I just got an email from James. I don't know how to feel. He's my rock. He's the one person left that I know I can trust and will always be there for me. He's in Fallujah right now and well...yeah...
Yo,
Yeah, I'm good. A liitle burnt but its gone already.
On sunday I'm going somwhere very dangerous. You know its dangerous because I'm admitting it is. The truth is I do not know if i will be coming back. I don't know what the odds are but from the look on thae faces of the people who do. Lets just say I've been geeting alot of Good Lucks and You're the best comments from everybody. But, thats why i have to do it. Because I am good at this. Wheather i like it or not I am good at this job.
I don't know what to promise you if i do make back alive. i guess just another letter or e mail until i get home. Its very cold here and the wind is beginning to blow very hard. I don't know what is going to happen. I will do my best to make sure everyone of my guys come back. even if it means I don't get to.
I knew one day my sins would come back to haunt me. I thought I would be older so they have more of a chance to beat me. The weight i bare might be too much for me to handle. i'll guess we'll just have to see who comes out in the end. Told you I fight for the good side. Now I will see how good I really am.
Thanks for writting me all those times and making me tell you stories that made you laugh.
I have to go prepare for everything so I have to go. I have some peole to write and call. I really do love you and appreciate you and i hope you are and stay well.
your soldier boy,
James
Yeah...James has no fear whatsoever. So to have him tell me flat out that he doesn't know if he's coming back scares the shit out of me. I have never been able to conceptualize life without him. For me, there really is no life without James. He is the only person who has never let me down. But that is just how he is. He is an amazing soldier and loves what he does. And he loves his unit. All of the families of the men under his command should have no doubts about their safety because they are all coming back, even if James isnt. But he will come back. He is going to come back and I'm going to get an email where he barely mentions the operation and will bring up some random time when we were down the shore. And then seven months, three days from now I will be there as his unit arrives back on post. James will catch my eye and give me a big hug and it'll be like nothing ever changed.
Because he is James and I am Lilith. And that is how it is always going to be.
James and I made a deal a while ago. I was having a really rough time of it and I was ready to dissapear for good. One night, I just lost it. I started running down the street at three in the morning in the pouring rain. James caulght up to me and ran beside me till I stopped. I sat down, he sat next to me and said, "You go, I go". And that's how it has been since then. So I know James is going to come back because I'm not ready to go and he always keeps his word.
Always.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
blind, movies for the
While I was relaxing between two of my classes today, I started thumbing through the local newspaper. Nothing particularaly out of the ordanary was presented. In fact, the paper proved itself to be the truely sterile product of my town, as I had always suspected it to be.
Anyways, about three quarters of the way down the classifieds page there was an ad for a jewelry repair shop. Quite typical of the services generally advertised but this one caulght my eye. It read "Don't cry. We'll repair it." And while I do not need any of my jewelry fixed, I tore it out anyways.
And then I started thinking how fantastic it would be if there was always someone telling us "don't cry. We'll repair it." regardless of what needs fixing.
I think more than anything right now I need one of those guys. The eternal handyman (or handywoman...let's be p.c. now) to help make everything as it was before.
Today just has been sucking. My polisci prof found it appropriate to chew me out in front of the entire class for disagreeing with him. I'm really sorry Dr. F if you're still stuck back in the 1800s and think having women in your class is useless. With this man, it's almost as if women's lib never happened. But at least the material is somewhat amusing, if not moreso after being degrated in front of thirty seven other students. Whatever. It's not like I had any self-resepect to begin with.
And then I come home to find out that my brother was suspended from school. Again. Apparantly he was texting someone during his 9th period class trying to buy some pot. Whoops. But now I have to not only deal with him underfoot for the next few days (when I have two workshop pieces, a chem writeup and a Latin text to work on) but also deal with the early intervention drug programs again. Meaning finding a place that will take him and either ferrying him back and forth or finding a residential program. And let's not forget about the family sessions. Threapy and I do not work well together, even under the best of circomstances. Even though it's not even about me this time, I'm still going to be broken down in those sessions. I really don't have the strength to put up with that again. And what sucks even more is that I know I'm going to be blamed for my brother getting busted.
Once the fuckup, always the fuckup I guess.
Anyways, about three quarters of the way down the classifieds page there was an ad for a jewelry repair shop. Quite typical of the services generally advertised but this one caulght my eye. It read "Don't cry. We'll repair it." And while I do not need any of my jewelry fixed, I tore it out anyways.
And then I started thinking how fantastic it would be if there was always someone telling us "don't cry. We'll repair it." regardless of what needs fixing.
I think more than anything right now I need one of those guys. The eternal handyman (or handywoman...let's be p.c. now) to help make everything as it was before.
Today just has been sucking. My polisci prof found it appropriate to chew me out in front of the entire class for disagreeing with him. I'm really sorry Dr. F if you're still stuck back in the 1800s and think having women in your class is useless. With this man, it's almost as if women's lib never happened. But at least the material is somewhat amusing, if not moreso after being degrated in front of thirty seven other students. Whatever. It's not like I had any self-resepect to begin with.
And then I come home to find out that my brother was suspended from school. Again. Apparantly he was texting someone during his 9th period class trying to buy some pot. Whoops. But now I have to not only deal with him underfoot for the next few days (when I have two workshop pieces, a chem writeup and a Latin text to work on) but also deal with the early intervention drug programs again. Meaning finding a place that will take him and either ferrying him back and forth or finding a residential program. And let's not forget about the family sessions. Threapy and I do not work well together, even under the best of circomstances. Even though it's not even about me this time, I'm still going to be broken down in those sessions. I really don't have the strength to put up with that again. And what sucks even more is that I know I'm going to be blamed for my brother getting busted.
Once the fuckup, always the fuckup I guess.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
two faces
I keep relationship boxes. Decorated shoeboxes really filled with gifts, pictures, letters...anything from the person that can fit in the box that I feel should stay gets included. But nothing more than the content of the box remains for me about the person. These boxes live in various places throughout my bedroom and in an attempt to declutter earlier, I stumbled upon my Trevor box. This one is different from all of the rest because this was the one relationship that ended on neither of our terms.
And finding that box reopened the wound. I felt it the second he got killed. A sharp pain stabbed my thigh and wouldn't leave (it's still hasn't completly faded). And getting that phone call later that day from his mother, telling me to drive over to the post...I knew. I could hear it in her voice. It actually kind of sickens me to think about him. I was mad when he deployed and I had no right to be. But I was mad at Trevor for leaving me here and although I forgave him...I never told him. Sure, we'd email back and forth and I'd act like the perfect Army girlfriend/future Army wife, mailing over gifts for his entire unit on the Holidays or just cause.
More than anything though, I miss him. I think he was my true counterpoint in every way imaginable. No. No thinking. He was.
And it just really sucks that I found my Trevor box today. My friend deploys in nine days for his second tour and it's bad juju to think of your guys not coming back right before they leave. Or ever.
It's never goodbye, it's see you in a year.
And I support the troops 100 billion percent, but will someone please tell me what we're fighting for because these guys don't even know themselves. And that's probably the scariest thought of all.
Not knowing, that is.
And finding that box reopened the wound. I felt it the second he got killed. A sharp pain stabbed my thigh and wouldn't leave (it's still hasn't completly faded). And getting that phone call later that day from his mother, telling me to drive over to the post...I knew. I could hear it in her voice. It actually kind of sickens me to think about him. I was mad when he deployed and I had no right to be. But I was mad at Trevor for leaving me here and although I forgave him...I never told him. Sure, we'd email back and forth and I'd act like the perfect Army girlfriend/future Army wife, mailing over gifts for his entire unit on the Holidays or just cause.
More than anything though, I miss him. I think he was my true counterpoint in every way imaginable. No. No thinking. He was.
And it just really sucks that I found my Trevor box today. My friend deploys in nine days for his second tour and it's bad juju to think of your guys not coming back right before they leave. Or ever.
It's never goodbye, it's see you in a year.
And I support the troops 100 billion percent, but will someone please tell me what we're fighting for because these guys don't even know themselves. And that's probably the scariest thought of all.
Not knowing, that is.
Monday, May 28, 2007
shopping bags
I'm pretty much addiced to prose poems. It's actually kind of pathetic actually to see how infatuated I've become with the genre over the past six months or so. I don't know why... I mean, I do. But I can't really describe it. For me to like a piece or a writer or genre or period or anything and really mean it, there has to be somthing extra there. Somthing that draws me in, implants itself upon my psyche and refuses to let go.
I think more than anything though, I'm enticed by the concept of prose poetry. Essentially a hybrid between short story and poetry, David Lehmen in the introduction to Great American Prose Poems (fantastic anthology, by the way) states that, "it is a form that sets store by its use of the demotic, its willingness to locate the sources of poetry definatly far from the spring on Mount Helicon sacred to the muses. It is an insistently modern form." More than that though, it is a literary rebellion of sort from the traditional poetic stylistic norms. Maybe I'm really into prose poetry because when I write, I mean like really write, regardless of its for school or myself, I agonize over the language...to the point where the placement of the most miniscule "and" becomes the most operose task imaginable. I love the idea of using the axioms of prose to create pieces so alluring that they cannot be called anything other than poetry.
Moving on...my brain has felt like complete mush the past few days. Not to hate on my friends at Coyote who I absolutly adore, but they aren't exactly the most intellectually stimulating people to surround one's self with. I don't know if it's that or if my disgust over being home and the person I am here has consumed what was left of my brain or somthing entirely different...but that's irrellevent. The point is, I feel so unlike myself and it's really disconcerning.
Earlier I went to the Memorial Day parade in Westfield. Of course I had to put on the "Look at me, I'm so happy and so perfect and everybody loves me" (gag) face, just to avoid the awkward questions. And it sucked. Every little old lady, next door neighbour, elementary school teacher, mother of someone on my grade-school soccer team asked the same question, "How are you, dear?" and I forced myself to gloss over how I really am. It's such an act, "I'm wonderful Mrs. So and So. I just finished my first year at Hood College. Oh you haven't heard of it? It's a charming liberal arts college in Western Maryland, not too far from Washington. Such lovely people there, but I still miss home. Of couse I'm still planning on majoring in Political Science.". Every time, I gave the same little spiel while inside I wanted to say somthing completely outragious, my real thoughts, just to see their reaction. Can you imagine: "I'm tired. It's 9 in the morning and I haven't slept in days. I'm over college, but that doesn't mean I'm doing well at all. Yeah I'm still a crappy student but that isnt stopping me from taking 18 credits this summer just to I can get out of there faster. This summer? Oh I'm working at Coyote where I pour drinks and dance on a bar just to make enough money so I'm not going absolutly insane next semester at school"? They would faint. But I'm not one to break the stepford cycle Westfield High graduates have going. Suburbia's dirty little secret, I guess.
Plus, I don't really even know where I am right now. Mentally or emotionally, that is. In Shadow- A Parable (yay prose poetry!), Poe writes, "There were things around us and about of which I can render no distinct account-- things material and spiritual-- heaviness in the atmosphere-- a sense of suffocation-- anxiety-- and, above all, that terrible state of existence which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly living and awake, and meanwhile the powers of thought lie dorment." Yup. If anything, that is how to best begin when trying to ascertain my current state. I don't know how to even begin describing how I feel. It is as if my level of disassociation has boiled over and left me completly numb. Not empty, because I am far further from the Goddesses than I have ever been, just unable to feel. Anything.
Maybe...maybe we're too intense for this world. I'm all for diversity but what I wouldn't give sometimes to seperate the real people-- the thinkers, artists, writers, teachers, those craving somthing...anything..., those who aren't bound to an emotionless state-- from everyone else. I think for the real people, those who know and embrace pain, dealing with everyone else has become the next Sisyphean challenge. We're eternally doomed to interact with the bland masses who are perfectly content with bathing in nothing but pure imbecility.
The mere thought alone makes me nauseous.
I think more than anything though, I'm enticed by the concept of prose poetry. Essentially a hybrid between short story and poetry, David Lehmen in the introduction to Great American Prose Poems (fantastic anthology, by the way) states that, "it is a form that sets store by its use of the demotic, its willingness to locate the sources of poetry definatly far from the spring on Mount Helicon sacred to the muses. It is an insistently modern form." More than that though, it is a literary rebellion of sort from the traditional poetic stylistic norms. Maybe I'm really into prose poetry because when I write, I mean like really write, regardless of its for school or myself, I agonize over the language...to the point where the placement of the most miniscule "and" becomes the most operose task imaginable. I love the idea of using the axioms of prose to create pieces so alluring that they cannot be called anything other than poetry.
Moving on...my brain has felt like complete mush the past few days. Not to hate on my friends at Coyote who I absolutly adore, but they aren't exactly the most intellectually stimulating people to surround one's self with. I don't know if it's that or if my disgust over being home and the person I am here has consumed what was left of my brain or somthing entirely different...but that's irrellevent. The point is, I feel so unlike myself and it's really disconcerning.
Earlier I went to the Memorial Day parade in Westfield. Of course I had to put on the "Look at me, I'm so happy and so perfect and everybody loves me" (gag) face, just to avoid the awkward questions. And it sucked. Every little old lady, next door neighbour, elementary school teacher, mother of someone on my grade-school soccer team asked the same question, "How are you, dear?" and I forced myself to gloss over how I really am. It's such an act, "I'm wonderful Mrs. So and So. I just finished my first year at Hood College. Oh you haven't heard of it? It's a charming liberal arts college in Western Maryland, not too far from Washington. Such lovely people there, but I still miss home. Of couse I'm still planning on majoring in Political Science.". Every time, I gave the same little spiel while inside I wanted to say somthing completely outragious, my real thoughts, just to see their reaction. Can you imagine: "I'm tired. It's 9 in the morning and I haven't slept in days. I'm over college, but that doesn't mean I'm doing well at all. Yeah I'm still a crappy student but that isnt stopping me from taking 18 credits this summer just to I can get out of there faster. This summer? Oh I'm working at Coyote where I pour drinks and dance on a bar just to make enough money so I'm not going absolutly insane next semester at school"? They would faint. But I'm not one to break the stepford cycle Westfield High graduates have going. Suburbia's dirty little secret, I guess.
Plus, I don't really even know where I am right now. Mentally or emotionally, that is. In Shadow- A Parable (yay prose poetry!), Poe writes, "There were things around us and about of which I can render no distinct account-- things material and spiritual-- heaviness in the atmosphere-- a sense of suffocation-- anxiety-- and, above all, that terrible state of existence which the nervous experience when the senses are keenly living and awake, and meanwhile the powers of thought lie dorment." Yup. If anything, that is how to best begin when trying to ascertain my current state. I don't know how to even begin describing how I feel. It is as if my level of disassociation has boiled over and left me completly numb. Not empty, because I am far further from the Goddesses than I have ever been, just unable to feel. Anything.
Maybe...maybe we're too intense for this world. I'm all for diversity but what I wouldn't give sometimes to seperate the real people-- the thinkers, artists, writers, teachers, those craving somthing...anything..., those who aren't bound to an emotionless state-- from everyone else. I think for the real people, those who know and embrace pain, dealing with everyone else has become the next Sisyphean challenge. We're eternally doomed to interact with the bland masses who are perfectly content with bathing in nothing but pure imbecility.
The mere thought alone makes me nauseous.
it's not over
Here’s to oak countertops
that hold our weary heads.
The ancient wood under scar-laden, age-ridden forearms
has seen thousands of nights like this before.
And here’s to hope.
It is that sole yearning for somthing more
anything more
anything better
that carries us towards tomorrow.
Or on second thought,
scratch that toast.
Because your delusions are not solutions
regardless of what I have heard.
Last call.
Cheers to empty glasses
but don't forget to leave room for one last round.
My liver can take a few more punches,
it’s my heart you should worry about.
Here’s to face down photographs
save us bloodshot eyes.
Pathetically iconic of their subjects,
both nothing more than a grainy lost cause.
And here’s to love that never was.
To that moment when you realized
you loved the idea more than the person.
It just wasn't worth it
fighting for somthing that wasn't there,
never was there to begin with.
One last toast to the inability
to cut one’s losses and move on.
Maybe we're nothing more than addicts.
Completly unable to function without
each other's parasitic presence.
To tell you the truth,
sometimes I wonder if the message here is,
“Hun, you’ve had enough”.
Except that I'll tell you when I'm through.
Only to end it on anything but my own terms.
Plus,
your words are just a chaser
and I’m an alcoholic who doesn’t touch the stuff.
Stop worrying love,
you know me better than this.
You’re my ditch, not my car keys
and I’m driving myself home.
that hold our weary heads.
The ancient wood under scar-laden, age-ridden forearms
has seen thousands of nights like this before.
And here’s to hope.
It is that sole yearning for somthing more
anything more
anything better
that carries us towards tomorrow.
Or on second thought,
scratch that toast.
Because your delusions are not solutions
regardless of what I have heard.
Last call.
Cheers to empty glasses
but don't forget to leave room for one last round.
My liver can take a few more punches,
it’s my heart you should worry about.
Here’s to face down photographs
save us bloodshot eyes.
Pathetically iconic of their subjects,
both nothing more than a grainy lost cause.
And here’s to love that never was.
To that moment when you realized
you loved the idea more than the person.
It just wasn't worth it
fighting for somthing that wasn't there,
never was there to begin with.
One last toast to the inability
to cut one’s losses and move on.
Maybe we're nothing more than addicts.
Completly unable to function without
each other's parasitic presence.
To tell you the truth,
sometimes I wonder if the message here is,
“Hun, you’ve had enough”.
Except that I'll tell you when I'm through.
Only to end it on anything but my own terms.
Plus,
your words are just a chaser
and I’m an alcoholic who doesn’t touch the stuff.
Stop worrying love,
you know me better than this.
You’re my ditch, not my car keys
and I’m driving myself home.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Fancy
I think I just realized how much I've changed in the past year. One year ago today, my cousin and his fiancee got married. This is the cousin who I cannot stand but regardless, I try to please. The arrogant son of a bitch who pushed me into politics and then ignores me when I'm in over my head. The one who's name I refuse to mention when I'm working in the political relm because as soon as someone finds out that we're related, I am no longer Lilith-- I become this person's cousin.
One year ago, I went to his wedding and got extremly drunk in front of my family. It was sone of the worst nights of my life to date, but it was extremly nessasary. Because of my stupidity that night, I'm no longer the nice, shy girl of the family. They see me as reckless, dangerous. And I kind of like that. It's my little safety net from all of their garbage.
P.S. one year later, I still haven't seen or heard from my cousin or his wife. But I think I'm finally ok with that. If they aren't going to make the effort then I'm just going to stop trying. Don't get me wrong, I would love their approval but I'm just too tired to keep seeking it.
That's it. I'm tired. I'm tired of constantly applying this happy facade before I step out of my room in the morning. The really pathetic thing though, I think, is that I'm not even doing that well in faking it because everyone, if they really look, can see. See how rediculous I am. It's disgusting actually. How desperate I am for everyone else's approval that I'm willing to sacrifice everything I am just to get their ok.
But at least I'm not the nice kid anymore.
One year ago, I went to his wedding and got extremly drunk in front of my family. It was sone of the worst nights of my life to date, but it was extremly nessasary. Because of my stupidity that night, I'm no longer the nice, shy girl of the family. They see me as reckless, dangerous. And I kind of like that. It's my little safety net from all of their garbage.
P.S. one year later, I still haven't seen or heard from my cousin or his wife. But I think I'm finally ok with that. If they aren't going to make the effort then I'm just going to stop trying. Don't get me wrong, I would love their approval but I'm just too tired to keep seeking it.
That's it. I'm tired. I'm tired of constantly applying this happy facade before I step out of my room in the morning. The really pathetic thing though, I think, is that I'm not even doing that well in faking it because everyone, if they really look, can see. See how rediculous I am. It's disgusting actually. How desperate I am for everyone else's approval that I'm willing to sacrifice everything I am just to get their ok.
But at least I'm not the nice kid anymore.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
bravedancing
Fleet Week is amazing. Earlier I had some time so I went over to the pier to check out the goings-on. It's such a jovial time for everyone coming off the ships, looking for some fun around the greatest city in the world. They're my age though, the sailors, some even younger. Kids really who for one reason or another decided to join the Navy. But regardless of their motivations or the situation our (mostly) incompitant leaders direct them towards, they diserve our respect and support.
And then I started to get think. I know I have no right to be upset but I am really starting to miss David. 349 days ago the humvee he was traveling in in Iraq ran over an IED and exploded. He, along with the two other people in the vehicle were killed. He died a hero a week before his 19th birthday.
It bothers the crap out of me when people say I can't be a democrat and support the troops. I think that is absolutly disgusting. I am a democrat and damn proud of it. But I don't think that means I have to turn my back on the men and women who are willing to die for us. While I might not believe in this fight, if my friends choose to join the battle I am going to unequovically support them.
Maybe...I think a little part of me wants to believe its more than the individual fight, be it against the insurgency in Iraq or the global jihadist threat. It's about believing in the foundations of our democracy to the point where you're willing to protect it by whatever means are at your disposal. I don't know.
Friday, May 25, 2007
tougher than the rest
I'm really over being here, living in my mother's house. Her sence of entitlement is disgusting and I feel like my mere presence is a bother to her. Trying to be polite earlier, I asked about her plans for the long weekend and she rattled off a list of parties and such...mostly contrived in an attempt to make me jelous, I'm guessing. Yeah. Sorry if Memorial Day weekend is one of the biggest weekends of the summer at Coyote--especially with Fleet Week and I'd rather make enough money in one weekend to cover the cost of books for next semester than fake Sally Sorority for everyone down here who I really dont know or care about.
Her attitudue is really frusturating though. I know we don't have anything that could even be percieved as a good relationship but at least I'm being proactive in trying to make amends with her. On paper, if you see all of the garbage she has put (and continues to put) me through...I shouldn't even be making the effort. But I am. I realize that I'm far from the perfect daughter but she hasn't been the perfect mother either. Over the past five or six years, I've made steps towards getting my act together. Yeah, as with everything else, for every step in the right direction, there's a few giant steps backwards. But now, I'm working on limiting the slides back. Being here, it has forced me right back into all of the situations that I tried to break free from.
I think I may have found another trigger but I feel pretty horrible about blaming everything on mother's influences. There is the element of personal responsibility for my actions that is lacking when I do that.
And I don't really want her to be the mother she wasn't. I'm almost 20. I think I have the adult, taking care of myself thing down now. I just want her to trust me. I want her to know that despite all of the crap I went through, I'm going to be ok. But also, I want her to be there if I need her...to be able to bounce ideas off of or whatever you're supposed to do with your mother. It's actually kind of pathetic how I don't know what a functioning mother/daughter relationship is supposed to be like.
But then...nothing about my life is anywhere near normal or functional. Whoops. At least I keep things entertaining.
Her attitudue is really frusturating though. I know we don't have anything that could even be percieved as a good relationship but at least I'm being proactive in trying to make amends with her. On paper, if you see all of the garbage she has put (and continues to put) me through...I shouldn't even be making the effort. But I am. I realize that I'm far from the perfect daughter but she hasn't been the perfect mother either. Over the past five or six years, I've made steps towards getting my act together. Yeah, as with everything else, for every step in the right direction, there's a few giant steps backwards. But now, I'm working on limiting the slides back. Being here, it has forced me right back into all of the situations that I tried to break free from.
I think I may have found another trigger but I feel pretty horrible about blaming everything on mother's influences. There is the element of personal responsibility for my actions that is lacking when I do that.
And I don't really want her to be the mother she wasn't. I'm almost 20. I think I have the adult, taking care of myself thing down now. I just want her to trust me. I want her to know that despite all of the crap I went through, I'm going to be ok. But also, I want her to be there if I need her...to be able to bounce ideas off of or whatever you're supposed to do with your mother. It's actually kind of pathetic how I don't know what a functioning mother/daughter relationship is supposed to be like.
But then...nothing about my life is anywhere near normal or functional. Whoops. At least I keep things entertaining.
the spark
I hate summer. I hate heat. I hate unairconditioned lecture halls. I hate that my ancient political thought professor is a chauvonistic asshole and refuses to awknoweledge that I might actually know what I'm talking about. I hate that I'm actually doing well in my classes but my family still gives me crap for it because I'm taking the inititave to do a semester worth of credits during the summer while working six nights a week at Coyote.
Linda officially filed for the '08 rematch. I'm game. Regardless of what happens with the presidential, Linda is my candidate and I will do everything in my power to make sure we kick ass.
My doctor refuses to give me meds so I don't have constant mirgranes because of the heat. He insists that I'm faking...I'm not.
I accidentially grabbed vicodin instead of my sleeping pill last night. My fault for putting the bottles next to each other. Had some crazy dreams though. Painkiller dreams are fantastic...
the best dreams are the conscience ones though.
Linda officially filed for the '08 rematch. I'm game. Regardless of what happens with the presidential, Linda is my candidate and I will do everything in my power to make sure we kick ass.
My doctor refuses to give me meds so I don't have constant mirgranes because of the heat. He insists that I'm faking...I'm not.
I accidentially grabbed vicodin instead of my sleeping pill last night. My fault for putting the bottles next to each other. Had some crazy dreams though. Painkiller dreams are fantastic...
the best dreams are the conscience ones though.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
smokestack lighting
Blah. Just blah. My summer chem lab is destroying me. I don't understand any of it. And the really pathetic thing is that my 13-year-old stepbrother had to help me with it...and acutally understood what I was supposed to be doing. Somthing with balancing solutions with an uneven number of ions... Whatever. I'm not a science person at all. I love my CNF class though. I'm really starting to see the evolution of my writing from where it was a year ago. I'm playing around with this short story in the second person right now. It's really difficult to use second person effectively...but it's a cool exercize.
It's also Fleet Week so all of the ships are over in the NYC harbor...along with the Navy boys! Basically means work is going to be insane this week...last night we were way over the fire code haha. I dont know...Fleet Week is just madness everywhere in the city but if I'm making money, it really shouldn't matter. And, Navy guys...nuff said.
I've been kind of mentally lethargic the past couple of days...I dont know why. I think I'm just so busy with classes and work and dealing with home that by the time I want to take a few minutes for myself...it just doesn't work well. Whatever. I don't need to be smart this summer, outside of classes that is.
It's also Fleet Week so all of the ships are over in the NYC harbor...along with the Navy boys! Basically means work is going to be insane this week...last night we were way over the fire code haha. I dont know...Fleet Week is just madness everywhere in the city but if I'm making money, it really shouldn't matter. And, Navy guys...nuff said.
I've been kind of mentally lethargic the past couple of days...I dont know why. I think I'm just so busy with classes and work and dealing with home that by the time I want to take a few minutes for myself...it just doesn't work well. Whatever. I don't need to be smart this summer, outside of classes that is.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
companion
Misery loves company.
Misery is crowding me.
Misery is holding a party
and I'm the guest of honor.
See it and believe you ugly bird, we're covering this
page with blood red Crayola. Doesn't wipe away.
Mommy's furniture used and stained. Out through the
glass I see me cracking. Let Fitzgerald pick up the pieces.
All the little lights in the eyes
they’ve gone and done dimmed out.
You could look and say, in the past they said
what they thought was some twinkle, some secret knowledge,
a joke that amused me and nobody else.
Behind everything else, they saw this.
Untier.
Untier.
I don’t want to be.
One angel was going back to heaven
and hearing the cries of the mortals below,
couldn’t stand it
and came back down to help people,
in the process, losing its wings forever.
Broken wings.
Why did I come back for this?
I thought it might have been to set things straight.
Now I’m creating more ghosts.
"come on, babe, write it and get it out of your system –
it's not trivializing it -
it's a way to put some distance between you and 'it' -
a way to cope"
Selling it.
Selling a death.
That's what it looks like to me.
To write about it.
To these people.
It makes me sick.
I won't look back at this one again.
Never look back.
That's where the accidents are.
Ahead, that's clear and future
potential for more destruction.
Don’t come close.
I can’t tell anybody.
I want to help you, but I can’t.
I could never say “no”.
Think fast for the morphine, Mr. Moto.
Beautiful epic and one less kid on Santa’s lap.
With so much blood, thank goodness it’s the holidays
and everything else is red.
These visions of fucking tears streaming everywhere.
And fear. This poor woman scared.
Because this is my fault.
For violating the code.
I remember at this party last weekend.
Downing vodka and swallowing pills.
After just hooking up with this guy.
The conversation between myself and the girls
was how the men liked it.
How to do it and how to make it fun.
Because I knew the answers.
When I bothered to answer I never made it more
than what it was.
And I said at one point,
“I just broke up with a guy tonight.
I never do that. Never.
You think I’ll sleep tonight?”
You’ll think I’ll sleep tonight?
I did that night.
And well.
But now, no, not lately.
Not without horror.
Not without spending all day in bed and
popping Valium.
Sin against an animal.
Sin against a blade of grass.
The sin is against yourself.
Yours. Keep it to yourself.
I have to work.
I’m going mad, but I have to do it on the clock.
I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Only my doctor knows what happened.
The office. The clock and machines.
Holiday swap meet.
White package of pills in pocket.
And this package of pills.
Who knows what its like to have my life?
Going clean.
No, don’t want to, but must.
Must take them.
Don’t want to. But must.
5 more. 6 more.
Have to stop the visions.
Must. Fucking must.
I’m not selling angst and I’m hoping you don’t understand.
Don’t want sympathy.
This is no marketing ploy. Trivializing.
Let’s say I didn’t do it.
Let’s kill Tookie.
Let’s let everyone else live, since we hate blacks and love whites.
Pull the switch on the leader of the Crips
and let a little light get back into my eyes.
Let's break this sugar town, baby.
Under the house and over the moon.
They all know something is wrong and something has changed.
They just can’t stop it.
“What happened to that sweet girl I knew in high school?
Where are you?”
James called me Monster and knew it.
I miss the feeling of his hand on mine.
That love.
I don’t want to. But must.
I’m sorry.
If they wake you up in heaven or hell
you can say
“Alas, poor Monster.
I never knew her well.”
Love, your love.
Misery is crowding me.
Misery is holding a party
and I'm the guest of honor.
See it and believe you ugly bird, we're covering this
page with blood red Crayola. Doesn't wipe away.
Mommy's furniture used and stained. Out through the
glass I see me cracking. Let Fitzgerald pick up the pieces.
All the little lights in the eyes
they’ve gone and done dimmed out.
You could look and say, in the past they said
what they thought was some twinkle, some secret knowledge,
a joke that amused me and nobody else.
Behind everything else, they saw this.
Untier.
Untier.
I don’t want to be.
One angel was going back to heaven
and hearing the cries of the mortals below,
couldn’t stand it
and came back down to help people,
in the process, losing its wings forever.
Broken wings.
Why did I come back for this?
I thought it might have been to set things straight.
Now I’m creating more ghosts.
"come on, babe, write it and get it out of your system –
it's not trivializing it -
it's a way to put some distance between you and 'it' -
a way to cope"
Selling it.
Selling a death.
That's what it looks like to me.
To write about it.
To these people.
It makes me sick.
I won't look back at this one again.
Never look back.
That's where the accidents are.
Ahead, that's clear and future
potential for more destruction.
Don’t come close.
I can’t tell anybody.
I want to help you, but I can’t.
I could never say “no”.
Think fast for the morphine, Mr. Moto.
Beautiful epic and one less kid on Santa’s lap.
With so much blood, thank goodness it’s the holidays
and everything else is red.
These visions of fucking tears streaming everywhere.
And fear. This poor woman scared.
Because this is my fault.
For violating the code.
I remember at this party last weekend.
Downing vodka and swallowing pills.
After just hooking up with this guy.
The conversation between myself and the girls
was how the men liked it.
How to do it and how to make it fun.
Because I knew the answers.
When I bothered to answer I never made it more
than what it was.
And I said at one point,
“I just broke up with a guy tonight.
I never do that. Never.
You think I’ll sleep tonight?”
You’ll think I’ll sleep tonight?
I did that night.
And well.
But now, no, not lately.
Not without horror.
Not without spending all day in bed and
popping Valium.
Sin against an animal.
Sin against a blade of grass.
The sin is against yourself.
Yours. Keep it to yourself.
I have to work.
I’m going mad, but I have to do it on the clock.
I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Only my doctor knows what happened.
The office. The clock and machines.
Holiday swap meet.
White package of pills in pocket.
And this package of pills.
Who knows what its like to have my life?
Going clean.
No, don’t want to, but must.
Must take them.
Don’t want to. But must.
5 more. 6 more.
Have to stop the visions.
Must. Fucking must.
I’m not selling angst and I’m hoping you don’t understand.
Don’t want sympathy.
This is no marketing ploy. Trivializing.
Let’s say I didn’t do it.
Let’s kill Tookie.
Let’s let everyone else live, since we hate blacks and love whites.
Pull the switch on the leader of the Crips
and let a little light get back into my eyes.
Let's break this sugar town, baby.
Under the house and over the moon.
They all know something is wrong and something has changed.
They just can’t stop it.
“What happened to that sweet girl I knew in high school?
Where are you?”
James called me Monster and knew it.
I miss the feeling of his hand on mine.
That love.
I don’t want to. But must.
I’m sorry.
If they wake you up in heaven or hell
you can say
“Alas, poor Monster.
I never knew her well.”
Love, your love.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
one step up
I fucked up and I'm probably going to get kicked out of college. My absolute lack of effort resulted in a D- in music. Not that I'm suprised, mind you. I know I probably wasn't going to get a B. But a D-. This is the first time ever that I have gotten below a C. Ever.
And they are probably going to kick me out. Which really sucks. And even if they don't...I don't see the point anymore. With this grade, grad school is completly out the window. Absolutely gone. There goes teaching. There goes working on the Hill. There goes any chance I had of escaping the life everyone expects me to have. All because I was too wrapped up in trying to feel...feel anything...to get my priorities in order enough to go to class and do my coursework. But there really is no point in lamenting my immence fuckups. Nobody wants mediocrity. It is simply unacceptable. I am unacceptable.
Worst of all though...I knew as soon as I saw the grade I was going to cut. It's like an immediate reaction for me...I see failure, I go numb, I need to feel, I grab a blade and let the magic begin. I've been trying to not though so I've been trying to make a better effort with my safety net. I texted one of them though right before I did. And then as soon as I put my cell down, I went to town. It's actually kind of ironic...as soon as I thought I was done...she texted me back asking why I keep putting myself in this position. And because I have no answer that is good enough...I continued.
It is hideous to feel like this. But I mean...at least I'm feeling somthing. I cannot stand being as numb as before. I think, for me at least, I'd rather feel broken and destroyed then nothing at all. As much as I ask to feel nothing...I don't want that. I wouldn't be able to deal with absolute nothingness. I'm not ready to give up yet.
It is times like these that I'm eternally thankful for vodka.
And they are probably going to kick me out. Which really sucks. And even if they don't...I don't see the point anymore. With this grade, grad school is completly out the window. Absolutely gone. There goes teaching. There goes working on the Hill. There goes any chance I had of escaping the life everyone expects me to have. All because I was too wrapped up in trying to feel...feel anything...to get my priorities in order enough to go to class and do my coursework. But there really is no point in lamenting my immence fuckups. Nobody wants mediocrity. It is simply unacceptable. I am unacceptable.
Worst of all though...I knew as soon as I saw the grade I was going to cut. It's like an immediate reaction for me...I see failure, I go numb, I need to feel, I grab a blade and let the magic begin. I've been trying to not though so I've been trying to make a better effort with my safety net. I texted one of them though right before I did. And then as soon as I put my cell down, I went to town. It's actually kind of ironic...as soon as I thought I was done...she texted me back asking why I keep putting myself in this position. And because I have no answer that is good enough...I continued.
It is hideous to feel like this. But I mean...at least I'm feeling somthing. I cannot stand being as numb as before. I think, for me at least, I'd rather feel broken and destroyed then nothing at all. As much as I ask to feel nothing...I don't want that. I wouldn't be able to deal with absolute nothingness. I'm not ready to give up yet.
It is times like these that I'm eternally thankful for vodka.
Monday, May 21, 2007
disease of conceit
I feel like I am dying. Not physically, mind you. But a little bit of me dies every second I am here. It hasn't even been a week and I'm already craving an escape. Any escape. I don't care if it's the seventh layer of Hell...anything would be a welcome change from where I am right now.
They don't tell you how to deal with this. Nobody understanding, I mean. I was never close with anyone here to begin with and the simple act of being back here has brought so many demons with it. I don't know what to do with myself.
There is so much I can't talk about here. I can't mention the goddesses, or how my friend almost outed himself last night, how much I am jonsing for a cigarette right now, how unsure but not completly unsafe I constantly feel. I am behind an impermiable vail with my emotions and thoughts unable to break free.
It's crazy actually...how at school I am more free and I don't even really know anyone there...but here. Here I am completly trapped amoungst the voices I have heard my entire life.
They don't tell you how to deal with this. Nobody understanding, I mean. I was never close with anyone here to begin with and the simple act of being back here has brought so many demons with it. I don't know what to do with myself.
There is so much I can't talk about here. I can't mention the goddesses, or how my friend almost outed himself last night, how much I am jonsing for a cigarette right now, how unsure but not completly unsafe I constantly feel. I am behind an impermiable vail with my emotions and thoughts unable to break free.
It's crazy actually...how at school I am more free and I don't even really know anyone there...but here. Here I am completly trapped amoungst the voices I have heard my entire life.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
over. under. sideways. down.
I fell back into the campaign madness earlier with the first installment of Obamamania. And within minutes of being there, I realized how much I missed it. There really is nothing like having the opportunity to affect change the way you do when you're out working the grassroots for a candidate. Obama's campaign at this point is 99% grassroots and look at what we've been able to do so far...we're organizing events nationwide from the fabulous planning session earlier to low-dollar fundraisers to 4500 people showing up in Manchester, NH on a rainy Saturday to hear the Senator speak then go out and canvass the surrounding area. It's amazing the draw Obama has. I know all of the candidates try to come off as being the everyman but either Obama actually is or he's just faking it better than Hillary.
I think I severly pissed one of my friends off earlier by telling her that when she punched a wall, it was the same thing as me cutting. It's not only the need to feel somthing...anything...but also our impulse control. Why do I cut? Because at the moment it's the only thing I can think about and it will be until I actually do it. Why did she hit the wall? Because she couldn't get the thought of doing it out of her head. It's exactly the same. Well. Not exactly cuz our triggers are completely different..but the same concept. I'm more passive-aggressive than her. But...that's not the point. The point is that she really has no right to call me out on her hitting the wall and breaking her hand when she bitches at me constantly if I have a new scar. I really only do it because I care though.
Out of all of us...she's the only one left who might actually have a chance.
I think I severly pissed one of my friends off earlier by telling her that when she punched a wall, it was the same thing as me cutting. It's not only the need to feel somthing...anything...but also our impulse control. Why do I cut? Because at the moment it's the only thing I can think about and it will be until I actually do it. Why did she hit the wall? Because she couldn't get the thought of doing it out of her head. It's exactly the same. Well. Not exactly cuz our triggers are completely different..but the same concept. I'm more passive-aggressive than her. But...that's not the point. The point is that she really has no right to call me out on her hitting the wall and breaking her hand when she bitches at me constantly if I have a new scar. I really only do it because I care though.
Out of all of us...she's the only one left who might actually have a chance.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
life is a highway
Unfourtionally...even after spending one day at home and one night at work, I can tell that I am reverting into the same distructive person I was before college. I thought I had some way of staying out of it...erasing that chapter. But I guess I'm not strong enough.
Work was rediculous. I think I had forgotten what it's like to feel lusted after (even if it is by a bunch of shitfaced college guys). I get such a high from being on the bar, dancing and just doing my thing. But it feels so fake. I put on the tough but amazingly fun party girl facade at work and the customers believe it. I guess I'm just that good of an actress. And every time I do it, I want to throw up. I cannot stand the girl I become when I'm working. I dance, I flirt, I sell drinks. But it's more than that. I'm selling the illusion that these guys have a chance. The really horrible thing is that I sort of like the attention. I know though, as soon as I leave the bar...I become the chic those guys laugh at on the street. Not that I'd want to get with any of them to begin with, it'd just be nice to know that if I wanted to, I'd have the chance. It's the quintessential love hate relationship and it's probably going to destroy me...but at least being a Coyote pays the bills.
I miss Andrew...I haven't called him yet, mainly cuz I don't know if I can deal with seeing him. I don't want to have to deal with the inevitable rejection.
I don't lose gracefully. It doesn't work well.
The AMAZING literary Gods granted me an A in my AmLit survey course. Yay. Now I don't have to feel like a complete failure when my grade report comes in the mail. Oh wait...yes I do. Cuz ITS MY ONLY A FOR THE SEMESTER!!!!!!!! I am really stupid. Honistly the school probably is regretting ever admitting someone as incompitant as I have proven myself to be. Yeah I got an A in Lit but I also busted my ass for it. No...that's not fair. I think because I liked the class and I actually felt engaged in what I was supposed to be learning that I ended up putting a lot of effort into my work. Whereas in either of my PoliSci classes, the main reason I think I tried as hard as I did (and still ended up sucking) was because I was trying to not only make the professor notice me but also outdo this pretentious jerk who I used to be friends with. I don't know. It's completly irrelivent though. Regardless of the reasoning for my success or lack there of in any course, I still need to do really well next semester. The being mediocre thing isn't so much fun. Plus, I didn't do so hot on my newswriting class and ended up with a C...thus further bringing down my GPA. I'm not sure if it can fall any further and I've still yet to get my grade in music. I know I completely bombed the class. I guess....I don't know. I was so scattered and careless the entire semester. If I end up getting kicked out, I really only have myself to blame.
Zen, my puppy, is growing up! She has gotten so big since I was home last. Anyone who knows me well enough will tell you that I'm not usually an animal person, but I can be swayed by a few adorable smushed puppy faces and wagging tails. If anything, at least she won't hate me if I turn into the biggest hypocrite there is.
Whatever.
Work was rediculous. I think I had forgotten what it's like to feel lusted after (even if it is by a bunch of shitfaced college guys). I get such a high from being on the bar, dancing and just doing my thing. But it feels so fake. I put on the tough but amazingly fun party girl facade at work and the customers believe it. I guess I'm just that good of an actress. And every time I do it, I want to throw up. I cannot stand the girl I become when I'm working. I dance, I flirt, I sell drinks. But it's more than that. I'm selling the illusion that these guys have a chance. The really horrible thing is that I sort of like the attention. I know though, as soon as I leave the bar...I become the chic those guys laugh at on the street. Not that I'd want to get with any of them to begin with, it'd just be nice to know that if I wanted to, I'd have the chance. It's the quintessential love hate relationship and it's probably going to destroy me...but at least being a Coyote pays the bills.
I miss Andrew...I haven't called him yet, mainly cuz I don't know if I can deal with seeing him. I don't want to have to deal with the inevitable rejection.
I don't lose gracefully. It doesn't work well.
The AMAZING literary Gods granted me an A in my AmLit survey course. Yay. Now I don't have to feel like a complete failure when my grade report comes in the mail. Oh wait...yes I do. Cuz ITS MY ONLY A FOR THE SEMESTER!!!!!!!! I am really stupid. Honistly the school probably is regretting ever admitting someone as incompitant as I have proven myself to be. Yeah I got an A in Lit but I also busted my ass for it. No...that's not fair. I think because I liked the class and I actually felt engaged in what I was supposed to be learning that I ended up putting a lot of effort into my work. Whereas in either of my PoliSci classes, the main reason I think I tried as hard as I did (and still ended up sucking) was because I was trying to not only make the professor notice me but also outdo this pretentious jerk who I used to be friends with. I don't know. It's completly irrelivent though. Regardless of the reasoning for my success or lack there of in any course, I still need to do really well next semester. The being mediocre thing isn't so much fun. Plus, I didn't do so hot on my newswriting class and ended up with a C...thus further bringing down my GPA. I'm not sure if it can fall any further and I've still yet to get my grade in music. I know I completely bombed the class. I guess....I don't know. I was so scattered and careless the entire semester. If I end up getting kicked out, I really only have myself to blame.
Zen, my puppy, is growing up! She has gotten so big since I was home last. Anyone who knows me well enough will tell you that I'm not usually an animal person, but I can be swayed by a few adorable smushed puppy faces and wagging tails. If anything, at least she won't hate me if I turn into the biggest hypocrite there is.
Whatever.
Friday, May 18, 2007
garden statement
So...I'm back in Jersey. I want to leave already. No. It's not that bad I guess, just really awkward. Mother has been looking down my back ever since I walked in the door this afternoon. It's kind of surreal. My room is exactly how I left it, down to the hidden sets of keys and such (a girl can't give away **all** of her secrets now).
Except that it's not all the same. I ran into Zachary when I was picking up my sushi earlier. Or rather, Zachary and his VERY pregnant wife. I don't even want to do the math on that one. Best of all, he had the audacity to say I looked hot and eyefuck the hell out of me when I was walking in...before he realized it was me, of course. If I'm so hot then how come he and I aren't still together, huh? It was supposed to be Lilith and Zachary forever. Now its Zachary and Mrs. Suzy Homemaker forever with me just looking in at the life I should be living.
But then, I'm not ready to get married. I can't even commit to a major, much less a spouse. I guess it's just depressing that everyone I knew from home has already established themselves as somthing; the artist, the wife, the real-estate developer, the marine. And I'm still in limbo.
...this feeling sucks....
Except that it's not all the same. I ran into Zachary when I was picking up my sushi earlier. Or rather, Zachary and his VERY pregnant wife. I don't even want to do the math on that one. Best of all, he had the audacity to say I looked hot and eyefuck the hell out of me when I was walking in...before he realized it was me, of course. If I'm so hot then how come he and I aren't still together, huh? It was supposed to be Lilith and Zachary forever. Now its Zachary and Mrs. Suzy Homemaker forever with me just looking in at the life I should be living.
But then, I'm not ready to get married. I can't even commit to a major, much less a spouse. I guess it's just depressing that everyone I knew from home has already established themselves as somthing; the artist, the wife, the real-estate developer, the marine. And I'm still in limbo.
...this feeling sucks....
Thursday, May 17, 2007
swan drive
Home tomorrow. I am just a smidge aprehensive about home this time, almost moreso then normal. I think it's really different this time, as opposed to over Passover. I'm not going back for a week...I'm gonna be there for three months...with no escape till I buy my car. Shit. And so much has changed over the past year for me...I'm just kind of scared that if people (namely my family) can't deal with who I am right now, I'm either going to revert back into who I was before I came to school or there is going to be massive amounts of crap that I don't nessasarally want or need to deal with.
I don't know how to have a positive relationship with my parents. Like ok, earlier I had to ask my mother how the whole having people over thing works. How pathetic is that? I don't know if I'm supposed to ask or if I'm allowed to have (gasp) boys over but not in my room or in my room with the door open or if I'm allowed to drink in the house or if I can smoke on the porch or if I have to go onto the driveway...
I feel like I'm back in middle school.
I think one of my biggest fears though about living at home is that my parents are going to try to impose rules on me...like a curfew and such. I have no problem taking care of my dishes, doing my laundry, tidying up when needed, calling if I'm going to be out late, etc. You know, the normal expectations one has when living with other people. But I am going to have a huge problem if they don't let me live my life. I go out with my friends and occationally end up crashing elsewhere. I have friends over...boys and girls...in my room...with (another gasp) the door closed. I am almost twenty. And I do not think it is too much to ask for them to recognize that I am an adult and I am capable of making my own decisions as such.
I think it's going to be kind of fun redecorating at my father's though. They just redid the basement and said that could be my space when I'm home. Since it's painted in this neutral off-white, almost camel, I'm thinking of hanging really rich coloured fabric from the celing and sticking my futon down there just straight out with a ton of pillows and blankets...kind of Middle-Eastern I guess. At least he and my stepmom are somewhat making an effort. I guess you have to start somewhere.
Sunday is going to be a bitch. There is this organizing meeting for all of the NJ for Obama groups up in Newark that I'm not only going to but volunteering at. I'm really excited for this, if only to (hopefully) see some of my politcos. I haven't seen most of them since November and I'm really curious to see where everyone has ended up. I know one of my girlies is down working on an assembly race in South Jersey, a few of them transfered over to Linda's Assembly office and have that race coming up, Michael is down in DC with the Senator...but that doesn't nearly cover everybody.
And yes. I know it's going to become an issue with my family that I'm not jumping on the Hillary train. I'm ok with that. It doesn't matter to me that she is a woman or that my cousin is on her press team or that it'd mean another Clinton in the White House. Yeah, her policies are straight party line. She looks fantastic on paper. But there has to be more than that for me when I'm picking a candidate. I have to be excited about them. I have to trust them. There has to be somthing that draws me to them and I'm just not getting that from Hillary. It's really hard to describle. I knew with TJ (the '05 mayoral race I worked on) that he was my guy when, while working the Westfield Democrats booth at the fall street fair, he asked me what he was doing wrong and after hearing my completly unfiltered opinion, listened and told me I was staffing him from now on. Sure, TJ and I had a few serious fights but he knew that I knew what I was doing and eventually sucked it up and went with me. With Linda (this past cycle, the congressional race) it was totally different. I had been working there since January and by June, I was drained. I was showing up at the office every day, just going through the motions. We had this huge fundraiser planned with Paul Begala and he, being his extremely charasmatic self, got the crowd going. Then Linda started speaking and, although I know she didn't write the stump speech and had heard it delivered numerous times before, somthing about her delivery that night literally made me tear up. And every day thereafter it was so much easier to go to work. I finally knew what we were fighting for. Anyways, Hillary hasn't done that for me and I don't think she is going to. Of course I'll support her if she gets the nomination but there is somthing about Obama that makes me think he is going to be my candidate for '08 (provided Linda isn't rearing for a rematch cuz then I'm with her all the way).
Oh man...last night here. Last night writing while staring out my window at the oak tree and the shadows projected onto it by the nearby lamppost. Last night with tile floors. Last night with my friends no more than 50 yards away. Last night being able to walk around at 2am in a fully-lighted area and not be stopped by the cops. Damn. I'm gonna miss this place.
Oh well. I'll be back. Hopefully.
I don't know how to have a positive relationship with my parents. Like ok, earlier I had to ask my mother how the whole having people over thing works. How pathetic is that? I don't know if I'm supposed to ask or if I'm allowed to have (gasp) boys over but not in my room or in my room with the door open or if I'm allowed to drink in the house or if I can smoke on the porch or if I have to go onto the driveway...
I feel like I'm back in middle school.
I think one of my biggest fears though about living at home is that my parents are going to try to impose rules on me...like a curfew and such. I have no problem taking care of my dishes, doing my laundry, tidying up when needed, calling if I'm going to be out late, etc. You know, the normal expectations one has when living with other people. But I am going to have a huge problem if they don't let me live my life. I go out with my friends and occationally end up crashing elsewhere. I have friends over...boys and girls...in my room...with (another gasp) the door closed. I am almost twenty. And I do not think it is too much to ask for them to recognize that I am an adult and I am capable of making my own decisions as such.
I think it's going to be kind of fun redecorating at my father's though. They just redid the basement and said that could be my space when I'm home. Since it's painted in this neutral off-white, almost camel, I'm thinking of hanging really rich coloured fabric from the celing and sticking my futon down there just straight out with a ton of pillows and blankets...kind of Middle-Eastern I guess. At least he and my stepmom are somewhat making an effort. I guess you have to start somewhere.
Sunday is going to be a bitch. There is this organizing meeting for all of the NJ for Obama groups up in Newark that I'm not only going to but volunteering at. I'm really excited for this, if only to (hopefully) see some of my politcos. I haven't seen most of them since November and I'm really curious to see where everyone has ended up. I know one of my girlies is down working on an assembly race in South Jersey, a few of them transfered over to Linda's Assembly office and have that race coming up, Michael is down in DC with the Senator...but that doesn't nearly cover everybody.
And yes. I know it's going to become an issue with my family that I'm not jumping on the Hillary train. I'm ok with that. It doesn't matter to me that she is a woman or that my cousin is on her press team or that it'd mean another Clinton in the White House. Yeah, her policies are straight party line. She looks fantastic on paper. But there has to be more than that for me when I'm picking a candidate. I have to be excited about them. I have to trust them. There has to be somthing that draws me to them and I'm just not getting that from Hillary. It's really hard to describle. I knew with TJ (the '05 mayoral race I worked on) that he was my guy when, while working the Westfield Democrats booth at the fall street fair, he asked me what he was doing wrong and after hearing my completly unfiltered opinion, listened and told me I was staffing him from now on. Sure, TJ and I had a few serious fights but he knew that I knew what I was doing and eventually sucked it up and went with me. With Linda (this past cycle, the congressional race) it was totally different. I had been working there since January and by June, I was drained. I was showing up at the office every day, just going through the motions. We had this huge fundraiser planned with Paul Begala and he, being his extremely charasmatic self, got the crowd going. Then Linda started speaking and, although I know she didn't write the stump speech and had heard it delivered numerous times before, somthing about her delivery that night literally made me tear up. And every day thereafter it was so much easier to go to work. I finally knew what we were fighting for. Anyways, Hillary hasn't done that for me and I don't think she is going to. Of course I'll support her if she gets the nomination but there is somthing about Obama that makes me think he is going to be my candidate for '08 (provided Linda isn't rearing for a rematch cuz then I'm with her all the way).
Oh man...last night here. Last night writing while staring out my window at the oak tree and the shadows projected onto it by the nearby lamppost. Last night with tile floors. Last night with my friends no more than 50 yards away. Last night being able to walk around at 2am in a fully-lighted area and not be stopped by the cops. Damn. I'm gonna miss this place.
Oh well. I'll be back. Hopefully.
don't let me down
I was somewhat content till my ex, Andrew IM-ed me. We were friends for a while and while never officially stating that we were each other's boyfriend or girlfriend...we were seeing each other. Actually, we weren't pseudo-dating that long...maybe two months. But that's irrelevant. Especially when you fall for someone who doesn't care that much in that way about you.
Long story short, it's been more than a year since we stopped hanging out. And I'm still crazy about him. Mind you, this is the boy who said that I'm impossible to love. He's still having problems letting go of his most-recent ex (the girl he broke up with me for) and keeps coming to me for advice. I'm having a really hard time giving it to him though. Not only do I still think about him way more than I should...but I don't want to say anything that might make him transfer his anger over the situation over towards me. It's really hard though.
And I keep dropping these hints...some subtle and others not so much...trying to tell him that I still want to be with him. But I don't think it's working. Either that or he's refusing to awknoweledge them. I sincerely hope it's the latter...how can you misread this:
(talking about the ex)
Andrew (11:17:25 PM): it just goes to show that i've been right all along
Andrew (11:17:32 PM): the girl loves being loved by me
Andrew (11:17:39 PM): but doesnt really love me back
Lilith (11:17:51 PM): then...i think you know what needs to happen
Andrew (11:18:01 PM): ill call the hit man....
Andrew (11:18:06 PM): lol
Lilith (11:18:09 PM): aside from commiting a felony
Andrew (11:18:15 PM): no
Andrew (11:18:19 PM): what needs to happen?
Lilith (11:18:45 PM): i'm not gonna say it because im not in a position to tell you what you should do about your girl issue
Andrew (11:18:57 PM): just say it
Andrew (11:19:01 PM): i need to hear it
Lilith (11:19:12 PM): you need to tell her what you just told me
Lilith (11:19:36 PM): and you should not be fighting for someone who isnt worth the fight
Lilith (11:20:23 PM): if she doesnt love you. i mean love you, love you. the REAL love. the one that takes your breath away but makes you feel like your drowning when you dont have it...then she's not worth it.
Except that's how I felt when I was with him (and I still feel when we talk). Like I was putting all of myself and more into loving him and recieving nothing in return. But I know there HAS to still be somthing there between me and Andrew. Especially when things like:
Andrew (10:57:10 PM): i want
Andrew (10:57:14 PM): that moment
Andrew (10:57:18 PM): when we met
Andrew (10:57:33 PM): when i didn't know who u were and u didnt know me
Andrew (10:57:46 PM): we were just strangers in mutual liking
and
Andrew (11:07:03 PM): sometimes i wish i could feel for u more than i do
Lilith (11:07:26 PM): you mean raquel right?
Andrew (11:07:39 PM): i can only feel for raquel now and i dont want to... i dont want her to know.... and i think she does
Andrew (11:07:53 PM): no i mean u
Andrew (11:08:07 PM): i mean i wish things would change
keep spewing out of his mouth. It hurts so much talking to him because, part of me wants to let go but he makes it almost impossible. And it really sucks because I know he and I could never be together again. There was too much drama, especially on the way out. Once we said what we did to each other, once anyone says things like we did to anyone else, there is no way we (they?) could even attempt to have a positive relationship with one another. It just doesn't work that way.
I just want him to stop...or to find somthing to make me stop caring. Either way, I'd be good.
Long story short, it's been more than a year since we stopped hanging out. And I'm still crazy about him. Mind you, this is the boy who said that I'm impossible to love. He's still having problems letting go of his most-recent ex (the girl he broke up with me for) and keeps coming to me for advice. I'm having a really hard time giving it to him though. Not only do I still think about him way more than I should...but I don't want to say anything that might make him transfer his anger over the situation over towards me. It's really hard though.
And I keep dropping these hints...some subtle and others not so much...trying to tell him that I still want to be with him. But I don't think it's working. Either that or he's refusing to awknoweledge them. I sincerely hope it's the latter...how can you misread this:
(talking about the ex)
Andrew (11:17:25 PM): it just goes to show that i've been right all along
Andrew (11:17:32 PM): the girl loves being loved by me
Andrew (11:17:39 PM): but doesnt really love me back
Lilith (11:17:51 PM): then...i think you know what needs to happen
Andrew (11:18:01 PM): ill call the hit man....
Andrew (11:18:06 PM): lol
Lilith (11:18:09 PM): aside from commiting a felony
Andrew (11:18:15 PM): no
Andrew (11:18:19 PM): what needs to happen?
Lilith (11:18:45 PM): i'm not gonna say it because im not in a position to tell you what you should do about your girl issue
Andrew (11:18:57 PM): just say it
Andrew (11:19:01 PM): i need to hear it
Lilith (11:19:12 PM): you need to tell her what you just told me
Lilith (11:19:36 PM): and you should not be fighting for someone who isnt worth the fight
Lilith (11:20:23 PM): if she doesnt love you. i mean love you, love you. the REAL love. the one that takes your breath away but makes you feel like your drowning when you dont have it...then she's not worth it.
Except that's how I felt when I was with him (and I still feel when we talk). Like I was putting all of myself and more into loving him and recieving nothing in return. But I know there HAS to still be somthing there between me and Andrew. Especially when things like:
Andrew (10:57:10 PM): i want
Andrew (10:57:14 PM): that moment
Andrew (10:57:18 PM): when we met
Andrew (10:57:33 PM): when i didn't know who u were and u didnt know me
Andrew (10:57:46 PM): we were just strangers in mutual liking
and
Andrew (11:07:03 PM): sometimes i wish i could feel for u more than i do
Lilith (11:07:26 PM): you mean raquel right?
Andrew (11:07:39 PM): i can only feel for raquel now and i dont want to... i dont want her to know.... and i think she does
Andrew (11:07:53 PM): no i mean u
Andrew (11:08:07 PM): i mean i wish things would change
keep spewing out of his mouth. It hurts so much talking to him because, part of me wants to let go but he makes it almost impossible. And it really sucks because I know he and I could never be together again. There was too much drama, especially on the way out. Once we said what we did to each other, once anyone says things like we did to anyone else, there is no way we (they?) could even attempt to have a positive relationship with one another. It just doesn't work that way.
I just want him to stop...or to find somthing to make me stop caring. Either way, I'd be good.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
hanginaround
Blah. I have no motivation to keep packing. If it wasn't extremly wasteful, not to mention fiscally and environmentally irresponsible, I would just throw out everything I have and buy new stuff back in Jersey...I hate packing that much.
And it's raining, which makes it even worse. All I really want to do is go outside and run. I love running in the rain. There's just somthing so pure about it. Breaking through the torrents of rain as your feet lightly dance over the pavement.
I'm going to miss my morning runs here. Yeah ok I'm still going to run at home but there is somthing comforting about running the same streets, passing the same graffiti-laden stop sign, the same puppy who runs along side you for as far as their electric fence allows, the same tree that looks just like the one you had your first *real* kiss under...
The facilities crew here on campus has been setting up for graduation, right outside my window. Every morning. At 6am. Uncool guys (and girls--just to be P.C.), very uncool.
I can't even think about graduating yet. I want to be done with this place as soon as I can be, but I don't think I'm ready to have to be a full-fledged adult yet. So what if I'm not completely immature like 99.99999% of other people my age? I still relish the opportunities I have to be young and dumb. I don't think society would appreciate it if two or three years from now I go out and get wrecked at some random party then sleep till noon the next day. And it's not even the immaturity factor that scares me. Seeing as I could barely handle my classes this semester (and none of them were over the 200-level) was a really big wake-up call for me. I need to bust my butt this summer, in and out of classes. I need to be reading everything I can get my hands on and start teaching myself classical theory just so when grad school and the GREs rear their ugly head, I'm not completly left behind.
But none of this will matter if I don't finish packing my stuff for Friday...
And it's raining, which makes it even worse. All I really want to do is go outside and run. I love running in the rain. There's just somthing so pure about it. Breaking through the torrents of rain as your feet lightly dance over the pavement.
I'm going to miss my morning runs here. Yeah ok I'm still going to run at home but there is somthing comforting about running the same streets, passing the same graffiti-laden stop sign, the same puppy who runs along side you for as far as their electric fence allows, the same tree that looks just like the one you had your first *real* kiss under...
The facilities crew here on campus has been setting up for graduation, right outside my window. Every morning. At 6am. Uncool guys (and girls--just to be P.C.), very uncool.
I can't even think about graduating yet. I want to be done with this place as soon as I can be, but I don't think I'm ready to have to be a full-fledged adult yet. So what if I'm not completely immature like 99.99999% of other people my age? I still relish the opportunities I have to be young and dumb. I don't think society would appreciate it if two or three years from now I go out and get wrecked at some random party then sleep till noon the next day. And it's not even the immaturity factor that scares me. Seeing as I could barely handle my classes this semester (and none of them were over the 200-level) was a really big wake-up call for me. I need to bust my butt this summer, in and out of classes. I need to be reading everything I can get my hands on and start teaching myself classical theory just so when grad school and the GREs rear their ugly head, I'm not completly left behind.
But none of this will matter if I don't finish packing my stuff for Friday...
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
the light and the glass
This is me not stressing...see.
I HATE not having my grades. Yeah ok the finals period just technically ended yesterday but...not knowing sucks. I'm only really worried about music and newswriting. Like to the point where I don't think I am passing either with anything above a C- which means I'm going to have to retake them for the core and minor, respectively. And...if my GPA drops any further I could be on academic probation...which would suck beyond measure, especially for grad school.
I'm really upset. I did this amazing collage-type thing on my closet doors made of magazine clippings and such and now I have to take it all down and toss it. It's so amazing though. AND almost as depressing (if not more)...I have to get rid of the bottle collection. There is no way I can keep the bottles in my room at home without looking like an alchoholic and I can't keep them in storage here, especially after someone stole Stephanie's shot glasses last summer. But they're gonna be the last thing to go from my room.
This summer is going to be so weird. I've kept in touch with pretty much noone from high school, for good reason. And I'm going to be living at home which I haven't done in six years. It's like my whole life is here...
and right now I'm putting it into boxes. Such a weird feeling.
I HATE not having my grades. Yeah ok the finals period just technically ended yesterday but...not knowing sucks. I'm only really worried about music and newswriting. Like to the point where I don't think I am passing either with anything above a C- which means I'm going to have to retake them for the core and minor, respectively. And...if my GPA drops any further I could be on academic probation...which would suck beyond measure, especially for grad school.
I'm really upset. I did this amazing collage-type thing on my closet doors made of magazine clippings and such and now I have to take it all down and toss it. It's so amazing though. AND almost as depressing (if not more)...I have to get rid of the bottle collection. There is no way I can keep the bottles in my room at home without looking like an alchoholic and I can't keep them in storage here, especially after someone stole Stephanie's shot glasses last summer. But they're gonna be the last thing to go from my room.
This summer is going to be so weird. I've kept in touch with pretty much noone from high school, for good reason. And I'm going to be living at home which I haven't done in six years. It's like my whole life is here...
and right now I'm putting it into boxes. Such a weird feeling.
underwater
I am such a loser. I just started going though my papers, just to see what I've done this year...and I stumbled upon a paper I wrote last semester for my froshie writing/intro to college lit class. It's really hideous. Not only is the language at absolutly nothing more than a third-grade level, but also I have a "fuck-you I'm done with this" moment about halfway through. It's actually kind of amusing. Looking at my paper, you can see exactly where I decided that I was completly done with the paper and anything written thereafter was going to be complete bullshit.
It's really sad acutally. To think that my attention span and level of disinterst is such that I can decide halfway through somthing that I've written that I just don't care anymore. I mean, earlier this semester I decided that I wasn't going to do that anymore...which I guess is good. It's not really fair to me or my professers for me to halfass my work. I'm (somewhat) fully capible of writing a halfway decent paper. I should use that ability to, you know, write papers that don't completly blow.
Anyways, the specific paper I checked out had somthing to do with the idea of rebellion...which (either fourtionally or unfourtionally) got me thinking. What really is a true rebellion? Let's pretend rebellion can range from the tiny to the huge. If someone from a conservative family (both morally and politically) comes out as a vegan, neo-hippie lesbian...is their rebellion as profound as a nation's rise against an acerbic monarchy--as such the case of the French Revolution? I mean...if we placed this on a either a quantitative or a qualitative scale...I think the French Revolution would rank higher than the divergance from a family's stringant beleifs. But, I don't think it should. There really is nothing that says someone's personal rebellion is more important and striking than that of a nation.
The word rebellion also got me thinking about percieved social norms aka architypical labeling. I don't really see the point of it. But it's interesing to see why we do it. What makes other people...humanity...society...think it is an acceptable action to place one individual into a specific group with specific charactoristics? Does our brain need to sort out each person's behaviours by organizing or labeling them as members of a social group or class? Because someone is xyz and is doing lmn then they are members of the efg group. I don't get it. But...it would be an intersting research project for someone to check out if they were psychologically/socialogocally inclined...if someone hasn't done it already.
I think I'm starting to...I dont know. Miss school. Like classes. Except I have the first day of my summer courses on Monday. I think more than anything though...my brain is feeling the lack of a challenge. Not saying that my people here aren't smart or anything, but there is somthing tobe said for sitting outside or anywhere and just basking in the free exchange of ideas.
One of my most vivid memories is from when I went to visit Israel last. Ava, Yael, Carmit and I went to this amazing little Bedowin village for a night. The four of us were awake...awake all night, just talking. It's so liberating to be in a place, as that tent was for us, where no topic is off limits and your thoughts do not have hto have any logical order in the way they tumble. And tumble, they did. It was so weird. Ava, she is so passionate about everything, whatever she said...it errupted from her mouth in hues of bright red and pumpkin. Whereas Carmit is a bit more reserved. Her thoughts, regardless of topic, escaped gently from her mouth...slowly twisting their mellow teal threads into the massive evolving pot of conscienceness we were creating. Yeah, our thought process. There was none, really. I think that is what made it so profound. Just the lack of order. The rigid structure we generally abide by traded for sheer entropy.
Which is so weird, I think, because I see order in everything. Like if you take a picture of a girl's ribs...I think my mind imprints a grid made of the basic structure of the object or frame on it and that grid is now able to be placed upon somthing completely different, like a rose petal. And it is that grid that makes the beautiful lines of emaciation one in the same as the lines of the rose.
It kind of makes everything connected. Thoughts. Images. People. We are all inherently alike. And I think that's what scares us the most.
It's really sad acutally. To think that my attention span and level of disinterst is such that I can decide halfway through somthing that I've written that I just don't care anymore. I mean, earlier this semester I decided that I wasn't going to do that anymore...which I guess is good. It's not really fair to me or my professers for me to halfass my work. I'm (somewhat) fully capible of writing a halfway decent paper. I should use that ability to, you know, write papers that don't completly blow.
Anyways, the specific paper I checked out had somthing to do with the idea of rebellion...which (either fourtionally or unfourtionally) got me thinking. What really is a true rebellion? Let's pretend rebellion can range from the tiny to the huge. If someone from a conservative family (both morally and politically) comes out as a vegan, neo-hippie lesbian...is their rebellion as profound as a nation's rise against an acerbic monarchy--as such the case of the French Revolution? I mean...if we placed this on a either a quantitative or a qualitative scale...I think the French Revolution would rank higher than the divergance from a family's stringant beleifs. But, I don't think it should. There really is nothing that says someone's personal rebellion is more important and striking than that of a nation.
The word rebellion also got me thinking about percieved social norms aka architypical labeling. I don't really see the point of it. But it's interesing to see why we do it. What makes other people...humanity...society...think it is an acceptable action to place one individual into a specific group with specific charactoristics? Does our brain need to sort out each person's behaviours by organizing or labeling them as members of a social group or class? Because someone is xyz and is doing lmn then they are members of the efg group. I don't get it. But...it would be an intersting research project for someone to check out if they were psychologically/socialogocally inclined...if someone hasn't done it already.
I think I'm starting to...I dont know. Miss school. Like classes. Except I have the first day of my summer courses on Monday. I think more than anything though...my brain is feeling the lack of a challenge. Not saying that my people here aren't smart or anything, but there is somthing tobe said for sitting outside or anywhere and just basking in the free exchange of ideas.
One of my most vivid memories is from when I went to visit Israel last. Ava, Yael, Carmit and I went to this amazing little Bedowin village for a night. The four of us were awake...awake all night, just talking. It's so liberating to be in a place, as that tent was for us, where no topic is off limits and your thoughts do not have hto have any logical order in the way they tumble. And tumble, they did. It was so weird. Ava, she is so passionate about everything, whatever she said...it errupted from her mouth in hues of bright red and pumpkin. Whereas Carmit is a bit more reserved. Her thoughts, regardless of topic, escaped gently from her mouth...slowly twisting their mellow teal threads into the massive evolving pot of conscienceness we were creating. Yeah, our thought process. There was none, really. I think that is what made it so profound. Just the lack of order. The rigid structure we generally abide by traded for sheer entropy.
Which is so weird, I think, because I see order in everything. Like if you take a picture of a girl's ribs...I think my mind imprints a grid made of the basic structure of the object or frame on it and that grid is now able to be placed upon somthing completely different, like a rose petal. And it is that grid that makes the beautiful lines of emaciation one in the same as the lines of the rose.
It kind of makes everything connected. Thoughts. Images. People. We are all inherently alike. And I think that's what scares us the most.
Monday, May 14, 2007
your heart is an empty room
I am done. Done with exams. Yes. Done. Sigh. I thought I would have this overwhelming sence of releif when I was finished, but no. I mean it was there for a second but now I realized, because I slacked off majorly this semester (and doing so horribly that I might be dropped from the school), I have to do better. Seriously. Grad school and the work as a professer or write or work on the Hill...they don't take fuckers like me. They want the good students who'd rather spend time studying than meeting new people. I'm not like that. I love being in class but also, I think there is as much to be learned out of class...from just being around people.
And...tonight. Yeah. MMM. I'm relaxing almost to the point of euphoria. So blissfully content. Almost...happy. But I don't use that word.
I realized...I'm kind of extremly but sort of not I dont know...enamoured....with this one person. I met them at the begining of last semester. And now that I've seen them for so long...not having had the opportunity to at least talk to them in over a week is kind of messing with me. Like, although they didn't know me that well...I think that they almost understood me. And they challenged me, in every sence of the word. Which, I think is important. I mean, I feel that I'm maybe but probably not somewhat intelligent and not just a useless, reckess piece of shit fucker that's bumming aorund and trying to be somthing they're not.
I think I realized my contentment had sunk in when I was driving back to campus. The street...driving at night...it's amazing. Just your headlights breaking into the seemingly infanate darkness, slowly illuminating the uniform road markings...placed like Gretel's breadcrumbs to lead us back from the woods. Except this time. This time the woods contains the few substances ment to enduce this beautiful state. The items we would be inable to survive without.
Because the game as a new objective...just to make it out alive.
And...tonight. Yeah. MMM. I'm relaxing almost to the point of euphoria. So blissfully content. Almost...happy. But I don't use that word.
I realized...I'm kind of extremly but sort of not I dont know...enamoured....with this one person. I met them at the begining of last semester. And now that I've seen them for so long...not having had the opportunity to at least talk to them in over a week is kind of messing with me. Like, although they didn't know me that well...I think that they almost understood me. And they challenged me, in every sence of the word. Which, I think is important. I mean, I feel that I'm maybe but probably not somewhat intelligent and not just a useless, reckess piece of shit fucker that's bumming aorund and trying to be somthing they're not.
I think I realized my contentment had sunk in when I was driving back to campus. The street...driving at night...it's amazing. Just your headlights breaking into the seemingly infanate darkness, slowly illuminating the uniform road markings...placed like Gretel's breadcrumbs to lead us back from the woods. Except this time. This time the woods contains the few substances ment to enduce this beautiful state. The items we would be inable to survive without.
Because the game as a new objective...just to make it out alive.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
iris
Being that it is Mother's Day, I left the obligatory voicemail on Mom's cell this morning. I called when I knew she'd be at the gym so I wouldn't have to hear how I screwed everything up. Before getting pregnant with me, her and my father were the quintessental yuppies-- with the high power jobs and the corner offices at NYC law firms, spending every night out at the hottest bars and resturants and weekends in the Hamptons. Whatever. It doesn't even bother me anymore, I've listened to the rant so many times I can quote it verbatum.
Mother's Day has never been fun for me though. I remember one year we were supposed to go to brunch at my relatives. But beforehand, my slightly (read-excessively) inebreated father found it appropriate to say I looked like a hooker in my sundress. I went up, changed and we left. When we get to my family's, he thought it would be a good idea to point out to everyone that (in his eyes), I should have left the first dress on because it was good preperation for my future career of a prostitute. I was 10.
Last year on Mother's Day I was dress shopping for somthing to wear to my cousin's wedding. Such an ordeal, but it wasn't bad. I got bagels and lox and made coffee earlier for Mother and she had made it very clear that she had her own plans for the day and that I was not to interfere-- which was clearly fine by me.
And now, she's in Jersey with my brother. I think he was taking her to Chez Catherine-- this amazing little French bistro-- in our town for brunch. They always got along much better than she and I. Oh well. One less person I have to deal with...
I really don't like people that much.
Mother's Day has never been fun for me though. I remember one year we were supposed to go to brunch at my relatives. But beforehand, my slightly (read-excessively) inebreated father found it appropriate to say I looked like a hooker in my sundress. I went up, changed and we left. When we get to my family's, he thought it would be a good idea to point out to everyone that (in his eyes), I should have left the first dress on because it was good preperation for my future career of a prostitute. I was 10.
Last year on Mother's Day I was dress shopping for somthing to wear to my cousin's wedding. Such an ordeal, but it wasn't bad. I got bagels and lox and made coffee earlier for Mother and she had made it very clear that she had her own plans for the day and that I was not to interfere-- which was clearly fine by me.
And now, she's in Jersey with my brother. I think he was taking her to Chez Catherine-- this amazing little French bistro-- in our town for brunch. They always got along much better than she and I. Oh well. One less person I have to deal with...
I really don't like people that much.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
those to come
Terrorism & Justice exam happened. I didn't cry, unlike two of my friends who already took the exam. Yeah, it wasn't as painful as I had thought it was going to be...but it was still pretty bad. Imagine 50 multiple-guess questions, all reading a varriation of "all of the following are true EXCEPT". Yeah. Ouch.
I knew some of them, I think I was pretty solid on theory and domestic terrorism...but that's it. Oh well. I could have not taken the final at all and ended up with a 70% in the class, but that's a C and that's unacceptable as a final grade. But, as long as I get a 10/20 or better on the exam, I get a B in the class. For an A, I would have had to have gotten a 20/20 on the exam...which I'm telling you right now didn't happen. I can be ok with a B in Terrorism, really I can. An A would have been nice, but the class started kicking my butt from day 1 and I've been playing catch-up all semester.
I still have to take my International Relations exam. I guess I'm just gonna do it Monday at 2...unless by some miracle I'm awake and functioning enough to sit for the 9:30 exam. I'm not too worried about IR. I need a 16.4/20 on the exam to have a solid B in the class. It's sort of the same situation as with Terrorism. I need a 20/20 for an A. Although theoretically possible, it's probably not in the cards...especially with another multiple-guess exam.
I am so bad at multiple-guess...I'd much rather take an essay exam. I always end up second guessing myself, especially when two things could both be right. I'm bad at picking what's "more" right. I think that's why I like English so much...unless you put up somthing that's completely out of left field, it can be right. And even if it's crazy, as long as you can justify it through the text...it's still sort of right.
I think I've realized how much of a caffeine fiend I have become over the past year. Seriously. Sugar-Free Rockstars and Carb-Free Full Throttle have become water for me. I don't know if that's a bad thing or not...but whatever. I'm not healthy anyways...
Except that I am OCD healthnut about most things. I try to eat all organic and I don't eat meat (fish doesn't count) and I run...a lot...and do yoga, hike and try not to stress out. But I don't know if the smoking, excessive caffeine and partying cancel out the healthy.
Whatever. I'm young, reckless and too dumb to know the difference.
I knew some of them, I think I was pretty solid on theory and domestic terrorism...but that's it. Oh well. I could have not taken the final at all and ended up with a 70% in the class, but that's a C and that's unacceptable as a final grade. But, as long as I get a 10/20 or better on the exam, I get a B in the class. For an A, I would have had to have gotten a 20/20 on the exam...which I'm telling you right now didn't happen. I can be ok with a B in Terrorism, really I can. An A would have been nice, but the class started kicking my butt from day 1 and I've been playing catch-up all semester.
I still have to take my International Relations exam. I guess I'm just gonna do it Monday at 2...unless by some miracle I'm awake and functioning enough to sit for the 9:30 exam. I'm not too worried about IR. I need a 16.4/20 on the exam to have a solid B in the class. It's sort of the same situation as with Terrorism. I need a 20/20 for an A. Although theoretically possible, it's probably not in the cards...especially with another multiple-guess exam.
I am so bad at multiple-guess...I'd much rather take an essay exam. I always end up second guessing myself, especially when two things could both be right. I'm bad at picking what's "more" right. I think that's why I like English so much...unless you put up somthing that's completely out of left field, it can be right. And even if it's crazy, as long as you can justify it through the text...it's still sort of right.
I think I've realized how much of a caffeine fiend I have become over the past year. Seriously. Sugar-Free Rockstars and Carb-Free Full Throttle have become water for me. I don't know if that's a bad thing or not...but whatever. I'm not healthy anyways...
Except that I am OCD healthnut about most things. I try to eat all organic and I don't eat meat (fish doesn't count) and I run...a lot...and do yoga, hike and try not to stress out. But I don't know if the smoking, excessive caffeine and partying cancel out the healthy.
Whatever. I'm young, reckless and too dumb to know the difference.
balance beam
Yeah, I definatly didn not wake up in time to sit for the 9:30 exam this morning. I think I rolled over at around 8, decided I'd sleep for 10 more minutes and didn't stir again till 10:25. Whoops. Not that big of a deal. I can sit for terrorism this afternoon, as planned, then do international relations Monday morning or afternoon.
Am I a bad daughter for not sending out Mother's Day gifts? I have no real reason to though. I don't concider my mother to be anything more than the person who carried me for nine months. She sure as hell didn't raise me and has made it clear to me on numerous occations that even having me was a mistake. I don't see the point in honoring or respecting or showing gratitude for being thrown out of my house at age 13. Or being woken up every day at 4am to her shreeking at me to start cleaning because she had either been too high, drunk, tired or a combination of the three to make the house presentable the night before. And, let's be honist, keeping up appearances of a fully-functioning and happy family is more important than actually being in one.
Behind the perfectly manicured lawns and smiling facades, the suburbs are the unhappiest place on Earth.
Am I a bad daughter for not sending out Mother's Day gifts? I have no real reason to though. I don't concider my mother to be anything more than the person who carried me for nine months. She sure as hell didn't raise me and has made it clear to me on numerous occations that even having me was a mistake. I don't see the point in honoring or respecting or showing gratitude for being thrown out of my house at age 13. Or being woken up every day at 4am to her shreeking at me to start cleaning because she had either been too high, drunk, tired or a combination of the three to make the house presentable the night before. And, let's be honist, keeping up appearances of a fully-functioning and happy family is more important than actually being in one.
Behind the perfectly manicured lawns and smiling facades, the suburbs are the unhappiest place on Earth.
Friday, May 11, 2007
ruby falls
I did it. Drip has officially been sent out to four journals. Except I don't feel the closure I was hoping for. Actually, it's kind of the opposite... like someone dragged a knife through the deepest of scar tissues, reopening the old wound and creating a new one.
If I'm awake and functioning, I'm going to take both of my remaning finals tomorow. Just looking around my room, it's going to take me much longer than I had thought to pack up everything. I'm actually kind of worried that we're not going to be able to get everything into the car and back up to Jersey. I mean, whatever. Worst comes to worse, I ship some of it back via Fed-Ex but...I dont want to have to worry about that.
And it's not that I'm materialistic (ok maybe I am just a little), but I have a pretty strong emotional attachment to a lot of my things here. Like the lava lamp my thirteen year old stepbrother gave me for my windowledge or the collage my friends made for me of everything from senior year or the (now) dried bouquet of lillies Devon sent me the week after he left for Israel. My things are more than things...they're memories.
I definatly think that I may want to be a professer. The past few days have kind of reaffirmed it for me. I mean, Tuesday working with my AmLit study group and then today, helping Karen drill for her Intro to PoliSci stuff...it's kind of made me see that I'm not as stupid as I thought I was. I actually retained some information over the past semester (in the case of AmLit) and life (with PoliSci), but I can do more than regergitate it. I can help explain it without sounding condesending. And I definatly do not mind doing so...especially when I get emails like this from Karen:
Hey u,
Just wanted to tell you how awesome u are. U are d best. Thank u so very much. I know u will do well on your last and all your exam. U are so intelligent. U have made studying so much easier for me. U are a Rock Star!
Hearing that I've helped her out, it just makes it all worth it.
Alright, off to surrender my mind to the Gods of international relations and terrorism theory. It's gonna take somthing special to get me through these exams...
If I'm awake and functioning, I'm going to take both of my remaning finals tomorow. Just looking around my room, it's going to take me much longer than I had thought to pack up everything. I'm actually kind of worried that we're not going to be able to get everything into the car and back up to Jersey. I mean, whatever. Worst comes to worse, I ship some of it back via Fed-Ex but...I dont want to have to worry about that.
And it's not that I'm materialistic (ok maybe I am just a little), but I have a pretty strong emotional attachment to a lot of my things here. Like the lava lamp my thirteen year old stepbrother gave me for my windowledge or the collage my friends made for me of everything from senior year or the (now) dried bouquet of lillies Devon sent me the week after he left for Israel. My things are more than things...they're memories.
I definatly think that I may want to be a professer. The past few days have kind of reaffirmed it for me. I mean, Tuesday working with my AmLit study group and then today, helping Karen drill for her Intro to PoliSci stuff...it's kind of made me see that I'm not as stupid as I thought I was. I actually retained some information over the past semester (in the case of AmLit) and life (with PoliSci), but I can do more than regergitate it. I can help explain it without sounding condesending. And I definatly do not mind doing so...especially when I get emails like this from Karen:
Hey u,
Just wanted to tell you how awesome u are. U are d best. Thank u so very much. I know u will do well on your last and all your exam. U are so intelligent. U have made studying so much easier for me. U are a Rock Star!
Hearing that I've helped her out, it just makes it all worth it.
Alright, off to surrender my mind to the Gods of international relations and terrorism theory. It's gonna take somthing special to get me through these exams...
ghost of a good thing
Every moment brings me closer to having to leave here and the amazing people who have helped keep me alive over the past nine months...
I find it only fitting to show my eternal gratitude. As not to embarass anyone...no names. And the numbers, they're not in order of the person's importance to me but are purely being used for organizational purposes.
1. At first I could not stand you. I thought you to be disinterested and fake. Thankfully, you proved me wrong. You have such a vivacious spirit and I love how much you have taught me, in every sence of the word. I know I make it really hard to deal with me sometimes and I've given you the option of leaving or stepping back...and as of now you haven't. Please don't.
2. You kind of freaked me out when you started talking to me over the summer. But, as your chipperness grew on me, I started to see you as a fair counterpoint to my eternal cynicism. You are so strong and although you sometimes get frusturated, you never give up. I love how I can really be myself around you.
3. Your room was, admittidly, the party room this year. But you're more than the person who goes and gets destroyed every night. You're smart and can deal with anything.... even though you dont see it.
4. You scare me. Not that I mind the shock, but just the fact that you can read me. I don't know what you're doing, but keep it up. You are going to be such an amazing therapist.
5. My hall parent! Even though we don't hang out as much as we did earlier this year and had some pretty nasty fights, you never stopped caring. You aren't afraid to challenge me and call me out when I get an attitude. I need that sometimes.
6. Thanks for not shaving my head. In retrospect, it would have been a bad idea to go around with a mowhalk, despite what the vodka bottle is telling me.
7. I met you at the counter to the anti-life rally and we've stayed tight since. You don't care about my flaws and sit with me when I need to act upon them...thank you.
8.Your bearhugs are amazing. I am so proud of you for making it this far. You've hit rock but you're bouncing back now. Keep going...things can only get better from here.
9. Thank you for dragging me to IVCF. Even though I realized really quicky that it wasn't my thing, you made me start thinking about religion as a whole again. I just wish you would accept that I need to come to somthing as profound as God in my own way, in my own time and on my own terms. I admire how devout you are though, it takes a lot to put your trust in somthing to the extent you have.
10. You are simply amazing. The compassion you bring to the world is somthing very few people can handle; whether it's running water out to the landscapers working in the sun or making sure everyone is going to class and doing their work, you always put everyone else before yourself. Take some time this summer and focus on YOU for once, you diserve it lovley.
11. I met you my very first day here last August. I was trying to figure out how to hang posters and not have my walls look extremely cluttered. When we realized it just wasn't going to happen, your artistic prowess helped me make some pretty tough decorating decisions. Thanks for being my color consultant...you're absolutly rediculous and please don't ever change.
12. You are fierce. Your eliteism and sence of entitlement is a refreshing change from a place where everyone is concerned with the fate of the common man. Although we don't always see eye to eye, I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to take my first flaming shot with you.
13. Swizzle in. Swagger out. 'Nuff said.
14. Having you in two of my classes this semester has done wonders for me. I can't stand you as a person, but having you there to challenge me, constantly trying to out-do me has made me such a stronger person. You've made me cry, throw textbooks across rooms, punch walls and scream but because of your constant berating presence, I know I can deal with the PoliSci program here.
15. I didn't think we'd become as close as we are now...actually you kind of intimidated me when I first saw you. You're stunningly beautiful, inside and out. If any one of us is going to change the world, it's you.
---Alright people, now I'm starting to get all sad and stuff. Be good this summer and I'd better see you all in August. Seriously. Stay safe. I don't know if I could deal with being here for however long it takes to get my degree done without you.
ILOVEYOUALLMORETHANYOUWILLEVERKNOWORBEABLETOCOMPREHEND
I find it only fitting to show my eternal gratitude. As not to embarass anyone...no names. And the numbers, they're not in order of the person's importance to me but are purely being used for organizational purposes.
1. At first I could not stand you. I thought you to be disinterested and fake. Thankfully, you proved me wrong. You have such a vivacious spirit and I love how much you have taught me, in every sence of the word. I know I make it really hard to deal with me sometimes and I've given you the option of leaving or stepping back...and as of now you haven't. Please don't.
2. You kind of freaked me out when you started talking to me over the summer. But, as your chipperness grew on me, I started to see you as a fair counterpoint to my eternal cynicism. You are so strong and although you sometimes get frusturated, you never give up. I love how I can really be myself around you.
3. Your room was, admittidly, the party room this year. But you're more than the person who goes and gets destroyed every night. You're smart and can deal with anything.... even though you dont see it.
4. You scare me. Not that I mind the shock, but just the fact that you can read me. I don't know what you're doing, but keep it up. You are going to be such an amazing therapist.
5. My hall parent! Even though we don't hang out as much as we did earlier this year and had some pretty nasty fights, you never stopped caring. You aren't afraid to challenge me and call me out when I get an attitude. I need that sometimes.
6. Thanks for not shaving my head. In retrospect, it would have been a bad idea to go around with a mowhalk, despite what the vodka bottle is telling me.
7. I met you at the counter to the anti-life rally and we've stayed tight since. You don't care about my flaws and sit with me when I need to act upon them...thank you.
8.Your bearhugs are amazing. I am so proud of you for making it this far. You've hit rock but you're bouncing back now. Keep going...things can only get better from here.
9. Thank you for dragging me to IVCF. Even though I realized really quicky that it wasn't my thing, you made me start thinking about religion as a whole again. I just wish you would accept that I need to come to somthing as profound as God in my own way, in my own time and on my own terms. I admire how devout you are though, it takes a lot to put your trust in somthing to the extent you have.
10. You are simply amazing. The compassion you bring to the world is somthing very few people can handle; whether it's running water out to the landscapers working in the sun or making sure everyone is going to class and doing their work, you always put everyone else before yourself. Take some time this summer and focus on YOU for once, you diserve it lovley.
11. I met you my very first day here last August. I was trying to figure out how to hang posters and not have my walls look extremely cluttered. When we realized it just wasn't going to happen, your artistic prowess helped me make some pretty tough decorating decisions. Thanks for being my color consultant...you're absolutly rediculous and please don't ever change.
12. You are fierce. Your eliteism and sence of entitlement is a refreshing change from a place where everyone is concerned with the fate of the common man. Although we don't always see eye to eye, I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to take my first flaming shot with you.
13. Swizzle in. Swagger out. 'Nuff said.
14. Having you in two of my classes this semester has done wonders for me. I can't stand you as a person, but having you there to challenge me, constantly trying to out-do me has made me such a stronger person. You've made me cry, throw textbooks across rooms, punch walls and scream but because of your constant berating presence, I know I can deal with the PoliSci program here.
15. I didn't think we'd become as close as we are now...actually you kind of intimidated me when I first saw you. You're stunningly beautiful, inside and out. If any one of us is going to change the world, it's you.
---Alright people, now I'm starting to get all sad and stuff. Be good this summer and I'd better see you all in August. Seriously. Stay safe. I don't know if I could deal with being here for however long it takes to get my degree done without you.
ILOVEYOUALLMORETHANYOUWILLEVERKNOWORBEABLETOCOMPREHEND
Thursday, May 10, 2007
rapid hope loss
Now that I'm halfway through with exams, I think it just hit me that I'm leaving a week from today. Not only do I still have to clean out my room and pack up my things, but I have to say goodbye to everyone. I hate leaving.
Is it bad that I'm already starting to suffer withdrawal from some of my classes? Even though exam week is a bitch and a half, it's just spewing back what I've already learned. I miss the challenge of my classes, where (for the most part) I was forced not only to create opinions on new ideas but also justify them. The constant questioning...the relentless pressure to recall and build upon past knowledge and experiences...Socrates would be proud.
Even though I always stress about going home, I think at this point, I'm more worried about leaving everyone here. I've just started to sort though and somewhat come to terms with what's been going on in my life for the past almost 20 years and that is largely in part of the amazing people I have met here. I have never been around people so real...blatently refusing to back down, regardless of the cause or crap they get for doing so.
I don't feel like I'm ready to leave here. I have this overwhelming sence of finality looming over my head, threatening to drop and fully consume me. The last time I walk out of here for the year...the last time I have to hear the beeping of the back door alarm...the last time pumping gas for three months (yay Jersey job creation)...the last mad dash across 7th street at rush hour when I'm jonsing for Starbucks...the last time playing pool in Whitaker when I know I should be studying...the last time realizing half hour before class we have reading due...the last coffee, kissing, hand holding, theraputic, cigarette and ginormous bear hugs from my boys...the last time feeling that I might actually be capable of doing somthing right...it's just gonna be weird.
I miss it already...
Is it bad that I'm already starting to suffer withdrawal from some of my classes? Even though exam week is a bitch and a half, it's just spewing back what I've already learned. I miss the challenge of my classes, where (for the most part) I was forced not only to create opinions on new ideas but also justify them. The constant questioning...the relentless pressure to recall and build upon past knowledge and experiences...Socrates would be proud.
Even though I always stress about going home, I think at this point, I'm more worried about leaving everyone here. I've just started to sort though and somewhat come to terms with what's been going on in my life for the past almost 20 years and that is largely in part of the amazing people I have met here. I have never been around people so real...blatently refusing to back down, regardless of the cause or crap they get for doing so.
I don't feel like I'm ready to leave here. I have this overwhelming sence of finality looming over my head, threatening to drop and fully consume me. The last time I walk out of here for the year...the last time I have to hear the beeping of the back door alarm...the last time pumping gas for three months (yay Jersey job creation)...the last mad dash across 7th street at rush hour when I'm jonsing for Starbucks...the last time playing pool in Whitaker when I know I should be studying...the last time realizing half hour before class we have reading due...the last coffee, kissing, hand holding, theraputic, cigarette and ginormous bear hugs from my boys...the last time feeling that I might actually be capable of doing somthing right...it's just gonna be weird.
I miss it already...
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
as it stands
Music happened. Whatever. There is no way I did well on that exam. But, it's done with and that is what really matters now, right?
I'm pretty convinced that around exam weeks at university, cigarette companies see a huge jump in profits. Walking around, taking some Lilith time earlier, almost everyone I saw was smoking. Not that I mind, I mean...I'm a smoker too and what right do I have to tell people to stop somthing I do pretty much constantly, but wow. Are we really that stressed out? I think, not only is it exam week but everyone is freaking out about going home. I saw one of my friends just crying earlier...she just couldn't take it anymore. To make it worse, it was amidst a pretty sizable group of people. While I feel for her, I just cant help but think about how fragile she presented herself to be.
I don't think I could ever do that. Although it may seem like I put myself out there, sharing some of the not so perfect and very personal details of my life (on here and in person), everything I do expose is done for a reason and I've thought about it prior to doing so. I'm very guarded. I think I have to be though. After having made the decision to trust some people with some pretty serious issues that I was dealing with, then seeing that trust thrown on the floor, stomped on and set on fire...I don't think I could do it again. I can't deal with putting myself in that position of vulnerability again.
I think that is also why I partially cannot stand people worrying about me. I know it just shows that they care or whatever but, I don't want people to think that I need to be someone that needs looking after. I've been dealing with these issues for a really long time now and I know how to stop the ache. Somewhat.
Except I'm never really stopping it. Just letting it become temporarally more numb for a while, so I can work on faking the well-adjusted thing just a little bit longer.
It's times like these I'm extremly greatful for the goddesses, vodka, cigarettes and blade. If anything...they help me get through the day.
One at a time.
I'm pretty convinced that around exam weeks at university, cigarette companies see a huge jump in profits. Walking around, taking some Lilith time earlier, almost everyone I saw was smoking. Not that I mind, I mean...I'm a smoker too and what right do I have to tell people to stop somthing I do pretty much constantly, but wow. Are we really that stressed out? I think, not only is it exam week but everyone is freaking out about going home. I saw one of my friends just crying earlier...she just couldn't take it anymore. To make it worse, it was amidst a pretty sizable group of people. While I feel for her, I just cant help but think about how fragile she presented herself to be.
I don't think I could ever do that. Although it may seem like I put myself out there, sharing some of the not so perfect and very personal details of my life (on here and in person), everything I do expose is done for a reason and I've thought about it prior to doing so. I'm very guarded. I think I have to be though. After having made the decision to trust some people with some pretty serious issues that I was dealing with, then seeing that trust thrown on the floor, stomped on and set on fire...I don't think I could do it again. I can't deal with putting myself in that position of vulnerability again.
I think that is also why I partially cannot stand people worrying about me. I know it just shows that they care or whatever but, I don't want people to think that I need to be someone that needs looking after. I've been dealing with these issues for a really long time now and I know how to stop the ache. Somewhat.
Except I'm never really stopping it. Just letting it become temporarally more numb for a while, so I can work on faking the well-adjusted thing just a little bit longer.
It's times like these I'm extremly greatful for the goddesses, vodka, cigarettes and blade. If anything...they help me get through the day.
One at a time.
stnding still
American Lit is done with. I completly choked on the multiple guess questions and on the essays. Of course. Even though my friend and I reviewed and practically wrote our essays beforehand...by the time I got to writing them, I was gone. But, I'm actually kind of ok with how I did on the quote and charactor identifications. I mean, I'm guessing I landed in the low B- high C range on this one...but whatever. It's done and that's what matters.
My DC Mike is thinking about going to Grad School for American Lit & Composition. This makes me really freaking disgustingly happy. He's my guy...and if anyone needs to pick a new career, it's him. He's so unhappy working on the Hill now, it's almost pathetic. But I completly understand. Politics is completly heartless and while we may love playing the game, it eats away at you. And eventually you hit the point where you either suck it up and deal with being miserable or you leave it. He's leaving it. Or if not leaving, taking a temporary hiatius from the madness. Mike is too good of a person to have to cope with the backstabbing, monotony, stress and inability to inflict change chipping away at his spirit day by day while working for the Senator.
The kind of weird thing is that I realize that politics instantly screws people like me and Mike over. We don't know how to NOT feel. We get too passionate and it completly drains us to the point where we're either drones or so depressed that we'll do anything to stop caring. Absolutly anything.
And that's where the problems start.
My DC Mike is thinking about going to Grad School for American Lit & Composition. This makes me really freaking disgustingly happy. He's my guy...and if anyone needs to pick a new career, it's him. He's so unhappy working on the Hill now, it's almost pathetic. But I completly understand. Politics is completly heartless and while we may love playing the game, it eats away at you. And eventually you hit the point where you either suck it up and deal with being miserable or you leave it. He's leaving it. Or if not leaving, taking a temporary hiatius from the madness. Mike is too good of a person to have to cope with the backstabbing, monotony, stress and inability to inflict change chipping away at his spirit day by day while working for the Senator.
The kind of weird thing is that I realize that politics instantly screws people like me and Mike over. We don't know how to NOT feel. We get too passionate and it completly drains us to the point where we're either drones or so depressed that we'll do anything to stop caring. Absolutly anything.
And that's where the problems start.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
r-evolve
I think it just hit me that I'm going to be leaving all of my friends here next week. This is the first place, other than with Chandi and Sonja, that I have ever felt like I have friends. I can (somewhat) let my guard down here...and that's HUGE for me. I can be chill and just throw a frisbee around on the quad with them and an hour later, be laying on the grass, working through some deep things with them. Some of my most profound thoughts are products of those conversations. Like when I realized that I was worth fighting for, or that I might actually be capible of making my own decisions about my life.
Or when, while looking through pictures of everyone I used to party with, I realized more than half of them are either in jail, dead or mental institutions.
(I should be one of them)
Just as soon as I've begun to feel like I am making a place for myself here, a place where I can be ok...it's no longer. I'm on my way back to Hell.
And I'm going to be working at Coyote which really worries me. I wasn't the healthiest person (in any sence of the word) before going to work there in January...but I was somewhat recovering. And as soon as I got up on the bar, for the first time..all of the hard work I had put in to becoming whole again was gone. I mean, I absolutly adore the girls I work with, but it's some of the most degrating work ever. Not only are we selling drinks, we're selling sex appeal. It's intense. Your paycheck is directly dependant on how many drinks you sell and how well you get tipped so of course there is going to be a preoccupation with your appearance. Meaning...we'll do everything to revert back to the goddesses. And its so much harder not to fall under their spell when not only are you drawn in by the sheer magnatism of the idea of joining them, but also you dont want to be the only one not in the club.
It's so hypocritical. I mean, I'm trying to get a job at a leadership camp for girls, while moonlighting at Coyote where we're told to leave our self-respect at the door.
I do that. But maybe it's easier for me...cuz I'd have to have some in the first place if I was going to get rid of it now, wouldn't I?
Or when, while looking through pictures of everyone I used to party with, I realized more than half of them are either in jail, dead or mental institutions.
(I should be one of them)
Just as soon as I've begun to feel like I am making a place for myself here, a place where I can be ok...it's no longer. I'm on my way back to Hell.
And I'm going to be working at Coyote which really worries me. I wasn't the healthiest person (in any sence of the word) before going to work there in January...but I was somewhat recovering. And as soon as I got up on the bar, for the first time..all of the hard work I had put in to becoming whole again was gone. I mean, I absolutly adore the girls I work with, but it's some of the most degrating work ever. Not only are we selling drinks, we're selling sex appeal. It's intense. Your paycheck is directly dependant on how many drinks you sell and how well you get tipped so of course there is going to be a preoccupation with your appearance. Meaning...we'll do everything to revert back to the goddesses. And its so much harder not to fall under their spell when not only are you drawn in by the sheer magnatism of the idea of joining them, but also you dont want to be the only one not in the club.
It's so hypocritical. I mean, I'm trying to get a job at a leadership camp for girls, while moonlighting at Coyote where we're told to leave our self-respect at the door.
I do that. But maybe it's easier for me...cuz I'd have to have some in the first place if I was going to get rid of it now, wouldn't I?
because
Augh! Finals week begins tomorrow!!!!!!!
Today was the fantastic day known to all Hoodies as "Reading Day". Basically, admin realized we're gonna need a day between the last day of classes and exams to get ourself together. During last semester, I spent Reading Day watching CNN and studying for my one exam (Environmental Problems and Policy). I took a walk down to Baker Park and just relaxed. This semester though, not quite so much.
I met with my study group for American Lit at 10 over in campus commons. WE DIDNT FINISH STUDYING TILL 8:30!!! I guess we were very...thorough...at least. It wasn't that bad, I mean, I guess it showed me what I needed to still work on. Honistly, I was feeling pretty confident about my AmLit exam to begin with so now there really will be no excuse for me not to rock out on it (lest a hideous mental block). Although though studying with my friends let me see how well I know the material...and just the fact that i was able to explain the parts they didn't understand to them showed me that, despite thinking I was drowning in that class all semester, I actually did absorb somthing.
Aside from that though, today has been kind of weird. One of my best friends is being sent off to Iraq. Alex and I grew up literally next door to each other....we have the same birthday. We were born at the same hospital twelve hours apart (I'm older). He's one of my people. As we got older, he became the popular kid and we didn't really chill much. But, I knew I could always call him. I did too haha. Alex has seen me at my absolute worst and has never judged. He's the guy who will be there for you, regardless of the situation. Which is why I wasn't all together suprised when he joined the Marines. All the guy wanted to do was help. Dont get me wrong, I'm proud as hell to have Alex as a friend and I know other people over in Iraq/Afghanistan now so I can cope...but every time I hear one more life has been lost over there, now I'm going to have to memorize another unit name and pray I don't see it listed under those missing a member...pending notification of their next of kin, of course.
My boys need to stop running away from me...
Today was the fantastic day known to all Hoodies as "Reading Day". Basically, admin realized we're gonna need a day between the last day of classes and exams to get ourself together. During last semester, I spent Reading Day watching CNN and studying for my one exam (Environmental Problems and Policy). I took a walk down to Baker Park and just relaxed. This semester though, not quite so much.
I met with my study group for American Lit at 10 over in campus commons. WE DIDNT FINISH STUDYING TILL 8:30!!! I guess we were very...thorough...at least. It wasn't that bad, I mean, I guess it showed me what I needed to still work on. Honistly, I was feeling pretty confident about my AmLit exam to begin with so now there really will be no excuse for me not to rock out on it (lest a hideous mental block). Although though studying with my friends let me see how well I know the material...and just the fact that i was able to explain the parts they didn't understand to them showed me that, despite thinking I was drowning in that class all semester, I actually did absorb somthing.
Aside from that though, today has been kind of weird. One of my best friends is being sent off to Iraq. Alex and I grew up literally next door to each other....we have the same birthday. We were born at the same hospital twelve hours apart (I'm older). He's one of my people. As we got older, he became the popular kid and we didn't really chill much. But, I knew I could always call him. I did too haha. Alex has seen me at my absolute worst and has never judged. He's the guy who will be there for you, regardless of the situation. Which is why I wasn't all together suprised when he joined the Marines. All the guy wanted to do was help. Dont get me wrong, I'm proud as hell to have Alex as a friend and I know other people over in Iraq/Afghanistan now so I can cope...but every time I hear one more life has been lost over there, now I'm going to have to memorize another unit name and pray I don't see it listed under those missing a member...pending notification of their next of kin, of course.
My boys need to stop running away from me...
Monday, May 7, 2007
careful where you stand
I'm submitting Drip either later this week or early next. I don't know if it's ready or not, but frankly, I don't care. I need to get it away from me...I need to let go. Don't get me wrong, it would be fantastic if I was published...but it's not about that for me. It's about getting my story out there. Because it is one that needs to be told.
Drip focuses entirely on the hours between 430am and 6am May 1, 2003. Somthing very bad happened and although nowhere in the piece do I say exactly what happened (and I will not say on here nor tell you if you ask me unless I know I have your unequivocal certitude and veneration)...just trust me, it was about as bad as it gets.
"The early glimmers of the sun's rays, usually gentle, began mocking my discraced frame. Sneering at what I had become. Nothing but a mere object, all-to-easily manipulated by my unwavering desire to be loved."
In that early morning hour and a half, I lost what was left of my self-respect. Although I try to not let it define me, sometimes I cannot help it. That experiance, regardless of if it was good or bad, has shaped my psyche in ways I previously thought to be unimaginable. I refuse to become a victim, but I am still trying to recover.
"The sweat pooled off his sinuous frame, almost steaming as it snaked down onto the filthy orange shag carpeting covering the back of his van. I stared at the celing, consciencly attempting to advert every fiber of my being away from the moment. The fabric covering-grey turned oxidized yellow-was pilling and threadbare, occationally spotted by darkened brown burns where some genius had used it as an ashtray. Almost as a cruel joke, the opening chords of 'Polly', played by the masterful genius of Kurt Cobain grainilly oozed from the speakers."
Yup. It's been four years. Four repugnant years of me obsessing over every minute detail of the most degrading, humiliating, macabre ninety minutes of my life.
I think at this point, I'm just looking for closure. I need to absolve myself from this. When I send Drip out into the world, I need to pass my poignant penitence away with it.
I need to start becoming the fighter I tell everyone else to be.
Drip focuses entirely on the hours between 430am and 6am May 1, 2003. Somthing very bad happened and although nowhere in the piece do I say exactly what happened (and I will not say on here nor tell you if you ask me unless I know I have your unequivocal certitude and veneration)...just trust me, it was about as bad as it gets.
"The early glimmers of the sun's rays, usually gentle, began mocking my discraced frame. Sneering at what I had become. Nothing but a mere object, all-to-easily manipulated by my unwavering desire to be loved."
In that early morning hour and a half, I lost what was left of my self-respect. Although I try to not let it define me, sometimes I cannot help it. That experiance, regardless of if it was good or bad, has shaped my psyche in ways I previously thought to be unimaginable. I refuse to become a victim, but I am still trying to recover.
"The sweat pooled off his sinuous frame, almost steaming as it snaked down onto the filthy orange shag carpeting covering the back of his van. I stared at the celing, consciencly attempting to advert every fiber of my being away from the moment. The fabric covering-grey turned oxidized yellow-was pilling and threadbare, occationally spotted by darkened brown burns where some genius had used it as an ashtray. Almost as a cruel joke, the opening chords of 'Polly', played by the masterful genius of Kurt Cobain grainilly oozed from the speakers."
Yup. It's been four years. Four repugnant years of me obsessing over every minute detail of the most degrading, humiliating, macabre ninety minutes of my life.
I think at this point, I'm just looking for closure. I need to absolve myself from this. When I send Drip out into the world, I need to pass my poignant penitence away with it.
I need to start becoming the fighter I tell everyone else to be.
universal soldier
I am officially done with all of my classes for the year! I made it through an entire year of college! I've learned so much this year...
Coming into college, I thought I had my entire life planned out. I was going to graduate, go work on the Hill, start a non-profit back in NJ, get elected to the House, then the Senate, then the NJ Governorship then the White House...serve my time there then go do humanitarian work somewhere...be a good statesperson. But over the course of the past ten months, I've wanted to:
-work with the EPA to ensure the purity and sustanibility of freshwater reserves worldwide
-move to Sub-Saharan Africa and teach woman about birth control and disease prevention
-become an indie singer/songwriter
-be a wedding planner
-work in public relations
....and the list goes on and on. A few months ago, I wouldn't have been even remotely comfortable with any indecision about my future. Although I'm still not 100% cool with it, I can **somewhat** cope. Or if not cope, at least adapt and maybe even embrace the uncertainty.
My first day of classes in college ever...it was a Monday and I had Mass Media, Women's Studies and then this Freshie writing/lit class called "Growing Up Female". Mass Media was easy. There were mostly other Freshman in the class, and the few who weren't I had met at a party during orentation weekend...and the professer was a complete ditz. Women's Studies though, completly different story. I walk in and realize that not only am I the only freshman in the class, I'm the only underclassmen and the only non-Gender Studies major. Big wake up call. I struggled through the first hour and fifteen minutes of that course and left the room completely dejected. I felt completly incompitant and wanted to pack my room up and quit. But, I didn't. Later that night was the lit class. No lie, I walked in and instantly thought I was back in Pete Horn's junior lit class in high school Not that the work was easy, but I have always felt at home in lit classes. And one of my friends from orentation was in it, Elise, so I was really happy. I must have looked like such a moron the first day...or maybe I was just acting like an atypical freshman. I think I cared too much.
Now though, ten months later. My Mondays are filled with Intro to Music (the most rediculously easy and unnessasary Core requirement ever!!!) and Terrorism & Justice. T&J has had to be by far one of the most rewarding courses I have ever taken. The professer, Paige Eager, expects such a high degree of quality and substance from you but never makes you feel stupid if you just don't know. I think I look more mature now too, I mean, I just don't care anymore about what everyone else looks like and I just do what I feel I need to. I feel I need to flatiron my hair and do dark makeup and be outspoken and not hide my scars.
It's not really fair though just to praise one of my professers. I mean, they are all brilliant. And I have never seen such genuinity. One of my professers, you can tell when she really cares about the topic. She becomes so animated and her energy just draws you in. She makes it impossible not to become interested, if not completely engrossed, in the subject.
For me, it's really refreshing to see how some people I was (and still am, in some cases) have evolved over the year. If he reads this, he is probably going to get mad at me...but whatever. Tim, last semester, was very outgoing and on the outside he looked so happy and so well-adjusted. But if you talked to him you could see he was miserable. And it was because he had a really big, intense secret inside and was holding it in to the point where it was breaking him down every second. When we came back after winter break, Tim finally let it go...he came out. He is so more relaxed and easy to be around now. But...changes in people aren't always good. Two girls down my hall used to be really chill and now, now they are so fake I almost feel bad for them. Almost.
God. I dont even know how to describe where I am at right now. I guess its because we are always evolving. I don't mind it, I'm just glad that I'm finally finding myself. Or at least trying to.
Coming into college, I thought I had my entire life planned out. I was going to graduate, go work on the Hill, start a non-profit back in NJ, get elected to the House, then the Senate, then the NJ Governorship then the White House...serve my time there then go do humanitarian work somewhere...be a good statesperson. But over the course of the past ten months, I've wanted to:
-work with the EPA to ensure the purity and sustanibility of freshwater reserves worldwide
-move to Sub-Saharan Africa and teach woman about birth control and disease prevention
-become an indie singer/songwriter
-be a wedding planner
-work in public relations
....and the list goes on and on. A few months ago, I wouldn't have been even remotely comfortable with any indecision about my future. Although I'm still not 100% cool with it, I can **somewhat** cope. Or if not cope, at least adapt and maybe even embrace the uncertainty.
My first day of classes in college ever...it was a Monday and I had Mass Media, Women's Studies and then this Freshie writing/lit class called "Growing Up Female". Mass Media was easy. There were mostly other Freshman in the class, and the few who weren't I had met at a party during orentation weekend...and the professer was a complete ditz. Women's Studies though, completly different story. I walk in and realize that not only am I the only freshman in the class, I'm the only underclassmen and the only non-Gender Studies major. Big wake up call. I struggled through the first hour and fifteen minutes of that course and left the room completely dejected. I felt completly incompitant and wanted to pack my room up and quit. But, I didn't. Later that night was the lit class. No lie, I walked in and instantly thought I was back in Pete Horn's junior lit class in high school Not that the work was easy, but I have always felt at home in lit classes. And one of my friends from orentation was in it, Elise, so I was really happy. I must have looked like such a moron the first day...or maybe I was just acting like an atypical freshman. I think I cared too much.
Now though, ten months later. My Mondays are filled with Intro to Music (the most rediculously easy and unnessasary Core requirement ever!!!) and Terrorism & Justice. T&J has had to be by far one of the most rewarding courses I have ever taken. The professer, Paige Eager, expects such a high degree of quality and substance from you but never makes you feel stupid if you just don't know. I think I look more mature now too, I mean, I just don't care anymore about what everyone else looks like and I just do what I feel I need to. I feel I need to flatiron my hair and do dark makeup and be outspoken and not hide my scars.
It's not really fair though just to praise one of my professers. I mean, they are all brilliant. And I have never seen such genuinity. One of my professers, you can tell when she really cares about the topic. She becomes so animated and her energy just draws you in. She makes it impossible not to become interested, if not completely engrossed, in the subject.
For me, it's really refreshing to see how some people I was (and still am, in some cases) have evolved over the year. If he reads this, he is probably going to get mad at me...but whatever. Tim, last semester, was very outgoing and on the outside he looked so happy and so well-adjusted. But if you talked to him you could see he was miserable. And it was because he had a really big, intense secret inside and was holding it in to the point where it was breaking him down every second. When we came back after winter break, Tim finally let it go...he came out. He is so more relaxed and easy to be around now. But...changes in people aren't always good. Two girls down my hall used to be really chill and now, now they are so fake I almost feel bad for them. Almost.
God. I dont even know how to describe where I am at right now. I guess its because we are always evolving. I don't mind it, I'm just glad that I'm finally finding myself. Or at least trying to.
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