REPORT A PROBLEM
This will be my last month of laziness, of reveling in this fictional life I have created for myself. After December, everything will change. Big city, bright lights, underground trains, and love all around. Dirty socks and credit reports, term papers and shots of cheap vodka to help it all pass. My free ride has almost expired; I must break free of this false life and start living it for real and loving it, warts and all. I have my boy and my baby kitty and a crazy mom with recipes for pot brownies. Does anyone really need anything more?
Today I wait. Again.
For college? For Boston? For my life to start?
No. I wait for you, my love.
I care not of bright lights and bustling cities and Christmas in the air. I don't need classes or even a future of the traditional sort. I don't wish for big parties and new friends and adventure at every turn.
I simply wish for you. You and me. One blanket, countless stars. Countless days. An end to the separation that torments me so.
I wish for you and me. I wish for an intertwined future and poetry and chocolate martinis.
When we were high, there was magic all around us: in the flowers, in the trees, in the heaps of chips and bean dip we gorged ourselves with. We weren't afraid to take chances, to tell people things, to point things out about life and how others' expectations seemed to prevent it from ever really happening. To laugh, to cry, to dizzily stare up at the sparkling night sky, swearing that you'll never take it for granted again. Mommy would be so proud of our epiphany, Davie! We must go home and show her. We are the fallen flower children.
Can she do it? Can she really do this on her own? She can't share bathrooms, she can't manage time, she can't handle herself if she gets lost. She has a tendency to sit down where she is and cry lamely until a kindly person will direct her to where she needs to go. She can't do it on her own. She needs to grow a hide in order to venture out of her hole without incident. But she doesn't know how. And no one can help her if she falls back into the hole. There aren't ropes long enough.
Scott and I gradually fell into a love that neither of saw coming. We actually started talking, interacting in a nonphysical way. As I got to know him, I found myself becoming intrigued by everything about him. It was so interesting to get to know somebody from scratch. I'd never done that before. It was like he was gradually opening the curtain, cautiously letting me in more every day and I was doing the same. It was interesting that drawing this curtain was so much more difficult for us than unzipping our flies. There was so much more to lose.
So many buses taken to see you
Hundreds of dollars spent
It's not that you don't love me
It's just the T rides
the waiting waiting waiting
for a trip that doesn't last
a momentary slice of heaven
ruined by time
and sometimes by your indifference.
Blend seamlessly because
They don't matter
And you know it
Time without you
Creeps like lava
Slowly swallowing up
Every inch of my happiness
It will concede
Only when you are with me completely
from the elements
Today you scared me really badly, love.
For awhile I didn't know who I was talking to.
I don't understand where you get such ideas and boredom isn't an excuse. You have no idea but your words invalidated me, even if just for a few minutes.
I felt naked, used, humiliated.
I was so sure everything was okay.
And you say it is now and you say you didn't mean it.
But I'm so afraid you do
In a little dark place inside of you
There is a little speck that believes it
That the butterflies are gone
I have a boy. He is no ordinary boy. He makes me dance with a snap of his fingers, twirl around and around till he tells me to stop. He makes me cry with the hint of his own tears, as though I am trying to rid of them for him. He has silly eyes when he looks at me, too. He sees smooth where I see bumpy, beauty in what I deem imperfection. He's cracked me open, rearranged my insides. He's placed my heart in a carousel microwave, defrosted it, warmed it slowly and evenly, never making it dizzy.
I'm living stitch by stitch.
Scott's coming home tomorrow. I'm so incredibly excited. And relieved to have a respite from wallowing in anxious annoyance as I do when we're not together.
I'm newly addicted to television crime dramas. I wish I were good at putting the pieces together and solving things. Even something as small as my own problems. Instead I just obsess about them, thoughts swirling until I'm too exhausted to think anymore. Then I distract myself, lest I have a mini-meltdown. I need a better method.
Well, CSI is on. Maybe that will help.
My life has meaning now. Love masks the harsh world around me. All the death and sorrow and blight and broken promises and shit around me doesn't seem to penetrate this aura of love I have discovered. Love is there for me to turn to. An instant mask of all that sucks in this world. But it's more than that, to me. I believe in love. Moreso than God, politics, and social status. BELIEVE IN LOVE. BELIEVE IN LOVE. BELIEVE IN LOVE. BELIEVE IN LOVE. BELIEVE IN LOVE. BELIEVE IN LOVE. BELIEVE IN LOVE. Fuck everything else….. and die happy.
Having love in my life reminds me of Christmas when I was little. It makes me stay up all night waiting, excited about what awaits me in the morning. As I run towards him after a few days' absence, my heart leaps as it did as I rattled down the stairs to the tree, bursting with happy nervousness. It has the same air of magic encircling it, its mesmerizing glow illuminating the haven from the exhaustion of everyday life it provides.
Now I get socks and a calendar for Christmas, but this amazing love every day.
I'm okay with trade.
This frustration is rude, invading the space reserved in my mind for happy thoughts. Why are the people around me so concerned with the stupid details that so obviously prevent enjoyment of life? I know I've spent too much money in the past few months, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I will remedy this behavior and improve in the future. Why must we obsess about past mistakes, especially ones this mundane? Cancerous tumors, dead cats, lost love, these are things worth screaming and tears. Money matters need not apply for access to my chamber of stress.
You have made me feel worthless, like a heavy burden. I have suspected these things were true and their confirmation is no surprise to me. I'm sorry for disappointing you. I just don't know what I am supposed to do with this newfound knowledge of your feelings. What can I do to ease your angry mind, mother? It is tied in knots calculating bills and statements and allotted spending and it is much too tangled to merely untie. A swift clip with these scissors might do the trick: the quick and clean motion of removing myself from your life completely.
Did you know, we'd become lovers? A sweet kiss, cold sweaty touch, I don't know you I love you...already. I didn't know, we'd become lovers. Hey, I'm 18, I'm in love, I truly believe I will never find someone as special as the someone I am with now. It did happen fast, I was lonely, I was horny, I was in need of a lover. But when she happened to me, I was overwhelmed. Yes, I had fallen into a fairy tale, two young lovers, each others first real loves, and I know this one has a happy ending.
I hate this feeling. I've come to know it well. Lethargy is what Erin would call it. Anhedonia. Days like this are worse than down days. Days like this I just don't feel
. I have to give myself a lengthy mental pep talk to work up enough motivation to even go to the bathroom. I can only hope that tomorrow will be something, anything other than this. Preferably really happy and motivated and cheerful and sociable and excited and gung ho and practical and radiant and glowing and assertive and friendly and articulate.
Molly and the Amazing Technicolor Personality.
MOLLY O'FELTH RECENTLY HAD AN ABORTION. HER UNBORN SON, LAWRENCE P. WILKENSON, WAS MADE BE KILLED BY THE OUT OF WED-LOCK FATHER, SCOTT M'GILLETTE. MANY DISPUTES TO FOLLOW. ENTHRALLING TALES OF THE TWOS' NOW LOVELESS RELATIONSHIP ENSUED. THAT IS TO SAY SCOTT M'GILLETTE IS NOW SHUNNED BY HIS FORMER SHORTIE LESLIE A.K.A. MOLLY O'FELTH. HE CRIES HIS SAD SELF TO A SLEEPLESS SLUMBER 6 OUT OF 7 DAYS OF WEEK. THE SEVENTH DAY HE DOESN'T SLEEP A WINK. CAN ALL BE ATTRIBUTED TO LIFE HE KILLED, LIFE HE NEVER KNEW. BERTRAM HIT WALL WHEN HE HEARD, HIS MOM DISOWNED HIM.
Today starts the future:
My future with you.
We can love one another,
See one another,
Touch one another,
For the rest of our lives.
But things going smoothly
Is inconsistent with the nature of life.
A life without pain,
Lessons we'd prefer not to learn…
Is no life at all.
That's why, sweetie, I don't want to fucking live…
Not in that sense.
Give me a lethal spoonful of you--
Take a handful of my capsules and lean back.
We don't have to fucking live this life.
Just to exist, my darling,
Lost forever in our love.
Is it possible to express
the profound beauty,
present in your eyes
as we make love?
Can I rightfully do
the feel of your light breath on my cheek
justice with my words?
Your soft caress
tells me so much, my love,
that could not possibly be uttered
by human lips.
I feel it in waves:
the essence of the man you are.
The way you let me
experience you so completely
in this vulnerable state
I am naked,
as I was at birth,
and, my darling,
you give me life.
I feel like now that there's no time deadline, everything is just boring. Now that the thrill of first kisses and getting to know each other is gone, it's like it's just a habit now, rather than love. I still feel it when we have sex, but I feel like that's just some manufactured passion that ends as soon as he comes. I still love him but I don't feel it like I used to. I don't feel it from him either. We're just some friends who hang out because there's nothing better to do. JUST FUCKING LOVE ME AGAIN
He's getting bored with me, he doesn't think I'm funny. The honeymoon's over and I can't stand it. I love him, I do, but we shouldn't rob ourselves of the excitement of first kisses and getting to know new people. I don't want to do that, but I feel like he's getting restless. We're completely different people with completely different outlooks and dreams. We had it right for awhile but now it's not right and I don't want to have to try so hard for this. I don't want to break up but I don't want to feel this way.
Everything's okay now. I don't know what came over me. I love that boy and I have to be content with that and not always worry about the future. It's so hard to do that, so much harder than it sounds as I'm sure you know. It's so hard to actually live, mentally, in the present. 99% of the time my mind is either reflecting back on past embarrassments or worrying about something in the future. I'm never able to "live in the moment", as they say. And I don't think it's really something you can train yourself to do.
The self-analysis is just sort of a habit now after these few months during which I was forced to talk about myself, forced to feign insight into my disease and fake the appropriate progress. I've seen the cold, tiled floors of the ward for too long. I am not better in terms of my depression being less; I have merely gained experience and appreciation of freedom. I was antsy there. I was held in captivity, force-fed so many coping mechanisms and vomit-inducing positive affirmations that I was able to put my illness on the backburner at least for a time.
Christmastime used to be so magical.
I'm strangely okay with not feeling the same.
I don't feel like I'm missing anything… more like seeing it for what it really is. There's no need to point out the evidence that Christmas is no longer about the birth of Christ, but about Americans celebrating our wealth. It's fun though. I'm looking forward to giving my gifts, getting some too.
The ceramic nativity scene on our mantel has been replaced with dusty piles of philosophy books. There is enough magic in everyday life to celebrate rather than farfetched stories of miracles and mangers.
It's Christmas Eve and it's different. Grandma's house was quiet, devoid of the constant chatter of my cousin Owen. He's 25 and quick to loudly assert his opinions on everything from politics to pornos.
He decided not to come this year.
He's trying to cut ties with this side of the family.
It's my grandparents' fault: whenever he's here they criticize and scrutinize everything about his life. He dropped out of college, moved from his home in New Jersey to New York City to take acting classes. My grandparents meddle and make him feel like a nothing and a failure.
Owen ended up in the hospital right after Thanksgiving. The stress from my grandparents contributed to him to have an anxiety attack.
It's Christmas today and it didn't feel real without him here. I missed his presence at the "kid's" table, even his relentless teasing. I guess he didn't feel like putting on the act this year- the act that he's okay and the same animated person. The fact is that he's not. He's floundering in his life right now and my grandparents point that out at every opportunity.
I can't say I blame him for not making the trip.
New Years will be fun as it has a new meaning for me this time. The New Year really does start a new life for me: I move to Boston on January 2nd. I start going to class and being completely on my own. I am infinitely thankful for being near Scott in the city because I know he'll help me in every way he can. He's really such a blessing for me. I've never had someone love me so completely and unconditionally. Not even my parents. He is my angel, my knight- and most of all, my life's love.
So many dead. So many children, parents, lovers, friends, grandparents, siblings. I don't deserve to live in America. I don't deserve it. I don't agree with the current administration but that does not detract from my love of our freedom of things like speech and religion but also, as it happens, freedom from so many disasters, natural and otherwise. It doesn't make sense; it doesn't seem real. Why is the world like this? WHY!!!! I'm afraid of everything I'm afraid of death I'm afraid of taking chances loving and losing love and war and bombs and it hurts so bad
The pain of the world overtakes so much good, so much beauty. Look out at the world so much pain so much hurt so much trauma and fear and disaster and chance. At any moment it could all change I could be gone you could be gone. We spend hundreds of billions of dollars on war and violence and just 31 million on saving the innocent. When will the next tragedy strike? What places do I avoid, where do I go, how can I live my life with so much fear in my heart? I cannot find the words here
I am beyond lucky; I am a miracle. I sit here typing "lol"s, complaints about shirt prices when you are all there starving, dying of thirst, searching frantically for your families and finding nothing but the horrid sight of others doing the same. This is for you, sir; I saw you on TV. You lost your 4 daughters, wife, and all your grandchildren. You lost your home, what little possessions you have. There is nothing left for you here. Fearing your physical death cannot compare to the pain of this death. The death of everything that made life worth living.
Patches that once shone a brilliant black
Are now speckled with a dusty grey.
I can see the years in your eyes.
The youth that once
Made you dance, as if on springs
Has now been replaced
By tired happiness.
You give me a contented kiss
Give me that look to let me know
You're all right.
You're still the baby girl I once knew
Curious, with a love of life
Oblivious to danger.
But now you step
With a subtle wisdom.
I think you feel your age.
Everything about you
And Mommy loves you anyway.
The last day of the year is strange. Maybe it's because soon you'll actually have evidence of time's tendency to quietly pass by, never pulling over to catch its breath. Tomorrow will be different, if only in the numbers you print at the top of your check. You'll look at the date: 1/1/05, check it twice. It takes everyone awhile to get used to the change. But soon everyone's settled into the new year, leaving you behind as you play that neverending game of tag with time, trying to catch the seconds as they rush ahead, skillfully evading your touch.
The Tip Jar