Wednesday, September 26, 2001

Second night in a row of getting to talk to Jeff, and for the first time in a long time, I'm just happy. Not missing him too much, not happy to have talked to him, but sad because of something else, not feeling burdened by other people's emotions, just happy. Jeff makes me happy. It's as simple as that.

The only thing that could ever be better in life than telling him I love him and having him say it is the awkward silence that sometimes occurs at the end of telephone conversations when we aren't entirely sure if we should say it or least, that's what it is from my perspective. It's like indicative of the fact that we do love each other, but we haven't quite felt out whether it's something we should be saying all the time, if it's going to make the other one uncomfortable, if it's important. I love it, I love the drama that goes along with the word. I love "love" for the first time in a while. I love Jeff and life is good, no matter what I say when things are bad.

Eventually this will be about other , non-jeff aspects of my life again, but lately missing him has become a pretty much full time activity. Yes, I'm sorry readers, I know that makes this NAUSEATING, floyd is probably taking tums as we speak, but you can all feel lucky that you aren't Rich Kid, who is fucking smart not to come.

Normally I'd be bothered beyond belief to write this shit about someone, knowing full well that he will be reading it at some point, coming to seek out the link to the Chantilly lace excerpt. (There are SO few I would take the time to re-post that for) But I don't think I care if he knows that my life, at least temporarily, is revolving aroung the hope that I'll see him again soon. I don't think I care who knows. What the fuck does it matter, it makes me happy, it keeps me sane? Jeff is my anchor.......

"I fell directly in love with you
I did not stop, I did not pass go, I did not collect 200 dollars.
I looked at you, and gravity let go of me
And I was held to earth by your gaze.

I stay now for the roll of the dice
I may pass you on the street one day
The play of the cards
I may one day be your queen of hearts
And the ever-beating hope
That I am your anchor, too."

I didn't write that for Jeff. Not at all....I, in fact, have no idea who I wrote that to, or if it was even to anyone who actually existed. And if it were a better poem, I'd actually be concerned, but as it is, it's not good enough to care about. My best stuff is all for Elorza, I haven't even written anything for Jeff except the "4 points for Jeff" poetry assignment. And some prose. And the imood entry, which was vaguely poetic. "Inspired" was the base mood and I went on for what was two or three pages of notebook paper, but I do have big handwriting.

"Safety. It’s about safety. It’s about having no question whether the tide will rise and fall
on schedule and the sun will follow the moon as expected when I’m with you, and the
realization that everything else in the world is details. My desire to be touching you
drives me through the hours and the aching for the muscles that contort my visage into a
message of contentment -absolute contentment- to be working makes me eat, and sleep,
and bathe too much.
I wish you could feel this the way the paper does as I slobber my fleeting words against
it. I wish you could understand what it is to be so satisfied by someone. I wish I could
whisper it into your ear while lying prostrate across you like the very top of a grassy hill,
and perhaps I can. Perhaps I will. The world is as it should be- the sun will chase the
moon tonight, the tide will rise and fall, and all other patterns of life, love, and being, all
other precedented doubts, let them end with you!
I love you more than I know how to punctuate. I can’t make this breath of sweetness
audible. I can’t communicate it to your senses, so be wary with your soul. You are my
relief. You are my motivation. If you were my everything, disappointment would be a
thing that poets wrote about. You are significance; let me end in you."

That's, like, half of it. It was all like that, and it makes me happy to read it. A lot of things are making me happy right now. How novel, how wonderful. How precarious.

My name is Linda and I take perhaps more risks than I should, but one instance of knowledge of something so satiating, so inescapably's worth anything I have to risk. ~On with it~!

I can't seem to get myself to start actually writing porn....erotica, I'm sorry.

For those of you who don't know the difference, Jeff defined erotica for me as being "porn that tries to be artsy-fartsy". I guess that means the horse bondage story was porn, and the various other shit I read was erotica.

Em apologized last night for being...insensitve and unsympathetic, but I didn't, in any way, go to her for help. People apologize far too often. Andrew apologizes- and pains himself- whenever he can't improve a situation for me. Elorza apologizes...I don't know, for everything, every time I'm mildly annoyed with him. Jeremey apologizes when I milk him for it, but people need to stop bending to my manipulations so much.

Jeff doesn't apologize too much or too little as far as I can see. Yes, other fab five members, get enraged!!! Go ahead! I'm pointing out how much better I like him than the rest of you!!! AGAIN!!!! Jesus!

No, that's not true, Elorza and Jeremey won't give a damn. Goooood Elorza and Jeremey. Good boys. I think Rich Kid has just stopped reading this thing altogether, sick of hearing about various people he's threatened with just because, you know, I've cheated on him with them or at least gotten into extremely compromising situations with them.......whatever. I don't care who I hurt right now. 'Cept Jeff.

Jesus Christ, look at the elitism on that one!

I was writing to Mr. Hall today that I couldn't imagine kissing a female other than Emily....I'm not sure this is true, but I think so. I can't imagine kissing Kelly, the incredibly hot freshmen that I actually TALKED TO today, yeah, that's right, I talked to her. I stared at her. She stared back. I don't know what else to say about this situation, cept that she's,

More nausea. For the past frickin' I don't know how long. It's a damned good thing I'm a virgin or else I would be scared as shit that I'd be pregnant. Maybe it's just coming from spending so much time with pregnant people- Robin. Person.

I'm scatterbrained.....things I need to accomplish tonight: body paragraphs and conclusion for the lost Pheobe essay, body paragraphs for Death in the Woods essay, leagues of french homework, washing my damn hair, accomplishing something with the whole erotica writing thing....hopefully reading some more of "Rats Saw God". But right now I should be going to that damn senior parents night. Hope Floyd's there...she won't be, but I miss talking to her....or something. God, I sound like Emily.

To get back to the shit I was saying the beginning of this, I don't love Jeff any more than the rest of the fab five, I just need him more. I am the best version of myself when I am near him. The happiest, the most idealistic, the most faithful, the most willing, the strongest. Maybe these are illusions of granduer, but I don't care....I need him and my illusions and an imaginary god forbid that anything should ever happen to either...I will not be well. But damn, what I would write from that.....I'd probably never care about anyone again as long as I lived, but I'd write, damn it.

I keep thinking about him dying....the worst possible thing that could happen to me right now, I think. would be worse to find out he never loved me at this bullshit becoming a log of my feelings for Jeff the way that thing I wrote frehsmen year was a log f my feelings for Jon? Gross.....

....yeah, I'm gone. Ick. On with it.

Tuesday, September 25, 2001

Fight with Elorza, called jeff in tears, have my pin number memorized now, talked to jeff, got calmed down slightly, might be seeing him --sunday--, finally heard him tell me he loves me again, came back, resolved things with elorza, chad was acting all nice and concerned, going to go to sleep. And dream about maybe one day receiving a lollipop from Elorza.

Let's hope I can break this fucking crying streak tomorrow. Then again, it would be rather novel if I continued to cry everyday for a while....twice yesterday, was it? Within an hour? Or was that the day before...or a long time ago? I don't remember at all.

"I had a bad day again
She said you would not understand
She slams the door and says I'm sorry I
I had a bad day again."

My name is Linda and I miss the fuck out of my boys.....on with it.

"It's been a while since I could say that I wasn't addicted."

Skipping school. Don't give a fuck anymore. I don't really have anything to say, do I?

"I cannot blame this on my father. He did the best he could for me."

Yeah, that's it. Puh. I miss floyd.

Downloaded "Little Earthquakes"- Tori Amos seems to have scored yet another freaky-ass song. I want to be in the car with Jenn (b), Emily and Rich Kid again, driving to the coast. Or at land's end looking out at some UFO over the water. Or in Emily's room, getting her sympathy, like methadone, lavished over me. Or caught up in a last-summer's nights conversation with Elorza, back when we had depth, if that's what it was, back when I was still such an idealist that I believed myself able to do anything for him if he asked. Or......ten years old and following Jeremey home from school....or 12 years old and having him trick me with the witty phrase "So, Linda, tell me something incredibly private about yourself." as he fuddled obviously with the tape recorder in his pocket. Or backstage at "Too Soon For Daisies" rehearsals pretending to hate Rich Kid, way before he was Rich Kid.

I don't even have the will to miss Jeff right now.

My head hurts and I should be eating breakfast...well, no, I should be at school, but in lieu of that, I should be eating lunch. My name is Linda and I'm truant. On with it~

Monday, September 24, 2001

Maybe my somewhat rampant nausea and digestion problems as of late come from anxiety....calm down, stomach, his play is this weekend and then he'll be able to come home all the time. Calm down.

*moans* I don't want to be conscious right now. I should do my homework before going to bed, but if I go now I can get ten hours of sleep before 5 am and do it tomorrow morning.

I'm putting all my energy from missing everybody I would be missing and just missing least I hope that's it or else I'm just a horrible entry like this would probably offend a few people who expect me to be pining in their absence, but I don't care. Sometimes I know that the only thing that will possibly make me feel whole is him. It's SICK-EN-ING and I feel bad for him because he gets obligated by my fairly constant need for him. But what can I say?

"It's been a while since I've gone and fucked thigns up like I always do
But all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you."

My name is Linda. On with it~

I am slightly concerned that my body parts may start to disappear.

In my quest to dabble the art of writing porn, I stumbled upon a story that, while somewhat sexual, couldn't possibly be construed as porn.....maybe I'm just not shy enough, or maybe it's that all I have to compare it to, in my uncharactistically short history of reading porn, is my christmas present from Torrie- "The Taming of Sleeping Beauty" by A.N. Roquelayne- one of Anne Rice's psuedonyms, and a excerpt from a story I read saturday night that combined bondage with bestiality for a strangely arousing tale of a a horse on a treadmill wearing, among other accessories, nipple clamps. No, I shit you not. I sort of wish that I did shit you. At least about the being aroused part. -I defy you to click this link.-

If you aren't man enough to read that...well, congratulations, you're normal. But you actually should read this one, with very limited sexual content. It's main character, who I don't believe is given a name at all....oh yes, Sita Mathuri, is exactly like me. A writer, a bisexual woman who can't seem to commit to anyone romantically, someone who treats females the same way that I do....she's just very much like me. Read it. If you want. Esthely.

I'm going to go eat, though....I'll write more later, I'll have something to write....I suppose.

My name is Linda, and I am thinly spread and possibly disappearing. On with it~