The One... The Only... The Vieve

Process

I ask myself what I want to get out of it. I think I know, and I think I know I won't get what I want. But I'm not sure that's a reason not to try. What's the path. What's the process. What's right. I still need a map. Or a checklist. A decision tree. Something.

Regrets

Sometimes even relatively small regrets are hard to place in proper perspective, and apparently are sometimes difficult to undo. Impetuousness never turns out well.

Reminder

I just read something I wrote yesterday, where I said, "I'm right back to where I was a year ago."

And I realize that's not true. Sometimes it feels like I am, and I understood why I wrote it. I still have some stuck places. Some patterns I'm not happy with. But I'm not in the same place. Things are so much better, in so many ways. I'm much better. And I need to keep reminding myself of that.

Gift

I got a really great email yesterday, and I wanted to share it. It was a nice gift to get on a mopey, mostly-alone Saturday.

"yes, im aware of your blog
hesitant to say so
i feel i know you much more than you do me
and have no desire to make you feel uncomfortable
or myself awkward

i can relate to your words with all too much familiarity
as im sure many people could if they only allow themselves to think
at least you do and express your ideas and concerns
(and you are a very good writer as well)
im sure it helps to work these issues through

but for all you thoughts
where do you want them to lead?
its a process
the experience of your life
it takes time
its writing for attention or pity or confirmation
crying and laughing and screaming and smiling
questioning our own sanity and that of others
seeking the validation we fail to see in ourselves

its a friend of friends waxing psuedo-sagaciously with the best of intentions
(dont panic... grab a towel and think 42!)

youre not the only one, genevieve
maybe the one and only with your particular dna pattern
(that you know of...)
we all go through this life wading in the detrius of regret
the cesspools of doubt and fear

but we just need to keep moving
there are sandbars
there are undertows
we swim
we sink
sometimes we get a ride from a passing ship
other times they are not going where we wish
and the shore isnt always in sight
but its there
a place to rest and smile in the sun
to shed our skins and take a bath

to dream about
to hope for
wish
maybe
someday

i feel really silly and shy at this precise moment
(like i just wrote something anonymously about raisins... eek!)
suppose its what ive been wanting to hear myself
i hope you can take something away from all that
like i think i just did
and call it your own
or delete it
its up to you... only

be well"

Ladies' night

Last night I got a really lovely massage. (Made even lovelier by the fact that I didn't have to pay for it, though I would have.) I really needed someone to soothe my body in that way, to give it some attention. To help me relax a bit. Help take me out of my head. Of course, some tears came anyway, but I tried to keep them in check. They came from an image of the last night I saw you, and the feelings from that night. Meeting an old friend of yours, and feeling like we all connected. You took my hand under the table once or twice. And when we walked home, and you had your arm around my waist and held me close. Wouldn't let me go. Even when we had to part for some sidewalk obstacle, you pulled me back again. And I thought everything was all right. Everything was all right in that moment. And I thought about that and wondered what happened, and why you couldn't just be present in that moment, and all the moments. Preoccupation with moments reaching into the past and the future stole them, I think. But I don't know.

So I had been thinking of that, and I was feeling pretty sad. Plans were made for all of us (the four massaged ladies and the almost-done-with-school massage-student massager) to go out to dinner. I hung back, not sure what to do. Everyone else had known each other for a while, and I wasn't feeling social or talkative. I tentatively decided to decline politely, head home, drink a beer, get into bed. But somehow outside on the sidewalk, after helping to stow her table and other gear in the car, I got swept along in the conversation and the cooing over neighborhood dogs and cats, and ended up walking toward Central Square. And I did have dinner, and I had a lot of fun. I don't remember the last time I had dinner, or hung out at all really, with all women. (I've always had a lot of male friends. I think because I see men as less complicated to deal with in some ways. Less intimidating, maybe? If I don't know what to say to a man I'm getting to know, I can always fall back on a little flirting? Something like that. I'm not quite sure about this. Something to think about.)

And it felt really good, to feel like I was making some new friends. New women friends, which I'm realizing are important. It didn't push away the earlier feelings of confusion and sadness and wistfulness, but it helped ease them a bit. I felt good, for a little bit. What else can you do.

Relativity

I just read the saddest story in the New Yorker, an essay a man wrote about his stillborn daughter, Irene. The pain, the loss, the numbness was incredibly heartbreaking. I read things like that, I hear a story on the news this morning about how April has been the deadliest month in Iraq thus far, I have brunch with a friend who just marked the one-year anniversary of his lung transplant, and it puts things in perspective. And I want to slap myself. Hard.

Wondering

I'm wondering
what you're doing right now.
if you slept OK last night.
what's going on in that inky, black-hole head.
whether there are ever any good answers.
if next week will be easier than this one.
whether I should call.
how I'm going to pay all these bills and overdue parking tickets.
how its possible for my left side to be both numb and ouchy simultaneously.
if a massage this afternoon will help.
what my next step should be.
whether I will call, regardless of whether I should or not.
why stuff from over a year ago still pisses me off.
if I can/should go to LA and San Francisco next month.
when I should plant my Morning Glory seeds.
whether I drank too much coffee.
where all this is going.

My head's pretty crowded right now.

Too early

I need to stop it with this early-waking weekend stuff. Mostly because I can't get coffee until 8. Though the Shaws was nice and empty. Bought water and organic ginger granola and some organic frozen dinner-y things, and felt a little self-righteous, what with the combination of the early hour and the healthy foods. (Although, is macaroni and cheese really healthy, even if it's organic? Whatevs. It tastes good.)

Gotta take what I can get.

Fitful

I was in bed at 7 last night, with a bag of potato chips laid across my chest, watching the first season of Scrubs. (Thanks, Colleen, for loaning it to me--I think it was just what I needed. Goofy fun.) I had two separate invitations to go out, which I appreciated, but I think it was time to stay in and get used to the down time. I've been keeping myself so busy the past week or so, going out every night, distracting myself. It's not always going to be that way. Sometimes I won't have anything to do but sit around and watch DVDs by myself. So I need to be OK with that. Plus, I just felt grumpy and mopey and depressed, and I didn't want to go anywhere.

I fell asleep with the DVD on, woke up around 10. Got some juice, watched more, fell asleep. Woke up at midnight, rinse, repeat. Woke up at 3am, decided to go to sleep for real. I slept fitfully, lightly. I dreamed about the people who made me the most crazy last year. I flung a forkful of potato at one of them. I commented on the other one's big ass. I woke up at 6am and thought, I'm right back to where I was a year ago.

I can't stay on this fucking merry go round.

But it's hard to take that leap. So many practical hurdles get in the way--job, health insurance, packing, moving. I feel exhausted thinking about it before I even really start thinking about it.

I have a friend who moved to Vietnam last year, to teach English and travel around and, really, to get away from here. To get unstuck. (Hi, Em. I miss you lots. Particularly right now.) And I am so proud of her, and so in awe of her. She did it, and she is having a terrific adventure. And I wish I could do it too. Just make that leap. I feel like I need somone to help me, but I don't know how or who. And the anxiety is really really loud sometimes. It drowns out the other voices. Stupid bully.

But I can't stay stuck. I'll have to work it out somehow.

Still...

I still feel like an asshole today, though. Just so you know.

Huggles

but the same way you let yourself fall in love
let yourself take another leap
you know you've got it in ya
you should have so much.
i really wish it for you.

Thank you, again. It really helped. YOU are the awesomest.

Assigning meaning where it might not belong, again

Now I'm listening to "Saturday" on repeat, and I just looked up the lyrics, and...oof.

I am a mighty oak that's rotten at its core

I've been giving a lot of advice this week, it seems like. (Some of it unsolicited, which I felt bad about and apologized for. Though maybe it was welcome and useful; I really have no idea.) Not really telling people what to do (except for the aforementioned unsolicited incident--again, sorry), but sharing my experiences in ways that help illuminate (hopefully) the crux of a current dilemma. Offering a turn of phrase or different angle that helps them see things a little differently, maybe a little more positively. This makes me feel useful and important and warm inside, and I think I'm pretty good at it.

It's also so fucking ironic, it makes me want to scream.

Reality is busted

I keep trying to update my reality, and it won't take.

There are too many obvious metaphors (messages? I don't know) in this. It's so banal.

My tummy still hurts. I need to eat something, but I'm afraid that won't take either.

Can I take it back?

Cause now I want to.

It reminds me of that scene in Young Frankenstein:
"No matter what you hear in there, no matter how cruelly I beg you, no matter how terribly I may scream, do not open this door or you will undo everything I have worked for. Do you understand? Do not open this door...
Let me out. Let me out of here. Get me the hell out of here. What's the matter with you people? I was joking! Don't you know a joke when you hear one? HA-HA-HA-HA. Jesus Christ, get me out of here! Open this goddamn door or I'll kick your rotten heads in!"

Or maybe I'm just being silly. Maybe I'm being a big baby. But talking to you, right now, is the thing I want both most and least in the entire world. The opposing forces are so oppositely awful. It has me at a standstill, and it's giving me a tummy ache.

I hate that my skin is so thin

But it is. And I can't keep ripping off the scab. It's a bloody mess. Drastic measures. Clean(ish) breaks. Exactly the opposite of what I want. But my heart is so shattered. It won't heal if I keep smashing it with a hammer. Exacty the opposite of what I want, but it's clear that what I want isn't reciprocated. Or isn't possible. Or wasn't important enough to work for. Same difference.

I'll probably change my mind tomorrow, and then change it again, and again. I know myself. But I need to at least try to look out for me and figure out what's best. No one else will.

I guess I'm being petulant. That doesn't feel good. I feel cold and hard. A little like stone. I don't like it, but I can't keep feeling wholely composed of hot salty tears and pounding heart and swimming head. Freeze it, block it. At least for a little while, until I can forget a little bit.

I'm sorry. I hate this. I'm starting to melt and change my mind already.

Reality check

I guess I was holding on a little bit. I have a hard time accepting reality sometimes. Or the death of possibility. But then I saw it in black and white, something I knew was coming and was trying hard not to see. The tears started flowing again. I thought I was going to throw up, it hurt so much. Why is this so hard.

I can't respond with my own updated reality quite yet.

Connect

I write here for myself, as I like to say. But I also do it to get a reaction. To connect. It feels a little manipulative sometimes. Because when I say I'm unlovable, I want someone to tell me, "No, that's not true." When I say I'm sad, I want someone to notice and try to cheer me up. When I say I'm angry, I want someone to validate that and say, "Hell yes, you should be angry." And sometimes I want people to feel bad, knowing that I feel bad, and I wish I didn't want that. Because these are the people I care about most, who, in my heart, I really want only good things for.

It's like a manifestation of all my insecurities, broadcast to the masses. I feel guilty writing here sometimes, communicating things for selfish reasons (or maybe self-serving--I think there's a difference). But I guess we're all insecure. I guess we all are a little manipulative. I guess we all want a certain reaction sometimes but wish we didn't. We all want what we want and do what we can to get it. Sometimes it's hard to separate what we want from what's best, though, from what will actually do us some good.

Repeat

I've been listening to "Liar" by Built to Spill a lot over the past couple of days. Probably 8 times in the past 12 hours (and I was just asleep for almost 7).

When things are all you think of,
And plans are all you make,
And thoughts are all you dream of,
And falls are all you take.
Look out, the world's destroyin' ya.
Relax, it isn't fair.
...
I wouldn't be a liar,
No, I wouldn't be a liar if I told you that.
...
It takes up all of your life,
These decisions you make.

Melancholy meaning is everywhere. In an item of clothing I put on this morning. The cab stand I passed on my way to and from buying my coffee. The recycling I just took out. All the things I think of.

Sometimes spam makes me laugh

Genevieve, Claim your Free* Religious T-shirt

(*Offer not valid to California state residents.)

Tenuous

No tears all day, and then an image sets me off again. Made my stomach drop and my lip quiver and the tears well. Evenness is tenuous. I need to stop looking.

Armpit update

Because I know you're all dying to know... Still haven't shaved my armpits, and I'm still kind of liking it. No razor burn, no stupid ingrown hairs, no cuts. Just...hair. And what's so bad about that? I have it on good authority that it doesn't look gross, and that it's kind of nice and soft. We'll see how long it lasts, though, now that summer and tank-top weather are both approaching. I mean, if it turns into Rip Van Winkle's beard or something...ew.

Hmm...

In the midst of a bunch of baloney, Cancer, you can have a fruitful, and even pleasant, week if you approach old problems in a new, exciting way. Though you are filled with fabulous inner strength and can-do optimism right now, we still advise taking baby steps toward fixing these lingering annoyances once and for all.

I didn't get this yesterday when I first read it, but today maybe I do. Maybe.

True, that

One of the oldest human needs is having someone to wonder where you are when you don't come home at night.
-Margaret Mead, anthropologist (1901-1978)

I guess I could always move back in with my parents...

Arse musica

This morning, I listened to "You in Reverse" while I was at the gym. I like it a lot, particularly Goin' Against Your Mind and Liar and Conventional Wisdom, but I guess I didn't realize how jam-band-y Built to Spill can be. I am not a fan of jam bands, despite being with a devoted Phish fan for years. I even went to a few Phish shows, which I mostly enjoyed, but that was despite the music. Outdoor summer shows on the lawn during gorgeous weather (especially when you're, like, rilly rilly high) are hard not to enjoy. (Except for the odor. BO + patchouli--particularly the patchouli--make me gag.) I just don't have much patience for the noodly, neverending solos, and playing the vacuum cleaner and crap like that, while kind of amusing, is pretty stupid after the initial novelty wears off. Anyway, I still like Built to Spill, despite the jamminess, and I'm sad that Doug Martsch had a detached retina, because I was looking forward to seeing them next month and now I have to wait until October. (Well, and also because a detached retina sounds pretty fucking awful.)

I also saw that new Red Hot Chili Peppers video at the gym, and even though their music bugs the shit out of me for reasons I can't quite quantify, I thought the video was pretty good. (I didn't have to listen to the song, so maybe that's why I'm being so generous.) Except for the part where they're glam rockers or whatever--in that part, they just looked uncomfortable under their wigs and girly makeup. Also, Anthony Kiedis is pretty damn ripped, and you have to appreciate that at least a little bit.

That fucking Shakira video, though, the one with Wyclef Jean...feh. It looks less like sexy booty shaking and more like she's suffering from epileptic seizures. I kinda wish I could do that with my hips, though. It would be a good party trick.

About that

I've become a big fan of getting it all out, and saying everything that needs to be said. But I realized today that sometimes it's best to hold some things back. To say just the most important thing. Often the other things are understood anyway, without having to be said.

This and that (and that and this)

Tonight I bought the new Built to Spill and The Creek Drank the Cradle by Iron & Wine. Both are a little poignant for me at the moment, but I guess that's OK.

Our exchange today made me sad and anxious at first. Made me cry a little bit. But I was happy to share something with you that was relatively uncomplicated, that didn't carry too much emotional weight. They were good wishes, not much more or less. And I think maybe it made you happy too. You're welcome. I wish I could share the day with you. Thinking about that makes me feel a little empty, but not overwhelmingly so. I hope I can hold onto these feelings for a while.

I have a list of people I need to call, which I guess I've been putting off. I feel all talked out at the moment. But I'll call you soon. (Or, hey, you could beat me to it and call me first.)

I'm looking for some direction now, some goals. I need to figure out some adventures and projects that will make me happy, that I can make happen on my own. Something I'm in control of, and don't have to depend on someone else's cooperation for. Not that I've lost faith in others; I just can't depend on them to help make me happy. There are too many variables.

Turn it off

I can't do this anymore. I just sat in my car for 10 minutes and listened to Neko Case and cried, and the last post was so ridiculously melodramatic, I'm embarassed.

I need to switch it off for a while. I need a break. It's too much. I don't want to think about it or feel it or write about it anymore. I'm done.

Something has to give

I'm not taking care of myself, and it's painfully apparent. My head is fuzzy, woolly, heavy, full of dull pain. My jaw aches and pops. My back has a million tender points, and crackle-snaps when I shift around. My legs feel full of electricity, twitchy and prickly. My sinuses feel swollen; my eyes are swollen, perpetually.

I'm not eating. I'm not sleeping. I'm drinking more than I ought to. I'm not exercising. Even though I need these things even more (or less) right now than I normally do.

Why am I so perverse. Why am I in so much pain. How do I endure. I've had my fill and then some.

Maps

When I said that I thought I was done grieving, I was deluding myself. I don't know how to navigate this terrain. It's familiar, in the way that a new city is familiar--there are streets and cars and buildings and people walking, and maybe it looks vaguely like somewhere I've been before. But this particular place is utterly new, bewildering and frightening. Tears, anger, longing, disappointment, loneliness, regret, all jumbled up, and it makes my head spin. I can't get my bearings. I need a good map.

Center of the universe

I've had to remind myself lately that I'm not the center of the universe. Events don't revolve around me, nor do people's moods and actions. Perceived slights and inattention and heartbreaks and whatever else...it's not all about me. You'd think I would have internalized this by now, but I still need to give myself a little talking to every once in a while.

Punch

Why does feeling so angry I want to punch someone in the face make me also feel like crying? It's so frustrating that anger = tears. Makes it tough to deliver a credible smackdown, even one that's only in my fantasy-full head.

The radio reads my mind

I came into work this morning and turned on my music, and it was Iron & Wine, so sad and wistful, singing

How I've missed you lately, and the way you would speak, and all that we wouldn't say.

and it cut through my insides, turning me into wobbly jelly, it was so perfect and awful.

Happy happy joy joy

Tomorrow is free cone day at Ben & Jerry's! Who wants to go to Harvard Square with me for a little sugar therapy?

(Thanks, Greg, for the heads up.)

Advice

We're here to make sure you're not focusing too hard on those fears of yours, Cancer. Obsessive attention may make the scary little bastards come to life--and then what? If you understand that you already have everything you need, you won't feel so grabby toward others.

Well, shit. Maybe I actually should have just shut the hell up.

Crankypants

I don't think I should be allowed to interact with other people today. I've been at work for all of an hour, and already I've acted like a bitch to one poor little coworker, and I just told another one, "Do NOT fuck with me today."

Oy. I wish I could go back to bed and soothe myself with potato chips and game shows and chocolate, but it's just not in the cards today. Life keeps happening, the bills keep coming, the deadlines keep looming, even when you desperately need at least a little break from reality. Grrrr.

Book learnin' only gets you so far

So someone came this morning to fix our refrigerator. Except that it wasn't the refrigerator that was broken, it's the outlet for the refrigerator. So he ran an extension cord to another outlet, and voila. I happened to come back from the gym while he was getting ready to leave, and he asked me repeatedly, "Why didn't you just test another outlet? Why didn't you just run an extension cord like I did?"

Well, duh. Of course I feel like a dumb shit now. And also, shut the fuck up, OK? Sweet jebus, man.

Good grief

I woke up this morning, and I wonder if I'm done with grieving for the moment. I'm less sad and self-pitying right now than...I don't know. Kinda pissed. Confused. In that "What the FUCK is your problem and why is it mine too?" stage.

Because I'm realizing I didn't do anything wrong. Or at least I didn't repeat the same mistakes. I was myself, utterly--my effusive, romantic, goofy, anxious, fixated, depressed, sexy, caring, smartass, grumpy, intelligent, sweet-as-pie, freaked out, elated, uncertain, so-many-other-things self. I didn't pretend to be someone I wasn't in order to keep things going smoothly. I spoke up and spoke my mind. I wasn't a doormat. I wasn't all passive-agressive (usually). I didn't push things too far or too fast. I didn't convince mysef that things were perfect, and then refuse to acknowledge when they weren't. I didn't blame myself for every little problem. I listened to myself and acted on my feelings. Basically, I was a grownup. I wasn't perfect, but I was a fucking grownup. Finally.

Mess

Life is so fucking messy. Like a messy, rotten, neverending onion, with too many layers that all make you cry like a fool as you work your way through it.

What I miss

Soft skin. Scratchy beard. Holding hands. A steady supply of organic pears. Watching Star Trek. Kissing. Reassurances. Long hugs. Making plans for grandiose pirate parties and costumed croquet. Homemade peanut butter granola. Unabashed gazes. Ticklish touches. Someone to cook for. Bellybutton lint. Singing that silly llama song. Companionship. Almost everything.

Rotten

The refrigerator in my apartment is busted, and probably has been since Thursday night or Friday. So everything perishable in there has...well, perished. I don't know which I'm looking forward to less: replacing or cleaning out the rotten food. Stinky.

And since the landlord isn't returning our calls, I guess I'll have to live on Luna Bars and seltzer and fruit and candy and takeout for a while. Could be worse, I guess.

Hush

Walking around my neighborhood this morning, it reminded me how quiet the city is at 7am on a Sunday morning. I'd temporarily forgotten--it's been a long while since I didn't have a compelling reason or desire to linger in bed on a weekend. The only people out are newspaper sellers, early church-goers, and people like me, I think, whose cozy beds are more reminders of uneasy dreams than comforts.

Oh dear

So, I realize that, the mood and state of mind I'm in now, I should not be drinking like I did last night. It makes me not able to stop sobbing. It makes me send text messages that I forget about until 11:30 the next morning, and, when I do remember them, make me feel so embarassed I want to curl up and die. And, given the right/wrong circumstances, could make me do a lot of other things I would really, really regret. And last but not least, it gives me a fucking awful headache.

For someone so smart, I sure am dumb.

So sad

I just walked home from Davis Square. For the second time tonight (don't ask). And I cried the whole way. And I came home to an email from my ex-ex-boyfriend. None from my newly ex-boyfriend. And I cried some more. And it's 4am, and I'm so tired and sad, I don't know what to do with myself. On my way home, I kept thinking, I just want someone to love me, or pretend that they love me, I don't care who it is. And that scared me. That's no good. But that's how I feel. And I feel pathetic. No wonder I'm so unloveable. Unattractive. Pathetic. Tired and sad. Dehydrated. I really can't stop crying. I hate this.

Fuck it.

You don't bring me flowers anymore

Someone I've never met in person before showed up at my office this afternoon and brought me flowers.

I was touched, and also a little flustered and embarassed. I had just been crying, so I looked pretty awful, and I know I turned red and stuttered and sputtered a bit. I felt foolish. But also a little special, that someone would trek all the way on foot to North Cambridge just to give me a nice surprise.

And it made me think about other people who have been kind to me. The friend who rode over on his motorcycle the other afternoon to bring me a mix CD and a flask of whiskey. The other friend who had me over for dinner last night and lent a sympathetic ear for a bit. I welcomed the kindnesses and distractions. And I realized that these are all fairly new friends--they barely know me, really.

Which made me wonder about the friends I've known for years, who haven't paid me much mind lately. Maybe that's ungenerous, and maybe that has nothing to do with me, but... I don't know. It makes me wonder. Wonder whether it's them, or me (am I really that high-maintenance? Maybe), or whether it's neither. I don't know.

Regardless, they're really pretty flowers.

What I want

Right now, I desperately want something other than work to distract me from how I'm feeling.

I want a vacation to someplace with gentle, warm breezes, peace and quiet, sandy beaches, and blue ocean.

I want something to fill the spaces left where the silly daydreams and optimistic (and stupidly unrealistic) plans used to be.

I want a home to call my own, with a garden to call my own. A place I can stay for a while, where I can get my bearings and feel settled.

I want a pet to take care of and cuddle with. Something that will adore me, without complication or complexity.

I want to feel happy and relaxed.

I want someone who will love me back, who won't want to leave me. I think that's what I want most in the world. But I think that's unlikely, so I'd better get used to it.

Answers

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
-Zora Neale Hurston

I think I'm due for a few answering years. My faith is dwindling; my spirit needs replenishing. Answers would help. I guess I just have to keep holding on.

Proxy

The sandwich made me less hungry, and tickled the gourmand in me, but the rest of my excursion didn't do me much good. I went to the library, and they didn't have any of the books I wanted (Eat, Pray, Love and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, or any other Roald Dahl book, really), so I got The Corrections instead, which is probably a very good book and I'll give it a shot, but it's one of those books I feel like I should read, so I already kind of resent it. (I felt the same way about Everything Is Illuminated, and I wasn't blown away and some parts irritated the shit out of me, but I enjoyed it overall.) And I had a $5 library fine (oops), but I didn't have any cash, so he reluctantly let me check out this book, and then I felt like a bad, irresponsible person.

The counter girls at Hi-Rise, with their skinny, 19-year-old hips and snotty tone really irritated me. Enough said.

The park was too windy, and so my napkin and sandwich wrapping kept blowing away. And I couldn't start reading my book, because I had to use it to hold down the paper. The cattails were brown and wintry, and there weren't many birds. The children playing made me think about too many things I didn't want to think about, and the dogs made me miss Rosie, and made me feel sad and angry that I can't have another dog right now.

And while I was sitting there in the park, chewing and listening to the wind rattle the cattail stalks, I thought about writing this. And then I thought about how I've been writing so much here lately, and it hit me that I'm used to sharing these things with you, all of these silly whimsies and small sorrows. But now I can't, and so I have to do it by proxy. And I think maybe that's the saddest thing of all.

And furthermore...

I suppose I'm lucky I even have my own office, but I wish I had a real door instead of a sliding glass one. I can't have a good cry without feeling all jumpy that someone's going to walk by and see me. (Though, now that I think about it, so what if they do?)

And I think it's a bad sign that I just listened to that Gary Jules song (you know, THAT song, the Donnie Darko one) three times in a row.

Gah. I feel like I should apologize to people reading this, even though this space is, first and foremost, for me. I feel like I'm being much too public with all this stuff. I've always done the opposite, and hid my sadness and bad feelings, but I know that's not good for me. And I feel like I'm grieving too much, and making a pathetic ass of myself. I really don't know. I'm new to all of this in certain ways, and in other ways it's old hat. I don't know whether I can evaluate this situation, and I don't know whether I'm handling things relatively well or not. But I guess no one can really tell me that. I have to decide that for myself. Meh.

For right now, I guess I'll finish my cry, and then I think I need to walk over to Hi-Rise and buy myself a Fern's Problem Solver (ha), my most favorite sandwich there (turkey and avocado and cheese and Russian dressing, grilled, on excellent semolina bread), and then take it to the park and eat it there while I watch the birds flit and cheep around in the cattails, and watch kids playing and enjoying the day, and maybe pet a puppy or two.

Annoyances

My work computer, which froze and wouldn't unlock for me this morning. This has happened at least twice every week for the past 8 months. I'm going to throw this thing out the fucking window soon. It is SIX YEARS OLD. Seriously. SIX. And I work for a tech company. Ridiculous and infuriating.

My emotional masochistic streak, which has been blazing and crackling like a string of fireworks the past couple of days.

The achy pains and muscle twitches in my legs, which went away for a few days but which are now back and are thoroughly bugging the shit out of me.

That I have to be inside for the entirety of this glorious spring day. I'd rather be outside for a long, solitary bike ride. I think it would do me good. Fucking deadlines.

That I didn't have anyone to watch The Amazing Race with last night.

That I feel all blocked up and heavy with sadness and self-pity.

Worries

That I won't be able to sleep tonight.

That I'm fundamentally unloveable.

That I'll fall apart. Fall off that cliff again and, this time, won't be able to climb back up.

Of being alone.

The bright side

I probably won't be very hungry for a while, and I'll probably distract myself with more gym time, so I'll lose that 5+ pounds I've put on over the past few months (fucking birth control).

I don't have to deal with that fucking birth control anymore if I don't want to.

I'm rediscovering my angry lady rock, which I remember I do love, but which the emo shit pushed aside for a while. (Aw, I still love the emo shit too.)

People care enough about me to bring me sad, wallow-y mix CDs and flasks of whiskey.

I was upfront and direct instead of squashing everything down inside. I didn't get what I wanted, but at least I asked for it, and I'm proud of that. It's progress, in one way.

Better now than later, I guess.

Tired

I'm tired of feeling this way. I'm tired of being the practice girlfriend. I miss my dog, and I'm tired of feeling sad about that. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of scrounging for change for a cup of coffee because I can't go to the ATM til payday. I'm tired of getting my hopes up. I'm tired of my best friends moving to faraway places like Pittsburgh and San Francisco and Vietnam. I'm tired of starting over. I'm tired of talking talking talking and it not getting me where I want to be. I'm tired of this place, and tired of feeling stuck here. I'm just so fucking tired.

Wait a minute, Mr. Postman

When I got home from work today, I saw that the only mail I got was a catalog and an overdue parking ticket reminder. This made me sad, and a little annoyed, so I started thinking about what I would like to get in the mail:

• Love letters
• Postcards
• Another free New Yorker
• Hair product samples (not from Dove, though; their hair products make me all itchy)
• Cookies
• Omaha steaks
• My tax refund
• A plane ticket to Belize, or Italy, or Greece, or Vietnam, or...I don't know; I'm not too picky
• A mix CD
• Books

And so on. See, Mr. Postman? There are so many other things to choose from. Why do you hurt me so?

Wrong + Wrong = Right

I hate grapefruit. I hate diet sodas. But I really like Fresca, and I'm craving one right now. They used to be in the vending machine at work, but (perhaps because I was the only one who bought them, and I bought maybe one per month) now they are no more.

Ah, Fresca. Two gross things that somehow combine into something so, so right.

Categories, shmategories

I'm really really trying to set up Quicken and figure out where the hell all my money is going. Just now, I was entering a purchase from Downtown Wine & Spirits, and I wondered, how do I categorize this? Entertainment or groceries? I really thought about it for a few minutes before I listed it under Entertainment.

Um, yeah. I think I've found one source of the money hemorrhage.

Bunny

Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin' down the bunny trail, with chocolate and ham and plastic eggs filled with jelly beans and rabbit-themed wine and spring sunshine and pink tulips.

Happy Easter, kids.

Touch

Last night while we slept, I woke up with every breeze through the open window or every creak of the building or every shift of my dreams, or whatever it was that eased me awake, and when I stirred you moved also, and I felt you reach out and touch me gently--on my leg, on my arm, on my stomach--like you were just checking to see if I was still there, reassuring yourself. Which made made me smile and feel soothed, and helped me fall back into my stuttering sleep again and again and again.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

The past two nights, I've had dreams about my hair. The night before last, it was long, about halfway down my back. It was wavy and shiny and luxurious, and looked really cute in a ponytail. I was showing it off a little bit, tossing it around and playing with it. It made me feel kind of sassy and sexy and confident, even though I was in the same room with two people (who I didn't acknowledge, but I knew they saw me and I knew they knew I saw them, and so on) who would probably make me feel self-conscious and awkward and anxious in real life.

Last night, I had these funny little braided extensions in my hair. They were all different colors--mostly red and blue, I think--and were kind of neat, but they started halfway down my head, so it looked kinda dumb. I was trying to take them out, but they were all woven in with my real hair, and I couldn't untangle them.

Hmm. Hair dreams. This is a new one. I have my thoughts, but your thoughts are more than welcome.

If wishes were horses...

I just got this in an email from a friend, and it articulated what I've been feeling so perfectly, I had to share it:

Because sometimes, all you want is for someone to give you as much as you give them, unasked.

Exactly.

Whoa

So, if you read this yesterday, maybe you got the impression that I was having a terrible day. I was. The worst day I've had in quite a long time. I spent a lot of it crying, alternated with the desire to shoot someone in the head (anyone would do, but the woman driving 10 MILES PER HOUR down Garden St. would have done nicely).

Nothing particularly terrible happened, but I had a lot of things on my mind. My mysterious stomach/colon problems, my mysterious leg problems, the twisted pain I was feeling all along my right side, my insecurities and frustrations about some of my relationships, sad memories, dissatisfaction with certain parts of my life. And the hormones were out of control, which escalated everything to a critical peak of complete frustration and rage and despair. And I wanted someone to fix it, or at least acknowledge its importance, and I just wasn't getting that to the degree I needed it. (And, to be fair, I think what I needed just wasn't possible at that point.)

So I came home last night and felt kind of shitty for a while, and drank a couple of glasses of wine and took a hot bath, and Chris came over and we watched Willy Wonka and ate some Indian food and chocolate ice cream, and I felt better. Less crazy, less weepy, less angry. And today is a new day, and it's going OK so far. The things that are bothering me are still bothering me, and I'm not feeling exactly giddy with happiness, but at least I feel like I can manage the crap, or at least cope or muddle through.

Days like that happen once in a while, and they're horrible, but they can be instructive, too. I feel like I learned a few things yesterday, which is always a good thing. As long as I don't shoot anyone in the head, I guess everything's A-OK.

Sometimes I say exactly the opposite of what I really mean

I remember one time, when I was 6 years old, I was having a really rough day. It was recess, and no one would play with me (again), and I was feeling really sad about it. So I sat on top of one of the big tires by myself, thinking and probably looking as sad as I felt. A teacher came over and asked if I was OK. "Yeah, I'm OK," I said, I guess because I figured that's what she wanted to hear, or because I didn't want to get into it, or for whatever other reason. So she walked away.

Of course, I wasn't OK. I felt like the loneliest kid in the entire world, and I wanted someone to help make me feel better. I was the exact opposite of OK. But I couldn't tell the truth. I couldn't reach out and say, "No, I'm feeling awful and I don't know how to feel better and would you please help me?" So she walked away and, when I was already feeling so low I thought my heart would break into a million pieces, she walked away and I felt even worse.

I couldn't tell the truth then, when I was 6, and I still have a hard time telling it now.

Meager means

I undeniably, utterly live beyond my means. Evidenced by the bitch slap my bank account just gave me. I think I need to stop going to Whole Foods. And Lush. And every other pleasure-giving retail-therapy hotspot. Sigh.

I feel irresponsible today. And (pseudo)poor. And disappointed that I still live paycheck-to-paycheck. I'm too old for this. I guess it's time to be a grownup and fire up the Quicken and figure out a stupid budget.

Sometimes I hate being a grownup.

Close

Close, close all night
the lovers keep.
They turn together,
in their sleep,

close as two pages
in a book
that read each other
in the dark.

Each knows all
the other knows,
learned by heart
from head to toes.

- Elizabeth Bishop

Don't look back

Lately I've been feeling kind of nostalgic and sad and old, thinking about the past and missed opportunities and unlived-up-to expectations. Mistakes and lost years. Everything that could have been but wasn't. Wondering whether those things still can be, or whether it's too late.

I guess it doesn't do much good, this looking back, unless it helps you figure out the future. But I'm feeling the need to wallow in it a little bit. The sad times and the helpless-feeling stuckness and the crappy boyfriends and lovers. All the stuff that makes me feel incapable of creating the life I want. The stuff that deadens my spirit and makes me wonder what the hell the point is anyway. And whether I would even recognize it if it bit me on the ass.

I'll try not to wallow too much, but damn. Thinking back on these things, in the mood I'm in now, makes me wonder what the hell my problem is. What's wrong, and how do I fix it?

This week's mystery

The other day, the latest issue of The New Yorker showed up, addressed to me. Which is nice because I like reading it (I particularly enjoyed the articles about oysters and Muzak, and the essay by David Sedaris). But I didn't order it. Who did? Is this a freebie? Do I have a mysterious magazine benefactor?

Curious.

I feel very French

I seem to be growing out my armpit hair, and, surprisingly, I kinda like it. It's all furry and soft, and there's a distinct (and pleasant) absence of razor burn bumps. Not sure how long it'll last, but I'm kind of enjoying my newfound hippytude.

Simmering

They're always simmering below the surface, bubbling around in my brain. Those niggling things I want to say, that I think about while I'm dripping sweat in the sauna or riding the T. The things that I have to say before they boil over, before I create some ridiculous drama that's unrelated to the real issue at hand. Before I get all passive aggressive and dream up "punishments" that I'll never be able to follow through with. Because I don't want to mete out punishment. I want to hash it out, get a response, know where I stand.

But sometimes that doesn't work, even when I try my best. So I guess when that happens I just need to wait it out, and make sure the heat's turned down low.

C'mon now

Like I told Chris this morning, I think my body hates me.

I don't know why it hates me. I feed it good, tasty foods, like organic fruit and soybeans and French cheeses and fish and soba noodles and spinach and almonds and full-fat ice cream. I exercise it, with running and biking and weights and yoga. I cleanse it and moisturize it like a motherfucker with lovely Lush products. I give it enough sleep (usually). I don't punish it with toxic substances (every day). I get massages when I can afford them and take hot baths and saunas to try to relax it. Everything should be A-OK, right?

But no. I'm going to the doctor again today. My legs hurt, and have hurt for a couple of weeks now, and my feet feel tingly, and my lower back started really hurting yesterday. I feel like a crazy person, what with all my afflictions.

It's always something. I just want to feel good for more than one or two days at a time. Is that too much to ask?

Why today is stinky

1. It's snowing out. Hard. (Spring, you're a terrible tease, you know that?)
2. I got a $50 ticket this morning for street cleaning. (I've come to rely on you, BostonSweeper, and you totally let me down. What the hell?)
3. Work is piling up, and I'm going to have to scramble today and tomorrow to get things done.
4. I had to do something this morning that was so so disgusting, it made me want to throw up.
5. My tummy hurts, and my legs ache, and it's all sort of mysterious, which makes me fixate on them, which probably makes them worse.
6. I've gained about 5 pounds over the past month or so, and I feel bloated and disgusting.

Nyah. I'm going to go sit in a corner and eat some worms.

Breaking away

Yesterday, I did something very, very brave. I got on my bike and rode on the street amongst cars, aka those huge hunks of steel that could (and probably desperately want to) flatten me in an instant. OK, so I only rode on side streets for a few blocks between my house and the bike path, but I've been meaning to get on my bike since last summer, and the only thing stopping me was the mortal terror I'd experience every time I thought about riding in city traffic. I was shaky for a while--I hadn't been on a bike in at least 5 years, probably more--and freaking out, both inwardly and outwardly, until we got to Alewife. ("Hey, Chris, I'm going to freak out for about 10 minutes, so...yeah, sorry." Thank you for being so patient with me--it really helped.) But I did it, and we rode all the way to the end of the Minuteman Bikeway and back, over 20 miles! It was a fantastic ride, even though there was a bit too much wind, and way too many rollerbladers, and Chris had a blowout on the way back (he had an extra innertube thingy and a tire-taker-offer tool, and a friendly biker guy loaned him his CO2 hooha so he could inflate it). The sun was shining, tree frogs and birds were peeping and twittering, the trees were budding, and I felt strong. My dismount is not very graceful, and I think my bike frame is a bit too big for me ("Um, when I'm standing with my feet on the ground, the crossbar isn't supposed to be nestled up in my labia, is it?"), but fuck it. I DID IT.

I did it. And I'm gonna do it again.

I love the moo juice, but (maybe) the moo juice doesn't love me

Due to events over the past few months (I'll spare you the details; you don't want to know, seriously), I've had to accept the fact that there's a very good possibility I'm lactose intolerant. This is completely horrifying. I LOVE cheese. I LOVE ice cream. I LOVE milk and cookies. How could something I love so much turn on me this way? Bastard.

No no, I'm sorry. I said that out of anger. I don't mean it. I still love you, and I hope tomorrow the doctor will find some other, similarly benign reason for my recent, uh...distress. It's either that, or I buy a freaking case of Lactaid.