The vast of my day was uneventful- alternating between reading, packing, smoking and reading, or eating.
At 4 pm, CJ got the shock of his life. For the first time EVER he got to ride in my truck.
That was something. He didn't do well with the captin's chairs and kept flying around. I don't think he has ever been that high up before in a vehicle.
Anyway it was pretty cute seeing my big brown dog in my big black truck. I didn't even mind all the hair on my seats.
Oh, why was he in my truck? Because I had to drop him off at the vet's office. He is going to doggy daycare (as we call it) while we are in San Francisco.
---
But what you really want to hear about is this evening- my conversation with daddy dearest.
Today I got my transcript. Though impressive in respects to my 4.0, I was still pacing around the downstairs worried as fuck.
With the dull feeling I would puke at any moment, I started to figure out how I will account for those 30 credits. The fact that they are missing from my little academic plan is a problem, no doubt.
It has been, since getting sober, my design to graduate early. What was I going to do with the extra semester? I don't know- I toyed with driving to Arizona and looking at the stars, going back to Arkansas for a while, starting the next level of education early...
Who knows...

Fighting the Sleep + Therapy Time Kids!

Hey, you are going to get a post out of me tonight! One that concerns today!
Not that there is much to speak of but I will tell you what I know.
I finished "2001: Space Odyssey" last night and contemplated its meaning over a cigarette. Finally, I allowed myself to attempt sleep at about 1 am.
----
Lately, meaning the past few weeks, I have been reaching out against the chemical drowsiness, undermining its athuority, and staying awake in spite of the best complete body shutdown it can throw me in. I have come to find that I am capable of doing this and wrestling it off of me.
After shaky success, sometimes avoiding taking the medicine at all until early morning, I began to grow a tolerance, no matter how completely mental, and now I am able to stay functionally awake for however long I choose, even in a lively manner- to assert myself and do whatever I want to do, cruise the internet, clean my room, stare at books and, amazingly, remember most of my actions. This last piece of information will tell you that I am no longer a zombie, driven to sleep as the sole purpose of my evenings- evenings that begin when I swallow down my nightly load of pills.
But now I usually retain my power until about 1 am, when I can see that sleeping would be acceptable, as though at 1 am I have out-lived the chemicals and now, finally, will lay my own head to rest by my own will.
I appreciate my comforter more. Each night, wrapping it around me and laying down on my own accord, checking the clock to see the precise time, and muting the TV... I enjoy my comforter and the long movements that bring it comfortably around me- they are signs of power, I suppose.
----
Today I woke up at some mid-morning hour and went downstairs to read: "Alas, Babylon" is up now. So the day begin. And I retired, to the couch for chunks of the day, speckled with a shower, eating, and cigarettes.
The book is slow going- not the subject matter, just getting through it takes a bit more time than the past two novels I have read.
In the evening, I went to Kerry's...
More later.
----
(10:19 pm, same night)
Okay, I am back.
So, what did Kerry and I talk about and what resolutions came from our discussion?
Well, we started out with the test because obviously that was the most visible red flag on my impending sanity. But all resolutions in regards to that had been pretty much cemented by yesterday.
However, from both her and N there has been an outcry for the cause of my trying to sidle my way into the hearts of the California education committee (or whatever), state my case, and try to get a revised test date that is a better environment for my "special needs" or, at the very least, get retake the test in October. Hmph.
There have been various medical problems pertaining to my panic attack which could, ideally, hold water with the board (or whatever) and get me some help with taking the test before next academic year. That is ideal, or would be ideal.
But I, having read the test booklet and other materials provided several times at length during my "study" period, feel that there is little hope for such leniancy. It is my problem and, with the speed at which I left, will probably continue to be my problem.
I stated that I will now feel the full weight of earning those thirty credits by doing them one by one.
She said I would have deserved getting them all at once by passing the test.
I concurred. But that isn't how it happened.
She offered her help as a professional in any way that could assist me in making up for the lost credits- whether in working to consider therapy as credits or pledging my insanity for the board of education to get me a nice, isolated seat in a test room (something like that).
To both I aknowledged the ideas and thanked her, tucking away the ideas in crevices of my brain designed specifically for this purpose- theraputic cognitive resource bank (or whatever).
Eventually, talking about the circumstances which spark panic attacks in me, we drifted onto the subject of my little male friend of whom I write so much, most unkindly to be sure.
There the battle begins.
Not with him but with the person I become. And, having expressed in 40 minutes what it would take me 5 hours to type in my usual rambling style, I am ready to give a more accurate account by telling what was said in there.
She maintains, based on the information provided, that he is about the emotional age of a seven-year-old. Granted. From here it gets slightly complicated but quite insightful.
I said that I wasn't sure I even really liked this person because, though quite kind and gentle as moments, he can also be quite harsh and unpredictable in his thrashing.
She said that I was like a girl in a jail cell, staring at a dull quarter because there is nothing better to do. After a while, I am aware that the quarter is dull and I am bored, but there is nothing else available for comparison so I continue to believe it satisfactory.
I asked if she was suggesting I get a new quarter. She said probably not.
I relayed, in semi-short fashion, the war of messages that has already been documented her, hiding my face in laughter, as she openly expressed her's of shock, after devulging the nature of our "want" conversations.
She said that I must, to some degree, really like him. I said I wasn't sure that was true.
At the conclusion of this spill, she was tripped up from the very first message- by his response to something that seemed to be kind, she came to the idea that he was pretty much a dick and, for more intellectual labeling, giving me negative reinforcement for my kind actions which was negative for me on the whole.
Also, the reoccurring theme of insecurity was mentioned.
I said that I didn't want it to be a negative thing- I didn't want there to be a response. I wanted to be able to do nice things- send random messages and the like- without expecting anything in return.
Thus, a large problem in my eyes was not his reponse but my expectation, my need for a response in the first place.
I elaborated by saying that, in the midst of playing this game with him, one that could be justified as sane by a romantic attraction, I would begin to feel dissatisfied with my life- which I was not. For the sheer purpose of furthering a relationship I have no cause, quite obviously, of wanting to keep in motion, I began to lose sight of what it is I actually want.
No, in truth, I was not sure I liked the saga of Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hyde, and after a few days of its absence and my expectations slackening to dead weight ready to be shed, I return to my "normal" life, which is pleasantly fullfilling to me when I allow it to be so.
In conclusion, the problem is not HOW he acts because it is of little importance in the first place.
The problem is that I WANT him to act, I have a mounting expectation, and will blindly take motions, say and do things, to satisfy that need, without examining whether it is what I, as a person, as an individual, truly want.
She said, again, that I am magnifying my quarter for lack of anything else to do. If I wished to eliminate the problem I should begin interviewing other quarters, shiny quarters.
What makes a quarter shiny, you ask? Politeness, in short.
I am advised to entertain relationships with people (where to get these, I am not sure) who are capable of reacting in a manner which will positively reinforce my pleasant actions, such as sending messages to thank someone for their company.
Reliability would be a bonus and, always, it would be good if I could find a female friend, so as to eliminate the sexual tension that can run rampid.
Immediately after beginning her description of a shiny quarter, I had picked out my summer in Arkansas and MB's kids as fitting the bill wonderfully.
Here, I would get a vacation because it is out of California. With the default politeness programmed into those kids, positive reinforcement is virtually assured.
Next, in the long run, making buddies with all my step-siblings in this little controlled experiment (which will be known only as such by my therapist and I) would be very beneficial in the long run.
It would make daddy happy, MB impressed, a little flock of teenage bubbliness for my desired, controlled consumption... not a bad idea, right?
Of course, no experiment of such a nature would be complete without the addition of a social outlet apart from the required regiment, a social outlet which would be sane and promote a feeling of true vacation to echo in my disposition.
For this, the role was already filled- it had always been filled by the same brown eyed, brown haired girl.
So I had within my subconscious a particular plan fully able, in my hypothetically-based opinion, to carry out the suggested plan being at that very moment proposed by my therapist.
Summary: I would now look forward to Arkansas as a theraputic experiment, in addition to being a vacation. I would enjoy freetime with my father, brother, and Kristin.
In respects to my theraputic experiment, I would begin socializing with MB and people with her genetic makeup.
The goal? To practice positive, painless reinforcement in reaction to my kind outreach to become familiar with the terrian of social relationships without the pain of looking through a magnifying glass at a dull quarter.
Nice idea, right?
I suppose.
But still I stressed again that I wished to have no expectations. She agreed and added I could not live forever alone and must become accustomed to having relationships.
After a forty minute session of sparring back and forward for the sake of sanity, I handed her a check from my purse and we began the brief subject of my father.
Where is he living? On his girlfriend's couch, I believe. But I am really not sure. We discussed how silly this arrangement is.
Why don't they just get married? I have not the slightest clue. Maybe they are married, who knows. They bought a BMW together recently, so its quite possible.
Is the house going to sale by the time you get there? Don't know. I don't ask about it so we don't talk about it. We actually don't talk about anything important, you might say.
When are you going? Late July, I guess. Not really sure.
The time expired. As her last client, I waited for her to walk me out. She shut off all the lights and locked the door, talking about a wedding she was going to- maid of honor- in some Mid-Western state.
She is a very cool person to be around, in general and specific.
I went my way and she her way, yelling out last "good luck, goodbye" over the parking lot continually stretching between us.
On the drive back home, I was unusually self-conscious.
My driver's side mirror was tilted all fucked up since Car Spa, exposing my reflection to all the car's behind me to the left. For some reason, this just really got to me and I was figity trying to keep myself occupied and not look like an asshole. 2/3 of the way back, I got the opportunity to move the mirror back to a completely abstract view and felt relieved of immediate threat but a funk followed me into the house, nonetheless.
From there I read and posted the above. I didn't drive tonight.
At 10 pm, N and I drove Beep out to the gas station and back- the windows are off and it was quite pleasant.
Instantly sitting there, though quite vulerable in exposure to the public, I was cracking jokes and giggling- night is good to me and I won't forget that.
And the company could not be beat- N is good to me and I won't forget that.
Now. That is where we are.
Now... I will go and read, maybe, or eat something actually.
Tomorrow morning I will do laundry so the facilities are empty for N and D to use on Thursday- thus all things will be prepared for our departure to San Francisco on Friday.
Tomorrow afternoon, with slightly more gravity, is Wednesday- meaning, if you haven't already figured it out, that I will go to LR.
Remember that after my little testing fuck up, every hour that I accumulate volunteer-related work is fantastic. That being said, I am always a little apprehensive of going down there- for two reasons:
a) I never know the state of events- what mood my mama will be in, what medical condition my papa will be in, what complaints need to be registered, what errands need to be run, etc.
b) I never know for sure, until I start walking up to the door, what mood I will be in, what kind of tolerence I will have, whether I am able to cope with the state of events, or if I will just brood for half the afternoon.
So it goes.
That is my post for today.
Thorough enough? I bet.
- K

What the Fuck Happened at That Test?

a) the test I was supposed to take today
b) afternoon in LR which ended with a late father's day dinner at mum's house
c) brief emerging of TGJ in text messages this afternoon that are a prelude to at least a week of silence and which were able to throw off my plan of removing conversation between us until my return from Arkansas
d) the fact that there is still no date set for my vacation back to Arkansas.
---
Since I won't have any reason to write about it tomorrow, I went to the library today in LR (very nice and not busy at all) and got taco sauce all over myself (good job, self)Right, so the former was more important than the latter but hey- take what you can get.Goodnight. I am going to read now.
--------------------
Alright, I will start at the beginning.
The beginning being 5:50 am, waking up before my cell phone alarm had gone off- it would have woken me up with "Black Dog" by Led Zepplin, but I was already awake.
And I rolled around in my bed for a while because today was the day I would go to Fullerton and take that test. So I was glad that it was morning and went downstairs to make eggs. I ate my eggs and watched the news because it is what I do and I was satisfied. Occasionally I would clap my hands together and let out a shriek of excitement because this would be an acheivement, an exceptional acheivement.
I went out with some form of reading material into the backyard, early in the morning, and smoked a cigarette. N opened the window upstairs in the dayroom and said good morning, then I replied the same and continued on my morning way.
Took a shower and got dressed- my favorite jeans and favorite shirt and I clenched my hands and smiled because I was excited.
"Are you scared?" I asked myself in the mirror.
"No, maybe a little nervous but I am not scared. I think I will do fine."
N and D both left for their respected occupations at this early hour on a Saturday- brakes changed on Eep, N went to work for a while, D went to the grocery store.
And after they had left I finished smoking another cigarette and left.
Truck, directions, coffee, I am good to go.
I drove north and then west on various freeways which are fairly clear and satisfying early on a Saturday morning. Then I took my exit and went up to the campus- parked in an empty lot right off the road and within view of the building I was going to. Crossed the street and called N to let her know I made it all right, where I was. I stood outside the building for a minute after hanging up, got a piece of cinnamon gum from my purse and then, off to test.
There were only two students in front of me in the hall, waiting to be admitted into the classroom- actually computer lab- where you show your identification and sign in and are ushered into an ajacent lab to wait for the testing to begin.
My time came and I signed in and the lady said "go in and pick a seat" which I did. It would be hard to describe the room or people, so I won't even attempt.
About a minute, if that, after I sat down, I felt the heat rising. Reluctantly, because I didn't want to attract attention to myself, I took off my sweatshirt and laid it across my lap.
Perhaps that helped- if so, not for long: an instructor (or someone) came in and said, "When the first 40 students get here, we will begin the testing."
The temperature kept rising, painfully slowly, as to be completely felt at every slight inclination. I sat and devoted my attention to various wall hangings and, when the sweat became noticable, to my admission ticket laying on the desk in front of me. When I felt brave, I would flip the ticket over and attempt to read it to focus my attention on something. Alas, with no success. I pulled my hair momentarily away from my neck, something that has helped during similar situations, but could feel strands adhered with moisture- to hide this, I let my hair fall back down and thought "I am fucked. Get control. Concentrate on something other than yourself."
But to every split second that I was capable of making strides towards normality, an occurrence in the room would cause regression- I was able to begin calming down by reading a poster hung across the room until a student placed himself in a seat to both block a comfortable view of the poster and obtain for himself and excellent, full-front view of my desperation.
In response a clutched my sweatshirt in my hands and, bowing my head, kept it pressed to my mouth. During moments of bravery, again, I would wipe the sweat off my face and then quickly move the sweatshirt back to my mouth. In this position, my hair concealed the majority of my face from on lookers.
The panic was not direct- some chemical process that took place during this time resulted in me feeling completely zoned out. Panic, therefore, was not at the forefront. It was a quiet situation that must be dealt with quietly and calmly. However, then there was some other chemical process in my body that, because of the physical repercussions, begged that this was not to be a quiet problem for long and that I was, in spite of myself, not calm whatsoever.
Damn me. I kept my eyes at the table. My shirt was beginning to stick to my hunched back and I felt sweat drip down my neck.
"Bullshit. Impossible." said my mind and my right hand darted to the back of my neck, under the cover of my hair, only to find that the situation was just as bad as my nerves had sensed.
"Fuck. Calm down. Concentrate on somthing. You need to take this test."
So I did concentrate on the admission ticket only to see the, with impending irony, the first drop of sweat hit the paper.
Whatever subconsciously made me reach for my purse was checked by mid-motion and my hand returned to my sweatshirt still stationed at my mouth.
"You can't leave this test."
"I know, I know."
"Concentrate."
And I tried. More people were coming in but I didn't look up- I just knew it to be a fact.
Several times my eyes or hand darted towards my purse but each time fell victim to patience, or stubborness more accurately.
Finally there was no denial, no concealing, and attempts to soothe myself fell completely flat. I stood up and walked out, avoiding eyes though I could see them looking at me.
The admission areas were packed with students waiting in crooked lines and I said "excuse me" in an almost normal way but my eyes still looked down at the floor exclusively, and it took some effort to push through everyone. Finally out into the hall.
The instructor looked at me, my hair stuck to my face and probably some level of animal terror was visible though I cannot account for willingly expressing such a thing.
"Can I help you?" he said to me in a kind of worried manner, more urgent because there was still a long line down the hall.
"Sick," pushed out of my mouth with difficulty, like I had just run 16 miles to Fullerton.
"Sick. Not going to take the test," or something along those lines, "okay."
"Thanks," walking backwards, therefore facing him, while heading to the door.
And it was cool out because it was still so early in the morning and the breeze immediately turned the sweat which has caused me such trouble into a cool friend- not too far removed from a cruel friend, which is accurate as well.
I got out my phone and called N to tell her what had happened as I walked to my truck.
There were yet more students hanging around outside the building, walking on the sidewalks, hanging out in packs, sometimes alone. And I did not look at any of them- not a single one. I devoted myself to the cause of getting to my truck and turning the air conditioner on full blast, as cold as it can possible get (which is pretty impressive), so perhaps I could freeze out the shame in me and accompany me coldly into the already numb disbelief taking over my mind.
I got on the freeway east and somehow missed my exit onto the freeway which would take me back south. I kept going east till I spouted up in a familar stretch of road- one that, I was aware, would take me to Arizona if I just kept going straight. I forced a chuckle without changing my stunned expression because irony deserves at least that for never leaving me alone: here is your shame, you disbelief, and here is your opportunity to run away, doesn't that sound nice?
No. I don't like Arizona when I am sad. I like Arizona when I am happy- I refuse to associate a place so beautiful with a mood so tainted and a time so unfortunate.
No. It doesn't sound nice. I switched across three lanes to exit onto a highway- south, which would take me home. Home- where I was already expected, where the other occupants would be aware and angelic in response to my flight of terror; where they would greet me as they do when I make a sloppy mistake and begin to feel pathetic- with an understanding that is far from counterfeit.
I got home, parked, changed from my jeans to my pajama pants and talked to D. He sat on the arm of the sofa and I sat on the stairs. I had only the faintest understanding of what I had actually done- or what leaving the test would truly mean in regards to me.
I cried only briefly because the air conditioner worked well, blew cold, and took me home to enjoy the warmth of my home.
----
Despite all this, N and I went to the library, stopping by Taco Bell along the way so I could get something to eat, even if I wasn't very hungry. We get in the library parking lot and I look down to find out
WAM
I got taco sauce all-the-fuck over my clothes- shirt and jeans. Fuck me.
I looked at N from the passenger seat and making a wide-armed, what-the-fuck look said, "Look at me! This is my life!"
She grunted uh-huh or something like that, I zipped up my mercifully oversized jacket, and we headed inside. After pleasantly rambling through the "Adult Fiction" section and determining what books would be suitable for summer reading (N being a fine source on all things literary... or at least British and Literary) we checked out and left. Tada.
Of course, once getting down to Mama and Papa's in LR, I was asked how the test went. At first I declined an answer of substance but coming back around to it in a few moments spilled my guts in a pretty emotion-free flood. Mama replied with her own experience, once upon a time, in New Orleans... so on and so forth.
-----
Having tried in vain to get ahold of my father earlier in the day, I retrived my phone to find out if I had missed his call.
No, but I had: 1 new msg
That message being a text message,
That text message being from TGJ.
Now I will remind you before I go any further- I had become adapted to the idea of going into this summer, one vacation after another, without the concern of thinking about or speaking to TGJ. The longer the period of time set between us, undisturbed, the more at ease I felt- thoughts, dreams concerning him fade off until they are extremely rare. Likewise, my expectations of him slacken and eventually fall out.
This idea is prompt in my mind when I receive this message from him. I will give this to you straight because it is easier to pick apart when it is still on the bone.
He says (essentially): Just sending you a message to say I am going up to Seattle and then on a cruise so I will talk to you today and then not for a week.
Recall, I am highly defensive and after a period of silence, gathering my shit together quite nicely. Of course, my day has been shit but I am still too stunned to realize that.
I reply (essentially): Enjoy your trip. Next weekend I leave for San Fransisco for a week but I will have my phone with me. After that, to Arkansas soon for a chunk of the summer. Take pictures and bon voyage.
Because I am a bitch. Because I am acclimated back to my usual self at this point and I am probably still a tad defensive after recent run ins with Dr. Jeckel. Besides, if I got an asshole reaction from him at this point, I would still be able to salvage my contempt and go about my regular plan. Alas, he is too smart for that.
He says: I'm at the airport right now. Thanks, I will take pictures- do you want an eskimo or an igloo from Alaska?
Which, of course and unfortunately, begs for a reply. Mr. Hyde seems to be available today.
I say: Yes, please! An eskimo- one that won't bite me or melt. What shall I get you from San Fransisco? A flower for your hair?
Fairly aware that this allusion to a song by Scott McKenzie will go unrecognized... reader, you know the song. Don't bullshit.
He says: No thank you
In a softer form. And I am aware that I should stop there, not say anything else and drive that Jeep up PCH next week... but...
I say: Very well, have a marvelous vacation.
He says: Well you too if I don't get to talk to you before you leave.
Again, I should have stopped here and not said anything else... red jeep, PCH...
I say: I'll talk to you before Arkansas- don't think I have forgotten your birthday is coming up. Bye.
He says: Don't remember my birthday.
I say: Ok sir, whatever you want. Don't forget the eskimo and, by the way, you have made me happy today. Thanks.
He says: I won't forget the eskimo and I am so glad I made you happy.
And this time I stop. Enough. End scene.
He goes on his cruise to Alaska and I am really excited for him- it sounds like great fun.
But yes, contemplating on this and the impending... ending... that keeps getting pushed off by uncooperative circumstances... correct, that requires his presence, once again, in my head.
Which, luckily, fizzled quickly after 24 hours.
Now, I do think about him but limited to very rarely and to the following subjects:
a) How the cruise is going- because it would be so fantastic and I hope it is enjoyable for all the parties involved, truly.
b) What the hell I am going to do relating to his birthday now that I have alluded to it- this being placated by the idea that I will find something in San Francisco and the subject will not last longer. Because time goes by so fast and I know that I will forget and make an ass out of myself, you know going and putting a card on his car the day of... sound familiar? And not a bad idea though kind of creepy. Obviously not to me or Robert, but to him it would be. He works on different circuits and, amazingly, I am finding out that they are far different from what was originally posted... or even lately posted.
I guess that was a big part of why I decided to push off for a long time- because there were some universals between us, like enjoying the stars, that are no longer true by recent evidence. That was a big bummer. I say was because I had the aching suspicion for a while that our compatability mattered which, to me, it turns out, is completely irrelevant actually. My brain just gets twisted in all the wrong configurations and I start thinking what's up is down and down is up, left is right, right is left, and that I want things that I really don't want.
And then some time passes and I am sitting in my backyard thinking about how ridiculous the mess is because I really would have regretted my actions in retrospect.
So truly, I was being pretty cruel to myself by not looking at what my wants are. As honesty would have it, my wants are not nearly as entertaining nor as romantic (nor as dramatic) as the script I was and would continue playing off of.
Am I being to vague? That's okay- you get the general idea.
-----
So by a chain of events, all of which are insignificant, we had a late-father's-day dinner for my grandfather. That is, my mother designed it, my step father cooked for it, my grandparents were bussed up from LR to mum's house, and we all ate steak. Hurray!
No, but it was a very good dinner. Around the cherry table, with aid from steak and baked potatoes... well fuck- the thing is there is no way to describe the humor that my family seems to possess. I cannot even remember most of the jokes that were made but I know that I had a sincere case of the giggles throughout the evening. I know that everyone was pleasant and laughed and made comments. The food was good and we all gave our compliments to the chef.
Outside, my mum and stepfather sat with us smokers, though they both dislike smoke.
It was a good evening. End scene.
----
As spoken of in my other post from

Crying Over the Test: Resolution.

I was in my room when my dad called this morning. I answered the cell phone and pulled the towel from my wet hair.
He asked how the test went and I sat down on my bed as I explained in very brief summary.
Then I grabbed the towel and started down the stairs when he asked if I could make in studies for the loss and I said yes and began to cry.
I sat on the couch downstairs while the tears fell, he told me about carpet in the house and moving maybe moving the furniture out of the storage unit, about looking into dates for my return to Arkansas and I replied in short affirmative answers, concealing successfully the flood that was occurring without notice.
Then after a while he came back around to the test and I couldn't conceal it anymore. The level of unknown upset rose in my voice and I kept crying in a very controlled form- that is, I could control everything but the amount of tears from my eyes.
The first day, the day of the test, I think I was too stunned and unaware of the repercussions that must occur because of my panic attack so I cried very little and not so sincerely. The second day, yesterday, I think I ignored it all together, being fairly tired and not pleased with myself. Today, the third day, I must examine a course of action to counteract the consequences- I must read, study, work all summer because it is important to me. And, fortunately, I have nothing better to do- no job, no plans, etc- so I can make no excuses against spending my time in an academic manner.
He said he was going to check on my Ford emblem which has yet to arrive and I said okay, I will talk to you later. He asked if I was okay and I said yes. And we said I love you, goodbye.
I put the phone on the couch and brought the towel to my face and let out a sob most dramatic in nature that alarmed me. I stood up and went to make coffee, still crying and gained control of myself quickly from there.
"Then you will study, you will read, you will make up for every credit. But you will not sit around and cry and pity yourself," I said to myself in a loud, strict manner.
"Yes, I will," was the reply. And I stopped crying, picked up 2001: Space Odyssey and began to read.

Are you going to hate me if I don't give a good post today? That's what I was afraid of.
Well, I am sorry but I couldn't do anything justice at this point in the evening. Tomorrow is Monday, however, and I will be all yours- I will mull over at length everything from the past few days and put it all into one big, long, spectacular post/rant/load of shit.
Things to post about tomorrow (in addition to the stuff from yesterday):
a) woke up at 12, showered and went to car spa- zoned like a mother fucker, my sovienier rag, etc.
b) went to look at furniture- for new sectional to replace blue leather currently downstairs
---
I should mention that I had a dream last night... and I have had dreams like it before: I was using, only occasionally, without anyone knowing... I was able to do it like once every few months without having come clean about it and starting over at day one but, also, without going all-out into drinking and drug use.
Nice idea, right?
To keep on counting the time sober without aknowledging to anyone that I had secretly, and at various times before, actually relapsed.
I woke up in a funk, zoned out until well after noon.
Those are the worst kind of relapse dreams- the ones where I keep it to myself, have been keeping it to myself, and can feel the full weight of guilt, but do it anyway.
Its late so I can't exactly describe what I am talking about very accurately.
Well, they are bad.
And my dreams have been kicking up again- a few nights ago (maybe a week) I know that I had a dream which went along the lines of: TGJ has everything, money to buy anything he doesn't have, and he can somehow get it all done with plenty of spare time to have fun... and I am tired, working or something and dumbfounded if nothing else.

Things for me to post about in-depth tomorrow:
a) the test I was supposed to take today
b) afternoon in LR which ended with a late father's day dinner at mum's house
c) brief emerging of TGJ in text messages this afternoon that are a prelude to at least a week of silence and which were able to throw off my plan of removing conversation between us until my return from Arkansas
d) the fact that there is still no date set for my vacation back to Arkansas.
---
Since I won't have any reason to write about it tomorrow, I went to the library today in LR (very nice and not busy at all) and got taco sauce all over myself (good job, self)
Right, so the former was more important than the latter but hey- take what you can get.
Goodnight. I am going to read now.

I feel like I should mention, write something, about the oddity that is this world- the oddity that is individual personalities, group personalities, relationships, love, etc.
There is just something so completely... mesh about it all, isn't there?
Lace perhaps in the more formal quarters. But for the most part something so mesh, delicate, and seemingly simple. One dimentional...
Of course, it isn't. None of what we have on this planet in the form of humans is so simple or, if it is, we would prefer that to not be known.
So I am reading pride and prejudice and going "isn't there suppose to be more?"
And that is the truth of what I feel- shouldn't there be something in addition to the mesh that allows us to not fall through the cracks quite so stupidly?
The air conditioning is on today so all the windows were closed in the house. In the kitchen we have had an infestation of flies the past few days. On this particular day, there was one stupid fly stuck between the glass and the screen- so close to freedom but unable to penetrate the mesh.
So there, now you have both perspectives and, to be completely honest, I think of myself more as a fly unable to penetrate the what seems so simple and thin a fabric.
Fuck that, though, because it will not lead me down the road I am trying to go down here with this.
What makes one person love another person? What makes them give up love?
What in God's name would make a year past and still Bingley comes back to Jane, their love undiminished by time and odd circumstances.
Can such a romantic notion actually be probable in the world today?
No. Not really. Because if you fall in love with a girl in California and are separated from her for whatever reason, chances are that you will find another within a freckle's exactness of her and find yourself in love alllll over again.
But it is fairly interesting that such a beautiful and celebrated idea, as we all admit love is, can be so fucked in falsehood as to appear completely... mesh to the average onlooker.
I mean you see a couple in love, no matter the age, and you think to yourself:
"AH! That's great, they caught it! Nice to see someone actually got a piece of that whole love thing."
And everybody is in love or nobody is in love.
I will be the first and last to tell you, depending on what mood I am in when you receive me, that I would play love to the fullest without knowing until five years later how absolutely, utterly mesh the entire thing had been- the best part was also the thinnest part and could not be contained, quickly drained out, and left me with shit. But I wouldn't know that at the time because I would be hellbent on ACHEIVING love, sparking the admiration of someone else whether or not I actually gave a damn about them... would be a question only I could answer during extensive therapy.
More later. Pizza now.

Hello all. It is good to be writing here again.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon, some of the evening, and half of the night reading Pride and Prejudice. Finished it up by early afternoon today.
Good book. No Jane Eyre but good book all the same.
So that has been my day thus far and there hasn't been much, if any, irritation. I am eating like a stupid fuckhead but other than that, things have been well.
Haven't talked to TGJ since the last mentioned message that I sent him, to which there has been no reply. My assumption, hopefully correct, is that he is currently on a cruise to Alaska with his family but I am truly not sure and not involved.
In a week N, D, and I will be driving up to San Fransisco and after that I will consider summer to be in full swing.
More prominently, tomorrow I will get my ass up early as fuck and drive to Fullerton to test. The largest issue I have with the thing is parking. I am really unsure of the parking situation there... ugh.
So yes, I think that will go fairly well and I... will be in good shape to finish up my academic year around this December. Holy fuck.
Taking cue from my behavior towards my father, I have developed a shield of indifference towards extracurricular male relationships, I guess you could say.
That is, if I can satisfy myself talking to my father for 5 minutes every 3 days, I can satisfy myself with even less in regards to someone I have no genetic ties to.
And then you view my brother- aside my time in Arkansas, I do not communicate with him whatsoever. He being the closest in resemblence (of circumstances and style) to my friend here in California... and also, in my opinion- and not just as a sister because we all know there are quite a few issues between us siblings- much more kick ass than any other male I can think of in California.
More later...

Am I allowed to say the D. word?
No, bad Kelly. That is not something to fuck around with AT ALL, AT ALLLLLLL.
That type of arrangement in PERMANENT. Therefore, no, you cannot joke around about it.
Not when you place such a high importance on irony.
Hehe, yea, that would be bad, huh?
Yea, definitely bad you dumbass.
-----

I am already feeling the effects of distance though it is not what you might think.
First I will start with telling you... I am considering going back and working on Poeish- Incarceration of Anonymous- here pretty soon. I am thinking about it.
I don't know... if I keep talking about it and don't feel it, it will end up a pile of shit all the same.
So I am trapsing lightly back into the frame of mind I had when I wrote that story... Bukowski for sure. Reading him... will reignite my sarcasm right quick, which has been fizzling out I noticed.
I noticed that more often than not I am just nice or not-very offensive... my apologies for not needing to make more apologies. It is unfortunate that I have become a fucking pussy over the past few weeks. Distance, as I said, is going to assist me.
Distance has already started kicking in. I am not expectant- a problem for me.
Nonetheless, I am seeing Kerry next week.
LR today; we all told our childhood stories relating to swimming. It was nice and we all got a chance to share. Really, it was pleasant.
Now both Eeps are stationed in the vacinity of this house. It is going to be one of my tasks to clean up Eep Also this summer.
So Bukowski for tonight... it is allll good. Two full days before that test in Fullerton... I just can't fucking believe it is almost July.
What the fuck?

Circling Around the Irony.

I knelt down on the steps to the hot tub tonight while smoking my cigarette: it is a full moon and the only way I could see him this early was to look between roof tops while kneeling on the hard plastic steps.
So I was thinking about people. I was thinking if whether during all the silence I was actually thinking about the person or not- the person or the papier mache.
I figured that most likely I was thinking about the idea- I know I can live without the person but it is much harder to live without friendship.
Then I thought about friendship. I thought about the prolonged silence that goes along with it sometimes. I asked myself about Kristin. I asked if she is my best friend and replied in the affirmative.
I thought about how long it has been since we last talked. And then I thought about who my best friend is- I said her full name in my head and then her birthday...
Her birthday.
Her birthday was last week.
Her fucking birthday was last week.
Her damn fucking birthday was last week and I didn't remember.
Her God damn fucking birthday was last week, I have known her my entire life, and I did not fucking remember. I just flat out did not remember.
I fucking forgot. Full out, flat ass, fucking forgot.
And then I thought about friendship.
Then I sat there,
and thought about fucking friendship,
and cussed to myself quietly.
Because I have an interesting concept of friendship, don't I?
I love her and for my entire life I have said her name when I ask myself who my best friend is. I have been off before but in the midst of contemplating TGJ and comparing him to wiffle balls, I fucking failed to remember her birthday.
Damn it.
And damn me for that.
That is not to say if I wasn't contemplating TGJ that I would have remembered.
I am not saying that at all.
What I AM saying is that it is quite ironic, isn't it?
That while I was deeply probing what it means to have and keep a relationship, a friendship pulsing... while I was contemplating the depths of my personality, of the importance of having someone who can quip with me, someone who cares about my personality, someone who understands my sense of humor... while I was commenting TO-FUCKING-DAY that I want to go back and look into the eyes of people I know in Arkansas and pretend there has never been any time or distance between us... while I have been buying fucking cracker jacks for shitheads who turn around and get defensive with me... while I have been trying to hold on to some Dr. Jeckel or Mr. Hyde...
I fucking forgot her birthday.
That is just fucking ironic. Everything that I have been saying doesn't exist and every way I have been saying you can't go about keeping a relationship... distance and time... fuck me.
Just fucking fuck me.
Fuck my comments, my persistance.
Fuck my guilt...
Ha, you ironic mother fucker! I like that touch- the moth.
Right now I went to bat at a moth that was going after the computer screen. When the first hit missed, I pulled my hand back and said aloud, "You can't help it, you go for the light." and looked at the frantic little creature.
But do you want to know the truth about moths and, perhaps, about myself?
They are not attracted to the light- they are attracted to the dark around the light:
Moths are apparently attracted to light, or more specifically, are known to circle bright objects. The reason for this behaviour is not known. It may be moths navigate by maintaining a constant angular relationship to a bright celestial light (such as the moon), but on encountering a bright artificial light it navigates maintaining a constant angle to the light resulting in the moth flying in a spiral until it hits the light source.
However, researchers such as Henry Hsiao suggest the reason for moths circling lights has to do with a visual distortion called a Mach band. Henry Hsiao conjectures that moths, as nocturnal creatures, fly towards the darkest part of the sky in pursuit of safety. Moths are thus inclined to circle ambient objects in the Mach band region, usually at a radius of about one foot, depending on the species.
HA MOTHER FUCKERS! Its a full moon- I am going to circle around the irony in the darkest place, my backyard, where I am safe.

Down in Ink: Contemplating Silence.

Written by hand and then transferred here:
---
I think to myself: that is not nice; his silence is not the kind thing.
Then my mind replies with my kind things- going to the theatre and watching a movie with one of his co-workers, lying to that boy about my age, kissing him.
Going to the theatre, smoking out with another co-worker upstairs.
Going to the theatre with other boys on purpose.
So on and so forth.
But my heart only stops beating, my stomach drops out when I realize how little of my wrongs he is actually aware of; how much does he know?
And how can a sinner of this magnitude sit and contemplate the discomfort of receiving silence?
How can she without a pang of guilt?
She doesn't, I don't.
Can the task of analyzing another's vanity eclipse the reality of one's own?
And can I request my rights, the rights of my comfort, for my sole possession when I took someone else's in full for so long?
How long is long enough to feel badly over what I have done to this person?
Do sins of the past only become extinguished when the last embers of contact fade?
--
By that token, I am inclined to believe that fading is a good idea; perhaps, just perhaps, the magnitude of past sins cannot be appeased by the pleasantries of now- what has become.
Turning away would mean that no one can see me blush.
And then the pride I have in who I've become, the pride I want them to have in me rises up in frustration- DON'T HIDE! ITS NOT YOU ANYMORE!
No, but "what is and what should never be".
SURVIVE, if only to make amends!
Is that why I am here in the first place?
To make amends to this person?
Or is that merely a last attempt to regain a place?
No- I will do so. I will survive and do so but not in a moment of boredom, desperation, anger. Not when I do not feel guilt and remorse; a bitter taste of blood from biting my mouth, a strength in the images my mind has brought forth to embody those... wrongs.
The fact that those images remain, strong enough to request I stop eating and write... that is more good than bad.
Discomfort is a prelude to emotion. Emotion... allows me to differentiate between my "scenarios" and my life, actuality, reality, and then actions (if they are required).

Okay I would like to start setting a date for my trip back to Arkansas now.
I don't care if I have to sleep on the floor of MB's kitchen with her two dogs.
Well, I care to the extent that I can care when I am this ready to leave.
Keep in mind, I am still calm. This isn't desperation, though we might see a little of that soon. But I do want to leave California. I do want to come back from San Fransisco and get on a plane. I do want the humid heat and bugs, the long boring days at the dealership, the nights spent half-dead and nicotene depraved at MB's.
Whatever, I want to be out of California for a while, even shortly. I will dress in white and go to the wedding, play ping pong with the kids, act nice in front of co-workers, whatever.
I drove around for a very long time today and it went well.
Its summer, damn it. There. Its June and I am ready to leave this state, pack my suitcase and fly fly fly across the midwest, back to my good old Arkansas, my good run-away destination.
Time out- I am not running away, just so you know. For the past 4 years I have gone back to Arkansas during the summer. Fly me away, wisk me off. I want to go "home". I want to drive down College Avenue, Dickson Street, the Square. I want to look into every pair of eyes I can find and pretend like hell that there hasn't been any time or distance that has separated us.
Brown, green, blue, white, blood-shot, purple eyes, whatever.
Look at me. Most assuredly my eyes came from Arkansas. Anyone with half a brain can tell you that.
I am prepared to sit tight for however long, to not bring up my trip to my father during our conversations, such as refrained from doing tonight. 1 minute 37 seconds.
I am prepared to take on DFW when the time comes, LAX, XNA, whatever.
But I would like to leave. And I would like some new sheets for my bed in California, a new comforter. I would like that very much.
Those things I can live without though. And I could live without going to Arkansas, this we all know.
But why should I? Because there is no place for you in Arkansas- there is no bed you can sleep in, no place to put your clothes, no shower you can reserve in the mornings.
There is no place for you.
I so badly want to reply: that is not my problem.
I suppose, though, it is. My problem. My fucking problem.
No place. My problem.
My summer in California with my truck, stewing in my own thoughts.
Get a job. I would prefer not to- no point in getting a job if I am going to leave for Arkansas.
Get a hobby. Would you like to pick one for me? Please, step right up. Better yet, submit yourself and I will make you my hobby.
Take a summer class. Fuck you; stop already.
What are you gonna do with yourself, miss girl? I don't fucking know.
I'll be back later.
-----------------
I was rereading my posts from earlier this month, such as the one that compared TGJ to a wiffle ball. I no longer feel that comparison is accurate.
A wiffle ball has the role of being a toy- that is, something entertaining, something fun. Again, I state that it is plastic and hollow, contributing to the lightness that separates it from other balls.
As I come to have more interaction, of any kind, with TGJ, I am realizing that he is not at all like those things described in the paragraph above.
There is, in fact, something within him that weighs him down in my mind, almost to an unmovable degree. That weight means that he is no longer light, he is no longer availible for mass consumtion- he is entertaining and fun, and from the outside may appear the same as a wiffle ball... but the contents is much different.

I am trying out a new approach. I figure I have nothing to lose, wouldn't you agree?
She said: I am not going to give up on you unless to you tell me to. So don't kick at me- I am no threat to you.
He has gone silent which has been happening a lot lately. To be honest, I am going to give up on communication, at least for a while. But that does not mean I have lost faith or whatnot. It just means that things are easier when you step back for a good period of time and let your eyes and mind rest.
He is going on vacation soon and by the time he returns I will be gone on my vacation. He doesn't know that.
Hopefully soon after I return from San Fransisco I will head to Arkansas for a good portion of the summer. Such is my plan. That will give ample time for me to relinquish control and even faith if needed without being accused of giving up.

I Am That Girl...

and that is good with me.

Jack Vettriano - After the Thrill is Gone

Truth sees me through the night.

Sorry I have been pretty mentally exhausted for some reason. Something about this past few weeks, in particular this past week, has drained me. But I am still capable.
I looked at my pills as I sorted them tonight. I looked at my never-made bed and the clothes drenching my papasan chair tonight. I looked at the towels on my bathroom floor.
I could never have kids I thought to myself on a minimal frequency that I save for night.
----
Today I slept till 12 and even upon waking remained half dead. N and D took me to an art store where you can write with as many pens as you want, test them out on little pads of paper, up and down each aisle until your heart is content. My heart was content. I found a beautiful journal

Conversing with the Moon.

The past two nights I have taken to laying on the cover of the hot tub and looking at the sky while I "smoke the night's last cigarette".
Last night the sky was covered with clouds- only towards the very last drags could I make out where the moon was shining.
Tonight though it was clear and even slightly cold. I wore my slippers when I went out.
I am fond of the moon and he was shining quite brilliantly this evening.
"Good evening," as thought, perhaps spoke in my mind while finding a good position to lay. "Like most men I cannot tell if you are glum or bored, whether you are frowning or yawning."
He kept shining so I kept speaking to him silently. "This is for the both of us," said as I lit the cigarette. "Three days- in three days you will be completely full."
Then I laid my head down making myself completely flat and just looked at him for a while, taking a drag and shifting my attention to the stars and then back to him after the next drag.
After a while I sat up to reach for my coffee and deposit my ashes in their specified location. I felt the question from somewhere in space come to me: "are you happy?" and I thought I caught the infliction of one who, himself, is not entirely content.
"Am I happy?" flicking the ashes and picking up my glass, "I think that I am always happy- that we as people are created to be happy by default. It is merely whether or not I am satisfied. When I am satisfied, I can be happy," said with motions of the hand that made my coffee slosh around pleasantly. I took a sip out of the pink straw and set the glass back down, than myself back down and said, "Yes, I am happy."
I pushed my sunglasses down on to my nose for assistance with the radiance and gave my attention over to the moon once again. From across the space I heard or felt some of the moon as he expressed his discontent that he is not as magnificent as the sun, that he could not make things grow, such as the flower to my left. I looked at the flower as I formulated my reply.
"If you were as magificent as is required to make plants grow, I would not be able to sit and admire you nor would anyone else. I like you the way you are."
I felt he was displeased that he cannot create his own light.
"If the world would stop spinning and the sky stop moving, I would lay here all day and stare at you. I like you the way you are."
And I put out my cigarette. "I will come back again tomorrow, that you can be sure of. Three days- in three days you will be as full and magificent as can be tolerated. Besides, lovers blossom by moonlight, not sunlight."
And I went inside.

The Photographer's Daughter

Not Sure Who Created This Beauty...

Isn't she beautiful? Emotional.

...Look...

I think I deserve love as much as anyone...

If I could purge thoughts from my mind on command, we would end this quick and simple.
I am not disgusted but completely unattatched at this point. Why would I want to be attached in any sense?
I am not having an identity crisis. I am who I am and always will be. So I must remain clear if I am to continue this pantomine- that this is not about me, this does not concern the real me, and I must not offer anything except the filtered version of me.
I have more invested in myself than to throw it all on the table and be kicked away in hurtful ignorance.
But ha, that isn't fair- I am not hurt. I am realistic. So that excuse must be waved.
I am being kicked away though. Which is fine because it is no reflection of me. Realistically, it is some fragment, some composition of my creative mind that is being pushed and pulled.
Compliments and insults are towards that girl. And I sit equally uninvolved at my home, writing and ranting as usual.
So no, I am not hurt.
The better majority, the better and best of me are just unenthused about this arrangement, about shipping off the fitlered version to be fucked with.
Oh but we are all defensive when we feel threatened.
Do the reactions you receive influence you? Yes. For the same reasons I stated that my reactions should influence other people- that it allows a range of motion that is within the boundaries of appropriate, it teaches what is off limits, what is harmful, what is helpful- what is appropriate.
Enough of that. That is dead for now.
The point is that it is difficult to justify any emotion or even interaction when the sole purpose of my existence is to agree or disagree, to laugh or sit silent.
Does that seem right? To me it does not.
But it is what it is. I should not wish to place a large portion of my personality on someone who displays the aptitude for contradiction and ability to bruise others without reason and without thought.
There you have it. That is all for now.
-----
Later in the evening
-----
Went to mama and papa's which was uneventful but I continued my thought process on this whole deal.
What have you come up with, Kelly?
I will tell you.
When I think about all of this I see my papier mache composition of memories set in front of an overcast sky- some layers of newspaper are peeling off in certain places and it is unclear what shape the composition resembles. I see no color but blue, black, gray, and white.
I could tell you where the composition is sitting as it deteriorates in its natural surroundings- it is sitting by the lake, near the gazebo.
I don't have any conscious choice in the images that come to me. Once they are available and ready for me to view, I am able to zoom in on particular objects but I did not put any of this together on purpose.
In January, I had a great deal of pain in my stomach in relation to this person. Now, there is no physical repercussions. It is nothing but another scenario in my head to be worked out, dropped off, posted on this blog, and filed for future reflection.
Well, most of the time. Occasionally I realize that there is a person intertwined with the papier mache but he is, to me at this moment, very little of a person.
Find this blog if you will. Read this and know it is you I am speaking of.
The idea of giving myself without reservation,in even a verbal manner, to someone with such distaste for my presense (aside those times one forgets to lash out or becomes too tired to perform such acts)... that is just fucking ridiculous, isn't it?
Or is that just me? No, don't even pretend it is just me.
I know that I am honest and good at heart, that I am willing and able to give myself to someone and be a remarkable asset.
Fuck anyone who wishes to say I am otherwise.
I know I deserve my happiness and I have a real wish to give happiness to the people I love, I like- even the people that just don't piss me way-the-fuck off.
I know that the longer I stay alone, the stronger I become, that I will not bend back upon myself today or tomorrow for anyone else.
I know these things and I see my backyard and the sun beginning to rise as the light hits the side of the house. I see my arms stretched out before me and the life in my hands.
I know that it is easy to kick the chair and watch, sliding across the floor, as the face faded into the distance.
My mind is mostly prepared to have no pain from such a motion. Occasionally, again, I see the person and not the papier mache. During that time I have a brief moment that I consider the possibility of "loss".
But what is life without loss? And what kind of loss is one so trivial when diminished by all the clauses that reality struck into the situation, peeling off the newspaper in layers, drying out my messy piece of work, it amounts to nothing but a blue balloon, homemade paste, and the Orange County Register?
That, my friends, is as little a loss as it comes.
There may come a moment of weakness where I cry out to myself in the dark for a life form.
For now I am very matter-of-fact about the whole thing in reality. I am trying to iron out the corners to record the whole picture- to record, not repeat.
It is much like a spreadsheet on excell that I have to create- I have about the same level of investment and yes, I do put a lot of time and effort into my spreadsheets.

Reactions are Important. To Me.

It is not my heart or emtions that are wounded. In fact, I don't think any part of me is wounded.
My pride has not been harmed but my the composition created in my mind has been altered, without a doubt.
What point is kissing someone if their reaction is irrelevant?
And at first I think to myself "you don't care what my reaction is at all?" which is followed quickly by "but then again, you don't even know who I am".
Still there is something baffling about spending any amount of time, energy, thought on a person when they have such irrelevance.
Of course this is amplified in sexual encounters because the entire point is that what you are experiencing is a shared experience- it is not merely you in your shower, where the reaction of a person in your fantasy world is dismissable.
For me, at least, when I kiss someone it is about the sensations I receive as a result of their participation and the sensations I give them. That is important to me- reaction is important to me.
Do you see what I mean? I cannot bring myself to kiss a dead body nor a pillow case.
But of course I am not sure what kind of reaction he was considering.
Even on that card, you think that if a person has a reaction such as "stop, don't" there is a merit to that also.
Oh God yes, reaction is important.
To me.
But sexual reaction is not what I crave most sincerely, though it may appear otherwise.
It is engagement, reaction to my thoughts and humor that drives me into socialization.
I want you to hear my joke. I want to laugh and I want to make you laugh.
Now when pieces of this simple chain are missing, it is easy to see why the whole thing falls apart.
Firstly, I am not sure I possess, even in my most filtered-to-please form, the ability to make this person laugh. I can see clear, easy, swift, clean shots of my humor flying past his head.
I can laugh at his jokes easily- they are of a humor that is easily accessible, a humor that was native to us all as children, so comprehension is without extreme difficulty.
Comprehend is a good word for what I am trying to describe.
I want to be comprehended and, if that want is placated, I will allow myself to be apprehended. The latter is fairly meaningless without the former.
I can have sex with someone and not truly "get" them.
Even then I the reaction is important, the movement, the feeling.
Mind you, I do not want a romantic relationship in the conventional sense.
I have been two years without sex so it is not highly unethical, in my opinion, for me to want it. That does not necessitate a romantic relationship.
I want friendship and comprehension with the ability to be unattached from sexual conquests.
Even with the person I conjur up who can push me against a wall and kiss me, the person who can spar with me intellectually, who makes me laugh and whom I can make laugh readily...
even with that person I do not forsee a romantic relationship in the near future.
I do not wish to constrict you- I do not even know you and you, Sir, most definitely do not know me.
I am important and I am satisfied.
I am satisfied to sit here if that is what I must do.
So be it.
Perhaps not with this person, but with someone I could give myself over only as a sexual being but it must be recognized by us both, especially by me, that is what is occurring.

A War of Messages.

Yea, so I need to fill you guys in on Day Camp yesterday.
----
Yesterday: I went in to SJ for probably the last time this academic year. I will finish with close to a 4.0 this semester. Hurray!
Did that and on my way back home I called TGJ and let him know I am available but I needed to drop by my house first. He said okay, call him when I am ready.
Go home, change clothes, and other little minor crap and then call. He doesn't pick up and I don't leave a message. Okay, its all good. I get my cigarettes, coffee, and string cheese with the intention of driving over to the lake for a while- just staring into the water and thinking.
Go to the truck with all my essentials and message TGJ telling him I tried to call. Great. Making my way over to the lake and he calls. The easiest thing is for me to go over to his house. Ha! On the smart side for me I also got the sack full of cracker jacks when I left the house. Hurray!
Okay great so I get there, park, and try to call because I cannot remember which townhouse he lives in. He calls right back and says he is coming out. Great.
He comes out and we say hello and he decides he wants to change clothes. Fine. I sit on the kitchen floor petting the dog while he goes upstairs and changes.
We take his car and go back to the same N.C. location as usual so he can pick up something and tell someone something, etc. First I get the sack of cracker jacks and he is pretty amazed.
Get on the freeway and go to the NC location. Stop at the ice cream place- I decline to purchase anything. Go to his work and he gets a game. Start heading back to the car and decide to go see "Batman Begins".
-------
Okay. No more for now. I want a cigarette and I am sick of talking, writing, or thinking about TGJ for now.
We are currently in a miniature war which almost resulted in me saying: fuck the whole thing. It began as playful, than provoking, and then he got offended and catty and I got defensive and brash. He calmed it down saying the "right" thing as he is ever-so-capable of doing and I said fine what-the-fuck-ever because I am still ruffled. Now its back on him and he has gone silent.
We messaged last night and he couldn't sleep so this morning I asked if he finally went to bed. Then we discussed a dream I had and he made a remark something like: it sounds like the sexual ideas would be fun... okay. fuck. I am going to have to retell the entire dream. Fine.
--
Last night I had a dream that TGJ and I were laying on the grass (at the far corner from Vandergriff Elementary School and close to McNair Middle School) looking at a peach colored sky. We were talking on our cell phones. His cut off because he had been calling me too much so I said that everytime I called him I would kiss him, something like that. So I called and the phone rang once so I leaned over and kissed him. This happened a few times and he kept picking up the phone on the first ring. Well, eventually he let the phone keep ringing so we kept kissing until the call went to voicemail. This happened a few times before he finally pulled me over on him and I woke up.
That's it. Hmph.
So I told him about it this morning and he said it sounded like fun.
I said something like: you would never touch me- I just have to assess whether it is lack of want or fear.
He replied something such as: it is not for lack of want.
and said that I would be surprised what he would and wouldn't do.
I said: you'll do what you want.
He said: yes and someday I will prove you wrong
I said: I'll do what I want and laugh my ass off when I prove you wrong
He said: don't make me come over there and prove my point
I said: don't make me come over THERE and prove my point
He said: I'd like to see you try
I accused him of provoking me and he said he just wanted proof.
Here is where things turn ugly.
I said that he couldn't prove anything if I didn't accept his advances, that if he thought I would react negatively than he would not attempt and that fear is why after all this time- my proof- he had yet to swoon me into submission.
He was pissed. He retorted that he didn't care how I reacted because he didn't need a reaction.
And this is where he reaches his climax (I have yet to begin)
He said something like: I want him to say that he is afraid of my reaction but that he is really not. He said that in a pretty snotty way.
I replied, gathering my vocabulary: firstly that he is a smartass, then that it was a observation of his character not merely a response to me; that as a fact, if he thought I would be offended by his actions, time and again he would stop. I ended that response with: getting catty?
Okay so now he is fully pissed and messages me: I don't need to prove anything. I have tried to kiss you and it was YOU who rejected me.
Now I am getting pretty pissed as well so I ask: what do you want? would you like me to come on to you or would it be better if I was silent? what do YOU want?
So here I am really upset and he starts getting the gravity of it and collects himself before posting the reply: I honestly don't know. I just don't want things to be weird between us.
At that comment I was already gone. I was glad he was calm but I was pissed: US? who the fuck is US? You don't know me, you don't care to know me. You ask no questions about me or my well being or, even during this conversation, what I WANT. I have a brain and hobbies and I may seem boring because I am reserved in your company but I sure as fuck have an opinion and a fucking heart.
On that reaction I became pissed at the entire conversation, every conversation that had taken place where I gave myself as even slightly open to having a romantic relationship. Even earlier in this day I had said this: There are two reasons I am reserved around you- if you disappear again it won't really be about me and I don't think my personality would please you.
So I was upset. Pretty damn upset that I let things go there. Pretty damn upset that for even a moment we were pretending like we actually had anything between us.
He is defensive because he is absolutely sure that I am going to rip him from being a bachelor, take all his free time, burn his videogames, etc. and chain him to a relationship.
No. I don't give a shit but sometimes I forget that because I get caught up in the game, in the current.
So when he said he didn't want things to be weird between us, I said: well thats simple.
He said: I'm confused
I said: and why is that sir?
and with just two messages I had kicked him as far from me as is possible to do remaining understated.
That is how I think of it most of the time: that one or both of us is sitting in a chair with wheels and I can extend my leg and, in one easy motion, send us gliding apart.
US. What-the-fuck-ever.
Eventually he will tell me why he is confused and the game will continue from there.
If not than not. I will wait a few days before I have anything to do with him whatsoever and then send a simple message that does not require an answer.
That is the game.
I will finish telling you about camp some other time.

------
Finishing up the above post on day camp.
This section completed: June 28, 2005
--
So we walk back to the theatre on the other side of the NC location. He buys our tickets and I pay him back before we even step inside.
While he gets in line for concessions, I walk around the lobby surveying the arcade games and return to his side and we head for THEATRE 21: BATMAN BEGINS.
First people inside- there is still about a half-hour before the movie starts. So we begin the infinitely boring process of ping-ponging back to one another the choice of where to sit.
He comments that we should go lay on the floor at the front and, seeing that we are still the only people I issue a carefree "Okay," to which he slings back an "I was only kidding," and I retort "well, I would do it anyway."
And the subject is dropped. We sit about 5 rows from the screen- Imax seating so we are in the lower teir of seats anyway.
From there we lapse into stupidity. He gets out his touch-screen PSP and shows me the magnificence of playing Kirby using this method. Indeed, I watch amazed, thinking back at the times I played video games with my brother many many years before. Thus, concluding that there have been obviously remarkable strides in advancement of games yet, the basic outlines of games themselves, the characters and such, though more elaborate, are essentially unchanged.
The colors were quite pretty, by the way.
"The Twenty" came on and TGJ grunted his dissaproval of it, having worked in a theatre and grown to dislike this entertainment.
I turned my attention to the screen anyway. Finding that he was quite involved with Kirby- occasionally making comments on how difficult the game was to soothe over any mishaps in his performance- I took my phone from my purse and devoted myself to my own little technological gem, sending a message to N, letting her know my whereabouts incase I was never seen or heard from again. Huh.
So there it was, who started the messaging? I guess it was probably me.
At some point, a few minutes later, his phone took over his attention- received a call or message or something. And, still having my own phone at the ready, I guess that it was I who sent the first message, probably commenting on his preoccupation or something...
To which, he replied and we got onto the subject of "want" by no suprise of you, the reader.
He said I wanted him.
I said he wants me to want him.
He said that's true.
I said he wants me.
And during this, between messages, we would sit in our seats and chat or watch "The Twenty" because we are actually sincere goofballs like that- as if one source of communication about jackshit wasn't enough, we were able to sit there and message as well.
In reply to the message I had just sent, he typed away frantically on his phone a reply
"What are you doing? Lord, writing a novel?" He laughed and kept typing.
Finally he sent and I received the latest installment of "teasing for the fuck of it" which I will fondly call this brand of messages
He said of course I want you, I have wanted you for years, I would right you a long poetic novel full of spelling errors to tell you of my love.
I replied, quite simply: yeah, right.
The movie began and ere long one of us would lean over towards the other and make a comment about whatever was passing on the screen.
So passed a large chunk of movie before anything note worthy occurred.
What occurred next? It went something like this- during the movie, he was receiving messages or someone was trying to call him, I am really not sure. After a while he would look down and examine his phone and then, BAM, shoot out of the theatre.
The first time this happened, he returned quickly and I simply asked if everything was okay.
The second time, I asked nothing and said nothing, and he was gone quite a bit longer.
More movie passed and I was beginning to feel a little uneasy- the feeling that politeness might be keeping him here though there were quite clearly other things he would like to be doing, that should be allowed to retain his attention, and the guilt that merely wishing to keep my feelings intact, he was staying most miserably.
Therefore, the third time came and I surveyed several times the empty seat to my right and then the seat to my left, in which lay my purse. The more time passed, and much time did pass, that the seat was empty, the stronger my conviction towards action became- though what flavor of action I wished to indulge in, I had no clue.
In the light and dark reflected in quick intervals off the monsterous screen in front of me, I put on my sweatshirt. From the seat to my left, I grabbed my purse and from it extracted my wallet, phone, and some nicotene gum. All of these things I crammed in the fleece pocket of my hoodie and sat, prepared.
Unfortunately, I sat too long- he returned quickly and unknowingly to his seat and within 2 seconds of his sitting down, I was up and headed for the door.
I went into the bathroom and examined my face in the mirror above each sink, in rapid succession, as I walked down the long corridor.
After a while, and a piece of nicotene gum later, I emerged and walked slowly and surely down towards THEATRE 21: BATMAN BEGINS. I entered reluctantly and walked slowly to my row, planting myself with a thud back down in my seat.
After a brief questioning in a kind voice, we finished watching the movie.
We left and walked back to his car. Along the way he talked about work and his ever-so-impressive competency and other various subjects. Eventually I said that I was hungry and, after saying this, couldn't remember if I had eaten anything all day.
In the car I picked up a box of cracker jacks and opened it, taking out the prize to examine it without eating any of the contents.
Quite swiftly we headed back to TGJ's house, for lack of a better idea, and there retired to his room.
He began playing video games, for lack of a better occupation, and I examined:
a) the game
b) my phone
c) the walls
d) a slinky- to which I said aloud the quote N had sent me a while back with a faint smile on my face. He thought the quote was mean.
e) my phone
Still staring completely at the TV and madly working the controller, he would ask me at regular intervals what I wanted to do, if I was still hungry, and where I wanted to eat.
I can't even tell you how long this went on. There was no chance in hell that I would choose what we did by myself. Personally, I am pretty mellow- I could sit on a sidewalk and not get sick of it for quite sometime. To whatever degree I am mellow, TGJ is picky and easily bored, though he would never admit to either. Thus, I knew that any idea I came up with would be miserable for him, whereas any idea he came up with would be satisfactory, most likely, for me.
This theory was tested and confirmed when I suggested, after quite a bit of pressuring, that we go to the lake- he had a vomit-like spout of words that marked his dissproval of this idea. With this I smiled to myself- which he did not see, still playing the game- because I had correctly assessed the situation and he was completely unaware of having compromised his position.
Okay, so this went on for-fucking-ever. A couple of times I said I should probably leave and he was adament that I stay. So I stayed.
Eventually I was very hungry and we decided to get pizza and chose the place.
----
Now, reader, you have been patient- here is your reward.
----
Choosing to take my truck, we head out the front door and to the street.
It is kind of messy- I have a bunch of CDs all over the passenger seat. He gathers them up and hands them to me. As we converse, I open the center console to chuck the CDs in there.
Guess what? There is my pack of cigarettes and the string cheese from earlier in the day when I headed to the lake.
Fuck. I lift my eyes to his face just as swiftly as I slam the console shut. He saw it. I comment on the string cheese. He says its probably bad by now. I am cussing to myself in my head but just trying not to show my grin of ironic defeat. He feels no need to mention anything but the change in my personality is perceptible. What's wrong? He asks, perhaps trying to coax a confession out of me.
Alas, not today. I can't help grinning between dissecting my mistake because it is just too amusing and too ironic. Oh Lord, is it ironic.
I put my key in the ignition and we close our doors, but I don't turn the key. I lean my head forward with my arms on the steering wheel and, out of the corner of my eye, look quickly over at TGJ. Are you okay? He asks.
Maybe we should take your car, I say.
If that's what you want, he says ever-so-softly. I nod the affirmative.
Out and off, I lock the doors, back around to the garage by foot. He goes inside and I take the brief moment to call my voicemail:
One message, from my father, telling me he loves me, he'll talk to me later, okay, bye.
The end is always soft- the "goodbye" is always gentle.
Even listening to the message I am just grinning and shaking my head. Unbelievable.
He comes back out and I hang up the phone. Into his car- I am accustomed to this part.
It is easily getting into night by now and we head off. Shit.
What's wrong? Something is wrong. Why are you so quiet?
Fuck. Confession? Is that what is being requested? Ha, not today my friend.
We get to the pizza place which is actually just inside a "Sears Essentials"
Order the pizza and start walking around the store- repeatedly swiping barcodes under the scanners placed for public use around the store: purely because when it reads the barcode, the machine makes a very interesting beeping sound. This, my friends, is enough to amuse us for quite a while.
Departing, we make a long circuit around the back of the store- first by toys, which we pass, and then to electronics and furniture. He sits on a couch looking at a big screen TV and, confirming that it is comfortable, requests me to sit down. I do so and it is pretty comfortable, after all.
After going through and looking at all the various TVs, we move back to toys.
Pure mischief- that is what it is to get he and I around toys, separately or together. After playing with the dolls, specifically the Star Wars characters, we headed towards the board games.
But of course, what is time spent without conflict?
Next to a tub of bouncy balls, there were the aqua noodles. We engaged in a brief sparring session before I proclaimed 'I will not get thrown out of here before I eat my pizza' and we departed.
What board game do you like best? I asked staring at the shelves. He may or may not have answered that question.
Bla bla we surveyed the rest of the toys and then, assuming the 20 minute wait for our pizza to cook had expired, headed back to the front of the store to eat.
Oh, what an odd thing it was to eat with him this time- though I was not too much self-conscious, it was just a complete oddity.
My hair was radically tangled from having the windows down in his car all day and what it was like to sit across from me, I haven't the faintest idea.
But to sit across from him- and by across I mean about two feet away, if that- was different this time. Maybe lack of nicotene had lifted my reality or something- who knows?
It was more like my brother than a friend. Automatically, I must edit that remark. I did not feel the normal twinges of expectance such as I might have towards someone whom I wished to engage in a romantic relationship. In addition, there was little attempt on either side to impress or edit, such as you might find when engaging a new friend. It was just that he was there and I was there, across from him, and we were perhaps sizing each other up in some terms, with almost the same investment, as if we were mutually wards of the other's care.
What am I trying to say precisely?
That is just was as it was- with no ties to any past or future, like two drug addicts that met in a club, both high as a kite, and were now fighting off the withdrawl symptoms together and, for the first time with sober and stupid eyes, looking at their company- knowing that you cannot truly hide who you are- they already know to much- but that you are still quite not knowing what to do next.
And we did watch each other. After spending such many hours together, constantly, in one afternoon, there was a sudden lack of edit or a maybe a lack of denial. I take that back right now.
He saw my habit of staring into space while I eat- that is, I will spin my fork in one hand, slowly, and just stare very meaningfully into space, thinking about something and absolutely nothing- which is a regular occurrence. Observing this, he pronounced me "strange" and I concured.
I smiled because I was flattered and knew it to be a true title, then I asked to what was he referring?
He mistook my question as a sign that I was offended and reacted as such to soothe me- that being strange is a good thing and being normal is not.
To this, I allowed it to go untouched because I haven't the energy to correct everytime I am misunderstood or underestimated. There just isn't enough time or need.
I saw his habit of eating- which was nothing spectacularly odd in itself. Acutally, it was the fact that while engaged in solemnly chewing, he was unable to speak, except with his eyes. For me, this is more important than anything- non-verbal communication. Occasionally his eyes would see me and realize there was life, but most of the time they just meditated over the exterior, as stated before- sizing me up.
By this there was the unfortunate reality that, in the communication most basic, that of the unconsciously moving eyes at times of contemplation, there was still a great lack of interest in me. That when the end of the day wound down, both of us were just too big into withdrawl to note the other in any new, meaningful light.
That is a shame, indeed.
We left soon after and, on the way back, were more open in speech though still unable to fire on the same frequency for any length of time.
He sung a rendition of Bon Jovi's "It's my life" entirely about breakfast cereal and I laughed very hard. The lyrics, however amusing on their own, was nothing compared to the deaf manuevering of the vocalist- up and down, almost always off-key, that made the entire thing absolutely hilarious.
And I rewarded him with sincere laughter. Which pleased him, as was reflected in his disposition and the new, louder second verse that was being improvized at that moment.
When back at his house, he walked me from his car to my truck and I thanked him very much and said: you are more than welcome to come over if you'd like. To which he quickly replied I had something on my agenda scheduled for 9:30 pm, exactly as I had relayed to him earlier in the day. I frowned my Judy Jones-esqe frown and said: yes, that is correct.
Off off and away.
I left and it was night, so there was this spectacular feeling in me that was absolutely unglamorous which requested my presence on the road for a while. I obliged.
I drove down the main streets and then, going into a residential area- the area surrounding the famed lake mentioned today- I pulled out a cigarette and smoked it, listening to "The Levvy"
Lyrics to follow.
Then I went home and sent TGJ a message saying (roughly): thanks sir, I had a great time this afternoon, especially when you sang about cereal. I hope you weren't too bored. I will randomly message you sometime soon... and from above, you know the rest.
Happy Blogging, Mother Fucker!

Led Zeppelin :: When the Levee Breaks

If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break,
If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break,
When the levee breaks i'll have no place to stay.
Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan,
Lord, mean old levee taught me to weep and moan,
Got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home,
Oh, well, oh, well, oh, well.
Don't it make you feel bad
When you're tryin' to find your way home,
You don't know which way to go?If you're goin' down south
They go no work to do,
If you don't know about chicago.
Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,
Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move.
All last night sat on the levee and moaned,
All last night sat on the levee and moaned,
Thinkin' 'bout me baby and my happy home.
Going, go'n' to chicago,
Go'n' to chicago,
Sorry but i can't take you.
Going down, going down now, going down.

I Do Not Wish To: (a list)

There will be a full post on my camp experience tomorrow. For now, I give you this:
I say these things with complete peace of mind, meaning that everything I say is as true as my conscience can produce without feeling ill at ease-
I do not wish to chain you, restrain you, restrict you, possess you, date you, rape you, molest you, or on those same lines make love to you.
I do not wish to cause you anger, despair, or unwanted distraction.
I do not wish to be the first thing you see in the morning nor the last thing at night.
I do not with to steal your free time nor have you steal mine.
I do not wish to obtain your attention or affection falsely nor do I wish to lie to you.
I do not wish to offer you more than I am capable of giving nor do I want that in return.
I do not wish to distrupt any fabric or accessory of your life.
I do not wish to manipulate you, play with your emotions, or take money from you in any form.
I do not wish to coax gifts out of you nor to coax you at all.
I do not wish to leave you when you want me to stay or to remain present when you wish me gone.
I do not wish for you to safeguard my emotions- they are my problem, not yours.
I do not wish to command you verbally, physically, or emotionally.
I do not wish to command you at all nor do I ask you to command me.
I do not wish to make decisions for you that you are capable of making yourself- I will offer my advice, input, and criticism when asked.
I do not wish to abuse you or your trust- please have the same respect for me.

I need to respond to a mistake I made earlier on my old blog: I wrote that Davis deserves this more than me. That is a load of shit.
I have not done nothing to get here. I gave up a lot and it is just fucking ignorant and disrespectful to myself to have said otherwise.
I am furious with myself- it was stupid, very stupid. Sometimes the romantic in me just takes control, the memories of the past grow into a figure that haunts me and I make moves to respond to the shadow it creates on my sanity.
But I have done a lot to prove I deserve this.
So fuck that.
Note: I did not say "fuck you" because that isn't the point. He has done nothing wrong to merit that.
No fuck that. I gave up the vast majority of my old life, put it into storage, deleted it, erased it, whatever. This has not been an easy win.
Damn it. My mind isn't processing correctly so forgive me if this is scattered.
You know what, I was a shitty person. I was a totally shitty person. I was a righteous bitch.
I WAS. I am not that person, those things anymore. That isn't me and I refuse to die feeling guilty about them.
So let it die woman. Let if fucking rot in hell where it belongs, where the old you belongs because she is not coming back.
I can't make statements like that. They aren't true. The only way he deserves this more than me is if I am still a cold hearted bitch that treats everyone like shit, manipulates everyone for her own benefit.
NO. I am not that person, I am not those things, and I do most fucking absolutely deserve this. I will not sacrafice this to get fucked up and I will not slander my acheivements to entice communication from people END OF STORY- no person, no damn person is worth making such stupid remarks.
To even imply that, aside being negative about your sobriety, also appears that you have genuine emotions that are long lasting, over 2 years and still warrant comment.
Fuck that. You have read the journals.
Remove those and stop the romantic bullshit.
A composition of memories is just that- it is exaggerated here and minimized there; it is your personal creation that can be used as evidence for one of your personal agendas.
Don't you dare bend back on yourself. Don't you even entertain the notion.
That is fucking crap.
If you want to let the past die, DO IT THROUGH AND THROUGH.
You cannot keep what you want and delete the rest. It is a whole or nothing.
You are the one who believes in black and white. Here it is.
Do not put your puppy eyes on and grovel. You are not a dog, not a bitch, and you are not that girl.
What need or want do you have to promote the past? You deny a program that would require you to make amends so that the past can rest in peace. Is that correct?
Than why, on your own accord, in your own measures, do you think it is in any way appropriate to kick up dirt?
But that isn't even what this is about.
This is about the idea that you believe you deserve this less than anyone else, for any reason, NO HOLDS BARRED mother fucker.
I'm tired and full of shit and I DO deserve this just as much as anyone. And I HAVE worked for this in the ways that I can.

Thanks N, for the Quote:

Some people are like slinkies...
Not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs.

Composition of Davis: Part I

You want an artsy post? Well I think this is it.
---
I was reading over the archived blog of Davis, the places in text that my name fell from his fingers, on to the keyboard, on to my computer screen.
The girl he knew, the girl that had to have once existed because she so clearly held his heart, that girl is dissolved. I feel her ever so lightly in the back of my mind like she was some dream I had long ago. Indeed, my memories of her are much like recalling dreams I had as a child- the colors, the characters, the settings- they are all in my dreams, some more than others, even to this day.
He loved her. From what I recall she loved him too, in the way that she could for what she was at the time.
There is him- composed in my memory as a victim of cruel, unknowing malice.
There is me- probably composed in his mind as a heartless villian, timeless in her negative regards.
There is time, which has brought me here, to this blog and this life.
Time, which has brought me success.
Time, which has brought me distance from the sins of my past.
Time has brought me a short list of the people that I wish to reach for across the distance, to apologize for the wrongs, people who deserve to have the best of me after all this time.
This composition of memory has been evolving for two years. It is that long I have been away from Davis, that I have reviewed my behavior and during this time I have swallowed the reality that I was the villian.
I was the villian. I wish to be something, anything else now.
Two years he has continued with me in my dreams, that my journals and posts have recorded a rhythm of regret that pulses in my mind. Sometimes the pulse is so dim, pushed into the deepest, darkest recesses, that it is almost impossible to hear. Other times it rages to the surface.
In short, he has never left me. Even if I have left him as an actuality, the composition of a villian is still somewhere framed in his mind, if only in archives.
But I want to share this with you. I want you to be here with me.
No, that isn't right.
I want you to make it up as high as I have. You deserve this, damn it.
I want to fucking scream it right now. YOU DESERVE THIS.
Look who I was, all of the horrible things I did and look what a person like that can get.
And then look at you, fucking please look at you, at how hard you tried to hold me up, keep me from drowning... YOU DESERVE THIS.
Damn it- You don't have to be here with me, that's okay, that isn't what this is about.
But fucking hell, I was so bad.
You are a good person, even at your worst you were such a good person- truly, not surface deep.
I can't press the keys hard enough. There is no font big and bold enough to express the way I want to scream this into a canyon.
Shit man. You were always good to me.
Can you see what I am talking about? I tread that road an evil bitch and made it back out in a race for sainthood. You went that road a good guy and I have no fucking clue if or when you will ever emerge.
Fuck.
And thanks, by the way. Of course there are an assload of apologies you deserve. I fucked you over big time, all the time and I know it. I live with it, even in my dreams damn it. I know.
But what you don't know, you don't hear, and I haven't posted about is... thank you.
Fuck, I know this sounds stupid. But considering where we came from, I am going to say it anyway.
Thanks, Matt. Fuck knows you shouldn't have stuck with me or wanted anything to do with me, God forbid love me. But you did, and that is still strong with me after two years.
I want you to be okay. I don't know who arranged it like this but... nice guys shouldn't finish last. Please don't finish last. If you need something from me its yours.
I will keep posting to you, keep dreaming about you, keep hoping that its all okay until... forever if that's what is needed.
I don't think its right that I should be here without you. I started this whole thing over two years ago because you were going to be there with me at the end of it. I would not have gone into that rehab without you there, I fucking admit it.
I would still like it if, even now, we could end up doing this together even in the vaguest "we are both sober" sense of the word.
I am going to go smoke a cigarette and continue crying.

Composition of Memory is Bullshit + Drive-Thru Train Station Visit

This is bad. Very bad.
Nothing new has happened- I am just letting myself see a little more of the whole picture.
Memory has a way of changing things around, doesn't it?
Well I have been carrying around this picture of a person, of a boy, that is completely false now. The face is the same but the person is all different. Which leads me to wonder whether my own emotions and actions are based solely towards that friend I lost a long time ago.
And that's an issue- all of the people that I knew when I was using liked me like that, most would prefer the old me over the new, improved version.
So be it. This isn't about them. After 20 months, this is no longer about them.
Most of them I have amends to make to but that is silenced by the mutual wounds that were inflicted or at least the hard shell that covers them allowed none of my sins to penetrate the skin.
Granted there are the few who did not have such shells, who were wounded deeply by my words and actions, whom I still feel a need to make amends to.
We are getting off the subject.
What was the subject?
Ah right! Most people would prefer the old me. I, on the other hand, would like for both I and the other party to have matured and develop a new connection... most of the time.
That, of course, goes under the preminition that the new version of the other party is improved as well, that it is possible to make a connection.
... I like the old him. I like the idea of making it up to him, of making amends because I was such a bitch back then and I have changed so much. That is the reality of the situation. I am not sure what I think about this new dude or what he thinks of me. I know that where there was once the opportunity of a deep connection there is now only an ever-lasting game.
I think it is the old guy that I wanted to come back to after all this time, to lay my head on his shoulder and vice versa.
Yea, I really did like that guy. I had something deep and worthwhile I owed him. It would have been a nice fit- my mellowness would have echoed nicely against the circumfrence of his arms.
So there you have the truth of it. But the fact is that will never happen. We are both different people now and... memory has recorded the mishaps in exaggerated stories.
Here is the reality of it all- that this is now a game; that the mutual maturity and deep connection seem, symbolically enough, resulted in almost pure regression.
And I see us at the Night Camp location at night- me in my hat and that Judy Jones smile on my face and all the pretty lights and circus frenzy that we end up wanting more and more of as we get older and older. Because without foolish attempts we might lose such "simple" pleasures all together.
And I think of Lenina Crowne; I think of how when I read that book I knew right away that I could play that part well, with all the little child-like rhymes: a gramme is better than a damn, when the individual feels the community reels, everyone belongs to everyone else.
Right well that is what is wanted of me- to be like Lenina Crowne of all parts. To be the N.C. girl with her hat on and smile available for mass consumption.
Uck. What I wouldn't do. Even as I put down my facination with the friend I lost long ago, it does not consume me- even that fascination is extinct, only a memory or a composition of memories.
No, that scenario is not one that sticks in me. It is something else... this fight, this man who will kiss me and quip with me- he has yet to materialize in my life or I in his. In the meantime I make due by developing a composition of memories about my long-lost friend and title it:
"Maybe it could work, maybe it would be great, if it happened like this..."
That's the title.
More later.
------
------
Sorry guys- mentally I am pretty tired tonight. More tomorrow. I will finish the above and hopefully give you guys an artsy post. Its going to be a pretty long day- getting up early to see if I can start and finish "German Soldier". We shall see.
Maybe I will get some sun tomorrow- today the weather was fucking fantastic- a little hot but fucking fantastic anyway. I laid out very briefly and read "The Pearl" which was an excellent combination.
Nothing happening this evening- I drove through the train station parking lot tonight on my way home. It would have been nice to curl up on the benches near the tracks where people wait for trains to take them places they have reasons for going to.
Of course it was late in the evening and there was nobody waiting for any trains even though the parking lot was fairly full. Everyone was happy and tucked in at their final destinations for the evening I suppose.
I would curl up on a bench and read under the orange lights. That would be nice, I think.

Counting Crows - Why Should You Come When I Call?

It's 1:30 in the morning
that's alright by me
you just waiting by the phone
I should give a little warning
but I need the things I need
I'm not proud to need a hand
but I just don't understand
So, Why should you come when I call
I never say nothing at all
why do I go, when I go
it's leaving me here all alone
You ought to get out on your own
ain't necessarily a bad thing
to believe the things I say
cause you can make yourself feel good
you know it's really not a good thing
to give everything to me
I'm just waiting for the show
cause I got no where to go
So, Why should you come when I call
I never say nothing at all
why do I go, when I go
it's leaving me here all alone
you ought to get out on your own
Cause nothing makes me feel so good
gets me high
so I sleep at night
and that's enough and everything alright
I feel nice
so sorry in the morning
could believe what you believe
I'm used to waking up alone
And if you think about it
anyone you think about is a better love than me
but if you've not fallin' quite asleep?
I might call tonight
if that's alright
why should you come when I call
I never say nothing at all
why do I go, when I go
it's leaving me here all alone
you ought to get out on your own

Late Night Call + D's Furnished New Building + Artsy Post Promise

Just a brief update on my daily affairs.
Last night I talked to TGJ on the phone for a while. I commented via messaging that I was resisting the urge to call him. He responded asking if I miss him and telling me I can call. I replied that I may in fact miss him and might even call shortly. So it goes.
But I did not right away. The movie N, D, and I watched ran until about 11 pm. After that we all acted like dorks. Eventually N and D both retired to slumber and I stayed up, messaged a while, and then took a shower to prolong beginning the night's everlasting interpretive dance that is my dealings with TGJ.
Eventually though I did call. Being on the phone with TGJ is like listening to a morning radio show in your car on the way to work. Mainly you listen and laugh, occasionally they accept comments from callers but mainly just tell funny stories to amuse the listener. That is what my coversations are like. I sit and can basically say absolutely nothing for 20, maybe 30 minutes, just giggle in regular intervals and we are all set.
Aside that I have had the impression ere long that TGJ underestimates my intelligence, the swiftness with which I can issue retorts; he misunderstands my comments for lack of understanding, taking the duty of explaining to me things he has said while I have already heard, understood, replied, labeled, and filed everything and sit looking at the headlines on "FARK".
The problem with being "bored" with someone or by someone is that often the dilemma is self-inflicted. I would say that I live a fairly boring life however I do not consider myself boring. Then again we know I have a firm footing in denial, so what can I say?
Nonetheless I do believe I am quite creative in remarks and show some talent for improv, even if highly deluded with foul language. To draw me out takes quite a bit of luck and patience but it is possible and highly rewarding (I have to say that).
Now if, let's say, you are interested in speaking solely of yourself and have chosen my ear to sing your self-praises to, I will be glad to minimize my interference with those plans even if it means appearing a boring individual.

Enough of that.
My phone has the interesting habit of hanging up on TGJ (only him) about every 25 minutes. The first time, I attempted to call him back- there was no answer and I was not displeased. After messaging asking if he offended me and my replying in the negative, he called and we spoke a while longer.
In this lull I had taken my medicine- it was only a matter of time before I completely checked out and had to sleep or I would sound like a complete idiot. This was done on purpose to ensure a safe and soon reason to end contact for the evening. Besides it was past midnight.
He called and we talked.
Must record that he gets points for asking me what I want and calling me by my name. Two thumbs up for those things.
Eventually and abruptly I said goodnight and goodbye. If all goes as planned we will try to dispose of the cracker jacks later in the week. And I feel sure, once again, as I always do when we talk on the phone, that I am completely nuts if I really claim an attraction to this person. Playing a game, a mutual game, is one thing but to solidify an emotional or physical attraction would be absolutely crazy- "the pieces just don't fit together, no matter how I try."
--
So today, N and I went up to take D to lunch and see the new building for the first time with all the furnishings. I grabbed a Counting Crows CD from my truck to see if N wanted a copy. She does and we talked about the songs on the way up. Italian food, good stuff, then to the building.
Indeed, it looks completely different from a week ago- with all the cubicles, desks, machines, lab supplies, etc. Pretty cool.
Went by this floral/random crap store, Mainly Seconds on the way back to the house. After leaving, N got a migraine and had trouble seeing. We stopped by one grocery store because I needed creamer- nope. At that point N couldn't see well enough to drive so I took over. Another grocery store, got creamer and coffee- last two weeks before summer and I am still being lazy.
Then home. Made coffee. N looked through a box of old clippings while I finished reading "The Glass Menagerie" citing some parts aloud for dramatic effect.
D came home and went to sleep for a while. He is up now and we will all reconvene downstairs momentarily.
I am tired and would be sleepy but I have coffee in me so I will be totally zoned out for quite a while. Blah.
I guess that is all for today so far. I promise you will get an artsy post out of me soon, a post that is about something other than my daily life.
Yes, I promise.
But for now I am going downstairs to be zoned out in company and have a cigarette. Aren't you on the cutting edge of my schedule? Very nice.
Artsy post. Coming up. And I mean it.
Good evening for now,
-K

Saturday: D's old building, Mama's scooter, Cracker Jack Ultimatum.

Today was Saturday.
Didn't wake up until N asked me what I wanted for lunch. Hmph. While she was out getting food I took a shower and whatnot.
We ate, I finished getting ready, and we went to see D's old building- they have pretty much moved out of it and the building will be bulldozed tomorrow. It was pretty cool. I like that kind of thing. I wish the it wasn't getting torn down; there are some fantastic trees on the property. Wish I had some pictures for ya'll but we didn't take any. Damn.
Then went down to LR which was an episode. To start I was great towards my grandparents- good mood, very helpful in figuring out some TV related stuff. But somewhere down the line, perhaps when we started talking about eating I began to shut off.
Realizing that I had an assload of work that needed to be done (still does), I commented I should be getting back to the house. That comment sparked a the beginning of a semi-breakdown my mama had. The breakdown was furthered by a note found on the door which said, in short, that she cannot keep her scooter stored in the hall by the front door. A very big deal.
Needless to say, research is being done to find a new apartment or other facility where my grandparents can live.
They have been having trouble replacing Robert because their location is pretty out-of-the-way even if it is still in Orange County. Fuck. No caretakers or caterers will take care of them without a whole lot of drama during the process. Its time to move them again but this is a very, very, extremely big deal. Every step of moving them is a huge deal. But it must be done. My poor mother...
Came home, showered, and drove a long drive. It was a good drive; I was on-point tonight, the traffic was agreeable. It was a good drive.
There were some dudes in a little black Civic in the lane next to me at a stoplight on my driver's side. Their windows were down and my Zepplin was up so when the guy pulled the whole "hey, roll down your window thing" I waited a second, looked at the light and back at him, then pointed my finger and looked back at the light which, on my que we shall pretend, turned green. They did some fantastic schitzophrenic driving manuevers before zipping onto the highway.
I drove over to a park and parked, turned off the truck and was preparing to get out in the orange glow of street lights and walk in the sand for a minute. Unfortunately, I never removed myself from the vehicle because an SUV with two girls in it came and they were surveying something about their vehicle.
I started up the truck and left, they left shortly behind me. Then back to the house where I told TGJ he must come help me dispose of the cracker jacks this week or "I'll take all the prizes and leave the rest at your door. Do you submit or must I punish you?"
He replied in the affirmative and called me a cutie. And I blushed with the color of positive attention.
Now, I will go watch a movie with N and D, maybe study a little before I go to bed. Tomorrow, first thing I will go get creamer and then kick some serious ass working and studying all damn day.
Monday, I will get unspeakable pleasure when my success is accounted for in full. Two weeks left and I must kick some ass, I will kick some ass.
Please, come watch me kick some ass.

Lunch with N + LR and Back + Hot Tub for Vitality.

Friday. Took N to lunch as usual. This time we sat inside in the lounge, per my request.
It was better- we sat at a table by a full-length mirror that covers an entire wall. N sat with her back against the mirror meaning that I sat talking to her trying to ignore my reflection.
But really it wasn't bad. Went home and read with some success.
Decided to go down to LR. Got there and didn't want to go in. Sometimes I get down there and I realize I am not tracking well, I won't be good company. During those times I either go in and make everyone really uncomfortable or just go home.
I went home... during rush-hour traffic. I chose my exit based on the idea of going to a grocery store and getting creamer. That didn't happen- traffic sucked too remarkably.
Finally got home. N came in soon after, we went and picked up food for the household from Jack in the Box. Ate. Great. Then what did I do?
Oh yea, I took a shower. I amused myself by applying make-up, which I have been doing pretty regularly the past week or two. Listened to Steve Miller Band and ZZ Top before getting dressed and going for a drive.
I have been messaging with TGJ all day via my instigating- I sent a message asking for assisted death during the peak of my intolerance with traffic. Since then we have been semi-successful in carrying on the most trivial and kindergarden messaging on the planet that we can get away with barring complete regression. He is currently out to party with one of his friends... and I will make no comment though I have a few prepared.
---
"I read your post with great sadness. You should not be alone."
When I first read that I thought 'oh its nothing to be sad about'. Most of the time its not. Even when I do feel regret for my continued isolation, I wonder how closely the emotions actually lie- whether they are just under the surface or remain deeper in the bone marrow, something like that. I wonder if this is the sharpest my regret can stab or if this is just the bare minimum.
Be right back.
--
--
Okay, sorry about that. It is now 10:22 pm just so you know.
I went downstairs and into the backyard, stared momentarily at the apartment buildings that have gone up across the way, the same ones that appeared in that dream the other night.
Then I looked at the hot tub and said to myself
"let's see how brave you are" formulating something.
"okay, I'll do it" nodding.
Went upstairs, changed into my bathing suit, a tank top and pajama pants, got some towels slowly and carefully out of the linen closet, then downstairs.
Once in the kitchen I put on a sweatshirt, gathered a soda, cigarettes, and my lighter. I did one lap around the island in the dark thinking
"this is a time I would like to drink something poison just to drink it"
Outside, top half-over on the hot tub, jets on, lights on; blue glow and warm water circulating. All good. Positioned all my stuff and then myself on the edge and lit a cigarette. Smoked it. Put it out. Then the coaxing began with all of the following included at some point:
"Let's see how brave you are... this one thing to make sure you are not turning into some ordinary person... you have other clothes inside... because I think you have turned into some average person... are you in there?"
Reluctently I began by shedding my sweatshirt. After that there was an interval of coaxing and staring blankly, various descending of leg into water and then retracting.
Finally I stood up in the hot tub, rolled down my pants, and made a gesture into the air like "see, I told you I would do it asshole" to which I replied "you aren't done yet" and another gesture in the air like "damn, okay, chill out" at which point I sat down with all my clothes on and made yet another gesture to the air.
And then I was pleased and enjoyed the movement, weight, and mostly bubbles that were created by my actions. A nice froth began to brew and cover the water and I continued to feel pleased. It went on this way for a while- I stood up a few times to see the clothing sucked to my skin and get the full picture. At long last I came threw off the tank top and pants, emerged, wrapped a towel around my waist, replaced the sweatshirt, repositioned myself on the edge, and lit another cigarette watching and playing with the foam.
When I did go inside, I looked back and commented aloud "it is good".
I just felt if I didn't do something to wake myself up, I would really believe my existence was melting into a nothingness. That is my explanation.
Are you in there? Are you alive? Prove it.
Do you have an original idea in your head that you can express without words? Do it, use it.

I look back to January, the posts I wrote at that time when my stomach was really fucking with me and I think it is important to state some of the revelations that have occurred since then, stuff that I have posted about but needs to be re-recorded for good measure.
a) I have realized that my separation anxiety when parting from company is a result of my fear that I will be back to square one, alone again and friendless. Thus, I try to hold on as long as possible even if there is no connection.
b) My sexual advances towards parties that I am unsure I have any real attraction to result from a fear that without sexual tension, no male figure would remain present in my life. Thus, if I flirt compulsively there is a better chance that a person will stay around as a supportive figure, even temporarily, in contrast to if I was completely honest and open about myself and possible lack of sexual attraction at all.

This evening could end with an all-out fight against myself.
Looking around, I figure out how goofy it is to think that anyone could have a real attraction to me.
I am really pissed at myself for all of this, for not truly looking at and sticking with what I want. I know that I have a better person underneath this all and I just want to lay in the sun tomorrow and come back around to myself.
I will. If there is sunshine tomorrow, I will lay in the sun and read and when I post again, you will see I have come back around. I'm not tired but I am frustrated.
If I thought it would get me somewhere, I would drive off back east, maybe meet my in Colorado along the way. Who knows.
That won't work. Which puts me in quite a predicament here- I am not gullible enough these days to do something drastic but I am not willing enough to just move over it in any particular direction. Maybe if I think about it long enough it will come to life and decide for itself.
Right now, a cigarette break.
-------
*Elevator Music Plays Softly*
-------
My dog follows me. I always thought he was just excellent at being where I need to go.
No. He follows me. And now I realize it. N said that he never just stays with her and D; if I go upstairs, he goes upstairs.
When I open my door in the morning, there he is on the landing. When I go outside for a cigarette he plants himself in front of the door. When I go in the kitchen, he comes too. And I always thought he was trying to piss me off, you know. But really, he justs likes me a whole lot and I feel bad and flattered. My dog likes me. He really shouldn't- I'm an asshole and we spend all day together so there is plenty of time to hate me. I wouldn't blame him in the least.
When he has a panic attack he starts hanging around. I didn't even realize it. He keeps his distance mostly, knows me that well.
But I am really amazed. When I figured it out and my theory was confirmed by the other household members, I went straight to the floor and kissed him. He likes me and he shouldn't- isn't that what I want from everyone? Maybe that's what everyone wants.
How fucking sweet. Okay, I will be nice.
Damn it. Why am I so mean? Damn it.
I am going to take a shower now. I want to feel clean and happy when I get into bed. Tomorrow, I will do some random act of kindness, and lay in the sun of course.
Goodnight. When I am clean and happy I will mellow again.

Something in me today is ferocious- not mean, not angry, just ferocious.
Maybe I am angry. Impatient perhaps. Would go to LR but I really need to limit my exposure to smoke right now.
Bookstore, Kel? How about the bookstore? Now we are talking.
I am too rambunctious to lay down on my bed in the dark watching "Coming Attractions" and I am too lazy to do much of anything else.
But I have a feeling if I slide very cooly into my jeans and then my truck and then a bookstore I may be able to trick myself out of the panic mode which commonly accompanies public appearances.
Tested well at SJ today. Yes. Must put on jeans.
But I have books that I should be reading, that I must read before summer. Still, I can't just go sit in the backyard.
My spirit is too restless today.
Damn it.

My mood was good during the majority of today. I was pleasant in LR.
Then... what? It will be a miracle if this post is not deleted before I finish it. I am just pissed. Flat out irritable. No reason, no excuses. I can't type, I am tripping over my own fucking fingers. I am not happy. I am not in the least happy and I refuse to pretend.
There is no reason. I just don't much like me right now. I am sick of the way I look, of my ever-falling self-confidence. I am sick of wearing hats, of needing to be alone. I am sick of fearing I will make an ass out of myself.
Nothing has been bad, mind you. I just fell short of myself this evening and I don't want to look at myself in the mirror. I don't want to be me. Hopefully this will blow over in a few hours, if nothing else by morning. Have been avoiding going to SJ all this week. Too close to summer to be pulling that shit. I can't look at myself in the mirror. I am so sick of looking at myself in the mirror. I would like to be disgusted but I think it is more pity, more looking at how pathetic this all is, which is really much worse. Being disgusted is easy. Pity is much more of a rut.
I am not happy. I don't like sleep right now.
Last night boys from an apartment building across the street were yelling at one another from their windows on different floors. I take it the girl they planned on messing with had passed out or ran away or something. I went to my backyard and they began to plot coming and finding me, yes she will do, and then maybe killing me when it was all over. Initially they were not aware I could hear them, which I could very clearly, but when I started to run inside they figured it out and bolted away from the windows to come get me.
I know I was running through was seemed like a hotel, through the various floors, whether or not I should take an elevator- that was risky because they could be waiting for me, they might be in one of the elevators. I had to run- the stairs, around the halls, somewhere- it was well-lit and not a place you would suspect mischief like this to occur. No, it seemed perfectly respectable- a hotel you would book during a convention, something like that. I can see the carpet, the floors, the way it was all lighted. I remember peering down the stairwell and hearing voices.
This occurred after a battle to find sleep at all- I couldn't breath laying down in bed, there is something in my throat that I must get out, congested and it is happening inside me- not a gash on my leg that I can see and fix. Something inside me that is not life-threatening or even painful, just constant and annoying and it drives me crazy.
Things drive me crazy at night, right before or when I can't sleep; how my ear is positioned on the pillow, my hair or like last night wanting my writing to be perfect, scratch out "Molly Maids" and re-write it and I can't help it. Cough compulsively, I can't help it. Mouth is dry, brush teeth. When I clean at night it is compulsive too. But if things are getting done, I suppose it doesn't matter?
This morning, sitting outside about to light a cigarette I had the sensation that I was going to puke. Not something that starts in my stomach, moves to my throat, and employs all the muscles inbetween. This was somewhere in the back of my throat and that was all. Nothing else, completely unconnected and without provocation- some muscle decided to test its strength, see if alone it could cause me to gag.
It passed. But I was amazed. I never puke, ever.

I have lost some of my fury for now, I think.
No. Its still there, I can feel it. I want to be calm but I also want to rip something apart. I clench my fists and grind my teeth, I can't help it. It just occurs. I want to scream- I wouldn't. I would rather kick things, throw things. If I were to scream it would be with my head in a pillow. I want to be mean and the urge is so half-ass, so unable to gather strength and acceptance from the rest of me, that it fizzles into inactive clanking of the keyboard.
That is, even my anger is highly ignored by most of my brain and kept in seculsion because of this. I can type like a maniac and clench my fists but I am unable to make an angry phone call.
Do you see what I mean?
This post has gone longer than I thought it would and to preserve it, I am saying goodnight for now, until I can get full control of myself again.

Wiffle Ball + Driving and Maids from Today

I warn you- I don't know what is going to come out in this post but it isn't going to be kind and sweet.
Everyone knows how I like to say when an inanimate object looks like something living- for example, the Acura SUV in white looks exactly like a polar bear. I'm just saying.
Well, I like to do it the other way around as well.
For example:
Tonight, TGJ reminds me amazingly of a wiffle ball. It is really very funny.
You know the wiffle ball, don't you? Stick with me on this.
He reminds me of a wiffle ball: comes roaring at your, completely unaware that it is plastic with holes in it. But when you take a swing at it, it is light as a fucking feather and goes flying off in some weird ass direction.
Thin plastic with slats, nothing on the interior but strong plastic. In my mind, I think Tee-Ball, for use when parents don't want to bruise their kids playing baseball.
But for some reason I see this wiffle ball, flying at me in my backyard towards evening. At even the lightest tap, a change in the direction or speed of the wind, that fucking ball goes flying off into kingdom come and I stare in bored wonder- okay, I am pretty sure it was supposed to go that-a-way.
I think of the sound that a wiffle ball makes when its flying through the air- how it sounds like when somebody fans a fly-swatter in the air really fast.
But then that wiffle ball; shit, the second it hits skin it just "plunk" falls on the ground in stupid defeat.
My dear, I am not afraid of bruises. They are well worth the trouble if that ball is heavy enough, not hollow, to react properly.
If it hurts me when it gets chucked at my body then I will learn to watch the ball, to bat with accuracy, and to strike with enough force to alter its course as expected.
I'm a smart girl, a tough cookie. I don't mind the occasional bruise for the resistence, the strength that something solid produces, the sound.
I don't like wiffle balls much. They are confusing. They are good for kids though, I see that.
But I, my dear, am not a kid. I can hit hard.
We have been talking about the wiffle ball itself. The more important fact which I had not mentioned is:
Who the fuck would throw wiffle balls at me?
We have sparred. Hit me with something, fine, but let that something not make the "plunk" sound as it drops dumbly at my feet.
You might as well throw pine cones at me- at least they would hurt, solid at the core.
DAMN! This just goes back to the whole thing about quips.
I want to fight, I want to throw something and have it be hit hard, I want something hard thrown at me so that when I hit it there will be a deep satisfaction at having a worthy opponent- both the object and the person who put it in motion.
Who in the fuck believes at throwing wiffle balls?
Who has such a misconception of me as to believe that is wanted?
Who the fuck owns wiffle balls that I would be playing with?
DAMN! Come on. Fight me, try me, push me, pull me, play with me- take action or at least throw something hard enough that it produces a "thunk" when it falls to the ground.
And I tell myself that it is what it is- true, very true. Well said, self.
I tell myself that for some reason, right now is not the right time. True, very true.
I tell myself that the person who will push me, play with me, fight me, care for me, that person has yet to come.
I will be ready. He better be as well.
------
For now I, at the times I see the present as less than perfect, I make my list, I start to gather information from my reactions to point me in the right direction.
I have been a wiffle ball- distracted by the wind and hollow, turning in the direction that is suggested rather than wanted.
I sit here and write this and feel a severely muted passion- knowing that now is not right, it is what it is and wanting in some suggestive part of my mind to run out the door, down to the pool and wait for it to come- out there, somewhere, not here as it is.
But that will not occur. The pieces of my mind that want to rebel, want to be rash and passionate because it seems such a romantic notion... it does, doesn't it? To run to the pool and wait for it to fly at me hard.
It won't and those pieces of my mind are checked. They live here in full strength, in scenarios that drain the images and ideas from my head, the romantic notions... they are not bad but they are not now. Still, I am allowed to view them, create them, indulge if you will so long as they remain in my writing and imagination.
It would be difficult for anything to live up to the standards set by imagination- a world of its own truly. That is beside the point.
I aknowledge that this cannot occur now- do not mistake my anticipation as impatience.
I will not run out that door.
Such moments must be recorded, however, to mark my true desires incase I fall into a trap and lose myself at the mercy of someone else.
I don't put it past myself.
Besides I would rather say these things here than anywhere else.
-----
I will drive now probably.
Last night I woke up sweating, freezing a few times. It was difficult to get up this morning.
The maids were going to come between 12 and 2 p.m. so I departed just after noon. After taking the that box to the storage unit, I just wandered around for 2 hours, driving over to the Coast Highway then back inland, over most main streets available for my consumption.
(Sorry, I wrote about this already, didn't I?)
Came home and met the maids at the door- going in. Damn. So I sat in the backyard for the next 2 hours writing most of the time- thus the pictures below.
Tomorrow is grocery day down in LR, leading me to decline a daycamp invitation for that evening though I would probably be home in time. Hmph. That could have thrown him for a loop- random direction, wiffle ball- at least, he did not go the direction I assumed which would be to ask about another day.
No. That's it. End all. Fuck off.
And I bore myself with continual rambling about this. It has taken on a tiny portion of the significance it held a few weeks ago.
Regardless, I will buy cracker jacks because I will enjoy doing so.
Right, grocery day tomorrow. Forgot to mention that Robert has been working for Mama and Papa again the past few days. It is just temporary but I had to resist the urge to visit.
He is just a really great guy, end story.
Okay, goodbye. I am drying my hair and listening to... hmm... Rage Against the Machine tonight.
It was a good day. The weather is great.

My honest writing, done by hand.

Let's Start With Reading.

She Continues...

and Coninues

Last but Not Least- Tortured Artist Comes Out.

Appreciate the Scenery

I feel like there must be something I should post.
Hmm... I talked to my dad this evening. He is in Colorado with MB, her parents, and her kids. He was expressing his gratitude that my brother and I enjoy looking at nature, scenery, and other aspects of travel that have always been a part of our roadtrips.
Something interesting to receive praise for, isn't it?
Many of the fibers of my being, not just the genetics, I attribute to my parents- to their spirits, to their youth, to their humor, to their styles, as I have posted on here many times. I have taken the pictures from the albums, stories I have been told, books on the shelves, jewelry and clothing, handwritten notes from college courses, murals painted on basement walls, thai chairs, paintings, and the locations that we all saw in our youths- piece them together and create an unshakable image, overpowering against even the most dominant gene- you take all that, the image that it creates, the feelings it induces and you add the flattering similarities in countenances- though some, such as my feet, are not flattering in the physical sense, what it means to possess them, to walk on them, is very much beautiful because I know where they came from- I have seen them in their lives before me and became fond of them even more, making me able to own the most hideous feature with some level of gratuity however infrequently expressed.
So to say to me "I am glad that you are the way you are, you see beauty in places that most do not" is merely a pleasurable point in the reflection of yourself. On my own, in another family, I could have found nature, landscapes, and the serenity they contain absolutely boring, ugly, and unwelcome as many do now.
That is, in short, to say that I learned such things from my parents, from you, dad. Should you turn your back on simple pleasures such as this or, even worse, turn your eye away from the lens of a camera forever, I would be more confused than unhappy. Nonetheless, appreciation for these things, the same things that your spirit embodies in all those pictures, would never die- it has already been reborn in this generation.
And this post could go on indefinitely. Actually I am sure it will, in many more posts after as well as before.
But, for now, my reply to your compliment, as this whole post was attempting to say before I got off the subject:
Thank you.
Love,
-K

Guess I have been pretty dead to the world all day. Trying to get through "Flowers for Algernon" by morning if possible.
Didn't get to sleep until about 4 a.m. last night- one of those times when I stay up organizing and cleaning. It was nice to have pictures on my walls- working out nicely.
Also trying to get the boxes full of crap that my dad sent me a while back all prepared to go to their final destinations- storage unit, good will, library.
So I think I am pretty tired. I haven't left the house all day, think I'm hungry...
Sorry you guys, I am a dead beat.
My dad has been on vacation with MB and her kids- took her parents motor home somewhere, for some length of time, and that is all I know. I don't much care today. I am just trying to figure out what beverage to drink when I smoke my next cigarette.
I really intended on gathering up my strength and taking a box to the storage unit. Didn't happen. Maybe after I eat... they are open until 9 p.m.
---
Didn't intend to stay up late.
I was a little hesitant last night taking my assorted medications, mainly because I didn't want to be forced asleep.
That happens sometimes- sometimes I look at myself in the mirror, stick out my tongue with all the pills on it, and question the necessity of it all.
Something about the artwork on my walls, the normality of my life, the possibility for a slightly eccentric and very happy existence... made me stop and resent taking the drugs and the exhaustion it forces upon me- what exactly are you doing in there?
Rarely, but sometimes, my consciousness revolts and I am able to rise above chemical drowsiness. Last night was one of those nights.

Went up to D's new building today- they are moving in late in this week hopefully, though the building is not close to completion. Thus the pictures.
Went to get N's ears repierced in the afternoon and then briefly to a thrift store. Back at the house we started putting up some additional artwork in my room- in addition to the one, very large, wood-framed mirror that hangs above my bed.
I am very tired right now so I will write more tomorrow.

What's the Best Thing about Corporate Southern California?

(besides the pirate flags)

Are You Taking a Guess? Shall I Tell You?

Warehouses, of Course!

Why? Because of what is stored in them. For instance...

Recognize This Rock?

How About This Pillar?

Come on, you've seen this pillar before. Clue? This warehouse belongs to Warner Bros. THINK DAMN IT!br />

Rock + Pillar + Warner Bros. Warehouse =

Indiana Jones, you dumbass!

We have, my friends, turned a corner and are no firmly walking on the street of coldness.
Sexual advances that I found flattering, even 2 weeks ago, now seem... they hit me as a fact, are unappealing in any way, and I am not inclined to return.
I am not a toy. I will not battle the urge to view me as such because it is just what some people do. But I know I am not a toy, a trifle, a play thing.
The more evidence I gather, the less attractive any offer.
I am going for a cigarette.

Identifying Pictures with Mama- Publishing Queries

Spent the afternoon in LR, going through an old box of pictures with mama. It was important to me, as well as my mother, to have these pictures identified by the only person who was able to, mama, before it was too late.
Interesting to have such an important role in the history of one's family, insuring the faces do not pass namelessly through the generations.
I want to have them all named- I do not want for any person overlooked. These faces have history, lives, families, houses, fears, laughter. A part of my genes is somehow connected to each of them so my detective work begins- to compare window casings in pictures, to hunt for beauty marks, similiarities in appearance, to date the era of the clothes worn- all to identify people in photographs almost a century old.
Other than that, I have been expressing a very minor interest in what it requires to get fictional short stories published.
But what am I to even entertain such queries?
My knowledge of the English language... is good, to an extent.
My creative abilities.... are good, to an extent.
My writing... revolves around me and is, therefore, difficult to find a home for anywhere else.
I suppose that it was meant to stay with me, yes.
For now that will be good but I feel the possiblity of becoming restless... Its not that I think I am a particularly good writer or that what I am writing would be of interest to anyone... I don't know.
I need to think about this some more for now.
But it was a good day.
Good night.

Today, for the most part, I read. Agatha Christie. Good shit. Addictive. I would know.
Being Friday, as it is, I took N to lunch. We sat on the patio and I stared into space with a crazy headache for the first part of our dining experience.
Last night, I should mention, I drove by my old rehab. That has started a flood of memories, none of which carry an emotional burden, just memories. At the time I was thinking how boring and stupid the whole experience had been, but in retrospect I realize how much was packed into those 26 days. I have a feeling you will be reading a lot of rehab stories from now on.
---
For the first 3 days after you check into this rehab, it is mandatory to wear a hospital gown- two actually; one forward and one backwards to cover all flesh possible.
You aren't allowed to have your own clothes until after these three days or until you finish your "20 Consequences" and "3 Deep Dark Secrets" and both of these works have been read aloud in group therapy and accepted as properly done by a counsler.

A lot to digest all at once, right?

Okay the "20 Consequences" are harmful consequences of the admitee's drinking and using. You start with "because of my using..." and write an experience followed by a consequence that occurred as a result of using, then finish up by writing how you feel about this consequence as of the present.
Would you like an example? Of course you would. From my list:
"Because of my using, I felt I could justify violent actions, going onto my old school campus and starting a fight. As a consequence, I was put on probation, paid a fine, and did community service. I feel ashamed."
20 of those, have to be okayed by the staff as adequate, and must be read in during group.
Deep dark secrets- 3 of those and they had to be really bad shit, shit that you can bank on being used against you, shit that you will be forced to come clean about in all probability. Must be okayed by the staff, sometimes must be read during group.
Would you like an example?
4 years ago, a family friend raped me and I have never told my family because they trust the guy and would be upset.
You can be fucking sure that this secret would surface and become public knowledge promptly.
---
In addition to these things, to earn your clothes you must also begin (if not complete) your "Hurts and Resentments" <-- this is a 2 part family process; the first week, you write and read "hurts and resentments" for your parents/siblings and vice versa. Second week, you write and read your "loves and appreciations" to your parents/siblings and vice versa. I hate you, I love you- welcome to rehab. Both parts must be okayed by staff and read in family group.
Okay, so you have the basics down for today.
Too much into the details, okay. But there are stories to be told, I just want them to make sense for all the readers. Its really a display of affection, all my words, really...
--
I don't remember much about the whole process of getting checked in or given my charming gowns but I think I was in a good mood that day.
You give up all your clothes, get those medical PJ pants, 2 gowns, and socks- NEVER allowed to leave your room without socks on, ever- high risk of catching a foot fungus or something.
Remember that when I went to rehab it was only after careful deliberation with my little posse- specifically my boyfriend at the time, Davis.
When I checked myself into rehab, I knew that I was going into the same rehab with my boyfriend, I knew that I wouldn't be by myself, and I knew how pissed both our kinsmen were going to be when they realized what we had arranged. But at the moment, no one knew yet.
He wasn't even sure as to when or if I would be coming- it was possible that I had been shipped off, forced into another rehab, or sidled my way out of trouble all together.
Aside that we were both dealing with legal problems that stemmed from the same shoplifting incident- that is, we were both there, together, just us, high as little kites, and got arrested for petty theft.
We resolved to get our butts into rehab in attempt to avoid the full blow of justice. If the legal system saw that we asked for help and were currently receiving it, well it would reflect positively on our sentences.
Also we would admit to treading into the drug thing pretty hardcore- a point constantly gaining more scrutiny by our families.
In other words, the time had come to do something before we were completely severed from one another, possibly from the whole group, by an authority that had time to formulate a case against us.
No that is not a risk that could be taken- I did not want to be without him- I did not want to be alone. At this rehab I could get help, I woud have someone there with me, to hold my hand.
I loved him as much as I could, as much as a girl could who was faded beyond recognition, easy with lies, and possessing a poisoned concept of love infectious when administered by mouth.

Totally Spies: no age is too young to enjoy hot girls with nice boobs.

Lil' Momma

Try as I may, wish as I might, this will never be about me.
I have the pre-ordained role of "Lil' Momma" in this whole mess.
That is the one and only role I am truly meant to play here.
Yes, I have had a great day, I look like a ballerina. If you need me just let me know, I've got ya covered.
In this relationship, only one person is allowed to matter just as only one person is allowed to ask the questions and supply the sympathy.
Those are the roles that were truly meant to be fulfilled. Those are the roles we will play.
I see it, I get it- I wanted to whine about it for a while, I wanted to change it.
But this was set up for a reason.
There is a whole format to this thing that I wanted to overlook, thought that by deviating from the plan I could alter the requirements. No no, I got it.
I keep things going, supply a shoulder and ear, tenderly and selflessly give myself to hearing the plights and pleasantries of being a child terminally- I play the perfect lil' momma.
Occasionally, the boy will look up- much like boys I have babysat in the past- and tell me I am pretty, tug on my bathing suit, try and sit in my lap, impress me with their knowledge of...
Holy fucking shit. I didn't even realize the overwhelming parallels until this very moment; this current situation and the one I had in my babysitting job from last year with Michael.
Ooooh this is just too fucking good.
-------
Michael: 6 years of age, very cute- will someday break a large quantity of hearts with a single smile. Great kid most of the time. ADD, loved cartoons (duh- he's six) especially "Totally Spies" (picture above), liked to play dress up, had a million toys... what else.
The big thing is this- I would play the authority figure, bla bla, and it worked for discipline but I really wanted to be his friend. His family has an awesome pool and, for a game, he would throw some weighted toy into the pool and I would dive in, get it, and throw it back to his end of the pool. I like diving and suck at it, so I wanted practice. Also, I knew already the threat of being in a swimsuit and too close to a kid. I stayed at my end of the pool and he at his.
The perfect arrangement couldn't last forever- he wanted to try body boarding and was the board holder. Anyway, like most 6-year-old kids, the board kept flying out from under him and he would do the little "I'm drowning!" gig for a few seconds before resurfacing via my arms. He got a little ahead of himself and started pulling on my bathing suit. I reacted by scolding him and getting out of the pool, telling him to get out of the pool. He did the fabulous fake cry and I was unconvinced.
I was displeased because such actions, if allowed early in life, will continue on- he will have the looks to gain him sexual allowance in later life. Thus, my summary of the events reached his mother who said that he had quite a crush on me and asked about me all the time.
I was expecting this- I have dated a lot of 6-year-old boys, most of whom had deviance written all over, though excusable under the name "immaturity".
A few months later, Michael started school where, after a minor run in over physically hurting another student, he was ultimately expelled on other charges. Deviance, immaturity, ADD, whatever.
-------
The point is, if there ever was one, that I am the lil' momma, solely. That I must find this role rewarding or stop the game all together. That for my continuity in supporting vanity, I will receive the occasional token of affection from the other party. Thus, for the most part, I must find my role satisfying or there is no point in going on with this.
Some day, with someone else, my day and my life and my humor will matter. For now, for him, that is not the point. You cannot, thankfully, cram all your wants into the hands of a single person- especially if that single person has his hands full... I stop there out of kindness.
Those wants are to be taken care of in another time and place. Today, right now, this is not about putting all your cards on the table.
For today, in this relationship, it is about practicing being supportive and sympathetic, about listening and shutting off your own vanity.
An excellent opportunity because, one day, in another time and place, you will wish to have those qualities mastered, at the ready.
So while you think to yourself "what about me?" remember that there will be a time in the future where "you" will get all that you request and at that time, you may lose it all because you were unable to do anything but think of yourself.
Be very pleased, you are in the process of learning, Lil' Momma.
These are things you need to know and know well. This role was created to suit you perfectly, even if it is a little scratchy and you a little too brash.
Restrain your vanity and slander or you have no cause to complain about anyone else's.

Fine Print- An Argument with Myself.

It would appear that I am sifting down into my usual existence- mellow, unruffled, alone.
That could very well be. At least, at the moment it is. I have, thus far, in the past few days thought that my silence and any mutual silence might lead to the whole thing with TGJ silently sliding away into a cool distance. I have followed through thus far on calmly resigning myself to my normal life and to feeling no ghosts in my closet or pains in my stomach to act. It has worked thus far.
I get sad occasionally thinking that we are back to square one. Do I, in these moments, think of TGJ as a person? There is a big problem- I consider the words, the actions, the motions... but whether all that is because I am thinking of the person or merely those things are my true interests in a relationship, I don't know. No amount of therapy could answer that for me.
I don't know what I want, how much is on the table, what it all costs, and whether I should even be given the right to barter around with such questions at this point.
It is supposed to all be about "being" and that's it. But I get caught in the fine print and if there isn't any, I will make some up. There has to be fine print always, always. There has to be motivations, intentions, and repercussions.
So, what are mine?
Err... damn. I don't want to answer, I know the answer will cause all my shit to tumble. That's why I like fine print- its time consuming but actually gets you nowhere, its immediately gratifying but, in the long-run, completely empty and unpleasant.
Fine print, which leaves you involved indefinitely with the "then whats", causes a complete lack of over-all understanding which, in the end, leaves you involved terminally with the "what ifs".
That is my curse- that I would pass notes under the table, slide in comments that were ill-timed, and be stuck with the clear comprehension of exactly what I should've done, what I truly wanted to do, what this was all about... and that's all- no person, no future, no satisfaction, no laughter- there is the beauty of fine print.
It is busy work for people that would like to be busy doing anything but really looking at a situation and entertaining the possibility of making themselves squirm.
I have a hard stomach and I am not afraid of blood, so let's cut the bullshit, the fine print, and look into the other options.
I say that not because of my current situation but because I am aware that this predicament will tail along with me for eternity if I allow it to.
And there is no reason. Bend me, break me, but don't make me do this everytime- don't make me die with a stomach full of ulcers and a brain full of "what ifs".
No, this isn't solely about today, yesterday, tomorrow, the day after that. This is about this habit, this terminal fine print- one of many habits that has flown under the radar for years because it is not noticably destructive- well, that's just how she is- it is not life-threatening- well, she is definitely ill but I don't think it will kill her- and it doesn't kill anyone else- well, just leave, just run, just get the fuck away from her.
No one likes the fine print. At some point, at most points, it does no one any good at all.
But it is safe- it tactfully extracts information in little bits and pieces them together into the spitting image of a person who recently departed because they don't like answering so damn many questions.
----
Yes, but at least I got a clear picture- as clear as a picture can be when the person creating it is interested in only the observable...
HA- there you have gone too far. I am not only interested in the observable- I like words and why people use the particular ones they use. I like eyes, what they hide and what they reveal. I like movement, I like action, I like emotion. Now, only some of those are observable.
Yes, but they are all religiously noted for the purpose of gaining an advantage, aren't they?
Oh! Now there you finally have a good point! Advantage- that is something that I would like to have. If acquiring bits of information and piecing them together into a person is the only way I can know more than they willingly devulge, sign me up. That is what I want- to know something about someone that they were unaware had been shared.
You have your motives, great. That is fine. THAT ISN'T THE PROBLEM. What matter is it to have an advantage over someone who wishes nothing to do with you, who wanted something to do with you when it wasn't such a battle to find you over all that fucking paperwork? What use is that, miss?
There isn't a use. I'm sorry, I got caught up in the whole advantage thing- my attention is yours once again.
----
Where was I?
No, but I think we got somewhere with that last little scolding. Everyone has there motives- ACCEPT IT. Just enjoy the moment. That is the biggest thing. Stop the whole future thing, the idea of a next time- just us, just now.
What if? <--- present tense. "what if, right now, I..." Yes- that is the kind of "what ifs" we like. Just now. Who are you right now?
I am a blogger who is on my own ass, sometimes in third-person, about over-analyzing even the most trivial aspects of relationships.
DING DING! You just graduated to preschool!
Remember some of the things you have said:
"That is time that has yet to come, time I do not claim to own, time that will spark its own moments of mixed emotion, triumphs and changes. That time will decide for itself and up until the very last moment that it arrives, I will be contemplating whether I want to make muffins or drive to Utah.Its my choice. Its my time. This is my view as of this moment."
Don't claim it, Kel. You can't afford to- you are too young and too free to do something stupid like claim that time- it has yet to happen. God forbid you should wake up one day and realize that you scheduled something in the place of a fucking epiphany.
Be at peace, babe. Just let it ride.
And for the love of God,
Enjoy the Moment.

Quote From Me.

"You have to remember that during that time I was almost always faded. When I wasn't faded, I was going crazy. When I wasn't going crazy, I was sleeping and dreaming about getting faded and going crazy."
-Me