Saturday, August 26, 2006
Nervous Stomach
I'm going through something really horrible right now. I wish I could write about it. It's the only thing that could possibly help at this point, but I'm not at liberty to do so.
I did learn something about human nature though. Something I only had a grasp of before.
And now I feel sick to my stomach, and have to get up early in the morning for a very important meeting.
I haven't been sleeping much. Something horrible happened, and I keep reliving it in my head. It makes me cry at the most random times. And shake.
And I can't even think about how it makes me feel because, more importantly, I need to be thinking about what is going to happen next.
My head hurts on the side where I sleep. It makes me toss and turn even more.
I know this is cryptic. It isn't meant to say anything specific. Specifics are off limits right now.
But I'm frightened. And scared. If those are two different things. I don't know.
And I've never felt so alone than right now. Just me and this feeling. And not being able to talk about much.
And not being able to articulate the things I could.
And there's something about character to be said here too. I read once that a person's true character comes out in the darkest moments of a person's life. How they handle it.
But I don't know because, sometimes a good person can do something out of character. You read about it all the time in the papers.
And sometimes a moment can define a person, on paper, or in someone else's memory, or by threatening his or her reputation.
One moment. Five minutes. Or ten or twenty. One action.
And I'm wondering now, if instead of being contradictory to the person on the outside, if that person within is the one trying to creep out.
Or if when it comes down to it we are merely animals. With rational thoughts that can come and go like rain.
I'm going through something really horrible right now. I wish I could write about it. It's the only thing that could possibly help at this point, but I'm not at liberty to do so.
I did learn something about human nature though. Something I only had a grasp of before.
And now I feel sick to my stomach, and have to get up early in the morning for a very important meeting.
I haven't been sleeping much. Something horrible happened, and I keep reliving it in my head. It makes me cry at the most random times. And shake.
And I can't even think about how it makes me feel because, more importantly, I need to be thinking about what is going to happen next.
My head hurts on the side where I sleep. It makes me toss and turn even more.
I know this is cryptic. It isn't meant to say anything specific. Specifics are off limits right now.
But I'm frightened. And scared. If those are two different things. I don't know.
And I've never felt so alone than right now. Just me and this feeling. And not being able to talk about much.
And not being able to articulate the things I could.
And there's something about character to be said here too. I read once that a person's true character comes out in the darkest moments of a person's life. How they handle it.
But I don't know because, sometimes a good person can do something out of character. You read about it all the time in the papers.
And sometimes a moment can define a person, on paper, or in someone else's memory, or by threatening his or her reputation.
One moment. Five minutes. Or ten or twenty. One action.
And I'm wondering now, if instead of being contradictory to the person on the outside, if that person within is the one trying to creep out.
Or if when it comes down to it we are merely animals. With rational thoughts that can come and go like rain.
Labels: Anxiety, Insomnia, Mistakes
Monday, August 21, 2006
Ho-Hum.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
Labels: Anxiety, Breaking Up, College, Seattle, Work
Saturday, August 19, 2006
How you holding up?
Well, thank you for asking. Actually, at the moment I am sadder than ever. That pain is back in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I've been smoking so much I'm worried I'm developing the lung capacity of a little fish. You know, little fishy gills. Having to take quick, short breaths. It's all I can do to stay calm in moments.
Man, I'm fucking great. I'm doing unbelievably great ...
I start school Monday. I am taking 15 hours.
Geology, Italian, Photography, and some communication classes ... Monday.
I've even talked to Aaron a couple times in the last week. We've smoothed a couple things over. Not like we're going to be friends or anything, but he did offer to give me some expensive photo paper for my class ... that's cool.
I have a new rule.
I remember when I went out to Seattle and I was all fucked up about boys. Three or four of them, actually, overlapping in some kinda sea of what ifs. I remember sitting on the pier one night when I spilled the whole story to Tom: the entire history of my short love life.
He said things too simply for me then for me to comprehend. He said things had to be black and white. No gray areas. When something's over, it's over. Not even friendship, or "Maybe Someday." It had to be clearcut. It was clearcut, he said.
And he was right. So, new rule. Never date anyone more than once. If it didn't work out the first time, it was for a reason. All other time spent would be time wasted to reach a similar conclusion, you dig?
That in mind, it will be easy to be friends with my exes. Fuck, since I decided that I could go have a drink with any-fucking-one without having to worry about the repercussions.
I'm in the most antisocial mood ever.
But I've had a long week of work, and I have been hanging out with my friends a lot.
I just got sad for a moment, and that's okay.
I wish I could be like Marie DeSalle. She said two very cool things in High Fidelity: -- at least, that's what I think -- she said, for one thing, that her ex wasn't going to come between her and a fuck. The other, was when John Cusack asked her if she missed him. James, her ex. And she said, "Of course. That's how it works, right." Then she smiled and tipped her hat and walked on like everything was cool.
I'm trying to channel Marie DeSalle. I'm not kidding. I don't care if that sounds crazy. I'm trying to keep my cool. To do what I do. What I enjoy. To spend time with my friends.
Only, once in awhile, and you know what I'm talking about. When certain conversations or smiles run through your head before you can stop them. Moments you can't get out of your head and you fear they may never, ever leave you.
Like making love, and how a certain person feels right. And how they might say things to you that no one else has ever said, and how, in those moments when they were said to you, you believed them, as they echoed through your brain, and you imagined they would float around for eternity.
And you were right. And when I say you, I mean me. My thoughts. Those thoughts. Those moments like dreams. Can't be any less real than anything you ever felt in your waking life, right? Even in the past. Even in "revisionist history."
So you want to go on. You want to make more memories. But the pain of daily life after such a loss is like trying to carry the weight of a thousand pounds on your shoulder.
Meanwhile, people keep saying things like this, for example ....
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"I saw ______ a couple weeks ago. Is that why you're just okay?"
"Yeah ... He broke up with me last Saturday."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry. But you know, I like ______, but don't sweat it. You can do better. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Well, thank you, I ... the thing is I don't even feel like swimming. Or fishing. Or anything like that...."
And you know what? I fucking don't.
Well, thank you for asking. Actually, at the moment I am sadder than ever. That pain is back in my chest. It's hard to breathe. I've been smoking so much I'm worried I'm developing the lung capacity of a little fish. You know, little fishy gills. Having to take quick, short breaths. It's all I can do to stay calm in moments.
Man, I'm fucking great. I'm doing unbelievably great ...
I start school Monday. I am taking 15 hours.
Geology, Italian, Photography, and some communication classes ... Monday.
I've even talked to Aaron a couple times in the last week. We've smoothed a couple things over. Not like we're going to be friends or anything, but he did offer to give me some expensive photo paper for my class ... that's cool.
I have a new rule.
I remember when I went out to Seattle and I was all fucked up about boys. Three or four of them, actually, overlapping in some kinda sea of what ifs. I remember sitting on the pier one night when I spilled the whole story to Tom: the entire history of my short love life.
He said things too simply for me then for me to comprehend. He said things had to be black and white. No gray areas. When something's over, it's over. Not even friendship, or "Maybe Someday." It had to be clearcut. It was clearcut, he said.
And he was right. So, new rule. Never date anyone more than once. If it didn't work out the first time, it was for a reason. All other time spent would be time wasted to reach a similar conclusion, you dig?
That in mind, it will be easy to be friends with my exes. Fuck, since I decided that I could go have a drink with any-fucking-one without having to worry about the repercussions.
I'm in the most antisocial mood ever.
But I've had a long week of work, and I have been hanging out with my friends a lot.
I just got sad for a moment, and that's okay.
I wish I could be like Marie DeSalle. She said two very cool things in High Fidelity: -- at least, that's what I think -- she said, for one thing, that her ex wasn't going to come between her and a fuck. The other, was when John Cusack asked her if she missed him. James, her ex. And she said, "Of course. That's how it works, right." Then she smiled and tipped her hat and walked on like everything was cool.
I'm trying to channel Marie DeSalle. I'm not kidding. I don't care if that sounds crazy. I'm trying to keep my cool. To do what I do. What I enjoy. To spend time with my friends.
Only, once in awhile, and you know what I'm talking about. When certain conversations or smiles run through your head before you can stop them. Moments you can't get out of your head and you fear they may never, ever leave you.
Like making love, and how a certain person feels right. And how they might say things to you that no one else has ever said, and how, in those moments when they were said to you, you believed them, as they echoed through your brain, and you imagined they would float around for eternity.
And you were right. And when I say you, I mean me. My thoughts. Those thoughts. Those moments like dreams. Can't be any less real than anything you ever felt in your waking life, right? Even in the past. Even in "revisionist history."
So you want to go on. You want to make more memories. But the pain of daily life after such a loss is like trying to carry the weight of a thousand pounds on your shoulder.
Meanwhile, people keep saying things like this, for example ....
"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine. I'm okay."
"I saw ______ a couple weeks ago. Is that why you're just okay?"
"Yeah ... He broke up with me last Saturday."
"Oh, well, I'm sorry. But you know, I like ______, but don't sweat it. You can do better. There are plenty of fish in the sea."
"Well, thank you, I ... the thing is I don't even feel like swimming. Or fishing. Or anything like that...."
And you know what? I fucking don't.
Labels: Breaking Up, College, Movies
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
Calling all crazies: Come the fuck on!
Things I've had too much of today: Coffee, cigarettes, thinking, drinks (only a few, but they did not help the fact that I've been feeling like ralphing all day) ... and that's about it.
Things I've had too little of today: Food (all I had was a small slice of cheesecake with my mom and grandma, and a spoonful of fruit salad), water and sleep (was awake until 6 a.m., then slept awhile, and had to go visit my family ....
Times I've put my foot in my mouth today: a few.
Times I made an ass of myself today: Oh, I can think of at least two.
Times I've cried today: One.
Gallons of gas I've used today: Eight or so.
Amount of money in my wallet: A five dollar bill after gas, cigarettes, three drinks at two bars, and my pool league fee ....
Number of days until school starts: Doesn't feel like enough for me to accomplish the few things I want to beforehand.
There're a few other things, but they'll have to wait until I'm not feeling like this. Problem is I want to write about these things while they're fresh, except I can't just yet. Maybe tomorrow. Today, all I have are a little bit a crazy and a string of lists.
Things I've had too much of today: Coffee, cigarettes, thinking, drinks (only a few, but they did not help the fact that I've been feeling like ralphing all day) ... and that's about it.
Things I've had too little of today: Food (all I had was a small slice of cheesecake with my mom and grandma, and a spoonful of fruit salad), water and sleep (was awake until 6 a.m., then slept awhile, and had to go visit my family ....
Times I've put my foot in my mouth today: a few.
Times I made an ass of myself today: Oh, I can think of at least two.
Times I've cried today: One.
Gallons of gas I've used today: Eight or so.
Amount of money in my wallet: A five dollar bill after gas, cigarettes, three drinks at two bars, and my pool league fee ....
Number of days until school starts: Doesn't feel like enough for me to accomplish the few things I want to beforehand.
There're a few other things, but they'll have to wait until I'm not feeling like this. Problem is I want to write about these things while they're fresh, except I can't just yet. Maybe tomorrow. Today, all I have are a little bit a crazy and a string of lists.
Labels: Depression, Insomnia
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Thursday, never looking back ...
It's not Thursday, but I did write this on Thursday and became leary of posting it. Also found the Cure lyric suitable in a way ...
...
I'm not a yo-yo.
Or a boomerang that's just caught in a tree.
I have breaking points just like everyone else.
It's almost too much to take. It is too much to take, for a sane person.
How much are you supposed to give when you really love somebody?
It really is a delicate balance, the pendulum swinging from my needs to his.
Lately I've been thinking of my own again.
You can't help it.
I might get angry sometimes. I might screw up. That's part of a relationship. We're talking about human beings here.
But you can't just be in a relationship and go back and forth about how you feel. Or how you need space. You need this. You need that. You have this and that on your plate. And the other person is just supposed to deal with it.
I don't care if the moon is full.
This is about the least fair thing ever.
So I'm up at five a.m. again. Have to work 10 hours tomorrow. I'll sleep it off soon. I almost always do.
...
Now today I am alone. Tonight and tomorrow. I got home after a long day and night, too much coffee and pictures of words and faces and memories and conversations blurring beyond comprehension because i would rather type and try not to think.
I walked in the door and they all stared at me.
"We broke up. I don't feel like talking. I'm going to bed," I said.
And then it was goodnight. But not goodnight 'cause it's almost morning. And here I am.
...
My grandmother is in town. She is my hero. I'm going to see her tomorrow at my mom's house. My mom just had surgery on her shoulder. She's got physical therapy three times a week for now, until it heals some more. I haven't even seen my mom since she went in. I was working tons of hours and my phone broke, but she assured me I didn't need to go with her. My dad went with her.
...
I'm going back to school, and I'm excited and scared. For one thing, all the classes are fucking full. I still have to pay UH some money, and the semester starts in less than two weeks.
I'm also trying to think of a way to go full time and not go crazy.
I'm also thinking about going back to the Cougar to edit copy, if they would have me. Because I miss it.
Oh, yeah, some other things too: Speaking of Thursday, I played open mic at Helios again. I hadn't gone in awhile with moving and work and drama and bull shit, but I'm so glad I went.
I had a really late spot, because I didn't show up till like 10 p.m. to get on the list, but of the people who were still there, the majority loved my stuff. I offered up free copies of my demo. I only brought a few, and I ran out. So I'm getting more copies made to bring next week.
The responses I got were overwhelmingly positive. People really liked and identified with my songs, not to mention musically, they liked it.
I now feel even more empowered to do more. To try harder. To put myself out there ...
What else can I tell you?
I'm done. I think it's Smallville time, then bedtime.
Oh, and the blogging's picking up now that I have internet at home. It's pretty sweet.
It's not Thursday, but I did write this on Thursday and became leary of posting it. Also found the Cure lyric suitable in a way ...
...
I'm not a yo-yo.
Or a boomerang that's just caught in a tree.
I have breaking points just like everyone else.
It's almost too much to take. It is too much to take, for a sane person.
How much are you supposed to give when you really love somebody?
It really is a delicate balance, the pendulum swinging from my needs to his.
Lately I've been thinking of my own again.
You can't help it.
I might get angry sometimes. I might screw up. That's part of a relationship. We're talking about human beings here.
But you can't just be in a relationship and go back and forth about how you feel. Or how you need space. You need this. You need that. You have this and that on your plate. And the other person is just supposed to deal with it.
I don't care if the moon is full.
This is about the least fair thing ever.
So I'm up at five a.m. again. Have to work 10 hours tomorrow. I'll sleep it off soon. I almost always do.
...
Now today I am alone. Tonight and tomorrow. I got home after a long day and night, too much coffee and pictures of words and faces and memories and conversations blurring beyond comprehension because i would rather type and try not to think.
I walked in the door and they all stared at me.
"We broke up. I don't feel like talking. I'm going to bed," I said.
And then it was goodnight. But not goodnight 'cause it's almost morning. And here I am.
...
My grandmother is in town. She is my hero. I'm going to see her tomorrow at my mom's house. My mom just had surgery on her shoulder. She's got physical therapy three times a week for now, until it heals some more. I haven't even seen my mom since she went in. I was working tons of hours and my phone broke, but she assured me I didn't need to go with her. My dad went with her.
...
I'm going back to school, and I'm excited and scared. For one thing, all the classes are fucking full. I still have to pay UH some money, and the semester starts in less than two weeks.
I'm also trying to think of a way to go full time and not go crazy.
I'm also thinking about going back to the Cougar to edit copy, if they would have me. Because I miss it.
Oh, yeah, some other things too: Speaking of Thursday, I played open mic at Helios again. I hadn't gone in awhile with moving and work and drama and bull shit, but I'm so glad I went.
I had a really late spot, because I didn't show up till like 10 p.m. to get on the list, but of the people who were still there, the majority loved my stuff. I offered up free copies of my demo. I only brought a few, and I ran out. So I'm getting more copies made to bring next week.
The responses I got were overwhelmingly positive. People really liked and identified with my songs, not to mention musically, they liked it.
I now feel even more empowered to do more. To try harder. To put myself out there ...
What else can I tell you?
I'm done. I think it's Smallville time, then bedtime.
Oh, and the blogging's picking up now that I have internet at home. It's pretty sweet.
Labels: Breaking Up, Insomnia, Relationships, Smallville
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Confessions of times I've said some really stupid shit.
I've put my foot in mouth before. Lots of times. Sometimes it was months or years later, way after when anyone gave a fuck about the stupid things I said. Still, I'm fessing up. Why? Because I'm neurotic and I thought maybe these things would repeat in my own head less if I just put 'em out there. Or something.
#1 -- Aaron's Mom
So one time, last summer, not at band camp, though I was working at a camp, I came home for the weekend to see my boyfriend, Aaron. His mother asked me about the multicolored wristbands I was wearing. I explained to her that they were from the waterpark where we took the kids three times a week. Some of the kids collected them, wouldn't take them off all week. I didn't take 'em off all summer. I had some kinda eighties, wristband, waterpark thing going on ... She asked me how the waterpark was. What is was like. She actually asked so many questions while Aaron stood there quietly that I became nervous. Finally I said something to the effect that I probably wouldn't go there if I were off, but that it was "the perfect place to spend a day with the kids." That might not sound bad in itself. But there was something to the air in my voice of dual condescension and cheesy sincerity, along with the stupid grin I get whenever I think or talk about camp, that I just can't possibly get it across completely on a blog. Maybe it's a waste, cause you weren't there, but for some reason at that moment I felt like she lost respect for me. Or maybe I lost respect for me. I dunno ...
#2 -- Conversations with boys
A) Aaron -- I had a horrible time one night out with Aaron and his friends. They were lots of old friends, sort of like a party, and a few of them were older and married, but they all went way back. Aaron got really high and was socializing with everybody. I talked to Rebecca, his best friend's girlfriend, until she went to sleep. Meanwhile, my friends called me. They had invited us out because some old friends were in town from out of state. They called me from the bar they were at to give me shit for not being there. I had not mentioned anything to Aaron about it because he was so excited about his friends being in town and me getting to meet them. But at the house, everybody kinda ignored me. Aaron didn't even really introduce me to anyone. I had quit smoking and ended up bumming a cigarette from one of Aaron's friends, partly because I wanted one and partly to piss him off, since I was sort of quitting for him. Anyway, Aaron was so high that on the way home he was in his own little world and didn't even notice I'd fallen asleep. When we got to my house we kissed, and all the sudden he stopped and stared into space. I asked him what was up and he said, "I'm sorry. I'm just really high." I slammed the door of the car when I got out. At the time I had issues with pot because I sort of blamed it for Jeff's lack of motivation, which is a huge part of what eventually broke us up ... So the next day I was talking to Aaron in the morning and I said that I was sorry and I shouldn't have gone out with him. I should have gone out with my friends because I would've had a better time. I was just trying to say that if I had something else to do I should've done it. It was my fault for not bringing it up and just doing what he wanted to do. He broke up with me that night. Um, yeah.
B) Wes -- Wes is the guy I went out with a few times before I got together with Aaron. I sort of wrote him off as a prick after he dissed me, but this is what I said to him. We were having drinks, the last time we hung out. I had a few pints in me and we were talking about life and goals and all that shit. I started talking about money and how I wanted to make a lot of money. How I was tired of being poor. Wes's parents were new money. They became very successful at some point in his childhood. They were ballers. And he started arguing with me about how that's not important and he saw what it did to his parents, and they're still not happy, blah, blah. I don't feel that way at all about money now. I don't know why I even said that at the time, when not long before I'd spent months living out of a suitcase in my car and sleeping on friends' couches .... On second thought, maybe that's exactly why I said it.
C) There was this other time I had just started dating a friend when one night over margaritas I somehow word-vomited that I was in love with someone else. He as a friend encouraged me to go tell the person. I've still always felt like a shit for that.
#3 -- Things I've said in school.
A) My junior year at Hastings I auditioned for the musical, like I did every year. I had even gotten the CD for the musical from a friend and learned all the songs word-by-word and note-by-note so I could be perfect, or so I thought. When the call-backs sheet went up, my name was not on it. Even after the choreographer and everyone in theater said how great I did. My choral instructor even addressed me in front of my whole class and said I had a great audition. She asked how I did, and I said coldly, "I didn't get called back." Then she said, "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. You should still get a part." "Yes," I said, "I just won't have any lines." I was sure I'd be cast as a chorus girl. And no chorus girl wants to be a chorus girl. Every singer wants their own song. Not to mention that I performed in so many things my parents put added pressure on me, unknowingly, by the fact that they stopped going to most of my performances unless I had a solo. Anyway ... I sure was wishing for something better than a chorus girl part, but when the cast was posted, my name wasn't on that either. I think my teachers had a conversation ... Then I asked to be on the lighting crew, 'cause I'd always wanted to learn that, but my director wouldn't even let me do that. This shouldn't matter. It happened when I was 16. But I guess if I still think about it, even rarely, it does.
...
I don't have the energy for any more of these. If I haven't bored you to death or showed you how crazy I really am yet for thinking about all this crap, don't worry, I'll write some more crap real soon.
I've put my foot in mouth before. Lots of times. Sometimes it was months or years later, way after when anyone gave a fuck about the stupid things I said. Still, I'm fessing up. Why? Because I'm neurotic and I thought maybe these things would repeat in my own head less if I just put 'em out there. Or something.
#1 -- Aaron's Mom
So one time, last summer, not at band camp, though I was working at a camp, I came home for the weekend to see my boyfriend, Aaron. His mother asked me about the multicolored wristbands I was wearing. I explained to her that they were from the waterpark where we took the kids three times a week. Some of the kids collected them, wouldn't take them off all week. I didn't take 'em off all summer. I had some kinda eighties, wristband, waterpark thing going on ... She asked me how the waterpark was. What is was like. She actually asked so many questions while Aaron stood there quietly that I became nervous. Finally I said something to the effect that I probably wouldn't go there if I were off, but that it was "the perfect place to spend a day with the kids." That might not sound bad in itself. But there was something to the air in my voice of dual condescension and cheesy sincerity, along with the stupid grin I get whenever I think or talk about camp, that I just can't possibly get it across completely on a blog. Maybe it's a waste, cause you weren't there, but for some reason at that moment I felt like she lost respect for me. Or maybe I lost respect for me. I dunno ...
#2 -- Conversations with boys
A) Aaron -- I had a horrible time one night out with Aaron and his friends. They were lots of old friends, sort of like a party, and a few of them were older and married, but they all went way back. Aaron got really high and was socializing with everybody. I talked to Rebecca, his best friend's girlfriend, until she went to sleep. Meanwhile, my friends called me. They had invited us out because some old friends were in town from out of state. They called me from the bar they were at to give me shit for not being there. I had not mentioned anything to Aaron about it because he was so excited about his friends being in town and me getting to meet them. But at the house, everybody kinda ignored me. Aaron didn't even really introduce me to anyone. I had quit smoking and ended up bumming a cigarette from one of Aaron's friends, partly because I wanted one and partly to piss him off, since I was sort of quitting for him. Anyway, Aaron was so high that on the way home he was in his own little world and didn't even notice I'd fallen asleep. When we got to my house we kissed, and all the sudden he stopped and stared into space. I asked him what was up and he said, "I'm sorry. I'm just really high." I slammed the door of the car when I got out. At the time I had issues with pot because I sort of blamed it for Jeff's lack of motivation, which is a huge part of what eventually broke us up ... So the next day I was talking to Aaron in the morning and I said that I was sorry and I shouldn't have gone out with him. I should have gone out with my friends because I would've had a better time. I was just trying to say that if I had something else to do I should've done it. It was my fault for not bringing it up and just doing what he wanted to do. He broke up with me that night. Um, yeah.
B) Wes -- Wes is the guy I went out with a few times before I got together with Aaron. I sort of wrote him off as a prick after he dissed me, but this is what I said to him. We were having drinks, the last time we hung out. I had a few pints in me and we were talking about life and goals and all that shit. I started talking about money and how I wanted to make a lot of money. How I was tired of being poor. Wes's parents were new money. They became very successful at some point in his childhood. They were ballers. And he started arguing with me about how that's not important and he saw what it did to his parents, and they're still not happy, blah, blah. I don't feel that way at all about money now. I don't know why I even said that at the time, when not long before I'd spent months living out of a suitcase in my car and sleeping on friends' couches .... On second thought, maybe that's exactly why I said it.
C) There was this other time I had just started dating a friend when one night over margaritas I somehow word-vomited that I was in love with someone else. He as a friend encouraged me to go tell the person. I've still always felt like a shit for that.
#3 -- Things I've said in school.
A) My junior year at Hastings I auditioned for the musical, like I did every year. I had even gotten the CD for the musical from a friend and learned all the songs word-by-word and note-by-note so I could be perfect, or so I thought. When the call-backs sheet went up, my name was not on it. Even after the choreographer and everyone in theater said how great I did. My choral instructor even addressed me in front of my whole class and said I had a great audition. She asked how I did, and I said coldly, "I didn't get called back." Then she said, "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. You should still get a part." "Yes," I said, "I just won't have any lines." I was sure I'd be cast as a chorus girl. And no chorus girl wants to be a chorus girl. Every singer wants their own song. Not to mention that I performed in so many things my parents put added pressure on me, unknowingly, by the fact that they stopped going to most of my performances unless I had a solo. Anyway ... I sure was wishing for something better than a chorus girl part, but when the cast was posted, my name wasn't on that either. I think my teachers had a conversation ... Then I asked to be on the lighting crew, 'cause I'd always wanted to learn that, but my director wouldn't even let me do that. This shouldn't matter. It happened when I was 16. But I guess if I still think about it, even rarely, it does.
...
I don't have the energy for any more of these. If I haven't bored you to death or showed you how crazy I really am yet for thinking about all this crap, don't worry, I'll write some more crap real soon.
Labels: Depression, Regret
All the Way.
So I've been e-mailing an old friend back in forth. We bitch to each other, encourage each other, talk about "things", you know, shit that friends do.
He recently asked me if I saw a pattern in my past relationships. I thought about it quite a bit. Am still thinking about it.
The one thing I did say, and I happened to be in a certain frame of mind when I wrote it because Chris and I were on "hiatus," was that I never seemed to let things effing die.
It's true. I've always sort of been that way. Van and I broke up two or three times. I broke up with Jeff three times. I thought I was in love with someone for years, and did the make-up/break-up thing (in my head) with him over and over.
But this time's different. This time I'm really not trying to make something impossible work. This time it is worth the work. This time it is worth fighting for.
The only problem is that maybe that is just how I feel every time about love.
You know what I'm talking about? How every time seems like the first time. Or better. Not that that's what this feels like exactly. Because I remember the other times. I remember them as times of many things, good and bad. I look at them as things in the past, but things that are not exclusive from the way I may act and react and think from time to time.
I've probably said this before, but my first roommate in college was the first person who taught me, or at least planted the seed of thought, that love does not have to be unconditional.
I'm a very forgiving person. I have forgiven so many for so many things. It was easier, so much easier, when I was younger. Call it inexperience. Call it idealism. Call it the belief I once held that people can change (haven't tried to even sort that issue out recently). Sometimes I even think back and wonder if forgiveness was what was left of my religion, since I was so involved in church during adolescence, when so much of me came to be.
I forgave Van for sleeping with another girl. For lying about it to me. For lying to me about other things. We got back together for a little while before he broke my heart again.
I wasn't the innocent one. I did my share of things too. Van forgave me for some things. So did some other people ...
Fuck. Van and I even had beers with his best friend Justin seven years later. At Agora. Cause for some reason last Christmas Van started messaging me on MySpace.
(MySpace is the devil, but anyway ...)
This isn't about Van, obviously. Just an example.
I don't know what this is about, but at 5 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, does it really matter?
But what I told my friend was, that all the me's I've been and all the we's I've been a part of, they were all different. We were all different. It was a different time. But I know one thing: When I love somebody, I love 'em all the way.
Frank Sinatra understood that. The Man himself said it. He didn't write it, but he sang it like he meant it.
"All the Way"
By Frank Sinatra
When somebody loves you
It's no good unless he loves you - all the way
Happy to be near you
When you need someone to cheer you - all the way
Taller than the tallest tree is
That's how its got to feel
Deeper than the deep blue sea is
That's how deep it goes - if it's real
When somebody needs you
It's no good unless he needs you - all the way
Through the good or lean years
And for all the in between years - come what may
Who knows where the road will lead us
Only a fool would say
But if you'll let me love you
It's for sure I'm gonna love you - all the way, all the way
So I've been e-mailing an old friend back in forth. We bitch to each other, encourage each other, talk about "things", you know, shit that friends do.
He recently asked me if I saw a pattern in my past relationships. I thought about it quite a bit. Am still thinking about it.
The one thing I did say, and I happened to be in a certain frame of mind when I wrote it because Chris and I were on "hiatus," was that I never seemed to let things effing die.
It's true. I've always sort of been that way. Van and I broke up two or three times. I broke up with Jeff three times. I thought I was in love with someone for years, and did the make-up/break-up thing (in my head) with him over and over.
But this time's different. This time I'm really not trying to make something impossible work. This time it is worth the work. This time it is worth fighting for.
The only problem is that maybe that is just how I feel every time about love.
You know what I'm talking about? How every time seems like the first time. Or better. Not that that's what this feels like exactly. Because I remember the other times. I remember them as times of many things, good and bad. I look at them as things in the past, but things that are not exclusive from the way I may act and react and think from time to time.
I've probably said this before, but my first roommate in college was the first person who taught me, or at least planted the seed of thought, that love does not have to be unconditional.
I'm a very forgiving person. I have forgiven so many for so many things. It was easier, so much easier, when I was younger. Call it inexperience. Call it idealism. Call it the belief I once held that people can change (haven't tried to even sort that issue out recently). Sometimes I even think back and wonder if forgiveness was what was left of my religion, since I was so involved in church during adolescence, when so much of me came to be.
I forgave Van for sleeping with another girl. For lying about it to me. For lying to me about other things. We got back together for a little while before he broke my heart again.
I wasn't the innocent one. I did my share of things too. Van forgave me for some things. So did some other people ...
Fuck. Van and I even had beers with his best friend Justin seven years later. At Agora. Cause for some reason last Christmas Van started messaging me on MySpace.
(MySpace is the devil, but anyway ...)
This isn't about Van, obviously. Just an example.
I don't know what this is about, but at 5 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, does it really matter?
But what I told my friend was, that all the me's I've been and all the we's I've been a part of, they were all different. We were all different. It was a different time. But I know one thing: When I love somebody, I love 'em all the way.
Frank Sinatra understood that. The Man himself said it. He didn't write it, but he sang it like he meant it.
"All the Way"
By Frank Sinatra
When somebody loves you
It's no good unless he loves you - all the way
Happy to be near you
When you need someone to cheer you - all the way
Taller than the tallest tree is
That's how its got to feel
Deeper than the deep blue sea is
That's how deep it goes - if it's real
When somebody needs you
It's no good unless he needs you - all the way
Through the good or lean years
And for all the in between years - come what may
Who knows where the road will lead us
Only a fool would say
But if you'll let me love you
It's for sure I'm gonna love you - all the way, all the way
Labels: Breaking Up, Frank Sinatra, Relationships
Monday, August 07, 2006
Meh. An update of sorts.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
