Post #546

One year. 365 days I've been keeping this online journal. And I suppose, looking back on it, not much has changed. This will be post #546, which means I am doing this way more often than I probably should. Especially since no one is even paying attention. Maybe that's why I've stuck with it so long. When people are watching, I often duck and run for cover.

I was expecting today to be much worse. But I found myself hopeful and in a good mood that seemed difficult to ruin. So I'm sitting at home with only a few minor issues to iron out before I start all over again tomorrow. And I also decided at some point today, almost by accident, that other people can go fuck themselves. I have no time to worry about other people's bullshit, even if it concerns me. I just do my best, act like a decent person, and hope it all turns out ok. If other people aren't ok with that, too bad.

But I'll be meeting new people this semester, people that are very different from the people I'm used to enduring. People who will be weird and self-possessed in a completely different way. I got applause today. Weird, very weird. I'm just a teaching assistant; handing out syllabi, answering dumb questions and such. And some overly excited, smart ass drunk guy started clapping after the prof introduced me. And before I knew it 350 people were clapping like sheep or idiots, I can't decide which. But I suppose it could be a good omen of things to come.

After all, this is the start of year two.

Change

I'm wondering what Dr. Freud would say about one that has a dream about a bright blue (as in flourescent) dog coming over and flopping down so you can pet him. A bit strange, I would say. But as my dreams go, it's fairly tame.

I'm depressed about life today, and other than the beginning of school, I have no reason to be. I actually like school, but I'm dreading it at the moment. I've been through enough changes in the past few months to want to stay static for a while. But this is a big change, and my one two three four five senses are working overtime. Trying to figure out my next move. I laid in bed after waking up trying to think of the perfect outfit to wear, and I came up with something so incredibly boring.

I get a hair cut today, which I'm kind of scared about too. And I realized that after today, it will be ponytail time from here on out. Certain things I can't forget. Restraining my hair is one of them.

Last Day

Today was the last day of summer. Educationally speaking, that is. Tomorrow I go back into that rough and tumble world of trying to make something of myself when deep down I know I just want to go to the beach and be comfortable. It has been an interesting summer; like no other I've had to date. It's been full of vacations and visitors, unemployment, surprises good and not-so-good, and a myriad of other things I don't understand and prefer not to think about.

Recently I've taken to not saying things out loud, and seeing how that goes. I suppose it's going ok so far, but it doesn't help with stress reduction at all. It helps keep things tidier, though. I suppose with school starting, it will give me a chance to concentrate on something that is supposed to be fun. Let me get back into the swing of doing things on a daily basis. Thinking and such. I have apprehension about this coming semester, mostly because I'm not off to a great start yet. I wish the university would get their shit together and organize so I don't have to have a sherpa to navigate the class schedule and faculty changes. I wish the university would keep me better informed on what's going on.

They are like a secret society, operating this huge organization and changing things so quietly that no one notices until it's too late. I want this to be a good semester. I want to shake these feelings of inadequacy and unpopularity I've been feeling all summer. I want to feel like I belong somewhere, and that I'm not chasing some stupid pipe dream. I want things to work out. All things.

Pesky Kids

It's the day before school starts, and I am already exhausted. My brain is slowing down with the stress of trying to think of all the things I have in store for me, all the things I haven't organized yet, and all the things I need to do before tomorrow. It's like trying to wade through sludge.

I'm still trying to get through my classes, and I feel like a spoiled brat who didn't get the corvette for her sweet sixteen. In all my years of college (and there have been many), I have never gotten into a situation where I couldn't get the classes that I want. But now, here it is, for me to enjoy. Perhaps tomorrow I'll turn into one of those crying students who breaks down when the professor says "no" and has some awful sob story that makes you want to stick your head in the oven just listening to it. Either the class is full, or it conflict with another class by ten minutes or less, is at a completely ridiculous time, has ridiculous prerequisites like Enlish as a Second Language 101, or someone else has edged me out. I try not to worry, but seeing as how I've never been in this position before, I don't know what to expect. So I end up shaking my fist and muttering obscenities like a nabbed criminal on Scooby Doo.

Pesky Kids.

My Conspiracy Theory

The world of apparel is conspiring against me. Conspiring to make me feel too skinny, too fat, tall, short, tiny-breasted, big-footed or just plain ugly. Today I found myself shopping for bras. Online, of course, because there is nothing more bizarre than looking at undergarments in public. There are thousands of bras on the internet. And as it turns out, a large majority of them are nursing or running bras. Which reminds me that I'm old and without children (because apparently EVERY woman has children) and I don't work out. Thanks, Amazon. I also find myself gravitating quite unintentionally toward the very expensive bras. I didn't even know bras could cost over a hundred dollars. But they sure look like they fit good and look nice. But alas, my champagne tastes are never to be satisfied until I make my first million. So I have to stick to the cheapo lingerie.

And in this case, any bra under $80 is inevitably going to come in every size except mine. I am an A. A all the way, baby. I can't even puff up my chest or hold my breath to get to a B. Sometimes I'm very ok with my little boobs, but at times like this, I desperately wish I could have more. If I could just get to B, a whole new world of undergarment fashion would open up to me. I suppose the designers are trying to advocate everyone get to more or less the same size, whatever means it takes. With every page of bras I downloaded, I felt more and more freakish with my less than average A's.

Which I guess is why small breasted women often don't wear bras. They aren't made in our size.

Weary Weekend

It was a weary weekend. And a wild one. I almost feel like I live with my parents again, sneaking out of the house and trying to be the first one home so I won't have to explain where I've been.

But I don't care. Because I had an amazing time. I don't really know how to describe it, except that I experienced something I never expected. And I don't even know what to call it. But my memory is of the inside of my leg from my groin to my ankle being numb, losing track of time and space, and thinking of Greek sculpture. I remember a shortness of breath, sweat, and the most wonderful kisses one could imagine.

There's this mechanism inside me that likes making people happy. It sometimes turns itself around several times into being happy that someone else was happy because he made me happy, but it happened. The simple fact that someone would want to go to great lengths to make me happy is enough to make me jump for joy, but that he was actually able to make me happy made me swoon. Really. And naturally, I want to return the favor. I'm not keeping score, I just like doing things for others. It is better to give than receive. Right?

At times, I wish I could decifer the long, unblinking stare. I know exactly what I am thinking, but have little guidance as to his brain's inner workings. I would give anything to know. But I suppose I'll live without. I know that my memory of last night will stay with me for a long time. It will live in my body as something that is quiet but prodding. I found some more of it after a phone call with him today. Not that I'm surprised.

I'm tired. I'm sore. But I reached a point of relaxation yesterday that I have not found since June, or maybe even before that. A place of feeling wanted, desired, and needed. A place of feeling important because someone else is making an effort for me. A place of feeling incredibly beautiful and sexy because he still wants me in spite of himself. And I am not one to say no.

I am one to say yes yes yes. I am one to say exactly what I think; exactly what I feel. I am not a faker. Or a fakir. I am just a simple person. With simple needs. And every now and then, someone will meet one of those needs. And let me say for the record, my need last night was not only met, but surpassed.

Freakin' HOT Friday

Freakin' HOT Friday. I can't believe how hot it is outside. It's like Death Valley decided to pay a visit. It's so hot, my sunburn and I don't really want to go to the beach, so that's pretty freakin' hot. I found myself trying to think of a place to go that would be nice and cool...airconditioned. And since the grocery store doesn't like it when you climb into the freezer with the Ben and Jerry's (plus my stalker lives there), I think the movie theater is the place to go. There's actually a couple of things out that I want to see, so it would be prudent. I really need my laundry to dry faster. Otherwise, there will be no artsy-fartsy film for me today.

And I'm going to go by myself. Yes, it's always more fun to go with a pal, but when they've already seen the film, you're out of luck. But I'm ready. I'm in the mood today, and I'm hoping the movie will inspire me to be in the mood for other stuff that I want to do. Escpecially since I've got the laundry and miscellaneous chores out of the way. Well, almost out of the way.

I'm back into the work cycle of having stuff to do. It's almost nice to know what you will be doing every day, but it also sucks. I think it sucks more than it's cool. Now my lounging around time is quickly disappearing, and no one seems to understand how distressing that is. Call me lazy, maybe I am. Even my other friends that have nothing to do all day think I'm lazy. How does that work? Anyway, I know that one week from today I will be stressing out with all the stuff that has to get done by a certain time. I will also be stressing out that I will have entered the month when I officially become old, and I may start crying on a daily basis to mourn the death of my youth(actually, it was dead a long time ago, but now it's dead on paper too).

Next month will bring all sorts of bad things, including depression, wrinkles, old, single lady hood, and maybe even floods and locusts. This is my apocalypse. And it looks like it's starting with the heat of a thousand suns. I'm gonna need more ice. Crushed ice.

Tiring Thursday

Tiring Thursday. I am so exhausted right now, I'm actually having a serious debate with myself of whether I should eat something, or just go to bed. It's not even 8 o'clock yet. But I had to work today, for the first time in over 2 weeks. I also went to yoga, which I haven't done for about 3 weeks. I am weak and out of shape, which is incredibly depressing. I used to be so supple and svelte, and those days are gone. Now I'm like a big piece of sheet metal, except not as strong. Way weaker. Think twigs for arms, and that's me.

I also found myself irritated and him again. And it's stupid little stuff. But also important to me at the same time. He is like night and day sometimes, and it drives me crazy. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he was holding my arm, pulling me closer, and generally enjoying being around me. Today, (note the cute blonde with big blue eyes being present) he won't even look at me, much less touch me. It's like he doesn't want anyone to think he knows me. Like he is ashamed of me. Like my mere presence is cramping his style. Add to that the fact that he does this all the time (namely at school), and listen to my little broken heart let out a sad little wail. It's there, not that he'd ever hear. He's too busy ignoring me.

I have known him long enough to know when he is open to me and when he is not. And he has made it clear to me that he does not want me near him during yoga class. It's quite possible he doesn't want me in his yoga class at all. Because of course, I'm cramping his style. Or his lifestyle. I know this sounds stupid and trivial, but it really does hurt my feelings (yes, I still have some) when I think he's going to be like he was yesterday and he treats me like a bug. A few hours pass, and I've metamorphasized into a pest. It's like being caught in a Kafka novel. Frustrating, frightening, bewildering, saddening.

I Am Ridiculous

I often go back and forth between believing I am supercool and being absolutely ridiculous. Today I feel ridiculous. Because I have no life of my own, I am forced to eavesdrop on other people's lives and try to find that exciting. I have to empathize other people and try to look at things from their perspective and understand. It can be tiring.

I went to the beach today. It was perfect; no clouds, nice and warm, not very many people there. Perfect. But there was someone else there that I had to avoid because the mere sound of her voice is like nails on a chalkboard to me. Not because of the tone of it, just because I know that if I'm in her presence, I will feel discomfort much like I feel in science class when the only attention you get is not the kind of attention you want. So I avoid her like a plague. Maybe she's a nice person, but I haven't really been privvy to that. Only to the irritation I experience when I see, hear, or hear about her.

To make things more uncomfortable, I happened to glance over at one point and see my favorite person walking over to meet her. This is where understanding and empathy have to take over. I understand they are friends. I understand he and I spend ample time together (usually). But that doesn't mean I'm not uncomfortable when they are together. Especially when I am in the vicinity. I feel like a stooge, or an unpopular jerk at the very least. I try to hide behind the rocks and zone out and not think about them, but it can be difficult. Thank god for bad fiction. Or whatever that was I was reading.
Thank god for the lifeguard that distracted me when he found a bong among some kids' stuff near me. He let out the dorky, cop-like comment "good thing there were no kids around", which kind of baffled me. A homemade bong on the beach is the least of my worries. How about the broken glass strewn here and there? It's not like the kids were packing AK-47's or doing crystal meth or preaching the ways of the religious right. To me, those are far more serious offenses than having a homemade bong sitting next to your shoes and beach towel while you go for a swim. That was an interesting distraction. So where was I?

Oh yeah, jealousy. But not so much that I'm fuming or upset or anything. Just enough to make me uncomfortable. Which I know is unfair. I peek over to where they are and I can see him talking with the hand gestures he so often employs. I desperately want to know what they are talking about. Usually I only want to know these things when I think someone is talking about me, but this is different. I know they could not be talking about me (but if they are, I DO want to know what they are saying). I think it just boggles my mind that he finds her so fascinating and fun and I don't. I like all his other friends. She is the only one I'm not on board with.

In my defense, I don't think it's entirely my fault. Yes, I am a bitch, yes I can be cold, whatever, whatever. But she has put me in positions before where he has gotten mad at me because of something she said and I don't appreciate it. Especially when I never did anything. And I also don't appreciate feeling like I'm invisible whenever she's around. And she's loud and obnoxious, but that takes a back seat to how she makes me feel when I'm around her. Which is like nothing.

But I must say, I stuck it out like a soldier without getting emotional. And when they finally left, they probably passed within twenty feel of where I was sitting. And either they never saw me, or didn't want to acknowledge me, because they kept on walkin'. One of the things I've always liked about being around him is that when I'm with him, he doesn't usually notice other people. He pays attention to what I say and looks at me when I talk. But when he is with her, I find this annoying. Because she becomes the center of his universe. Yes, I know I'm a hypocrite. But how would you feel if the sun on your beach was blotted out by one woman's ability to completely overshadow everything you do?

Whoops, it's Wednesday

Whoops, it's Wednesday. I woke up late, when I was supposed to be at the chiro. Luckily, they let me reschedule. It's not like me to not get up when I have something to get up for. Tomorrow I have to go to work, so there can be no oversleeping then. I'm sure this will inject a healthy paranoia into me. Today I have things to do. But some of them I don't want to do. Because I'm lazy, and I don't like to be bothered. Or uncomfortable. Which has been the word of the day lately.

I start school one week from today. I love school, and I'm not looking forward to going. I would be more excited if I was taking classes I like (registration at this place is so jacked up, I can't fix my schedule until school actually starts). I am looking forward to being a little to the left of the film department. They end up in these little cliques that I naturally avoid like the plague, even if I like the people. No one calls me for homework or asks what I'm taking or wants to work on a project together. I'm a soloist. It just works out that way.

I am looking forward to getting my financial aid check. My job situation has been frustrating, but I can't say I'm upset about not having to work. Only about not having any money. I knew I was actually a princess in disguise.

Tricky Tuesday

It's a Tricky Tuesday. The day that has life playing mind games with me. I find myself desired in a strange and perverse way. I like it, but don't know what to do about it. When it comes right down to it, I'm a good girl. And I want good girl things. Is it possible to tell someone that all you want for your birthday is him? I guess I know it's possible, but the part that stops me is where he says I don't want to give that to you. I don't want to get hitched in Reno, or grow old together, or promise you any kind of devotion. So I don't ask. Because I know that's what's coming. And I don't handle rejection terribly well, as evidenced by the past year and a half.

And then things split into this thing that could be super great and wonderful but completely out of my grasp, or this thing that could be super seedy and trashy and not at all my style or jiving with my moral code, but completely doable, if I so chose.

I have a talent for people who are unavailable. It doesn't matter why they're unavailable, but I can sniff them out like a dog can find a crotch. It's inevitable. If he's married, engaged, or got a girlfriend, he'll want me. If he's on the rebound and will snap out of it shortly, he'll want me (but only for that time period of about 72 days). If he lives in another town, state, time zone, or country, he'll want me. If he is in need of a mommy (rather than a girlfriend), he'll want me. If he's trying to make someone jealous, he'll want me. If he's going to jail, he'll want me. And actually, my finely attuned sense of unavailability in others will recognize this and drag me to him like one of those supermagnets you see in the comic books. Sometimes I stop myself in time, sometimes I don't.

Jail and other women are usually easy to spot. Where he lives can be, depending on the situation. Momma's boys don't show themselves until after about three weeks. And the rebound guy will always blindside you, leaving you wondering what that thing was as he trots into the sunset without you. Because he will never admit he's on the rebound. At least not to you.

How do I find all these people? I've often boiled it down to bad timing. If only I'd met him six months earlier/later. This may or may not be true. If he was single, would he still find me attractive, or would the thought of having to come home to me every day frighten him out of his skull? If he could see me more than one weekend a month, would he want to? Or am I some perverse version of the ME RESERVES? I guess that would be an army of two. As far as I know. But in the end, I think it's just some sort of joke fate is playing on me. I am marked for stupid twists that don't happen to other people and I will never understand.

Some people are great authors, or thinkers, or innovators. Some are great at math, or sales. Some are creative. But I have an altogether different talent. Want your guy to finally commit? Send him to me. After jerking me around for just over a month, he will come running back to you and propose. I have the statistics to prove it.

Murky Monday

It's Tuesday. Yesterday was Monday. Murky Monday. But on the bright side of things, I did get to finally visit the beach. Which was beautiful, as always. With company. Which meant I had to get my shit together before I got there. And it has definitely not been together for a while. I was still taking deep breaths when I was parking the car. Counting to ten and all that. Because this person has the strange ability to say things that seem completely innocuous until they enter my ear canal and get transformed into the most painful series of sounds one can imagine. And there's no one that could understand, or at least no one I can talk to about it.

Sometimes are immediately hurtful, like yesterday, while other things take a while to incubate and be considered. I feel like my problems are significant, but am told other things are bigger. More important. More impactful. Which makes me feel stupid and all sorts of other things because my issue is something I'm STILL having a hard time with, even though I'm apparently the only one. I thought it was huge. Life changing. Something that will always be with me whether I like it or not. But it's been regarded on the same scale as a broken fingernail or a cloudy day and that is not making me feel better.

Fat

Ok, so I'm watching this bizarre show that's a beauty pageant for fat girls. Because "big is beautiful". I find this somewhat disturbing. I am all for feeling comfortable in your own skin. I wish I was, and actually more on the emaciated side than the big side. But how responsible is it to promote fat? Every day we are told what a health hazard it is to be overweight. Is all of that suddenly wrong? Is 300 pounds now something that doesn't strain your heart, your bones, and generally shorten your life?

Chunk is chunk. But if you have no idea where your belly button is and haven't seen your ankles in several moons, that's not sexy. Knowing your body is sexy. Loving your body is sexy. Abusing it is not sexy.

By the way, I also find it ironic that Curves fitness chain is the first commercial at the break. Perfect.

Does anyone else notice these things, or is it just me?

Corporate America Takes Over

My house is being ripped apart. Literally. There are walls going down that will never be seen again. I can't say I'm going to miss them. I will miss peace and quiet for a while. About a month, my sources say. There goes the idea of having a birthday party at the house. It will still be ripped to shreds.

Maybe I just shouldn't have a birthday this year. Say it was rained out. I've been ticking down the list of people who won't be available anyway, and the list is getting long enough to determine there isn't enough interest to hold any sort of get together. Perhaps it's for the best. I'm not really looking forward to this birthday, so why should anyone else? It is just me, after all. Who cares about a stupid birthday anyway?

My life is pretty much the same every day. I don't have news, don't have drama. Other people have stuff going on, I'm trying to decide when to take a nap. Other people are getting phone calls, I'm leaving more messages. Not getting any. Seriously. My life is the pasteurized version of life, the Diet Coke of life, only a quasi life. You would think corporate America took over my life because it's lost so much of it's vivid color and unexpectedness. It's not quirky or fun or important. It's banal and boring and everyday and pedestrian and did I mention boring?

Remedy

A few hours ago, I was struck with the overwhelming urge to quit school and get a job back home. So I spent way too much time on the internet trying to find one that would hire me and let me move back to the place I willfully left so many years ago.

I don't know what's come over me. I've never wanted to move back there. Is it the filmy rosiness that it just gained from the last visit. Or maybe it's the feeling of not being needed here. Maybe it's that there are people there that miss me and care about me. Maybe I really don't want to go back to school. Maybe I just want to live in my parents' basement for the rest of my life.

All I know is that I've been seized by this all to familiar feeling of restlessness and discontent with my life and I don't know how to remedy it. I need a remedy for what's ailin' me. I just don't know where to get it. Here or there?

Sunday Afternoon

It's halfway through the afternoon. I'm still in bed. Watching French film. I have no other reason to do anything else. I checked beach weather; it's no good. I've starting taking more note of the days gone by. It's been almost a week since we spoke, because I called him. Even longer since I saw him last. He doesn't seem to miss me. Doesn't seem to care. Doesn't seem to want to see me at all, anywhere. My mind starts inventing or deducing, whichever it is. He's met someone new, or someone old and I am no longer necessary. No longer important.

And the silence is saddening because I remember the noise from before. I thought he wanted to be around me. I thought the distractions were keeping him from me. They were saving him from me. I warned him of this. I said our relationship would change. I said I was afraid. I said all those things and he brushed them off as silliness. And now he has no desire to talk to me. My last words to him were 'call me whenever you want, whenever you are bored or feel like it'. He said thanks. Not I will, or I miss you, or can't wait to talk to you. Thanks.

Like thanks for pining for me when I'm gone. Thanks for telling me you'll always be around waiting for me like a stupid dog. Thanks for being such an emotional idiot. I'll call when I have no one else and you'll be so happy that I've graced you that you'll forget everything about being alone and just be happy that someone is willing to talk to you because you are a total loser. Loser.

It's a Sunday afternoon and I have nothing to do. No one wanting me. No one making me happy. No one who cares what the hell I'm doing or thinking.

Houston

Twelve hours of sleep and I'm still tired. Who would've thought coming home would be so tiring? On another, much grosser note, I feel so dirty. I will be very glad to step into the shower. Some of my depression is wearing off; perhaps I am being comforted by familiar surroundings. My stuff. It's cloudy here, and if it stays this way, I may just stay in bed all day long and hibernate.

I have bills to pay. Big ones. I'm not very excited about it. I was really enjoying having no responsibilities while I was away. Now the gravity of everyday life is descending upon me once again. Sign this, pay that, get this get rid of that. It's neverending. And I still haven't seen the beach. My favorite time for walks on the beach is when it's cloudy with a little bit of breeze. Just cool enough for a light sweater. I like the way the sand is cool against my feet.

I have lots to do. The closer I get to my birthday, the more I realize that everyone I know will be busy. And not with me. Everyone forgets my birthday. I guess I should expect it by now, but this is a big one, and I was hoping for better. So the depressing birthday gets more depressing every day. Thirty days to thirty and counting. T-minus ten. Houston we have a problem. What else is new?

End of Summer Tally

I've been playing a not so fun game with myself lately called how long till my phone rings. And so far, it hasn't. Silent. Good thing I got the best network in the country. At least if there wasn't service I'd have some sort of good excuse. So now I'm home and things don't look as rosy close up as I remember them and it makes me sad. I wish I was still gone, even though I was going crazy and broke at the same time.

School starts in ten days and I don't want to go. I am dreading being the dumbest girl in class that has no friends except for the ones that take pity on her. The one who has a phone and no one knows why. The one that can leave class right away because no student or professor would ever want to talk to her. About anything.

I guess sometimes I even look at myself and forget that I am still human. That I still have feelings and needs, even if I don't want them. And this summer has given me new fears that I never had before. Great, just what I need. And no new friends and maybe even less than I had before. So, at the end of the summer, my tally equals this: no money, no love, but new guilt, and new fears.

Star Wars Subtitles: Whoa.

Sometimes subtitles can be a bit misleading. The worst subtitles I've ever seen were for a Kurosawa film called Dodes'ka'den (I'm not entirely sure about the spelling, and am too lazy to look it up at the moment, but that's irrelevant here). This, however, may have that film beat. At least in bad translation.
episode iii, the backstroke of the west

Starving Artist

I'm up early and ready to go. Just so I can sleep in my own bed. And watch my own TV. And stop eating for gods sake. I will lose those ten pounds if it's the last thing I do. I'm sick of being stared down by my gut.

I had a dream that someone I know tried to kiss me. Not someone I want to kiss in real life. It was weird. Mostly because in my dream I was almost ok with him kissing me. I was thinking about it today while washing my hair, and realized that I'm not kissed that often. I haven't made out without a guy in a long time. I'm a good kisser. I've been told as much. I like kissing. It's one of my favorite activities. But my mouth and tongue have been starving artists for a long time now. No passionate open mouth kisses, no tender pecks, no lingering lips. That's probably one of the worst things about being the ugly girl. I can always get myself off, but no matter how hard I try, I can't kiss myself.

Also dreamt that I missed work. Weird. Which means that the rest of me will continue being the starving artist as well.

Dear Liza

There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza. Yep, the one that I pour my heart out in every day. And it's giving me a hole in my stomach and one in my actual heart and making me wish I could have one in my head too. It just occured to me that my contentedness of early summer has not only waned, but disappeared entirely. While I may be able to put a brave face on things and generally act like I'm not bothered, I see clouds and rain everywhere. My phone determines the weather.

So I pour myself out till I'm empty into a broken cup. This other that doesn't know, or at least forgets. I need a serious brainwashing. Maybe I should join the military. I need the tabula rasa and how. I thought I was going somewhere but I really went backwards. I wish I could remember the name of the guy who was forced to roll the rock to the top of the hill for all eternity. Prometheus comes to mind, but I know that's not the guy. Anyway, it seems like I am that guy. Every time I think I'm getting somewhere, things get rough and I have to start all over. I think I've come up with a new plan that is going to work this time and it, of course, backfires in the worst way. I am the Wile E. Coyote to his Roadrunner. I know I'm fucked up when I start comparing myself to cartoon characters. But I always did feel kind of sorry for poor ol' Wile E.

So, here is my bottomless pit of despair. Of god I hate myself-ness. Because I already gave the good stuff to someone and got rid of the rest.

Crazy Lady

I am leaving soon. To go back to the place where no one knows me, or cares or even thinks about me. But really, I just want to slip in under the radar and sneak into my room so I can live like a hermit for a few days. Pretend that I don't care that my phone doesn't ring and that I'm getting ready to suck at another semester of school. Keep telling myself a lie of the day so I can get through it without slitting my wrists. Not that anyone would notice anyway.

I've been getting serious pains in my chest for the past couple days and think I might have a heart attack or something. The headaches definitely signal an impending anneurism. Or stroke. Whatever.

I found out today that the only one that keeps coming back to see what I'm up to is a three month old Shih Tzu. That's a bit depressing. Along with the ugly friend syndrome that I've been self-diagnosed with. Sigh. My phone is still silent.

In this age of communication, I can't get it. The lines are open, but the callers are asleep. Or busy. I am becoming the crazy old lady people whisper about. The one that maybe at one time was close to being someone, but then had a terrible accident and now has a glass eye and eats something weird like pinecones and sneers at little kids on their bikes as they ride by the house. I am the witch from the fairy tale. Plus, I'm a raving lunatic. All because no one wants to talk to me.

Hot or Not

I have this friend that I really like hanging out with. Except that she is up on all the latest stuff and I'm not, so I end up feeling like a big dork. I don't have the cool clothes and the right makeup and the best music and the hottest gossip. I was with her at the mall when she was buying lip gloss at the makeup counter and I looked up from the vast array of eyeliner shades and about six other women were looking me up and down like I should be carried away by security because I look like some sort of crazy bag lady walking around Nordstrom's.

Yes, it's true. I'm the ugly friend. I'm the one that doesn't have to decide which boy to go out with because there are none knocking on my door in the first place. I am the perpetual wingman. The chick that guys have to endure in order to get to go out with the cute girl.

The longer it goes on the uglier I feel. My hair gets stringier, my skin gets ruddier, I get fatter, my clothes get dorkier, and my humor is exiled to another completely different dimension. This is the reason I should move far away from everyone and become a hermit. My phone is not ringing. My inbox is empty. I have no one to look forward to. No one looking forward to me. All because my friends are hot and I'm not.

Purgatory

Stuck in Limbo. There's nowhere that I want to be, no one that wants me, nowhere that I fit in. The Earth is apparently my own private Purgatory. I'm sad because there's nothing for me anywhere. Plus I'm extra sad because the person that was there for me through the thick tough time of summer doesn't even seem to know me anymore. Not a phone call, letter, e-mail, nothing. And it hurts my feelings because he's usually the only one paying attention and now that he isn't, no one is. It's a big hole in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.

So I'm getting a little paranoid that now he's had time to think about things and doesn't want to have anything to do with me because I'm dangerous and get myself into all sorts of trouble and then gain weight that I can't get rid of and I'm just so much of a mess my insides look like the inside of my mom's house because there's useless stuff everywhere and I can't seem to let go of any of it. And as jacked up as I am, I still get lonely and depressed when he doesn't talk to me. Which hasn't been much since my dark days of summer because he's popular and I'm not.

I can't tell him I miss him if he doesn't say it too. It's just a stupid rule. But I have to have something in place to protect myself. Right now that's all I have. Return calls don't count. He's so entertained without me. My existence is peripheral. Like fringe benefits. But fringe is everywhere. So is Purgatory.

Leaving

I guess the only way to get alone time is to get up at sunrise. Not something I normally do, but today I made an exception. Today is the first day I can see the mountains since I've been here, and I can't stop looking at them. It makes me think I should have never left. But then I get myself into things and I just want to leave. Typical. Always getting out instead of solving problems.

I wanted to get on the interstate and just drive west until there was no more road. Then I would be at home. Because this place makes me sad. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because there are a lot of sad memories here of my life before I knew I had one. Maybe it's because I'm always reminded of how far behind I am. Other people out here have stuff and families and lives that are not even similar to my own. And it makes me feel weird.

The only thing that is good about being here is that I usually feel smart and thin when I'm here. Midwesterners say and do a lot of dumb things and have a different opinion of beauty than Californians. Wait, that was supposed to make me feel better, not worse. Oops.

But I guess I feel strange because the people out here are the only ones who seem to miss me when I'm gone. Or at least they say they do. Which makes me feel like I'm alone in the world. Because no one where I live misses me. So it becomes just this place that I live instead of a home. Things like the beach are the things I have to hold on to as reasons to go back. That, and the simple fact that no one can miss me if I'm not gone. So I always have to leave.

Which I'll be doing soon.

Teeth

This is the strange thing that I always find at home. The feeling that everything and nothing matters. The feeling that my life is great but is going nowhere. That I am a disappointment to a lot of people. That no one understands me. That I am an oddity. But I'm so different that people find me fascinating. I'm at home and homesick at the same time. Is that even possible?

I hit a new and different level of loneliness yesterday for some reason and I don't know how or why. It just came out of the blue. And then I talked to him, hoping he would clear it up for me and he didn't. I hoped he missed me and he didn't. There was nothing in his voice that would even suggest it. I have been forgotten. Or at least the forgetfulness that hits when you only remember a person's existence, rather than their feeling in your life. Like having a tooth pulled. Eventually, your tongue stops feeling the empty space. Eventually your mouth feels full of teeth again.

Here

Being in the car for twenty hours has warped my mind. And my back. It is far from here to there and back, but I still have to go back. Funny how being away from home and at home feels completely foreign. The mountains feel like home. I suppose that's where all my good memories live. Nestled in among the trees and rocks. I wish the car could travel back in time to the places I really miss; the places I would gladly stay in forever, given the chance. I don't need to move on and reach my goals. It's not that important to me when it comes down to that or eternal happiness. I choose happiness.
So dad reads the paper and mom gets her new age treatments and hopefully I'll get a massage later. Only a few people know I'm here. I feel like a spy. My sister doesn't care that I'm here. But an old friend said he would make time for me, even though he is super busy. I can always count on him to make me feel good. That's why he's still my friend after all these years. Even after some rough ones.
I want to ride a horse. Go off on four hooves into the trees and wilderness and remember that for a while.

Unophobia

I'll be leaving in about five hours. The beach is cloudy, so there will be non of that for me today. I went to the book store to (duh) buy some books. I think I'm beginning to undertand the weirdness of my addictions that are so strange, they don't even have names. I think I'll call it singularaphobia. Or unophobia. Or really just the fear of one. It's like that commercial that says you can't have just one. I really can't.

I can't go into a store and buy just one thing. It's impossible. I must have at least two. Or more. One is never enough. So of course, at the book store, I bought more than just one book. Way more. I am clearly out of control, as I made sure to tell the girl at the counter. I have plenty to read for a while.

I can't have just one. There is no solo in my life. Except for me, of course. Which would explain why I am always at least a little bit unhappy. I'm not made for singularity.

I can't have just one bite. One piece of candy. One movie, one drink, one swimsuit, one pair of glasses. I like the number two so much better.

Vacation

I'm taking a spur of the moment trip. Getting the hell out of Dodge. I don't know if I've ever been able to do that. At this time tomorrow, I'll be somewhere in Nevada. Not Las Vegas. Enjoying music, fun, and really bad for you snack food. I'm expecting it to be awesome. Just like senior year except for funner. It's gonna be superfun. And supernice.

I've started making a mental list of all the things I must remember to take; my brother's stupid shit he left with me almost three years ago and never came back to get, my Netflix, my precious CD's, my phone, my laptop, a book or two, my camera(s).

This is the most I have ever visited my family since I left ten years ago. I guess I'm becoming quite the world traveler, or something like that. This will be the fourth time this year I've visited. It just occurred to me that perhaps I'm so comfortable travelling because I've never really felt at home anywhere. Or actually, almost anywhere. So the whole world is my home. Or something like that. I sound like an idiot. But whatever, I don't care.

I'm on vacation and you're not. Try not to cry about it.

Dissatisfaction

Stupid Kelly Clarkson and her song that's stuck in my head. I don't even know enough words to make it interesting. Not that it would be anyway. I am so sick of this place and I don't want to be here anymore. I want to live in my parents' basement and do nothing like the loser I am for the rest of my life. Argh.

I saw a picture of the woods this morning and remembered the last time I was in the woods. Almost a year ago. I wish I could go back there. I need a break from city life. There's too much going on, and not enough of it is good for me. Argh.

I'm glad I have a girlfriend that can give me pep talks when things are bad, because other shoulders have dropped out and are no longer lean-able. Some might come back, some might not. And the truth, while setting you free, is going to scrape your face off and it will hurt. There's no question about it. And for the record, there is no such thing as letting someone down easy. It will always be a rough kerplunk as your face meets turf and you get stomped on from above.

I went to bed hungry last night on purpose. Because I am tired of feeling like a fat cow that no one wants. No wonder, I eat compulsively whenever there is food in the house. Perhaps I should stop going to the grocery store. It's not doing me any good, except putting pounds on my tummy ass and thighs, which only adds to my uncoolness.

I have not visited the beach in almost a week because it has been cloudy and yucky there. What's up with that??? Lack of sand and surf is contributing greatly to my poor outlook on life, as well as my fading tan. I am some sort of weird addict. My drugs are habits, or my habits are drugs. People become habits, and then they duck out and I am left with the shakes of withdrawal. Not that they ever think about these things. They are my problems and I'm supposed to deal accordingly. Because people don't like it when you have problems, and I have definitely had my fair share of whoppers this summer.

Cycle of Suckage

I've come to believe that Mick Jagger's song would have been better named You Can't Ever Get What You Want, and Yes, I'm talking to YOU. As in me. Yes, I'm having a bad day, and for no particular reason. Except that I don't ever get what I want. I try to keep it simple, but even simple things are complicated. I want to not have to worry about money. Yeah, right, like that's EVER going to happen. Yes, your tax dollars are supporting me, but I wish they weren't. I wish I could afford to live in a place by myself. Not anything fancy, just somewhere that is for me and only me. I don't even have to own it. I just want to be able to afford it.

I'm tired of being a roommate and being criticized for every little thing I do. Like not taking clean dishes out of the dishwasher as soon as they're done. Sheesh. At least they're clean. Plus, I don't really take kindly to being laughed AT when I'm not being funny. It takes me back to the good ol' days of middle and high school where it seemed like my friends were my worst enemies. Because I couldn't trust them to not pick on me. Because I'm different and as such, do things differently than everyone else. Picking on me and telling me what to do are not ways to make me think you're my friend. And if there's enough of it, I will simply stop speaking to you altogether. My self-esteem has enough problems without your nitpicking bullshit, especially when said bullshit is laid out to all your friends that I don't know very well. So fuck off. I could do the same, but I digress. Causing scenes isn't really my scene.

And I suppose the other thing I have always wanted and never gotten is someone that is willing to love me, or at least try to. It's funny, I've struck out so many times in this area, even the thought that it could happen makes me scoff at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Who would ever want to love someone that has no money, no friends, isn't cool, is way too different, and spends most of her time at the bottom of the food chain being the butt of someone's jokes? Add in a skewed fashion sense, and the ability to miraculously transform instantly into a doormat or a sounding board or a Plan B (or C, D, E, or F) when you really have absolutely nothing else to do, and you've got me. That person that is willing to do just about anything to get people to like her, which is incredibly pathetic and not endearing or valuable, which in turn leads straight back to my first problems, causing the whole cycle to begin again, fresh and new and complete.

I wish I were dead. But, as Mick should have said, You Wont Ever Get What You Want.

Judging

For the past couple of days, I have been incredibly irritated with the woman I live with. She is my roommate, and I would consider her my friend on most days. But lately, she has turned judgemental and bitter, saying things in my general direction that are not designed to be friendly. I'm thinking I need to move. Because abscence makes the heart grow fonder and she obviously doesn't know how lucky she is to have me as a roommate.

I am tired of being judged because I don't do what she does and because she judges her life with a completely different yardstick than she judges mine. Not that it's any of her business to start with, but whatever. She has come to start bitching that I don't clean the house for her and do the dishes or clean the garage while she's out of town. She also disapproves of my friends, from my fun crazy girlfriend to my sensitive heart-breaking ex. She, of course, professes she would never digress into hanging out with someone who doesn't treat her like a queen, but we all know what a lie that is. Her ex is someone she sees every Tuesday. Not that she would ever admit that. But whatever.

I'm tired of being ridiculed in front of other people. That's a feeling I went through in high school and gave up in college. She's reviving it for everyone to see. Because nothing I ever do, say, or wear is ever right. I am always wrong. I don't do things the way she wants. So she makes fun of me and gives me looks and rolls her eyes. When did I become such an embarrassment? I've lived here for well over a year and she's just now starting to think maybe I'm not cool? What's up with that????

P.S. I don't think she's that cool. Yes, she's my friend, which is why I never tell her she's doing things wrong or making bad decisions or preach or bitch. I accept her for who she is. I don't judge the guys she "dates". I don't even judge the guys she doesn't date. I don't judge friends, acquaintances, family, co-workers, or any other people that come into her life. But I am not afforded the same courtesies. She's not the Homecoming Queen, or Ms. Manners, or Dear Abby, so of course she screws up sometimes. But she would never let anyone know that, and I would get dirty nasty die looks if I ever brought it up.

I need to move. Just for distance. So there's no one in my business all the time. So I can live my life the way I want without sermons. I never thought it would come to this, but its getting there fast.

Subconscious Men

This morning I had a strange and vivid dream. I was making out with a guy, but not a real guy, like one from real life. It was just some man my subconscious created. I have no idea what he looked like, but I remember what his face felt like and how he kissed. He was a good kisser. I liked kissing him. A lot. And everything seemed to be going fine with the whole kissing, making out thing, when he stops and says "Will you go down on me now? I will if you will." At this point, I got irritated, stopped kissing him, and woke up. Bastard.

For any guy who doesn't know, it's really annoying when you ask for oral sex. I know, you're supposed to ask for what you want, but at certain points in a physical relationship (namely, the beginning), it's just not appropriate to ask for anything. You're lucky I'm willing to be seen with you. Even if you are some random dude living in my subconscious. If you ask for it, then it seems like I'm only doing it because you asked me to and not because I really wanted to. That's lame. And, it just reinforces the behavior so you'll keep asking me all the time. And the I will if you will crap is annoying too. That's the kind of thing I would never ask for because I want you to do it because it was your idea and you want to, not because I told you to. And vice versa.

I like such activities. It makes me happy to make someone I care about happy. But I want to think of it myself and do it when I want to. If I wanted to throw you a party, it would kind of ruin it if you asked me to, wouldn't it? So anyway, stupid subconscious man that's a good kisser, rest assured that you are part of the reason I'm not down for dating anyone. Because guys are idiots. Even the ones I created.

Yoga

I went to yoga today. Right now the thought of lifting my arms up to any height seems impossible. It will probably be worse tomorrow. I'm glad I went, though. I got a good sweat on. And I'm usually lazy, so it's a good change.

Speaking to lazy, there's a bunch of stuff I should be doing in this time I'm not working that I'm not doing. And it's not hard stuff. It's fun stuff. I should be watching the movies Netflix keeps sending me. I should be reading those short stories I love. I should be writing stuff that will eventually end up in one of my dopey movies. I should be writing cover letters and re-reading other books that I want to remember. I should be studying art and theater and other generally enjoyable stuff.

But I'm not. Laziness is a drug. You don't do one thing, and then another, and another, until you are doing nothing at all. I'm not proud that I watched over half of Police Academy on HBO the other day. What a waste of time. I've already seen it (although it WAS interesting to see Kim Catrall 20 years ago). So that's my current MO. Wasting time on the internet, watching bad tv, and doing other stuff I've never been interested in, like cooking and gardening. It's weird, that I don't feel like doing the stuff that I always complain about not having the time to do.

Actually, I'm lying just a little bit. I have done these things, just not as much as I want to or should. I shouldn't have time to watch bad TV because I'm too busy doing those other things. But I guess you discover things when you watch a lot of TV. I've become a regular Jeopardy! watcher. (Sad, but true, and I love that show!). I keep telling myself, tomorrow I'll do better. And then I do the same crap I did the day before. I suppose I'm not that upset about it. I just wish I was more of a doer than a put-off-er.

Which is why I'm glad I went to yoga. I got off my duff and did something productive. Something healthy. Something I will definitely remember tomorrow.

The last time I went was three weeks ago. And I was in a completely different state then. A distraught, stressed-out state that sort of broke through the boundary of my skull that day when I decided I had to talk to someone. Today I was in a completely different place, both physically and mentally. I was in the flow of things. Last time I was just trying to get from one minute to the next. And today my body was agreeing with me. Last time it was fighting me every step of the way. Making me feel like I was tearing it apart from the inside out.

One of my favorite sayings has always been What a difference a day makes. And what a difference. Then: bad. Now: better. Yesterday: Cloudy. Today: Clear. And there was yoga.

New Stuff

Lately I've found myself getting emotional over nothing. And not super emotional, but a little teary and verklemt. And it's only when I'm by myself. I'm not sure why I've been this way, because I'm not really very miserable in my life right now. No, it's not perfect, and there are lots of things in it that get me down, but for the most part, things are ok.

I wonder about my raving hormones andthink they must be the cause. I'm not on medication (although I'm wondering if I should be) and my body is in stasis, so maybe this is how normal women are. Emotional. I think I've turned into a housewife. I water plants, think about going to the grocery store, what to make for dinner, how to lose weight in the areas that aren't supposed to be that round, do laundry, organize, get some sun, watch the neighbors, and so on and so on. I kind of like it. Yesterday I started thinking I should make a cake from scratch. The point? There is none. That's just it. I'm at a place right now where I want to try things that I've never had time for before, like cooking and gardening and what-not. It seems like it might be fun.

But then I remember oh yeah, I had stuff I want to do with this life before I turn into a layabout in the house. Although I'm starting to think I had things all wrong. But I'm still a little bit lonely. Do housewives feel this way? I guess maybe not, since someone will always be coming home for them. I don't even have a cat to keep me company. On the upside, I don't have to answer to anyone (except my disapproving, goal-oriented, ever moralistic roommate).

Anyway, that's my day. Emotional bouts in between stretches of new stuff.

Wednesday

It's Wednesday. I've committed to going to a going away party and I don't really want to. I don't know why I don't want to go. I just don't. I'm getting into this daily ritual of things I do. It's strange how it just sort of develops without you knowing it. Today I went to the hippie chiro, and found myself next to this woman who looked normal enough. But normal she was not. It was the crying woman, and she talks at about 60 decibels all the time, and of course, let out a few sobs that would make you think the chiro had punched her in the face. I wish he would have. I wanted to reach over and do it. Is there such a thing as being too connected to your body? Actually, I don't think she's that "connected", I just think it's a cry for help. Get some therapy, lady. You're a quack.

I went to the beach yesterday and was sorely disappointed. It was so cloudy. It's weird when you drive 10 miles and the weather is completely different. I had to get the sun at my house and the surf at the the beach. But I'm still glad I went. I wish I lived there. Even with the clouds. I'm hoping the clouds will break today, but it's not looking good so far. But I still have errands to do too. So maybe the clouds are for my own good. Sort of.

God this is boring. My apologies. But what did you expect? It's Wednesday.

Dating Game

My friends think I should start actively looking for someone to date. They have no idea how difficult that is. Mostly because I'm not interested, but also because I am so picky that there is no one out there for me. We talked about what kind of guy I want, and actually, all of us already know the answer to that. But to circumvent the obvious, an artsy-farty film guy who is really smart and sensitive.

He doesn't exist. Except in present form, of course. Or he might be in existence, but is gay. Except in present form, of course. I suppose I understand why they want me to get out and date, but at the same time, why can't they just leave me the hell alone? I am not revved up about the idea at all. And it seems cruel to drag some poor guy into things when I already know how they will end. Maybe they think I just need to get laid. They really don't know much about my life, so they are completely misguided in that area. Plus, I don't really need someone around all the time to keep me happy and entertained. Three weeks of sitting alone at home have proven that.

But, I suppose I've set the bar pretty high. Any person who can reach the height I have set is probably worth at least five minutes of my attention. I'm like the guy in the Ang Lee film that fills out the matchmaking application with such high standards that it will never be fulfilled. On purpose. But if someone were to get that, then what? The fact is, I already know what I want, and it hasn't changed in over a year. Almost two years now. Why would it suddenly change because I have dinner with a stranger? It's ridiculous to even think about.

It's not about moving on. It's not about forgetting. It's not about living in the past. It's about knowing what I want and where I can get it.

Normal

Ok, I'm finally starting to feel mostly normal in most departments. Still not working, so that's a bit stressful, but I'll figure something out. I don't have a savings account for nothing. I feel pretty much ok, except for some soreness in my gut as a result of making myself exercise for once. The sensitivity is gone from my body finally. I was beginning to think it would feel that way forever.

So I guess things are more or less back to normal. If that ever really existed in the first place. I'm trying to remember what I felt like when I came back from my trip because that was me at a content state. I suppose I'm still content, but I'm lonely and content. Sometimes I wish I had a dog or a cat to keep me company. But not that often.

The sun is shining outside and I really want it to extend all the way out to the beach. It's been yucky there lately. I'm tired of it, because I really like it there. Home away from home. A friend called me last night and was excited to see me and I was glad because I'm around the same people all the time. But really, I guess there are people that are happy to see me, I just haven't seen a lot of them lately.

I had a dream last night that I moved home all of a sudden and begged then middle school art teacher to let me take a class from him. And everyone was happy to see me and didn't want me to ever leave again. And wondered why I left in the first place. It was strange, since I was never that popular in school, and that would never happen in real life. But it was still nice to be missed and feel like I belonged somewhere where people were excited to see me. And I had no real intentions of staying. So anyway, I guess the moral is that I really don't want to be around anyone who likes me? Whatever, I'm fucked up. Not normal.

Two Years

Today I have lived in California exactly 2 years. It seems strange to think so, since I often don't feel like I belong here. It also seems strange that I am not going anywhere anytime soon. And I have changed a lot; probably more than I know. And I am almost to a ripe old age and that is kind of scary.

Things happen to make you think about where your life is and where it's going. Did I make good decisions? I know that if I had done just a couple of things differently, then my life would be completely different than it is. And I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I guess one can never know.

And I don't know where I'm going either. At one time, I thought I knew exactly where I was going and what I wanted, but since then, things have changed and I don't really know what I want anymore. I know I want to be happy. I'm just not sure what to do to get there. Sometimes it seems like I am so close, but then it vanishes and I see that I am not anywhere near close. Happiness has become the mirage in the desert. The Holy Grail of my life. I don't even know if I would know it if I had it. I'm confident that I would, since I was once. But things are never that simple, and my path doesn't seem to repeat itself, even if that's what I wish for every day of my life.

Two years. I wonder if anyone from before would even recognize me. Sometimes I don't. I wonder if old friends would still be my friends. I hope so. They would tell me that everything is fine and this is what I said I wanted. And perhaps I am closer to the things I said I wanted. It's just not as easy as I thought it would be to get it. I suppose it never is. But I still want it.