off. It seemed like it was clear back then, but my mind has been clouded by irregularity. And shoved into memory. Which I think was exactly what I was trying to get away from.

Funny, I'm trying to get away from memory by remembering the escape route. And I can't remember where the trap doors are, either. As my mom says, I need to just meditate on the things I want and let them happen. Listen to "my spirit". Whatever that means. Is that the same as intuition? Can this so called spirit show me the escape route? The road map? The trap doors? The pitfalls?

It is like a never-ending maze of wrong and right turns that follow me around every corner. This question of who I am and what I want and how I'm going to get it. Will I ever really know? Or is the escape route really just a myth to keep me going?

Tired

I'm not sure if it's just the way it is, or PMS, but some strange mood is taking hold. I told feel sad exactly, but not really happy either. More like apathy and melancholy mixed together. I'm not concerned that I haven't done any of the things I need to have done today. I know they are important, and on some level I want to do them, but I just can't bring myself to. I want to sit in the sun, but the gumption to actually do it escapes me entirely. I just want to sit and literally do nothing, and I don't know why. Perhaps I'm just tired.

Bye

Mom left today. I guess that is about the amount of time it takes to get tired of company. I think my mom is great. But I was ready to have my life back. I hope it is still there for me to want. Sounds overly dramatic, I know, but sometimes I wonder what things will be like once they get "back to normal". Is there such a thing?

My mom is a firm believe in the power of positive thinking. But in a more metaphysical way than most people. And in a way, I hope/wish she could be right. I can think positively. But I am also easily disappointed. I need instant gratification. If I think positively about something I want to happen, and it doesn't happen for thirty years, I don't think I'm going to be attributing it to positive thinking. And I never underestimate the power of chance. Things just happen. Without meaning, without choice, without deservedness. That's one of the things I have to believe, or else my whole life means something completely different.

Oh well.

Mom

Mom comes to town today. The sun is just starting to poke its head out. Hopefully the weather will be nice while she's here.

My mom is cool. A little weird, but cool. She will probably tell me she misses the dog. She will probably forget her cell phone, which is sitting on a shelf at home, plugged in but not turned on. She will probably not bring a swimsuit, even though she really wants to go to the beach. She will probably try to garden in my backyard. She will probably look disapprovingly in my refrigerator. Shake her head at my hedonistic wine collection. She will probably be stunned that I don't live like a total beggar. Ask me how I pay for certain things (wine in particular...sales, Mom, sales...see, I WAS paying attention all those years).

Hopefully she will take the opportunity to relax and be away from everything she is responsible for. The dog, dad, work, flowers, the cars, the house, and so on.

Anyway, she'll be here soon. I hope I can show her a good time.

Tags

Wine. Whine. What's the difference?

He came in today and shared some with me. Plus conversation. He repeatedly mentioned Big D and the lament that she and I are not friends. I still find it amazing that he doesn't understand why I don't like her. I don't like her because he does. It's really that simple. And that complicated. But this is the second time in two days that he's brought it up, so it is obviously weighing on his mind heavily. I don't completely understand why he wants me to like her so much. She's never given me a reason to like her. I tried to be nice, and she shrugged me off like a second-hand cardigan. And I refuse to be that. I also refuse to play second banana to her perpetually insecure narcissistic self; slip into the role of the ugly girl of the group. As many problems as I have with myself, I do draw the line somewhere.

But it pisses me off that he finds her so amazing. What is so great about her? I really don't know. And with every sentence, I can see why he likes her. Because she is everything that I am not. She is eternally unemployed, lies about it to get money, then talks about herself badly and then emasculates unsuspecting men for no apparent reason. Bluntness, deceitfulness, etcetera. He likes that. And these are things that I don't possess. He said so himself. That we are complete opposites, he said.

He is probably right. I only have a vague impression of her, plus the green hue of my jealousy to cast the light upon her. Because when he sits with her on the beach, he knows he is sitting with a hot chick. When he sits with me, he knows he is sitting with a woman that no man looks at. With her, he knows he is with the woman that controls the party. With me, it is the woman who goes with the flow. She is the one that resists authority. I am the one that endures it. She is narcissistic. I am self-effacing. She is obnoxious. I am reserved.

But as many times as he will deny it, I know that he often prefers her to me. Because she doesn't force him to think about how he functions in her life. As he said, things don't have to be "addressed" with her. There is freedom with her. Even though he is often embarrassed with her. I can never be that. Ever. I will always have a complicated relationship with him. One that I will always have to explain to people who will never understand. I am the woman that he never wanted. But did at the same time. The one that came with "All Sales Final" tags attached. He didn't bother to pay attention to the tags.

Re-cycling

I cooked. Asparagus. It's almost like I am actually a grown-up. Except for the childish pettiness I constantly engage in. But in the recent past, I have attempted to get as far away from my emotions as possible, and as a result, I have been mostly content. They are impossible to squelch completely, so when they do override everything else, they come on so strong it is almost like being run over by a truck. So I must regroup and make another attack against them so I can see the world in the appropriate light again. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

I keep running through things that comprise the most banal sections of my life, of the world I live in. Groceries. Phone calls. Lunch. Work schedules. Books. Moving in. Moving out. cooking. Driving. Getting gas. Making appointments. Paying bills. Cleaning up. Laundry. E-mails. Shopping. Showering. Washing my hair. Taking vitamins. Taking out the trash. Watering the herbs. Wine. Getting the mail. Locking the door.

A neverending list of things I do every day to keep the deeper thoughts at bay. Take care of what's on top. The other stuff is too muddled to organize anyway. If I let it be, perhaps it will settle itself, like a riverbed disturbed by the wading feet of a fisherman. Lay the pieces in a new configuration, with new meaning, new possibilities. The material stays the same, but holds infinite possibilites of design for the future inside me.

Wash the dishes. Rewind the videotape. Recycle.

Plan B

I am going to try to write about this and be done with it. Put it away and not think about it anymore. An experiment.

I went to the beach today, but made a preemtive phone call to see what he was doing. He was procrastinating. Our call was abruptly cut short when the quirky blone chick popped her head in to his house before going down to the beach. He called me back and told me this. No! I'm going there! She can't go too!

I had to switch to plan B. Go to the other beach that isn't far away, but is still far enough. But maybe today it wasn't. I jumped the three feet down onto the sand and resolved to make the best of things. After all, I don't care about her, I can watch out for her, and hopefully avoid her. Hopefully she doesn't know I'm around.

I sit. I read. I let the sun beat down on the back of my legs in the way it does that tells me my skin is changing color. I listened to the kids next to me talk about how young they were when they started drinking alcohol. And how much they drank. I watched the guy with the wobbly puppy and the guy who's dog plays fetch in a strange ADD kind of way. I watched the boys throw a football, then catch it as they jumped backwards into oncoming waves.

Eventually, I had to pack up and go home. As I walked away, I looked back towards the area where she might be and I spotted her, but only because he was with her. He is unmistakeable, even from far away. I felt a knot in my stomach, and remembered him saying something about not ruining my day. Consider it ruined. Not because she was there, but because he had obviously made a choice to be with her and not me. Made the choice to procrastinate further because of her, after telling me he couldn't visit me. He always says it isn't a competition, but today, she obviously won.

He knows I don't like her. I try to be a good sport about her. But really, my bad feelings aren't because of her alone. They are because of how he relates to her. How he exhalts everything she does or says into something incredibly important, or at least more important than me. How he giggles at her cuteness, guffaws at her bluntness, and drops everything whenever she beckons.

And after this, I don't want to talk about it. I want to forget it ever happened. Because I was reasonably content for most of today. Perhaps the mantra is working.

My Party

It's my party. I'll cry if I want to. And for some reason, I really feel like it. I'm not sure why. Probably a combination of things. Like the inability to use complete sentences. It could have something to do with the movie I just watched (a manipulative, tear-jerking drama-yuck!). But for some reason I don't think that's really it. That was just the catalyst. Suddenly I've re-discovered that hole inside me that is incredibly lonely and I don't have any idea how to fill it up. It is a cavern of creakiness and echoes inside me chest. It covers up the beating of my heart.

It's my party. I'm having second thoughts. I'll have to come up with a pretty good front in front of everyone. My glow wore thin, then off. For a few days, I was happy. I felt good. Back to the grind. I keep trying to refurbish the thoughts from before, but they are stubborn. I keep telling myself I gave up trying; gave up decision-making; gave up analyzing. It helps. It doesn't erase.

I couldn't help notice how he kept such a physical distance from me. It feels strange. Like someone else has inhabited his body. Or maybe that was the other day. But there is no mention, no hints, no help. I try to blame it on the full moon. One of us is probably a little 'moonie'. Most likely me; my cycles go with it. I have to keep telling myself these things. It works for a while. I realize it's not me or the moon, but that doesn't make it stop hurting. It doesn't make me less lonely.

I feel like I've turned into a liar. Something I've always been proud of not being. White lies, mostly, but lies nonetheless. To him, to my friends, my family. Especially to myself. What is the difference between lies and beliefs? Beliefs have to be true? Like I said, I try not to think too much on these things.

I'm not steering. I'm pretty sure the vehicle is out of control anyway. Just like me. And my party.

My New Mantra

Lazy day. I called dear ol' Dad to wish him a happy day. He wasn't home and didn't call back. For once I actually sat on the couch and did absolutely nothing. It felt great. I went to work; the kind of day at work that it should be all the time, but isn't. Got home. No calls.

I'm trying to not slip down to where I was before. I was doing so well. I'd like doing well to last more than a week. He went away for the weekend and should be back today. I thought he might call, but he didn't. I wanted him to. Not that it's a big deal. I just wanted him to. I keep telling myself that I'm not making these kinds of decisions any more, so it's ok. My new mantra has arrived. I'll try not to wear this one out so fast.

At least when I'm not driving I don't have to sit and debate about whether or not I should call. If he wanted to talk to me, he would do the seven digits. I just wait. And try not to worry about things. Because really, there's nothing to worry about. It's all just me. And now this is me not fretting. Or at least trying not to. We'll talk tomorrow. That's fine. That's his decision. I'm ok with that. That's what I wanted. To not want. Don't leave me, mantra.

Summer, Sunday, and Screaming

Yeah! Another post from my perpetually twisted head. And right now incredibly frustrated, angry, sore throat from screaming head. I hate my job. I actually called someone at midnight tonight and begged him to help me out. Help me get out. I've found that when I starting screaming at work, that's usually the signal to get out of there as fast as possible.

Tomorrow is Father's Day. Am I a total loser/bad daughter because I didn't buy my dad a gift that he would never use as long as he lives? I sent him an e-card. I'm planning on calling him. But I feel bad because I forgot his birthday because I was having fun in France. So I feel like I need to pay pennance or something. Tomorrow is also my weirdo brother's birthday. I still can't believe weirdo brother has a girlfriend, but that's another story. I didn't buy him anything either. I didn't even send him an e-card. And I can't call him because he doesn't have a phone(doesn't want to "waste" the money on one). I don't feel as bad about that since he never sends me anything on my birthday. I don't think he even knows when it is. My family is so close. But whatever.

I have to work again tomorrow, but I begged my boss to let me stay home if he doesn't need me. I don't want to be screaming two nights in a row. My vocal cords can't take it. Neither can my nerves. And all the other people's ears that I chew on about the whole thing.

Another week of summer is gone. It makes me sad. Another holiday is right around the corner, signaling half of the summer gone. And signalling nothing accomplished.

I do have a nice tan, though.

Comfortable

Went to the beach where all the kids like to go. I've only been there two other times. I am always reminded why I can't stand that place whenever I go there. Annoying guys flying loud kites that swoop dangerously close to people. Tourists. Guys who are trying to hook up, but don't know that their all-over back tattoo of a dragon, their cans of Bud Light, and that beer gut does not make them attractive. Even if I were suffering from a hallucination brought on by sun stroke, they'd still have no chance.

So today my sheen starts to wear off as I start re-seeing my imperfections; where I missed a spot shaving, that little bulge right under my belly button that stubbornly hangs on, no matter how many sit-ups I do. My nerdy glasses I require in order to see anything or anyone my friend happens to be talking about. How my boobs sooo don't fill out this bikini.

Three days it took for the shine to dull. But actually, I don't care. I'm mostly comfortable with it. It was a beautiful day at the ocean with nary a cloud in the sky with my girlfriend who loves to be goofy and talk about everyone just like I do. I thought about him from time to time, wondering if he was having a good time at his mountain retreat with the fam. Wondering if he's thinking about me. If he wishes he were with me. But I'm glad I'm having fun even though he isn't here. Even though I'm on this beach I hate. Even though I have to work today. It's all ok. I'm comfortable.

Steering

It seems like there should be certain subjects I don't mention on the blog, but really, I don't care all that much. Only a couple of people that know me read it, so it's fairly safe to divulge the super-secret sections of my life. They both know what a kinky crazy person I am.

I guess there's something inside me that isn't defunct. Something that helps me to preserve myself. Or at least not destroy myself completely. I'm not sad. I'm not angry. I'm not wretched. I'm content. Happy. Energetic. I feel beautiful. Weird.

I bitch and whine and moan about this man who broke my heart so long ago; everything he does and says gets shuttled straight to my heart for scrutinization to see if it was hurtful or not, how it is making me feel, and so on. I can't take anything he says or does with a grain of salt. I make mountains out of molehills. I can't help it.

But sometimes he also makes me happy. And when he does, it can last. He touched me in a way that made me think it was something just for me; specially designed for me, my body, my tastes. Not just someone with the appropriate plumbing. THE person he wanted to be with. And he puts those drunk bar boys to shame. Really. That day he took care of me and held me and touched me and took time to enjoy things. Not a perfunctory function. Something to be shared, enjoyed, savored. By both. He was careful and kind and fun and giving and gentle and passionate and all the things I like and need in such situations. Which is one of the million reasons why I always want to be with him.

It's usually on the following day that things get ugly in my land. But for whatever reason, it stayed good. I felt beautiful all day, thinking there is a man out there who really really really wants me and not in a gross disrespectful kind of way. He likes my body, the way I do things. And he always makes sure to call and see how I'm doing. And I'm thinking, my legs are creaking with soreness, I can't put on a shirt unless I'm careful, and I need to take care when sitting down. And it's wonderful. It only serves as a reminder to all of the above. And I put my hair up today with the same band as I always do, as a reminder of the restraint I'm trying to employ, and I remember him pulling it out and I remember feeling like now I really WAS naked and he was seeing me as I am. And I was scared, but only a little bit. Because it's really only a symbol.

I'm about to give up on the clouds rolling in. I wonder what was different, or how I've changed. Or how he's changed. It's a mystery. But the thing that's really important is that I'm happy. And I think that everything is still the same with him. Although change is subtle. I handed him the reins, and we went for a serious ride. Maybe I should have let him steer a long time ago.

Flower Walkway

Flower Walkway
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Hormones

My uterus isn't sure what to think of the hormones (or lack therof) in my body. I had a normal, regular supply when the pills were taking care of it. But now that I have been without for two and a half weeks, I've started experiencing mild cramps, which never happens. Is this what it's like to be a woman? I often feel like I'm not really one of them. I'm not a card-carrying member. I'be been kicked out of the club. From both sides. And here come the hormones I've kept away for something like five years.

Plus I haven't had sex in over half a year. Yes, I feel the absence. But haven't found any worthy candidates who are willing. Or really just any worthy candidates. I could have a couple of weeks ago. But it just didn't seem like the right thing to do. Because I didn't want it to just be sex. Call me greedy. I want more. Is that too much? Perhaps my hormones can't keep things straight for me well enough. I want to get things straightened out. I want to be touched and be soft. I want to want.

Decisions

Of course, it's after midnight and I am not the least bit tired. But I really want to sleep. I'm feeling restless. Like I should go somewhere or do something, but I really just want to wind down after a stupid night at work. I want to let it all go.

I want to let everything go. I'm tired of making decisions. I want someone else to do it for me. Go back to having someone else take care of things for me. I started doing it for myself way too early. And I'm not doing a very good job of it.

Being Awake

I may be going through one of those life changes and not know it. My sleep patterns seem to be changing. I woke up this morning at seven, wide awake. I forced myself to go back to sleep. But perhaps I am entering a section of my life where I don't need as much sleep as I did before. Six hours instead of ten.

When I went back to sleep, I dreamed all sorts of weird dreams that involved people I know and people I don't know. There were different ones, but I was some sort of princess in all of them. They all seemed to involve marriage and sex, too. That I was supposed to marry someone I didn't know or didn't like. And there was also the feeling that I was a prisoner. I don't know how else to explain it. But in my dream I had everything, but couldn't be with the one I loved. I wore the best clothes, though. My brain is trying to tell me something. Or something.

I was going to go to the beach today. The weather has been cloudy with one day of sun (yesterday) for a week. This is just not going to cut it. I want all sun, all the time.

Our little talk last night, I'm not sure where it led. Are we back to square one? Did we call the whole thing off? Do I really ruin class? I thought I was doing a good job. I thought I do a good job of pushing things that bother me to the back. Except for my little outburst yesterday, which was completely without my consent.

I give up. If things want to change, let them. I'm so tired of trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do next. I don't want to drive anymore. I just want to ride along. Enjoy the scenery for a change. That would be a welcome change. Something worth being awake for.

Words

We started arguing, then stopped. Because we've gone down that road before and want to avoid it in the future. It's not fun at all. That's not how we want to be with each other. It is best to wait until gut reactions have been digested into sentient thoughts that we can express calmly. We're learning. But I still feel stupid. Because I get eaten by jealousy every day and melt into tears every night. Because every distraction leads me in the same direction.

My only remaining defense is to run away. Literally. To leave town and never look back; to lose touch. To turn all this into a grey memory of one of the many places I used to live. Berthoud. Allenspark. Boulder. Fort Collins. Asheville. Alvin. Conroe. San Diego. Where should I go next? I know where I want to go. Where I could be happy because I am away from everything and everyone and surrounded by nothing but warm water and greenery. A foreign domestic land. Small town. Small scale. Simple.

That's the main draw I see with being a writer. Not that I really ever aspired to be one, but I always thought the great thing about it would be that you can isolate and insulate yourself from the world. As long as you keep writing. There is no commute, no co-workers, no time clock, no bosses. Only you and the alphabet. Twenty-six letters to keep you company, to keep your imagination greased. And those letters can go anywhere. They pack up in your head quite nicely, as long as you can sort them out again once you need them. The only problem with this fantasy is that I'm not really a writer. When I unpack the letters, they come out all wrinkly and incomprehensible. Just ask any man I've ever tried to communicate with. They'll tell you how I clumsily end my sentences with prepositions and repeat myself and contradict myself and interject random words like "ouch" and "what" and "like".

And how on some days, like today, the words fly out of me before I'm ready. Like ninja words, they have the sharp edges of a silver star and their only purpose is to cut. And the barrage is nearly always returned. Twice as sharp. I don't want any words being flung from me before they've been fully inspected for flaws and faulty edges, but unfortunately, my heart overloads my brain and shuns the careful word scrutiny all that grey matter is so meticulous about. Words. Just that. Beating paths to the same places.

New

I finally was able to rest my head at about ten minutes to seven in the morning. I have no explanation as to why I was unable to sleep. So I think my evening slumber totalled about 2 hours, then 6 awake hours, then 3 hours. But I feel ok today. Actually I feel mostly ok. Healthy ok.

I've relived so many moments of my last year and a half in the last 12 hours, and I'm constantly baffled. And saddened by how quickly everything spiraled downwards. And the only thing I want is the only thing I can't have. But I'm trying to live without. Trying to find new pathways of life that will eventually be important.

Like eating. I've decided to try to eat healthily. For real this time. And the new of the day is that the health food store is way cheaper than the regular grocery store. So now I know where to go. And my mom will be so proud; I had my antioxidants today. Ah, Blueberries. I still have sit-ups to do today.

I started a little herb garden today. I actually got my hands dirty and potted my little herbs. I'm already looking forward to the cooking I will be able to do with my fresh herbs. And I wore one of my new bikinis today, but just in the backyard. I think I look hot, even with tiny boobs. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to try it out at the beach, if it's not cloudy.

I'm going to start my research. I'm going to stick with it. I'm going to have thorough knowledge if my subject when I come before the committee. There's a lot of stuff I'm going to have to read, write, watch, and listen to in order to get there. Which is why I have to start now.

I have to go to class tonight, and I really don't want to. Because Wednesday was such a terrible day and I don't want a repeat. I don't want Big D to show up, I don't want to deal with questions, comments, or concerns. I don't want to fight traffic. My weekend has been peaceful, and I have been wanting it to last forever. But I know the peacefulness will end at some point. There is no stopping it. All I can do is try to come up with other things to care about besides him.

Crazy eBay mom

My dad and brother give my mom a hard time because she has a tendency to collect things, and also has a hard time parting with things that are no longer useable or are just plain old. But my mom is NOTHING compared to this woman.

Crazy eBay mom

Early Morning Chat

It's three a.m. and I can't sleep. But I'm yawning. And my eyes hurt. But I can't sleep. My brain doesn't want to shut off, and I'm not sure why. Lately I've been having those dreams that aren't really restful, and they almost always have to do with some movie I've just watched. Which is really annoying.

But for the last hour or two, I've been laying here thinking about him and going through (again) all the things that have happened between us since the day we met and trying to figure out where I went wrong. And it's so pointless, because I was stupid from the very beginning through this very point in time. And I kick myself for it.

If he read half of the things I've written in the past three months, I don't think he'd want to speak to me ever again. Because I can be a very mean person. But what else am I supposed to do? I have to get my frustrations out somewhere. So this is it. This is my forum to bitch and moan and scream and whine, because I'm trying my best not to do it in real life, even though I fail a lot of the time.

I feel like my life is not in order the way I want it to be. And I don't know how to get it in order. It goes in every direction at once, just like my mind at two in the morning.

My back started hurting as soon as I got back from France. I don't know why. I haven't had back pain in as long as I can remember, and now it won't go away. I have a knot right next to my shoulder blade that has been hanging around for about a week. I'm hoping the hippie chiro can fix it tomorrow. I don't like having pain.

Little Bit

Drinks. Del Mar. If one were looking at my life from the outside, they might think that I have it pretty good. I can go out, have fun with my roommate, then have fun down the street with my neighbors. Drinking wine the whole time. Getting off work early.

But really, thank god my roommate didn't have something better to do tonight, because if she had, there is a good chance I would have cracked. Called him, the person I swore I wouldn't. It seems that my life boils down to mere chance in the end, rather than choice. I don't choose anything. I just stumble upon things.

I wish I could call him. I miss him. I'm trying not to, with my cynical reaction to anything male and my declaration that being single is great. I hate it. I don't want to be single. I want to be with him. But no one else. So I guess since I know I will never be good enough for him, I would rather be single, so it's not completely false. It's a little bit true. And a little bit strange.

I wish I were a little bit happy.

Nude ballet sparks national anger

Nude ballet sparks national anger

No bueno.

I think my blogging skills are lagging. The things I write just seem less ineteresting, less formed, more schizoid. Have I run out of things to say? Is it pointless?

It seems that now that I avoid talking about him, I have nothing else to talk about. I can come up with things, but I guess I don't feel them completely in my heart. I only know how to talk about them. But not relate them. But I'm trying something different for a change. Things going on in my life. Except him.

Other things. Other things. Other things.

I don't feel as poor as i did since I've actually been working some this week. I suppose that's good, but it seems that it's never enough. Plus I've worked some long hours and come home incredibly tired. Last night I asked the bartender why he's such a jerk to me all the time. He didn't really have a decent anwer for me. I think it's just some sort of habit. Because when no one is around he is nice to me.
The new guy with tatoos on his neck talked to me last night. He seems nice, but I can only stare at the tatoos on his neck.
The security guard started hitting on me. It's weird. I'm not interested. I'm a hypocrite. I'm pretty much ok with that.
I met my roommate's boyfriend yesterday. He seems like the marrying kind. Good for her.
I almost wrecked my car on the highway. If I would have, I wouldn't be typing this right now. I don't really care for driving.
The weather has been really cloudy and yucky lately. Severely crunching my beach time. No bueno.

No bueno.

Matters

He used to be my friend but now he's just my pen pal. Today he sent a postcard with a picture of the last hotel we ever stayed in while we were together. That's diabolical. Cruel. Mean, even. To remind me of one of the last places I was ever happy because he was by my side and I thought we were on the same page. Why would someone do that? I can't even really think of when he would have picked up this card, since we were together pretty much all the time. Maybe it was when he wanted to read and I wanted to talk so he left and said he would be back later and I felt really bad because I didn't know he wanted to read so bad. And I said I would shutup but it didn't matter and I felt bad again because he didn't believe me. And I was naked and it didn't matter at all. Maybe it never did. It definitely doesn't now.

I wonder if he would set me up with some guy friend if he thought we would be good together.
I wonder if he's really looking.
I wonder if it even matters.
Or if I ever did.

Losing It

I've been doing sit-ups like an OCD gymrat since I got back. Trying to get the Riviera body *after* I went to the Riviera. I don't belong here. I might as well look like I don't belong as much as possible. I think it's helping, but I'm not sure. I need some before and after pictures. Too late. Not that anyone cares except for me. But I guess it's kind of like the underwear thing; at least I'll have a little secret under my clothes.

I sound like a psycho. That's ok. People treat me like I'm a psycho anyway. Like I might snap at any moment. I guess maybe I could. I just don't know what I would do. I'm crazy.

But at least I'll have a flat stomach and sexy panties on when I lose it.

Blessings and Curses

I hate my boobs. They are so small. I've been doing sit-ups and general ab workout stuff for over a week now, and my belly seems to be bigger than my boobs are. I hate being small chested. I can't even fill out an A-cup (quite the rude awakening-thanks, Victoria's Secret). How did I get so overlooked? Really, it seems that just about every department could use some spiffing up.

I was blessed with pretty blue eyes, cursed with glasses so no one can see them. Blessed with long legs and decent skin, but cursed with the tendency to always be cold (i.e. always covering up). Blessed with intelligence, cursed with cynicism. Cursed with the ability to care about people. (there is no blessing that is the opposite of that)

I just want to look good naked. Just for myself. No one else is going to see. But I want to. I want to be able to grin secretly because I know something no one else knows: That I'm hot. But right now I don't think I am hot. I'm a chick with small boobs and a belly. And the glasses don't help much either.

New Things

I just received my delivery from the Victoria's Secret panty factory. Fourteen pairs. Two string bikinis. One bright yellow shirt. Two spinster type bras. And of course I have to try everything on. Some things are disappointing--they promised me low-rise. Some things are great. Black makes me look tan. I forgot how small my boobs are. I wish I could reorder some of those satin panties. The sale is over.

I can't wait to wear my new requisitions, even though no one will ever see most of them. I feel sexy knowing what I have underneath my clothes. And the new bikinis that look so much different on me than on the girl in the picture. I'm not buxom. But that's not the point. I still have new suits and want to wear them.

I hear "Lonely People" playing out in the backyard. It's surreal and uncanny, really.

Anyway, I'll be donning new things that no one will ever see. New things I'll never wear. New things to make me feel new. Make me feel pretty. With a secret. The secret of Victoria. I guess.

Wasting Time

Yesterday I was bitching to a friend about how I never seem to get anything done during the summer, despite having so much more spare time on account of not being in class. And true to form, I'm still in bed, doing nothing, just thinking about how I should do something and not doing it.

I am listening to music and blogging (uh oh, I'm multitasking), and I keep smelling something; I think it's a body spray I put on last night before going out to dinner. Sometimes I wonder why I want to do all this stuff and don't. Is it really just laziness? Lack of inspiration? Something else? I'm guessing laziness. I have this ugly tendency to put things off until I'm under some sort of deadline. The trouble is, I have no idea what I really do with all this time.

I've decided I need to wean myself off the internet. It has become a time-wasting habit. I need to make lists of things to do every day and try to stick to it. I need to come up with things I do every day. Like sit-ups. Schedules are so easy to make. Lists are so easy to make. Following them is the tough part. I want to get better.

Right now my typing skills are getting better every day. Sometimes I marvel at what a good typer I am. God I'm a loser.

The System

Sometimes I think the system is geared to work against you. To finish, you have to figure out a way to outsmart the system. They don't want me to get an education, they only want my money. Which would explain why they only offer the classes I need half the time, and half the classes I want to take I won't get credit for taking. Advice is easy to get, but is notoriously bad and/or egregiously incorrect. I want to learn stuff. Stuff that is relevant to me. I want to learn from professors that give a damn about me instead of their tenure. I want to work with people that do stuff instead of just talk about it. I want to expand my horizons, as cliche as that sounds.

I want to know lots of stuff about everything. And I feel like I know nothing because the system makes me stick to one kind of class, one kind of learning, one track, one skill. They don't want me to be multi-faceted. They want me to be a dumb moron by graduation day so I'll do whatever the media or the president or the boss or whoever is in charge wants me to do. But it's too late for me. Because I will eventually figure out how to circumvent their intricate booby-trapped system of pitfalls and wrong turns and learn something useful. About the world, about myself, about life, about thinking. The really crappy part is, they'll still get my money, which is all they really wanted in the first place.

Me

I oscillate on the subject of him about a hundred times every day. Should I talk to him? Should I not? Should I bail from class? Should I stick it out? Should I leave the country and never come back? Should I fake my own death? Should I do it for real? I go through about every emotion possible in that time. I've seen extreme, blood boiling anger, gut wrenching sadness, and quiet contentedness within the space of a single hour. And the only thing that changes is nothing.

That I want someone to love me, someone particular. And he hides. Refuses to even attempt to open his heart to me. As if I might damage it further. Arrest his healing process. Or maybe he just doesn't like me, and he just uses this other woman as an excuse so he won't have to tell me. It seems logical. It also seems hurtful. But I can never tell, because he avoids sharing anything with me. We don't even share chocolates anymore. We used to.

And I realized the other day, while alone in his house, that there are lots of things we never did. Parts of me he never saw. Like the summer me. The one that is relaxed and quiet and doesn't complain about the sunburn, even if it starts to peel. The one that likes to stray from schedules and spend more time outside. The one with tan lines. The one that isn't in school. Summer me.

He never got to meet the me that lets go of everything. Gives everything. Takes nothing. Collects. The comfortable me. The quiet me. The content me. Now he only knows the crying, pleading, pitiful me. The secretive me. The moody me. Which is me, but not really. It is the me with the broken heart.

Shortcomings

Today was an awful day. I've cried twice. I swore I would be different, that I would be strong. But I suck at it. He has this talent for pointing out all my shortcomings that it hurts me and makes me want to scream. I get angry and testy about it, mostly because these are things that I already know and to have it pointed out by someone you are trying to hide yourself from is exasperating. There are so many things I want to say to him; hurtful, mean things, just so I can feel better.

I came to class late today. I told him I would be. And as the lights came up, I noticed her, that quirky blonde, the one I loathe sitting in my spot. It made my blood boil. It seems like such an innocuous thing, but he knew I was coming and let her sit there anyway. He could have asked her to sit somewhere else, but he didn't. I wonder if he knew she was coming. He could have warned me so I could prepare myself. And I happened to look up at precisely the wrong instant to see him wink at her. My stomach turned and it took every breath of life in me not to make a big scene right then and there.

And on the way home my only thought was Fuck Her. And Him. He has literally replaced me; I saw it with my own eyes. They can have all their little dinners and sleepovers and beach visits because she's oh so funny and entertaining and makes him forget about other stuff and those are tasks that I am unable (and now unwilling) to perform. It seems that lately the only serious attention I've gotten from him originated in his crotch. Like I am some kind of whore. And she is the companion.

I feel cheap. The relationship I thought I had with him feels cheap. It feels like a lie. It feels like I was used for sex. Like it never even mattered that I have feelings. I think this is some strategy that men have when they just want to get laid. Go for the geeky girls. They will be so bowled over by your affection, they will definitely screw you, and you know how "generous" an ugly girl is in bed (someone actually told me that once). Date the pretty girls, screw the ugly ones. I guess that really must be how it goes. Never trust a man if you are the geeky girl in glasses. They don't care what you have to say. They don't care what you have in your heart. They will walk away unscathed. Lesson learned.

Now I've cried three times today.

Sex Kitten

Old habits are hard to break. Especially when they are people. I realized today that one of the reasons I have a hard time not talking to him is because it is just a habit. When things happen to me or I want to talk about something with someone, I automatically turn to him. And now I can't do that, I have decided. I have to find someone else to talk to. But the only problem is, there is no one. They are all working people with jobs and lives and stuff going on. Which is why I'm always home alone. So I talk to myself.

He asked me if we could go to the beach together. I said no. I wish I could say yes. But I know he'll have a beach buddy replacement for me before too long (if he doesn't already). There's Big D, who also has no job and lots of free time. I'm sure he can go with her, now that they have more or less reconciled. In fact, those two can do all the stuff he and I used to do. I think he can be happy with such a replacement. And for whatever reason (actually I know the reason, I'm just not going to say), the more he hangs out with her, the less I want to hang out with him. I don't want to hear cute little anecdotes about her. I don't want her life to intersect with mine. Ever. And yet it always does. Dammit.

I stopped taking my birth control pills, and aside from some minor emotional moments, I think I'm better for it. I have freed myself of this daily pill-popping regimen and the daily reminder that I'm not having sex. I'm going on seven months. I don't need these pills. Oddly, I feel more human without them. We'll see how I feel when I start bleeding like crazy, but for now I think it's a good thing.

I'm hoping to get my new underwear and swimwear today. I want to feel sexy, not just human. New sexy next-to-nothing clothes makes a girl feel sexy. I wonder if people can tell I'm sexless just by looking at me. Do I look like a sex kitten?

Visiting

My first visit to the beach since my return. It's nice, in a way. I keep telling myself that this is how things are now, that I only need enough for one. The waves are big today; creeping up on the shore and springing up at the last minute. Some of them turn an oily brown color as they turn over; saturated with seaweed. The color seems out of place from the deep aqua and stark white. It's not very hot today; if I put on my hat, the shade it creates makes me shiver a little. I absentmindedly wish my new bikinis were here already, so I could feel new in an old place.

It's the first place. The first beach I visited. Not far from the last beach I visited. Today there is a drunk bum stumbling around in the sand. He's new; the guy from last summer isn't here. Oddly, I'm not worried; it seems that bums in La Jolla have some sort of manners or maybe dignity and leave the surfer kids and the families alone. He stumbles around in his black jeans, black shoes, and black coat. I can see that his little bottle of cheap whiskey is almost empty and wonder how he isn't hot in so many black clothes. But my bikini is black too.

He pauses for a moment a few feet from me, and I look back to my reading. He falls flat, face first, with a thud that is alarming and pitiful. I look at him carefully from the side of my sunglasses. I have to look away when I see a worn and weathered Livestrong bracelet on his right wrist. Irony. It's really sad, but also funny. I wonder if I'll ever get to where he is. To the point where it is better to stumble around aimlessly in a cloud of whiskey coated breath and sideways beaches than to feel life at its sharpest. It's not so hard to imagine such a place. I suppose I've been there, but the difference between he and I is that I have only visited, while he lives there permanently.

Up to Me

I sent the letter on Thursday. He received it on Friday. Today is Sunday. Three days. I've been pretty much ok for that time, but today I felt the pangs of loneliness when I wanted to talk to him about something and knew that I couldn't. And that I wouldn't. Because we don't do that anymore. Because I'm trying to be independent now.

So I'm hanging out with my roommate and some other people in her family, gorging ourselves on s'mores, and I just really missed him. I'm trying to fight the down feelings of being without him by watching stupid movies and keeping people around me. Concentrating on other things. It's half working.

I'm down to occupying myself with lists: reading lists, movie lists, work lists, dates of events, things to put away, things to write. Things to keep me busy during the time that I'm alone. And trying to stay awake. Jet lag is still taking its toll. My body doesn't want to go the extra couple of hours to a normal California clock.

But this is how I have to take control of my life. By being in control of every minute. I stopped taking this pill too. To take control of my body too. Not let chemicals run my body. There has to be as many things under my control as possible. My time, my work, my school, my nights, my days, my body, my emotions. It all has to be up to me. And it soon will be.

Hair and Patience

Another Sunday, deciding whether or not to work. It is gloomy outside; I wish the sun would return so I could go to the beach.

I've noticed since I've returned from France that my hair has grown, but I don't know how much and since when. But I am happy to see it. I've often wished I could have that hair that goes all the way down to my butt, but never had the patience to wait for it. So I cut it instead. The old adage of cutting hair to make it grow: myth. Anyway, for now I'm having to settle for hair that reaches to just above my breasts; hopefully they will be covered before too long. This is the moment (or many moments) of truth: will I have the patience to let it keep going, or will I grow frustrated and cut it back down to just below my ears in a flurry of the "I'll show you who's boss" attitude?

Lights

There are these little lights in the backyard--you know, the architectural lighting that people put outside their homes so it will look pretty at night. We just got them, or my roommate got them sometime while I was away. But now I keep my back blinds open enough that I can see them at night. There really is something soothing about them; the way they glow a purplish-white glow and they are all lined up in two symmetrical rows. They aren't terribly bright, but just enough to see clearly from my window. I like it.

Art and Memory

I am sitting in bed counting the hours until he will receive the letter. It's an odd feeling, like listening to the ticking of a time bomb. I was just remembering this morning how he looked just a couple of days ago as he sat in my backyard, the sun melting into his soft skin. I had a strange urge to paint him; he looked so much like one of the Greek statues I just saw in the Louvre. There was a resemblance, or at least there was in my eyes. I had forgotten how beautiful he was. but I didn't paint him, or sculpt him. I didn't even take a picture. So now I'll just have to remember, since that's probably the last time he'll be sitting in my backyard at all. It's up to me to remember the exact color of the flowers and the angle of the sun. The color of the grass and what we were wearing. What we were reading, saying, thinking.

I am wondering how he'll react to what I sent. He probably won't do anything. Which is better. If he struggles against me, I will give in. I know I don't have it in me to say no to him. Which is why this has taken so long in the first place. This change, this choice, this thing I decided I have to do. Where will it take me? Where will it leave me?

At least I have all weekend to compose myself.

Unthinkable

I have done the unthinkable. I have written the goodbye "Dear John" type letter to someone who said goodbye to me a long time ago. It almost seems silly. But it's not. It's actually a big deal. At least to me. I stuck the stamps to it and stuffed it into the big blue mailbox down the street. It is not something I can take back now. It's done. It is either the end of something or only the beginning. I'll find out which in time.

Sad End

I am sad. All things end. This is no exception. Wish me luck.

As I Go

Back in the USA. It feels strange. It's so familiar, but it's almost like I'm seeing it for the first time. Seeing my backyard, my car, him, myself. Things are different. And yet still exactly the same. Maybe the lighting is just better. Today I found myself trying to figure out how I could move to Paris and make a living. I couldn't come up with the answer, but it still didn't thwart the fantasy.

I feel like I've grown up somehow. Seen the kind of person I am, the kind of person I want to be, the kind of person I am able to be. I don't have to be anything I don't want to be. I feel resolute. Self aware. Balanced. I don't know the last time I felt this way. The trick is keeping it like this and not getting sucked into the old ways of doing things. Old habits of thinking. Sadly, I have to start with him. I have to give him a minimal part in my life; a demotion from the starring role he's played for so long now. It is difficult, but it is all too clear that it is my only choice. Otherwise I'll slip back down the slope to self-loathing.

It's always terrible to know that you are about to hurt someone. I have a really hard time doing it. This is no exception. I have agonized over this decision for quite some time now, and the time for action has come. Real action. Offensive action. I guess it's sort of along the lines of having a good defense by having a good offense.

Or something like that.

I know I'm giving something up. Something special to me that is going to be difficult. If I had another way, I would go that way. But there are no other ways. No other exits.

And I'm worried. Afraid of what is going to happen. To me. To him. To everything. This is the path I create rather than follow. It is completely unknown territory. Like France. I don't speak the language, or know the customs, or the roadsigns, but I'm just going to have to figure it out as I go.