injection

I'm really depressed. Depressing. Sad. Saddening. Over the past few days, I've managed to regress from the uber-confident pseudosocialite that I'd become into the scared little girl of my past. I don't know what it is. No. I do. This time of year is always hard on me.

If anything... I feel very September. The month of the slowly dying sun, where the incessant cries of summertime morph into the dronings-on of the 40 (or in my case 100) hour work week. Flowers brown and die, along with the feelings of a future I've tried to force on myself for the past months. 

(Please pardon my emo-ness... I really can't help it.)

I miss school. Not college, but the clusterfuck of high school where I knew walking in every day... I'd be nothing more than a no-name. No expectations for someone with no backstory. I hated high school... hated it to the point where every day was a bloody struggle, but yet I want to go back. I miss no one knowing. Now everyone knows. I miss being invisible. 

I don't want to have to walk into the office every day and put on my happy face. I've been doing it since July and I don't know how much longer I can. I'd rather be invisible than fake. Because that's all I am at GCI. To my coworkers I'm the slutty, outgoing ditz who just happens to be good at this. Nothing more, nothing less. I've mentioned numerous times that I write, that I actually give a shit about policy, that I legitimately think I can save the world one day. But does any of that matter... nope. I'm just the girl who walks in every day, looking put-together with a huge smile on her face. I'd love to be able to walk into work, just once, in comfy clothes. I'm not talking scrubby sweats or anything. Just a tee-shirt and nice jeans and tennies. And having to put on such a farce, day after day, I think has finally gotten to me. 

For the past few days, I just haven't been able to bring myself to go into work. I've laid in bed, watching Mark Harmon's ungodley sexiness on NCIS and cried. Cried for what I've given up to work with GCI... the start of my junior year of college, South Africa, Omri, Linda's race. Cried for giving up Linda's race... how could I have been so stupid?... Nick, Jorge, Heather... my REAL campaign family. Cried for how much I could have... love, a book deal, the Goddesses.

But they're all gone.

Instead, I'm stuck in a job I've committed myself to till at least after the Election (lest a two week break for a return to Linda-land for GOTV). I've given up writing. I've lost my chance with the campaign family (I will forever be known as the one who left). And I will never be loved.

I think, more than anything... I just want someone to hold me and tell me it will be ok. Preferably Michael. GOD. Michael's mad at me. I don't know what I did, but I can feel it. I miss knowing he was always there for me. I need that assurance, that gratification. And now... I'm drifting.

I feel so isolated from GCI. Right now, the social butterfly said she'd attend a party in Brooklyn tonight. But instead, I'm at home in my safe, little apartment. I'm too scared to go. 

I can't let them get close to me. It already happened once... and I have to start weining myself off them. So when it happens, it's an easy break.

I miss Nick. I saw him the other day at the mall and he was disgusted by me. Absolutely repulsed. I need him to tell me it's going to be ok. And I couldn't even get a sense of awknowledgement. 

I want it to all be over. September is always hard... I'm not good in these in-between months. 

catapult

The past few days have been maddening. Everyone in the GCI office has a cold, is getting over a cold or is getting said cold. And that's just really no bueno for two reasons; firstly, even though I've cut down my schedule a lot... I still spend a lot of hours a week either in the office or out & about with the officefolk. Therefore, it's just natural that we share the same germs, transmitted by sharing the same plate of awesomely greasy vegetable fried rice, the errant cigarette, et al. Hence, it's only natural that we all get sick together. 

Secondly, we only have 40 days left till the election. I honestly was contemplating not working today because I feel so lousy but I know that if I don't work a day when I theoretically could have sucked it up... and we lose this baby... I may actually die. This race is too damn important to not just pop the extra DayQuill and get over it. 

I don't knowww... my throat hurts a lot though.

Today is going to be an angry bitch. =( 

first time

I'm an escape artist, I've come to realize. When life throws me under the proverbial bus (or so it seems, even though most situations I get myself in are purely a result of my own selfish needs) I run away. Leave everything behind and try to begin anew. It's very immature of me to believe that wherever I run off to this time, my problems will remain behind... because they don't. I can't just escape and put a band-aid on the ouchie that moment of my life has become. 

I went down to Hood for a visit earlier this week and it was... surreal. Nothing had changed, whatsoever. Yes, the influx of bratty freshman and the destruction of all traditions that held the 200-year old school together remained intertwined amongst the pathways I wandered for the better part of the past two years. My friends were the same. Completely. Lily is still the overachieving, people-pleaser who's just too darn (because she would never grow the set big enough to allow her to say damn) scared to tell people how she really feels. Darrell is the male version of Lily, but he cusses like a sailor and still resents me. Logan is still my counterpoint to the ninth degree. And Mark... just laying there with him made time stop. I know it's the biggest cliche in the book but despite all the drama  we caused each other... I'm still sort of majorly in love. 

Sigh.....

one more taste of gin and we're intact...

There's a fine line between being secretive and being completely hidden. And right now, I'm toeing the line. The really sick thing is that I don't hate what I've become... I'm thriving off it. I love leading multiple lives. I'm no longer the boring, slightly conservative girl from the suburban hell of NJ. 

I'm that girl, plus:

~the 20-something glamazon with the perfect life

~the tortured writer-artsy type

~the heartless bitch who will do anything to get ahead

~the constant flirt

 (Because all of those things are mutually exclusive.)

And... there's so much I just want to scream. I just want to let go... let it all out. I'm not far from drowning in the secrets I keep. But I'm swimming and it's getting harder and harder to throw my arms out of the waves as they pound against me. I just need to let them go. Let go of my secrets and finally begin to LIVE. So here goes... I'm in love with a guy that I effectively know nothing about even though we've been together forever. I'm not over Hillary not being the nominee, as much as I deny it. I believe that torture works. I'm not as broken as I come off, but nor am I as happy as I seem. I love money. I love having things. I'm extremely reckless because I'm constantly waiting for someone to tell me that I"m worth fighting for. I'm probably going to be an addict when I grow up (if I'm not already). If given the chance, I'd publish my full memoir and full collection of poetry under my true name, not for the exposure but for the chance to shock the living fuck out of my parents. I revel in being a slut because I love the attention. I get very, very jealous. I know I'm at risk of breaking up Patrick's perfect life, but I'm falling for him in the worst way. I'm bailing on Hood, not because I got into Columbia but because I can't hide there anymore. If I'm not in a constant state of crisis, I start getting panic attacks. I despise pretty people but wont associate with the uglies, unless they're gross enough to make me look amazing. I don't trust anyone anymore. I love playing guys... it makes me feel so powerful. I am a total power trip addict. I live for politics not because I love it, but because it's the ultimate pool of power, sex and scandal. I'm pretty hardcore bulimic. I think I'm going through withdrawal from God and I'm not necessarily upset. I know I'm going to Hell... even though I don't really believe in anything anymore. I do most of what I do just to shock people. I can't go anywhere alone... or even be any place alone without panicking. I want to be Sylvia Plath and have found my Anne Sexton, but she's not as fucked-up as I need her to be, yet. I'm manipulating Patrick... but I really like him so... SHIT. I've found an agent a publisher but am too scared to actually publish in anything other than the anthologies because of the attention I might get. After the election, I plan on running away if we're not together (you can guess who the other half of the equation is... and if you do, tell me... because I don't know). 

Wow. I needed that. 

comment puis-je pas?

I think I'm having 2006 regrets all over again. I regretted going to school in Fall '06 because I wasn't able to live, breathe Linda's race. But now, I'm not in school... I'm somewhat working for the party, for Linda. However, she's not my first priority when she should be. 

I walked into her campaign's new diggs Saturday morning... and something just clicked. I miss it. I miss the excitement of the 7th district, where four years ago it was unthinkable that we'd have a viable candidate now. In a woman, nonetheless. I'm all for female candidates, don't get me wrong... but the 7th is about 50 years back in terms of female equality, or any equality for that fact. This is a place where the three-letter f-word gets thrown around, often in the same phrase as the n-word. I miss walking into the office, every day with a big cup of coffee and just pounding out issue briefs and speeches. Talking to the press, no problem. Spinning a story, I'm on it. I miss having the opportunity to control the entire message of a congressional race for a candidate I adore. 

That's really what I'm good at, not this grassroots thing. I don't know how to do canvass, have people open their checkbooks and minds to a scrappy kid from Jersey and have them give a massive contribution to the DNC ($28,500 please). Yeah, I've done somewhat well. But somewhat doesn't cut it, especially not in an election year. 

And, maybe more than anything, I miss the campaign family. Saturday was really hard for me, being in the office. The new kids have their own banter and I'm on the outside. At least Jorge and Heather were there. Jorgie... what is there to be said about him? He's known me for 4 years and basically talked me through running Jardim's mayoral in '05, not only saving my tush but the entire campaign. (Who the HELL was I to think I could run a mayoral- or any- campaign at age 17? Seriously...) He's been the one to pick me up on my worst days, throw me a cigarette and make me come back the next day. I think my favorite memory of him was, Election night '06, we were outside the hotel where Linda's losing victory party was being held. Of course, we were having cigarettes and were slightly drunk... despite getting a solid majority in the House. 'Cause, fuck. When your candidate loses, that's what you do. Anyway... Jorge and I were just sitting on the curb outside when he made it very clear that I can write a damn good speech. From him, the one who taught me basically everything I know about campaigns... I don't know... it didn't suck to hear.

And Mrs. Heather. During '06, she was Linda's finance director. For a while, it was just me, her, Jorge and two other staffers so we became pretty close. And she's tough as nails. I don't think I'd be as tough as I am without her. When Michael went back to Iraq, Heather called me at 7am, asked why my ass wasn't in the office doing press work. That's just the kind of person she is... she knows when you need a distraction and will make sure that you will be focused. 

Anyway... it was great seeing them both. I miss my loves. It's so weird, not being there. This is the first cycle in four years that I'm not working the race in the 7th full-time. 

I guess I could always go back for GOTV.