My throat hurts. Zack left me naked and in bed an hour ago, and I thought it a good excuse to go straight to sleep. But, as it turned out, I was too bored to do so- I don't know how that works- and when I'm bored, I think about eating. And when I think about eating, nowadays, I think about not eating. And I drive myself insane.

Here's the dilemna- I hate my body. Wait, no, I didn't phrase that right. I HATE my body. It used to be that I could put up with it, but suddenly I see it or feel it without a sense of failure and repulsion washing over me. Two possible reasons for this that I can think of, and, surprise surprise, they both have to do with my loving fiancé: A, I'm simply naked more than I used to be, therefore forced to think of my body more often or B, I finally have something I desperately don't want to lose.

When I explained it to him that way, his immediate reaction was the same misconception I bet I've just afforded all of you- I don't believe Zack would- nessecarily- leave me if I were to gain a substantial amount weight. But, to put it more bluntly than I did in my conversation with him, I do think it would put some undesirable strains on our relationship- as if there's any more room for undesirable strains- whether it be because of him genuinely finding me less attractive or my irrational assumptions that he did and the ensuing estrogenical madness. (If shakespeare can make up thousands of words, I figure I, the next great literary mind of this age, can claim the license for "estrogenical".) I would never get over the self-loathing, as well as the paranoia that he was looking at every other woman in the world-- something I seem to fear when anything goes wrong between he and I-- and, in my misery, I would definitely make his duties as my better half less amiable. (And why IS it that they bothered making "amiable" and "amicable" two different words?) Simply put, I never had someone that I wanted so badly to be beautiful for. I could put up with my body if I were confident that it would stay the way it is, but, mostly, in my mind it seems imminent that I will inherit my mother's body, and THAT scares me.

It started out that I blamed others for my insecurities- models, TV, the impossible standard of beauty. And part of my big plan still stems from that- I am officially boycotting any commercials with models in them (which is to say I look away when they're on TV. People tend to find my wording of that laughable....you know who you are, screw you!) Soon after, I looked within myself for the problem, and came up with two things- a horrible diet and utter inanimacy. I eat the wrong food, and, more importantly, I do so when I'm bored. I do nothing all day long so I don't really burn a lot of calories with my action, and- this is where it gets all tricky- I'm bored a lot. You see how that works? Then, add into the mix that my boredom with life has me feeling bad about myself anyway, and you've got a recipe for the teenage girl blues.

Dieting and exercise aren't so much my forté, so I'm taking a rather relaxed approach: be more active (including things like wrestling around with Zack on a daily basis, playing basketball with whoever's up for it, and dancing in the shower the way I used to- which also helps for prom preparation.) and not letting myself eat out of boredom instead of hunger. The second is harder by faaaaaaaaaaar.

Thus, we get a shitty entry like this- this is me attempting to amuse myself long enough so that I won't give in and eat. This time of the night is a danger zone- I'm alone, with no boyfriend to coach me, and my only real options for entertainment are the internet and TV, neither of which are generally exciting enough to distract me. There's two books I'm in the middle of that maybe I should start thinking about making a dent in, and Micheala- my 12-year-old cousin- and I are going to read "The Giver" at the same time and discuss it. I have to have that done by April 1st, and that just may become my saving grace. Also, maybe a new hula hoop. Or something.

So, while I'm writing this, I might as well ask for the help of all of you- there's some options here: I need people to be "active" with me. I need people to either keep me entertained, or not let me eat just because I'm bored. And I could probably use some people to argue with me about the fact that I'm gaining weight at all- even if they don't mean it.

This post is pathetic. I apologize for it. Seriously. You deserve better. I'm going to get a drink of some non-fattening water, probably pop some sleepings pills and stave off boredom with unconsciousness. What easier way to lose weight?

On with it.

Me: I'm becoming entirely too dependent on Zack
Casey: interesting.
Me: sometimes, such as tonight, when he leaves for the night it's actually physically painful.
Casey: exits and entrances, it would seem.

I don't know what I'd do without Casey. On with it.

You have

Take the "What sexual dysfunction are you?" Quiz at Scarleteen.com!

And life makes sense again!

No, the above isn't actually a link. That banner- if you can actually see it, I'm having some trouble hosting the image- was actually attached to the article that link will lead you to that explains the little-known condition of Vaginismus. This condition is defined as an involuntary spasm of the vaginal muscles causing tightening during attempted intercourse causing it to be extremely uncomfortable, painful, or entirely impossible. And knowing this makes me really happy.

As relatively few of you know, on and off again over the past several months, Zack and I have been attempting to have sex, and, for reasons unbeknownst to us until tonight, failing miserably. This has been a source of extreme tension and frustration for me, causing me to have such doubts on a wide, wide variety of topics, from my own phyiscal competency to the validity of our relationship. After a particularly poignant series of failures tonight, I spent the better part of the day feeling really really fucking bad, and wondering if we would be able to weather it- in short, I thought I might lose him.

The site explains the symptoms of the condition- that fit me to a tee, and explains the tampon trauma incident before prom last year- and also the treatments, which are both psychological and physical and sound, well, downright fucking nasty. They include, to name a few, couples therapy, the use of "dilators" (say it with me now: eeeewwwww....), and hypnosis, to name a few, and I do NOT look forward to the gyno appointment whereby my doctor "simply inserts a finger into the vagina and watches for a tight, involuntary muscle contraction." Oooooh, is THAT all.

But, as absolutely horrid as all of this sounds...It's curable. It's fixable. I'm not the one and only person in the world to ever go through this and, most importantly: I'm not going to lose my Zack.

So congratulations to me! I have Vaginismus! :-)

On with it!

"All I am is wanting you."

This song is Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack Zack.

People just keep on posing challenges for us...and the sources just keep getting more credible. This is unfortunate for me, being that it's hard enough to keep those goddamned cynical voices at the back of my mind quiet when I'm the only bastard on duty. But with help, this just keeps getting harder for my bettter half...and for my better half, come to think of it. Freaky double-entendre sneaking in there, and it's not even sexual- where's the fun in that? This shit is messing with me, and it's getting harder...but it feels better when I write it, when I can read what I wrote. It feels more true to see it in words. Let's go over it all, shall we?

Recap:
We're young. I still believe it.
We're nuts. I still believe it.
We're inexperienced. I still believe it.
We're uneducated. I still believe it.
We're totally different. I still believe it.
We're too alike. I still believe it.
We haven't told our parents yet. I still believe it.
We're living in a soceity where this sort of thing is damn near impossible. I still believe it.
He's not a Matchbox Twenty fan. I still believe it.
He's not making up his own mind about things. I still believe it.
He doesn't love life the way that I do. I still believe it.
He doesn't love Christmas. I still believe it.
I really want to make him love christmas. I still believe it.
I'm trying to change him. I still believe it.
He's changing me. I still believe it.
The sky is falling. I still believe it.
The world is ending. I still believe it.
The Red Sox won the world series. I still believe it.
We're in love, I am losing the core of my cynicysm, and I am happy with it. Hell has just frozen over. I still believe it.


We'll try it, we'll make it, we'll love it, he'll love me. And I'll believe and believe until the day it's all diminished beneath me, and if it's a mistake, then I'll tell everyone- with their satisfied looks on their sad little faces- what I told him a few days ago: if this all blows over, if it all goes down, this was still the best time of my life.

"And I wanted you to know
If you reap what you would sew
I would take it blow by blow.
All I am is yours."

On with it.

Please forgive for the relative twice-ness of that last post...had a bit of a boo-boo with the html, and now I can't freaking get rid of the thing...pity, really, I'll perhaps try later, but I really must sleep.

On with it.

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!

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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.

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.

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.