So, I’ve been trying to post every four days or so, and now even that’s failed. So we are back to writing while at work on hold with insurance companies.
Just finished requesting all my transcripts for UBC’s application. I’m so close to having everything done I can taste it. It tastes like vomit at the back of my throat, but that’s just nerves, no worries.
This weekend was my friend Ali’s wedding. I might post pics here, I’ll have to see what she thinks and what’s on my camera when I pull the memory card.
It was awesome. I had a blast. But after such a long lead up it seemed to be over in minutes. And I’m not talking about the ceremony, I mean the whole day seemed to have transpired in twenty minutes or so. It’s very odd. Like someone fast forwarded my life.
Everything was beautiful and I cried a bit. All in all a success.
But seriously no one else can get married for five years. After the last few years I’m exhausted. Next summer I don’t want any weddings. You’re all warned. If you plan on getting married next summer, don’t tell me or something awful might accidentally happen to your fiancee.
Just saying.
So I’m losing my voice. Or perhaps it’s not going any further away, but it is very very horse. I didn’t really scream at the wedding and the bride woke up pretty horse sounding too, so maybe it’s just something going around.
Trader Joe’s chili for lunch with fresh cornbread. Not too shabby for a yucky freaking monday.
Odd my left arm has been tingeing for two hours, which finally just occurred to me is a sign of a heart attack. Got up and checked my BP which was a little high for me but still drastically lower than most peoples. I’m figuring since my neck has been hurting all day that I pinched something, but I’m oddly disconcerted by the fact that it took my two hours to recognize the most obvious sign of a heart attack. Hopefully in case of actual emergency I’ll have improved reflexes.
Of course if I did have a heart attack at 25 I’d be seriously fucking pissed.
Oh crap its Monday. I have to leave for school early.
I’m gone so I can clean up my desk and leave. Maybe we’ll try this again in four days.
Ciao!
P.S. for those of you not in the area who wonder what my thoughts are on the Phillies being up in the World Series: Still can barely bring myself to care. This is an election year people. I only have about 7% of my brain not being used for school, work, or therapy. It’s all going to the greatest election in my life. It’s like the circus only scarier.
So we’ll try to day blog again, because the night thing just isn’t working. I think that I’ll stop by and write a line or two every time I think I should tweet.
Just read an old post about Philosophy, and I began to blush. There is something so fun about having a crush. Something that definitely lacks from my life right now. Some how the existence of a crush reasserts some sort of femininity that isn’t really touched on in my life.
But alas no crushes this semester. I’m enjoying all of my teachers though, and most I find quickly identify something about the way that I make eye contact or answer the occasional question that turns me into some sort of conspiratorial student. The student they can call on for any sort of comment, even if I haven’t the smallest idea what’s going on. The student they wink at when they say something funny. It’s odd, but it is also neat.
Catching up on my Savage LoveCast, but I went out of order accidentally and now it’s all fucked-up. Oh well.
okay well that totally didn’t work because I can’t not tweet. I read too many weird and funny things throughout the day. It’s a fascinating time to be politically aware and outrageously liberal.
I just recently noticed that I don’t have friends anymore. I spend the majority of my time busy as previously discussed. I spend most my time on the phone with my sister. When I do think about going out, the guilt of possibly not doing work is so strong I can’t imagine living in a world where I blew off essay writing for beer.
Going down the shore this weekend for part of a bachelorette party though. I don’t think I’ll know anyone other than the bride and the maid of honor, which will be fine once we get there but make the car ride awful. So I’m bringing homework. I thought this was awful but the bride seemed to agree, so whatever. if the other people don’t like me or think I’m standoffish, they can get in line with the other billion people I ignore.
Seriously, you are going to be dealing with photos from Chicago until I go to North Carolina for Thanksgiving. Which as soon as my loan money comes in I get to plan. Wew!
I hate my job so intensely.
I don’t think we spend enough time here focusing on that. I don’t think you are supportive enough. I don’t belong here. I belong in school full-time, or bartending or waitressing, or possibly being a personal assistant to an attractive and witty politician.
Not this. Not here. Ugh.
See and this is the exact reason I avoided the day blog for so long. I spend most of my days trying to figure how to get a noose around the recessed lighting in my office, I’m not sure that’s a conversation I feel like typing up here.
Today’s Possible Plan for World Domination: Train 2 billion goldfish to be my army. They’d have tiny muskets with bayonets, and little hats. No pants though, that would be a bit silly.
If any of you are patients of mine wondering why I don’t call you back, it is simply because the more you need me the less I want you. No hard feelings.
I might put up a fiction exercise later in the week. We’ll see.
This picture really doesn’t do the piece justice. I was so enamored by the colors and the subject that I must have visited it several times while at the Museum. It’s a self-portrait of the artist Max Beckmann from 1937.
Maybe this will help me sleep.
Here’s the post I was writing in Chicago that I couldn’t poach wi-fi to send.
{terminal K-8}
Ugh. traveling with a hangover is simply punishment for the drinking itself.
yay chicago.
Would have blogged yesterday, but yesterday was the classic me traveling day where weird things happen. Hence I think I pulled my liver and I’m completely brain-dead in O’Hare.
You didn’t miss much, if I posted yesterday it would have been another one of those tragically long posts about how much I detest myself. I was sitting in my hotel at one point and wondering for the millionth time what it would be like not to hate myself when it occurred to me that I might as well speculate on what it’s like to wake up one day and be a beaver. It’s not that it’s impossible, it’s just that it is so far out of my frame of reference I can no more hypothesis what self-acceptance even would feel like then I can to imagine what a Beaver thinks when it wakes up in pajamas. Even in my daydreams I hate myself. It’s like being left-handed, always with me, always irritating me at the most unexpected times.
So yesterday’s blog largely would have been about that.
Today’s is not really about anything.
Saw interesting thing on the news yesterday about American Airlines having unfiltered wi-fi, and the implications of that. I’m not sure if this is currently in effect, but we’re about five minutes from boarding so I guess we’ll find out soon enough. The argument was basically one sided to the right on the channel I was watching, (some podunk local 24 hours news channel I think) about how without filtering people will be able to surf for porn on the internet and that it will be up to the flight attendant to police the skies. Okay wait. Really? As long as no one pulls it out and starts going to town or makes another passenger watch a video they are uncomfortable with I don’t rightly see the problem with watching porn on your laptop. In Japan business men read porn on the subway (can someone check this out? I’m wondering if it is an urban legend). Why can’t people just keep their eyes on their own screens? I’m not saying the guy watching Anal Annie and Friends is who I have in mind when I think about free speech, but he’s as protected to watch that as the asshole on the other side of you is to watch clips from Rush Limabughs greatest hits DVD. One persons porn is another persons political pundit…..maybe not.
Also why is the internet so much more tempting for watching porn in public? These freaks and weirdos who apparently can’t go for a whole flight without seeing some nipples, how have they been managing thus far? Why don’t they just bring in a DVD of it?
{on flight, seat 25 A}
So wi-fi is just a rumor. Damn.
Will post when I get in.
I love that flying is still set up as an entertainment in it’s own right. Train travel is a transportation, and no one wants to be on a bus, but there is something the supposed to be magical about flying. The pilot is like some b list celebrity, with his charming facts about the plane and the destination. Sometime sI think they take extra hard left turns for no other reason then reminding you that you are suspended in air.
flying over lake erie right now I’m simultaneously horrified and hypnotized. I think I killed just enough brain cells to be utterly childlike for a night.
***
Then I got home, realized sometime last week I moved back home with my mother into my childhood bedroom in a town that I despise.
Then I remembered that today I had my first day class in 6 years and it was a fiction workshop.
Then I only slept 4 hours because of the tossing and turning. Which by the way, is cute when it’s the first day of high school, but when it’s the first day of your senior year of night school and you have to put in 8 full hours of work before going over it becomes remarkably less cute.
Then pumpkin spice latter came back to Starbucks and I thought I might live through the day.
Then I got to work and found out that I had 60+ different message explaining how the there were EPIC FUCK UPS but professionally and personally in my absence.
And don’t get me wrong I make after city wage taxes less than a poop scooper at a Russian circus, it’s still my little ship and when things fail it’s my problem, even if only in my eyes.
But those are the eyes that I measure everything with, so in the end that’s who I’m aiming to please. And I am not fucking pleased right now.
So then I go to my new fiction workshop to discover that it is almost entirely 20 year old day school girls who I guarantee will write fiction about the fight they had with their boyfriend Chad the night before.
Bought half my books.
Discovered I need $1,300 by Monday for school.
Go to dinner. Come home to childhood home, still here.
Put away laundry, sit down, have a beer to relax. And then can’t fucking sleep. I have to be up in less than 5 hours and I could run a marathon right now because all that’s running through my head are the long ass emails I have to write at 7 am tomorrow triaging a fuckup that’s already happened, where the blame is endless and the only thing I want to do is hide under my desk and practice braiding the fuses for an explosive devise that I will strap to my chest and the next person who laughingly tells me that shit falls apart when I’m not there is going to push that fucking button so the world blows away.
Then Mike Doughty posts a blog that he is looking for a new manager. I think I said last year after leaving a show with my sister that I wanted to quit my job and go work for him.
And all I wish in all the world is that I could send out my little PR resume, bullshit my way into the job and set a match to all this shit here.
***
And basically before I came back I was going to write a quick note at the bottom of my travel blog that I’m going through a lot emotionally right now. I’m off my meds and trying to make a little sense of my life. Therapy is just starting to get tough, and i feel like I don’t really have anyone on my team or anyone that I can rely on now.
I’m just saying if the post aren’t happy or they don’t make a ton of sense or come as often I’m sorry. But it’s in the fucking title. I’m here trying to survive myself. So even without all this added bullshit, some days it takes all my energy.
So I’m going to have to get creative on my Wednesday posts, because this week begins my summer classes, which are Mondays and Wednesdays until 10pm, not including the hour and a half it takes to get home at night. wew! So I’ve got a sinus/allergy thing right now and I’m so stuffed up I can’t sleep, or even get comfortable, and it’s verging on midnight, so I figured I’d just post now. I’ve got plenty to say anyhow, no reason to wait.
Real quick, can we give a collective Thank God for Google, because now when we are rummaging through our extremely awful medicine cabinets we can check to make sure we are taking the generic claratin and not some generic laxative. God knows what else might be lurking in that hell of a cabinet; really I try not to open it often, and it’s too small to keep the boxes for medicine, so it only has the pills in the foil, and it could have been a disaster if it weren’t for the power of google.
Anyhow I’m still totally psyched from today, which was a very special day. They let me observe two different surgeries.
So that was absolutely fascinating. I was afraid I would be grossed out, but it’s largely a dehumanized experience, with everything being a handled in these microcosms, that left me forgetting that itwas a person they were sending cameras through.
It was badass, and I needed the break from my office, which is hostile on a good day.
But I’m alos overwhelmed. My first course this summer is a split course on James Joyce and Flannery O’Connor. Yeah . . . let that sink in. As far as I can tell my professor is not schizophrenic, so I’ll be excited to see where he’s going with this. But close reading Joyce is not exactly beach reading.
Plus I have GREs Saturday, and I’m totally unprepared. As per usual.
Then I got approved to do this week long course for my sociology requirement on Terrorism. And I figured it would be . . . I have no idea what I thought it would be like. But I got an email today from the professor talking about running two exercises during the week, and all his practical experience in law enforcement, and now I’m like what the fuck did I get myself in to. Did you ever watch those videos of the psych experiment with the college students pretending to be jailers and prisoners? Yeah, I have visions in my head of me in a turban running from an over-zealous 40 year old theology major in a swat vest, during these exercises.
Since I’ve decided not to date, all I can think about is having someone special in my life. It’s ridiculous, and I want to say it’s hormones, but my hormones are pretty well controlled, so that’s just a cop out.
They are stupid fantasies too. It’s like answering my work phone to find out that someone is outside to grab lunch with me and give me a hug. It’s someone who cares how my day went. It’s someone’s oversized t-shirt to bed, that smells like them.
I hate this. This is yet another reason I need to be back in Prague.
Since I realized that if I don’t get into a graduate program I’ll go back to Europe for a bit, both my mom and Neighbor Jenny asked very poignant questions. My mom asked if that happened would I still reapply for the fall of ’10. Neighbor Jenny asked if I even wanted to go to grad school considering that decision. And the truth is Europe is an amazing diversion from my real life, but it’s not a path to anything other than self-discovery and time spent writing.
I want to go back because I hate this country when I’m here, and miss it while I’m gone. And you can take that last sentence and replace country with family, job, self, or what have you, and it pretty much works. It’s a way to get perspective and experience (and I know you’re all thinking is that the one thing I really lack is life experience), to regroup and come back to the states with an better sense of my life.
If it wasn’t for Prague I wouldn’t be the person I am today. And I’m not done evolving and creating, so I’m good with going back for a second go at it.
I kind of wish I could have someone in my life that I could evolve and change with . . . see here I go again. this is just silly.
I’m trying a therapy technique that I call thought stopping, and every time I start to think that I need someone else I stop the thought and tell my self three things I like about myself.
Then that becomes a downward spiral as I argue with myself over whether I can say that I’m beautiful, because it’s true that all women are beautiful but I don’t really think that about myself, or is good writing too subjective to be listed as a good quality, and what is good anyway, etc. Now you see how I get trapped in my head for hours at a time.
This blog entry is not helping me fall asleep any sooner.
I really keep meaning to review the new counting crows cd, but look how long this post is already, and I still want to vent about a few things.
Ok, you’ve had enough text, time for a shot.
This is my poem Call Me Jack, in the annual publication Sanskrit. It arrived yesterday and 1) it’s freaking huge and 2) the magazine is phenomenal. I highly recommend getting a subscription, even if my stuff wasn’t in it. It’s probably one of the best designs I’ve seen for a lit mag.
Also, please take note that I’m in a thermal shirt and it’s almost memorial day. I looked like the wild woman of bornio yesterday, with all the wandering int he rain and wind.
So lastly, my James moved to Cleavland Saturday night without any more than a text message as warning. He was my bipolar counterpart. We could make each other switch phases by hanging out too much, and it a lot of respects my ideas of love and partnership began to form with my relationship with him 8 years ago.
I’m pissed he’s moved. But it happens. I wish I had other positive people in my life who had monsters crawling just beneath the surface. It gets lonely here on your planet, with all you freaking normies. You linear thought progression is slow and easy upset. Your lack of dynamic emotions can be frustrating. I love you, but I need people of my species sometimes, so that I don’t feel so out of place all the time.
I can’t wait to get a nice digital camera so I can stop posting cell phone pics of the weird things I see while walking.
Okay let’s try sleep again and report back on how it goes. Happy Wednesday.
