Talked to Emily and Elorza tonight, two people that I do not get anywhere near enough of anymore. It was nice to talk with Emily, to touch-base: what's new in my life, what's new in hers, all the trials and errors and all the victroies and celebrations. So much has changed, but so much stays the same. And life is good.
Me: oh god, it fucking messes with me to want him as much as I do.
Emily: why?
Me: not just sexually
Me: just, in general. Because I never realized how bad it can be to be truly, deeply cynical until I heard that voice in my head derriding every beautiful belief I try to have about him and I and forever
Emily: ha
Me: All I can think of is the same shit all my bullshit Ex's would remind me of if they had the chance.
Me: Not that I really think they're bullshit...at all, really, just the bullshit sides of them
Me: oh, and I'm not referring to you at all, sorry
Me: :-P
Me: I mean the testicled ones.
Emily: ha, yeah, no testicles here, thankfully
Me: them and everybody else, I guess. All the people who think the same stuff about being young and trying to make it that I used to think.
Me: I want kids now, that's the latest indignity.
Emily: wow
Emily: wow
Emily: that's crazy
Emily: where'd that come from????
Me: Being so in love with someone that I'm dying to see what some combination of him and I would turn out like, that's where.
Me: Looking into his eyes and seeing my unborn children, like that fucking song.
Me: except he's not a woman...
Emily: oh man... you're getting cheesey
Emily: whoa
Emily: ha
Emily: :-)
Me: I am, and I hate it. But, in the end, that's the shit that ends up being true.
Emily: is it?
Me: So far.
Emily: good
Emily: that's much happier stuff
Me: yeah, but I still can't get rid of the rest. And I still can't get over the thought that one day, I won't be enough for him all by myself.
Me: Or that he won't be enough for me...though, to a lesser extent.
Emily: :-\
Me: And, I don't know, I don't really like the new me, I'm not comfortable with it...I love him, I love the fact that he's forcing me to change, but- god almighty!- who am I and what happened to Linda H.?
Me: I hate having to admit that all those other people who thought their clichéd thoughts about love and life and motherhood and how I'd be when I grew up were right. I hate giving them the satisfaction
Emily: haha
Emily: that doesnt' surprise me
Me: :-) I wouldn't suppose it would.
And then, there was my conversation with Elorza. This was unbelievably wonderful. We talked about so much, as opposed to our normal delapitated conversation- his writing, I convinced him to let me edit some of it, and I hope so much I'll be able to help him with it, show him the potential of what he can do and get him excited about some facet of his life again, because he can do so much, and I love it so much when he's trying and living and not getting frustrated by everything the way he sometime is. We talked about seeing each other, exchanging massages- such a happy thought- and about...whether Zack had read some story about a cat or something, and about Willie Damon's profile. And I told him I loved him over and over again, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel, at all, the need or the desire for him to tell me back, I just relished in saying the words to him, letting him know how lucky I am to know him, and it felt fuzzy and amazing when I said it. There's only so many nights like this one to be had, and we can't always connect this way, but while I'm on this high, let me shout it from my own personal rooftop, right here, that he is spectacular, that he is in my thoughts, and that I love him.
Tonight, tomorrow, always. You are the greatest, Darling.
On with it!
Monday, March 10, 2003
Saturday, March 08, 2003
It's 4:13 and I have just finished a post menstrual-cycle-induced mental breakdown regarding my inability to drive, and I am wishing, as the 10 McDonald's chicken nuggets settle heavily into my system, I am wishing very strongly to be back in last night, to be back, naked and handcuffed in Zack's bed again. It's in the moments just before he has to leave and I know I won't see him for the rest of the day, until tomorrow morning or- god forbid- tomorrow afternoon that I know why I'm marrying him, because I do love him so much more profoundly than I've ever loved anyway...I know that when I look at him and I'm suddenly shocked by the beauty of the way he's standing, the way he's looking at me, how good his hair looks short, how nice it was to pull on long, and all of the sudden he is my one-and-only all over again. If I had my wish, in those moments, he'd never be gone, but then I'd never get my little reminder of how incredible it is that I- Linda H.- am in love, and that every single day that changes me a little more, and lately it all seems to be good.
"You can doubt anything if you think about it long enough
What happens always adjusts to fit
What happened after that."
Reckoning, by Ani diFranco, is playing, and I love her slow stuff her hurt stuff her sad stuff as much as her fast her angry her vengeful stuff, more than her powerful her political her pro-active stuff, more than any of my stuff, my amateur my alien my unpublishable stuff- but at least you're reading right now- Hi. I put reckoning in an e-mail to Elorza once, a quote from it, and how I do love the way I write e-mails to people that I really love- I put so much damn attention into them, try to make them so meaningful and so often they fall on deaf, unresponsive ears, but as much as I'd like to think I'm doing it for them, I'm doing it at least equally for me.
"I don't care how fast you run
Just tell me, baby, when you're done
With your little marathon
You still got cab fare home.
'Cause the finish line's a shifty thing
And what is life but reckoning?
You are still the song I sing
To myself when I'm alone."
That part was Elorza the day I wrote him the e-mail, and the next day it was Jeremey- who had cab fare home, who I can talk to now, who I love so goddamned much, and who I am not just "accomplishing"- he is not someone I just can't stand to be rejected by, maybe that's part of it, but you'd all know differently if you saw how happy he makes me, when he does.
Fucking McDonald's. My doctor's visit the other day- for a physical- was hazardous to my mental health, what with making me stand on that auction block of a scale. Bleeding now, I can assure myself that I am just bloated, that must be where the ten merry-little-surprise pounds came from, but the fact remains- I hate my body, most of the time, when I'm not looking at myself in the mirror the way I was last night, with Zack next to me- do you know how GOOD we look together? Fucking AY we're perfect, fuck what traditional mental health institutions might have to say about that. I feel like going for a bike ride- ooo! A transportation-oriented machine I can actually operate!- and it was warm earlier, but I don't know if it will still be by the time I get out everything that's in me, all sticky and the like. My mother lost my straw and I am drinking my calorie-filled coke through a long, thin, orange straw that actually lead me somehow to the thought process, earlier, that if one always drank through a straw like that, the extra suckage required would burn off enough calories to offset the unhealthiness of the beverage. Linda H.: Fitness guru.
And Jesus, why doesn't everybody read this crap? I'm at least as interesting as the blaséd characters in "Four Blondes" and about fifty (thousand) times more than all the characters in "About Schmidt" put together- don't go see it. Under any circumstances. Zack, the miniature devil on my shoulder, keeps telling me to tell everyone to go see it so they have to suffer the way we did, and while my cynical side loves him for it, I just couldn't do that to another human being....I should suggest it to Tony. Nobody's away messages are interesting right now, and Mark is coming over in probably an hour in a half. I really should try to get some riding in.
I wonder if I can find the CD player. That would be nice. Especially if I hadn't left "More Than You Think You Are" in California- I bike rode in January in California. I do miss the weather....
"I learned how to laugh and I learned how to cry
Well, I learned how to love and learned how to lie
So you'd think I could learn how to tell you goodbye-
You don't say you need me
You don't sing me lovesongs
You don't bring me flowers
Anymore."
All hail Neil and Barbara for performing the single most depressing lost love song that I currently know. It's too good, too bad, too true to be true.
And on and on and on with it.
"You can doubt anything if you think about it long enough
What happens always adjusts to fit
What happened after that."
Reckoning, by Ani diFranco, is playing, and I love her slow stuff her hurt stuff her sad stuff as much as her fast her angry her vengeful stuff, more than her powerful her political her pro-active stuff, more than any of my stuff, my amateur my alien my unpublishable stuff- but at least you're reading right now- Hi. I put reckoning in an e-mail to Elorza once, a quote from it, and how I do love the way I write e-mails to people that I really love- I put so much damn attention into them, try to make them so meaningful and so often they fall on deaf, unresponsive ears, but as much as I'd like to think I'm doing it for them, I'm doing it at least equally for me.
"I don't care how fast you run
Just tell me, baby, when you're done
With your little marathon
You still got cab fare home.
'Cause the finish line's a shifty thing
And what is life but reckoning?
You are still the song I sing
To myself when I'm alone."
That part was Elorza the day I wrote him the e-mail, and the next day it was Jeremey- who had cab fare home, who I can talk to now, who I love so goddamned much, and who I am not just "accomplishing"- he is not someone I just can't stand to be rejected by, maybe that's part of it, but you'd all know differently if you saw how happy he makes me, when he does.
Fucking McDonald's. My doctor's visit the other day- for a physical- was hazardous to my mental health, what with making me stand on that auction block of a scale. Bleeding now, I can assure myself that I am just bloated, that must be where the ten merry-little-surprise pounds came from, but the fact remains- I hate my body, most of the time, when I'm not looking at myself in the mirror the way I was last night, with Zack next to me- do you know how GOOD we look together? Fucking AY we're perfect, fuck what traditional mental health institutions might have to say about that. I feel like going for a bike ride- ooo! A transportation-oriented machine I can actually operate!- and it was warm earlier, but I don't know if it will still be by the time I get out everything that's in me, all sticky and the like. My mother lost my straw and I am drinking my calorie-filled coke through a long, thin, orange straw that actually lead me somehow to the thought process, earlier, that if one always drank through a straw like that, the extra suckage required would burn off enough calories to offset the unhealthiness of the beverage. Linda H.: Fitness guru.
And Jesus, why doesn't everybody read this crap? I'm at least as interesting as the blaséd characters in "Four Blondes" and about fifty (thousand) times more than all the characters in "About Schmidt" put together- don't go see it. Under any circumstances. Zack, the miniature devil on my shoulder, keeps telling me to tell everyone to go see it so they have to suffer the way we did, and while my cynical side loves him for it, I just couldn't do that to another human being....I should suggest it to Tony. Nobody's away messages are interesting right now, and Mark is coming over in probably an hour in a half. I really should try to get some riding in.
I wonder if I can find the CD player. That would be nice. Especially if I hadn't left "More Than You Think You Are" in California- I bike rode in January in California. I do miss the weather....
"I learned how to laugh and I learned how to cry
Well, I learned how to love and learned how to lie
So you'd think I could learn how to tell you goodbye-
You don't say you need me
You don't sing me lovesongs
You don't bring me flowers
Anymore."
All hail Neil and Barbara for performing the single most depressing lost love song that I currently know. It's too good, too bad, too true to be true.
And on and on and on with it.
Thursday, March 06, 2003
Since some of my posts were deleted, I've been paying decidedly less- and decidedly not enough- attention to this place. It seems now somehow foreign that I would sit in front of this screen and write till the post was pages long, and maybe I'll build up the strength and courage to do that again, maybe I won't. Way gives onto way...or something like that- anyhow, I'm making a reference to the fact that Casey and I have decided to start a site vaguely akin to Something Awful and The Onion, except that it should be, by our own protest, nothing at all like them and just our writing. I however, don't have as much faith in that protest as he seems to. We're also planning on dragging Ben into this by his toenails- When we started planning, we decided against telling Ben at all until we had it all set up, and then just let him know he should send us some stuff. Ben is impossible to work with in even the simplest endeavors- he's agreeable enough, he would just never actually do anything, and therein lies the problem. He is currently aware of the project and has no objections for it, but for the first month or so, Casey and I expect just to copy and paste some of the posts from his many failed blogs to use as content. As for mine and his, I will be posting something almost identical to the Newsletter, except that it's, well, worldliness and marketability should be vastly improved (IE, hopefully it won't be just me bitching about acting female anymore). Casey...well, Casey's rather un-established in what kind of work he'll be contributing to our little efforts, but I have enough faith (albeit blind) in his abilities to grant him, unabashed, all the room he needs to work in- free-range Casey. Mmmm-mmmm good.
Now all we have to do is do the writing and design the site before we can launch our little ship of dreams. Oh, and name it. Anybody got any ideas for a name? Left up to Casey and I (and, *ahem* Ben), this thing will haphazardly be named something like "the haphazardly named site...ah, fuck, we can do better than that!" Your input is vital.
I was inspired to post today by an e-mail I received from a fellow Ahernite (which is, for the record, what we called ourselves out west), Rachel. While we all boasted of our mutual love out there, Rachel is one of few that I might have actually liked in a different setting. I wonder now, directly after having written that, if it is a fair assertion (and moreso if any of the others will ever see this post)- suffice to say that Rachel was one of the four I found myself really bonding with, and of those four, she... well, she glowed. I make no secret, anymore, of the way I felt about her over there- a vulnerable time for me, an environment where everyone was taking off their clothes and touching each other, and the single most breathtaking creature in California, who's first words to me were raspy and whispered into my unsuspecting ear "Wanna be Reiki'd?"- I was fucked.
Casey, Jeff, and Zack have all heard equal amounts about the Angel of Ahern's, (So nicknamed for the Angel wing tatoos on her shoulders which continue to haunt my subconscious like faint memory of what it was to have faith in God himself) or perhaps not equal, exactly- Understandably, there were details I kept from Zack. I felt every need not to be dishonest, though, and told him quite frankly that if I ever got the oppurtunity to go anywhere with this girl, I had no idea what I would do. Even now that she's safely out of my peripheal vision by 3,000 miles, I find myself openly questioning it, and letting him know that I still have no idea what would have happened. Fending off the stupid come-ons by idiot co-workers or the occasional tension with a used-to-be-love is one thing, but there's only so much a person can do when under the spell of the Apple of Discord's rightful owner. The situation never arose that I would have had the ability to deviate from my makeshift devotion to the one I was coming home to, as I knew it wouldn't, but the implications of my potential willingness to hurt him puzzled me, and from time to time, they still puzzle me. I have to remind myself, though, that nothing happened, that all is well on Olympus and on Earth, and there's no use questioning it- I am still in love with Zack, and my correspondence with Rachel has been reduced to the occasional phone call or e-mail- not that I take these for granted in any way, her latest e-mail leaves me smiling and sighing all at once:
"thomas sent us wind chimes. i hung mine out on the little balcony i have at the apartment i am subletting in oakland overlooking a major street in the vietnamese auto-shop ghetto south of the lake. during the day when a breeze pushes through i can hear the chimes barely audible over the prostitutes arguing about their territory of our corner. good fung shui."
So, for now, I shall write her back, and maintain the friendship that I have a right to and the distant admiration that I don't- inspite of the fact that I'll probably never see her again, and not because I have a chance, and not because that matters: simply because every angel deserves a prayer, every goddess deserves a temple, and every girl deserves someone to tell her how beautiful she is, over and over again. Granted, I'm sure Rachel has more than her share, but still, let it be known- every insecurity she's ever had is irrational, every rejection she's ever gotten was blind, and every different way her face rests is a masterpiece. And she's beautiful, she's beautiful, she's beautiful.
On with it.
Now all we have to do is do the writing and design the site before we can launch our little ship of dreams. Oh, and name it. Anybody got any ideas for a name? Left up to Casey and I (and, *ahem* Ben), this thing will haphazardly be named something like "the haphazardly named site...ah, fuck, we can do better than that!" Your input is vital.
I was inspired to post today by an e-mail I received from a fellow Ahernite (which is, for the record, what we called ourselves out west), Rachel. While we all boasted of our mutual love out there, Rachel is one of few that I might have actually liked in a different setting. I wonder now, directly after having written that, if it is a fair assertion (and moreso if any of the others will ever see this post)- suffice to say that Rachel was one of the four I found myself really bonding with, and of those four, she... well, she glowed. I make no secret, anymore, of the way I felt about her over there- a vulnerable time for me, an environment where everyone was taking off their clothes and touching each other, and the single most breathtaking creature in California, who's first words to me were raspy and whispered into my unsuspecting ear "Wanna be Reiki'd?"- I was fucked.
Casey, Jeff, and Zack have all heard equal amounts about the Angel of Ahern's, (So nicknamed for the Angel wing tatoos on her shoulders which continue to haunt my subconscious like faint memory of what it was to have faith in God himself) or perhaps not equal, exactly- Understandably, there were details I kept from Zack. I felt every need not to be dishonest, though, and told him quite frankly that if I ever got the oppurtunity to go anywhere with this girl, I had no idea what I would do. Even now that she's safely out of my peripheal vision by 3,000 miles, I find myself openly questioning it, and letting him know that I still have no idea what would have happened. Fending off the stupid come-ons by idiot co-workers or the occasional tension with a used-to-be-love is one thing, but there's only so much a person can do when under the spell of the Apple of Discord's rightful owner. The situation never arose that I would have had the ability to deviate from my makeshift devotion to the one I was coming home to, as I knew it wouldn't, but the implications of my potential willingness to hurt him puzzled me, and from time to time, they still puzzle me. I have to remind myself, though, that nothing happened, that all is well on Olympus and on Earth, and there's no use questioning it- I am still in love with Zack, and my correspondence with Rachel has been reduced to the occasional phone call or e-mail- not that I take these for granted in any way, her latest e-mail leaves me smiling and sighing all at once:
"thomas sent us wind chimes. i hung mine out on the little balcony i have at the apartment i am subletting in oakland overlooking a major street in the vietnamese auto-shop ghetto south of the lake. during the day when a breeze pushes through i can hear the chimes barely audible over the prostitutes arguing about their territory of our corner. good fung shui."
So, for now, I shall write her back, and maintain the friendship that I have a right to and the distant admiration that I don't- inspite of the fact that I'll probably never see her again, and not because I have a chance, and not because that matters: simply because every angel deserves a prayer, every goddess deserves a temple, and every girl deserves someone to tell her how beautiful she is, over and over again. Granted, I'm sure Rachel has more than her share, but still, let it be known- every insecurity she's ever had is irrational, every rejection she's ever gotten was blind, and every different way her face rests is a masterpiece. And she's beautiful, she's beautiful, she's beautiful.
On with it.
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
Heheheh...now I remember what I missed about the east coast...
(Copied and pasted into conversation with PF2) ME: you're so cute
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: Cute as in the olson twins in their younger years, or cute as in a mildly older teenage girl coyly sucking on a lollipop?
ME: cute as in the olson twins, mildly older, coyly sucking on lollipops
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: I'd tap that ass.
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: Unfortunately the problem with that is there's a sign next to them "You must be under 18 to ride this ride." Which kinda sucks you know.
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Just get them to South Carolina.
ME: in maine, they only have to be sixteen
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: I thought Maine was 17, for some odd reason.
ME: No, sixteen...
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Yep, you're right.
ME: ageofconsent.com?
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Hawaii and Idaho are 14. :P
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Nah, www.webistry.net
ME: I'm getting nothing.....a web design place
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: http://www.webistry.net/jan/consent.html
ME: oooo, conneticut. close and young.
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: *chuckles*
ME: .....oh my god
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: 18 is in the minority by far.
ME: in mississippi, the female only needs to be twelve, so long as she's not a virgin
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Holy shit.
ME: so so long as some 15-year-old pervert has gotten to her already, Mr. Roger's can have his way with little Mary Lou.
ME: or, in this case, little Mary Kate
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: hehehe
Meanwhile....
ME: Idaho and Hawaii are 14
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: *Is gonna move to Idaho or Hawaii*
I LOVE THESE PEOPLE! On with it.
(Copied and pasted into conversation with PF2) ME: you're so cute
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: Cute as in the olson twins in their younger years, or cute as in a mildly older teenage girl coyly sucking on a lollipop?
ME: cute as in the olson twins, mildly older, coyly sucking on lollipops
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: I'd tap that ass.
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: Unfortunately the problem with that is there's a sign next to them "You must be under 18 to ride this ride." Which kinda sucks you know.
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Just get them to South Carolina.
ME: in maine, they only have to be sixteen
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: I thought Maine was 17, for some odd reason.
ME: No, sixteen...
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Yep, you're right.
ME: ageofconsent.com?
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Hawaii and Idaho are 14. :P
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Nah, www.webistry.net
ME: I'm getting nothing.....a web design place
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: http://www.webistry.net/jan/consent.html
ME: oooo, conneticut. close and young.
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: *chuckles*
ME: .....oh my god
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: 18 is in the minority by far.
ME: in mississippi, the female only needs to be twelve, so long as she's not a virgin
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: Holy shit.
ME: so so long as some 15-year-old pervert has gotten to her already, Mr. Roger's can have his way with little Mary Lou.
ME: or, in this case, little Mary Kate
PERVERSE FRIEND TWO: hehehe
Meanwhile....
ME: Idaho and Hawaii are 14
PERVERSE FRIEND ONE: *Is gonna move to Idaho or Hawaii*
I LOVE THESE PEOPLE! On with it.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Tonight was good.
I take back any bullshit I ever wrote complaining about the way people were in middle school. Fucking meaningless bullshit.
And tonight was good.
I've been having dreams that things were better this whole time...but the deal was, the whole ordeal was one big nightmare. It feels like I get to wake up now.
On with it.
I take back any bullshit I ever wrote complaining about the way people were in middle school. Fucking meaningless bullshit.
And tonight was good.
I've been having dreams that things were better this whole time...but the deal was, the whole ordeal was one big nightmare. It feels like I get to wake up now.
On with it.
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
Fucking Aye!
Whatever blowhole is responsible for deleting the two posts that you can see are gone has deleted seven others, including my Mike-the-German conversation post. I have reason to believe this has been going on for a while, as there is a post that's missing that I wrote a long time ago- back then, I hadn't noticed the trend of the (bigbody) tag on a series of deleted posts, but I hadn't noticed the lack of tags, either.
Did that make sense? I have no idea....I'm fairly paralyzed with rage....or something.
At any rate, we'll see if this bastard gets me any longer, with a brand new, never-before-used password....I challenge you, big-bodied hacker, to figure this one out. And any of you who might, for whatever reason, have any of the missing posts saved, let me know.
On with it.
Whatever blowhole is responsible for deleting the two posts that you can see are gone has deleted seven others, including my Mike-the-German conversation post. I have reason to believe this has been going on for a while, as there is a post that's missing that I wrote a long time ago- back then, I hadn't noticed the trend of the (bigbody) tag on a series of deleted posts, but I hadn't noticed the lack of tags, either.
Did that make sense? I have no idea....I'm fairly paralyzed with rage....or something.
At any rate, we'll see if this bastard gets me any longer, with a brand new, never-before-used password....I challenge you, big-bodied hacker, to figure this one out. And any of you who might, for whatever reason, have any of the missing posts saved, let me know.
On with it.
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
Take the What Cookie Are You? test by Ley
Oh yuh. That was worth my time. And yours, I'm sure.
On with it.
Monday, February 10, 2003
So, the good, the bad, and the ugly-
The Good-
-In between the time when I got online and checked Zack's new site, which he may or may not want linked to, the first time and just now, he had posted about a letter I sent him and how good it made him feel. The way he describes it makes me glow- if I believed in auras, like my classmates, mine would be radiating right now. Damn, love can be sweet.
-It's a really, really gorgeous day out here in California, and I have taken the initiative to take it off. You'll find out why in a moment.
The bad-
-Somebody seems to have hacked into my site and deleted two of my entries, as you will see from the two blank ones below. I may or may not be able to restore them from cookies when I get home, but even if I can, I am left with a fucked-up taste in my mouth, especially if my suspicions of the possible perpetrator are confirmed.
-Evidently, I've lost my previous knowledge of how to spell the words "suspicions" and "perpetrator".
-Sense I don't feel like reliving the moment again, as it would damper my bright mood, I'll just quote what I said on Frank's pit about it earlier. Ha-ha, this could be dangerous, as I let all my anger fly on the pit, being that it's the pit, and that's what it's there for, so this could be viewed as rather derogatory towards my classmates, should they ever take a look-see. But everything I say on the pit, and on here, and in real life even, should be taken with understanding that I am a writer and a drama queen, and with a grain of salt, as I've said on numerous occasion, because I taste better that way. If one does not get that...well...their loss, at this point.
"I was trying my damndest to put a leash on my cynicism, so as not to take away from the tree-hugging tai-chi freaks' meaningful experiences: if they can suspend their disbelief and walk around in a stupid haze, more power to them. But it's begun to ge the best of me, and let me make it clear- I want out. And I tried to cover that up, tried not to say anything, but when the teacher ASKED me what was wrong, I told him. And he, in an uncharacteristically bastardly way, told me I was pitying myself and ruining the mood of the rest of the class. Notably, I had been otherwise completely silent, trying to avoid getting anyone else involved in my so-called "self-pity" ("self-preservation", I called it in defense, for a down-to-earth atheist such as myself when jammed into a place where god-loving reiki practioneers float around on clouds, touching each other all day long). I told him that despite everything,I only meant to spare myself from them and spare them from me at the same time, and that my intentions were always good. I was crying by then, because these motherfucking ahernites have gotten under my skin, but he persued anyway- "Not always." he said.
So I'm taking the day off. Maybe the rest of the week...my flight is soon, I might just let it ride till then...we'll see how it goes."
And that's what happened. I may go back to class, I may not. The "may not" sounds appetizing. I've had it up to here ^ with learning about this psycho-somatic bullshit for the criminally optomistic. I'm ready to go home and lay in Zack's arms again, and maybe not do anything else at all for a damn long time.
The Ugly-
-Richard Simmons and friends. As if you needed me to tell you.
Until later, my sweet readers, I am off to enjoy the good- Zack's, and the California sun, and the hope of returning to a place much colder, but much more wonderfully cynical. Ah, how I have become well-versed with the meaning of the words "home sweet home". Especially if you were to add a swear in there somewhere.
On with it.
The Good-
-In between the time when I got online and checked Zack's new site, which he may or may not want linked to, the first time and just now, he had posted about a letter I sent him and how good it made him feel. The way he describes it makes me glow- if I believed in auras, like my classmates, mine would be radiating right now. Damn, love can be sweet.
-It's a really, really gorgeous day out here in California, and I have taken the initiative to take it off. You'll find out why in a moment.
The bad-
-Somebody seems to have hacked into my site and deleted two of my entries, as you will see from the two blank ones below. I may or may not be able to restore them from cookies when I get home, but even if I can, I am left with a fucked-up taste in my mouth, especially if my suspicions of the possible perpetrator are confirmed.
-Evidently, I've lost my previous knowledge of how to spell the words "suspicions" and "perpetrator".
-Sense I don't feel like reliving the moment again, as it would damper my bright mood, I'll just quote what I said on Frank's pit about it earlier. Ha-ha, this could be dangerous, as I let all my anger fly on the pit, being that it's the pit, and that's what it's there for, so this could be viewed as rather derogatory towards my classmates, should they ever take a look-see. But everything I say on the pit, and on here, and in real life even, should be taken with understanding that I am a writer and a drama queen, and with a grain of salt, as I've said on numerous occasion, because I taste better that way. If one does not get that...well...their loss, at this point.
"I was trying my damndest to put a leash on my cynicism, so as not to take away from the tree-hugging tai-chi freaks' meaningful experiences: if they can suspend their disbelief and walk around in a stupid haze, more power to them. But it's begun to ge the best of me, and let me make it clear- I want out. And I tried to cover that up, tried not to say anything, but when the teacher ASKED me what was wrong, I told him. And he, in an uncharacteristically bastardly way, told me I was pitying myself and ruining the mood of the rest of the class. Notably, I had been otherwise completely silent, trying to avoid getting anyone else involved in my so-called "self-pity" ("self-preservation", I called it in defense, for a down-to-earth atheist such as myself when jammed into a place where god-loving reiki practioneers float around on clouds, touching each other all day long). I told him that despite everything,I only meant to spare myself from them and spare them from me at the same time, and that my intentions were always good. I was crying by then, because these motherfucking ahernites have gotten under my skin, but he persued anyway- "Not always." he said.
So I'm taking the day off. Maybe the rest of the week...my flight is soon, I might just let it ride till then...we'll see how it goes."
And that's what happened. I may go back to class, I may not. The "may not" sounds appetizing. I've had it up to here ^ with learning about this psycho-somatic bullshit for the criminally optomistic. I'm ready to go home and lay in Zack's arms again, and maybe not do anything else at all for a damn long time.
The Ugly-
-Richard Simmons and friends. As if you needed me to tell you.
Until later, my sweet readers, I am off to enjoy the good- Zack's, and the California sun, and the hope of returning to a place much colder, but much more wonderfully cynical. Ah, how I have become well-versed with the meaning of the words "home sweet home". Especially if you were to add a swear in there somewhere.
On with it.
I have just experienced the cutest thing in the world- a mother and her children are running around Sierra Tel- the little internet access place I'm currently in- doing the mother's errands. Upon hearing that it is the birthday of one of the daughters, Tom, the little, adorable mustached man who runs this place gave the little girl a package, telling her that it was for her. She looked at it quizzically and he explained that it's a brush for cleaning off her computer screen.
I had to mention that. Possibly more soonish.
On with it.
I had to mention that. Possibly more soonish.
On with it.
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