I am sad and angry. Everything I was looking forward to has past or fallen apart.
Things are okay when Zack's here. He's not right now.
I've been in bed all day, but I wish I could fall back to sleep now. I don't want to stay conscious and wait for the handful of people who would be able to make this bullshit better to do it when they aren't going to. I don't want to foster any hope for this night. I want to cut my losses, let them drift away, and turn my back to them.
The only person who ever bothered for me when I waited to be bothered for was Chad. And look where that got me.
I am sad and angry. Only sad and angry, right? I can't really have this much bitterness.
I'm angry at even people I'm never angry at...because my ideas are never good enough, it's never what she wants to do. I'm trying to wonder if she ever does what I want to do, instead of me following her to what she wants to do, because I feel like saying it's true, but I don't want to make accusations that aren't true. Emily used to do that to me, I refuse to be that short-sighted. I will look at the evidence, and I will decide if my anger is rational. But I'm angry anyway, and I never think I have a reason to be angry at her. All I ever want is to do things we can both enjoy together, more than we normally do. It always seems like she thinks it's a bad idea.
I'm angry at him, but not for the reason anyone would think- it's not his fault. I'm angry at him because he won't give me anything as a consolation prize...I am disappointed, and he is sorry, but that is the extent of it. There will be no effort on his part to assure me that this is an isolated event (granted, it already isn't) or that it wasn't nessecary- that my wanting things to be perfect and wanting to be able to show him a good time and wanting to be able to talk in a way we haven't gotten an oppurtunity to before, that all that was a nice thought, but that I'm already important to him as it is, even if I can't get to it, and that we can still talk, we can still be deep with each other. The disappointment is passing. But the idea that these aren't failed plans, it's the beginning of a failed friendship...that's gonna stay with me. I just wish he could shed his stoic outer layer for a moment to realize that somebody he's supposed to care about is hurting, that it's very simple and very plain what she needs, and that he's the only one that can do it. I wish he could stop pretending not to care long enough to pretend he does.
And as for the rest of the world, the Bens, the Chads, the Emilys and all the other scholars, I want to know why I'm not important enough to try for any longer. I want to know why it's okay just to let me drift. I want to know why you aren't holding on, and why do you seem to think that I'll be okay? I want to know why I'm not worth it, why it's okay to keep me blocked or be kept blocked or not to call me back. Why I'm not worth an e-mail asking me if I'm alright any longer. Why you stopped thinking enough of me to stop what you were doing to call and check up. Why this is happening to me.
I am sad and I am angry. I am scared and I am alone. That must be all. I can't really have this much regret and hatefulness.
Can I? On with it.
Thursday, November 21, 2002
So I should be seeing Elorza, well, technically TOMORROW, but, for all intents and purposes, two days from now- Friday. This depends very heavily on his ability to actually get back to me- a whopping day in advance- to let me know if he'll be able to make it and to help me cement our plans. I love the kid, and I love that he's willing to go out of his way to see me, but I'll be very disappointed if this goes under, for whatever reason.
I realized today that I desperately miss Mitch, and that I am very much ashamed of my negligence towards the....well, the most recent part of our friendship, I guess. I was going to refer to it as the end, but neither of us have expressed any desire to stop trying, and the fact that we seemingly HAVE, in practice, doesn't seem to nessecarily mean that either of us wants to anytime soon. It's my current contention that one of these days- hopefully soon- I will find the self-discipline to sit right down and write him an e-mail long and nice enough to revamp our weary friendship in one single, spectacular effort...he always did make my efforts feel appreciated. I don't know how I've done without that for so long.
The christmas vacation of those who go to orono, I've found, is dissapointingly taking place mostly in january, when I will have jetted off to massage school to be all the glorified hooker I can be. They key tradgedy in this is Nick, who is my closest friend at Orono, but there are countless otehrs that I was looking forward to the chance of seeing. Hopefully, this summer will be able to make up for it.
My sister is evidently moving out of the house this weekend- somehow, Tony and her have finally managed to procure an apartment. Were I confident that this living situation would be permanent, I would be rejoicing at this point, but neither my mother nor I nor anyone with a sense of pattern-recognition thinks that this will be something Cathy and Tony will be responsible enough to keep. If I have left you in the dark about the grim, sickly reality of my sister's troglodyte fiance, let me make a few things clear- he is a classless, deadbeat high-school drop out with no job, no driver's license, and no personal hygiene, and he is the only person in the world I consistently identify my feelings for as pure hatred. If that description led you, as it might, to believe that my snubbing of him is based on a judgemental since of superiority due to his social upbringing and lack of accomplishments, I should also include that along with his lazy, unclean uselessness, he is also an ASSHOLE. He treats my parents badly, he treats my sister badly, he treats my nephew badly, and given the oppurtunity to interact with me on a even more nauseatingly regular basis, he would treat me worse than all of them combined- he assumes, from the way I interact with him, that I am harsh and cold to all my friends, that there is nothing in the world that I care about, and that I am a self-centered snob. I patently deny everything but the self-centered...and hell, with people like him lurking about everywhere, what reason do I have not to appreciate someone like me?
There are two more hinderances to my potential feelings of glee at the upcoming absence of my sister, my nephew, and my arch-nemesis: one is simply that I am afraid of what might happen to Austin, who will be left alone to the devices of my sister's waning sanity and Tony's exploding temper, no longer with the protection of my parents, or of me- I like to be the one that takes Austin out of the room, sometimes out of the house when tempers are flaring between the other four, or, rather, I don't like to, but most times, I'm the only one who thinks to. I am sickened by the idea that my nephew will no longer have the relative sanctuary of a house with not two but four neurotic parent figures, and me. I wish, frankly, that it were only Cathy and Tony that were leaving, and that Austin could be given the chance of relative normalcy, instead of the destiny of a depraved school-shooter that is almost certainly his.
The second additional hinderance: my sister is pregnant.
I hesistate to say the thoughts I've had about this into type, lest everyone on earth should see me for the darkest, sickest part of me- suffice to say, there is no joy surrounding this for me. I could go into endless details about the affect that the idea of being linked to Tony, through a common child, all of the rest of our lives is- Tony is, happily, not Austin's father, and I cannot imagine that I could bring myself to love him the same otherwise, whether that is unfair or not. I am fearing now that, somehow, someway, fifteen years from now my future niece of nephew- Tony's future son or daughter- will for some reason read this, and be hurt. I fear the regret I would feel in that situation, and thus feel compelled to make one thing clear now- I am eighteen years old. I have seen my family reduced to an angry, tragic group of uninspired people over the past year, due very much to Tony's presence, and I am furious. I do not now understand the potential I have to love people, and I do not know understand the circumstances under which I will grow to know the future children of my sister, or the way we might mutually become a part of each other's lives. Everything I say now, I say not as an aunt that will more than likely grow to love this child as preciously as I do all my family, but as someone who has endured a great deal of anguish languished on her by someone she hates very much. When I grow, I will learn not to blame my problems on the innocent, or even as much on the guilty. I will learn to accept the mistakes of others for what they are, and not to carryaround the dark feelings that I currently do. I will love, as I do now, and moreso. If this is fifteen years from now, and you are my sister's child, do not think I don't care for you. I do.
I could tell of the way I reacted to the news of my sister's pregnancy, or of that whole day, or today, or tomorrow even, but I have work to get back to- burger king calls, as it tends to. Three more hours and I can go home and sleep.
I hope I'll be tired.
On with it.
I realized today that I desperately miss Mitch, and that I am very much ashamed of my negligence towards the....well, the most recent part of our friendship, I guess. I was going to refer to it as the end, but neither of us have expressed any desire to stop trying, and the fact that we seemingly HAVE, in practice, doesn't seem to nessecarily mean that either of us wants to anytime soon. It's my current contention that one of these days- hopefully soon- I will find the self-discipline to sit right down and write him an e-mail long and nice enough to revamp our weary friendship in one single, spectacular effort...he always did make my efforts feel appreciated. I don't know how I've done without that for so long.
The christmas vacation of those who go to orono, I've found, is dissapointingly taking place mostly in january, when I will have jetted off to massage school to be all the glorified hooker I can be. They key tradgedy in this is Nick, who is my closest friend at Orono, but there are countless otehrs that I was looking forward to the chance of seeing. Hopefully, this summer will be able to make up for it.
My sister is evidently moving out of the house this weekend- somehow, Tony and her have finally managed to procure an apartment. Were I confident that this living situation would be permanent, I would be rejoicing at this point, but neither my mother nor I nor anyone with a sense of pattern-recognition thinks that this will be something Cathy and Tony will be responsible enough to keep. If I have left you in the dark about the grim, sickly reality of my sister's troglodyte fiance, let me make a few things clear- he is a classless, deadbeat high-school drop out with no job, no driver's license, and no personal hygiene, and he is the only person in the world I consistently identify my feelings for as pure hatred. If that description led you, as it might, to believe that my snubbing of him is based on a judgemental since of superiority due to his social upbringing and lack of accomplishments, I should also include that along with his lazy, unclean uselessness, he is also an ASSHOLE. He treats my parents badly, he treats my sister badly, he treats my nephew badly, and given the oppurtunity to interact with me on a even more nauseatingly regular basis, he would treat me worse than all of them combined- he assumes, from the way I interact with him, that I am harsh and cold to all my friends, that there is nothing in the world that I care about, and that I am a self-centered snob. I patently deny everything but the self-centered...and hell, with people like him lurking about everywhere, what reason do I have not to appreciate someone like me?
There are two more hinderances to my potential feelings of glee at the upcoming absence of my sister, my nephew, and my arch-nemesis: one is simply that I am afraid of what might happen to Austin, who will be left alone to the devices of my sister's waning sanity and Tony's exploding temper, no longer with the protection of my parents, or of me- I like to be the one that takes Austin out of the room, sometimes out of the house when tempers are flaring between the other four, or, rather, I don't like to, but most times, I'm the only one who thinks to. I am sickened by the idea that my nephew will no longer have the relative sanctuary of a house with not two but four neurotic parent figures, and me. I wish, frankly, that it were only Cathy and Tony that were leaving, and that Austin could be given the chance of relative normalcy, instead of the destiny of a depraved school-shooter that is almost certainly his.
The second additional hinderance: my sister is pregnant.
I hesistate to say the thoughts I've had about this into type, lest everyone on earth should see me for the darkest, sickest part of me- suffice to say, there is no joy surrounding this for me. I could go into endless details about the affect that the idea of being linked to Tony, through a common child, all of the rest of our lives is- Tony is, happily, not Austin's father, and I cannot imagine that I could bring myself to love him the same otherwise, whether that is unfair or not. I am fearing now that, somehow, someway, fifteen years from now my future niece of nephew- Tony's future son or daughter- will for some reason read this, and be hurt. I fear the regret I would feel in that situation, and thus feel compelled to make one thing clear now- I am eighteen years old. I have seen my family reduced to an angry, tragic group of uninspired people over the past year, due very much to Tony's presence, and I am furious. I do not now understand the potential I have to love people, and I do not know understand the circumstances under which I will grow to know the future children of my sister, or the way we might mutually become a part of each other's lives. Everything I say now, I say not as an aunt that will more than likely grow to love this child as preciously as I do all my family, but as someone who has endured a great deal of anguish languished on her by someone she hates very much. When I grow, I will learn not to blame my problems on the innocent, or even as much on the guilty. I will learn to accept the mistakes of others for what they are, and not to carryaround the dark feelings that I currently do. I will love, as I do now, and moreso. If this is fifteen years from now, and you are my sister's child, do not think I don't care for you. I do.
I could tell of the way I reacted to the news of my sister's pregnancy, or of that whole day, or today, or tomorrow even, but I have work to get back to- burger king calls, as it tends to. Three more hours and I can go home and sleep.
I hope I'll be tired.
On with it.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
Lately, I've been fostering inadvertent appreciations to music I'd been previously hellbent on hating. The first, and by far most trafic, example that comes to mind is "Silver (motherfucking) Springs" by (god-foresaken) Fleetwood (goddamned) Mac. I was at work, in the kitchen when it came on the radio, and listening to it in the background, I heard the exact same lyrics that I had, in the past, mocked with vigorous cynicism- "And did you say she was pretty? And did you say she loves you? Baby, I don't want to know." As you might imagine, it's the genuine PUSSYNESS of this statement that had made me chuckle* at the very idea of it. The feminity factor of those lyrics is astounding...and laughable. However, hearing those exact same lyrics just a few days ago, my exact reaction- said in a pained, whining girl voice, was "Ohmygod, this song is so GOOD!"
The reaction came from the multiple ways one could relate a song like this to my own life, from my recent examination of painful past events that I'd put off thinking about for a while, from my sudden understanding of where the singer was coming from. If you want to get technical. If you want to look at it the way I soon thereafter looked at it, however, the reaction came from the fact that I AM TURNING INTO A GODDAMN WOMAN.
For those of you who have never met me, and do not know me in real life, (IE, some german guy who accidentally surfed in having typed "my daughter masturbates with me" into a search engine) my masculine side is very important to me. I have fought to keep it the prominent aspect of my personality. My contempt for a woman's irrationality, jealousy, and insecurity makes me run towards the man in me with the speed and determination of an olympic hurddlist. Having heard myself say somethign that was so indicative of my inner woman, my immediate response was to slap myself. Then, when I got the oppurtunity, I called Jeff.
The other day, Mark and I determined that Jeff and I had a gay relationship- as opposed to past relationships, where the male generally played the role of the female (sensitive, committed, deeply conversational) leaving me with the role of the guy (thick-skinned, unfaithful, reserved), Jeff and I's relationship was wrought with joking verbal abuse that didn't afford a female role at all. Jeff, consequently, was a great source of my masculinity- he was before and has been since our relationship, but I spent more time interacting with him, understandably, when we were together. This, truly, was a great time for the man in me. Bring on the porn, bring on the barbecue, bring on the mock-racist cruelty and scorching sarcasm. I was man, hear me fart.
When I called, Jeff was going to visit me for a few minutes and infuse me with a breath of stinking male air, but circumstances forbade, so he gave me a little pep talk and told me he hoped that, from then on, the radio and fate would be kinder and give me some slightly more macho music. I returned to the kitchen to fill some orders, and at crossed my fingers that the next song would be what I needed- harsh. Angry. Male.
The next song was "I Want Love" by Elton John.
The problem continues to grow. I'd been noticing symptoms for weeks before the Fleetwood Mac event, seeing a trend in the way I've become, once again, easily offended and emotionally demanding. I attribute this situation to my relationship with Zack- learning from the past, the way that mine and Jeff's joking exchanges sometimes hurt me and the way that my tendency to be less communicative with significant others than with friends had an ill effect on Jeff and I, I've made special effort to always explain my feelings, to make every attempt to share things with Zack that hurt me with him even when it seemed difficult. Happily, I am getting his support and empathy, and we seemingly work out every problem we have. On the other hand, however, this seems to be putting me more in touch with my feminine side, and this is a bit of a dilemna: I either live with the new sensitive me, or I risk losing the success of Zack and I.
In a sense, it's him or me. This of course, drags me back, even further into the sexual war that wages in me- my feminine side, of course, wants to sacrifice everything for someone else, wants to be unselfish (in practice, anyway) and give up everything that was once important to me in the holy name of love. My masculine side, however, is experiencing a flaring up of my survival instincts. Threatened, it is scratching and clawing it's way out, fighting off it's enemies with reckless desperation. It is a fighter, and it does not care what it brings down with it. I am a woman in conflict.**
Casey: you women and your damn emotions.
FieryGwenivere: Amen
FieryGwenivere: I'm a very androgynous person- half and half, I like to think- but as of late, estrogen is definitely winning the battle of the sexes. And slowly but surely, I am losing the battle I have with my testosterone-controlled arm not to drive a fork into my own eye.
FieryGwenivere: I'm actually forcing myself to eat red meat- which I hate- just in the hopes that the manliness of it will sink into my bloodstream
Casey: yes. dr. machismo prescribes much more contact with men.
FieryGwenivere: ....I'm such a sexually-minded person. I read that six times before realizing it said "machismo" and not "masochism"
Casey: that's what the good doctor's talking about.
FieryGwenivere: anyways, yes, I'm in very strong agreement. I hang out with males more than females, the problem is that 90% of the time it's Zack, and it's hard to act like a guy when you're getting eaten out.
FieryGwenivere: all my platonic male friends went to college.
FieryGwenivere: wait...that seems to imply that I've successfully had a purely platonic relationship with, well, anyone.
Casey: no, sex object is also acceptable.
Casey: you and I, without being too presumptuous.
FieryGwenivere: But I miss hanging out with guys more than you can imagine. Just not overly possible, what with them spread out farther than my legs.
I include this piece of conversation, thoughtfully, for two reasons- the first obviously being that it applies to what I've been saying, and the second being that Casey fucking rocks. I can't get over how impressed by him I constantly find myself. Today, he expressed concern for something he knew would hurt me, and that, by itself, made me feel better about it- the idea that he'd even think about me without specific, direct context, the fact that he was concerned for me, the implication that he gives some amount of a shit about me instead of just casually engaging in conversation with me, as expected, and, I don't know...the fact that he knew it would bother me. He also made reference to the possibility of seeing me socially in the future, and this, of course, pleases me endlessly. Because, as stated earlier, Casey fucking rocks.
There may or may not be a clean segue back into the original purpose of this post, which was to extol the virtues of a song by another artist I had previously been rather stubborn about hating, Bob Dylan. It's almost the time that I decided earlier I wanted to go to bed by tonight, though, and as unlikely as it is that I'll stick by that deadline, I do not wish to waste anytime finding that clean segue, so I'll just jump to where I was going- it seems that the song "Like a rolling stone" has gotten more radio exposure than normally lately, and I've taken something of an interest to it. Miss Sutton attempted to open our minds to Bobby, as she called him, in poetry, and I let it roll of my back at the time, put off by, what else, his fucking voice. However, the first time I heard it on the radio, recently, I was rather impressed with my own knowledge of the song, thanks to the class, and I sang along with the chorus. Since then, every time I tire of CYY or the Q and my radio dial wonders over towards...fucking 93.1, whatever it is, the song has played, and my interest has increased. I quite enjoy his lyrical prowess, enough to endure the squeaking gate of his voice. However, this is not the song I mean to get to, and I am running out of time quickly- in a complete coincidence, I was listening to "I only want to be with you" by Hootie and the Blowfish tonight- only hours after I finally downloaded "Like a Rolling Stone"- and as I looked up the lyrics (to "I only want to be with you", just in case you aren't keeping track) that my father and I had discussed as being senseless in the context of the song, I found that they were actually quoted from another Bob Dylan song. (On a side note, while the Hootie song was intended as a tribute to Dylan, he sued them for using his lyrics without permission and walked away with a large settlement.) The song the lyrics were stolen from was called "Idiot Wind", so I proceeded to check to see if they made any more sense in the context of that song then the one by his predecessors. Turns out they were by only a small margin, but there was more- the song as a whole, especially the ending, totally blew me away. I read it three times, maybe four or five, I can't remember now, but it's deserving of at least one look from you: if you've gotten this far into my blathering bullshit, you can definitely spare a few minutes for this. It's the last verses and chorus that really blow me away...but discover it for yourself.
That seemingly takes care of everything I have to say...everything prosaic, anyway. I did also mean to post yesterday's quote of the day, so without further ado:
Linda: (discussing with Zack the way he is mildly threatened by my relationships with ex-boyfriends) I promise you, there's nothign to worry about. The past is past, I'm not going to do anything with any of them- I love you. Are they the only ones you're at all threatened by?
Zack: I think so, yes.
Linda: Wow, how shortsighted of you.
I don't know how many of you will understand why that's funny, perhaps you had to be there...but fuck it, I was, I get it, it's my page. Anyways....8 minutes past four, and I should be in bed. So, yes, let's be concise and all- on with it.
*Originally "giggle". Stupid estrogen. **Fuck! Shoulda said "person in conflict".
The reaction came from the multiple ways one could relate a song like this to my own life, from my recent examination of painful past events that I'd put off thinking about for a while, from my sudden understanding of where the singer was coming from. If you want to get technical. If you want to look at it the way I soon thereafter looked at it, however, the reaction came from the fact that I AM TURNING INTO A GODDAMN WOMAN.
For those of you who have never met me, and do not know me in real life, (IE, some german guy who accidentally surfed in having typed "my daughter masturbates with me" into a search engine) my masculine side is very important to me. I have fought to keep it the prominent aspect of my personality. My contempt for a woman's irrationality, jealousy, and insecurity makes me run towards the man in me with the speed and determination of an olympic hurddlist. Having heard myself say somethign that was so indicative of my inner woman, my immediate response was to slap myself. Then, when I got the oppurtunity, I called Jeff.
The other day, Mark and I determined that Jeff and I had a gay relationship- as opposed to past relationships, where the male generally played the role of the female (sensitive, committed, deeply conversational) leaving me with the role of the guy (thick-skinned, unfaithful, reserved), Jeff and I's relationship was wrought with joking verbal abuse that didn't afford a female role at all. Jeff, consequently, was a great source of my masculinity- he was before and has been since our relationship, but I spent more time interacting with him, understandably, when we were together. This, truly, was a great time for the man in me. Bring on the porn, bring on the barbecue, bring on the mock-racist cruelty and scorching sarcasm. I was man, hear me fart.
When I called, Jeff was going to visit me for a few minutes and infuse me with a breath of stinking male air, but circumstances forbade, so he gave me a little pep talk and told me he hoped that, from then on, the radio and fate would be kinder and give me some slightly more macho music. I returned to the kitchen to fill some orders, and at crossed my fingers that the next song would be what I needed- harsh. Angry. Male.
The next song was "I Want Love" by Elton John.
The problem continues to grow. I'd been noticing symptoms for weeks before the Fleetwood Mac event, seeing a trend in the way I've become, once again, easily offended and emotionally demanding. I attribute this situation to my relationship with Zack- learning from the past, the way that mine and Jeff's joking exchanges sometimes hurt me and the way that my tendency to be less communicative with significant others than with friends had an ill effect on Jeff and I, I've made special effort to always explain my feelings, to make every attempt to share things with Zack that hurt me with him even when it seemed difficult. Happily, I am getting his support and empathy, and we seemingly work out every problem we have. On the other hand, however, this seems to be putting me more in touch with my feminine side, and this is a bit of a dilemna: I either live with the new sensitive me, or I risk losing the success of Zack and I.
In a sense, it's him or me. This of course, drags me back, even further into the sexual war that wages in me- my feminine side, of course, wants to sacrifice everything for someone else, wants to be unselfish (in practice, anyway) and give up everything that was once important to me in the holy name of love. My masculine side, however, is experiencing a flaring up of my survival instincts. Threatened, it is scratching and clawing it's way out, fighting off it's enemies with reckless desperation. It is a fighter, and it does not care what it brings down with it. I am a woman in conflict.**
Casey: you women and your damn emotions.
FieryGwenivere: Amen
FieryGwenivere: I'm a very androgynous person- half and half, I like to think- but as of late, estrogen is definitely winning the battle of the sexes. And slowly but surely, I am losing the battle I have with my testosterone-controlled arm not to drive a fork into my own eye.
FieryGwenivere: I'm actually forcing myself to eat red meat- which I hate- just in the hopes that the manliness of it will sink into my bloodstream
Casey: yes. dr. machismo prescribes much more contact with men.
FieryGwenivere: ....I'm such a sexually-minded person. I read that six times before realizing it said "machismo" and not "masochism"
Casey: that's what the good doctor's talking about.
FieryGwenivere: anyways, yes, I'm in very strong agreement. I hang out with males more than females, the problem is that 90% of the time it's Zack, and it's hard to act like a guy when you're getting eaten out.
FieryGwenivere: all my platonic male friends went to college.
FieryGwenivere: wait...that seems to imply that I've successfully had a purely platonic relationship with, well, anyone.
Casey: no, sex object is also acceptable.
Casey: you and I, without being too presumptuous.
FieryGwenivere: But I miss hanging out with guys more than you can imagine. Just not overly possible, what with them spread out farther than my legs.
I include this piece of conversation, thoughtfully, for two reasons- the first obviously being that it applies to what I've been saying, and the second being that Casey fucking rocks. I can't get over how impressed by him I constantly find myself. Today, he expressed concern for something he knew would hurt me, and that, by itself, made me feel better about it- the idea that he'd even think about me without specific, direct context, the fact that he was concerned for me, the implication that he gives some amount of a shit about me instead of just casually engaging in conversation with me, as expected, and, I don't know...the fact that he knew it would bother me. He also made reference to the possibility of seeing me socially in the future, and this, of course, pleases me endlessly. Because, as stated earlier, Casey fucking rocks.
There may or may not be a clean segue back into the original purpose of this post, which was to extol the virtues of a song by another artist I had previously been rather stubborn about hating, Bob Dylan. It's almost the time that I decided earlier I wanted to go to bed by tonight, though, and as unlikely as it is that I'll stick by that deadline, I do not wish to waste anytime finding that clean segue, so I'll just jump to where I was going- it seems that the song "Like a rolling stone" has gotten more radio exposure than normally lately, and I've taken something of an interest to it. Miss Sutton attempted to open our minds to Bobby, as she called him, in poetry, and I let it roll of my back at the time, put off by, what else, his fucking voice. However, the first time I heard it on the radio, recently, I was rather impressed with my own knowledge of the song, thanks to the class, and I sang along with the chorus. Since then, every time I tire of CYY or the Q and my radio dial wonders over towards...fucking 93.1, whatever it is, the song has played, and my interest has increased. I quite enjoy his lyrical prowess, enough to endure the squeaking gate of his voice. However, this is not the song I mean to get to, and I am running out of time quickly- in a complete coincidence, I was listening to "I only want to be with you" by Hootie and the Blowfish tonight- only hours after I finally downloaded "Like a Rolling Stone"- and as I looked up the lyrics (to "I only want to be with you", just in case you aren't keeping track) that my father and I had discussed as being senseless in the context of the song, I found that they were actually quoted from another Bob Dylan song. (On a side note, while the Hootie song was intended as a tribute to Dylan, he sued them for using his lyrics without permission and walked away with a large settlement.) The song the lyrics were stolen from was called "Idiot Wind", so I proceeded to check to see if they made any more sense in the context of that song then the one by his predecessors. Turns out they were by only a small margin, but there was more- the song as a whole, especially the ending, totally blew me away. I read it three times, maybe four or five, I can't remember now, but it's deserving of at least one look from you: if you've gotten this far into my blathering bullshit, you can definitely spare a few minutes for this. It's the last verses and chorus that really blow me away...but discover it for yourself.
That seemingly takes care of everything I have to say...everything prosaic, anyway. I did also mean to post yesterday's quote of the day, so without further ado:
Linda: (discussing with Zack the way he is mildly threatened by my relationships with ex-boyfriends) I promise you, there's nothign to worry about. The past is past, I'm not going to do anything with any of them- I love you. Are they the only ones you're at all threatened by?
Zack: I think so, yes.
Linda: Wow, how shortsighted of you.
I don't know how many of you will understand why that's funny, perhaps you had to be there...but fuck it, I was, I get it, it's my page. Anyways....8 minutes past four, and I should be in bed. So, yes, let's be concise and all- on with it.
*Originally "giggle". Stupid estrogen. **Fuck! Shoulda said "person in conflict".
Monday, October 28, 2002
Elorza, who I can write about with the confidence that he will probably never come here, has never quoted me in his profile. This is seemingly a stupid thing to care about, I'll admit that, but...I don't know, it's always kinda hurt me. Even when he and I were close, he never did- never really quoted anyone back then, so I wasn't bothered by it. But it was when he and I started getting more distant that he started quoting other people- his current girlfriend, who was just his friend back then, most specifically- that I started to feel bad about it: he got to have real conversations with her, and all I had was the internet, but still she was the one that went up in the profile. It made me feel insecure- my other friends find me witty and smart and fun to talk to, and he...I began wondering if he'd ever thought that I was fun to talk to, if he'd ever know I was witty and smart. It's been a long time since we've grown apart, and our relationship ebbs a lot....but I always find myself wanting to say something worthwhile, wondering if it's good enough, wanting to know if I could ever be the type of person he'd put in his profile.
The thing about being in someone's profile is that it means they aren't ashamed of you. They think what you say is good enough to admit to thinking it's good. They think who you are is decent enough to admit to caring about you. They're not embarassed to publicly say "Hey, this person is my friend, whatever anyone else may think of her." The insecurity of needing that may have come from many places in my childhood- I was, after all, the reject kid at my elementary school. But the most obvious source that comes to mind is, surprise surprise, Jeremey. Back in middle school, Jeremey and I were extremely emotionally close- we'd talk on the phone every night and spill our pre-pubescent souls to each other. But middle school was highly about image, and I wasn't exactly a friend anyone would want to brag about. During school, Jeremey would treat me with absolute cruelty. He would rally he his friends to harass me during "fresh air", our eighth-grade version of recess. Admittedly, the cronies were more playful than malicious about it and I, having formed a great defensive wall around me as I grew up a reject, found the whole ordeal to be more satisfying than humiliating- it was attention, at any rate. But I always wondered why he was so ashamed of me- "And I don't know why you couldn't just stay with me- you couldn't stand to be near me when me when my face didn't seem to want to shine cuz it's a little bit dirty." I put up with it with Jeremey, and the issue became null-and-void when he left to live in Auburn. But the idea always stuck with me- I simply wasn't good enough for him to where on his sleeve.
Thus the need for recognition was born, and when the internet became part of my life, I began scanning other people's surveys for my name and checking other people's profiles for a shout-out or a quote. I've checked for references to me on my website. And, most relevantly to this particular post, I've tried to be worthwhile in my conversations to Elorza. Try as I do, though, it's difficult- he doesn't give me a hell of a lot to play off of. There was a time when I wrote beautiful words to him out of unfettered desire to want to write beautiful words to him- this continues, but now I find myself reading over them before I send them, hoping to catch the mistake that will them unable to penetrate him, force them to run over him like water over a roof...or, yeah, something. I'm constantly insecure about what I say to him, and without much support on his end--- I love him dearly, always will, but he isn't the type to go out of his way to make me feel secure. And he rarely reacts to any of the eloquence I try to languish on him. Not that it's his job...I expect too much.
The attention I've given to looking for myself to show up in his profile has expanded to everyone's, and some stupid part of me feels bad every time my name doesn't appear. But today, somebody helped with that. Casey quoted me in his profile- "FieryGwenivere: You ever wonder why the AOL running man is running? FieryGwenivere: I think he's running away from the motherfucker who cut off his hands and feet." So I asked him why. And he said "because it was funny."
I WANT TO SHOUT THAT FROM THE ROOFTOPS. THE BEST PERSON TO TALK TO ONLINE THAT I KNOW THINKS THAT I AM FUNNY. SO FUCK IT ALL! I AM!
He continued to tell me that he could relate, once I explained why I had asked in the first place. "I know the feeling that you've wasted eloquence on someone." he said...he said that after being prompted with far less explanation than I'm giving you, and he said it perfectly. Fuck, I love Casey. He's the second great thing that young writers gave me....halle-fucking-lujah.
My name is Linda, and I feel validated. And I feel witty, and smart, and fun to talk to. And I feel grateful. On with it.
The thing about being in someone's profile is that it means they aren't ashamed of you. They think what you say is good enough to admit to thinking it's good. They think who you are is decent enough to admit to caring about you. They're not embarassed to publicly say "Hey, this person is my friend, whatever anyone else may think of her." The insecurity of needing that may have come from many places in my childhood- I was, after all, the reject kid at my elementary school. But the most obvious source that comes to mind is, surprise surprise, Jeremey. Back in middle school, Jeremey and I were extremely emotionally close- we'd talk on the phone every night and spill our pre-pubescent souls to each other. But middle school was highly about image, and I wasn't exactly a friend anyone would want to brag about. During school, Jeremey would treat me with absolute cruelty. He would rally he his friends to harass me during "fresh air", our eighth-grade version of recess. Admittedly, the cronies were more playful than malicious about it and I, having formed a great defensive wall around me as I grew up a reject, found the whole ordeal to be more satisfying than humiliating- it was attention, at any rate. But I always wondered why he was so ashamed of me- "And I don't know why you couldn't just stay with me- you couldn't stand to be near me when me when my face didn't seem to want to shine cuz it's a little bit dirty." I put up with it with Jeremey, and the issue became null-and-void when he left to live in Auburn. But the idea always stuck with me- I simply wasn't good enough for him to where on his sleeve.
Thus the need for recognition was born, and when the internet became part of my life, I began scanning other people's surveys for my name and checking other people's profiles for a shout-out or a quote. I've checked for references to me on my website. And, most relevantly to this particular post, I've tried to be worthwhile in my conversations to Elorza. Try as I do, though, it's difficult- he doesn't give me a hell of a lot to play off of. There was a time when I wrote beautiful words to him out of unfettered desire to want to write beautiful words to him- this continues, but now I find myself reading over them before I send them, hoping to catch the mistake that will them unable to penetrate him, force them to run over him like water over a roof...or, yeah, something. I'm constantly insecure about what I say to him, and without much support on his end--- I love him dearly, always will, but he isn't the type to go out of his way to make me feel secure. And he rarely reacts to any of the eloquence I try to languish on him. Not that it's his job...I expect too much.
The attention I've given to looking for myself to show up in his profile has expanded to everyone's, and some stupid part of me feels bad every time my name doesn't appear. But today, somebody helped with that. Casey quoted me in his profile- "FieryGwenivere: You ever wonder why the AOL running man is running? FieryGwenivere: I think he's running away from the motherfucker who cut off his hands and feet." So I asked him why. And he said "because it was funny."
I WANT TO SHOUT THAT FROM THE ROOFTOPS. THE BEST PERSON TO TALK TO ONLINE THAT I KNOW THINKS THAT I AM FUNNY. SO FUCK IT ALL! I AM!
He continued to tell me that he could relate, once I explained why I had asked in the first place. "I know the feeling that you've wasted eloquence on someone." he said...he said that after being prompted with far less explanation than I'm giving you, and he said it perfectly. Fuck, I love Casey. He's the second great thing that young writers gave me....halle-fucking-lujah.
My name is Linda, and I feel validated. And I feel witty, and smart, and fun to talk to. And I feel grateful. On with it.
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Fucking Labrack is the coolest shit to talk to. He's the only one who can hold my interest online for any length of time. It is perhaps for this reason that I have made the offer to prostitute myself for the purposes of his site: that's right, put a link to the rsg (www.rsg.8k.com) in your aim profile or on your blog and I will show you my tits. Certain rules apply, but I'll do it man. Just 'cause he entertains me so.
FieryGwenivere: I want to be published. You think if I worked really hard on something, I could get it published somewehre?
CLABRACK: get what published?
CLABRACK: I assume you're not talking about your burger service skills.
FieryGwenivere: I don't know. Something. a story, preferably. I got a few poems that are good enough, but....I don't like the idea of getting a poem published before prose
CLABRACK: why?
FieryGwenivere: ....I don't know. Because where the hell does one publish poetry?
FieryGwenivere: haha, I totally just left myself open- I was talking to this guy who leads this whole group of people who give me shit for having absolutely no ass......
FieryGwenivere: Bigfoot582: I dunno...
FieryGwenivere: just a small link, at the bottom. I'll totally let you see my boobies.
Aaron: I dunno...
Aaron: what else ya got? ;-)
FieryGwenivere: I don't know? my ass?
FieryGwenivere: fuck you!
FieryGwenivere: before you even say anything!
FieryGwenivere: fuck you!
Aaron: LOL
FieryGwenivere: he's not going to let this one go quickly....
CLABRACK: hahaha.
CLABRACK: and it hits you four seconds later.
FieryGwenivere: you don't even get it, man. This is all they ever talk about- "Meh, Linda has no ass, meh!"
FieryGwenivere: and other such wit
CLABRACK: I think you publish poetry in shitty magazines.
FieryGwenivere: there ya go
FieryGwenivere: so, prose then. something
CLABRACK: and very shitty websites.
FieryGwenivere: wasn't that my point exactly?
CLABRACK: I used the rsg to write a couple of stories for me. for a class, of course.
FieryGwenivere: It is my fervent hope that some day in the not-to-distant future AIM conversations will be published and appreciated as the art that they are. And then, then I will be unstoppable.
CLABRACK: you would be a god.
FieryGwenivere: man, you keep rubbing my ego like that and you're going to hit the g-spot
CLABRACK: I don't know, your self-prostitution on the behalf of my site kinda hits mine.
CLABRACK: fuck you!
CLABRACK: before you even say anything!
Ah, so good. Word to the Case-master, homes. Word. (on with it...)
FieryGwenivere: I want to be published. You think if I worked really hard on something, I could get it published somewehre?
CLABRACK: get what published?
CLABRACK: I assume you're not talking about your burger service skills.
FieryGwenivere: I don't know. Something. a story, preferably. I got a few poems that are good enough, but....I don't like the idea of getting a poem published before prose
CLABRACK: why?
FieryGwenivere: ....I don't know. Because where the hell does one publish poetry?
FieryGwenivere: haha, I totally just left myself open- I was talking to this guy who leads this whole group of people who give me shit for having absolutely no ass......
FieryGwenivere: Bigfoot582: I dunno...
FieryGwenivere: just a small link, at the bottom. I'll totally let you see my boobies.
Aaron: I dunno...
Aaron: what else ya got? ;-)
FieryGwenivere: I don't know? my ass?
FieryGwenivere: fuck you!
FieryGwenivere: before you even say anything!
FieryGwenivere: fuck you!
Aaron: LOL
FieryGwenivere: he's not going to let this one go quickly....
CLABRACK: hahaha.
CLABRACK: and it hits you four seconds later.
FieryGwenivere: you don't even get it, man. This is all they ever talk about- "Meh, Linda has no ass, meh!"
FieryGwenivere: and other such wit
CLABRACK: I think you publish poetry in shitty magazines.
FieryGwenivere: there ya go
FieryGwenivere: so, prose then. something
CLABRACK: and very shitty websites.
FieryGwenivere: wasn't that my point exactly?
CLABRACK: I used the rsg to write a couple of stories for me. for a class, of course.
FieryGwenivere: It is my fervent hope that some day in the not-to-distant future AIM conversations will be published and appreciated as the art that they are. And then, then I will be unstoppable.
CLABRACK: you would be a god.
FieryGwenivere: man, you keep rubbing my ego like that and you're going to hit the g-spot
CLABRACK: I don't know, your self-prostitution on the behalf of my site kinda hits mine.
CLABRACK: fuck you!
CLABRACK: before you even say anything!
Ah, so good. Word to the Case-master, homes. Word. (on with it...)
Saturday, October 19, 2002
Thursday, October 10, 2002
"Moons and Junes and ferris wheels
The dizzy-dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real-
I've looked at love that way.
But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away
I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take and still, somehow
It's loves illusions I recall-
I really don't know love at all."
A lot of times I feel that way. And when I listen to this song, I can feel it seeping into my heart like moisture and making it heavier. But I shouldn't be feeling that way now. I have love. I have Zack.
Zack and I have decided that we do not intend to end our relationship when I go off to massage school, whenever in hell that may be. When I come back, I will stay here- in the area, that is, hopefully not the house- until he graduates. When we both move on, we plan to move on together.
So I'll be in Maine until at least June. That's bad. The good thing, and the scary thing, is that I'm somewhere I've never been before- in a relationship that doesn't have a pre-determined expiration date, as far as I'm concerned. In past relationships, I've made it as clear as possible that I'm not looking to spend the rest of my life with anyone, no matter how I feel about them. I'm not about to say that I want to spend the rest of my life with Zack, but I can say this- the idea of us ending scares me more than the idea of commitment. So we'll go with it, for now. Big step for me.
I've restarted the song, after interluding with "River", by the same artist (Joni Mitchell) and it reminds me that I am depressed. Because....I'm happy with Zack, obviously I am, but there are still al lot of demons from my past that need slaying....or, rather, fairy tales from my past that need growing out of. While I'm not sure I've ever really gotten over anyone, there's one person in particular that I don't think I'll ever get over completely, or maybe I'm just not willing to say goodbye to something that I, for once in my life, lost, as opposed to giving up by my own free will. Romantically, that is. When it comes to platonic love, I miss Jeremey lately more than I have in a few months- and when you take into account that there hasn't been a day in the past year that I haven't thought about him, that's pretty bad. More rational friends of mine seem to think that the more I prostrate myself to him, the lower I get and the more desperate I become, the more satisfied he's gonna be. I wish I could agree with my guiding voice of reason in all of this- with all the guiding voices of reason- but I just can't force myself to think of my oldest friend as being that cruel. I can't for myself to think of him as anything but my oldest friend. A while ago, I was at a point where I could remember him fondly and sort of accept that things will never be the same again, and I wish I was still there: the last thing I want to do is forget our conversations, our private jokes, going to the library to research how to hypnotize people so that we could get humiliating revenge against a common foe, trying to get to the different islands of myst together, searching for Mrs. Deraspe's missing bee stamps, discussing fucked-up Matchbox Twenty lyrics, writing the Happy Squirrel poem together, both of us being so stubborn that we spent an hour on the phone in silence during a fight rather than just hanging up.....7 years worth of memories I don't want to give up. But I could smile at them before, now I....I still can. I'm just crying while I'm smiling.
I wish I could still afford to be on the other end of a silent phone call. I wish I could be stubborn and say he's wrong. But the fact of the matter is I don't care who is...I'd blame myself, I'd blame anyone, I'd do pretty much anything. As if this is news to you- I want my friend back.
On the lighter side, I guess, is that old friendships seem to be coming alive in leaps and bounds. Andrew and I are still doing alright, testing how long we can go without fighting and hating each other bitterly. Whichever one of us had the longer stick up our ass before, it's been removed.
Andrew: Tired, aren't you?
Linda: badly
Andrew: Want me to come massage your feet for you?
Andrew: hehe, gotcha.
Andrew: *schwish*
Linda: yes, schwish.
Linda: I would never let anyone massage my feet
Andrew: I know, I wouldn't forget something like that.
Linda: wasn't sure I'd told you
Andrew: The only way you ever even let me touch your feet was if I filled you with horse-tranquilizers!
Linda: is that what you're calling it now?
Andrew: "The Injector" is what I call it, thank you, but pretty much, yeah.
Linda: :-)
Linda: you're great
Andrew: *bows*
Andrew: *trips while bowing*
Linda: *kicks you while you're down*
Andrew: *pleads for mercy*
Linda: *Walks away with a more attractive guy*
Andrew: *watches as she walks away with her imaginary friend*
Linda: Heh, it's like an intrepretive dance of our relationship. :-D
Andrew: Exactly!
Linda: If we want to call Jeff that, that is.
Andrew: What, he's not even good enough to be classified as 'imaginary?'
(On the off chance that Jeff reads this, that ain't what I was going for at all, and told him so in the next message, I just though what he said was amusing.)
Anyway, so....I'm sorta strung between good and bad right now. As ever, I guess. But hey, I got a play to right...not that I mentioned that. Too preliminary to go announcing it so publicly though- when it's done, you'll be the first to know. Just trust me.
On with it.
The dizzy-dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real-
I've looked at love that way.
But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away
I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take and still, somehow
It's loves illusions I recall-
I really don't know love at all."
A lot of times I feel that way. And when I listen to this song, I can feel it seeping into my heart like moisture and making it heavier. But I shouldn't be feeling that way now. I have love. I have Zack.
Zack and I have decided that we do not intend to end our relationship when I go off to massage school, whenever in hell that may be. When I come back, I will stay here- in the area, that is, hopefully not the house- until he graduates. When we both move on, we plan to move on together.
So I'll be in Maine until at least June. That's bad. The good thing, and the scary thing, is that I'm somewhere I've never been before- in a relationship that doesn't have a pre-determined expiration date, as far as I'm concerned. In past relationships, I've made it as clear as possible that I'm not looking to spend the rest of my life with anyone, no matter how I feel about them. I'm not about to say that I want to spend the rest of my life with Zack, but I can say this- the idea of us ending scares me more than the idea of commitment. So we'll go with it, for now. Big step for me.
I've restarted the song, after interluding with "River", by the same artist (Joni Mitchell) and it reminds me that I am depressed. Because....I'm happy with Zack, obviously I am, but there are still al lot of demons from my past that need slaying....or, rather, fairy tales from my past that need growing out of. While I'm not sure I've ever really gotten over anyone, there's one person in particular that I don't think I'll ever get over completely, or maybe I'm just not willing to say goodbye to something that I, for once in my life, lost, as opposed to giving up by my own free will. Romantically, that is. When it comes to platonic love, I miss Jeremey lately more than I have in a few months- and when you take into account that there hasn't been a day in the past year that I haven't thought about him, that's pretty bad. More rational friends of mine seem to think that the more I prostrate myself to him, the lower I get and the more desperate I become, the more satisfied he's gonna be. I wish I could agree with my guiding voice of reason in all of this- with all the guiding voices of reason- but I just can't force myself to think of my oldest friend as being that cruel. I can't for myself to think of him as anything but my oldest friend. A while ago, I was at a point where I could remember him fondly and sort of accept that things will never be the same again, and I wish I was still there: the last thing I want to do is forget our conversations, our private jokes, going to the library to research how to hypnotize people so that we could get humiliating revenge against a common foe, trying to get to the different islands of myst together, searching for Mrs. Deraspe's missing bee stamps, discussing fucked-up Matchbox Twenty lyrics, writing the Happy Squirrel poem together, both of us being so stubborn that we spent an hour on the phone in silence during a fight rather than just hanging up.....7 years worth of memories I don't want to give up. But I could smile at them before, now I....I still can. I'm just crying while I'm smiling.
I wish I could still afford to be on the other end of a silent phone call. I wish I could be stubborn and say he's wrong. But the fact of the matter is I don't care who is...I'd blame myself, I'd blame anyone, I'd do pretty much anything. As if this is news to you- I want my friend back.
On the lighter side, I guess, is that old friendships seem to be coming alive in leaps and bounds. Andrew and I are still doing alright, testing how long we can go without fighting and hating each other bitterly. Whichever one of us had the longer stick up our ass before, it's been removed.
Andrew: Tired, aren't you?
Linda: badly
Andrew: Want me to come massage your feet for you?
Andrew: hehe, gotcha.
Andrew: *schwish*
Linda: yes, schwish.
Linda: I would never let anyone massage my feet
Andrew: I know, I wouldn't forget something like that.
Linda: wasn't sure I'd told you
Andrew: The only way you ever even let me touch your feet was if I filled you with horse-tranquilizers!
Linda: is that what you're calling it now?
Andrew: "The Injector" is what I call it, thank you, but pretty much, yeah.
Linda: :-)
Linda: you're great
Andrew: *bows*
Andrew: *trips while bowing*
Linda: *kicks you while you're down*
Andrew: *pleads for mercy*
Linda: *Walks away with a more attractive guy*
Andrew: *watches as she walks away with her imaginary friend*
Linda: Heh, it's like an intrepretive dance of our relationship. :-D
Andrew: Exactly!
Linda: If we want to call Jeff that, that is.
Andrew: What, he's not even good enough to be classified as 'imaginary?'
(On the off chance that Jeff reads this, that ain't what I was going for at all, and told him so in the next message, I just though what he said was amusing.)
Anyway, so....I'm sorta strung between good and bad right now. As ever, I guess. But hey, I got a play to right...not that I mentioned that. Too preliminary to go announcing it so publicly though- when it's done, you'll be the first to know. Just trust me.
On with it.
Tuesday, October 01, 2002
HOLY QUOTE OF THE DAY, BATMAN!!!!
Hehe, I can't believe how much quality conversation I must have missed out on in months and months of not talking to Andrew. Quote of the day tonight- talking about Zack's potentially shooting up the school. (No Mr. Nunnery, it's NOT really going to happen, *wink, wink*)
ANDREW: Most likely he would bring something crappy to kill everybody with , like a 38 special, and the gun would expliode in his hand, taking off his thumb and index finger. *Silence* Poetic justice Linda, poetic justice.
LINDA: How is that poetic justice?
ANDREW: It's funny when people's fingers get blown off.
I love that kid.
But the shoote- uh, Zack, is here, so I'm out. Wow, I'm not even slightly amusing anymore. Forgive me.
On with it.
Hehe, I can't believe how much quality conversation I must have missed out on in months and months of not talking to Andrew. Quote of the day tonight- talking about Zack's potentially shooting up the school. (No Mr. Nunnery, it's NOT really going to happen, *wink, wink*)
ANDREW: Most likely he would bring something crappy to kill everybody with , like a 38 special, and the gun would expliode in his hand, taking off his thumb and index finger. *Silence* Poetic justice Linda, poetic justice.
LINDA: How is that poetic justice?
ANDREW: It's funny when people's fingers get blown off.
I love that kid.
But the shoote- uh, Zack, is here, so I'm out. Wow, I'm not even slightly amusing anymore. Forgive me.
On with it.
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