My Own Life

I haven't been doing a lot lately. Including making money. I called my mom for sympathy and she had none to give. I almost hung up on her. I took a nap today because I was sleepy and had nothing else to do. I kept having a dream about fun Uncle Win and crazy Aunt Jules and histrionic Grandma Lena and a million other relatives I don't actually have. And of course, I wonder how many people I am hurting by my selfish decisions. And I also remember what I want at some point even if I don't want it now.

It's strange to think how normal my family actually is, even though I have nothing in common with any of them. I feel like I'm more fucked up than I was before, but I don't really have an excuse to be. I have everything I need (more or less) and I do things that ensure that I will still have a future tomorrow; the same as I do today. Is that selfish? Some people say no. Others would say yes. I believe what my heart and my true love say. Maybe because that's what I want to believe. Because I don't want to believe that I really am as selfish as I'm afraid I am.

But I keep thinking of these dreams I have and they are so strange and I really like them. I want a goofy family to counterbalance my oh-so-normal but annoyingly disconnected family. At least a goofy family is always on. Always doing stuff. Not disconnected and dead like my family. Is it bad to want to be a part of all the drama? Could I even handle it?

Actually, I'm talking crazy talk. Being alone is my MO. There really is nothing else. It's the way things are and there is nothing that is ever going to change that. My loneliness fosters these crazy dreams of actually belonging in something and being a part of something. I am insane. No one else thinks about these things. Is my life really my own? The more of it I see, the less I think that is the case.

I Have A Secret

I have a secret. Other people find me annoying. Just for being me. And there's nothing I can do about it because it's who I am. They don't like it when I complain that my movie watching experience was marred by a blown out speaker and someone needs to get on that right away. They are most likely annoyed because they didn't notice it and think I think they are not "serious" movie watchers (which they aren't), but hey, when you're going to see a movie with Owen Wilson in it, how serious can you get? I just want things to be the way they are supposed to be. Which they aren't. I'm even picky about crappy movies. How can I concentrate on the minutia of the soundtrack so I don't have to watch the atrocities they call entertainment on the screen when the speaker distorts every time there's a musical montage or someone raises their voice in excitement? Now I'm irritated not only by the sophmoric antics on the screen, but also the blatant disregard for viewing (or rather, listening) quality displayed by the theater's management.

Which gets back to the whole reason people don't like me. Because I expect them to take pride in things they do. I expect them to pay attention to their work. And on top of it all, I have a big mouth and am not afraid to use it. If the movie had not been so exhaustingly long, I would have complained to some poor employee on my way out. This is why I am single. This is why I will be alone for the rest of my life. But shh, it's a secret.

Dead or Alive

I go out and do stuff. I stay home and do stuff. I keep my life full. Or at least I try to. And I have a one-track mind. And right now my only goal is to do stuff that is for me and not worry about other people. And I only partly succeed. Because I'm doing stuff for me and making a big effort to have total control of my life, and I guess on the outside, I do. But I am often thinking about other things and people I miss and how I want to be. I get the feeling that no matter what, I will always be like I am now. Making strange decisions and dwelling on them and remaining detached from pretty much everyone I come across. I feel so strange when I am around most people because I know I like them and I'm having a good time, but the happiness doesn't really live in my heart. It just kind of sits there like a lump in my chest. I don't get excited about seeing people and doing things. It's just an exercise. Going through the motions. Am I dead? Does everybody feel like this? It doesn't seem like it used to be like this. My interest in living as it happens with other people is peripheral and minimal. I feel way better when I'm by myself and no one is bothering me. But there's also something that's really depressing about it. Because no one is that worried or upset about me not getting that close. They don't call me up because I'm the first person they think of. I just happen to be around when they are rallying the troops to go on the next adventure. Sure, I want to be missed and wanted and whatever it is normal people do, but I can't seem to get there and make the effort to be the kind of person people miss. Man, I'm really screwed up.

My "Happy Place"

Hope I get to go back some day.

Yourself

I was having a pretty decent day today until other people came into it and make it not so good. I really need to live on my own. By myself. It sucks to be poor. So I ended up sitting in yet another group of women, with whom I have nothing in common. And when I say nothing, I mean zero, zip, zilch, nada, the big fat goose egg, nothing.

And of course, I start to wonder what's wrong with me that I can't find one woman in a group of almost ten that I can talk to? They are all married and I wonder what's wrong with me? How do I always sniff out the one man on the planet that is not only not interested in an entire life together, but is going to balk about any amount of time together, not to mention any kind of emotion or committment. I think I'm a pretty free thinker, that I don't have to be married and have all the stuff everyone preaches to you that you must have in order to be normal, but I do want to be loved. And I always want the guy that won't do it. But I never know it until it's too late.

I want someone that misses me and thinks I'm the coolest and can't wait to see me naked again and can't wait to see me get whatever it is I want that day and puts his hand on the small of my back so I'll know he's still there, even if he's behind me. I want the guy that does what he says and says what he does and smiles for no reason just because I am there and I make him happy. I want the guy that doesn't look at other women because none of them will ever compare to me in his eyes, so he just stares and me until I say "what" and he'll laugh and say "nothing". And I'll be just a little bit embarrassed because I'm not used to being stared at. And I don't have to tell people how great he is because I already know he's awesome and if they can't see it then they are idiots and don't deserve to hear how great he is anyway.

And I used to have that and I don't anymore and it really hurts sometimes because I feel so helpless and because I know I won't ever recover from it. And I'm still in love and I don't really care that no one approves because they don't know that it is possible to have someone around that won't play games with you and will tell you exactly how they feel about you and mean it. No one knows that I make feeble attempts to 'get over it' and I am always disappointed because no man is ever as good as this one who still is wonderful but still refuses to stop strangling his heart so it won't breathe and hurt and I understand but only a little bit because I still breathe and I still hurt.

My ordeal is over this week and I still wonder if I did everything I should because I suddenly feel really alone but I keep telling myself it is all in my head. I keep telling myself not to panic. Even though I know no one else wants me and that no one else can have me because I am ruined. Someone treated me like a princess for a while and I got used to it and now that's all I want. Champagne and caviar. I warned him to be careful but he said he didn't have to because it was the real thing and he would always be there but he didn't really know that I would get old and tired for him and I couldn't fix whatever was ailing him no matter how much I loved him. If that made any difference he would be better than new and we would be frolicking in the woods right now instead of me taking ibuprofen for a headache brought on by self-absorbed, holier-than-thou married women with kids. Every waking minute I wish I had the power to make things different, travel through time and fix things like Michael J. Fox and make things that hurt go away so we can all be happy. But I don't so I have to try to grin and bear it and most of the time I'm ok except when other people tell me I should hate and be unhappy. And it makes me feel bad and ugly and less than everything because I don't have anyone to tell me I'm great or hug me or kiss me and I can't do it all myself.

It sucks having to rely on yourself. Yourself can't do everything.

Everything

I have become the film geek. The transformation is complete. I now chuckle at obscure film references that no one else gets or cares about. Man I need to get out more.

I decided that tomorrow is going to be the beginning of the end of the 10 pounds that found a home in my gut over the past month. And I chose a yoga class today so I'm going to try to go next week and see how it all turns out. I'm a little scared of yoga, because so many new age freaks and fitness addicts are involved in it. I just want to go and enjoy a class where I can quietly wake my body up without someone's heavy breathing or talk about chi or chakras interrupting my me time. I don't want to meditate and have a tea ceremony with a bunch of sweaty strangers in tights. I just want to sit in the back and do my thing and feel good about myself for doing something good for my body. But I'm going to start at home tomorrow. Wish me luck.

I have not worked in nearly 2 weeks. I am not bored. I am broke. Catch-22. All this time to myself and it still seems like there's not enough time for everything I want to get done. Does one ever do everything?

He is going to be busy for a while, so I won't see much of him. I know I will miss him. I've really gotten used to him being around a lot lately. And I liked it. I hope he did too. And I hope he will miss me while he's entertaining friends and relatives. That's all I want.

Staying In

Am I a bad person because I don't feel like going out with the girls tonight? I went out last night, and the night before that, and the night before that. I'm tired. I want to stay home. I want to do nothing. Actually, I want to go to the beach, but it's covered with clouds so that kind of defeats the purpose. And I have a weird craving for Ramen noodles, so I guess that will be my lunch. Along with a bunch of other stuff, I'm sure. You wouldn't know I need to lose 10 pounds by how much I've been eating lately. Who am I?

Anyway, I have to say that it is nice to be alone for a while without any obligations to anyone today. I'm sure I will make a few calls before the day is over, but I'm quite content doing nothing for most of the day. I could do this for the rest of my life. I like not working (except for that whole not having money part). I like not being obligated to anyone. To do things on my own schedule, which is pretty opposite what everyone else on earth does. But I'm ok with it. Jobs are not for me. But I suppose I'll have to buckle down soon here, because money doesn't grow on trees. Dad was right. Oh well.

Sound Familiar?

I've been trying to write stuff and I always feel like it sucks. It feels like I'm writing the same stuff over and over again (sound familiar?). I want to be good at this. I try to be good at it.

In other news, I'm again wrestling with the notion that maybe I make poor decisions and end up hurting people around me. Feeling like I'm selfish and don't really deserve to have anyone care about me. I have good people in my life and I don't know what to do about it. I feel like a jerk a lot of the time. So I end up feeling sad or guilty or any number of things and then pass it on to one of them. I suck.

I feel fat. I feel out of shape. I feel ugly. I feel geeky (it's the glasses). I feel stupid. I feel untalented. Where does this crap come from? Is it really possible to function normally on so little? I suppose I don't think so, since normalcy is FAR from what I think I achieve every day. People stare at me because I don't do what they do. Little do they know I don't know how to do what they do. It's impossible.

Maybe I just need some serious beach time.

Does this sound familiar?

Melancholy

I'm still trying to recover from the melancholy that arrested me this morning. It is not so strong as to overwhelm me, but it does come and go, depending on what I am doing at the time. Plus, my body isn't feeling so hot right now, so that makes it easier for other things to creep in. I'm thinking a good night's sleep will take it all away and everything will be fine again tomorrow. For now I have to deal with Ibuprofen and my own goading that there's nothing wrong with me. That there never was. I'm a smidge better at that than I used to be, but still not as good as I could be.

Pink Panther Raincloud

I guess I feel better. But I really don't. I woke up today with that Pink Panther raincloud above my head and it just seems to be getting bigger. I can't explain where it came from or how I'm going to get rid of it. Nothing has really changed. I was so proud of myself that I have been able to be mostly content for several weeks now. There's been no whining and complaining and things that are generally annoying. I've been happy and jovial and mostly normal, even when everything else was abnormal.

And now I don't feel good. But I don't even have a reason, which is the worst part. The most frustrating part. I have this vague feeling of being unliked and underappreciated and unrespected, but I can't really pin it to any one person or any single happening. It just is. Part of me feels like I should just stay in bed all day and indulge myself, but another part of me feels like I should grin and bear it and go do something and it will go away.

I do have things I need to do, but I'm not motivated to do them. I need to go vote for mayor. We've been mayor-less for something like a week now. I do find it interesting though, that if I didn't know about it, I wouldn't have ever known. The city still functions, even without a mayor. I have to write something for my professor, who I think believes that I am a student with sub-par levels of talent and intelligence. And I don't think there's a way to change that. Maybe he's right. I have to go to the post office to mail yet another submission that will receive yet another rejection. I have to check in with the person I talk to every day, but I don't want him to think I'm upset with him, even though I know that my current state includes him as a factor, even though he's done nothing to deserve that. Which makes me feel worse, of course. I have to make a doctor's appointment to make sure I'm not contracting some sort of strange infection and make sure everything is normal in my world of oddities.

I need to eat something, and I just don't want to. I feel like a fat cow; with the 10 pounds I've acquired in the last two months. The doctor told me to stay out of the sun, which is incredibly depressing. In fact, basically all the things the doctor forbade are suddenly things I want to do really really bad. Even though they're things I don't normally do. I know, I'm a strange mofo. I can't help it. I can't change it. I can't explain it.

Wild And Wise

Played the ponies today. It's strange to be at the track with people who treat it as something like Vegas. Yes, I know it's gambling, but it's horses. It's way more interesting than playing craps or poker. I ended up winning back everything I lost in the last race on a horse called Wild and Wise. I thought that was fairly fitting.

Lately I have been wishing I lived by myself. Let it be known that I like my roommate of a year and a half. But sometimes I wish my day to day life wasn't under constant scrutiny because someone just happens to be in close quarters with me. I'd like to have a couple of days off from other people and be completely alone. Not have to explain where I was at any given time, not explain why I haven't had a shower and am still in my pajamas at two in the afternoon. Not have to explain guests or phone calls or mysterious things in the refrigerator or clothes on the floor.

Simply put, I need space. Part of me is tempted to look for something on my own, but actually, that's really more work than I'm willing to do. I hate moving, packing, heavy lifting, and organizing. I hate looking. Plus, any place I could get will be ridiculously small, half as nice, and twice as expensive. So I'm sort of stuck.

But I'm not that upset about it, since I'm not that unhappy here to begin with. And part of my unhappiness comes from the fear of always being judged because she tends to disapprove of many things that I do. Quietly, of course, but she still disapproves. And I hate explaining things. And I hate that look that is the look a mom would give when they think you're a total idiot and making really bad choices.

I know I make bad choices. I don't do what other people want. But I do what I can and I don't want to have to deal with self-righteous reproach every time I do something someone else doesn't agree with.

Self-Help

Sometimes people really bother me. Sometimes these people are my friends. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends. Sometimes they just bother me.

I have no idea why women like to sit around in a group and try to figure out what they've done wrong when it comes to men. The truth is, they already know what they've done wrong, if anything. They will read advice columns out loud, or advice books, and laugh or cry when they get to the part that is about them. Because like I already said, they already know if they screwed up. And they also already know that men are stupid idiots who say moronic things to try to sleep with as many women as possible. I don't know why women do this. In private, I understand. In a group, I don't get it. It just seems like a self-deprecating sessions where your friends can laugh at the idiosyncracies that live in your heart that make you do dumb things every now and then.

The other reason I don't like events like this is because I am not an advocate of man bashing. It's pointless. We know men are assholes, and actually, so do they. It's like the divorcee meeting of Jerry Maguire. It's stupid. A bunch of single women talking about how much men suck but also talking about why being single sucks. It's a double edged sword and there's no sense dwelling on it. Besides, if one grows to bash men on a regular basis, there's really not much hope for the end of singleton-hood.

Not that I don't think men need some improvement. I do have a theory that men are actually the missing link they've been looking for. They just haven't found it because all of the people looking for it are men. How could they find themselves? They could find the missing link if it were in their pants. However, like fishing and everything else, they would lie about how big the link actually is.

See? I can bash too. But I think of it like a parent might act towards a child (try not to think this is gross and creepy). If the child has potential, why not urge him to be the best he can be? Trust me, men can be better. Much better. They just don't care. They know that while they are out having beers with their buddies and swearing and slapping high fives every time they see a chick in a short skirt, the women that will want to date (i.e. sleep with) them are sitting at home planning a strategy to get them. They know they don't have to do any legwork. They can just be the stupid idiots they are and some woman some where will want them as the vile, insensitive jerk they are.

So I guess these are my parting thoughts: Ladies, don't bother. Don't bother trying to figure out how to be better for him, because he's not doing the same for you. Don't bother trying to pass judgement on him, his new girlfriend, or his buddies. Don't bother with strategies, games, or tests. Because it's pointless. Your heart will tell you what to do, and no matter how many self-help crackpot schemes you tune into, someone will always outwit you. Plus, your heart doesn't listen to self-help.

My House

I did not leave the house today. That's a good thing. I stayed at home with myself, and found myself to be pretty good company. I could do that all the time. It should be my job. I just have to figure out how to get someone to pay me for it. Actually, today was a pretty weird day; it went from being swelteringly hot to raining (actually sprinkling, but that's serious business in SoCal in July) in the span of about an hour. I managed to steer away from bad daytime TV, although I can't recall anything I watched today. I did a little work. I did a little writing. I played a little pool (by myself) and made a little food (mashed potatoes, skin on). I don't feel like I accomplished anything, but in a way I did. I know there are a lot of people who could not sit at home alone and entertain themselves for an entire day. I didn't put shoes on all day. I talked to two people today. And I feel fine.

About an hour ago, something attacked something else outside my bedroom window. It sounded like something tried to eat a crow. Raccoon? Rat? Whatever it was, I think it lives in the tree outside my window, but it only hangs out at night there. It can't be a dog. It's too quiet for that. One night I heard it rustling around and thought it might be some crazy person getting ready to attack me in my house. I would go outside and look to see what it is, but the sprinklers came on and I can't see anything anyway. I'll look in the morning. Maybe I'll find a crow carcass or something. Weird.

After mashed potatoes, I felt a little sick to my stomach. I feel a little sick now. Maybe I put in too much garlic. Maybe I gave myself botulism. Maybe I'm a hypochondriac.

So my most recent goal stems from today's activities: I aspire to do something where I don't have to leave the house if I don't want to, where I can stay in my pajamas all day, try weird things like cooking, look for dead animals in the bushes, and not feel guilty about it. I aspire to let my house be everything I need.

Disclaimer

I should come with a disclaimer. Or maybe other people should. Mine would be: I expect people to deliver what they promise. Theirs would be: I won't be delivering what I promise.

I don't know why I am so easily disappointed. But I suppose I should qualify my disappointment. I can do things on my own. I have done things on my own my whole life. But maybe it's the independence that makes me get soft so quickly. Do one thing for me, fine. Then do two things, then three, and the next thing you know, I've come to expect things to be that way all the time. And then you stop doing things for me, and I am disappointed. It's almost like I don't know how to take care of myself anymore. And then I'm sad and upset and disappointed. And I have to figure out how to be independent all over again.

But first I have to figure out how to not hurt anymore.

Hippo

I feel like a hippo. I can see my thighs undulating back and forth in a sea of fat similar to what you might see on a beached whale. Blubber. Where does it all come from? I'm sure the milkshake I had yesterday doesn't help much. Or the fries. Or the burger. Or the chocolates. God, I'm an eating machine. How does this happen?

When I was young and spry I was skinny. Now my thighs and belly could provide skiing entertainment to small animals. Is this what it will be like to get older? I don't wanna. Not that I ever did. I just realized I haven't gotten those books I ordered from Amazon quite a while ago. Stupid Amazon. They take forever.

I really wanted to go to the beach today, but it has been cloudy there for over a week now. This is supposed to be the middle of summer, and yet it's more like March. I'm Vitamin D deficient. And I need to sweat off some pounds real quick here. I suppose that laying in bed all day doesn't really make one feel too glamorous, but I don't really feel like doing much else. Even Happy Hour isn't calling to me. I'm hording my time like a squirrel collects nuts in September. Although I don't remember the last time I actually saw a squirrel, so I'm not sure they even exist here. But I would love it if I could hibernate and not show my face for an entire winter. I feel like I'm not suitable for public viewing as it is now. My hippo thighs make it completely impossible to wear shorts. Maybe hippos hibernate. If that's the case, I'll see you all in April.

Boredom

I feel weird. Like I'm not quite here. Like I'm on my way to invisible. I can't explain it any other way. It's not an emotional feeling. It's physical. I had some weird dreams last night and they seemed to keep repeating with little variations on the theme. And Jean-Luc Godard was there. I was part of a crew of revolutionaries, but it seemed like the main focus was on babies. Or something like that. I can't say they were good dreams, but they weren't bad either. They were just weird.

Today is day two of my mini vacation, and already I feel time strangling me back into work, as I only have three days left of absolute me time. I feel like I'm all booked up already. But I guess that's ok. I just want to get bored so I'll do things I wouldn't normally do. Like rearrange the furniture. Alphabetize my CD's. Unimportant stuff that makes you feel better when you're done doing them. But boredom doesn't seem to be penciled in on the schedule just yet, so those things may have to wait. I guess it comes after a serious afternoon of obsessing about anything I can think of: school, money, my body, my hair, my job, my car, and so on.

Depressed and Distressed

If all my friends knew how depressed and distressed I am, they wouldn't tell me how depressed and distressed they are. Which is precisely why I don't tell them. There is enough crap in my life without their pity. I suppose my problems are rooted in physical symptoms, but as always, they end up in an emotional quagmire that is impossible to escape. I feel fine. Not normal, but fine. I'll live. But not everyone would. I guess.

So my emotions are, as always, wrapped up in another person. One who doesn't feel the same way I do and is frustratingly in the middle of everything. He refuses to be a jerk, but also refuses to love me. It's always in the middle. And I am always on the left. I keep thinking that my problems would be so much easier to handle if he were on one side or the other, and I have almost convinced myself that this is a fact. If he loved me, I would have someone who would be emotionally vested in things. If he were a jerk, I would have no second guesses, no qualms, no regrets, no pain.

He is as wonderful and caring and attentive as I could have ever dreamed. He keeps telling me I am not alone. But I am. Because I am the only one who is concerned with the love aspect of this life I'm stuck with. I am the only one wrestling with my feelings for the other person. I am the only one concerned that I am being selfish. That my decisions are irreversible. I feel completely alone because I love another person that doesn't love me back. And in this particular instance, that little detail means so much more than it ever did before.

I am afraid I will be abandoned because I abandoned first. I'm moving ahead to future weeks in which I lay in bed and cry over everything I've lost. Over being nothing and saying nothing and doing nothing. When I really am alone in every way a girl can possibly be alone. Abandoned, disheveled, depressed, and distressed.

Stupidity

I'm tired. Of everything. I don't want to think. I don't want to do stuff. I don't want to do anything. At least I'm on a sort of vacation. Five days of doing very little. Right now it doesn't seem like enough. Maybe I was born to be a housewife and I just didn't know it. But I guess that can't really be since I'm challenged when it comes to being interesting to the opposite sex. So I guess that makes my problems all the more complex. How the fuck does this stuff happen to a nerdy chick like me?

The list keeps getting longer. Things that aren't supposed to happen to me keep happening. Things that are supposed to happen to other people. Which I suppose is how this kind of thing happens. My stupidity that things won't happen to me bites me in the ass. God I'm stupid. Among other things.

The Favor

I'm not happy. What else is new. I suppose I could go on and on about all the reasons I'm not happy, but it wouldn't really be anything new. I guess the only thing that's new is that I've reached a new low; one that I never knew existed. I suppose it will go away in time, but it really sucks because it follows me around everywhere and taints everything I say and do.

I feel like I should say something to him about this situation, but the point is really moot. I wouldn't be telling him anything different than I've told him before. My feelings are not important. They don't change anything. So I lay in bed and stare at the wall because I don't have the gumption to do much else and I don't want to talk to him about more of the same stuff. Especially now, when everything I say is tainted with circumstance. Nothing I say can sound like I'm not trying to be manipulative. But it really hurts to know how little things really matter in the end. Plus I can't really complain about him, because he really is being the best possible person I could ask for in my time of need. No one else could be better. So I feel like even more of a heel because the part of me that isn't thanking him is really upset that I am so in love with someone who won't return the favor. Even though sometimes it seems like it.

Secrets

Things are a little tense. Or intense. And I am not good at keeping secrets, but I do my best. Actually I'm better at keeping secrets from my family than anything else. Because weird shit happens to me. The kind of things that you think only happen to other people. So I have this little archive of secrets: that thing when I was 18, when I was 21, when I was 23, when I was 29. I guess you develop a talent for not telling your family things. And it becomes a habit. But really, if your parents freak out when you come home after curfew, what are they going to do when you tell them you're not a virgin anymore? So it's just best not to tell them things, for both your sakes. They don't need to know everything.

Besides, I feel like I can justify it with the reasoning that they don't even know what I do in my not secret life because they either don't pay attention or don't bother to ask. The weather is usually the most pressing subject for my parents. Which is fine in most cases. Sometimes I wonder what they tell their friends about me. They really don't know much, so what can they possibly say? I suppose it's probably something like what the weather is like where I live. It's so mild there...

Daytime TV

I'm usually not watching TV at this time of day. But it's cloudy outside, I don't have any homework, and I'm depressed. I'm curled up in a quilt I made over ten years ago and I have two collections of short stories sitting next to me as soon as I feel like opening them. Daytime TV is terrible. Even on cable. I never knew there were so many advertisements for medications. Inhalers, athlete's foot, KY jelly, even pills that are supposed to "cure" the ringing in your ears. I have a decent understanding of tinnitus, and it is irreversible. There is no cure for it, so I'm skeptical of what these pills actually do.

Anyway, this day is dragging by. I have things I need to get to; things I need to take care of. But I have to wait until later. It is driving me crazy. I am usually a lot more patient than this. But I guess things aren't usually this urgent or this important. And this concerns things outside of me. And I work alone. Or at least I have so far.

I've never been a team player. I did gymnastics. I sucked at basketball. I was never good at sharing my blame with others or taking the blame of others. I'm normally an independent. And this isn't an independent situation. God I feel stupid. I feel like a Lifetime Movie. Tori Spelling could play me. And she could cry at the drop of the hat and it would be believable, but it wouldn't be like me. But I guess Lifetime doesn't make a living without melodrama and water works. Neither does daytime TV.

Murphy

So I guess the Eagle has landed. Or something like that. I'm in a real fix; one that I have never been in before. Who knew this was possible? I guess I know all the things that need to be done and steps that need to be taken, but it's still scary. I feel like a total moron. I can hear the questions from pretty much everybody in the process, which will all boil down to "what the fuck were you thinking?!" And I will have to concede that yes, I am an idiot, and I didn't do what I should have done. And that's how I got here. And I am scared about being alone in this.

I hate bad timing. Which is really the story of my life. This is no exception. I canoot think of a worse time for this to happen, except for the saving grace that after tomorrow I won't have to work for an entire week. So I've got some time to myself to think about what I have done and what I will do. God I feel stupid. And irresponsible. It's one of those things that you think is never going to happen to you because you are too smart or too educated or too responsible or too careful or too paranoid for anything to go wrong. But Murphy didn't get a law for nothing.

Cesspool

Things are strange. Strangely present, and absent at the same time. I often marvel at my ability to temporarily forget all that ails me. I don't know how I do it. But it always comes back and creeps into my skull when I let my guard down. When I have nothing else to concentrate on. And sometimes it is serious business. I don't want serious business. So I reschedule it for another time when I might be able to cope with serious business and not lose my mind in some wallowing cesspool of doom and destruction. But I think I already stepped in it.

I realize what a not so nice person I am. It is rather late at night, but not extremely, and my new roomie has one of her hater friends over. This guy makes my skin crawl; because he is a psycho hater, but also because he is just weird and creepy. And he has a lisp. And I don't understand why they are rearranging her furniture at 11:00 at night. Why don't they do it during a Saturday afternoon? God this is annoying. I just want to come home from work and not have to deal with having guests in the house and trying to figure out if it is polite to just go in my room and shut the door and not say anything. Plus I want this guy out of the house. And he seems to be here every day. Or one of the other hater friends that comes over late and maybe stays over and I'm just tired of having house guests all the time when I don't even know her that well so she is like a houseguest herself. AAAAA! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!

My change of venue has been approved. Good things. New things. Interesting things. Different things. But not enough to pull me out of the cesspool. Of course, that all comes later, when someone decides to throw me a rope.

Slipping

Good things are happening today. I got a new job. That's great. For some reason though, I feel like I should be happier than I am. I kind of feel sad, and not because of the job. Not because of anything, really, except that I'm worried about things that I can't control right now. Things that could be a big deal soon. I'm scared. I'm sad. But not enough to do anything to me.

I've noticed since I stopped taking my medication that I am a lot less moody and emotional. I don't bounce around nearly as much. I have felt like a fat cow lately, but I don't think that's because of the medication. That must be something else. But it seems to be passing. I saw my hip bone yesterday and got excited about it.

This is the lazy summer. I have no excuses for why I'm not getting things done. I'm not busy. But it seems like when I look back on things, I don't know where all the time went. It's just slipping by, day after day. And now it has been seventeen days and time needs to stop slipping. I need to stop slipping.

Capability

I am not happy with the status quo. It has been like this for longer than the scheduled amount of time and I am starting to get worried. Sunny skies are nice, but if there's never rain, bad stuff happens. I haven't had any rain lately. It's getting down to decision time and take action time and I really just want to pretend that nothing is going on. Because that's what I'm good at. Plus I'm not keen on disturbing the other status quo. Because that can't be good.

Tomorrow is a down day. I am going to try to force myself to relax and worry about my life on Wednesday. But I need a day to stop and chill out and not worry about what other people are going to think about me if this happens or that happens. I need a vacation from this life. If only for one day.

I feel kind of nautious, but not overly so. Just enough to make me uncomfortable, which in itself makes me uncomfortable. Is this another symptom, or just bad eating habits? The others seem like symptoms, but it is difficult to tell sometimes. I'm not a very good judge of myself in this particular instance. But I must say, this feels very different from past experience. But I hope it's not. I don't really want to find out what I'm made of and what I believe. What I'm capable of. Or what I'm not.

The Wind

The internets is often not my friend. This is mostly my fault, and something I am trying to change. It is because I turn to the internet any time I need something to talk to, to divulge my innermost secrets to, and as a result, I come up empty handed. The intenets may be a good listener, but it isn't very supportive. And it is constantly leading me into temptation. So I check every possible account I may have opened to see how the balance has changed, check to see if anyone is viewing photos I posted, check to see if anyone is reading this drivel I post on a semi-regular basis. I get kind of psycho about it. Sometimes I check it more than once a day. It seems I have nothing better to do with my time.

But sometimes I really don't know who to talk to. At least the internet doesn't judge me. Doesn't tell me what to do. Doesn't stop talking to me. It will always be there, whether I like it or not. So I willingly and happily expunge secrets of my hovering body, my nightmarish dreams, my doubts, fears, and paranoia. I bitch about people I like, people I don't like, and people I don't know. I talk about the three forbidden subjects of polite conversation: religion, politics, and money. I worry about my appearance, my age, my talent, my intelligence, my emotions, and so on. And the internet doesn't care. It keeps on like always. A rock that doesn't pay any attention to the wind.

Wild Cats

Still hovering. And hurting. I spent today doing nothing, and boy am I tired. What's wrong with me? I feel old. I noticed a stray cat slinking around in the bushes at work today. Actually, it was more like a kitten, but it was completely wild. I think I saw another one last week that was bigger. So I'm assuming there's a family of wild cats living somewhere on the premises, but god knows where. I feel bad for the cat, because I really like cats and would probably take him home if I could get close to him. But work is no place for a cat, wild or otherwise. Plus, they employ some sort of herding dog, so if she ever gets wind of cats, that will be it for them, I'm sure.

I think I'm in a bit of a funk lately, and I'm not sure why or how. It's not my regular kind of funk. It's more of an apathetic, lethargic kind of funk where I don't really care about much of anything and I'm tired a lot of the time. Plus, my body aches. The hippie chiro has been unable to completely rid my neck of this kink that has been showing up at random for the past week or so. I take the kink as a sure sign that I am overworked and overstressed about something. Although I'm not sure I could pinpoint it to just one thing.

My dreams have also taken a turn that is mostly bad. I had a dream last night that my dad died, and it really freaked me out. Who dreams this stuff??? I feel like I'm fucked up because these things are going on in my mind without my permission. The other dream was that I went to this awesome film festival at the last minute and everyone was happy to see me there. Both dreams were equally emotional and vivid, but on completely different ends of the spectrum. Plus they happened in the same night, quite possibly around the same time since they are the only ones I remember. It freaks me out when I have nightmares, because it really makes me uncomfortable that my own mind is able to concoct scenarios that are so much scarier than anything I could consciously imagine.

Perhaps they are like the wild cats, but in my mind.

Par

I hurt. I forgot that I did some push-ups yesterday I guess because I got bored and started thinking I should get into shape. Push-ups was the first thing that came to mind. Nice going, slick. Now I have this muscle pain right in the same region as hormonal pain and it really sucks.

My supposed new job hasn't called and I'm starting to get worried that they aren't going to call, even though I thought it was pretty much a shoe in kind of thing by this point. I'll give it another day or two and then call. I hate being kept in suspense like this. Which seems to be par for the course at the moment.

Body Language

I'm a bit concerned over the state of my insides. Yes, I recently stopped taking a drug I've been taking for five years, so my body may be doing the duck and cover thing because it doesn't know what's going on. But I also don't know what's going on. I wish my organs could talk. All I know is that my regularly scheduled program has not aired, and I'm not sure when it will. Or if it will. I have been in mild and sporatic pain in the netherregions of my body for over a week now. My breasts are so sensitive, I have to use great care when dressing and undressing. I can't run. I often hold them as I walk through the house (as long as no one will be around to see it) because they seem to feel better when I do. I feel like a fat cow. I've considered weighing myself, but so far have been too terrified to drag it out. If I do, it may be the beginning of a binge diet for as long as I feel that way, which right now feels like it's already been forever.

So my body is in this weird holding pattern in a not so fun place. Like an airplane circling during a snowstorm. Or vultures over a wounded animal. So I'm somewhat concerned and have started counting the days and nights in a near obsessive manner, because eventually something has to happen. Either my body lands or I pursue other methods. Seriously. And the thing is, I've been drugged for such a long time, I don't really know what is supposed to be happening. I sort of remember what things were like before drugs, but as I recall, it was something that pretty much came and went as it pleased without much fanfare or introduction OR regularity. It's not the irregularity of the schedule, it's the way my body is trying to tell me something and I don't know what. I've silenced it so long, I don't speak the language any more.

"Grown" Women

Today I realized that other people really bore me. At least some of them do. I found myself at dinner with four other women, one of which is my roommate. I like her. The other three were the most self-absorbed, banal housewife types that I literally had nothing to say to them, nor they to me. We may as well have been at separate tables.

One of them is getting divorced after something like three years of marriage. And it amazes me how little it seems to bother her that not so long ago she said "till death do us part" and now she's sending out the signal for every man to steer clear because she just wants to be alone. Admittedly, I don't know anything about her or her marriage. But it seems like three years is pretty fast for something that is supposed to last forever to deteriorate into nothing. But then, I have things deteriorate into nothing in much less time than that, so I shouldn't be talking.

The other is obsessed with her kids, and of course pulled out pictures, which I think is one of the MOST annoying things a parent can possibly do. The second most annoying thing is to tell people about the "cute" things said children do all the time. Here's a hint: no one thinks your kids are as cute as you do. Don't ask, don't tell.

The last was an obnoxious woman that seems to have her whole life planned out like a retirement plan. Marry in maybe two years, have a kid in five, blah, blah, blah. Please. When you can sit and talk about love like you mean it, then I'll pay attention when you talk about kids and marriage. When you talk about it as if it's a savings account, I don't give a shit. Plus, I feel sorry for your man because you seem so glib and disingenuous about your feelings for him. I don't see any affection in your eyes when you talk about him. He may as well be a car.

I guess the last thing that really bothers me about these women is that they have no idea how lucky they are. Sitting at the same table are two other woman who are single, with no kids, and no divorces. Not that they would care though, since they never bothered to ask either one of us about ourselves. So they don't know that when they talk about these things, it's extremely annoying. It's like a rich person always talking about stuff they buy to people who struggle to make a living.

So I found myself making secret pacts with myself as I listened to these women. The first was to never hang out with them again. If I ever do have kids, I will not carry their pictures around in my wallet, and I will not insist that everything they do is adorable. I will also not talk about them unless asked, and even then I will keep it short and sweet. I will NEVER talk about marriage as something I am ready or not ready for, regardless of whether or not I am in love. I am a firm believer that it doesn't matter how long two people have known each other; love dictates its own rules and schedules. And the best way to make decisions is to honor what's in your heart. I will never "plan" to have kids. As in "I think I'll have one in two years." Bullshit. You want one, have one. Don't talk about it. That's annoying. It's not like buying a house for gods sake. I will try to show interest in the lives of others. Granted, I made a noble effort today, but it's difficult to care about what someone is saying when A. it's total "I'm an Independent Woman" bullshit and B. there's no reciprocation. I will try to always reciprocate. Isn't that what people learn in Ettiquette 101? I will always tip the waitress 20%. These cheap bitches think 15% is ok. Little do they know how annoying they are, and how late the waitress had to stay because they wanted to sit and "chat". I think I have the lowest paying job of all of them, and here I am, tipping way more than my share to make up for their miserly housewifish scrimping. God I hate "grown" women.

Jumbles

My thoughts are kind of jumbled today in a sort of list of things that keep repeating.

I looked up hats on Google the other day because I am suddenly fascinated with the idea of them, even though I know that I would never become a regular hat wearer unless I married royalty in England (yes, you, William, if you're paying attention) and got the opportunity to attend polo matches regularly. Of course, everyone would hate me because I would inevitably make some rude comment about the idle rich and they would throw me and my hat out.

I've also recently become interested in haute couture fabric, as a result of my recent trip to France. I want some. I just don't know where to get it. And similar to the hat, I'm not sure what I would do with it unless my life situation changed drastically.

I bought more wine. I am not an alcoholic, but I am addicted to acquiring wine. Yes, there's a difference. It's like collecting art, but cheaper. And drinkable.

School's out for now. I feel as though now is my chance to do some unsupervised creation, but I don't know what to create. The possibilities are literally endless. But I'm ruminating on it.

I'm holding my breath about my work situation, which I hope will improve with a change of venue. It would be a much needed change of scenery, as well as attitude.

I had a strange dream last night in which I was marrying my heart's desire and I needed another bouquet of purple roses, but then decided the red lilies would do because the florist had already closed for the day. I also instructed the pianist to play something, anything, besides the traditional Wedding March, because I refused to have any music written by that pompous anti-Semite Wagner played or heard at MY wedding. And it was on the beach of course. And I told him he could wear whatever he wanted, so he chose the pinstriped pants and the checkered coat. And then I woke up, still a little annoyed that I didn't get more purple roses, but glad I had drawn the line where Wagner was concerned.

There are sparrows outside my window tearing apart a nest that's been there a few months (empty). I wonder if these are the babies coming back home and pilfering materials for their own new nests. It's really quite fascinating; they seem to be taking turns getting stuff, and flying around in this little group and chattering to each other about everything.

Initiation

I have recently realized that I am automatically distrustful of strangers. I don't like new people. Which is probably why so many people think I'm a bitch upon first meeting me. I can also be shy around people I don't know, which doesn't really help much. I have this strange need to keep things about myself secret. I don't like people to know where I live, see my bedroom, or even know what kind of car I drive. I don't like talking about appointments I have or what kind of shampoo I use, or how big my family is.

I'm not really sure what makes me think I have to keep these things away from people. I realize that I have serious trust issues, and I'm not really bothered by it; I think it makes me more careful about the kind of people I let into my life. And earning my trust can be difficult sometimes. But the thing that really bothers me is that my distrust/shyness makes people not like me because they think I am a snob or that I am unapproachable and all the other stuff. Which of course I'm not.

I'm just not the type to initiate things.

Most of my ex's are quite familiar with this facet of my personality. Which also might explain why I have been so single and so dumped for most of my life. People think I'm the serial killer type because I don't say much at first. I just look at them sideways and make strange faces. And I stall at answering questions. I don't offer information about my personal life unless they ask.

So I guess that's the key; I have to be asked. I have no problem answering people's questions (usually--namely the lame "so...do you have a boyfriend?" question) because I feel I have nothing to be ashamed of (at least nothing they would think to ask about). But I really make people work. Which of course, no one wants to do.

So there's no initiation.

Eleven Days and Holidays

Thank god that one's over. I made a July 4th Resolution yesterday to stop working holidays. Because working on the holidays sucks. All your friends get together and have fun just at the hour that you are trudging off to another day of hell. Time and a half is not nearly enough compensation for that. And the people there so easily forget that you are working so that they can eat and enjoy themselves when you would rather be anywhere else; namely a fun little soiree where you have a perfect view of fireworks without having to fight for parking. They think that the buffet they are eating negates the tipping part, which is a complete myth, as the server ALWAYS has to give money to the people who keep it coming from the kitchen. That shit's not free, you know. We have to pay for it too.

So from now on, there will be no more working of holidays. No more Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, Memorial Day, July 4th, Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanna, Boxing Day, or Earth Day. And definitely not my Birthday, which is the most important holiday of the year.

Speaking of which, that one's coming up in less than three months, and I am trying to figure out how to not dread it. A big party? A trip to Hawaii? Napa?

I'm actually thinking of something along the lines of making it last for an entire week (plus a little extra on each end). It's actually perfect, since it falls on a Wednesday, so it'll be right in the middle. It can start the Friday before, and end the Monday after. Actually, I guess that's eleven days, but I have school in the middle of that, so it won't be partying straight through. I'll have to take breaks. And I think I'll have to go away for a few days to party elsewhere, just to spread the joy around to random strangers. I'm going to have to meditate on this a little longer so I can get a birthday/party itinerary going and get things a little more solidified as to what's possible.

On a completely unrelated note, I had a bad dream last night where I missed the first day of classes and they yanked my financial aid.

Big Fears

I think my stomach is trying to tell me something. It is not happy. It is anxious and nervous and generally not feeling all that great. My nerves are pretty much in agreement. I have been contriving to get out of working tomorrow, partially because I know that they have overstaffed (again) and don't need me, partially because I hate that place. But mostly because I was invited to dinner and I am so rarely invited that I got all excited and started scheming about how I was going to change the work schedule and not get in too much trouble since I'm trying to keep my nose clean right now.

But I'm starting to be my own worst enemy again because I'm thinking that I've been disinvited because I took too long to figure out if I was going to be able to make it and he's invited someone else (probably someone that makes me want to scream) instead. He doesn't want to be left alone. That's fine. I want to go. I don't want to be replaced. That would be really really really painful. Like it didn't really matter who I am in the first place.

I'm not saying that's how it is, just how I imagine it to be. How I don't want it to be. My big fears.

Bitching

Work. It really isn't the way I like spending my time. I much prefer to wile away the hours with whatever occupies my attention at any particular moment. Or spend it with friends. Or just cherish being on a schedule that I dictate. Make my own paths. But today, when I got home, I realized how nice it is to be able to put a few dollar bills into my wallet and know that I don't necessarily have to make it last. Because there will be more tomorrow. Like a strange, perverted fountain of plenty that I have to constantly pump. And I guess it's not really a fountain of plenty; but more like a fountain of adequacy.

My moods are so much better when I'm not at work. So much more stable. Little things don't set me off on a new bitching streak. I don't sit around with a sneer on my face and say "I can't wait to get out of here" and "This place can kiss my ass". And a smorgasbord of other fun things everyone who ever worked for a corporation knows.

We have people there that are new, and I feel bad for them, partially because they have no idea what they are in for, but also because they have such great attitudes. Which of course makes me feel like even more of a bitch. And often, when things don't go well for me, I tend to act like a spoiled brat. I can't help it. I just expect to get out what I put into something. And in the restaurant biz, it almost never happens. Overstaffing. Not being busy. Tourists. Discounts. Blah blah blah blah blah. It's always the same.

And so is my bitching. Recently it has hit a fever pitch, however, as the place has slid into what I consider irrevocable disorganization through a series of poor managers and ridiculous micro-management. Come on, how many people does it really take to order wine glasses? Or uniforms?

This place is clearly beneath me. I am too smart, too efficient, too creative, too autonomous, too fiesty, too talented, and obviously too amazingly amazing to work in this place. Which is why I have to leave. Which is why I will be leaving. Which is why I feel I can bitch at my leisure.

Because I have no reason to care anymore. But then again, they took away all my reasons to care a long time ago.

Sun, Subconsious, and Gas Money

The sun is shining and I'm on the internet. Something is definitely wrong with this picture, but I just woke up so I'm cutting myself a little slack. I'll be outside shortly, don't anybody panic.

I had one of those dreams last night where he abandons me and makes me feel generally bad about everything. I haven't had one of those in a long time and I'm not sure where this one came from. I think I've been really good lately at not being a total jerk or pathetic loser about things, even though I would choose differently, if the choice were up to me. But I can see I still have this terrible fear of losing him for good and feeling bad when he doesn't. Stupid subconscious. Always screwing everything up. Why couldn't I just have the maze dream instead?

I hate holidays. In case I've never made that clear, I am right now. I hate them because all of my normal friends get to do fun stuff and not work, while I'm slaving away at some goofy concocted "money-maker" at work. And of course, it never is a money-maker; it's only goofy. And overstaffed. So instead of making a respectable amount of money, I end up with just about enough to put gas in my car. Not enough to pay the rent, like it should be. So all you ten-percenters, go somewhere else. I don't want your fucking quarters for you taking up my precious holiday time. Grill out, you cheap, rude bastards.

The Cracks

I've been thinking, maybe I should write stories instead of journaling. Because in a way, the blag world is a sort of story. I can make stuff up if I want to, be vague and annoying if I want to, and create characters that people can only imagine. It's kind of the same thing, except that one ends up more like whining, and the other is just made up stuff. The only thing is that I'm not sure if I have the attention span to write stories, even if they are short. I get bored. I want to get to the point and blurt out, well, he dies in the end. Or they buy a house and live happily ever after. I get tired of the details of other people's lives, even if they are people that I invent. I know where they are going. I know what they are seeing, thinking, feeling. So I have to skip it and get to the good stuff.

If I were to change some of my journal entries to the third person and flesh things out a little more, maybe then I'd have some stories that would be a bit worth reading. It's difficult to imagine, since my life is so boring I don't remember the last bar I stepped foot in. Or the last fling I had. Or the last boy I flirted with. The last margarita I had. Sigh. Can a boring life be interesting? And interesting life be boring?

I guess it all depends on what happens in the cracks in between.