"Maybe I'm lonely
And that's all I'm qualified to be."

I leave him sleeping in my bed, maybe just awake enough to know that I'm going, and I come downstairs to start this. I don't know who it's to yet, I don't know when I will, but I know that I need to right it, and that, as scared as I am, I can't just sit there in bed and watch another person who is either unwilling to acknowledge the fearfulness of the next month and a half or, worse, not fearful at all as my heart breaks. It felt that way, really it did, like I couldn't stand to sit there any longer.

This isn't how I envisioned our last night together, not before a break like this. Part of me, ego I suppose, wants more to be insulted that he could fall asleep tonight, without my genuine consent- albeit, I told him to, but I also told him I wouldn't be able to sleep, that I'd be awake thinking about things. I told him how I felt Jeff was the only person acknowledging my departure the way I need somebody I to acknowledge it: like it's fucking huge, because it is. Like it matters, like it's a big, scary step. Like they're afraid to live without me, to miss me horribly, the way I'm afraid to miss all of them. Okay, it's a relatively short time. And it's possible that they're playing it down to make me feel better. But...fuck, it's just not working.

The stubs in my ears- the type of earphones I hate- are playing "I'd Do Anything For Love", which, in combination with "Objects in the Rear View Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are" is part of a series of songs by Meatloaf that I'm rediscovering, along with that morsel of sentiment and youth that, without this music, I might have lost completely. Oh, and he's telling her now that he can do all of the things she's asking, he's pledging his love, he's assuring her that she's worth it- something I never know about myself- he's making promises, he's being sure of himself, of his love. I keep hearing little walking noises in the background, I keep hating it's Zack, up and worried about me, having sensed that maybe he should be, coming to find me, coming to rescue me from the sad fate of writing it all out. Albeit, a fate I need, a fate that's part of me in a way I can't imagine a rescue ever being. But it's not him, never is, and the part of my mind that makes up these frivolous expectations burns a little, or, my heart, it must be my heart. I'd like to think my mind is better than this.

I don't mind that I'm rambling. I think there's something to be said about a writer rambling. Shows how much emotion is going into it, how many thoughts and feelings are tumbling all over each other. Shows that the writer is human, not just a writer. The stubs are onto "Objects in the rearview..." now, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to put this on my site, rather than send it to anyone: Casey, or Jeff, or Mr. Ladd, who did not inform me he would be missing or last appointment. Chad, even, or Mitch, just somebody. Somebody I could trust this part of myself with. I'm so eager to trust myself to people. Elorza, maybe. This song is so amazing, but I'm still thinking about the other one- the way Jeff and I were singing it, screaming it even, in his car the last time he saw me, but more later, in the back office of Burger King, where it was very illegal for Zack to be with me, and the way I was mouthing all the words, or even singing them, and he didn't do or say anything, except at the end, in response to my singing the woman's line "Sooner or later you'll be screwing around.", he mouthed "I won't do that." It was perfect the way he did it just then, the way I...wanted to believe that the song, the relevance, the moment made it infallibly true. How can one person blow away all expectations you could possibly imagine of them in one moment, then sleep through them all in another?

How can he make me feel so loved and then leave me to feel so alone? This isn't his fault, this isn't his fault, this is me, why didn't I tell him I needed him to be with me that way tonight? I keep hoping the way this is going to end is him waking up to find me gone, realizing that he wants to know where I am, how I am, if I'm alright, if I'm crying- I'm so surprised I'm not yet, I was earlier, watching him sleep, stifling it, because I feel so unworthy of crying to any one person so many times in one week- and I could just cut this all off, and it could be blissfully abrupt happily-ever-after. Six weeks after, as this is the last thing you all have to go on until I make my triumphant return from California, probably.

Maybe that's why I needed to write it so badly. Maybe that's why fate let him sleep. Maybe it's all predestined, or at least it's somehow less terrible than it seems, because this is my big accomplishment. Writing is the only thing that ever lets me sleep when I feel like this, it seems. Writing and I, we're the couple, everything and everyone else is just details. That's such bullshit.

And ELORZA IS NOT WORTHLESS. There is NOTHING in this world worth what he is, and there is NOTHING in this world I wouldn't give to prove that to him. Take the words from my pen, my screen, my mind right now, but let him know that there's nothing so satisfying in the world as a smile that he gives me, and that if he's half the man to anyone else as he is to me, who only gets a fraction of him, in theory, than he can go anywhere, be anything, and have the hearts of the world breaking for him everywhere; have the hearts of the world never regret it, just as I never did. And, goddamn it, I wish I could get it proven that I love him, I wish I could write it down on a piece of paper and have it notarized and send it to him, and I wish that would make me worth all the things to him I can't be from so far away. And I wish against wish against wish against wish that he could just admit to reading this, if he does, and let me know that he did, and tell me how it made him feel- even if it was anger or disgust, just tell me. I'm scared, I'm so scared for California, but if I had just one e-mail from him in my inbox when I returned, nothing that happened there could make it not worth it.

"The mystery and the muscle of love." Jim Steinman, the guy who writes all of Meatloaf's songs, evidently, is amazing. There's hardly anything I relate to specifically in this song, but he makes me relate to all of it. Like Jack Vettriano- the book Jeff got me says that Jack Vettriano can make you feel sentimental for things you never actually experienced, and it's so true, and the present WAS perfect, a thousand times more perfect than he made it out to be in the first place, the best thing I got this year- aside from the blanket my uncle gave me. I'll be so glad to come home to that blanket.

I haven't even left, already I'm homesick. Why is the only one here to listen to this a website?

You'd better all be reading this. You'd better be feeling it and wishing you could help it, you'd better see my address now and do something about it. You'd better write and ask how I'm doing and draw little happy faces on the letter and tell me how much you love me, or just how much you really like me if you don't love me, and pretend to miss me or genuinely miss me, and make me believe it's not just because I told you to. Condescend to make me feel valued, fight your apathy and stoicism, like Casey did- because he shouldn't even have to take care of me as often as he does, where are the rest of you when he's the one putting me in his profile, telling me he'll miss me or saying the shirts or quoting my website? Where are you when I'm relying on someone I barely know and already love inalienably- god, I love everyone I love inalienably...all on different levels though.

Jeremey, Jeremey's the ultimate inalienable love in my life. But I'm starting to move on from him- it's rickety and it's hard and it's dangerous and have bruises from the places I've slipped and fell trying to make this one great big step forward, and where ARE YOU ALL to wipe the dirt off of me face? Where ARE YOU to congratulate me? And why haven't you started that letter to me yet? I'm talking to you.

I'm experimenting with different songs on this CD- be my rock and roll dreams, and come through for me when I really really need it the most. When I go upstairs to my bed, Zack will already be asleep. It's so very lonely trying to fall asleep next to someone who's already there, because you know that you're very much aware of them, but they're completely oblivious to you- that's a pretty good metaphor for most of my relationships.

WAKE UP TO ME. GET OUT THOSE DAMN ENVELOPES. I'M TELLING YOU, RIGHT NOW, I NEED YOU TO. DON'T THINK FOR A SECOND THAT THIS MIGHT NOT APPLY TO YOU. DON'T THINK THAT YOU CAN'T HELP TO SPARE ME SOME OF WHAT I'M FEELING. THAT'S A MOTHERFUCKING COP-OUT. YOU HAVE AN OPPURTUNITY, RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, TO DO SOMETHING FOR SOMEONE ELSE. TAKE THAT OPPURTUNITY.

Am I even awake anymore? Yes. I don't even know if I'm tired. I'll leave in my stubs while trying to fall asleep. I won't have to be aware of him at all. And I'll get to wake up next to him. For the last time...bastard.

This isn't his fault, this isn't his fault, this isn't his fault- I tried to tell him what I needed, and I failed. But I'm telling you all very, very clearly right now. It won't be my fault if I don't get a reaction. I'm making this very clear.

I hate having to do it this way. I hate how often I have to do it this way. I hate how often I have something that I have to deal with at all- it's like, my whole life long, no matter what's on the table for me, I have to go and find a reason to freak out every now and again. Whatever they serve up- I can't just let it all go down like turkey bacon....Ha! If this were ever going to be a classic, it just lost it's universality in that one phrase. "Turkey Bacon."

Do me a favor and have them edit that for me. I deserve the admiration. I deserve a lot. I deserve a letter.


Linda H.
c/o Ahern's Massage Therapy School
P.O. Box 673
Mariposa, California 95338

January 4th through February 28th



"Maybe I'm crazy
But it's crazy and it's true
I know you can save me
No one else can save me now but you."
~Meatloaf, "I'd Do Anything for Love"


On with it.

Tonight, as so many others, has been one of ups and downs- far more ups than downs, in fact, really only one noteable down, but we'll cover all our bases in a moment. First, an apology- the last time I tried to update my blog was my last day of employment at Burger King- as of, well, a while ago now, I am officially unemployed, and almost blissfully so. I quit to give myself time to enjoy my the holiday return of my friends before I jet off to California in January, an event that is approaching entirely too quickly for my liking. My last night, I wrote a long, probably almost touching entry, and then the Burger King computer ate it. One last insult to add to a big, long injury. But, as far as employers go, BK was my best, out of two, and I shall miss it. Now out of the past, and onto the present.

The day started out, if we count from midnight, with Kris (who is spending the weekend here), Zack and I on a futon, totally wasted from the hour- you know that time, where you laugh at everything whether it's funny or not? It had been too long since I'd experienced it, but we made up for that, just me and two of the best men I'll ever know. From that time, I must report, came the quote of the day-

Zack: (Talking about the top of a pumpkin-shaped flashlight...type thing) Hmmmm...my fingers are ins a pumpkin.
Kris: (Talking about me.) It's rude to call her that.
Linda: Hey! *Hits Kris* Shut up. I'm prettier than a pumpkin.
Kris: Yes. At least, until midnight.
Linda: But it's after midnight.
Kris: We know.

At this point, I commenced climbing on top of him and beating him mercilessly. Sometime after that, Kris retired to my room and Zack and I...uh, eventually slept. We woke up together...eventually got up, and got kris out of bed. Zack ate leftover chinese from the day before, Kris had some sort of nutrient shake, and I had a traditional breakfast of turkey bacon and honeycomb. Sometime after a stint of Zack taping random objects to my pants, the three of us got into a milk and water fight. Kris showered, Zack left, and Kris and I played Super Monkey Ball 2 on his gamecube until Kris got hungry. I showered and then we went out to get more chinese food, as well as supplies for the ensuing get together.

In theory, it would have been everyone- Kris, Chad, Nick, Ben, Casey and I, but no one really thought Chad would show, and Ben (who the date was set around) had to cancel last minute due to a "family event", also popularly called "unscheduled nookie." This left Nick to pick up Casey, who was kept late at the salt mill (Calendar Store), so Nick arrived, sans our fourth. I panicked as to Casey's whereabouts, as Nick and Casey had merely missed each other, with no explanation, then we ate, then I panicked some more. Ultimately, we got in touch with Casey and he drove down on his own, at least as far as McDonald's, where we met him, and we came home to my house to spend the first two hours fast-forwarding to the good scenes of "Original Sin". I don't know how this activity managed to take up more of our time than watching the actual movie would have, but somewhere in there that we established that Casey's sexual interest was vested in Antonio Banderas rather than Angelina Jolie, mine in some Nuns, Nick's in a football from my floor, and Kris in the three of us. Casey was wearing a shirt with a place to add velcro letters that I just happened to own, so I wrote out "ANTONIO" with a heart on it- this bears mention because our next endeavor, after searching a movie for nipples (which we realized was pathetic soon after the fact) was to go outside and attempt to play football in my yard, in December, at night. We lost the football in some of the trees, and as I was taking a flashlight to search for it, who should come by but our neighborhood's friendly law enforcement, a woman who called us all up to her car to ask what we were up to. We explained we were playing football in my yard, and she asked each of our names- I shined a light on each of them as they told her, and she asked if we had been involved in any white supremacy-related violence in the area. We told her that we hadn't, of course, but I think our silent testimony- namely Casey's "*Heart* ANTONIO" shirt was what really redeemed us.

Just in case it never happens to you, if you're outside playing football with three of your geeky male friends from Auburn, and the worst felony between the four of you is pretending to be of age to get into porn sites, and a cop asks you if you've been involved in any racist violence in the area, let me tell you- it is so difficult not to laugh in said cop's face.

After that we gave up the search for the football and just started to play tackle, which resulted in Casey and I running for our dear lives away from the combined tonnage of Nick and Kris (no offense to them, of course), and after sustaining multiple injuries, we went inside. I had intended for us to read the new parts of a play about my friends that Andrew and I have just begun to start writing again, after a year of hiatus, but I could not find the diskette and only managed to crack a lightbulb among the chaos of my room, making it even more hazardous than it was, so Casey and I messed with people on my buddy list as Kris and Nick played a rousing game of kerplunk, then positions switched, then eventually we all grew bored of everything. I don't know, somewhere around their Nick and Casey left...but I've somehow missed the essence of the evening. I miss hanging out with a group, especially that group. Tonight was the highlight of my month, I think, what with all our hijinks and catting around. I can't explain how good it feels to laugh when all your friends are laughing with you, or to look at Angelina Jolie's breasts bounce with Antonio Bandera's momentum while sandwiched between the roused laps of three of your male friends, or to be interrogated for possible involvement in a racist crime while standing next to a guy in a "*Heart* ANTONIO" shirt. Kris's persistent, obnoxious humor, Nick's undying criticism of Lisbon, and Casey's uncanny timing and humor made tonight wonderful. So good to hang out with old friends, and absolutely delightful to start so well with new ones. If every night could be this good, I wouldn't be going through the bored-out-of-my-mind pre-midlife crisis that I am. I need more nights like this one, and very little else.

It wasn't all good, though. After Nick and Casey left, I got to talking to Kris about certain stresses I've had on me lately, as well as one thing I'm not accustomed to dealing with- regret. Regret isn't something I've believed in in the past, having a "what's done is done" attitude going on, but tonight, I indulged in a little shameful self-loathing, and expressed some things to Kris that I've been reluctant to talk about with anyone else, but things that I've needed to get off of my chest. I talked and he listened with unparalleled attention and concern, and- this was the thing I appreciated- the moment my voice cracked, the very same moment, he got up from his chair and kneeled before me and held me to him as I cried. It had been a long time since I'd cried to anyone other than Zack. I needed to do it. And the way he was there for me- the way he promised that he always would be, and he gave me his word that things would get better for me, that it would work out- it was wonderful. Kris is wonderful.

How I've lived so long with all these people far away from me is beyond my imagination, but I'm grateful to have them back, if only for a short time. Perhaps I'll get to see them again between now and the time I'm leaving on a jet plane, perhaps not...but if not, when we get the oppurtunity again, it's going to rock.

I'd like to end on a more impressive, satisfying note than "it's going to rock", but it's almost four AM, and lucidity escapes me as quickly as my talent with words does. So, let that be all for tonight, because tonight isn't one of those nights where I'll go to sleep, wondering why I let another day waste. And that's good enough for me.

On with it.

Okay, now that I've got all the talking I need out of the way, and in such an extremely condensed way that I feel I could sleep all night now, after having gone through that ordeal, let's get this very clear: I am too young, too immature, too irrational and too inexperienced. I have not been dating Zack long enough, nor have I even known him long enough, nor has he had enough life experience. Yes, he is still in high school, yes, both of us, at current, have crummy, underpaid jobs, yes, I have seemingly yet to resolve my fidelity issues entirely, as well as issues from my romantic past. Your damn right if you think we may have arrived at this illogically, and if you've got something to say about how I was adimant, before, that this kind of thing was not for me, that's because you apparently know me rather well. Oh, yeah, and both he and I are both prone to neurotic, if not psychotic activity- in fact, this is the same guy who used to wear a necklace of my yearbook picture around his neck to get to sleep! I'm the same girl who was sent to Saint Mary's mental ward due to suicide threats on THIS VERY BLOG. Yes, I am his first girlfriend, and yeah, we've only been dating for three months.

But, to get the news out of the way, Zack and I are now engaged. There you have it. So all that shit up there, as well as anything you can feel free to add to the list, can fuck the fuck off. We'll deal. You, on the other hand, have no obligation to.

Congratulations to me, from me, and from relatively no one else. Props to those who have been genuinely supportive, namely Casey, Andrew, Jenn and Jacquie, and the rest of you...well, you've got your oppurtunity now, don't you?

I apologize for the abrasiveness of this post towards those of you who are emotionally vulnerable due to this announcement, but I am going to now commence with being happy for myself and my fiancé because YES, I do love him and YES! he does love me.

On with it.

Another great Casey moment....much as all of them tend to be. It's past due that I mention Casey is the shiznit. So let's go straight to the conversation. It's edited a great deal for content....Casey tends to get told everything, as he's one person I genuinely have no reason to hide anything from. That also means that there are references in there to something that a lot of you don't know about yet, but I intend to everyone about it whom I meant to before announcing it publicly tonight, and I doubt anyone really bothers to read the Casey/Me conversations I post here anyway. Your loss. Casey's the boi, boi!

Linda: you realize it's impossible to read your icon if you don't already know what it says, right?
Casey: yeah, I figured.
Casey: I should have stuck with "cool like adolf"
Linda: nah, hold up a minute
Linda: I designed one that's slightly clearer
Casey: ah. you cropped the opening graphic thing. thanks.
Linda: haha, yeah, designed wasn't really the right word
Linda: but it shows better
Casey: it does, thanks.
Linda: I could actually design one...
Casey: don't worry about it. get a hobby. obsess about your fiancé.
Linda: you know what sucks, is tic tac toe
Linda: no one ever fucking wins, and if they do, it's inevitably because they had the first turn and got the middle square
Casey: word
Linda: why would I obsess over my fiancé? He's not even somebody that I could potentially cheat on him with...
Casey: hahah.
Linda: I've decided that what I should do- and what I probably won't end up doing out of sheer laziness and apathy- is right a handbook for what I am and am not allowed to do
Linda: my biggest problem in a situation where I could cross a line is that I have no idea WHEN that line is crossed until it's glaringly obvious from three miles behind me
Linda: I was thinking about writing a really, really intensive legal-sounding study of what is and is not appropriate, making it into a pamphlet, having people quiz me on it until it was memorized and then carrying around copies to give to people as a quick
explanation when I'm in a potentially infidelous situation
Casey: wow. you've got a problem.
Linda: A week ago, I'd barely evne thought about it my past any longer. But my counselor always used to tell me these things are natural, and they're okay, because I'm still young, and, quote, "this is the reason you don't have a ring on your finger"
Casey: uh-oh
Linda: I'm never even enjoying these thigns by the time they get to the point where it's definitely wrong, because I'm already obsessing over whether or not it's already definitely wrong....it's just that I have a problem stopping things.
Casey: I see. uh, maybe your fiancé should write this manual.
Linda: I don't want him to know I even need a manual
Linda: telling him that I'm afraid of my own weakness to the point of having to obsess over it this much....how afraid is that going to make him?
Casey: maybe write each other manuals. men have a greater tendency to cheat, so he'll assume you're worried about him.
Linda: besides, I can put realistic demands on myself, so long as I'm not in that situation. Looking back on them, I know exactly where they should have stopped.
Linda: ha! ha ha ha!!!
Casey: ok, nevermind.
Linda: firstly, Zack knows very well about my past. Secondly..yeah, he wouldn't cheat on me...he's one of those incredibly devoted guys
Linda: Anyways, I can write a realistic manual. I can give myself leeway to joke around with friends, masturbate to the idea of random strangers, and distract you from ethnography and very clearly rule out anything that will hurt me, him, or anyone
else involved.
Linda: If I had the drive.
Linda: Wanna get paid to write a manual for me?
Casey: I'm a bit backed up in terms of writing right now
Casey: especially when it comes to things I'm not qualified to discuss.
Linda: yeah, but come on, think about it- this is going to get distributed to any and every person that I get into questionable sexual situations with. Your work would be more widely read than Stephen King.
Casey: huh. I'll think about it.
Linda: They'd have it in drawers in hotels, right next to the bible
Casey: ha.
Linda: they'd start distributing it with the phone book
Casey: aite, I've got to go to work now. I'll talk to you later.
Linda: lata. what time you there till?
Casey: uh, 9 I think.
Casey: the duration
Linda: perhaps I'll show, if I can find someone to drag
Linda: preferrably a straight female so I don't cheat on Zack during the car ride
Linda: don't look even vaguely attractive tonight, though- I don't want to lose control and hand you a marker.
Casey: understood.
Linda: later, el casey-nova

So yeah...my humblest apologies if you read that and you happen to be one of the people that I should have addressed certain things that were made obvious in that one-on-one before I could get to you. I assure you, I meant to. But fuck it, saves me the trouble of having to be the bearer of- in your cases- bad news, right?

Ah, I so easily could have edited. I'm an insensitve bitch. On with it.

My love for the number 37 does NOT extend to it's converse- having played MASH online enough times so that I remember, partially, which selections will be chosen for my genuine favorite number (for instance it's always the mansion, and always whatever I put in the first slot for number of kids) I decided it was only fair to mix it up a bit and let fate play it's part. I decided 73 was a logical choice. Motherfucker.

You will live in Shack
You will drive a White Hyundai Elantra.
You will marry Zack and have 3 kids.
You will be a Masseuse in Lewiston.

Aside from marrying Zack, those are by far the worst MASH results I've ever received. I do not want any children, aside from one I plan to adopt late in life, I don't want to be a masseuse for the rest of my life, and I'd rather die than stay in the lisbon area, let alone live in Lewiston- in a shack??? I can put up with an Elantra, even hating white as I do, but my other options were a Porsche, Harley, SAAB, and that new mid-sized Kia SUV thing...maybe it's called a sorrento?

I always put in at least one option I don't really like in every category, because it seems fair, but damn...that sucks. I'm going to use the exact same options I did, but go back and use 37. I already know I'll be living in a mansion, let's find out where, though.

As I'm waiting, I can tell you what it's crossing off- the very first thing it determined is that I will not marry Zack...bastards...Nor Casey....Nor Elorza...oh, man, that makes it down to Jeff and Chad. I'm either a stripper or a Poet....Poet...Chad...Red Harley...no kids...Tijuana.....

I'm going to be a poet living in a Tijuana mansion with Chad and no children, driving a red Harley. I always, always, always get Chad and a Harley. Goddamnit. I'm changing the order of this bullshit, and I'm going to use a totally new number......84.

Some of the options are changed, but I've set it to do it's worse. This is the definitive one, Ladies and Gentlemen. For tonight, anyway. I got dishes to do.

You will live in Mansion.
You will drive a Silver Harley.
You will marry Zack and have 2 (natural) kids.
You will be a Author in Tijuana.

Ahhh dip, it's all good. 'Cept that 2 kids thing....but as long as it's not till our late thirties, and they grow up looking like a perfect cross between their mother and father- a boy and a girl, let's say, the boy with his father's...ah, fuck, his father's everything, except maybe my skin and my hair color. The girl, though, she'll have his gorgeous hair, and my shape of eyes, but bigger, like his. I can't decide on her lips, because I like both of ours, maybe some perfect combination. Characteristically, be independent like me but devoted like him. They'll have my strength and his sensitivity. They'll have my ambition and his work ethic. And they'll be able to speak Spanish, growing up in Tijuana and all, but I'll teach them french and italian (I'll know it by then), and he can send them beautiful foreign poetry that they'll understand better than he does. We'll always tell them how beautiful and intelligent they are, and they'll never have to doubt anything.

Maybe they won't ever have to work at a meaningless job, but I do, so I'm done for now. On with it.

Jeff currently has a story-snippet posted on his blog that's incredibly well-written. Even knowing, as I always have, what he is capable of, I am taken aback by it- the precise vocabulary, the vivid mood, his ability to put so much into so little. Right now, I am wishing I were half the writer he was.

I'm also, however, wishing I weren't at work, so I don't have time to sit around and praise friends and ex-lovers and the like. I must start cooking up a storm.

Big day today, though. Even if not for the fact that I should be working, it's probably best that iron out all the potentially wrinkled edges before going and making the events of this evening public domain....I don't know if that even made sense. I've been awake for 35 straight hours...which isn't as impressive as I thought it would be...but I've got five hours left of my shift, and a fe things to take care of before I can go home and finally find my bed....and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep....

Fucking poem. On with it.

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.

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'm going to see Elorza in 11 days.

Life is currently VERY GOOD!

ON WITH IT!

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".