Some kind of strange hormonal phenomena is taking it's toll on me. I have no real grasp, anymore, of how much, and only Zack and Casey have been privy to my initial guesses.

My desire to write is depleted. My desire to leave the house is depleted. My desire to do anything sexual is depleted. My tolerance for stupid people and bitchy comments is depleted. My avoidance of redundant word usage is depleted.

Lately, it's been up and down, and I used all my up today getting through work-- Yes, I am officially back at Burger King-- without some kind of felony.

The only person around to blame is generally Zack, and, in lieu of that, I've been thinking that I'm experiencing some sort of severe chemical problem. At current, though, I'm thinking maybe it is the former-- just in a less negative way than I've thought. Maybe the lack of alone time, time spent getting in touch with my anger and sadness and all the rest of those bullshit words, while listening to depressing music and going for long, meditative walks is finally catching up with me. Maybe that's why all my insecurities have been blurting out lately-- they haven't had anywhere else to go.

Even if that's not it, it'd be nice to convince myself. Lately, it's not the right answer that counts as much as the answer that will get me through the day. All these little vices and mistakes that seem to be coming together all at once: the wall isn't falling out brick by brick, it's just suddenly crumbled.

The effects of which are daunting and disorienting. Everything becomes obfuscated-- I am without the slightest direction as to what I want, what I have, where I am, where I'm going, what should be done, what needs to stop. I find myself dreaming of nightmares and wallowing in pleasure. Writing clichéd bullshit like that and being equally divided by the adolescent remnants that find it impressive and the....still more adolescent remnants that find it disgusting. Or, rather, not really writing at all. Neglecting the blog, the journal, the scraps of poetry that fester inside my mind, the dying instinct to talk to people about my problems. I've decided that anything that happens as a result of my onslaught of desperation and stupidity happens all the way-- I don't want rescue this time. I'm in or I'm out.

And I'm taken back to Casey, on my porch prom-night-morning, pressing his forehead to mine and telling me not to do the melodramatic shit that I've almost been driven to. His arms are around me and I remember what it's like to be reminded that someone cares, remember why I used to wear this inner darkness on my sleeve, so someone like him could hold me and tell me they don't want me to fuck myself up, someone like him could play the knight in shining armor suddenly, suprisingly. I've been trying, in the past few days, to communicate to Zack how much prom night with Casey fucked us both up. Nothing happened, as I swore up and down it wouldn't, but the fake-romance gave way to lingering feelings-- I wonder if Casey would object to my publicizing this, maybe I'd better save it as a draft until I can talk to him-- and now the fogginess of boundaries has gotten to us both. Neither of us really seem the more logical any longer.

EL proms do that.

"The only way to fix it is to wash it all away
Any fucking time, any fucking day
Learn to swim, I'll see you down in Arizona bay."

Tool will provide a brand-new asset if I am to get back into the spirit of introspective, hateful alone time. And I originally started that sentence "Tool will provide a brand-new tool...". Fuck me.

Maynard's lyrical prowess-- why the fuck do I always always group the words "lyrical" and "prowess" together?-- and the incredible range of emotion in his voice have me captivated as of late. I feel almost as drawn to him as I did to the lead singer of Godsmack at the concert last week: if you haven't heard about it, then you're fucking not listening, because I couldn't believe it if there was anyone who was there who was able to talk about anything else for days later. I walked in with nothing but apathy towards Godsmack, but I walked out changed forever. Ah, man. Could I have written that whole paragraph any worse?

My inability to write with the same style and flare I've demonstrated previously has me frustrated, as does almost everything as of late, but I am looking out the window now, and the sun is setting and the golden light from the west contrasted so deeply with the eastern shadow on the branches of a tree out front stops me, as it always seems to. I will not ever lose my profound respect for the aesthetic beauty that spreads through my sight and infects my mind, despite it's best attempts to hate everything I can see. I will not ever do the things that Casey asked me not to do, because I'll never stop thinking how his forehead felt pressed against mine when he asked me not to, I'll never stop knowing how incredible people like him are when there faces are that close to mine, or wanting to understand them when they're too far away.

No matter how foggy things get, the sun always sets in the west.*

On with it.


*Information curteousy of Nick Laverty, who often fills in my lapses of general knowledge.

Well, Mr. Ladd has managed to instill a certain confidence in me about this whole Chad coming home situation, on the plus side. On the minus side, it seems I immediately leap upon the bus of the newest insecurity-- or even the older, somewhat unresolved ones-- immediately after getting rid of one.

I haven't mentioned on this yet-- only to each and every one of you individually, I suspect-- that I have now inherited my Grandmother's engagement ring. I was nervous for a long time that it would be hideous, but it turns out it's beautiful, and fits my hand perfectly...except that looking down at it, I still get the sense that it's fake, that it's a commonplace ten dollar Wal*Mart ring that I'm wearing as a momentary fad instead of a valuable diamond that signifies the permanence of mine and Zack's relationship. Even with my disbelief as to it's genuinity, though, the pressure of it is bearing down on me. It would be one thing if Zack and I had gotten this ring on our own terms, but with an inherited ring comes a sense of responsibility: This ring was a token of the love of my grandmother and grandfather, who are now both laying in their graves, juxtaposed, and that creates quite a legacy to uphold. A lifetime of fidelity, trust, forgiveness and love. How can four words that sound like such good things become so frightening when combined with the word "lifetime"?

Still, for all the fear in the world, the idea of lying in my grave next to Zack makes death seem happier. If he and I are to die before we're married, somebody make sure we're buried together. Or, I dunno, burned together and spread throughout some common beautiful place. Or embalmed and made into a living display of our love-- two dead bodies, fucking eternally. Eeeeewwww.

"Oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place
Each time a curtain opens, sunlight pours in, a lifetime melts away
And we share a name on some picturesque grave."
~Bright Eyes

That last line is so unexpectedly romantic. It's what got me thinking about the idea of that in the first place, how beautiful it would be.

I am flipping through some pictures I've recently taken. The film was supposed to be for prom, but stopping the action of prom to take pictures of people never ends up interesting, so I took a few before it happened and, the next night or so, I ended finishing up the roll with pictures of Zack. I managed to capture so much playful, gorgeous essence of him that's been lacking in pictures I've taken previously, I'm enamoured with this roll. My mom, looking through them and expecting to see more prom pictures than were there, commented, "You'd think there were no one in the world but Zack."

Yeah. That's pretty much it.


Ben, today, apologized for the way he and I have been interacting lately, and for the way he's been unsupportive of mine and Zack's relationship. I should have shared in more of the blame, thinking back on it-- I first told Ben about my engagement when I was still engulfed in overwhelming doubt, and I confided in him, above every else, about how likely I thought we were to break up before marraige. Because Ben seemed the one to tell, back then. But some combination of my hopeful love life and his disasterous one has pushed us opposite directions as far as a life outlook is concerned, and this has made things difficult for us. I can't speak for him, but it was enormously hurtful for me...to spare details, I'm glad it's over. I have to thank him for being willing to be the one to apologize. This start towards he and I rekindling the kind of chemistry we used to have...minus the, uh, gratuitous sexual advances, was the little victory I needed today, and it came on unexpectedly.

Almost too unexpectedly to be fueled by his unprompted remorse, I suspected, so I asked Casey if he had anything to do with it. His response was "I might have." I don't know if this meant that, yes, he had talked to Ben, but he didn't want to admit it completely or that he honestly wasn't sure, but I got a real sense that he was, once again, working to preserve my feelings. And this makes me feel.....oh, man. I love Casey. A fucking lot.

And I love Ben. That's worth mention, too. They really don't make them anywhere else in the world like they do in Auburn.

That should be on their town signs. "Welcome to Auburn, Maine: We have wonderful boys!"

Hmmmm....86 that.


Outright prom tomorrow, EL prom sunday. I'm attending the latter with Casey. That has me thrilled....while there's nothing like being with Zack under any circumstances, Lisbon's prom this year was rather dissapointing, as ever. And while I don't vy for this year to be anything like last year-- in the infidelity department, especially-- I can't wait to walk into the hall on Casey's arm. Everyone, by now, is well aware of my little extra-marital crush on Casey, and while I still insist that nothing will happen between us, I'm endlessly glad with the fact that Zack's okay with the type of relationship that we have. Because whether or not I could give him up for Zack-- which is debatable-- I really, really don't want to give him up for anything.

Serena and I were just planning our outfit for tomorrow's outright prom, which is an alternative liftestyles prom, if you're wondering. Looks like I may be combining some lingerie I have with a plaid skirt and white shirt, some thigh-highs and tall "fuck me...if I weren't engaged" boots, and go for the dirty catholic schoolgirl motif. And while I shall remain absolutely "good" at all times, I'm-a gonna have me some fun tomorrow. Yee-haw.

My name is Linda, and I've been very, very bad. On with it.

"They will detail their pain
In some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
Like it's some kind of contest.
Well, if it is, I think I am winning it,
All beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold medal gleams
so hang it around my neck
cause I am deserving it:
the champion of idiots.

But a kid carries his walkman on that long bus ride to Omaha.
I know a girl who cries when she practices violin.
Cause each note sounds so pure, it just cuts into her,
and then the melody comes pouring out her eyes.
Now to me, everything else, it just sounds like a lie."
~Bright Eyes, "Going for the Gold"

I hadn't bothered with this band for a while. I was infatuated for a while, then I just sort of let it be. I think I'm in a state of mind where I can get into them again, lately. Things seem to be awkward for me, right now.

And maybe I'll make great strides on that CD I want to make, with all the most depressing songs on it. And if I could stop for a moment to think of anyone but me, I could be writing great poetry.

And if I weren't so afraid that this computer would have a hiccup and delete all my thoughts and emotions, this page would have been filled to the brim with new posts. For all the people who strangely, unexpectedly, have been showing support for this thing lately.

Elorza and Casey and Christina, from Arby's, who set me off on one of my mind-bending emotional fests yesterday, by making quite the public spectacle of Zack's scarred ways, at least in my mind. Which seems...hatefully ironic, as I sit here writing about the event itself, fighting between my remorselesness and my remorse of my remorselessness.

I am scared, lately, that Chad's coming home for the summer is going to uncover some horrible truth about mine and Zack's relationship. I am scared that my insecurities will get the better of me, as they seem to have done repeatedly as of late. I am scared that if I remedy my insecurity, my reliance on certain people-- Zack especially-- will decrease, and therefore my love of them will change and become less...crucial and all-consuming, I guess. I am scared that if I do not act on this problem of insecurity, it will keep getting worse, and I will die of it. I am scared I will have more nights like tonight.

I am scared that if I do try to fix my insecurities, I may find myself faced with an insurmountable problem. I am scared that if it seems I cannot fix it any other way, I will be tempted to go back to the way it was, before Zack and, previousy, Chad's attentions awoke me to the part of myself that needs to be treated like a porcelain doll. I am scared of needing to be treated like a porcelain doll.

And I want to know where my strength left, and concerned that my love of Zack has changed me so profoundly. And I want to know where, in my life, that makes room for people like Casey, who do not treat me with any particular gentility, but not without tremedous love. And I want to know where my mind went, and how much of all my issues as of late come from the sexual abuse in my past.

And I want to know what's going to become of me when I finally face that.

On with it.

It's almost 6 am, Casey is skipping school for here in a little over two hours, and I am sleepless.

I've discovered, just now, something online that is chilling me-- if there were any doubt that I would go the remainder of the night without sleep, there aren't now. Fucking stupid reminders of the way life used to be, and how much I hated it then. Fucking stupid reminders that things don't go so perfectly as they seem, and if you stay happy too long, something will fall. Life is all about the fucking stupid reminders.

Except that I'm getting SICK of people being that goddamned negative. About the time that Ben turned the page to become a complete and utter misanthrope, I cashed in my chips. I grew out of that teenage stage where it's okay to hate the world, to hate your life, the glare at your problems and just linger where you are. It's bullshit. All you assholes out there who proport to hate the world, hate the people in it, hate your lives and hate yourselves: motherfucking do something about it. Don't just sit there and complain. And no, if you're thinking that, it's not hypocrisy-- I may bitch, but I'm more proactive in solving my problems than anyone I know. I'm not saying that I've got a hell of a lot to compare to, but it's something.

My suspiscions as to what the unsettling information I've gathered tonight is telling me is....augh, so goddamn frustrating. Why does everything worthwhile have to be a challenge?

Maybe more later. Let's see if the goddamn computer can post this without fucking up, first. On with it.

So, Zack has decided to join the marines. As an update for all of you, this means the following:

A- I don't have the slightest idea where I'll be living post-boot camp, but I'm going to guess it will be very, very far away.
B- My wedding may be pushed up as early as this summer.
C- No, you may not try to convince me that this has doom spelled all over it for your own personal gain. You may not tell me what this means even if you think it's forcing me to be realistic and you perceive that as what I need most. If you can't say something nice, don't say any-fucking-thing at all.

I found what I think I've been meaning to say for a while tonight, talking to Derek, and everyone who's important to me needs to read this.

FieryGwenivere: okay, then let me put this simply- I love Zack. There have been a lot of options for his future that I have vetoed because they didn't fit for me. This one does. And I have reservations about it, and reservations about everything we've been through, because people keep putting them in my mind. I want people to stop. I want them to support me, support us. I want them to believe in our ability to make decisions, and if I'm going to make a mistake, let me make it. But more than that, if things go down between us, I don't want people to think it was because we were short-sighted. I want people to realize it was just worth it for us at the time.

Anything else, you may take it up with me...I understand this decision distances me greatly from people I've taken great strides at assuring I'd always be near. And I'm going to assume some of you will have shit to take up with me. But, so help me, if any of you start making this all any harder for me than it already is, I won't be the one putting the distance between us.

I love you. Let me love him. On with it.

I'm going to fucking CRY. I worked so hard on my post, oh my god, it was...fuck blogger, that's the last fucking straw, what the hell? I took an hour, I was making metaphors about my fucking life, I was coming up with all this beautiful bullshit, and it didn't mean a thing, but it meant everything, and I'm talking as I'm saying all this shit, because I loved that post, and it was for Zack, and I miss him, and it's too late, and it's too tragic, and I want my post back, oh god.....I'm fucking sobbing here, this is such fucking bullshit, how can a computer glitch just take away something like that? I worked fucking hard at thinking so goddamned much about what everything was because it was coming up so nicely, and I was looking forward to showing that part of me to people, I hate blogger, I haven't been upset this way in a while, I want to fucking break things, I keep envisioning myself pouding against the chest of someone who's holding me as I'm sobbing to them, goddamn it, why why why why why why why did it eat my post? FUCK BLOGGER, why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why? why?

It's starting to feel here in Maine like it did in California this January-- God, I love that phrase, "in California this January." It means I was somewhere, somewhere important, somewhere cool, somewhere getting something done and being in the sun and inadvertently rhyming, much the way I do here. The freedom and the falling of it...One never appreciates something amply while they're in it. With the exception of the moments that I knew how damned lucky I was-- in bed, talking to Sherry at all hours of the night, or driving down the interstate in Heather's car, or on the back roads in Rachel's porsche...actually, pretty much every moment with Rachel. Maine just doesn't breed 'em like that.

The sun is warming Vacationland so that it can almost come close to that big, beautiful chunk of land out west...only temperatute-wise, it could never have the same kind of beauty of independence or other-worldliness, but at least it's got the people I missed so desperately while I was out there. Mom keeps offering to send me back so I'll feel more secure with my profession...I want to go just to see Sherry and Laura so much, go out to San Francisco, maybe stay with Nicky or Rachel a few days, get more travelling under my belt. I'd like to revisit cellulite elimination, though, and chair massage- I'm getting rusty on the latter and I never got a chance to learn the former enough. I've pretty much decided, however, that I don't want massage to be my life's work, even just for a little while. When I went out there, I thought I was going because money was important to me. Turns out, in the face of doing something I hate doing for it, I don't care about money at all. I have my Zachary, and we'll make it somehow.

Point in fact, though, I have no idea how that is. We have no cemented plans for next year whatsoever. Probably Gloucester. That's about it. The uncertainty makes me FAR more nervous than it makes him. He's never even been to our destination, and he doesn't mind. This is highly convenient for me, but also slightly scary. I wish he had more opinions so I could be more confident in the fact that I'm not totally ruining his life with my siren-like wiles. I've left too many tattered bodies in my wake....they were tattered to begin with, but, christ, let me have this one.

I am moving forward on some of my longer-standing projects. Tonight, I boosted forward on my attempts to make a CD of the world's most depressing songs. I am trying to get the opinion's of one and all- if it takes years, I want this to be as close to the genuine article that is at all possible. I want it to be an art form- I want to bring my compilation into a room of my peers and have us sitting their, listening to it, and by the end I want everyone to be crying together. (Crying in large groups...something else I miss about California) I want this to strip away the layers of pretention in people and forcefully regress them into a deeper part of themselves. I want this to be song therapy. That's right- therapy. I'm not sadistically determined, I'm a growth-oriented artist who's extremely generous in her endeavors. LOVE ME!

The song that's currently depressing me more than any other is "I'm Movin' On", by the Rascal Flatts. When Jenn first took a chance in introducing me to this country band, she was right in assuming that I could like them despite the redneck stigma. Our reactions to this song, the only she forced onto me, to my recollection, are polar opposites- the song makes her feel happy and hopeful about her life, an understandable reaction, considering it's message: putting shame behind you and letting yourself continue in life, and in love. The song to me, though, has too much of a sad undertone to be literal- it seems that the singer is reluctantly telling us that's what he's going to do- forgive himself, and let go- when really, he carries the baggage with him as he runs, trying to convince himself and others that he's doing the right thing for everybody. And the shame of it fucks with me-- "I sold what I could, and packed what I couldn't; I stopped to fill up on the way out of town. I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't. I had to lose everything to find out. Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road. I'm movin' on.". When I say those words, I don't believe them...except that one line- "I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't."- that I mean, and my voice inadvertently wavers when I sing along. I don't know if I believe I'd be forgiven for the things I've done, if people knew how much I hide from them. I don't know if anybody really understands how much wrong I can do when their backs are turned, and, in one case in particular, I try to convince myself that I keep my sins private to protect the victim, but I wonder if it's really to protect me.

So I wish, every day, for a reprieve of some sort, and I tell myself every day that carrying the guilt is the noble thing to do. And I hide nothing from Zack. Nothing. A week ago, or two, I was in his bed, and we were somehow discussing how much shame I feel for the things I don't dare admit to, all the things I've done wrong that I'm afraid would pile up and make me unabsolvable, the little and the big. When I thought about them all- the stupid little things- I cried. I cried until Zack wanted to make it better, and he told me he forgived me for everything I'd done to him, whether he knew about it or not. There are so few moments in life when I know, completely, what I want, but right then I wanted to believe him so badly, but I couldn't-- he didn't know, he couldn't forgive. So I told him, all of it, and one by one, he forgived me....for stupid little run-ins with stupid people in inappropriate ways at inappropriate times. For holding hands with another guy on a day he should have been the only thing on my mind, and for going through some messy break-up oriented emotions with Jeff that, for a while, made me question my potential for fidelity. For too many things that I thought were too small to mention, that weighed too much till he lifted them away for me. And now I don't hide anything from him, won't hide it, and I am so much more confident in my ability to keep him as the one-and-only man in my sights and in my....uh, heart.

And that's a good feeling.

If you, dear fab five frenzy, have any suggestions about what songs I should include in my search for the world's most depressing, please e-mail them to lindah@hotmail.com. And thank you for taking the time to appreciate the content...it's all for you. (And Casey.) (And anyone else who still checks this.)

On with it.

Friday five- been a while since I've done these.

1. What was the first band you saw in concert?
The first and only famous band I've seen in concert was Counting Crows, and despite my love of their music, it was a little disappointing. They did mostly new stuff that I wasn't that interested in, and it was right after september 11th- at a college, no less- so their was lots of political talk going on. The contact high was kind of fun, though, and some random hot chick grinded against me during "Mr. Jones." Within the next month, I am going to see both my favorite band- Matchbox Twenty- and my boyfriend's- (hed) PE- so I'll have more concert experience to talk about, should it come up.

2. Who is your favorite artist/band now?
My favorite artist is Matchbox Twenty, as I said. Oddly enough, I was justifying my love of them to a friend just a few moments ago, explaining that it's not about their looks, their popularity, or any fascination on my part...it's the way that I connect with their music on a more primally emotional level than anyone other band.

3. What's your favorite song?
"Push", by the aforementioned, is my favorite song now and has been for six years...it reminds me of my oldest close friend, Jeremey, who used to call me up to let me know when it was playing on the radio. To the best of my recollection, those days were the best we ever had together, and that was the most wonderful thing I could have imagined anyone doing for me back then. I think it will be my favorite song so long as it reminds me of him, and I'll love him so long as he reminds me as the song.

4. If you could play any instrument, what would it be?
I'm thinkin' the cello, if I had my choice of any of them, but right now I wish I could put the five hundred dollars to get my saxophone fixed forward, and finding the time to learn the harmonica.

5. If you could meet any musical icon (past or present), who would it be and why?
Eminem. He's a motherfucking genius, and I like to foster the pathetic hope that he and I would connect. BUT AT LEAST I CAN ADMIT TO IT, OKAY

And now, since I was one of the first to post on the friday five site, I have to think up some freaking content to bait the people it will attract...damn it.

That'll be up soon...On with it.

Damn it! My update got erased! If it had been good at all, I'd be pissed at this point. Suffice to say

A- That last post was melodramatic bullshit.
B- Easter m&m's are pretty.
C- My life hasn't been interesting enough to update, or sometimes too interesting to update. So rarely in between.
D- I organized the m&m's by color in the bowl.
E- Kris keeps challenging mine and Casey's website, which I'm concerned may never happened, because Casey and I have lost momentum- AND become "weird"- however, things are looking up, because I've convinced him to skip school with my thursday.
F- There's more pink than everything else.
G- Zack and I have been playing a lot of basketball. I really love this sport.
H- The shells of m&m's are easier to bite off if you suck at them first.

And I'm pretty sure that was it. Why did I use letters instead of numbers there? I should sleep. Or something. Blah.

On with it.

And just when I was relaxing into middle-class ideals, romantic notions and the pleasures of life that one can just ride and not have to strive for like fortune, and not have to lose like fame....just when I was giving up on the bitters views of life and love and how they'll toss you around like driftwood in the storming ocean, just when I was ready to float on a raft down a gentle southern river beside him....

"And all I wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
And all I needed was a simple man
So I could be a wife."

Just as I was about to be a thousand times ahead of the gang, and my infinite wisdom bestow upon me an endless love...my youth has to crawl the fuck into the picture.

"Love is not a victory march!
It's a cold, and it's very broken hallelujah."

And so once again I have to fight for what I want, what I need, what I motherfucking deserve. Once again I have to tackle the obstacles and figure out the tricks and fence in the end with my sword held high, till I slay it, and I can hold the things I love most in life in my arms, safe again, unchallenged. And I'll do it-- I always do!-- just as soon as I've figured out just what it is I want to fight for this time. My life, or my love. (Just TRY to figure out what that means! And, uh, e-mail me if you get it...)

Mr. Ladd says I love everyone. And I so rarely see that as I vice.

"Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life
How'd I get so faithful to my freedom?
A selfish kind of life
When all I ever wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life."

"How'd I get so faithful to my freedom?" What an amazing fucking line. On with it.