this is my last post on this account.
the people whom i have innocently given access to this site have rendered it, for lack of a better word, impotent. i cannot be as honest as i would like. i hate the one-sided voyeurism; YOU know everything about ME but are too socially immature to give me the same courtesy. it's been a problem for awhile. i've started keeping a palpable journal again, but, i'm ashamed to say, physically writing is annoying. it is annoying in a way i don't remember it being. and every time i'm PHYSICALLY writing in my PHYSICAL journal, i can't help but think: FUCK YOU. fuck you for making me feel like have to fucking hide.
being that this is on the interwebs and will never, ever go away, i am not deleting this blog. this has been my journal for the last 6 years of my life- 6 very tumultuous years. writing here kept me sane, and i don;t care if that's cliched, because it's true. i would hate to lose this just because a few assholes fucked it up.
confidential to fabian: STOP STALKING ME. stop calling me, stop emailing me. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN BEING YOUR FRIEND, OR ACQUAINTANCE, OR ANYTHING. DO NOT CONTACT ME AGAIN OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE.
everyone else, all 3 of you, thanks for reading my shit. expect an email soon.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Monday, August 08, 2011
today, for example.
wake at 719am to my neighbor loudly jingling her keys as she leaves her apartment. i stick my head out the window. "could you please try to be quieter? that wakes me up every morning." i'm not exaggerating. "i don't know how i can be any quieter" she replies blithely. i suppose that is true. it's not her fault i get off work at 2am. if i were to start jostling MY keys and stomping around and otherwise making a fuss when i get home, which i don;t currently do, perhaps she would sympathize. i fall back asleep thinking spiteful dark thoughts.
*
dream about my ex-husband. i was sexually involved with his ex. it was not sexy.
*
912am. clouds. put on a sweater. this has been a fucking horrible summer.
*
clean my house. manic. vacuum, scrub toilet, cat boxes. scrub kitchen floor. lay on kitchen floor to try to fix broken garbage disposal; my sink does not drain at all. i can't get it to work. call landlord. somebody will be by in the morning.
*
go to bookstore. buy a phillip k dick novel on sale. i briefly forget my phone number when the clerk asks for it, which freaks me out. i automatically gave him my old number from anchorage, the one i haven't had since 2001. my brain is fermenting the most useless shit... buy yerba mate tea. drink it sweatily on the bus. brian jonestown massacre and the beta band. try not to fall asleep.
*
library. a book called "the sexy book of sexy sex", or something. apparently komodo dragons are hermaphroditic? or was that a ruse? it's in the same vein as "america: the book." it includes pick-up lines. if you're hitting on a typesetter (and who isn't, really, these days?): "i'd like to inspect your colon before your period." there are also ways listed of how to be a Bad Girl. wound him! get him arrested! pee on him! tie him up! tie him up and then pee on him! and then, you know, defecate.
*
started reading the phillip k dick book. it sucks. it's BORING. i am usually hypersalivating about tales of suburban malaise, especially if they're set in midcentury semblences of prosper... but this. FUCK this. i thought phillip k dick was literature. i am pissed off by how shitty it is. i want to, and will, finish it, because maybe it suddenly gets amazing... i rarely do not finish books. when one is so astonishingly bad, it unsettles.
*
take bus to meet someone whom i haven't seen in a year. he is pleased to show off his contacts. he's wearing the same cologne. he wore cologne. i always found that endearing. he complains about his girlfriend. i tell the story about the guy who bit my face. we go dancing. it's all the same people. there's the perpetually inebriated guy with the huge head who holds my body too close; there's the old guy with absolutely no rhythm; there's the guy who i thought i danced well with but who made the effort to come over later and tell me "if you took more classes, you'd probably be really good."
*
i don't remember the bus ride home. i was sober and staring out the window. life was an amorphous blur. it's seemed that way an awful lot lately. constant dreamscape. ten miles, two hours later, whatever... where the fuck was i?
*
home. chopping cabbage. a friend left a box of produce on my doorstep last week, with two sunflowers on top. cabbage, mixed with tahini dressing, to be eaten with crackers at work tomorrow. singing along too loudly to del shannon. bits of cabbage floating in my undraining sink. xmas lights on. a sip of brennivin, still in my freezer from iceland. india temple incense. there are still vacuum tracks on the carpet.
*
o was asking me about polyamory. i said that i was once vehemently opposed to it, but now i realize that it's impossible for one person to provide everything you need. "people elicit different things" i said, or something. i have been very vanilla with some people and completely kinky with others; some people are tender, some are ferocious; some are emotional and some just FUCK. and all of that is good. i need all of those things, i WANT all of those things, and it's very rare to find it all in one human. it's egotistical and arrogant to assume i or anyone else has the ability to fully satistfy another.
he didn't seem horrified by my answer, so that was good.
the more i know, the stupider i feel. surely that's a bumper sticker somewhere.
*
apparently van gogh suffered from gonorrhea. screaming gonorrhea! i thought it was syphillis that made him mad, but i may have been confusing him with henry VIII.
*
montreal seems so long ago. i am reticent to describe exactly how much i loved it. i was thinking today: i just need to marry a guy from the EU and get citizenship! they could be amurrikan, i could have access to the countries i want to live in! backs done scratched! the idea is grotesque. is it as grotesque as marrying for love and getting divorced twice? perhaps.
i'm in there somewhere.
returning to seattle: this is home. it is my base in which i can be at ease and jaded and familiar and competent and myself. that is the ultimate goal for any place. i was so happy to be back. but, shit. i loved montreal more than i wanted to admit. i am worried that my chickenshittery will talk me out of where i need to be. i don;t know if i'm brave enough to learn a new culture and a new language and a new world. i don;t want to END in seattle. i don't want to feel so comfortable (not to be confused with "happy") here that i might.
*
meanwhile, life is getting interesting... today was an anomaly. really!
*
no edit
*
dream about my ex-husband. i was sexually involved with his ex. it was not sexy.
*
912am. clouds. put on a sweater. this has been a fucking horrible summer.
*
clean my house. manic. vacuum, scrub toilet, cat boxes. scrub kitchen floor. lay on kitchen floor to try to fix broken garbage disposal; my sink does not drain at all. i can't get it to work. call landlord. somebody will be by in the morning.
*
go to bookstore. buy a phillip k dick novel on sale. i briefly forget my phone number when the clerk asks for it, which freaks me out. i automatically gave him my old number from anchorage, the one i haven't had since 2001. my brain is fermenting the most useless shit... buy yerba mate tea. drink it sweatily on the bus. brian jonestown massacre and the beta band. try not to fall asleep.
*
library. a book called "the sexy book of sexy sex", or something. apparently komodo dragons are hermaphroditic? or was that a ruse? it's in the same vein as "america: the book." it includes pick-up lines. if you're hitting on a typesetter (and who isn't, really, these days?): "i'd like to inspect your colon before your period." there are also ways listed of how to be a Bad Girl. wound him! get him arrested! pee on him! tie him up! tie him up and then pee on him! and then, you know, defecate.
*
started reading the phillip k dick book. it sucks. it's BORING. i am usually hypersalivating about tales of suburban malaise, especially if they're set in midcentury semblences of prosper... but this. FUCK this. i thought phillip k dick was literature. i am pissed off by how shitty it is. i want to, and will, finish it, because maybe it suddenly gets amazing... i rarely do not finish books. when one is so astonishingly bad, it unsettles.
*
take bus to meet someone whom i haven't seen in a year. he is pleased to show off his contacts. he's wearing the same cologne. he wore cologne. i always found that endearing. he complains about his girlfriend. i tell the story about the guy who bit my face. we go dancing. it's all the same people. there's the perpetually inebriated guy with the huge head who holds my body too close; there's the old guy with absolutely no rhythm; there's the guy who i thought i danced well with but who made the effort to come over later and tell me "if you took more classes, you'd probably be really good."
*
i don't remember the bus ride home. i was sober and staring out the window. life was an amorphous blur. it's seemed that way an awful lot lately. constant dreamscape. ten miles, two hours later, whatever... where the fuck was i?
*
home. chopping cabbage. a friend left a box of produce on my doorstep last week, with two sunflowers on top. cabbage, mixed with tahini dressing, to be eaten with crackers at work tomorrow. singing along too loudly to del shannon. bits of cabbage floating in my undraining sink. xmas lights on. a sip of brennivin, still in my freezer from iceland. india temple incense. there are still vacuum tracks on the carpet.
*
o was asking me about polyamory. i said that i was once vehemently opposed to it, but now i realize that it's impossible for one person to provide everything you need. "people elicit different things" i said, or something. i have been very vanilla with some people and completely kinky with others; some people are tender, some are ferocious; some are emotional and some just FUCK. and all of that is good. i need all of those things, i WANT all of those things, and it's very rare to find it all in one human. it's egotistical and arrogant to assume i or anyone else has the ability to fully satistfy another.
he didn't seem horrified by my answer, so that was good.
the more i know, the stupider i feel. surely that's a bumper sticker somewhere.
*
apparently van gogh suffered from gonorrhea. screaming gonorrhea! i thought it was syphillis that made him mad, but i may have been confusing him with henry VIII.
*
montreal seems so long ago. i am reticent to describe exactly how much i loved it. i was thinking today: i just need to marry a guy from the EU and get citizenship! they could be amurrikan, i could have access to the countries i want to live in! backs done scratched! the idea is grotesque. is it as grotesque as marrying for love and getting divorced twice? perhaps.
i'm in there somewhere.
returning to seattle: this is home. it is my base in which i can be at ease and jaded and familiar and competent and myself. that is the ultimate goal for any place. i was so happy to be back. but, shit. i loved montreal more than i wanted to admit. i am worried that my chickenshittery will talk me out of where i need to be. i don;t know if i'm brave enough to learn a new culture and a new language and a new world. i don;t want to END in seattle. i don't want to feel so comfortable (not to be confused with "happy") here that i might.
*
meanwhile, life is getting interesting... today was an anomaly. really!
*
no edit
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
another check-off
montreal. this place makes sense. i am happy. it is good to be alive. to LIVE. i have no regrets about the shit of july. i have no regrets about any of the long-time-coming decisions i've made over the past few months in particular, actually. * this is in cimetiere de notre dame des neiges. i was all alone there. i first noticed the sound whilst taking the muddy-path, steep way up mont royal (in a skirt and sandals, thank you). i thought the path was lined with faulty streetlamps, but there were no streetlamps... just this raucous, then abating, buzzing noise from the trees. i saw no flying insects. what the fuck was it? it was in the cemetery trees, then vanished when i got to rue st laurent. 
excellent street art abounds. apparently i unconsciously travel to places with amazing shit everywhere. 
it took closer scrutiny to realize that this is an advertisement for shoes. 
i'm on my 3rd book in 3 days. i first picked up "cockroach" by rawi hage at the university bookstore, because i'd read all the houellebecq on their shelf, but i ended up getting "the rum diary" instead. so i found it today here, at a fantastic used bookstore on ave laurier, for less than what it cost in seattle. at one point he's staring out the window at a wintry montreal and fogging up the cold glass. "my own breath was obstructing my view of the world!" i like that. it hit a nerve.
excellent street art abounds. apparently i unconsciously travel to places with amazing shit everywhere. 
it took closer scrutiny to realize that this is an advertisement for shoes. 
i'm on my 3rd book in 3 days. i first picked up "cockroach" by rawi hage at the university bookstore, because i'd read all the houellebecq on their shelf, but i ended up getting "the rum diary" instead. so i found it today here, at a fantastic used bookstore on ave laurier, for less than what it cost in seattle. at one point he's staring out the window at a wintry montreal and fogging up the cold glass. "my own breath was obstructing my view of the world!" i like that. it hit a nerve.
Friday, July 29, 2011
my horrible day involved breaking up with someone i still love, listening to someone vomit, and walking home down the same terrifying span of mercer where i was mugged 2 years prior. i'm not going to dwell on any of that, because my subconscious will be very adroit at reminding me regardless. before all this, when the day was fresh and filled with optimism, i looked through photographs and found these.
i cannot help but wonder when i fucked up so badly. everything i've ever done has led up to this moment. apparently there was a misstep. perhaps tomorrow will be fucking awesome. hnh. but right now i feel like a collossally incompetent twat who cannot maturely manage my life or properly spell "collossally."
and in the present, there is entropy's ass. such is my world. it's been a crappy day. bless her heart. the xmas lights are a-blazin'. fire ant cars on i-5. i oughtn't think too much. life goes on regardless.
all i want right now is to be naked in his bed, watching a stupid movie, feeling his skin. and i can't; it's over. i didn't realize how much i would miss him until i had no other options. the reality is a severed nerve to a limb i really fucking need. i've been through this before- the breaking-up thing- and i'll be fine; this moment was a long time coming, and we both knew it. but right now, shit. so it's hard for me to look back on photos of myself with innocent eyes and earnest smiles and not think "how the FUCK did i fuck everything up so badly?"
i feel like a fucking teenager and i'm 32 years old. and a fucking drama queen.
*
reading "henry and june" doesn't help. those folks are fucking insufferable.
Monday, July 18, 2011
shit, losing of one's
i just dropped tiresias off at work for an overnight reprieve. he sprayed twice today, directly in front of me, as well as emptying his bladder once, over the course of the day. i was home all day, being painfully "on call", hanging pictures, so i saw it all. i wonder if he does this while i'm not around (which is most of the time) and if this is why my house has a permanent piss/arm & hammer aroma. i can't even bother to speculate anymore. over the last 3 months i have had my carpets professionally cleaned, bought 2 different enzymatic cleaners, used feliway, purchased another litter box and 2 different types of litter, taken him in to the vet twice for exams and urinalyses, and have been neurotically hypervigilant of his surroundings.
i came home this evening and he promptly sprayed the closet door. vertical, behavioral spraying. and i lost it. i burst into tears and scruffed him and shoved him in his carrier and hauled him to my work, where i dropped him off for the night. i was sobbing. i was and am horrified with the knowledge that if he were to have stayed here tonight i would have done something cruel. i love the cat to fucking death. anyone who knows me and knows him is uncomfortably aware of this: i LOVE this cat. he is my special little guy whom i've known since he was tiny. why he's doing this now breaks my fucking heart. one of the docs i work with prescribed him amitryptalline, which is essentially cat prozac, and i haven't given it yet. that's the one thing, apart from moving to a place with wood floors and doors, or euthanasia (the idea of which makes me want to vomit) that i haven't tried... because i'm ethically opposed to it. HE IS A HAPPY CAT. he'll be in my lap, purring, then trot over to some random spot and piss. then trot back and jump in my lap. he's not 'depressed'. i don't approve of mood alterers in humans (having been on them) and i certainly don't approve of them in animals... they're ANIMALS. what do they know about depression? their role on the planet is to be happy. and tiresias is totally happy until my convenience is ruined by his pissing. so really, it's all about me and my fucking selfishness and standards, and i feel like a piece of shit, and this is why i don't have human children, and I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.
*
right now i'm drinking cheap port. quickly.
*
so today i looked at a place. great location, 1st floor of a 1905 house that was once a sorority building- about half the size of my current lair and ~$70/month more. it was grotty. cute- if i'd seen it 6 years ago, i would have snatched it up, though the price would have still given me pause. it made me realize how good i have it. i cannot move my life for a cat, especially a really good life with an amazing deal. there was no place to even fit a litter box in this place. there was a regal fireplace, but as i was admiring it the guy said "oh, you can't use the fireplace. i mean, you could put candles in it if you want." he hadn't kept up with the sweeping, apparently. the 'bedroom' was smaller than my queen-sized mattress. the door to the basement laundry room was 5' tall. and one of the neighbors was blaring sullen music as the guy told me how quiet the residents are.
last night i was laying in bed and listening to my neighbor sob. they've been having problems. i was on the deck a couple weeks ago and heard her weepily scream "you treat me like SHIT!" before she drove away. so last night... it was uncomfortable. obviously her window, like mine, was open despite the bullshit non-summer. i wanted to say something- what? "hey, are you okay?" (dumb question; obviously not). "hey, you seem upset. wanna talk?" (too intrusive?) so i did nothing. i was in my bed, she was in her bed(room)... society is so close yet so fucking far away. i read about dietary fads of the 50s. eventually her crying subsided. i felt and feel like an asshole. but then i thought: i've been there. what would i want someone to do? i, personally, would want someone to acknowledge nothing until they knew me better. i would want to live under the delusional veneer that no one else in the world pays attention. that's what my ego would want, anyway. i don't fucking know. i am still thinking about it 24 hrs later and suspecting that i should have handled it differently.
*
here's a random life-shot; it looks like an anomaly. but i didn't delete it.
there are other things going unsatisfactorily in my life right now, but that warrants another medium. people should be happy regardless. that's why we're alive, and that's as spiritual and hippy-dippy as i'm going to get. so i'm making efforts to expedite my happiness. whatever. other people have their lives figured out by now; they know where they are going to be in 1, 5, 20 years. i once thought i did, but i didn't, and i still don't. so woo fucking hoo. i'm 32 years old and bitching about (one of) my cat(s). don't worry, it's okay to laugh. i'd laugh if it wasn't my own lame-ass life i was laughing at.
seattle has been cold and rainy, but it smells fantastic and there are whole new eschelons of blossoms dropping on the pavement. this is probably the shittiest summer i have ever experienced here, but people are troupers. i went to the farmer's market today and i was one of the only people without a raincoat. bought new sandals yesterday, thinking wishfully. 2 weeks til the muggy bombast of montreal. i am looking very much forward to it.
i came home this evening and he promptly sprayed the closet door. vertical, behavioral spraying. and i lost it. i burst into tears and scruffed him and shoved him in his carrier and hauled him to my work, where i dropped him off for the night. i was sobbing. i was and am horrified with the knowledge that if he were to have stayed here tonight i would have done something cruel. i love the cat to fucking death. anyone who knows me and knows him is uncomfortably aware of this: i LOVE this cat. he is my special little guy whom i've known since he was tiny. why he's doing this now breaks my fucking heart. one of the docs i work with prescribed him amitryptalline, which is essentially cat prozac, and i haven't given it yet. that's the one thing, apart from moving to a place with wood floors and doors, or euthanasia (the idea of which makes me want to vomit) that i haven't tried... because i'm ethically opposed to it. HE IS A HAPPY CAT. he'll be in my lap, purring, then trot over to some random spot and piss. then trot back and jump in my lap. he's not 'depressed'. i don't approve of mood alterers in humans (having been on them) and i certainly don't approve of them in animals... they're ANIMALS. what do they know about depression? their role on the planet is to be happy. and tiresias is totally happy until my convenience is ruined by his pissing. so really, it's all about me and my fucking selfishness and standards, and i feel like a piece of shit, and this is why i don't have human children, and I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.
*
right now i'm drinking cheap port. quickly.
*
so today i looked at a place. great location, 1st floor of a 1905 house that was once a sorority building- about half the size of my current lair and ~$70/month more. it was grotty. cute- if i'd seen it 6 years ago, i would have snatched it up, though the price would have still given me pause. it made me realize how good i have it. i cannot move my life for a cat, especially a really good life with an amazing deal. there was no place to even fit a litter box in this place. there was a regal fireplace, but as i was admiring it the guy said "oh, you can't use the fireplace. i mean, you could put candles in it if you want." he hadn't kept up with the sweeping, apparently. the 'bedroom' was smaller than my queen-sized mattress. the door to the basement laundry room was 5' tall. and one of the neighbors was blaring sullen music as the guy told me how quiet the residents are.
last night i was laying in bed and listening to my neighbor sob. they've been having problems. i was on the deck a couple weeks ago and heard her weepily scream "you treat me like SHIT!" before she drove away. so last night... it was uncomfortable. obviously her window, like mine, was open despite the bullshit non-summer. i wanted to say something- what? "hey, are you okay?" (dumb question; obviously not). "hey, you seem upset. wanna talk?" (too intrusive?) so i did nothing. i was in my bed, she was in her bed(room)... society is so close yet so fucking far away. i read about dietary fads of the 50s. eventually her crying subsided. i felt and feel like an asshole. but then i thought: i've been there. what would i want someone to do? i, personally, would want someone to acknowledge nothing until they knew me better. i would want to live under the delusional veneer that no one else in the world pays attention. that's what my ego would want, anyway. i don't fucking know. i am still thinking about it 24 hrs later and suspecting that i should have handled it differently.
*
here's a random life-shot; it looks like an anomaly. but i didn't delete it.
there are other things going unsatisfactorily in my life right now, but that warrants another medium. people should be happy regardless. that's why we're alive, and that's as spiritual and hippy-dippy as i'm going to get. so i'm making efforts to expedite my happiness. whatever. other people have their lives figured out by now; they know where they are going to be in 1, 5, 20 years. i once thought i did, but i didn't, and i still don't. so woo fucking hoo. i'm 32 years old and bitching about (one of) my cat(s). don't worry, it's okay to laugh. i'd laugh if it wasn't my own lame-ass life i was laughing at.
seattle has been cold and rainy, but it smells fantastic and there are whole new eschelons of blossoms dropping on the pavement. this is probably the shittiest summer i have ever experienced here, but people are troupers. i went to the farmer's market today and i was one of the only people without a raincoat. bought new sandals yesterday, thinking wishfully. 2 weeks til the muggy bombast of montreal. i am looking very much forward to it.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
damaged goods
I feel so fucking lonely. I'm detrimentally caught up in my own brain right now. I get into a me-vs-the world mentality, which is very jarring to my usual lalala-life is great/humans are lovely mindset- a mindset I truly do believe, even now, but can't really relate to. I would just like some fucking help, someone to be there, just THERE. I have always valued my independence so ferociously but lately things have seemed really fucking overwhelming and I'm having to deal with all of it alone. it sucks. I would like some company, some advice, some fucking reassurance.
instead I am sweating in my parked car and writing on my phone and humming along to "that's life", which is pretty nicely apt and a song that always makes me feel better. life goes on. there is nothing that cannot be dealt with. amorphous bullshit is just scarier, that's all.
*
I don't think I could take anything for granted even if I wanted to.
instead I am sweating in my parked car and writing on my phone and humming along to "that's life", which is pretty nicely apt and a song that always makes me feel better. life goes on. there is nothing that cannot be dealt with. amorphous bullshit is just scarier, that's all.
*
I don't think I could take anything for granted even if I wanted to.
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