Again. I am back to to the stage where I hate everything I have “liked” in the past few months. Am I bitter? Yeah, that’s probably the right word. Hence, nothing to post, since my mind is blank as well. Oh, just kidding… my mind isn’t blank, it’s just consumed with reading “The House of Mirth.” Which is terribly dull so far. But I have to read 100 pages a day to turn it in on time.
Actually, let me just talk about my weekend. Well, Thursday’s conversation was just a disaster, so that pretty much set me up for this weekend. It’s ok. Viewers, say the word “coward” out loud right now. Doesn’t it feel good? It takes a sort of umph in your voice to get the word out. And it’s the only redemptive word I’ve got from that conversation. So yeah, I’m gonna cling to it.
I went and saw When in Rome with a friend on Friday, which is kinda decent. We stopped at a gas station to get candy, where this mexican guy stalked me with his eyes the entire time: when we pulled into the parking space, while in the store, and as I got back into my car (which was next to his) and was still staring until we were literally out of eye sight. What was his point? Is it a power thing? I mean, if you’re not going to abduct me, then why freak the crap out of me? Gah. I hate men. I think that’s my conclusion.
After the few days that I have had, the only natural thing for me to do is dye my hair. Which I did. Love it. K.
Yesterday was full of homework. Then I auditioned for my church’s worship team. I think it went fairly well. We shall see. Then I got back and went to the FX concert, because my friends were going and a good friend of mine was performing. At the end, he came off stage and grabbed my hand, dragged me onstange and made me play on a trashcan. No bueno. But man, he could have dragged me anywhere in the world as long as he was holding my hand like that. Mmmm mmm. Again with the power trip boys…
Then I hung out with Gerald and Kyle. A typical night: only because they needed me to drive them home. Gerald spent the night making fun of me in every given moment, followed swiftly by a few “I love you”s. Save it. You really think I’m going to buy into that again? Sometimes I don’t feel like a friend; usually I feel like a punching bag, or a car, or a bottle of booze. But hey, it’s probably my fault. I don’t tend to humanize myself around them, I don’t really like to talk to them. But can you blame me?
That’s another thing. Matt wants me to hang out with him, Justin, and Steph, for spring break down here in Florida. Which sounds all well and good. But Matt always makes me feel like the stupidest person ever. And I’m pretty sure all he sees in me is a car here in FL to drive him around him, and an ID that says I’m 21. So…. not sure what to do. I hate not being able to decide whether or not my friends are being genuine. It’s not something you should have to question.
So the big Oxford bomb will be dropped today or tomorrow. Scary.
But I’m going out with one of my girlfriends tonight for dinner. I think that will be just what I needed. But I sure wish I could have a glass of wine…
And I’ve seen what you make for money and I’ve seen what you do for fame. I’ve seen what you do to make people like you and I’ve seen what you swallow to ease the pain. I’ve heard what you say out of malice and I’ve heard what you spat out of spite.
But none of these things make you happy because not one was done for love.
I think I’ll build a cove somewhere, somewhere on my own. And I’d like to think I’d be quite content, out there all alone; with the stars and the sand, sunbeams and songs. Yes, I’d be quite content in a cove somewhere, somewhere on my own.
"What are you doing??!" "Something crazy! Isn’t this what you wanted? Didn’t you want me to do something spontaneous?? Well I’m doing it!"
The night concealed the 10 shades of red I must have been turning as I watched him descend into the black water. I knew what was coming: his shorts. Yup, they flew out of the darkness and landed near my feet. He astonished me. This is what I wanted, right? Yes, finally he was letting go of his barriers; finally he was becoming comfortable enough with me to show me the real man inside. Everything would be different from here on out, I just knew it.
I was wrong. The next thing he threw near my feet was my own, barely beating heart. And now I’m the one, feeling naked and exposed, bobbing out there in the middle of the ocean: helpless. He has stripped me of everything, including my dignity. When he looks at me I fill with shame, like I’ve done something terribly wrong.
Did I steal something from you? I won’t apologize for loving you. I will never apologize for the way I felt. But I am sorry that you were never man enough to let yourself feel anything.
“I saw your face online the other day, and I had no idea who you were, but you had something about your eyes that made me click. I keep track of what you’re up to (thanks for updating so often) and I care about you, even if I’m afraid to actually say anything (I’m a little shy). Your life seems so interesting, even though you’re not a celebrity or anything. It’s just nice to watch someone else’s life from a distance, even though sometimes I wish I could get on a plane, get a job at a store near you and try and accidentally meet you somehow. I know that sounds creepy, but you deserve someone special in your life, you more than anyone else I know.”—
“Some of the things that happen to use in life seem to have no meaning, but when you write them down, you find meaning for them; or, as you translate life into words, you force a meaning. Meaning is intrinsic in words and stories.”—Maxine Hong Kingston
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
“I have a history of making decisions very quickly about men. I have always fallen in love fast and without measuring risks. I have a tendency not only to see the best in everyone, but to assume that everyone is emotionally capable of reaching his highest potential. I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man, rather than with the man himself, and I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism.”—
“Now, lying on my back in bed, I imagined Buddy saying, “Do you know what a poem is, Esther?”
“No, what?” I would say.
“A piece of dust.”
Then, just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, “So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you’re curing. They’re dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.”
And of course Buddy wouldn’t have any answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn’t see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick and couldn’t sleep.”—
i’m trying to collect all the broken pieces of me and glue them together with all i’ve ever known, yet a part of me feels like Your asking for something new. I’ve battled time and time again to unite my heart but my efforts fail me by no surprise. It’s divided by the part of me that is disappointed and afraid to trust and the other half that knows there is no other way.