once i return from my travels (around aug 20th or so) i am planning to sift through my many clothes and salvage what i can and throw away at least 60% of the rest. holding onto all of this shit allows me to remain in the same relative state of fashion i was in during high school, makes it more difficult to move on.
these ramblings seem largely unimportant, even to me, or... to a part of me (of the many warring factions in my mind), but to the part that does find meaning in all of this i have been feeling for some time that i need to find my own individuality in the clothes i wear, and since i'm currently attempting to separate myself from the materialistic masses aching to throw away their last dollar on cheap, mass-produced shit, it would help if i didn't wear clothes that reflect a kind of opposite value than the one i find myself gravitating towards.
so, with that said, i'm no longer going to allow myself to enter malls. or high-priced consumer-driven retail stores. all thrift shops. yet another way to maintain my separatist attitude, which makes me feel overjoyed. granted i can't afford to enter malls anyway, and probably shouldn't enter thrift stores either, but i've got to give myself a little something to splurge on.
first things first. where the fuck is that perfect job? i'm currently attempting to pretend to be an amazing bartender so i can do just that and make the money and have the go-ahead to treat people like shit (at least the ones making lewd and/or obnoxious/ignorant comments).
but FIRST i must figure out a way to not be such a wretched trip-packer, but i did manage to stuff everything in my bags so that's good enough... though the moment you unzip and everything spills out in an array of unorganized shit you realize that i've packed for three weeks enough clothes to last me for three months (as though there are no washing machines where i'm headed).
you just NEVER KNOW.
i like options.
i also love the rain, not just for it's calming sound but because it gives me an excuse to not continue looking for jobs, and i can feel content and guilt-free spending my night indoors writing silly irrelevant blogs and stalking people on facebook. ahh, the naught years. i pretend not to be caught up in it but, well, i also seem incapable of telling lies and so there you have it. i am a study in dualities.
i am everything all at once fighting constantly for control over this person known as 'me', who will win? as always, a toss-up.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
antidepressants
my zoloft is slowly removing all sense of feeling or real emotion from me. all my emotions seem to come from side effects of the drug rather than legitimate, honest emotion. i just feel generally peaceful all the time, but when i take the time to examine my peacefulness, i realize that i'm actually numb to everything, or i feel things from a very far distance. don't get me wrong, i often use distancing to ease a difficult situation, but i like to be able to consciously work towards that fully distanced self instead of having it just invade me, completely, at random.
the problem is, or rather the frightening thing is, the fact that it does leave me with a peacefulness, or what could easily be perceived as peacefulness, keeps me from investigating the true reasons of all this odd calmness. that was a really shitty sentence, but my mind woke me up ridiculously early today, and i couldn't resist the temptation to get a drink, smoke some weed, and have a cigarette (in that order, always). mornings are only a fuzzy blur to me. the point is that happy people don't question how they became happy like unhappy people dwell on their despair, and general calmness is at least in the same ball park as general happiness. something something.
i'm glad i realized it though. i think i may try no antidepressents for a bit. i'm tired of not having sex. ever. because i'm just not fucking interested.
the problem is, or rather the frightening thing is, the fact that it does leave me with a peacefulness, or what could easily be perceived as peacefulness, keeps me from investigating the true reasons of all this odd calmness. that was a really shitty sentence, but my mind woke me up ridiculously early today, and i couldn't resist the temptation to get a drink, smoke some weed, and have a cigarette (in that order, always). mornings are only a fuzzy blur to me. the point is that happy people don't question how they became happy like unhappy people dwell on their despair, and general calmness is at least in the same ball park as general happiness. something something.
i'm glad i realized it though. i think i may try no antidepressents for a bit. i'm tired of not having sex. ever. because i'm just not fucking interested.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
the fourth dimension
how it evades me, though it is pervasive.
these things i think i must do, where does the time go when the deadline is tomorrow or the idea has been pushed off for so long i no longer remember what it even was.
being a loner, a calm, laidback, introspective, intelligent, creative and sweet loner, yet somehow also blessed/cursed with this curious trait that draws me to care for people, albeit in an easily distanced way (in that i mean, i am fully honest in my caring for others, but it's easy for me to turn it off at the end of the day and cease worrying about this or that person in this or that bullshit situation), and so i'm something of a little paradox, preferring to be alone with my small family about me, as well as feeling the urge to care for others. i put my all into the latter, so that when i arrive home, able to embrace the former, i'm exhausted with the desperate need to recharge.
i certainly don't want to update my budget or purchase paint or ferret supplies (because this requires getting up to fish my credit card out of my purse, which is all the way across the room) or clean up the ferret shit dotting the corners in the room or keep up correspondence with anyone (regardless of how special to me they are) or do anything that whoever it is 'they' are deem necessary.
i don't understand how some 'bloggers' have a million people 'subscribing' to their blogs... how do so many people become interested in what some random dude has to say about his 2 year old kid? i've tried to read some, there's nothing interesting there because it's not about me or anyone i know and therefore their everyday lives are pretty blah. no emotional impact on me. that's why i don't care much for the news either. it doesn't penetrate my personal-world bubble, therefore it doesn't register as important on my meter. there's no emotional connection to any of it, though i'll admit it can be interesting at times. mostly it's just drivel. i believe this makes me something of a sociopath, which just furthers the conundrum that is me. or perhaps it's an advancement? what's the purpose of emotional attachment to so many far-off people/things anyway?
etc
these things i think i must do, where does the time go when the deadline is tomorrow or the idea has been pushed off for so long i no longer remember what it even was.
being a loner, a calm, laidback, introspective, intelligent, creative and sweet loner, yet somehow also blessed/cursed with this curious trait that draws me to care for people, albeit in an easily distanced way (in that i mean, i am fully honest in my caring for others, but it's easy for me to turn it off at the end of the day and cease worrying about this or that person in this or that bullshit situation), and so i'm something of a little paradox, preferring to be alone with my small family about me, as well as feeling the urge to care for others. i put my all into the latter, so that when i arrive home, able to embrace the former, i'm exhausted with the desperate need to recharge.
i certainly don't want to update my budget or purchase paint or ferret supplies (because this requires getting up to fish my credit card out of my purse, which is all the way across the room) or clean up the ferret shit dotting the corners in the room or keep up correspondence with anyone (regardless of how special to me they are) or do anything that whoever it is 'they' are deem necessary.
i don't understand how some 'bloggers' have a million people 'subscribing' to their blogs... how do so many people become interested in what some random dude has to say about his 2 year old kid? i've tried to read some, there's nothing interesting there because it's not about me or anyone i know and therefore their everyday lives are pretty blah. no emotional impact on me. that's why i don't care much for the news either. it doesn't penetrate my personal-world bubble, therefore it doesn't register as important on my meter. there's no emotional connection to any of it, though i'll admit it can be interesting at times. mostly it's just drivel. i believe this makes me something of a sociopath, which just furthers the conundrum that is me. or perhaps it's an advancement? what's the purpose of emotional attachment to so many far-off people/things anyway?
etc
Friday, February 1, 2008
lonely days
there's nothing like sickness to pull me away from the world... dreams that consist of me surrounded by loneliness, searching in vain for someone to connect with, but there's nothing... and it weaves a reality beyond consciousness where nothing can satisfy and i'm completely alone and all that i do is purposeless, meaningless, searching for something that will never be there. it's hard to shake dreams like that, hard to shake those subconscious yearnings for friendships that seem so far away... easier to forget when i'm kept busy throughout the day, kept relatively fulfilled... scratch that.... largely fulfilled. but then one small bout of sickness erases everything, removes me from life, and places me in some kind of solitary confinement that's exacerbated by my own dreaming subconscious, fucking with me. it's as if once my mind finds its captive lonely, it feeds it with all possible avenues of despair, a fun game, let's see what happens. it just makes me want to sleep, continue the cycle, i give in so easily.
i'd like to paint, but i can't muster enough energy. i'll just bitch about it instead.
i'd like to paint, but i can't muster enough energy. i'll just bitch about it instead.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
12.29
it's that lovely time of year again, where, regardless of how lovely the snow looks or how pristine it all is, inevitably my mind is tugged back to larry, and i'm reminded of how the pain really, truly NEVER goes anywhere, some periods go by where i'm stronger and more adept at managing it all... but then moments come where i remember things, like taking a shower and looking at the shampoo bottle and remembering how beautiful his hair was, and how i loved to touch it and sculpt it and smell it, and then i try to convince the universe to just have him be standing there when i open the shower curtain, and he'll say hi babi and we'll both know the truth of things but just to SEE him, to talk to him, to just be in his presence for a moment, more than what i get to experience within.
i mean there is always that secret realm within me that just contains he and i, perfectly preserved, where i can sort of escape to anytime... if i'm feeling disconnected from will, or from my life, or if i'm bored or particularly happy or just missing him, i go there and i can feel it all again. the emotions come back, the good ones, not the ones following his death, i feel connected to him again... but i miss seeing him, touching him, holding him, talking to him, all of those tangible things that probably don't ultimately matter, but i'm a stupid mortal.
i know that it's common for a person to remember very specifically the events surrounding traumatic events, but i've never had an event worthy of searing it permanently into my consciousness, most things just fall back and sort of surface now and again when or (more often) when they're not needed... but i remember EVERYTHING. i remember arguing the night before because he wouldn't let me play game boy, i remember sleeping separately for the first time ever, i remember the next morning when he left for work, leaving without hugging me, and i told him i wouldn't see him that day cuz i had to take care of my stupid motherfucking cable in kutztown, and he hugged me and kissed me and left... i remember going to kutztown and getting a huge hoagie from mark's, watching titanic and sleeping all day... i remember that my phone was dead till around 9 when i called him and he was leaving work and was being incredibly sweet and saying how he'd missed me so much that day and how he'd had to keep himself content by drawing a picture of me that he sprayed with special perfume and i got that feeling that he was going to visit me, tho he didn't say so... i remember drawing a picture while i waited for him, getting dressed so i looked nice and washing my face and putting on makeup and cleaning up and waiting... waiting... calling his phone and there being no answer, calling his house and mandie saying their mom had gone out searching for him cuz she was crazy... i remember the call, i remember bulk and rob coming to get me and take me to the airport, and john l and vern were there already, and i walked in the room and i remember big larry saying, we lost him, and grabbing me and it was all over, and screaming and not believing and then realizing that succumbing to denial was just ignorant and so i just burst into awareness of it all and... there aren't any words, and then i saw him, in that cold, sterile, death room. i remember calling meg, and my mom, and my sister, and meg and her mom came and my mom and sister got on a plane... that night at meg's house i remember how meg held me and she became larry, her embrace felt just like his, or was his, perhaps, and sleeping and knowing that when i woke up it wouldn't be a dream, that the most meaningful, beautiful, beloved thing in my life up to that point had been completely and irrevocably obliterated, for fucking ever.
i can recall it in much more detail, but i won't ramble on, the point is it's amazing to me that i can recall all of it, all the way down to the emotions (tho in their recollection they are much more subdued) and thoughts, at any time. always right there on the surface, like some massive iceberg, and once i start digging i get lost in its enormity.
i miss him more than i can possibly describe, and yet the only option is to just keep going, what else can i do
i mean there is always that secret realm within me that just contains he and i, perfectly preserved, where i can sort of escape to anytime... if i'm feeling disconnected from will, or from my life, or if i'm bored or particularly happy or just missing him, i go there and i can feel it all again. the emotions come back, the good ones, not the ones following his death, i feel connected to him again... but i miss seeing him, touching him, holding him, talking to him, all of those tangible things that probably don't ultimately matter, but i'm a stupid mortal.
i know that it's common for a person to remember very specifically the events surrounding traumatic events, but i've never had an event worthy of searing it permanently into my consciousness, most things just fall back and sort of surface now and again when or (more often) when they're not needed... but i remember EVERYTHING. i remember arguing the night before because he wouldn't let me play game boy, i remember sleeping separately for the first time ever, i remember the next morning when he left for work, leaving without hugging me, and i told him i wouldn't see him that day cuz i had to take care of my stupid motherfucking cable in kutztown, and he hugged me and kissed me and left... i remember going to kutztown and getting a huge hoagie from mark's, watching titanic and sleeping all day... i remember that my phone was dead till around 9 when i called him and he was leaving work and was being incredibly sweet and saying how he'd missed me so much that day and how he'd had to keep himself content by drawing a picture of me that he sprayed with special perfume and i got that feeling that he was going to visit me, tho he didn't say so... i remember drawing a picture while i waited for him, getting dressed so i looked nice and washing my face and putting on makeup and cleaning up and waiting... waiting... calling his phone and there being no answer, calling his house and mandie saying their mom had gone out searching for him cuz she was crazy... i remember the call, i remember bulk and rob coming to get me and take me to the airport, and john l and vern were there already, and i walked in the room and i remember big larry saying, we lost him, and grabbing me and it was all over, and screaming and not believing and then realizing that succumbing to denial was just ignorant and so i just burst into awareness of it all and... there aren't any words, and then i saw him, in that cold, sterile, death room. i remember calling meg, and my mom, and my sister, and meg and her mom came and my mom and sister got on a plane... that night at meg's house i remember how meg held me and she became larry, her embrace felt just like his, or was his, perhaps, and sleeping and knowing that when i woke up it wouldn't be a dream, that the most meaningful, beautiful, beloved thing in my life up to that point had been completely and irrevocably obliterated, for fucking ever.
i can recall it in much more detail, but i won't ramble on, the point is it's amazing to me that i can recall all of it, all the way down to the emotions (tho in their recollection they are much more subdued) and thoughts, at any time. always right there on the surface, like some massive iceberg, and once i start digging i get lost in its enormity.
i miss him more than i can possibly describe, and yet the only option is to just keep going, what else can i do
Thursday, October 11, 2007
being here
living here, surrounded by all this wilderness and all the wild creatures, always has the benefit of pulling me back to reality and truth and beauty. all the societal shit is just in my head, i keep myself physically apart. when i enter into the realm of people, it's easier to cope with their bullshit, will and i are in our own world, created with the same purity that nature creates. everything is better. i'll never live in a city again.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
the truth about animals and love
the title sounds scandalous, this isn't though.
several years ago, my mom and i were eating lunch with my sister in portland. i don't know how we got on the topic of it all, probably my mom launched into one of her incessant soapbox speeches about the sanctity of marriage and how the greatest love/priority should be your marriage etc etc, and my sister may have retorted with this, i'm not sure, but jane started talking about how much she loved her dog, scout.
she said that her love for dan (her now-husband) was this calm, serene kind of love, whereas her love for her dog was this crazy, anxious love... a constant worry that somehow scout would find her way out in the middle of the street in the path of an oncoming bus or vespa or something... and at the time, i remember thinking how crazy it must be to love an animal so much, i couldn't imagine it.
but that's how i love biscuit, and it's gotta have something to do with the innocence of them, and the loyalty and the love and all the adoration they give you (they being the animals in question)... it's like having a child, really, and that sounds silly, like 'oh look at that crazy cat lady', but it is. having a little sneaky toddler that loves you more than anything. i talk to biscuit like she's a person, and she goes everywhere with us, to the point that anytime we put on shoes, she's ready to go out the door to hop in the car... i hold entire conversations with her, it's as though she's talking back, and i know it's crazy maybe, or it sounds crazy, whatever. i constantly fear biscuit's death and how it will destroy me, i look into her eyes and feel like crying sometimes because i'm already mourning her death, even though she's still alive. it's terrifying. i don't worry about will like i worry about biscuit. something about that 'little child' sort of thing, will can take care of himself, but i take care of biscuit, she's my child, she can't die.
so the whole psycho-pet love thing is sort of bad and good. i guess most everything is, so, well, that's all.
several years ago, my mom and i were eating lunch with my sister in portland. i don't know how we got on the topic of it all, probably my mom launched into one of her incessant soapbox speeches about the sanctity of marriage and how the greatest love/priority should be your marriage etc etc, and my sister may have retorted with this, i'm not sure, but jane started talking about how much she loved her dog, scout.
she said that her love for dan (her now-husband) was this calm, serene kind of love, whereas her love for her dog was this crazy, anxious love... a constant worry that somehow scout would find her way out in the middle of the street in the path of an oncoming bus or vespa or something... and at the time, i remember thinking how crazy it must be to love an animal so much, i couldn't imagine it.
but that's how i love biscuit, and it's gotta have something to do with the innocence of them, and the loyalty and the love and all the adoration they give you (they being the animals in question)... it's like having a child, really, and that sounds silly, like 'oh look at that crazy cat lady', but it is. having a little sneaky toddler that loves you more than anything. i talk to biscuit like she's a person, and she goes everywhere with us, to the point that anytime we put on shoes, she's ready to go out the door to hop in the car... i hold entire conversations with her, it's as though she's talking back, and i know it's crazy maybe, or it sounds crazy, whatever. i constantly fear biscuit's death and how it will destroy me, i look into her eyes and feel like crying sometimes because i'm already mourning her death, even though she's still alive. it's terrifying. i don't worry about will like i worry about biscuit. something about that 'little child' sort of thing, will can take care of himself, but i take care of biscuit, she's my child, she can't die.
so the whole psycho-pet love thing is sort of bad and good. i guess most everything is, so, well, that's all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)