December 28, 2003 - 1:59 p.m.
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Anyone know of a book entitled " How to make friends in Redwood City?" I would surely be appreciative of a copy.
December 28, 2003 - 1:38 p.m.
Bleeding me dry
Everyone's heard the saying "Never trust anything that bleeds for 5 days and doesn't die." Huh, how about 45 days? I wake up this morning to find my legs sticky because the feminine diaper I am wearing has been soaked through, as are my underwear, as would be the sheets if I had not awoken... I do not like being a girl. I never have. Sure, having boobs is great, but all the rest I could certainly do without. And my boyfriend looks at me - with pitty? with disgust? with concern? I don't know - but I know he doesn't wish he was me.
I went for my annual physical, which for a woman means being stretched open and scraped and poked, and I've been bleeding ever since. My body does not like being fucked with - even by people who supposedly know what they are doing. I began using birth control pills before I ever had sex because I've always bled excessively. For almost a whole year, I'd been relatively normal... Now all of a sudden, my body doesn't care what pill I take, it bleeds when it wants to, which is every day.
Oh, and my face looks worse than it did when I was a teenager.
I think the loss of blood is doing more than draining me of energy... I feel like I'm losing touch with myself. When is the last time I did anything remotely creative? What have i accomplished since graduating from college? What have i done with my degree in film and digital media? Answer: nothing.
I have thrown myself into working 55+ hours a week, for a job that does nothing for me intellectually or otherwise... I can pay my rent, and slowly pay off my bills, and this is important, but what about ME? What about my mind? And i'm feeling sorry for myself - and I hate that. I'm going to be giving myself a wake-up call very soon. And I don't think it's going to be gentle. No more excuses, lassie. Your time is now. And now. And now...
December 15, 2003 - 10:00 p.m.
never-lasting
I could write about what an amazing time I had on Saturday. It was exactly what I needed. Yeah, I could write about that... Or, I could have... But Saturday seems so far away now that it's already Monday (and I want to and don't want to and want to but don't want to but do want to but AGGGGGG want to quit my job)...
Ok, I'll try:
Saturday, I got to see some beautiful people that I would love to see more often. I got to laugh and run and skip and jump and have a beer (or two) and soothe a child (or three) and smile and play and indulge a drunken (and innocent) fantasy of one santa who wanted to paint my fingernails...
Interjection: See, here's the thing... That guy was probably anything BUT innocent, and yet, somehow that's how I choose to remember him. I try not to acknowledge the uninvited thoughts or fantasies of a man - I feign complete innocence (or is it ignorance?) - and I've found that by doing so, that man becomes innocent, even if he wouldn't think so. Does that make sense? I don't feel the need to be rude, or to crush egos or other feelings, and I think I have healthy boundaries when it comes to people, but I think giving a little something to someone - like a bite of my pizza to a homeless guy, or letting a guy borrow my fingernails to paint for a while - well, by doing that - by giving them something real, they may forget, at least for a while, what other thoughts they may have been having... Geez, maybe I would be considered a tease if I looked through a guy's eyes, but to me, it's more like a compromise...
But back to Saturday:
That was the most exercise I have had in I-don't-know-how-long. No, really. I'm pathetically inactive. But anyway, it was a great day. And I was so happy to be doing something fun with Boris, and company, and I wish I could have that every day. Or at least more often!
So, what excuse can I come up with that would inspire such wonderful people to get together and have such a fabulous time? It sounds like this shouldn't be so hard given the joyous outcome, but then, why do these fantastic events happen so few and far between? Or maybe I'm just out of the loop?
Oh yeah --- and I am without internet again. Had it for about a week, but then my loving boyfriend wanted to make it "better," so he broke it so he can fix it. Poop.
Did I mention that I think I am depressed? Yes, it's more than stress. It saddens me greatly that such a wonderful time like I had on Saturday could fade from my emotional memory so quickly, and that the ick sinks back into my bones... Winter woes, or is it really serious?
I just don't know.
November 25, 2003 - 10:08 p.m.
INTENT
is there anything more important, really? sometimes what ends up happening isn't nearly as important as what was intended. it shows where your head is. it shows where you heart is.
breaking plans, changing plans, is better than refusing to make any plans in the first place.
Or maybe I'm just a crazy hag.
November 24, 2003 - 7:48 p.m.
weekend at a glance
It is a clear blue sky. The wind is reasonably calm. It is somewhere between 14 and 33 degrees - the minimum and maximum temperatures of the day. The first sound is the bagpipes. The first sight is the crucifux. Then the american flag - like a tablecloth stretched out - but it's a soul being served, not a family dinner. It's a body, long deserted, lying beneath the stars and stripes he held so dear. Father Grace. He seems like such a kind man, and his words are very nice. He speaks with a lilt, soft now after so many years, that makes you want to listen harder. I was never baptized a Catholic, and most of the church services I've been to have been Presbyterian, but there's a familarity with any Christian religious ceremony. What strikes me though, and what made perfect sense after I'd thought about it, is how politically-charged his funeral is. It makes sense that what his life was based upon would also be the focal point of the stories, memories, and recapitulations of his friends and family... My mother speaks beatifully, really. She reads a story. My eyes are like a fountain. Missing the chances that I didn't have - to have more to miss. He was always a mystery to me. The mystery will always be, now. Always. Watching my breath - like ghosts escaping from the warmth of my body to be freed into the icy air; to disappear. The bagpipes again. The firetrucks, the police escort. They stop the traffic, and I smirk at what must be the thoughts of the people who've been halted in their travels, too far back to see what's going on. A woman in her stopped car presses her hands together and bows her head - praying as we drive by. I wonder if her prayers are for the living or for the dead. The cold cuts into the spaces between my bones. My extremities seem to swell as the chill takes hold. I hold my grandmother's arm as we walk toward the grave. Every few steps an unwelcomed tremor overtakes my body. She feels it and worries for me. I am supposed to be steadying her, but it may be the other way around. I think my mind may have frozen in time about then, because I can only remember being grateful for the sunlight - it wasn't warm, but it was there. The mortician turning a crank, sealing him away from us forever. Father Grace. The prayers. The bagpipes again. A sweetly-bumbling group of elderly American Legion Vets shoot their round in salute. We fear for them, almost. Then the flowers, mostly roses, individually placed on the coffin. I feel guilty for thinking that this part seems like such an empty gesture. The painfully slow lowering of the coffin into the perfectly cut hole in the earth. I don't understand others' need to stare into that hole. I take a glimpse, and have no desire to look anymore. It's not the image I want to be etched into the ice forming in my brain... It's done. It's over.
The remainder of the weekend is not without drama, nor spite, nor lashing out. But I think I may have learned a lesson or two - and reinforced some suspicions. And drawn further conclusions...
Thank you, Boris, for being there through it all. I love you.
November 18, 2003 - 7:36 p.m.
Pure poetry...
I want to find that poet... knock his pleasure real good.
November 18, 2003 - 7:33 p.m.
Language is the root of all evil...
Courtesy of www.engrish.com
It's truly the little things in life.
:)
November 18, 2003 - 5:46 p.m.
In Deep End Dance
OK!!! OK!!!
I admit it!!!
I don't like being alone!!!
See, during the week, after working all day, I'm too tired to focus on me, or any of my creative endeavors, or the list of things I'd like to accomplish... So I just end up feeling frustrated at myself. I don't have enough distractions. No TV. I don't even have a stereo. (Not that I've heard any good music lately anyway.) My sketch pad goes unused - no inspiration. My camera sits in a bag... I can't find the wire to hook it up to my computer to download the pics on the cards... And it's dark outside and nothing to take pictures of inside anyway.
Can't you see? I am full of excuses!!! And when I have no distractions, my excuses become less and less viable!!! I then I feel even more tired, face-to-face with my list.
Aaagh! It's just so much easier to go snuggle with you, or talk with you, and forget about all the things I've left undone, or unbegun...
You are what I want at the end of every day. And I'm frustrated because I can't always have you, and then I am left with my own exhausted self, just waiting for it to be time to go to bed.
November 14, 2003 - 8:11 p.m.
Discovery
You know those hippie bean bags that you put in the microwave to use as a heat pillow for aches and cramps? (Well, if you don't, here's a clue: you get some "trippy" material, fill it with some kind of dried bean or lentil, add some nice herbs - my sister added lavendar, probably the nicest present she ever gave me actually...) Well, anyway - it's a nice way to relax muscle tension.
Well, here's my discovery: My boyfriend's iBook has the same effect! I lie on the bed with it resting on my lower abdomen/upper thies, and the warm smoothness soothes me.
Hm, it is probably going to come out someday that this procedure can cause cancer in my reproductive organs or something - but, hey, instant gratification can be nice sometimes.
Newsflash: EVERYTHING CAUSES CANCER!!!
LIFE CAUSES CANCER - only known effective preventative measure: be dead or be cancer yourself. If you live as cancer, then cancer can't kill you, right?
I'm being wierd. I feel wierd. Maybe I just need to --- ugh, I can't even finish that sentence. I don't know what would make me not feel wierd right now. Oh well.
