...as a cloud.
When I'm not in the mood for people, I just go underground. I get a lot of reading done.
I haven't been in the mood for people. It's the holidays, though. It's the only thing we make a big deal over, so for that I have to rally, and deal with people extra. I'm not there yet.
There are a lot of things I think about but don't write about. I write a lot then delete it. That's how antisocial I am, I can't even talk to myself. Pressing these keys is such a deliberate act. They're so heavy.
I'll probably delete this.
Dec 11, 2013
Nov 21, 2013
Patients
Being in a hospital is weird. No...being a patient in a hospital is weird. My whole world is reduced to a very small white sterile thing. It's a series of small events that become huge. Milestones to look forward to every day. I joked yesterday that my whole day revolves around mealtimes. 8, 12, 5. The food is miserable, but it's still one of the more interesting things to happen. Other things I look forward to are my shower at night, the 'changing of the guard' when I get to meet my new nurse for the day/night. I've been here long enough to develop favorite nurses.
The big thing is people. Having people here is a weird thing, too. On one hand, I fucking deliriously love seeing a familiar face walking through my door. On the other hand, I feel and look like shit, so there's an element of being self conscious, like I have to be "on" for them. When I was on the morphine and Dilaudid, it was extremely difficult, but now that I'm clean and sober, so to speak, it's easier. When I'm at my best, long exposure to most people exhaust me. Irv is an easy presence, he's the exception. He can chill and read the paper or watch TV all day, not needing small talk, or to fuss. Luiz is uneasy here, and yesterday with him sitting around all day, plus Alden, I felt a little claustrophobic. Jake came to visit, and I was so happy to see him, but that was one of those bad nights, blurry with pain meds and pain, I don't remember a whole lot. When my mother is here, she fusses, she hassles the nurses, but she's a professional visitor, so if I need something, she gets it...in spades.
I like walking around the hallway, but since I wear street clothes, the nurses think I'm gonna bolt. I joke with them, but I'm seriously not. I know why I'm here.
That's another thing. I'm *here*. It sunk in last night. Tuesday was a morphine blur. Yesterday was a giant hang over, but sort of a day to let it all soak in. I didn't have much stuff here, clothes or recreational stuff. Last night, though...Irv left around 10, and it was teary. Just thinking about it, I'm all teary. He goes home, sleeps in our bed. I stay here and don't sleep. But it doesn't look like I'm going home soon...and by soon I mean tomorrow. There's a weird level of acceptance, where I'm like, yeah, I need clothes...yeah I need my toiletries...fuck, I need my netbook.
The big thing is people. Having people here is a weird thing, too. On one hand, I fucking deliriously love seeing a familiar face walking through my door. On the other hand, I feel and look like shit, so there's an element of being self conscious, like I have to be "on" for them. When I was on the morphine and Dilaudid, it was extremely difficult, but now that I'm clean and sober, so to speak, it's easier. When I'm at my best, long exposure to most people exhaust me. Irv is an easy presence, he's the exception. He can chill and read the paper or watch TV all day, not needing small talk, or to fuss. Luiz is uneasy here, and yesterday with him sitting around all day, plus Alden, I felt a little claustrophobic. Jake came to visit, and I was so happy to see him, but that was one of those bad nights, blurry with pain meds and pain, I don't remember a whole lot. When my mother is here, she fusses, she hassles the nurses, but she's a professional visitor, so if I need something, she gets it...in spades.
I like walking around the hallway, but since I wear street clothes, the nurses think I'm gonna bolt. I joke with them, but I'm seriously not. I know why I'm here.
That's another thing. I'm *here*. It sunk in last night. Tuesday was a morphine blur. Yesterday was a giant hang over, but sort of a day to let it all soak in. I didn't have much stuff here, clothes or recreational stuff. Last night, though...Irv left around 10, and it was teary. Just thinking about it, I'm all teary. He goes home, sleeps in our bed. I stay here and don't sleep. But it doesn't look like I'm going home soon...and by soon I mean tomorrow. There's a weird level of acceptance, where I'm like, yeah, I need clothes...yeah I need my toiletries...fuck, I need my netbook.
Nov 18, 2013
Timebomb Meltdown
After that post, we met our friend Jon at the bar. I was a little high, and starting to get drunk. I was happy to see him, but it's not really my crowd, so I sat fussing with my iThing while Irv joked and talked. Oh, and I was drinking, hard and fast. Irv made me eat something to slow down. I was chatting with Todd, and convinced him to join me, so he came all the way from South River. Good guy. As an aside, he's the platonic dude friend I need. He can show up and hang out at the drop of a dime, is unjudgemental, cool, intelligent, artistic and can drink me under the table. Easy on the eyes, too. Anyway, he turns up and my night is improved a hundred percent. But, when there's Todd, there's shots. To make a long story short, and this is why I value the guy so much, I had a major meltdown, and he didn't so much as bat an eye.
We had a jolly time, me and Todd, drinking, sharing secrets, talking shit about the strangers at the bar, scoping out the women. Irv was having a blast with Jon and that whole crowd. I thought for a bit that things were getting better. We left on a high. Then I kept drinking. Till I puked in the yard. Then I kept going. Till Irv somehow broke our entire handle of Jim Beam on the table. Apparently, it got all over me, and I locked myself in the laundry room having a temper tantrum, screaming and crying. This I don't remember at all. I threatened to walk across the house naked. Luiz, apparently had to hold me, naked, wrapped in a shawl, so I wouldn't go staggering out into public. They got me into one of my many sundresses, and that's all I remember....and apparently, I kept going with Fireball. I have no recollection of most of that, besides fuzzy shutterclicks. Total fucking meltdown. I woke up feeling like hot death in a mug. I just opened my eyes. and wanted to burst into tears. Irv laid in bed with me, all morning, rubbing my back and patting me. Luiz joined in, and for an hour I was in heaven, but felt too fucking grey and drawn out to appreciate it. My guys holding me, talking me through...whatever. Irv said I looked like I just wanted to find a corner and curl up to cry. He nailed it. I still feel like that.
I shouldn't have drank. I should have stuck to the greens. I still need therapy, I think. I feel better than yesterday, but only because my whole day was spent moving slowly, avoiding people, sleeping. I've been verging on tears the whole day. I feel the moisture sitting heavy in my lower lids, as I type this. If I blink hard, they'll spill.
My week starts tomorrow, but at least I'm easing into it, spending time with Michele. One of the few people I can stand for more than ten minutes at a clip right now.
We had a jolly time, me and Todd, drinking, sharing secrets, talking shit about the strangers at the bar, scoping out the women. Irv was having a blast with Jon and that whole crowd. I thought for a bit that things were getting better. We left on a high. Then I kept drinking. Till I puked in the yard. Then I kept going. Till Irv somehow broke our entire handle of Jim Beam on the table. Apparently, it got all over me, and I locked myself in the laundry room having a temper tantrum, screaming and crying. This I don't remember at all. I threatened to walk across the house naked. Luiz, apparently had to hold me, naked, wrapped in a shawl, so I wouldn't go staggering out into public. They got me into one of my many sundresses, and that's all I remember....and apparently, I kept going with Fireball. I have no recollection of most of that, besides fuzzy shutterclicks. Total fucking meltdown. I woke up feeling like hot death in a mug. I just opened my eyes. and wanted to burst into tears. Irv laid in bed with me, all morning, rubbing my back and patting me. Luiz joined in, and for an hour I was in heaven, but felt too fucking grey and drawn out to appreciate it. My guys holding me, talking me through...whatever. Irv said I looked like I just wanted to find a corner and curl up to cry. He nailed it. I still feel like that.
I shouldn't have drank. I should have stuck to the greens. I still need therapy, I think. I feel better than yesterday, but only because my whole day was spent moving slowly, avoiding people, sleeping. I've been verging on tears the whole day. I feel the moisture sitting heavy in my lower lids, as I type this. If I blink hard, they'll spill.
My week starts tomorrow, but at least I'm easing into it, spending time with Michele. One of the few people I can stand for more than ten minutes at a clip right now.
Nov 16, 2013
Needs
I'm still not ready for people. I'm in a funk. I called out of work yesterday, and today. I'm really not ready to open up, empathize, and help people tackle their issues. Fragile. That's a good word for it. I'm feeling fragile. I couldn't really pin it down, till today. Irv helped me frame it in language. I'm still sort of bummed about my father, and his open hostility towards me. We pulled some cards together, and now I can sort of see his reasons, but that doesn't magically fix how I feel.
I'm such an introvert, just spending a week straight with other people is enough to ruin me for the whole next week, especially this trip, where Alden was in our room. I didn't have one moment of time alone, except bathroom time, and even that was always hurried. Rushing to do the next thing, feeling obligated to not sit in our room alone, but go to Chris or Dad's room and socialize with the family. I can only do so much of that in the best of times. Add dealing with my father who was hostile, grouchy, demanding, demeaning, anxious, mean, sexist, and generally miserable and on a mission to make the rest of us miserable...and I can't even. We got home the day before yesterday, and I still don't feel fully myself, or "home".
I'm roaming around here, trying to stay drunk or high all day, and on the verge of tears, when I'm not. I've got no motivation to do anything that I love. No urge to seek out my friends and loved ones to talk to them. I'm fucking lost right now. Maybe a few more days in isolation will help. Maybe the cards we read today will get a self-dialog going, so that I can work through this. Just touching the sore subject of my parentage/my father's issues with females (which means issues with me), and my mother, is enough to make me burst into frustrated tears. I always said I was thoroughly happy not knowing where I came from, but every year, the mystery gets more and more...mysterious. More and more little slips and revelations. Details come to light, but they only provoke more questions. I'm not even being deliberately vague right now, but I don't even think I have the stamina to tackle the issue head on. I will. I'm trying to get myself there.
It's five pm. I called out of work. I have plans to go to a birthday party of a dear friend...a half hour ago. I'm still unshowered, and thoroughly dreading the evening.
I need therapy. I need silence. I need answers. I need to understand. I need to recharge. I need a good cry. I need to find the tears first. I need to find the words. I need to get back on the horse and tackle life head on. Fuck.
I'm such an introvert, just spending a week straight with other people is enough to ruin me for the whole next week, especially this trip, where Alden was in our room. I didn't have one moment of time alone, except bathroom time, and even that was always hurried. Rushing to do the next thing, feeling obligated to not sit in our room alone, but go to Chris or Dad's room and socialize with the family. I can only do so much of that in the best of times. Add dealing with my father who was hostile, grouchy, demanding, demeaning, anxious, mean, sexist, and generally miserable and on a mission to make the rest of us miserable...and I can't even. We got home the day before yesterday, and I still don't feel fully myself, or "home".
I'm roaming around here, trying to stay drunk or high all day, and on the verge of tears, when I'm not. I've got no motivation to do anything that I love. No urge to seek out my friends and loved ones to talk to them. I'm fucking lost right now. Maybe a few more days in isolation will help. Maybe the cards we read today will get a self-dialog going, so that I can work through this. Just touching the sore subject of my parentage/my father's issues with females (which means issues with me), and my mother, is enough to make me burst into frustrated tears. I always said I was thoroughly happy not knowing where I came from, but every year, the mystery gets more and more...mysterious. More and more little slips and revelations. Details come to light, but they only provoke more questions. I'm not even being deliberately vague right now, but I don't even think I have the stamina to tackle the issue head on. I will. I'm trying to get myself there.
It's five pm. I called out of work. I have plans to go to a birthday party of a dear friend...a half hour ago. I'm still unshowered, and thoroughly dreading the evening.
I need therapy. I need silence. I need answers. I need to understand. I need to recharge. I need a good cry. I need to find the tears first. I need to find the words. I need to get back on the horse and tackle life head on. Fuck.
Sep 18, 2013
I'm making it a point to paint every day, no matter how busy or shitty the day is. It's helping un-mire me from the bullshit mundane productivity. Like, every day, I have time set aside to create something totally frivolous, whose only job is to be cool, and or interesting to look at. It's a few hours of calm quiet time every day.
There's something distinctly satisfying about laying down strokes of color, and watching some meaningless little metal or resin chunk take form into a tiny little character with a story and a sort of life in my imagination.
I'm deeply satisfied seeing my skill develop and my techniques refine with each miniature. I practice grounding and centering to become ultra calm and steady, every time I pick up a brush. It's both fast and slow. Painting something the size of a quarter requires an absolute stillness of self. It's fast in a way, too. I can cover a lot of space in a small amount of time. I can see improvements from one miniature to the next. Things slow down in details. I feel like this really helps hone my focus. Painting requires razor focus. Only in this hobby will I spend an hour perfecting inside the mouth of a creature whose head isn't even as big as my thumbnail. When people are talking to me, I fuck up. When there's loud noises, I fuck up. Hopefully, one day I can even focus through big distractions.
I started doing this on a whim a few years ago. It's turned into a necessary thing, and I feel like the positive benefits of dedicating myself to painting every day, spilling over into the rest of my life.
There's something distinctly satisfying about laying down strokes of color, and watching some meaningless little metal or resin chunk take form into a tiny little character with a story and a sort of life in my imagination.
I'm deeply satisfied seeing my skill develop and my techniques refine with each miniature. I practice grounding and centering to become ultra calm and steady, every time I pick up a brush. It's both fast and slow. Painting something the size of a quarter requires an absolute stillness of self. It's fast in a way, too. I can cover a lot of space in a small amount of time. I can see improvements from one miniature to the next. Things slow down in details. I feel like this really helps hone my focus. Painting requires razor focus. Only in this hobby will I spend an hour perfecting inside the mouth of a creature whose head isn't even as big as my thumbnail. When people are talking to me, I fuck up. When there's loud noises, I fuck up. Hopefully, one day I can even focus through big distractions.
I started doing this on a whim a few years ago. It's turned into a necessary thing, and I feel like the positive benefits of dedicating myself to painting every day, spilling over into the rest of my life.
Jul 13, 2013
Something about getting high on a Saturday morning makes me check all my email dilligently. Then I stumble across one from Good Vibrations. They're having a sale. Suddenly, it doesn't seem strange to blow $50 on anal toys, to get free shipping. I actually sat there and contemplated it for a long few minutes.
Jul 12, 2013
This keeps boinging around in my head:
"People don't have to be nice to you just because you order them to."
This is fundamentally what's wrong with my mother. She thinks she can treat people any way she feels like treating them (which is usually like shit, let's get that straight) and because she's...I don't know, her, that everyone automatically needs to respect her, and be kind to her. It's the worst kind of entitlement. That's what I'm facing and fighting. I think that's a theme that stretches back in my life, back to early childhood. Demanding respect, while simultaneously slapping me in the face, both figuratively and literally. Demanding kindness and care for herself, while giving back nothing but negativity and abuse.
This is what makes my stomach flip into knots. This is what brings out pure, unmitigated hate. This is what makes me angry. This is what makes me cry furious tears. This is what makes me watch her walk down my driveway, and not feel too upset if I see the last of her.
Then, on the other hand, she's my mother, and I'm the last person in the world that she has, so I naturally feel protective towards her. But, she knows I'm it. She knows I'm all the family she's got. She knows I'm the only person in the world that gives a shit about her. So, why does she treat me like she does? Because she has done it like this for my whole life, and because I have let her.
I'm still dealing with this. I guess it took more than one blog entry.
"People don't have to be nice to you just because you order them to."
This is fundamentally what's wrong with my mother. She thinks she can treat people any way she feels like treating them (which is usually like shit, let's get that straight) and because she's...I don't know, her, that everyone automatically needs to respect her, and be kind to her. It's the worst kind of entitlement. That's what I'm facing and fighting. I think that's a theme that stretches back in my life, back to early childhood. Demanding respect, while simultaneously slapping me in the face, both figuratively and literally. Demanding kindness and care for herself, while giving back nothing but negativity and abuse.
This is what makes my stomach flip into knots. This is what brings out pure, unmitigated hate. This is what makes me angry. This is what makes me cry furious tears. This is what makes me watch her walk down my driveway, and not feel too upset if I see the last of her.
Then, on the other hand, she's my mother, and I'm the last person in the world that she has, so I naturally feel protective towards her. But, she knows I'm it. She knows I'm all the family she's got. She knows I'm the only person in the world that gives a shit about her. So, why does she treat me like she does? Because she has done it like this for my whole life, and because I have let her.
I'm still dealing with this. I guess it took more than one blog entry.
The week has been weird. Today has been really weird. Well, that's not fair either, it's a fairly normal day, till she showed up. My mother was here. We had to kick her out of the house, and now she's sad.
She comes here while I'm on the phone, and hangs around. That's fine. So, when I get off the phone, she chats me up about her usual bullshit, the house, money, insurance. She's nosy and bossy, like normal, but I can field that. Last time she was here, she was just plain nasty to everyone, and I haven't forgotten. She talks about wanting a smartphone, so I encourage her to get a Windows phone which is absolutely dummy proof, and has all the features she needs. But she cuts me off, and goes on and on to say that they guy at the Verizon store thinks she should not only get a phone, but also a tablet, and all this horseshit. I asked if she really needed all that, because she also has a laptop and a desktop. She's like "but I want something to keep me busy when I'm sitting in Perth Amboy!" So, I tried explaining what wifi is, and how a tablet needs wifi, and she kept cutting me off, so I said "fine, you're right. You're absolutely right, you know best what you want." And I was prepared to end it there.
Then she started shouting. I let her shout at me. I maintained that she's right, and nothing I can say or do would ever sway her. Luiz just told me, in watching that, I went out of my way to be peaceful to her. Luiz interjected at one point by saying "even if you ask for her opinion, nothing Lisa says or has said at least since I've known you has ever changed your mind." So, she starts shouting at Luiz. Luiz was like "are you paying bills in this house? What have you done for us lately that gives you a right to yell at us?" Something like that. Anyway, it escalated, and she was being really nasty to Luiz, and I walked her out the door. I calmly explained, while she was still yelling, that she comes here with a chip on her shoulder, on some war path, and she treats Alden and Luiz like shit, and they don't have to take it, and neither do I. I explained that I don't hate her, and she's free to call or stop by any time, if she feels like being civil, but she doesn't have the fucking right to push around anyone in my household. She went on about how Alden disrespects her, and I ended the conversation with, "Listen. If you're not nice to Alden, he doesn't have to listen to you. Period. You treat him like shit, don't expect him to be receptive in any way. I dealt with your shit when I was his age, because I had to. You treated me like shit, and I was forced to respect you because you're my mother, but you're not his mother, and he doesn't have to take shit from you."
I try to do right by him. I try to teach him he doesn't need to take shit from anyone, if they don't respect him. I spent too many years of my life being mentally and physically abused, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm still damaged. I work every day in small ways to fix myself, but I feel like my energy is best spent raising Alden not to be damaged and abused and walked all over, by people. Love your grandmother when she's loving, but when she's abusive, you don't have to take it. Always love her, because she's family, but walk away when she starts her shit. I've been working my whole life for that. I still take her shit.
I feel shaken at having to confront her like that, but I'm turning over a new leaf. My house has been the site of a lot of negativity lately, and I'm taking huge steps to clean it out. I don't need her shoveling more of it on us.
Normally, this would send me flying to my bottle of vodka, to steady the old nerves, but I think I'm turning a corner on drinking, too. After last weekend, I'm dialing it back. I've been drinking far too much, far too often, and I think it's because I'm dealing with some unresolved issues, lots of anger, and fuck...it's just easier, when all this stuff surfaces, to just party the issues away. I suppose that should be its own whole blog post.
Right now, I'm hungry, mentally and physically exhausted, and tired of people's shit.
She comes here while I'm on the phone, and hangs around. That's fine. So, when I get off the phone, she chats me up about her usual bullshit, the house, money, insurance. She's nosy and bossy, like normal, but I can field that. Last time she was here, she was just plain nasty to everyone, and I haven't forgotten. She talks about wanting a smartphone, so I encourage her to get a Windows phone which is absolutely dummy proof, and has all the features she needs. But she cuts me off, and goes on and on to say that they guy at the Verizon store thinks she should not only get a phone, but also a tablet, and all this horseshit. I asked if she really needed all that, because she also has a laptop and a desktop. She's like "but I want something to keep me busy when I'm sitting in Perth Amboy!" So, I tried explaining what wifi is, and how a tablet needs wifi, and she kept cutting me off, so I said "fine, you're right. You're absolutely right, you know best what you want." And I was prepared to end it there.
Then she started shouting. I let her shout at me. I maintained that she's right, and nothing I can say or do would ever sway her. Luiz just told me, in watching that, I went out of my way to be peaceful to her. Luiz interjected at one point by saying "even if you ask for her opinion, nothing Lisa says or has said at least since I've known you has ever changed your mind." So, she starts shouting at Luiz. Luiz was like "are you paying bills in this house? What have you done for us lately that gives you a right to yell at us?" Something like that. Anyway, it escalated, and she was being really nasty to Luiz, and I walked her out the door. I calmly explained, while she was still yelling, that she comes here with a chip on her shoulder, on some war path, and she treats Alden and Luiz like shit, and they don't have to take it, and neither do I. I explained that I don't hate her, and she's free to call or stop by any time, if she feels like being civil, but she doesn't have the fucking right to push around anyone in my household. She went on about how Alden disrespects her, and I ended the conversation with, "Listen. If you're not nice to Alden, he doesn't have to listen to you. Period. You treat him like shit, don't expect him to be receptive in any way. I dealt with your shit when I was his age, because I had to. You treated me like shit, and I was forced to respect you because you're my mother, but you're not his mother, and he doesn't have to take shit from you."
I try to do right by him. I try to teach him he doesn't need to take shit from anyone, if they don't respect him. I spent too many years of my life being mentally and physically abused, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm still damaged. I work every day in small ways to fix myself, but I feel like my energy is best spent raising Alden not to be damaged and abused and walked all over, by people. Love your grandmother when she's loving, but when she's abusive, you don't have to take it. Always love her, because she's family, but walk away when she starts her shit. I've been working my whole life for that. I still take her shit.
I feel shaken at having to confront her like that, but I'm turning over a new leaf. My house has been the site of a lot of negativity lately, and I'm taking huge steps to clean it out. I don't need her shoveling more of it on us.
Normally, this would send me flying to my bottle of vodka, to steady the old nerves, but I think I'm turning a corner on drinking, too. After last weekend, I'm dialing it back. I've been drinking far too much, far too often, and I think it's because I'm dealing with some unresolved issues, lots of anger, and fuck...it's just easier, when all this stuff surfaces, to just party the issues away. I suppose that should be its own whole blog post.
Right now, I'm hungry, mentally and physically exhausted, and tired of people's shit.
Jun 20, 2013
Harriet and I have had a complicated relationship, to say the least. I have to say this, first, though. I love her like I love anyone that's entered into my immediate circle of friends, even though I haven't hung out with her in ages.
When the kids were in kindergarten, we dropped them off and stood around the same spot, and started talking to each other. It developed into a tight friendship, where I would sit in her Durango, and wait for the kids. We'd show up every day at school two hours early with coffee and music, and sit there talking waiting for the kids to walk out, even when her daughter and Alden were in different ends of the school, we made them walk around to where we were.
Our deep friendship progressed into a sexual relationship, and that was fun for awhile. She always had a billion things going on at once, and I was sort of happy to be a part of her chaotic life. She would drag me to parties and friends houses, and she did a lot to chip away at my social anxieties. With her, I learned to "fake it till I make it" in social situations. She didn't give me the choice to sit out, often. I catered her aunt's 75th birthday party. I loved her and hated her, and I blogged a ton about her back in the early 2000's because she was such a turbulent and zingy ball of energy in my life back then.
Then our house burned, and all that shit happened, and I got too busy. A few years later, her house burned down, and I helped her out a lot with her pets and other stuff. She moved out of the neighborhood for a few years, while her house was being rebuilt. She got into some bad relationships, while cheating on her husband, some very jealous types. She got mixed up with a woman that got her hooked on pills, which really kinda killed our friendship for a time. She couldn't really even say hi to me, the woman was so insane. She served some jail time, lost her job. Got another job, lost that. So much bullshit. I tried to be around for her, through all this, and she'd come over despairing sometimes, but the light kinda had gone out of things.
So, today she turns up. Looking good, tan, and happer than I'd seen her in a while. She's going to NA meetings, and she's been off the pills for four days We chatted about the houses, she lost more in Sandy than I did. She moved out of the neighborhood again, when her house got destroyed, and just came back a few weeks ago. We've both kinda come to the end of our ropes about things, with the houses and we reconnected on a great level. I opened the door to her. If she ever wants to just come over and get out of the house, just to quit staring at the four walls, I invited her here. I know that means a lot in the recovery process. Just to get out of your prison and go take a walk. I lit up seeing her on the porch. I love reconnecting with old friends, no matter what's transpired in the meantime. Nevermind all the bullshit, I hope she stays off the pills, and sticks around.
When the kids were in kindergarten, we dropped them off and stood around the same spot, and started talking to each other. It developed into a tight friendship, where I would sit in her Durango, and wait for the kids. We'd show up every day at school two hours early with coffee and music, and sit there talking waiting for the kids to walk out, even when her daughter and Alden were in different ends of the school, we made them walk around to where we were.
Our deep friendship progressed into a sexual relationship, and that was fun for awhile. She always had a billion things going on at once, and I was sort of happy to be a part of her chaotic life. She would drag me to parties and friends houses, and she did a lot to chip away at my social anxieties. With her, I learned to "fake it till I make it" in social situations. She didn't give me the choice to sit out, often. I catered her aunt's 75th birthday party. I loved her and hated her, and I blogged a ton about her back in the early 2000's because she was such a turbulent and zingy ball of energy in my life back then.
Then our house burned, and all that shit happened, and I got too busy. A few years later, her house burned down, and I helped her out a lot with her pets and other stuff. She moved out of the neighborhood for a few years, while her house was being rebuilt. She got into some bad relationships, while cheating on her husband, some very jealous types. She got mixed up with a woman that got her hooked on pills, which really kinda killed our friendship for a time. She couldn't really even say hi to me, the woman was so insane. She served some jail time, lost her job. Got another job, lost that. So much bullshit. I tried to be around for her, through all this, and she'd come over despairing sometimes, but the light kinda had gone out of things.
So, today she turns up. Looking good, tan, and happer than I'd seen her in a while. She's going to NA meetings, and she's been off the pills for four days We chatted about the houses, she lost more in Sandy than I did. She moved out of the neighborhood again, when her house got destroyed, and just came back a few weeks ago. We've both kinda come to the end of our ropes about things, with the houses and we reconnected on a great level. I opened the door to her. If she ever wants to just come over and get out of the house, just to quit staring at the four walls, I invited her here. I know that means a lot in the recovery process. Just to get out of your prison and go take a walk. I lit up seeing her on the porch. I love reconnecting with old friends, no matter what's transpired in the meantime. Nevermind all the bullshit, I hope she stays off the pills, and sticks around.
Jun 17, 2013
I closed reddit. I cannot bury myself in comforting things, right now. I need to write.
So, Luiz did something almost irreparably shitty to me, today. It's something he does on a frequent and consistent basis, but this turns out to be the most damaging time.
When I love someone and trust them perfectly, I talk to them. Sometimes, my friends confide in me, and usually when it's something I could use input on, or something that fills me with joy, I'll share it with Irv or Luiz. So, once when Schuyler confided to me that was so out of my knowledge zone, something kind of shocking, I mentioned it to Irv mostly, because he's pretty steady and can provide detached unjudgemental information. It was like "Schuyler has this weird situation. I'm at a loss. Please advise." It was a secret. It was something that Schuyler was feeling uncomfortable with, and turned to me for advice. Luiz over heard this, and at the earliest opportunity mentioned it to him. In a mocking way.
That was maybe five years ago? Schuyler hasn't confided in me since then. Our friendship took kind of a turn. We're very casual now, and we barely ever talk. I'm not gonna lie, I've been feeling the sting of it since it happened. Then he told Alden some very important details about my personal life that is none of a child's business. I'm a parent, Alden is my kid. There needs to be some mystery about my recreational life. Luiz went ahead and just shone a spotlight on every facet of my life, to Alden, unasked for. Facets that no kid ever needs to know about their parent.
Luiz will see me pulling cards, for a friend and come hover over what I'm doing. He'll get up in my shit and try to help me. Then in short order, he'll go to that friend, and say things like, "So, I hear you're having marital issues, WELL, Lisa and I pulled cards, and we figured this out about you." Which isn't the case. Sometimes, I turn to him for help when I'm too close, but more often than not, I read the cards solo. I'm digressing. But, I'm writing out the history here.
So, today, he kind of carpetbombed me. He waited till the very end of a really good day, during PMS, after I packed a huge bowl, 10 hours before I'm going to eat breakfast with her, and announced that he had a crush on Michele. Which hurts, and we talked about the reasons for it, which I might have to write another blog post about. But, it's really nothing that I couldn't cope with, I just needed to digest it, you know? At some point in that conversation, he said
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't hate me. I meant what I said about cultivating a friendship. It's my way to be selfless and be cool. My designs on a clean friendship are pure."
Then he kept trying to impress upon me that he needs to be friends with her. My answer,
"Well, there doesn't *need* to be. She's my best friend. She's not close friends with Irv, never has been. She's friendly with Irv. She's friendly with you."
So, that was kind of the end of that. He kept begging me to trust him, and I really can't. I trust that he'll do what he wants, what he thinks is right no matter what my feelings are. Something kept nagging at me about the word trust.
At that exact same moment, he was carrying on a conversation with her in another window, trying to be all deep and philosophical and what he thinks as "friendly" I guess. He took a conversation that Michele and I had months ago in confidence. A girly girl on girl conversation that made me happy, some personal bit of emotion and conversation that should have been between her and I only, one that I shouldn't have really shared, but I stupidly did...and repeated it to her verbatim. As in "Lisa told me this is how you feel about this situation, and I think that's just ducky." He was using some piece of confidential information to become closer and "friendlier" with her.
It was just most shitty, scummy, backstabby thing ever. Michele picked up on it immediately and ended that aspect of the conversation. Cards were pulled. He didn't think it had any effect. It most definitely had a very immediate and heart rending effect. Michele now doesn't think she can trust me. And just when we were getting our friendship back on track after Kenn. Now we have this huge, maybe irreparable rift, and this distance. The same kind he caused between Schuyler and I. And Chris and I with his little "open letter". And Alden and I. This 18 year old friendship went through some very brittle times, and now as adults we were just getting so much fuller and better.
I feel like an ass. I feel like now Michele can't trust me, the way Schuyler couldn't, the way nobody could, I guess. I'm not blind to the fact that I made it wrong. I can't believe I'm so stupid. I should never have told Luiz shit. Actually, I was very transparent about recent developments, too, till he spilled my business to Alden. Around then, I started dialing it back around him and not telling him the majority of what goes on in my conversations with people. He didn't even realize that my trust for him was eroding by the day, and was so shocked to learn I don't tell him 100%. Instinct told me to not disclose secrets anymore, and I definitely quit, maybe in early May.
I'm anxious and exhausted. I'm dreading tomorrow morning. I've been sitting here with tears threatening to fall, but somehow not. I feel hot and dry and angry. I'm hurting and raw, and unsure of anything.
He keeps pawing at me, looking for me to comfort him or boost his ego. That's not for him today. He doesn't get to run over my feelings with a steamroller, and my relationships, and expect me applaud him for his spiritual journey to "become a better person" That's the thinnest line of bullshit I've read all night.
I'm falling asleep at my computer. I'm husked out. Maybe I can bring this more out at a later date, or maybe this was enough. I'm not even sure how to go about being social tomorrow.
I know why. I don't even have the emotional fortitude to go into "why" he does this, right now. It's enough that I know, and I strongly dislike his reasons.
Jun 12, 2013
So, on a close friend's wall, I was just subject to a fat joke. Which I didn't even notice/get. My friend apologized fiercely, and is verging on cutting the guy out of his friends list over it. I'm...like already over it. Or, it didn't even phase me. I had to explain to him, I've been fat all my life, and the word "fat" doesn't even have negative connotations anymore. At worst, it's like describing me. I have green eyes. I have tattoos. I'm fat. At best, I told him, it's positive. As in. "Yeah, I'm fat. I get laid every fucking day. YOU WISH YOU LOOKED THIS GOOD." That's exactly how I worded it.
My whole life. No amount of going to the gym, healthy eating, exercise, bicycle, yoga, pilates, belly dancing, weight training, calorie counting, vegetarianism...nothing...changes my essential shape. I've converted about sixty pounds of this fat into muscle, but I'm still not even remotely thin, and I probably never will be, and what's more, I don't want to be. It doesn't trouble me.
I feel the muscles rippling under my generous padding. I'm ridiculously flexible. I'm strong. I'm light on my feet. I'm graceful. I'm resilient. I literally carry my own weight, well. I've worked hard on this body, and I can work hard with it. It's amazing what I can do. Sometimes, I amaze myself.
Turns out, being fat is good for me.
I've spent a lot of time figuring out how to dress, and how to maximize the potential of my finer qualities. I'm beautiful, I have gorgeous eyes and a wonderful, genuine, generous smile. So, I focus on smiling a lot, genuinely. I love looking at people, and looking in their eyes. My skin is velvety. I spend a good deal of time making sure it stays that way. My shoulders are sexy, so I show them off. My breasts are amazing. I show them off. My legs and ass are strong and muscular, I show them off. My belly is soft and lush to the touch, I love touching it, and I love having it touched It really does feel nice squishing about in my hands. My narrow hips are surprising. They're bony and sexy, and they make very convenient handles. I have spent a lot of time acquainting myself with my body. It's a delicious sensual experience, it's a playground, and a temple. It's both primal and refined. It's all good.
I care about how I represent myself to the world. I never want to be unpolished, or sloppy. I feel like not only do I represent myself, but all women of a certain size. Every morning, I get up caring about my looks, and how I show myself to the world. I want to do us proud. Not only that, but I want to look good for my guys. I want them to be proud to walk next to me, and show me off. I want to turn them on, and I want to be attractive.
Because of my size, I've worked very hard to find self love, and self acceptance. Many people never even think about this, but it's something that I have smashed myself against for many years. I've arrived now. I don't cringe at my photographs anymore. I don't shy away from full length mirrors anymore (in fact, I embrace them, so I can get a good look at the tattoos I don't normally see). I'm going to the beach Friday. I'm going to look hot as hell in my bathing suit. This journey was all on my own. Luiz has written sonnets about my body, but until I completely internalized it, they were meaningless to me. It's all about what goes on within. If I weren't fat, would I have spent so much time self actualizing? Who knows?
Because I'm fat, when I was younger, I worked SO hard on being a good person that people would like no matter what. I try to be tactful and charming. I'm fucking hilarious. I've studied great comedians, timing and delivery. I was always fat, and I had no friends when I was a kid... so I read whole libraries worth of books. I'm brilliant, I'm educated, and I continue to be well read. Rather than hanging out and being shallow with the cool kids...I devoted every spare bit of time to learning learning learning. I've watched scores and scores of good movies. I taught myself to write, draw, and paint, and to cook. Immersed myself in countless hours of exquisite music. I've learned the art of conversation. Without the distraction of banal social bullshit, I've also learned to be alone with myself, and relish my own company. I've learned to never be bored.
Because I already look different, I never tried to fit in. I've always been an outcast, so I thrived in that role, turned it on its ear, and made being the "outcast" something positive. I physically stand out from the crowd, so why not everything else?
I've learned who I can trust, I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about how other people view me, for better or worse. I've developed lightning flash intuition. Being fat has conveniently cut many people out of my life, simply because they had a problem with my size. That makes things nice. Never a need to worry I'm wasting energy on the wrong people. They show their hand early on.
I've also learned to look past everyone's physical appearances, and all superficial criteria, and to not judge anyone by anything, ever. Being judged hurts, I've learned. So, I don't do it.
Because I'm fat, I've worked extra hard learning about nutrition and good health. I have more risks to worry about, of course, which means I go the extra mile to keep myself healthy. I take lots of extra care, with getting a balanced diet. But, also, I love myself enough to eat with relish and abandon. Self denial is not in my vocabulary (about anything, really). It's a fine balance.
Here's the thing about self denial. I don't do it. Not for love, not for sex, not for just doing whatever the fuck I want. I will never deny myself a worthwhile sensual experience, no matter how it shows up, and sometimes, that means food. Or sometimes it means just stepping out of my jeans and wading into the ocean in my panties. I love myself, and I would never deny myself anything. Just like, I would never deny my loved ones anything. I love you, so I will never deny you anything. We talked about love today a lot, too. I think, somewhere in the cosmos, my weight is just me wearing my "Refuser of None" nature on my frame. I won't turn down an amazing meal made with love. I won't speculate about calories, or potential consequences. If someone (including myself, because I love myself) fixes me a delicious meal, or takes me out..then I embrace it with full openness and really fucking live that moment, taking in every bit.
My friend. He was so appalled on my behalf, so protective, so hurt. I'm not. He's gained a lot of weight in the past few years, and I think it's settling on him nicely. He looks very rugged and deliciously primal. I don't think he's ok with his size, yet. I think that's why he freaked out. A shot at my fatness was a shot at him. I want to empower him, so he doesn't feel self conscious about that kind of thing either. He's beautiful. I am too.
My whole life. No amount of going to the gym, healthy eating, exercise, bicycle, yoga, pilates, belly dancing, weight training, calorie counting, vegetarianism...nothing...changes my essential shape. I've converted about sixty pounds of this fat into muscle, but I'm still not even remotely thin, and I probably never will be, and what's more, I don't want to be. It doesn't trouble me.
I feel the muscles rippling under my generous padding. I'm ridiculously flexible. I'm strong. I'm light on my feet. I'm graceful. I'm resilient. I literally carry my own weight, well. I've worked hard on this body, and I can work hard with it. It's amazing what I can do. Sometimes, I amaze myself.
Turns out, being fat is good for me.
I've spent a lot of time figuring out how to dress, and how to maximize the potential of my finer qualities. I'm beautiful, I have gorgeous eyes and a wonderful, genuine, generous smile. So, I focus on smiling a lot, genuinely. I love looking at people, and looking in their eyes. My skin is velvety. I spend a good deal of time making sure it stays that way. My shoulders are sexy, so I show them off. My breasts are amazing. I show them off. My legs and ass are strong and muscular, I show them off. My belly is soft and lush to the touch, I love touching it, and I love having it touched It really does feel nice squishing about in my hands. My narrow hips are surprising. They're bony and sexy, and they make very convenient handles. I have spent a lot of time acquainting myself with my body. It's a delicious sensual experience, it's a playground, and a temple. It's both primal and refined. It's all good.
I care about how I represent myself to the world. I never want to be unpolished, or sloppy. I feel like not only do I represent myself, but all women of a certain size. Every morning, I get up caring about my looks, and how I show myself to the world. I want to do us proud. Not only that, but I want to look good for my guys. I want them to be proud to walk next to me, and show me off. I want to turn them on, and I want to be attractive.
Because of my size, I've worked very hard to find self love, and self acceptance. Many people never even think about this, but it's something that I have smashed myself against for many years. I've arrived now. I don't cringe at my photographs anymore. I don't shy away from full length mirrors anymore (in fact, I embrace them, so I can get a good look at the tattoos I don't normally see). I'm going to the beach Friday. I'm going to look hot as hell in my bathing suit. This journey was all on my own. Luiz has written sonnets about my body, but until I completely internalized it, they were meaningless to me. It's all about what goes on within. If I weren't fat, would I have spent so much time self actualizing? Who knows?
Because I'm fat, when I was younger, I worked SO hard on being a good person that people would like no matter what. I try to be tactful and charming. I'm fucking hilarious. I've studied great comedians, timing and delivery. I was always fat, and I had no friends when I was a kid... so I read whole libraries worth of books. I'm brilliant, I'm educated, and I continue to be well read. Rather than hanging out and being shallow with the cool kids...I devoted every spare bit of time to learning learning learning. I've watched scores and scores of good movies. I taught myself to write, draw, and paint, and to cook. Immersed myself in countless hours of exquisite music. I've learned the art of conversation. Without the distraction of banal social bullshit, I've also learned to be alone with myself, and relish my own company. I've learned to never be bored.
Because I already look different, I never tried to fit in. I've always been an outcast, so I thrived in that role, turned it on its ear, and made being the "outcast" something positive. I physically stand out from the crowd, so why not everything else?
I've learned who I can trust, I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about how other people view me, for better or worse. I've developed lightning flash intuition. Being fat has conveniently cut many people out of my life, simply because they had a problem with my size. That makes things nice. Never a need to worry I'm wasting energy on the wrong people. They show their hand early on.
I've also learned to look past everyone's physical appearances, and all superficial criteria, and to not judge anyone by anything, ever. Being judged hurts, I've learned. So, I don't do it.
Because I'm fat, I've worked extra hard learning about nutrition and good health. I have more risks to worry about, of course, which means I go the extra mile to keep myself healthy. I take lots of extra care, with getting a balanced diet. But, also, I love myself enough to eat with relish and abandon. Self denial is not in my vocabulary (about anything, really). It's a fine balance.
Here's the thing about self denial. I don't do it. Not for love, not for sex, not for just doing whatever the fuck I want. I will never deny myself a worthwhile sensual experience, no matter how it shows up, and sometimes, that means food. Or sometimes it means just stepping out of my jeans and wading into the ocean in my panties. I love myself, and I would never deny myself anything. Just like, I would never deny my loved ones anything. I love you, so I will never deny you anything. We talked about love today a lot, too. I think, somewhere in the cosmos, my weight is just me wearing my "Refuser of None" nature on my frame. I won't turn down an amazing meal made with love. I won't speculate about calories, or potential consequences. If someone (including myself, because I love myself) fixes me a delicious meal, or takes me out..then I embrace it with full openness and really fucking live that moment, taking in every bit.
My friend. He was so appalled on my behalf, so protective, so hurt. I'm not. He's gained a lot of weight in the past few years, and I think it's settling on him nicely. He looks very rugged and deliciously primal. I don't think he's ok with his size, yet. I think that's why he freaked out. A shot at my fatness was a shot at him. I want to empower him, so he doesn't feel self conscious about that kind of thing either. He's beautiful. I am too.
Jun 9, 2013
another sorta beach dream
I had a dream that I remember! It doesn't feel especially significant, except that it had a load of recurring elements in it, that show up in other dreams. Maybe as I write it, I'll get it. Why so many Asian girls? Why the color scheme? Why a school setting? It's always school or a resort. In this case, the apartment felt resort-like, it had a dreamy vacation feel, but it wasn't a huge communal thing like they are mostly.
I was in some class, like a drafting class, or something about technical drawing. The classroom had lots of long tables, and I recall there being lots of tools and accessories scattered around, and we all sat at long tables, shoulder to shoulder. It was crowded. I sat next to a young Korean girl, maybe in her early 20's. We became friends, and she invited me to her house. Only "me" was "us" but I can't recall who was with me, they didn't really show up in my dream, except that there was a distinct "us" feeling about it. So, we went to her place. It was a really nice sort of studio apartment, with a second floor mezzanine circling the main room, and it was directly on the beach. Like, walk out the door onto sand. The dominant colors were blue and white and grey, also, windswept and not at all sunny which seems to be typical beach colors for my dream. Muted, cool. Every beach is the same pale grey sand, blue sky, grey-blue water.
So, she invited us to her place, and she hunted all over the apartment for food. She wound up feeding us the Korean equivalent to fancy party food, like appetizers, and delicious little sweets. It was a pleasant experience. There was a lot of fun and kinda had a "girly sleep over" feel, with laughing and being playful.
We saw each other in school later, and were still very friendly, laughing about the previous day. Everything seemed totally cool. Halfway through the class, her mother showed up, furious, looking for the people that ate her food. The girl apologized to the mother, and was deeply ashamed. It wasn't her place, she lived with parents, and they were just out for the day. She moved away from me, and I got the distinct feeling that the friendship was over, just like that. Then, shortly after, a bunch of new people flooded into the class, and while I was up talking to the girl and her mother, they took my seat, got rid of my stuff, and I was the only one left standing. As if I never had a spot, to begin with. Massive anxiety. So, I left the class.
The last thing I remember was being outside, by that beach again, which was also close to the class room, leaning over a rail. Outside, I felt distinctly better, and had that "us" feeling again. I saw people I recognized off in the distance, hanging out on the beach, people I liked and felt comfortable around, and it went a long way to making me feel better.
I'll read this a few times, and figure out what it could mean. It didn't bother me, and it didn't feel all that significant.
I was in some class, like a drafting class, or something about technical drawing. The classroom had lots of long tables, and I recall there being lots of tools and accessories scattered around, and we all sat at long tables, shoulder to shoulder. It was crowded. I sat next to a young Korean girl, maybe in her early 20's. We became friends, and she invited me to her house. Only "me" was "us" but I can't recall who was with me, they didn't really show up in my dream, except that there was a distinct "us" feeling about it. So, we went to her place. It was a really nice sort of studio apartment, with a second floor mezzanine circling the main room, and it was directly on the beach. Like, walk out the door onto sand. The dominant colors were blue and white and grey, also, windswept and not at all sunny which seems to be typical beach colors for my dream. Muted, cool. Every beach is the same pale grey sand, blue sky, grey-blue water.
So, she invited us to her place, and she hunted all over the apartment for food. She wound up feeding us the Korean equivalent to fancy party food, like appetizers, and delicious little sweets. It was a pleasant experience. There was a lot of fun and kinda had a "girly sleep over" feel, with laughing and being playful.
We saw each other in school later, and were still very friendly, laughing about the previous day. Everything seemed totally cool. Halfway through the class, her mother showed up, furious, looking for the people that ate her food. The girl apologized to the mother, and was deeply ashamed. It wasn't her place, she lived with parents, and they were just out for the day. She moved away from me, and I got the distinct feeling that the friendship was over, just like that. Then, shortly after, a bunch of new people flooded into the class, and while I was up talking to the girl and her mother, they took my seat, got rid of my stuff, and I was the only one left standing. As if I never had a spot, to begin with. Massive anxiety. So, I left the class.
The last thing I remember was being outside, by that beach again, which was also close to the class room, leaning over a rail. Outside, I felt distinctly better, and had that "us" feeling again. I saw people I recognized off in the distance, hanging out on the beach, people I liked and felt comfortable around, and it went a long way to making me feel better.
I'll read this a few times, and figure out what it could mean. It didn't bother me, and it didn't feel all that significant.
Jun 7, 2013
[4] I'm writing a lot more now. Sometimes I just need to be kicked into motion.
Insomnia tonight. Insomnia every "night before". I feel like a kid on Christmas. Too wound up to sleep. I literally started writing a shopping list, for tomorrow, and cleaning the bathroom. I try to fill the whole day with stuff, because if I sit idle, I'm liable to start biting my nails again. Who the fuck am I kidding? There is no sitting idle. There is only nervous energy.
It's a good feeling. I hope it never wears off. That anticipation and longing that comes with being in love, and loved.
I thought I was going to write earlier, but playing Borderlands 2 with Tutt and Luiz was offered, so I went with that. I turned down playing last night, so I could sit in quiet contemplation. I needed it after yesterday. Tonight was fun. Sometimes, it's just because I can laugh for two hours straight, and it brings me back to old times, so many times over. Back to 2005, when Tutt and I first met and created our adventuring team. Thousands of needless deaths, and like at least fifteen games later, we're still a total horror show. When we both first started playing Star Wars: The Old Republic, last year, we were both in this lavish city, and we spied some decorative pit in the center, filled with white light. As one, totally spontaneously, we both went charging for the railing and dove over it...and died. Luiz went on a 30 minute tirade about our antics, and how we should have grown out of them already. What can I say? I'm eternally a kid. Tutt and I have gotten into some hilarious trouble together, and I wouldn't trade that for any amount of headshots in the world. What are the stories we tell, five, ten years down the line? The fucking funny ones.
I get that Tutt doesn't have a load of joy in his life right now, so I'm glad he's got this escapism. It's good for all of us.
Looking forward to tomorrow night. Looking forward to making some Thai food and drinking some Maker's.
Insomnia tonight. Insomnia every "night before". I feel like a kid on Christmas. Too wound up to sleep. I literally started writing a shopping list, for tomorrow, and cleaning the bathroom. I try to fill the whole day with stuff, because if I sit idle, I'm liable to start biting my nails again. Who the fuck am I kidding? There is no sitting idle. There is only nervous energy.
It's a good feeling. I hope it never wears off. That anticipation and longing that comes with being in love, and loved.
I thought I was going to write earlier, but playing Borderlands 2 with Tutt and Luiz was offered, so I went with that. I turned down playing last night, so I could sit in quiet contemplation. I needed it after yesterday. Tonight was fun. Sometimes, it's just because I can laugh for two hours straight, and it brings me back to old times, so many times over. Back to 2005, when Tutt and I first met and created our adventuring team. Thousands of needless deaths, and like at least fifteen games later, we're still a total horror show. When we both first started playing Star Wars: The Old Republic, last year, we were both in this lavish city, and we spied some decorative pit in the center, filled with white light. As one, totally spontaneously, we both went charging for the railing and dove over it...and died. Luiz went on a 30 minute tirade about our antics, and how we should have grown out of them already. What can I say? I'm eternally a kid. Tutt and I have gotten into some hilarious trouble together, and I wouldn't trade that for any amount of headshots in the world. What are the stories we tell, five, ten years down the line? The fucking funny ones.
I get that Tutt doesn't have a load of joy in his life right now, so I'm glad he's got this escapism. It's good for all of us.
Looking forward to tomorrow night. Looking forward to making some Thai food and drinking some Maker's.
Jun 6, 2013
[6] I don't generally sit to write like this, but I'm on a tear. I did a huge cathartic bunch of writing today. The medicinal kind. If it doesn't fix anything else, just the putting it out will fix my heart and answer my questions.
I must be fine now, because I'm watching darkwave videos and my skin feels slightly carbonated. Sisters of Mercy reminds me of the best time I ever had in my life, being ignored. I think about that time a lot, because this time of year is when it hit it's inevitable and violent turn.
I looked through all the bands in my iTunes. Studied each band thinking if that was the direction I wanted to take tonight. I wanted Steve Earle, I have to take a break from that album. I keep hovering over it, and deciding against it. I'm obsessing some. I hope it doesn't become some tragic soundtrack in my life like Sisters. So, I went Peter Murphy. His sound is so acidic and acerbic it'll shatter anything clean, sterile even. Peter Murphy leads to Bauhaus leads to Sisters of Mercy. Why am I so maudlin all of a sudden?
I haven't done this since Saturday. Sunday I couldn't even. I would have thrown myself into the bay. Monday I was too busy freaking out for Tuesday, the elections. Tuesday, the elections, and I was passed out by 10:30 on the couch. So, tonight. I'm glad of it tonight. After earlier, my heart is light.
Hearing his voice is like being wrapped in a rich warm blanket, the oldest, most comfortable, favorite. It's got the power to blast my mind blank. We're so awkward with the talking. We were awkward at everything, once upon a time. We get over it.
Is my head empty yet? It should be after earlier. Just sloshing the last bits out.
I'm listening to Transcendental Blues, now. I couldn't stay away. It fills my heart. It's not all wonderful. I've read the lyrics to "Everyone's in Love With You" That's a little much. Then there's "I Don't Want To Lose You Yet" which is the most perfect capture, the most hopeful, and the one I love the most.
I'm having fun here, listening and analyzing the lyrics, but I think I'm going to go immerse myself in the Scottish Highlands of 1743. I love this book, Outlander. Lots of lush setting and purple prose. Breathless sexuality. Darkwave moody mood passed.
I must be fine now, because I'm watching darkwave videos and my skin feels slightly carbonated. Sisters of Mercy reminds me of the best time I ever had in my life, being ignored. I think about that time a lot, because this time of year is when it hit it's inevitable and violent turn.
I looked through all the bands in my iTunes. Studied each band thinking if that was the direction I wanted to take tonight. I wanted Steve Earle, I have to take a break from that album. I keep hovering over it, and deciding against it. I'm obsessing some. I hope it doesn't become some tragic soundtrack in my life like Sisters. So, I went Peter Murphy. His sound is so acidic and acerbic it'll shatter anything clean, sterile even. Peter Murphy leads to Bauhaus leads to Sisters of Mercy. Why am I so maudlin all of a sudden?
I haven't done this since Saturday. Sunday I couldn't even. I would have thrown myself into the bay. Monday I was too busy freaking out for Tuesday, the elections. Tuesday, the elections, and I was passed out by 10:30 on the couch. So, tonight. I'm glad of it tonight. After earlier, my heart is light.
Hearing his voice is like being wrapped in a rich warm blanket, the oldest, most comfortable, favorite. It's got the power to blast my mind blank. We're so awkward with the talking. We were awkward at everything, once upon a time. We get over it.
Is my head empty yet? It should be after earlier. Just sloshing the last bits out.
I'm listening to Transcendental Blues, now. I couldn't stay away. It fills my heart. It's not all wonderful. I've read the lyrics to "Everyone's in Love With You" That's a little much. Then there's "I Don't Want To Lose You Yet" which is the most perfect capture, the most hopeful, and the one I love the most.
I'm having fun here, listening and analyzing the lyrics, but I think I'm going to go immerse myself in the Scottish Highlands of 1743. I love this book, Outlander. Lots of lush setting and purple prose. Breathless sexuality. Darkwave moody mood passed.
Mar 26, 2013
I know I'm abrasive. I know it's a flaw. I have the ability to be very diplomatic, I can talk fancy and sugar coat any damn thing. Around people I'm close with, I drop the pretense and diplomacy, and just say things straight, efficient, with no prose. Apparently, this makes me abrasive. Alright, I'll take that.
Let's not mistake that for mean, or irrational, or dramatic. In fact, it's the opposite of those things. Any of those other things add elements, like emotion or intent. My abrasiveness removes all of that. Sometimes, yeah, it's not nice. You could be very enthusiastic about something, and trying to convey that, and if I'm not at all on the same page, I'll say so. It's ok to disagree.
Just because your ego is hypersensitive doesn't always mean that I'm the badguy.
Let's not mistake that for mean, or irrational, or dramatic. In fact, it's the opposite of those things. Any of those other things add elements, like emotion or intent. My abrasiveness removes all of that. Sometimes, yeah, it's not nice. You could be very enthusiastic about something, and trying to convey that, and if I'm not at all on the same page, I'll say so. It's ok to disagree.
Just because your ego is hypersensitive doesn't always mean that I'm the badguy.
Mar 22, 2013
My currency
So, Irv threw away my Nick Cave tickets, because he was being careless. Nick Cave never tours, this was to be a once in a lifetime opportunity. I've been bottling up my feelings about this for weeks, but it's given me stress, when I think about it. When he first admitted that he thought he chucked the envelope, he was sure to tell me at lunch in the center of a very small and crowded restaurant I had an asthma attack because I was trying to stifle the tears that immediately came. I didn't want to embarrass myself.
Today, it came up in discussion, because I tried to see if I could call about it, and basically in the confirmation email, it was pretty much stated that if lost, destroyed, whatever, they can't replace them. Devastating. I've loved Nick Cave pretty much my whole adult life. It became apparent, when I've been casting about among my myriad playlists to find something to put on and just have playing, that there are very few without Nick Cave. I've been avoiding listening to him because it's depressing, and the gods know I don't need any more depressing shit right now.
Anyway, today, I broke down because the show is a week away, and there's no way to fix things. I launched into a full on sob, fully inconsolable. Irv tried to blame Alden maybe he picked them up, or maybe it was my fault for leaving them too near his desk, or..the cat, or sun spots, or aliens. I was like "fuck you, and just apologize." He's very bad at apologizing. At first, he said "we can fix this, it'll be ok." I refuse to be pacified. It will very definitely not be ok. 10th row. $200 for these fucking tickets. Count Basie Theater. He was going to take me to Drew's, for dinner, then on to the city. Once in a lifetime. So, I'm angry. I'm sad. I married a Walling, the kind of guy who will sweep every paper off a surface, and shred them because one or two in the pile were garbage. Which in light of all the bullshit that's been going on, is becoming some kind of fucking curse. A Walling. I'm crying a little about it right now. I ask for so little, you know? I have a knot in my stomach. This was my big Christmas present, and through all the heinous bullshit, this concert was to be the whole light of my spring.
This Walling also broke my netbook a few months ago, and refused to admit that or apologize, too. He accidentally dumped a full, 12 oz. cup of tea with honey into the keyboard, right in front of me. I let him use it after the flood, because he was too lazy to put his own computer back together. The poor 'book still lives, but you can't type on it. To make the keypad work, one must literally slam the hell out of it. I alluded to "saving up for a replacement". And that's all that was said on the matter. It hurt, because I work part time. I make a hundred bucks a week. I have no money, yet, I saved for months to buy this netbook, just two years ago. I loved that thing. I took it whenever we went on vacation, and it lived upstairs in my room, on my hobby table. I let him use it, he destroys it, moves on- no apologies...
So, today he wanted to go shopping, like spontaneously after my huge cry-fest over the tickets. He finally decided to replace Alden's computer which died in the flood, too. While we were at the store, he also bought me a new netbook, a really exceptionally nice one, top of the line, way better than the one he demolished.
Luiz was shopping with us, and he commented out of Irv's earshot "you know, this is a patch, this is his way of apologizing." The tears, the anguish over the tickets is so real, so real, I'm *still* crying, even now. This is not a demonstration, this is not a show. I can't talk about it without choking up. I can't listen to my favorite artist without choking up all over again. This is genuine pain. And for my pain, I get a shiny new computer. I hate that. I'm being bought.
I hate it, but I am fine taking it. I'm conditioned to it. My mother can't apologize either. She can't admit wrongdoing. She used to beat the shit out of me, or let Earl beat the shit out of me, but...my god, I had the hottest suede boots in all of Memorial School. Both my mother and Irv just, literally throw money at problems. And you know what? I will fucking take it. I have to take something. I am not too proud to accept this netbook. No, I will never forget the Nick Cave tickets. I will not be bought. No, it does not make things better. But, I will take it, because, I get so little. Last year, I needed clothes so bad, my pants were dry rotting...and I had to beg, actually beg, for Irv to get me a few new pairs of leggings. I will not feel like a heel for accepting material objects to pacify me, because I am NOT pacified. You can throw money at me, I'll catch it, and I am still fucking angry. It's just a currency I am used to dealing in. It's shitty. I'm struggling with not feeling horrible. I'm also still crying.
Today, it came up in discussion, because I tried to see if I could call about it, and basically in the confirmation email, it was pretty much stated that if lost, destroyed, whatever, they can't replace them. Devastating. I've loved Nick Cave pretty much my whole adult life. It became apparent, when I've been casting about among my myriad playlists to find something to put on and just have playing, that there are very few without Nick Cave. I've been avoiding listening to him because it's depressing, and the gods know I don't need any more depressing shit right now.
Anyway, today, I broke down because the show is a week away, and there's no way to fix things. I launched into a full on sob, fully inconsolable. Irv tried to blame Alden maybe he picked them up, or maybe it was my fault for leaving them too near his desk, or..the cat, or sun spots, or aliens. I was like "fuck you, and just apologize." He's very bad at apologizing. At first, he said "we can fix this, it'll be ok." I refuse to be pacified. It will very definitely not be ok. 10th row. $200 for these fucking tickets. Count Basie Theater. He was going to take me to Drew's, for dinner, then on to the city. Once in a lifetime. So, I'm angry. I'm sad. I married a Walling, the kind of guy who will sweep every paper off a surface, and shred them because one or two in the pile were garbage. Which in light of all the bullshit that's been going on, is becoming some kind of fucking curse. A Walling. I'm crying a little about it right now. I ask for so little, you know? I have a knot in my stomach. This was my big Christmas present, and through all the heinous bullshit, this concert was to be the whole light of my spring.
This Walling also broke my netbook a few months ago, and refused to admit that or apologize, too. He accidentally dumped a full, 12 oz. cup of tea with honey into the keyboard, right in front of me. I let him use it after the flood, because he was too lazy to put his own computer back together. The poor 'book still lives, but you can't type on it. To make the keypad work, one must literally slam the hell out of it. I alluded to "saving up for a replacement". And that's all that was said on the matter. It hurt, because I work part time. I make a hundred bucks a week. I have no money, yet, I saved for months to buy this netbook, just two years ago. I loved that thing. I took it whenever we went on vacation, and it lived upstairs in my room, on my hobby table. I let him use it, he destroys it, moves on- no apologies...
So, today he wanted to go shopping, like spontaneously after my huge cry-fest over the tickets. He finally decided to replace Alden's computer which died in the flood, too. While we were at the store, he also bought me a new netbook, a really exceptionally nice one, top of the line, way better than the one he demolished.
Luiz was shopping with us, and he commented out of Irv's earshot "you know, this is a patch, this is his way of apologizing." The tears, the anguish over the tickets is so real, so real, I'm *still* crying, even now. This is not a demonstration, this is not a show. I can't talk about it without choking up. I can't listen to my favorite artist without choking up all over again. This is genuine pain. And for my pain, I get a shiny new computer. I hate that. I'm being bought.
I hate it, but I am fine taking it. I'm conditioned to it. My mother can't apologize either. She can't admit wrongdoing. She used to beat the shit out of me, or let Earl beat the shit out of me, but...my god, I had the hottest suede boots in all of Memorial School. Both my mother and Irv just, literally throw money at problems. And you know what? I will fucking take it. I have to take something. I am not too proud to accept this netbook. No, I will never forget the Nick Cave tickets. I will not be bought. No, it does not make things better. But, I will take it, because, I get so little. Last year, I needed clothes so bad, my pants were dry rotting...and I had to beg, actually beg, for Irv to get me a few new pairs of leggings. I will not feel like a heel for accepting material objects to pacify me, because I am NOT pacified. You can throw money at me, I'll catch it, and I am still fucking angry. It's just a currency I am used to dealing in. It's shitty. I'm struggling with not feeling horrible. I'm also still crying.
Mar 14, 2013
I get why people "go postal" now. I get why people strap themselves with bombs and run into giant corporate headquarter type buildings. I understand why mothers just up and leave and never come back. I get why a person could do that, or how. When I was a kid working at 7-11, a co-worker, Tanya did that. A mother of two, in what looked like a fine marriage to a nice guy. She just...told the kids she was going grocery shopping and never came back. Called the family three days later from Iowa. We were shocked, appalled.
I get it now.
I just fought down myriad urges like that, a while ago. I stood up from my chair, sobbing furiously, looking for something heavy I could use to start tearing the walls down in this house. I want to kill this house. I want to destroy it. I want to bomb it. I want to run away from it and everything about it. I've been fighting tooth and nail to get this house fixed from all the Sandy damage. We're looking at $70,000.00 damage. Another $30,000.00 to lift the house four feet, out of the danger zone, as per town specifications. We have $520.00 in the bank. And we're living in this busted-ass house. We've been fighting with our insurance company for four and a half months, and nothing. Everything is a dead end. I've never felt hopeless in my life. Really genuinely hopeless. Today, I learned that. One more letter, this time from the state, rejecting our claim, saying that it's not their jurisdiction, and they can't do anything about it.
The house has been fucked up and busted since October 29. We've done the best we could to fix it and live here, but it's horrible. I feel like I'm suffocating. It's killing me, and sometimes I think- literally. I spend most of my life thinking about it, doing paperwork, talking to countless nameless anonymous people, trying to get the insurance money that we're owed, that we've paid into all these years. I don't want the moon. I just want my house fixed. Not better than before. Just. Fixed.
One beacon of hope in this mess is through FEMA. We were approved for a $70,000.00 low interest (1%!!) loan through the Small Business Administration. The payments will be $247.00 a month. Even I can swing that. It's less than we spend on beer, a month.
Here's why I want to run away forever, and not look back. The Wallings are crazy. Every Walling going back to Irv's great grandfather has been, and I am not kidding...committed for insanity. His grandfather died in a mental hospital and buried in a pauper's grave. His father was committed for months in the mental ward at Riverview. Irv is following right in their footsteps. Due to a long history of bad decisions, illiteracy, and general bad business sense, they've lost money, land, their lives to alcoholism...I could go on and on. What I'm left with is Irv, who is showing signs of mental disorders.
Here's our loan, which I slaved for a month and a half to get, and get approved for. When I say, "we're losing the fight with the insurance company. I'll continue to fight, but right now, let's take this loan and get the house fixed." He says, verbatim "The government is just looking for a new way to come take our house from us. That's all they want, is to take the house." Which echoes through the generations. His father said that almost every day. His grandmother. His grandfather who died in the mental hospital. That's his family mantra. Meanwhile, I'm living in, literally, a house of shit, buried under this level of crazy. I work my ass off, like a full time job, to get money anywhere I can, and I hit a brick wall of irrationality.
I can't obviously leave. I did feel that so overwhelmingly, before, like I wanted to put on my shoes, hop in my car, and drive across the US to some anonymous location, and start a new life. I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep, instead. I haven't exactly stopped crying, for the past eight hours.
I get it now.
I just fought down myriad urges like that, a while ago. I stood up from my chair, sobbing furiously, looking for something heavy I could use to start tearing the walls down in this house. I want to kill this house. I want to destroy it. I want to bomb it. I want to run away from it and everything about it. I've been fighting tooth and nail to get this house fixed from all the Sandy damage. We're looking at $70,000.00 damage. Another $30,000.00 to lift the house four feet, out of the danger zone, as per town specifications. We have $520.00 in the bank. And we're living in this busted-ass house. We've been fighting with our insurance company for four and a half months, and nothing. Everything is a dead end. I've never felt hopeless in my life. Really genuinely hopeless. Today, I learned that. One more letter, this time from the state, rejecting our claim, saying that it's not their jurisdiction, and they can't do anything about it.
The house has been fucked up and busted since October 29. We've done the best we could to fix it and live here, but it's horrible. I feel like I'm suffocating. It's killing me, and sometimes I think- literally. I spend most of my life thinking about it, doing paperwork, talking to countless nameless anonymous people, trying to get the insurance money that we're owed, that we've paid into all these years. I don't want the moon. I just want my house fixed. Not better than before. Just. Fixed.
One beacon of hope in this mess is through FEMA. We were approved for a $70,000.00 low interest (1%!!) loan through the Small Business Administration. The payments will be $247.00 a month. Even I can swing that. It's less than we spend on beer, a month.
Here's why I want to run away forever, and not look back. The Wallings are crazy. Every Walling going back to Irv's great grandfather has been, and I am not kidding...committed for insanity. His grandfather died in a mental hospital and buried in a pauper's grave. His father was committed for months in the mental ward at Riverview. Irv is following right in their footsteps. Due to a long history of bad decisions, illiteracy, and general bad business sense, they've lost money, land, their lives to alcoholism...I could go on and on. What I'm left with is Irv, who is showing signs of mental disorders.
Here's our loan, which I slaved for a month and a half to get, and get approved for. When I say, "we're losing the fight with the insurance company. I'll continue to fight, but right now, let's take this loan and get the house fixed." He says, verbatim "The government is just looking for a new way to come take our house from us. That's all they want, is to take the house." Which echoes through the generations. His father said that almost every day. His grandmother. His grandfather who died in the mental hospital. That's his family mantra. Meanwhile, I'm living in, literally, a house of shit, buried under this level of crazy. I work my ass off, like a full time job, to get money anywhere I can, and I hit a brick wall of irrationality.
I can't obviously leave. I did feel that so overwhelmingly, before, like I wanted to put on my shoes, hop in my car, and drive across the US to some anonymous location, and start a new life. I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep, instead. I haven't exactly stopped crying, for the past eight hours.
Jan 29, 2013
Writing
So, after our little blowout last night, now *I* want to pick up writing again, at least a little a day. Here's some things I need to write about. Why we argued last night. What we can do about it. That's the nonfiction. I don't know, I feel like I got everything off my chest, though. We'll see what today brings.
Chris approached me to GM a game on a new virtual table he found called roll20. We'll do a few test games, and then maybe, hopefully run my Edwardian Noir World of Darkness campaign, I hope I hope I hope. That will require a lot of writing on my part, and I'm excited to tackle it. The one drawback is, I have to go through the ruination of our stuff next door, and find my gaming supplies and the notebooks where I started. I haven't even so much as seen my dice bag since Sandy. All my stuff is scattered, and that makes me sad. So, for fiction, I have writing to do for that.
I figure, as long as I put down a few paragraphs a day, I'll stay sharp.
Chris approached me to GM a game on a new virtual table he found called roll20. We'll do a few test games, and then maybe, hopefully run my Edwardian Noir World of Darkness campaign, I hope I hope I hope. That will require a lot of writing on my part, and I'm excited to tackle it. The one drawback is, I have to go through the ruination of our stuff next door, and find my gaming supplies and the notebooks where I started. I haven't even so much as seen my dice bag since Sandy. All my stuff is scattered, and that makes me sad. So, for fiction, I have writing to do for that.
I figure, as long as I put down a few paragraphs a day, I'll stay sharp.
Jan 27, 2013
Instead of Real Issues, here's a post about miniatures.
I could have written about Sandy. I could have written about Earl's long stay in the hospital and passing. I could write about all manner of depressing topics, but I don't feel like visiting that, right now. I do have the urge to write about taking up painting minis again.
The last time I put brush to mini was two days before Sandy. I brought my whole painting rig camping, and did a great Orc Chieftain out there in the woods, with natural light, peaceful music, and it was amazing. I wouldn't have guessed that's the last time I'd really do anything with the hobby for months. That was a Saturday, the Monday after was when Sandy hit, and when our house got pretty much demolished. The space I use for my hobby was sort of covered over with stuff from downstairs, and the bedroom stank, and I just fell out of it. Today, I finally went up there, and cleaned the area, and rearranged my whole table, and made the space ready for painting again. Also, I think having Earl suffering long was a weight on the whole family, and now that he's gone, I feel almost free to just do whatever, again. It's weird.
I look over my whole WIP shelf, and think "I have a lot of unfinished minis." But, that's not entirely correct, because I have a lot of them that are fully painted, right down to minute details and finishing touches, but not based. Apparently, I have to be in a certain mood to do basing. Painting is one thing, basing is a whole other, involving building, fussing, gluing. So, about 50% of my works in progress, are really finished, minus an amazing base. I should keep a whole other shelf for those, just to keep things organized.
Shelving is a whole other issue. The space up there isn't really finished. I keep meaning to put shallow shelves above the table, to hold minis, paints, whatever. It needs more organization. I want it perfect, because when I'm in the zone, I don't want to have to dig for anything, or wonder where anything got off to. I want to reach and find the right color immediately, or the right brush, or mini. Even the area I have, is a WIP.
The last time I put brush to mini was two days before Sandy. I brought my whole painting rig camping, and did a great Orc Chieftain out there in the woods, with natural light, peaceful music, and it was amazing. I wouldn't have guessed that's the last time I'd really do anything with the hobby for months. That was a Saturday, the Monday after was when Sandy hit, and when our house got pretty much demolished. The space I use for my hobby was sort of covered over with stuff from downstairs, and the bedroom stank, and I just fell out of it. Today, I finally went up there, and cleaned the area, and rearranged my whole table, and made the space ready for painting again. Also, I think having Earl suffering long was a weight on the whole family, and now that he's gone, I feel almost free to just do whatever, again. It's weird.
I look over my whole WIP shelf, and think "I have a lot of unfinished minis." But, that's not entirely correct, because I have a lot of them that are fully painted, right down to minute details and finishing touches, but not based. Apparently, I have to be in a certain mood to do basing. Painting is one thing, basing is a whole other, involving building, fussing, gluing. So, about 50% of my works in progress, are really finished, minus an amazing base. I should keep a whole other shelf for those, just to keep things organized.
Shelving is a whole other issue. The space up there isn't really finished. I keep meaning to put shallow shelves above the table, to hold minis, paints, whatever. It needs more organization. I want it perfect, because when I'm in the zone, I don't want to have to dig for anything, or wonder where anything got off to. I want to reach and find the right color immediately, or the right brush, or mini. Even the area I have, is a WIP.
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