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| Saturday, September 29th, 2007 @ 12:52am |
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mood:  disgruntled
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Summer sprinted by...after many sordid amorous affairs I've landed in Los Angeles with a new job and apartment. I'm mostly alone at my apartment because my roommate does not leave her boyfriend's side. It's pretty disgusting. I feel I'm way too independent to ever become as lovesick as they seem. He's a vegan with a questionable sexual orientation who walked around our apartment one morning in pink tighty whities. He prefers his tight white pants and lilac T-shirts but still has long greasy hair to look like he's not trying too hard. I'm trying to be understanding and not sound like a bitch here...but it's just a weird living situation. Plus, when they came home with matching vegan shoes from a company that gives some of their proceeds to starving children in Africa...I wanted to yack.
I feel like a stranger in this town that is only 20 miles from where I grew up. Nearly all of my friends are gone: Washington, Berkeley, San Diego, China, NYC, Boston...basically anywhere but here. So I feel like I have to carve out a new life, but where does one start? Especially with my friend/roommate MIA all the time I feel like I can't go out alone and just try to make friends without seeming like some freak or prostitute. Besides I'm way broke just trying to afford living here. So somehow I find myself like a reclusive vagrant who watches a lot of DVDs and drinks a lot of wine from Trader Joes.
The Hollywood sign has become my north star helping me navigate this town but I don't really know where I'm ever trying to go.
Trying to get over a thing with a guy who has a child. Messy. Felt really nice at first. Then I freaked on him chasing him out of my apartment half naked like some crazy banshee on a full moon. That's actually a stretch for comedic effect, but it was still not pretty. I just feel so virile. I've got half the men in the office staring me down all day as I flirt with a wit they don't expect from a secretary. Isn't this supposed to be the time of our lives? I saw something once that said the love is friendship set to music. Isn't that quaintly beautiful? But who goes to bars looking for friends? If I put all the bad ones behind (the 23 year old father, the 31 year old who told me he wanted to gut me & then paint a masterpiece, my 4th grade crush who turned out to be a womanizing meathead, the friend who lied and screamed at me, the guy too depressed to care, the Belizean farmer?) can I really let somebody in who is worth it?
Now if only this young dad will stop calling me @ 1:30 in the morning. I feel like affection and attraction are so hard to distinguish at this point in life. Nobody likes sleeping alone. |
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| My Grandpa |
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| Wednesday, June 20th, 2007 @ 12:18pm |
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mood:  sad
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Rest in peace Grandpa. I saw truth in your eyes. I'll miss you. |
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| Portrait of a Modern Unlady |
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| Sunday, June 17th, 2007 @ 10:38pm |
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mood:  blank music: Bird York ~ In the Deep
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"We call people rich when they are able to meet the requirements of their imagination." -Henry James
I sit here. Annoyed. Bemused. Confounded. Befuddled. Upset.
Alone. An anachronism. Aren't females supposed to have all that they desire in this age? I would be respected in the 1870s for my academia and natural proclivity to understand the unknown. A humanist?
Instead I sit guarding my wine alone for hours. I never call anybody on fathers' day. I just don't understand how I can feel so overwhelmingly depressed when I'm the traveled, well educated, mostly well-adjusted girl that I could have hoped to be ten years ago when I imagined that I was finally the same age as those verbose characters on My So-Called Life. Repartee and sex were the things that MTV conditioned me to desire. Who could ask for anything more?
More strangers have called me beautiful as though it were the acme of my acting "career." As though I've fulfilled my role as the vagabond of pulchritude; the pernicious ingenue.
One more week and I promise to dissemble my lexicon for the mere sake of the GREs.
My mother sits there watching me empty the bottle hoping to negate any condemnation as soon as I move out.
I feel as unfulfilled as that lithe heiress sitting in a jail cell. The difference is that I don't have YouTube creating parodies of my misadventures nor the indefatigable cupidity of a blond but rather the resigned indifference of a nihilist. |
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| California |
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| Sunday, June 3rd, 2007 @ 5:08pm |
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mood: aggravated music: ipod shuffle
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So I'm selling honey...
that is about all that I'm certain of these days.
I'm also sure that Julie and Kellyn are amazing friends who let me suck hours out of their lives while avoiding home.
How are you supposed to move back in after college? At least over breaks there was the prospect of going back to school. I really need to move out, but I really need a financial base first and it's very frustrating.
I've been acting out again, once to the extreme edges of psychosis, in reaction to the unsettled feelings I have about life and my precarious future.
Three people called me beautiful yesterday and it made me want to scratch my face off.
Two people called me dark and I wanted to scream at them "I'm ethnic: melanin comes with adversity" just to be a tool.
I'm dating/flirting with/making out with four boys when all I want is to drink wine and cuddle with one of them, it almost doesn't matter which one. Good thing Kellyn & Julie let me do that? Le sigh. I think it's going to be a long wet hot los angeles summer.
At least this is the place where you can just lie in a bikini and let the sun tickle your skin and sip beer to make you feel...weighted?
I was talking to this lady standing in line beside me at a coffee shop and remarked about her wrist tattoo. Because of the funky lettering I thought it said "bonne" but it actually said "home" and she explained that her daughter had been gone a long time and when she returned they got matching tattoos. If I had a similar tattoo it would say home with a gigantic line through the center. |
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| Saturday, May 19th, 2007 @ 10:33am |
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It's so weird being back in Boston. It's so odd being back in a city. I was so rejuvenated with I arrived. Everything seemed amazing. Then I found out that I was an oblivious fool.
Of course they're back together.
Of course it hurts and brings up all my hurt feelings from the last semester that had me dying to get out of here.
In two days though, I'll never have to see anybody I don't want to again. That's so reassuring. I really hate the fact that your friends are the only people that can hurt you the most.
It's raining and cold and I was sad. A lugubrious mass.
But tomorrow's my birthday & I'm receiving an award & my family is here (for better or worse). Time to go back to Cali. |
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| The Leaving Song |
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| Tuesday, January 23rd, 2007 @ 5:57pm |
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Here I go again. Tacit goodbyes. Unresolved relationships.
I make people sad. I can't look into their faces anymore when I leave. After May I want to stay home for a full year. I want more than 4 months in one location. He blew me a kiss from his car. I hope he's better when I get back.
The gypsy heads to the jungle... |
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| Hawaii |
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| Monday, January 15th, 2007 @ 2:52pm |
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mood:  bouncy music: Teaches of Peaches
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What a weird trip to Hawaii. Rain instead of sun. Hippies and tofu instead of surf and fish.
The couple Kellyn & I were staying with may or may not have broken up the last night we were there. After nearly two years and three months jobless and camping in Hawaii I can't imagine what they will do without each other in such an isolated place.
I wish we had done more, but the rain, lack of funds, and stoner apathy kind of hindered that. I dunno if it was worth it, but what's done is done.
Here is a pretty picture of a random 10 ft diameter gear left in the middle of no where from lord knows what device. The jungle seems to swallow up dilapidated cars and gears and abandoned shacks all over the island.
I've got a little more than a week left & so much to do to prepare...and so many things and people left to do and see. I'm having a little anxiety, especially b/c this could be a really awful 4 months if the people are wrong in such an isolated place. I'll probably bring a small suitcase solely devoted to books.
"Read in order to live" ~Gustave Flaubert
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| Sharp Briar |
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| Wednesday, January 3rd, 2007 @ 7:31am |
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Why is it impossible to ever want the person who wants you? Is there always a required compromise? This year...o this year...I've had stalkers and student body presidents a plenty, I've got who(was)thats and what(did)wedo galore...notches on the bed post...I've got twenty. But who cares? No big deal. I want more.
That was a joke for the girls who think I'm a "heartless bitch" due to my disdain for disney. eat that ariel.
Really though, I cannot understand why we all chase each other instead of turning around to see who is on our tail (or after it?). The wrong former co-worker keeps calling as I continue to yearn for the other. I've got new years boy prancing around with forget-me-nots...as I text mr. faraway in futility. Maybe we all want superhero relationships, those that defy all the odds, the kind with super powers, the kind that make people awe because they are so far-fetchingly difficult to fathom. The harder one fights for the out of reach does not guarantee a greater victory, but usually just a more painful fall.
We can't believe that we are capable of persuading adoration. We can't believe that everyone stifles their true feelings. The normal, rational people that one OUGHT to desire are ones that won't be afraid of the proper feelings befitting the worthy, honest other individual.
But these are just words...so slippery when you try to abide by them.
I found mini treasures cleaning out my garage today. A 1910 edition of Shakespeare's "A Comedy of Errors" inscribed to my father. Schoolwork from my private school days that resembles genuine brainwashing attempts. An old survey where I changed "my favorite meal is" to my favorite mealS ARE" and then checked breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My diary from 7th grade.
And a naval telegram that my mother sent to my father accepting his marriage proposal that nearly moved my mom to tears. |
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| Thursday, December 28th, 2006 @ 1:44am |
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Epiphany!
She is completely dead on by calling you malignant. You are a foul malignant ass and there is no reason to mourn you. Wow. Totally over it. Time to pick up donuts for my stoned friends... |
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| home for the holidays |
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| Sunday, December 24th, 2006 @ 4:29pm |
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mood:  contemplative music: Joni Mitchell - River
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My brother is stomping around in his kimono, fixing my computer at various intervals.
My mother is disassembling our sectional couch in one of her neurotic cleaning binges (she's going on day 3).
Our fake christmas tree is bare but for one christmas ornament, and we forgot to buy an angel for the top AGAIN.
And we play the charade of christmas.
Last minute christmas shopping.
Stuffing our faces with christmas cookies.
Drinking spiked eggnog.
Getting blazed with mom and dancing at a club to an 80s covers band.
Dramarama?
I've been watching the food network all week because this year I'm preparing the feast for my family and my aunt, uncle, and cousin. Like a silly Lifetime coming of age story. She graduates. She bakes. What a fucking stepford wife, preparing for the jungle?
I've got some keen friendships out here. It feels nice. They make me warm and fuzzy.
Still, I kinda fell into everything I left behind. I made out with Art. I knew it wasn't over. But he's freaked again, he isn't in a place in his 31 year life to care. It doesn't fit into his self-destructive lifestyle. Still, I miss his friendship, just like I miss Keith & Ryan's friendships.
I bought a ticket to Hawaii to visit Erin with Kellyn in January. I don't really have the money, but really felt like I deserved it after graduating. The ticket is still cheaper than the loans I'm saving by graduating early. It seems like such a sacrifice right now, missing out on those 4.5 months with my friends, so I'm compensating for my loss with a mini tropical vacation. Still, I seem determined to deplete my meager savings before heading off to my barely paying job. Ugh. When will I ever have to stop worrying about finances? I wish I had a better major, even if it made me dull. |
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| Wednesday, December 20th, 2006 @ 1:28am |
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I blinked and I finished college.
I blinked and I ran out of excuses. |
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| Monday, December 18th, 2006 @ 2:52am |
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mood:  rushed music: Wilco ~ Jesus Etc.
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My last day at Tufts is tomorrow. I'm really sad. I don't even have time to do anything properly. It's weird thinking that so many of these people I may never see again.
Last night was a disaster. I lost my camera, O, and a chunk of my dignity, AGAIN. My id just does not say no when i'm that intoxicated. Time to cut alcohol out of my life completely for awhile. I'm glad I'll have to be a responsible staff member for four months. I never want to feel like this again. |
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| Friday, December 15th, 2006 @ 3:44am |
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Today sitting on the red line, absentmindedly rocking out to the Rolling Stones from my technological savior (aka ipod) I was relaxed, feeling ready to leave this life behind.
An older man got on the T. His face was gaunt with petite valleys beneath his cheekbones. His mouth was closed, but not tight. His eyes were open but not expectant like he was looking at an ant farm for the hundredth time. He had that hardened expression that you see in Dorthea Lange photographs. He sat across from me. He looked like any old Boston grandpop using public transportation to cross the Charles. In his hands he held a cardboard sign: Please help, homeless, clean, sober and living with AIDS.
And there he was. The grim reaper. The ultimate vat of sadness sitting erectly across from me. He did not look anyone in the eye, but not out of shame. You could tell that he avoided eye contact for you, for your comfort. Because who really likes to look death in the eye? I wanted to grab his wrinkled hands in my own and mother him. I wanted to tell him lies. I wanted to breathe my healthy, young carbon dioxide into his lungs and pretend it was the long lost shaman panacea that researchers haven't discovered yet..
He never said a word. He did not plead. He was a staunch mannequin, a modern day warrior, a poster child for our times. His irreconcilable silence stood out like the fat girl in the beauty pageant. I took out a dollar bill from my wallet and put it into my jacket pocket. I wanted to give it to him. I wanted to give him everything. I did not want to talk to him. I did not want him acknowledge me. More than anything, I did not want him to say thank you. I would have preferred he say fuck you. I just couldn't have him say thank you for something that should have been so naturally human. I did not want people to stare at me as I crossed the chasm to place money in the styrofoam cup. Every set of eyes darted to his sign, every set of hands remained in their pockets.
I planned to hand him the bill and run out of the car before he could get a word out. I wanted to be Santa Claus disappearing up the chimney. Then he got up suddenly and walked towards the door like a solemn Abraham Lincoln earlier than was necessary considering the distance of the next stop. I just sat there, fingering my greed between my fingers. Pissed off. Not calling out. Just like everyone else, well intentioned but ineffective. Wondering why nobody else helped before realizing I hadn't either.
"The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world." Albert Camus.
Can Huxley manufacture for me some of his fabled pills? I seem to have used up all of my own |
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| FINAL COUNTDOWNNNNN |
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| Wednesday, December 13th, 2006 @ 8:35pm |
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mood:  tired music: Under the Influence of Giants
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2 more essays 2 take home exams
I already changed my flight back home. That is how much I don't want to leave. That's also how much I have to do before I leave.
My uncle is back in Boston AGAIN. At least it means one more really nice North End dinner.
People are trying to glamorize my job in Belize. I don't think they'll realize that I'm going to be dry brushing and washing 1,000s of pottery sherds daily. I'm just excited that I'll have a flushing toilet! Ok I have 16 hours to come up with an excellent essay on The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith |
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| Saturday, December 9th, 2006 @ 4:43am |
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I guess what I've come to learn is that caresses aren't carved in chalk. Try as you might they can't easily be swished away. |
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| Thursday, December 7th, 2006 @ 12:17pm |
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I have not been true to myself lately. I think I've been pretending more than ever before. So I'm going to incarcerate myself into the foreign wild of a jungle. Sometimes civilization overwhelms me, so I'm seeking an all-natural solution. A geographical and emotional tourniquet for the soul. Sixteen people, isolated, working everyday together; it's kinda like Survivor where nobody gets kicked off.
I'm still trying to grapple with how to deal with this finite end to the only life I've known these three and half years. Do I call all of my friends hurriedly before I leave? Do I try to heal all open wounds? I really just feel like skulking away...but wonder if that would be something I will regret. |
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| Thursday, December 7th, 2006 @ 12:27am |
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FUCK |
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| Wednesday, November 29th, 2006 @ 11:09pm |
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mood: stressed music: RHCP ~ Torture Me
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Insomnia, stress and anxiety have my head reeling. My frontal lobe is throbbing. I need sleep. Before I graduate I have: 3 more novels to read, 2 projects, 2 essays, 1 editorial, 1 in class, and 2 take-home finals. I only have three weeks left and I just want to drink, smoke, cook, and spend every second with my friends.
I was about to give up archaeology before I got this job. My mother calls me a gypsy. It wasn't until recently that I've begun to question whether I'm really living my life or running away from it. It has been a curious semester. I wonder what I'll have to show for it at the end.
I <3 Mike's frog
"Every artist is an unhappy lover. And unhappy lovers want to tell their story." ~Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince |
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| Schooner or Later |
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| Sunday, November 26th, 2006 @ 6:29am |
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Call from old friend. Unexpected desire to see me.
They sipped a bloody mary out of a soup bowl on a crystal stick.
I stuck to a Boston beer.
Long Beach slowed down for a second.
We watched hundreds of sailboat masts teeter. They reminded me of the billions of people in the world and how few I'll know and how few I'll impact. I just want to sway and lightly boink a few. It was quiet except for the dog in the sweater. It was 70 degrees. The sun was setting idyllic, of course. Not a shouting summer splatter, but more of a dignified winter sunset. But it was that moment of repose with a few familiar limbs that took my breath away. Like an anticipated sigh or the moment you realize that your hiccups have gone away.
I planned my trip to Long Beach back in September for a purpose no longer pertinent. Yet one came running after me, another rebuffed me, a third was strictly avoided. In a way I was conversing with animated tombstones. I believe it is really important to realize that you cannot save anybody. You would be lucky if you can even alter anybody in the slightest. We're all so full of our own self-importance that we're like bumper cars of caring and advice. Sometimes you have to take all your caring and seal it in a glass jar. I will never stop caring about the people most important to me, but I must also learn when to contain that and hide it somewhere deeper sometimes.
Is this what I will have to do in Boston in three weeks? That is going to be one huge jar. |
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| Monday, November 20th, 2006 @ 7:30pm |
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mood: stressed music: a natty k mix
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I'm so excited to go home!!
CA sunshine!
Cory Knapp and Chucksworth Von Weaponsmith!
Kimmy & Izumi!
Anne & Natty K!
Julie & Kellyn!
Cha for Tea!
Mexican!
In & Out!
I need to write a 10 page paper and pack up half of my room. I can't believe this is really it.
I feel slightly more secure that I have my job. Still, there's so much and so many that I don't want to leave behind here :( |
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