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April first. My mom's favorite holiday of the year. She's been planning since January. Christmas is too hard—too many memories. April Fool's Day is hers. Wonder how the copy machine incident she had planned went off. I'm sure she'll call to tell me about it. Strange how we claim things as our own. No one else wants that holiday for their own. She always had to share on the other holidays. Share me and my brother with a dad we didn't even want to go see. Share herself with people who needed someone. Sometimes it's good not to share.
God, why? His space isn't safe for me anymore. It's chipping away at defenses that are there for good reason. I love him. Want to protect him. But I also need to protect me. The space is sexually oppressive, especially when he's not there. How many lives does he live there? How many email addresses, chat rooms, websites? He wants a new computer, but that'll just get him better videos. He's hurt and scared. But I'm scared for him. Lost. Both of us are lost. I need to get unlost. I know that. If for nothing else than for him.
I'm sick. I told the friend who gave it to me that sharing germs doesn't get her brownie points in the generosity category. Worked on my map project anyway and felt ok this afternoon. Was supposed to get ice cream this afternoon, but never got a call. Figures. I'm tired. Not just my body—my spirit or being or whatever. Tired of not knowing what to do about having someone in my life who knows right and chooses wrong, whose patterns of wrong are so ingrained that they don't feel like a choice anymore. Maybe he can't recognize the choice.
I think I want to be sick today. I sort of feel like going somewhere to church, but I don't feel like going to my fellowship group thingy. I can't go and not pray, but I can't pray anymore. Staying on the couch is a better option. No one expects me to be ok when I'm sick on the couch. They expect me to be ok at fellowship group and don't understand that when I say I'm messed up right now how serious of a thing that is. Or at least how serious it has been. I'm mostly numb today.
Names of my students:
I like my students. It's one thing that makes me a good teacher. If you don't like your students, how are they supposed to like you or respect anything you tell them? Their writing is sometimes really bad. More often, it's just plain boring. I like them anyway. I try to be excited because even if it doesn't get them excited, it gets them amused. I'll take amused at 8:30 in the morning.
He asked me what I needed from him. I said it was too hard. He doesn't know that what I need is for him not just to recognize the struggle, hurt, and sin but have his core beliefs matter enough to take some drastic action. Not just try or try harder. Make commitments. Live accordingly. Not without failure, but not without hope either. Not just for him. For me too. That's what's too hard. His core is stronger, more certain than most. My lived-out actions are better than most. Maybe that's why wer'e stuck with each other. Oh God. Help.
I am so dead. As a close friend wance told me (ok, it was yesterday) that on a good day I'm dry and empty. Drove around aimlessly for about forty miles last night. Wondered how far I could get and still get back for work today. Didn't feel like putting in the effort to get my mind into schoolwork. Or the gym. Did that today. Did squats even. I'll pay for that tomorrow. Maybe the pain will remind me that at least part of me is alive. Maybe that's what pain is for. If so, I should be really alive.
Start small. Baby steps (I really wish that What About Bob movie hadn't ruined my earlier spiritual philosophy). Need a church, a counselor, and a dance instructor, according to recent advice. It's easter on Sunday and I'd rather spend it alone, I think. That's how bad it is. Anything else is harder. I went out with people tonight and laughed. Course it was about crass and tasteless things, but not as bad as that group sometimes is. I surprise them sometimes. How am I supposed to get one hundred words when I can barely keep two thoughts in my head.
I hate Wal-Mart. The one hour photo used to close at 9. So I got there at 8. Now they close at 8. No, I do not want to come back for it tomorrow. It was like Christmas Eve in there. I swear. Didn't realize Easter was such a shopping holiday. Frat boys buying big pinwheels and lawn décor for God knows what. I needed to do some shopping but not in the midst of that chaos. I thought I was going to scream, "Get me the fuck out of here." One Hour would have to be in the back.
I always liked the number ten. So complete. Perfect Ten. My theology always said seven was the perfect number, but seven is too harsh. Intrusive. So full of itself to be unable to be divided by anything but itself and one. They say tomorrow is the day that perfect man got out of that grave. Not really. Even they know the calendar is off. We don't know the real day. What else don't we know? What else are we fooling ourselves into thinking because the people around us do? If a bunch of us believe, it will be right. Bullshit.
Hmm. Easter. First easter in my life I'm not going to church. Oh, I guess I went. Drove through a couple of parking lots so I'm not technically lying if people ask where I went. How sad is that. I don't think I care though. Maybe this will be "easter I stayed in my PJs." Suppose that's better than "easter I got drunk." Planned to do therapeutic writing today. Maybe at a cemetery. Then I got there and realized how little I had to say. All that angst and less than two pages. I think I need an older cemetery.
I feel like I should write well-written poetic stuff instead of soul barf. Soul barf is what I have right now, though. Soul barf. I like that. I'm waiting for a wireless connection. It's the only reason I came here and it's not working. At least I found someone in a worse mood than I am. I was pretty bad off last night. He begged until I came over. And I wasn't even going to return his call. What's wrong with me? He tries to help and feels helpless that he really can't. I don't know how to let him.
nine eight—two seven—six. zero. nothing.
My despondent wish Set on the coffee table To get lost in the work I find myself incapable of
Wasted evening Wanting something Wanting someone Wanting love, I suppose
I don't know which is worse—numbness or life. Life means pain. At least numbness allowed me to function. I forgot how to read. Discipline—an illusion of the past. I suppose I keep it up ok. My place is clean. I'm still unfucked. I laugh at appropriate times. My faith doesn't matter much now. A weekend is just two Saturdays.
I always wanted to die young. They make a bigger deal out of it then. Pack the local high school gym with people on squeaky bleachers, people in clothes they'd never wear to the gym otherwise. Maybe someone would remember me later, in that gym on the squeaky bleacher where they had sat at an event very unlike the basketball game they now watch. Snacks and stats in hand instead of tissues, a folder with the usual reassuring verse, or another's hand. I always pictured the gym with my teachers, more than my family. But I wanted to see it.
Me and my heavy soda-drinking ways went out tonight. Figured if I wasn't going to do homework at least I could be out not doing homework. Didn't need caffeine and certainly didn't need alcohol so didn't do either. At least I was out. I talk more in "out" situations than I once did. Maybe I need to be recognized and acknowledged. That's my psychology of it. People notice when you tell loud, funny stories, so to combat feeling isolated and uncared for, I tell loud, funny stories. At least they're true ones. I'm losing discernment. Am I really losing much?
Bought myself tulips today. I think tulips and lilacs would be my ideal bouquet. I don't know if they bloom at the same time here, though. Haven't seen any lilacs around. My tulips are pink and white. I'm not much for pink, but I thought I could use a little pink in my life. Some color anyway. Bought Blue Hawaiian wine coolers, too. Thought I could use a little of that color of blue in my life. Beautiful evening for a ride—long and fast with ice cream in the middle. Works for me. Everything's not better, but it helps.
I've come to dread the weekend. No phone calls, lots of solitude, wondering about church. I don't wonder so much—I just don't go. And when I go it's just to say that I went so Christian people don't intrude me. That's what I'll probably do tomorrow—go for ten minutes and disappear so I can say I was there. Decided I'm in mourning my faith. The symptoms are a lot like any other mourning symptoms are. Part of me wants to start over somewhere new so I don't have to start off being known as a person of faith.
sending email is sometimes a dangerous matter but its not as risky as talking is for me sometimes so i send it off with its hard messages with its assaults on surface friendship in search of or in testing true friendship and finding out where i really stand by calling for a choice between my well being and someones other desires i don't know what i think will happen as long as its not nothing not no response delayed response will be hard enough then i have to do my scary part since i still have most of my integrity
I need him to stand up and do what he tells me to do. I need an "actions speak louder than words" commitment from him. I need him to be the grown-up Christian and not just tell me to do what I know is right but to do right himself, to show me that it can be done. That's apparently making it really tough on him. I'm making it tough on him. Maybe it will make him confront it as the addiction it likely is. For once, no "sorry" from me. Not sorry for confronting it anyway. Sorry it hurts.
I've decided that I can't function after about 8:30 anymore. Of course, it was long after that before I actually went to bed. Phone calls, a couple of drinks, miscellaneous unnecessary activities. I still woke up before the alarm, thanks to the local firehouse up the street. Other than that, I feel kind of blown off by my friends, one (and maybe another) in particular. Like I just had to blow off some steam and now things will be ok. Instead of actually addressing my concerns, my attempts at real communication were met with something less than I had wanted.
Getting over the twenty day hump in this project feels good—more than two-thirds of the way, I guess. What I want to do today is pack all my things into boxes, compartmentalize my life in its physical manifestation since I can't seem to do it otherwise. Maybe I'd name the boxes and alphabetize them. Or put them in order by size. Or see how many I could stack in my dining room without any spaces between them. It's probably a good thing I don't have a bunch of boxes laying around. Because that's what I'd do with them all.
Most of me hates this feeling of giving someone back what they gave me, especially when they don't know I'm doing it—it's not as effective that way. I think it's what I need to do anyway. So I'm blowing off a message because I feel blown off. It's the first message I've gotten all week, though. Didn't go out tonight. Don't know that I'll even return the call tomorrow. I'll see how the day goes. I'm now so far from the spiritual person I was, or thought I was. What a horrible time to be looking for a relationship.
Life of the party tonight. Laughing and making everyone else laugh. Hadn't even had much to drink. Started moving things around in my apartment and cleaning closets, because that's more fun than doing the school work I'm supposed to be doing at this point in the semester. After his second message, I finally left him one of my own. Terse and brief. Unreturned. Not unexpectedly. Wish I could stay in my pjs all day tomorrow. Probably can't, though. Should go look for boxes. Actually, should work on papers. That's what I should do. I'll probably eat to much in procrastination.
You dismissed my concern with a shrug and invalidated what I felt with a single sentence. I didn't like how that felt, so I decided not to come back for more. I mean, if that's how you're going to deal with things that I make clear are very important to me and things I've worked hard to communicate as gracefully as possible, why bother with the other stuff. I've got other people who will listen about school. Maybe a few who will listen about me. Apparently none who will deal with the really hard things when I need them to.
I'm so tired of writing. Happens every year. My entire world becomes mediated through the screen of my computer. Eight-eight or so square inches with latitude and longitude measured by the rulers of the page. My world is most certainly flat. Funny thing is that you can't really fall off the edge. Or maybe I already did. Nope, there I go, back to the left to start the left to right journey again. And again. I suppose that's what it's like to sail across the ocean when you don't know how far you'll have to go. Same shit. Different day.
So yesterday I found some stuff, partly by spiritual divining, that I didn't want to find. Or knew that I would find but didn't want to. Hoped I wouldn't. But knew I probably would. Hadn't talked to him for almost a week—it just confirmed it. Life is so hard. I never thought I'd be dealing with this shit. Have an "appointment" tonight—he hadn't gotten my messages yet. I feel terrible. Well, sort of. I did something bad to find out what I needed to know. He needs to know I was hurt. That his commitments come with responsibilities.
Wow. Being his friend is one of the hardest jobs I've had to do. But I learn so much. So much about what it means to communicate. What it means to love. Really love. I know there are bad things that have happened to me and in me because of this relationship, but there's been a lot of growing, too. More than I know, maybe. That doesn't always make it easy and Some Days I wish I could tell him how hard of a job it is for me. I'm sure he feels the same. I drive him nuts sometimes.
Ugghh. One more week and I'm done. My days are measured in pages rather than hours. Soon sleep won't be measured in hours, either. I'm giving all my students awards on Friday. Non-Procrastination, Comic Relief, Honesty, Happiness, Top Three Grades, Most Improved, Most Reasons to be Proud of Final Paper, etc. I've always wanted to do that. I think it will be fun with this class. It didn't take long to do the certificates. I hope they don't think it's too cheesy. Probably won't be the craziest thing I've done in class this semester. That would be the Veggie Tales.
I have no idea what to write today. My brain is fried and I'm stuck at school all day. Too much to do and not enough motivation. At least it's fairly nice outside today. Not that I get to see any of it. My windowless office and airless building. I'm tired of being around bitchy people. We're all tired of each other, I think. The only thing we're good for is bitching to each other about how much work we have. Last Friday lunch bunch tomorrow. It's been a fun, rather unproductive but interesting, group. Calmer than the bar scene.
Puuhhleeeaase. It's a grade. Get over it. Let me sleep. Or at least bitch earlier. I know I'll be hearing about it days from now, too. All it's doing is teaching me about how patient he has to be with me about stupid stuff, but I'm not in the mood for it right now. Last night. Then half of lunch today. At least I'll get the weekend off because that's boyfriend time. At least until Sunday night when I get the boyfriend withdrawal call about the time I get in bed. Whine for a while, but get over it, already.
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