I am more uncomfortable in my skin than one (who knew me) might realize. Maybe not. Maybe, I am completely transparent.
I am on an odyssey. I am attempting to change myself, to better myself, and to grow. Grow into what? A better human being.
In short: I am trying to lose weight.
But it is more than that. Let me repeat: I want to change.
Right now I’m having difficulty. I am on the verge of a full-blown eating disorder (ED). I cannot stop thinking about food, weight, what I eat or how I’ve failed. I cannot stop eating. Not right now. I’ve tried to switch to overeating things that have less calories, and therefore, won’t be as bad for me. But I’m still eating. And eating. And Eating.
I’ve always been a compulsive eater. A social eater. A comfort eater. And let’s not forget an emotional eater.
It is getting worse, after a period of getting better. (Or so I thought.) I need help. And here’s the thing. I’ve been looking for help on the Internet. And so far, nothing.
Probably the best group would be OA (Overeaters Anonymous). But, as they base their 12 steps on Alcoholics Anonymous, they have a big relationship with God. I am having difficulty with that.
I will continue to search and keep you posted. Hopefully, I can find something for addicts. What I really want is a buddy. I know I’ve shunned this kind of help before, but I desperately need it now.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Thursday(s)
Gemini (May 21 - June 20)
You may be tougher on yourself than others realize, for they only see what you want them to see. You are like a stage magician, fascinating everyone with your hands waving about in the air. You can tell great stories, but people don't realize this is how you hide the sleight-of-mind you are performing out of their view. Don't just criticize yourself; take considered action to fix what's wrong.
Wow, B was right. I’m telling you. And it was worth the wait. I had to wait for like five minutes for this to load. Bizarre.
No shit.
No shit I criticize myself. And with good reason, too.
But good advise, that. “Don’t just criticize yourself; take considered action to fix what’s wrong.” By the way that a quote from Tarot.com. Just saying in case the plagiarism police come a knockin’ at my door.
Take considered action. Take action: no. Take considered action. Consider what you’re doing. Well… that’s news to me, an odd advise to a Gemini, at least this one. Because usually, we Geminis, get so lost debating and considering and calculating and planning logistics in our heads, that we rarely, if ever, take action. So when we do them, it’s usually spur of the moment, out of boredom.
It’s true.
Today is Thursday and it seems as if on Thursdays I am never ready to be here, at least in spirit. Which is ironic, because even if I’ve been late the rest of the week, it’s the one day I will arrive on time, early even. Or maybe it’s the opposite that is ironic. Because on Thursdays in particular, I am . . . flighty.. fly-away. . . elsewhere. Usually, I chalk it up to being out drinking heavily on Wednesday nights. But no so last night, and so, I am unsure if it is a pattern with any basis. But I digress.
What I digress from is unknown.. just general digression, I’m sure.
What is new with you, J? Ya know, I’m not sure. I had some job interviews with the Alliance for Companion Animals, and would like the pay increase. But at this point, I’m not sure that it is the best fit for me, either. I need something. I am still searching. I read a really neat little ditty about how AOL (read the devil-in-training—not quite evil enough for the full capitalized title) shut down the last maverick start up dot com. Humph. It was cool. Like cool used to be. Like cool is in my head. Like cool I am not. Like cool I want to be, and have always wanted to be. I still strive for it. I want freedom with responsibility. I want money, but not too much I have to feel guilty about. I want individuality, but with groovy conformist health insurance. I want to be important, but not so vital I can’t skip a day or go on vacation. I want to be smart, but funny. I want to waste time, but accomplish great things. I want to have fun and be easy-going, but have a sense of purpose and better the world.
I am special. I know it. I breathe it. And on this Thursday, I cannot forget it. Other times, I stifle it and can endure work. Not Thursdays. Usually, I am re-energized by my frivolity the night before. Maybe it is my lack of it that has today standing out-but I’m not sure of that as, I haven’t been productive all week.
Humph. Now what?
You may be tougher on yourself than others realize, for they only see what you want them to see. You are like a stage magician, fascinating everyone with your hands waving about in the air. You can tell great stories, but people don't realize this is how you hide the sleight-of-mind you are performing out of their view. Don't just criticize yourself; take considered action to fix what's wrong.
Wow, B was right. I’m telling you. And it was worth the wait. I had to wait for like five minutes for this to load. Bizarre.
No shit.
No shit I criticize myself. And with good reason, too.
But good advise, that. “Don’t just criticize yourself; take considered action to fix what’s wrong.” By the way that a quote from Tarot.com. Just saying in case the plagiarism police come a knockin’ at my door.
Take considered action. Take action: no. Take considered action. Consider what you’re doing. Well… that’s news to me, an odd advise to a Gemini, at least this one. Because usually, we Geminis, get so lost debating and considering and calculating and planning logistics in our heads, that we rarely, if ever, take action. So when we do them, it’s usually spur of the moment, out of boredom.
It’s true.
Today is Thursday and it seems as if on Thursdays I am never ready to be here, at least in spirit. Which is ironic, because even if I’ve been late the rest of the week, it’s the one day I will arrive on time, early even. Or maybe it’s the opposite that is ironic. Because on Thursdays in particular, I am . . . flighty.. fly-away. . . elsewhere. Usually, I chalk it up to being out drinking heavily on Wednesday nights. But no so last night, and so, I am unsure if it is a pattern with any basis. But I digress.
What I digress from is unknown.. just general digression, I’m sure.
What is new with you, J? Ya know, I’m not sure. I had some job interviews with the Alliance for Companion Animals, and would like the pay increase. But at this point, I’m not sure that it is the best fit for me, either. I need something. I am still searching. I read a really neat little ditty about how AOL (read the devil-in-training—not quite evil enough for the full capitalized title) shut down the last maverick start up dot com. Humph. It was cool. Like cool used to be. Like cool is in my head. Like cool I am not. Like cool I want to be, and have always wanted to be. I still strive for it. I want freedom with responsibility. I want money, but not too much I have to feel guilty about. I want individuality, but with groovy conformist health insurance. I want to be important, but not so vital I can’t skip a day or go on vacation. I want to be smart, but funny. I want to waste time, but accomplish great things. I want to have fun and be easy-going, but have a sense of purpose and better the world.
I am special. I know it. I breathe it. And on this Thursday, I cannot forget it. Other times, I stifle it and can endure work. Not Thursdays. Usually, I am re-energized by my frivolity the night before. Maybe it is my lack of it that has today standing out-but I’m not sure of that as, I haven’t been productive all week.
Humph. Now what?
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
FREAK! ing Proud
Ok. Proud.
Which is extremely uncomfortable for me. Because, I mean, like what? And a little exuberant. At least I was. That was last night. Or last evening. Whatever.
Yeah.
Here’s the scenario: freaks are out. I mean really. Out. And about. So I’m doing my swim/workout thing. I like it. Not the least reason for it because you can’t exactly hold a conversation. You just do your thing and can be left alone, and aren’t a freak for not talking to people that you don’t want to talk to in the first place.
Background: I don’t go to the gym to make friends. I don’t go to be social. I don’t even go, really, because I like it—although from time to time, I do. Which, as above, is probably why I like the swimming. I’m fat and very buoyant. It’s good. I float. I feel light. It’s good for my always-aching back. It makes me feel long and slender (go figure). And the best part—the very best part is sitting in the hot tub (which under normal circumstances is akin to sitting in a pitrie dish)[side: apparently that is not how you spell it—there is no word in the dictionary.com that even comes close-so sorry for you out there]. Sitting in the hot tub. Lovely. Absolutely lovely.
Oh, scenario.
Ok, so swimming… and usually about this time of day I am the only female and the men are busy being gross and I’m hoping they leave me alone…which, for the most part, they are in the steam room and sauna. And I’m lost in my head. And floating and la de da. And I notice icky guy staring at me. Humph. Ok, start swimming like I mean it and give him less to look at (which involves me swimming farther below the water surface and swimming in a kinda sitting up position when swimming on my back-read backwards, because I’m sitting and so no longer on my back).
And then squeaky shoes guy is walking around the pool. And around the pool. And again. Annoying, but whatever. Then he stops and says, “What’s your name?” and I surprised reply, “Why?”
He says his name is Eddie. And I give my name (later, I wonder why I do.. need to practice giving fake name.. think it’ll make me feel better). And he says blah blah blah, in a thick accent. I reply, “What?”
“Will you do me a favor and walk into the steam room for a minute? Just a second?”
“NO. No.” Shake head. “No.”
Actually, I’m not entirely sure what he said. As I mentioned before, his accent was quite thick. But he did say step or walk somewhere for a minute. Enough. And I said no. No.
Powerful word, no. And I am so proud. Because I didn’t think it and not say it. Or say it and then think horrible thoughts and run out in a tremor. I just said it and then thought, “Freak!” and kept going about my business. Until, of course, I realized it. And then I kinda gloated in my head. Stuff like, “As if!” and “Loser!”
I take this as a sign of being stronger. Of being more competent and able to take care of myself. Honestly. Frightening isn’t it? You’d be terrified if I told you how that scene (repeated often enough) normally plays out.
Him: do me a favor
Me: I don’t think so
Him: Aw, c’mon.
Me: what is it that you want me to do?
Him: go over here for just a moment. Won’t take long
Me: how long?
Him: just a second
Me: well . . .
Him: it’s ok . . c’mon
Me: well . . .
Him: it’s easy. C’mon.
Me: well, ok.
Him: (suggests something unseemly in darkened corner)
Me: (giggling uncomfortably) I don’t think so… (weasling to get out)
Him: c’mon (weasel)
Me: (freaking out, but appear, at least reasonably, calm) I don’t think so.. I’m going to leave now.
Him: are you sure?
Me: yes
Him: c’mon stay
Me: I’ll see you later
Him: (smiling smugly) yeah…
This time:
Him: do me a favor?
Me: No.
Him: no?
Me: No.
Him: Thank you.
Wow. Easy. Powerful. Good.
NO. :) I love it. Need to practice it a lot.
I got a little antsy and thought that I should leave, but true to form, “fuck it,” and kept swimming. And freak staring guy and freak squeaky shoe Eddie guy left and I was alone and able to relax and feel strong and a little proud. It put me in a really good mood for the rest of the evening.
Which is extremely uncomfortable for me. Because, I mean, like what? And a little exuberant. At least I was. That was last night. Or last evening. Whatever.
Yeah.
Here’s the scenario: freaks are out. I mean really. Out. And about. So I’m doing my swim/workout thing. I like it. Not the least reason for it because you can’t exactly hold a conversation. You just do your thing and can be left alone, and aren’t a freak for not talking to people that you don’t want to talk to in the first place.
Background: I don’t go to the gym to make friends. I don’t go to be social. I don’t even go, really, because I like it—although from time to time, I do. Which, as above, is probably why I like the swimming. I’m fat and very buoyant. It’s good. I float. I feel light. It’s good for my always-aching back. It makes me feel long and slender (go figure). And the best part—the very best part is sitting in the hot tub (which under normal circumstances is akin to sitting in a pitrie dish)[side: apparently that is not how you spell it—there is no word in the dictionary.com that even comes close-so sorry for you out there]. Sitting in the hot tub. Lovely. Absolutely lovely.
Oh, scenario.
Ok, so swimming… and usually about this time of day I am the only female and the men are busy being gross and I’m hoping they leave me alone…which, for the most part, they are in the steam room and sauna. And I’m lost in my head. And floating and la de da. And I notice icky guy staring at me. Humph. Ok, start swimming like I mean it and give him less to look at (which involves me swimming farther below the water surface and swimming in a kinda sitting up position when swimming on my back-read backwards, because I’m sitting and so no longer on my back).
And then squeaky shoes guy is walking around the pool. And around the pool. And again. Annoying, but whatever. Then he stops and says, “What’s your name?” and I surprised reply, “Why?”
He says his name is Eddie. And I give my name (later, I wonder why I do.. need to practice giving fake name.. think it’ll make me feel better). And he says blah blah blah, in a thick accent. I reply, “What?”
“Will you do me a favor and walk into the steam room for a minute? Just a second?”
“NO. No.” Shake head. “No.”
Actually, I’m not entirely sure what he said. As I mentioned before, his accent was quite thick. But he did say step or walk somewhere for a minute. Enough. And I said no. No.
Powerful word, no. And I am so proud. Because I didn’t think it and not say it. Or say it and then think horrible thoughts and run out in a tremor. I just said it and then thought, “Freak!” and kept going about my business. Until, of course, I realized it. And then I kinda gloated in my head. Stuff like, “As if!” and “Loser!”
I take this as a sign of being stronger. Of being more competent and able to take care of myself. Honestly. Frightening isn’t it? You’d be terrified if I told you how that scene (repeated often enough) normally plays out.
Him: do me a favor
Me: I don’t think so
Him: Aw, c’mon.
Me: what is it that you want me to do?
Him: go over here for just a moment. Won’t take long
Me: how long?
Him: just a second
Me: well . . .
Him: it’s ok . . c’mon
Me: well . . .
Him: it’s easy. C’mon.
Me: well, ok.
Him: (suggests something unseemly in darkened corner)
Me: (giggling uncomfortably) I don’t think so… (weasling to get out)
Him: c’mon (weasel)
Me: (freaking out, but appear, at least reasonably, calm) I don’t think so.. I’m going to leave now.
Him: are you sure?
Me: yes
Him: c’mon stay
Me: I’ll see you later
Him: (smiling smugly) yeah…
This time:
Him: do me a favor?
Me: No.
Him: no?
Me: No.
Him: Thank you.
Wow. Easy. Powerful. Good.
NO. :) I love it. Need to practice it a lot.
I got a little antsy and thought that I should leave, but true to form, “fuck it,” and kept swimming. And freak staring guy and freak squeaky shoe Eddie guy left and I was alone and able to relax and feel strong and a little proud. It put me in a really good mood for the rest of the evening.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Money: unsweet bedfellow
Uncomfortable.
Money. Lovely fricken money. Fantastic when you have it. A mother when you don’t.
Yeah, and I don’t. Wonderful, smart me wasn’t exactly paying attention and I spent and I spent and now I have nothing. Nope, for more than a week I will have to subsist from my credit card, which is precariously close to being maxed.
Lovely feeling, isn’t it? That feeling that you might not make it. What are you going to do? Not enough money for gas, food, lights, water. Actually, I have paid for lights. But not for water, or Hot water. And, strictly speaking, I haven’t paid for Hot or water in two months. So, yeah, they want their fricken money. As it is, I’m going to have to run from one account and take out half (of my lovely forty dollars-for the math geniuses out there that’s a twenty-dollar bill) take all the cash in my wallet (six smackaroos) and deposit it to cover gas (for car: already purchased) and pilates (check already written: but who knows when it will clear) and then call and beg my nutritionist to NOT cash the check I wrote last night for 60-some-odd dollars, because it will be as a giant rubber ball.
Back to the feeling of it. How does it feel? Have you felt that way? The “oh-my-gawd-I-have-not-enough, what-am-I-going-to-do-?” feeling and question that is indelibly tattooing its mantra through your head, through your veins, attacking your heart and then seems to ooze through your skin, so you stink of it? Ever felt that way?
Confession: I intentionally didn’t pay bills. Was freakin’ tired of having nothing. Nothing! So when I would be completely caught up and pay my Hot bill and my water bill: I didn’t. Just didn’t. B urged me not to do it. I said it would be fine. And the truth is, I would probably be fine, but I broke down and paid the light bill-which I had finally caught up, and therefore, wasn’t late yet. That’s right, folks! Wasn’t late (yet).
Bully for me.
So now that I’ve written my stupidity down. Ehh. Doesn’t feel too bad. But I have yet to start dwelling. And I live it. I move in, make a little space, plop down and begin to nest. I wrap myself in it – get all warm under the oppressive mantle and begin to smother and as the blanket blocks out most of the light, I begin to pray to I know not what that the lights will not go out, and I will make it through.
Ever felt like that? It’s damn uncomfortable. But yet, as it is known, it’s not scary or truly intolerable. That’s frightening.
Money. Lovely fricken money. Fantastic when you have it. A mother when you don’t.
Yeah, and I don’t. Wonderful, smart me wasn’t exactly paying attention and I spent and I spent and now I have nothing. Nope, for more than a week I will have to subsist from my credit card, which is precariously close to being maxed.
Lovely feeling, isn’t it? That feeling that you might not make it. What are you going to do? Not enough money for gas, food, lights, water. Actually, I have paid for lights. But not for water, or Hot water. And, strictly speaking, I haven’t paid for Hot or water in two months. So, yeah, they want their fricken money. As it is, I’m going to have to run from one account and take out half (of my lovely forty dollars-for the math geniuses out there that’s a twenty-dollar bill) take all the cash in my wallet (six smackaroos) and deposit it to cover gas (for car: already purchased) and pilates (check already written: but who knows when it will clear) and then call and beg my nutritionist to NOT cash the check I wrote last night for 60-some-odd dollars, because it will be as a giant rubber ball.
Back to the feeling of it. How does it feel? Have you felt that way? The “oh-my-gawd-I-have-not-enough, what-am-I-going-to-do-?” feeling and question that is indelibly tattooing its mantra through your head, through your veins, attacking your heart and then seems to ooze through your skin, so you stink of it? Ever felt that way?
Confession: I intentionally didn’t pay bills. Was freakin’ tired of having nothing. Nothing! So when I would be completely caught up and pay my Hot bill and my water bill: I didn’t. Just didn’t. B urged me not to do it. I said it would be fine. And the truth is, I would probably be fine, but I broke down and paid the light bill-which I had finally caught up, and therefore, wasn’t late yet. That’s right, folks! Wasn’t late (yet).
Bully for me.
So now that I’ve written my stupidity down. Ehh. Doesn’t feel too bad. But I have yet to start dwelling. And I live it. I move in, make a little space, plop down and begin to nest. I wrap myself in it – get all warm under the oppressive mantle and begin to smother and as the blanket blocks out most of the light, I begin to pray to I know not what that the lights will not go out, and I will make it through.
Ever felt like that? It’s damn uncomfortable. But yet, as it is known, it’s not scary or truly intolerable. That’s frightening.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Ugh! Sugar! Sweet Goddess
Sickness.
Or headache.
Actually, I think it is sickness. I ate some sugar. After how long trying to kick it (again)? I’m like a fucking alcoholic, without the support group. I guess I could go to OA (for those of you with no addictions—the “A” is always for “Anonymous” and, in this case, the “O” is for “Overeaters.”) At OA, they do not allow you to have white flour, sugar, and something else… I can’t remember from my foray into getting a support group 10 some-odd years ago.
Fucking tasted good though. And it was nasty fucking chocolate. The kind of chocolate I wouldn’t deign to eat, if I were eating chocolate. But since I’m not, and haven’t been, I ate it and it was de-lish!
Moving on.
Confession.
BF bought me 2 (not so) lovely couches on the weekend. (Mental note: do not forget to give him $$.) Weren’t expensive—1 full-size and 1 loveseat (not matching) for 30 bucks. Not bad. Not bad. But they weren’t v attractive. Actually, they weren’t that bad. But the wrong colors and styles for what I would have in mind.
Why would he purchase couches for me, you might ask. Funny story. My new puppy has been having really good snacks of my $50 sectional and my $0 (yeah, that’s right-free!) comfy couch. So he purchased these new couches. . . and she started in on the ugly one. Ripped off the skirt—or at least what I’m calling the skirt, that bottom part that hides the legs. I looked at it, and was all *&%*!! and $*%&#$!! But then stopped. It looked soo much better. J Seriously, I like the couch now. I’ve ripped off the rest of the skirt—threw it away (no evidence) and now have to decide if I’m going to spill the beans to BF or not.
Or headache.
Actually, I think it is sickness. I ate some sugar. After how long trying to kick it (again)? I’m like a fucking alcoholic, without the support group. I guess I could go to OA (for those of you with no addictions—the “A” is always for “Anonymous” and, in this case, the “O” is for “Overeaters.”) At OA, they do not allow you to have white flour, sugar, and something else… I can’t remember from my foray into getting a support group 10 some-odd years ago.
Fucking tasted good though. And it was nasty fucking chocolate. The kind of chocolate I wouldn’t deign to eat, if I were eating chocolate. But since I’m not, and haven’t been, I ate it and it was de-lish!
Moving on.
Confession.
BF bought me 2 (not so) lovely couches on the weekend. (Mental note: do not forget to give him $$.) Weren’t expensive—1 full-size and 1 loveseat (not matching) for 30 bucks. Not bad. Not bad. But they weren’t v attractive. Actually, they weren’t that bad. But the wrong colors and styles for what I would have in mind.
Why would he purchase couches for me, you might ask. Funny story. My new puppy has been having really good snacks of my $50 sectional and my $0 (yeah, that’s right-free!) comfy couch. So he purchased these new couches. . . and she started in on the ugly one. Ripped off the skirt—or at least what I’m calling the skirt, that bottom part that hides the legs. I looked at it, and was all *&%*!! and $*%&#$!! But then stopped. It looked soo much better. J Seriously, I like the couch now. I’ve ripped off the rest of the skirt—threw it away (no evidence) and now have to decide if I’m going to spill the beans to BF or not.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Anger
So, last night.
G is over with Mc. And Mc starts in on how month's ago at G's birthday festivities, I spilt water (seriously) and blamed him. I honestly didn't remember the interaction because that particular night I had just told off sister and was emotionally over wrought. But as he wouldn't let go, I began to piece together the incident.
And here is where the anger comes in. I didn't move. I didn't push my plate which, by chain reaction, caused another mysterious article on table to push into Mc's glass and thereby making it fall over, at which point Mc, rescued said glass (of water) and placed it back down on said trecherous table wasteland in aforementioned exact hazardous spot to, instantly and at once, fall completely over and spill all over table and splash several festivities participants. I apparently made flippant remark about dumbasses spilling some such.. and am instanly accused of causing said chain reaction by Mc, thereby making the entire incident my fault. Miracle of Miracles, people side with me, saying obviously I didn't spill water. Mc is humiliated.
Whatever. Humiliated over spilt water.
Ok, back to anger. Who cares? Happened months ago. Was water. Mc didn't have to clean it up, was at restaurant. Was not really public--just a few close friends who could give a rat's ass, except to laugh at each other's foibles.
G is my BEST friend. Or at least used to be. Now that G is involved in long term relationship, I am back seat baggage that only once in a while gets hauled out and gone thru, just to make sure what's still in there. And of couse, when needed. (That's not exactly fair, but who cares? My blog. Fuck you.)
Mc is selfish. Spoiled. Bratty. Mc has to have everything Mc's way. Mc is going to be 30 soon. One would think Mc might eventually grow up. But would you? If everyone continually gives in to you? I'm not sure that I would, except that I have. Because I feel bad if people have to go sooo completely out of their way for me. Constantly. All the time. For no reason. Other than to appease my ego. I mean, once in a while, sure. We all need an ego stroke. But all the time? Get over it. Get over yourself.
Oh, yeah, anger.
So what, in the last (?) 5 years, G has sided with me once. Over a glass of water, that everyone saw him spill.
But Mc had a cow (apparently) with G over incident. Why didn't G trust Mc? If G didn't see the beginning of the chain reaction (ie Me evilly pushing plate-to cause another unnamed object to push into evil glass of water) which he at once Rescued, but Mc saw said happen, why didn't G believe?
Ok, fuck you, Mc. It isn't as if I saw (or all of us for that matter) you standing over a bloody corpse with a knife and I said something damning like, "You murdered him. Ha ha." And then people believed me, and your partner of (?) 5 years has to have faith that you wouldn't kill someone. It was a glass of water.
Ok, so you have little fit in privacy of own home with partner.. accuse accuse. Fight over (eventually). But then to bring up retarded subject months later? What's the matter with you? Was your manhood so impuned, your honestly so taken into question, your ego, your spirit, your soul, so crushed that you cannot recover because someone once believed me over you?
Let me repeat, fuck you.
In the years that I have know you, you have been a horrible partner to my best friend. You are selfish. You have to have your way, all the time. You never, ever compromise. Never, not once.* You spent months (read: over a year!) out of work, forcing the supposed most important person of your life, the one you supposedly love more than anything, to work double duty To pay all bills. To be the adult while you got to carry out your childish fantasies.
And I pushed these things aside. But I am angry that you don't seem to be making any progress at all. You don't seem to be growing as a person, to be maturing, to be wisening, to becoming more of a complete, whole person.
Old fears and hurts resurfaced. In the five or so years that you've been with my best friend, I have felt so much pain. As my best friend continually choses you over me. Believes idiot things you say, over me. Believes you to be funnier, kinder, smarter than me. Fine. Love is honestly blind. I can't wait for someone to think I'm the funniest person in the world, the smartest, the cutest, the nicest, etc. And it hurts when Mc says some horrible thing (or I've started it this time), and the responses fly-- and G always always sides with you. Implies that I am somehow, not as... smart, or nice, or whatever. That Mc is right, that Mc is always, always right.
Lugging out the entire arsenal, years of pent-up hate, and hurt, and disappointment to be directed towards you. I long to tell you how you don't measure up, how you don't deserve all that you get. How when you make a mistake, you don't have to pay for it, others do -- in blood, sweat and tears. And you just go skipping merrily on your fucking way (exept to say, why they were mean. Of course they were you fucking moron. It's punishment. Everyone else let you off the hook. They are there to wake your ass up--let you know that you fucked up--but you still don't get it.)
But I have to stop. I cannot tell you what you so desperatly need to hear. I can't put my best friend in that position, not only because, of couse, I will certainly loose, but because I don't want to hurt G, to make things harder on G. To tell G, your long-term partner sucks, and is sucking the life from you.
But I will be more mature, and I will compromise.
Pity, because I feel like being childish. I feel like hurting people, and destroying myself.
* Wonder of Wonders! We all went to a movie on Saturday night. Instead of doing Mc's first choice, he compromised. Perhaps he is growing after all. Perhaps I've grown enough to enable me to see it.
G is over with Mc. And Mc starts in on how month's ago at G's birthday festivities, I spilt water (seriously) and blamed him. I honestly didn't remember the interaction because that particular night I had just told off sister and was emotionally over wrought. But as he wouldn't let go, I began to piece together the incident.
And here is where the anger comes in. I didn't move. I didn't push my plate which, by chain reaction, caused another mysterious article on table to push into Mc's glass and thereby making it fall over, at which point Mc, rescued said glass (of water) and placed it back down on said trecherous table wasteland in aforementioned exact hazardous spot to, instantly and at once, fall completely over and spill all over table and splash several festivities participants. I apparently made flippant remark about dumbasses spilling some such.. and am instanly accused of causing said chain reaction by Mc, thereby making the entire incident my fault. Miracle of Miracles, people side with me, saying obviously I didn't spill water. Mc is humiliated.
Whatever. Humiliated over spilt water.
Ok, back to anger. Who cares? Happened months ago. Was water. Mc didn't have to clean it up, was at restaurant. Was not really public--just a few close friends who could give a rat's ass, except to laugh at each other's foibles.
G is my BEST friend. Or at least used to be. Now that G is involved in long term relationship, I am back seat baggage that only once in a while gets hauled out and gone thru, just to make sure what's still in there. And of couse, when needed. (That's not exactly fair, but who cares? My blog. Fuck you.)
Mc is selfish. Spoiled. Bratty. Mc has to have everything Mc's way. Mc is going to be 30 soon. One would think Mc might eventually grow up. But would you? If everyone continually gives in to you? I'm not sure that I would, except that I have. Because I feel bad if people have to go sooo completely out of their way for me. Constantly. All the time. For no reason. Other than to appease my ego. I mean, once in a while, sure. We all need an ego stroke. But all the time? Get over it. Get over yourself.
Oh, yeah, anger.
So what, in the last (?) 5 years, G has sided with me once. Over a glass of water, that everyone saw him spill.
But Mc had a cow (apparently) with G over incident. Why didn't G trust Mc? If G didn't see the beginning of the chain reaction (ie Me evilly pushing plate-to cause another unnamed object to push into evil glass of water) which he at once Rescued, but Mc saw said happen, why didn't G believe?
Ok, fuck you, Mc. It isn't as if I saw (or all of us for that matter) you standing over a bloody corpse with a knife and I said something damning like, "You murdered him. Ha ha." And then people believed me, and your partner of (?) 5 years has to have faith that you wouldn't kill someone. It was a glass of water.
Ok, so you have little fit in privacy of own home with partner.. accuse accuse. Fight over (eventually). But then to bring up retarded subject months later? What's the matter with you? Was your manhood so impuned, your honestly so taken into question, your ego, your spirit, your soul, so crushed that you cannot recover because someone once believed me over you?
Let me repeat, fuck you.
In the years that I have know you, you have been a horrible partner to my best friend. You are selfish. You have to have your way, all the time. You never, ever compromise. Never, not once.* You spent months (read: over a year!) out of work, forcing the supposed most important person of your life, the one you supposedly love more than anything, to work double duty To pay all bills. To be the adult while you got to carry out your childish fantasies.
And I pushed these things aside. But I am angry that you don't seem to be making any progress at all. You don't seem to be growing as a person, to be maturing, to be wisening, to becoming more of a complete, whole person.
Old fears and hurts resurfaced. In the five or so years that you've been with my best friend, I have felt so much pain. As my best friend continually choses you over me. Believes idiot things you say, over me. Believes you to be funnier, kinder, smarter than me. Fine. Love is honestly blind. I can't wait for someone to think I'm the funniest person in the world, the smartest, the cutest, the nicest, etc. And it hurts when Mc says some horrible thing (or I've started it this time), and the responses fly-- and G always always sides with you. Implies that I am somehow, not as... smart, or nice, or whatever. That Mc is right, that Mc is always, always right.
Lugging out the entire arsenal, years of pent-up hate, and hurt, and disappointment to be directed towards you. I long to tell you how you don't measure up, how you don't deserve all that you get. How when you make a mistake, you don't have to pay for it, others do -- in blood, sweat and tears. And you just go skipping merrily on your fucking way (exept to say, why they were mean. Of course they were you fucking moron. It's punishment. Everyone else let you off the hook. They are there to wake your ass up--let you know that you fucked up--but you still don't get it.)
But I have to stop. I cannot tell you what you so desperatly need to hear. I can't put my best friend in that position, not only because, of couse, I will certainly loose, but because I don't want to hurt G, to make things harder on G. To tell G, your long-term partner sucks, and is sucking the life from you.
But I will be more mature, and I will compromise.
Pity, because I feel like being childish. I feel like hurting people, and destroying myself.
* Wonder of Wonders! We all went to a movie on Saturday night. Instead of doing Mc's first choice, he compromised. Perhaps he is growing after all. Perhaps I've grown enough to enable me to see it.
Friday, September 03, 2004
Geek
I just wrote my first fan e-mail.
It was to Mark Morford, writer for the SF Gate.
It went a little something like this:
“I am sorry to learn that you have a partner, because I think I love you.
Thanks.
From someone who really needed it.”
I was seriously crying. Talk about a Horoscope and the universe giving you what you need. Apparently I was crying out…and the universe answered.
Thank Goddess. Thank you.
It was to Mark Morford, writer for the SF Gate.
It went a little something like this:
“I am sorry to learn that you have a partner, because I think I love you.
Thanks.
From someone who really needed it.”
I was seriously crying. Talk about a Horoscope and the universe giving you what you need. Apparently I was crying out…and the universe answered.
Thank Goddess. Thank you.
Hours tick by. Or do they?
Day One without My Beloved.
sugar
Ok. Here we go again kids. Trying to kick the juice, the junk, the dope, the lightening. The Sugar.
Hour Two.
Actually, I’ve been up a little more than two hours. . . but who’s counting. Oh, that’s right, I am.
I am depressed and weepy. I tell myself not to despair. Nothing ever comes from despairing—nothing, nothing ever gets done. And it’s true.
Did you see Scarlet O’Hara despair? No. She decided she was too busy trying to fix things, trying to save the beloved Tara, trying not to starve, trying to keep her family from starving. She just didn’t have time to despair.
And it helps. (Telling myself that.) Oh, and also I’ve been telling myself that it’s just coming off of the juice, the smack, the sugar that is making my emotions so . . . volatile. And it could be true. What it really feels like is going insane. And not so slowly. Kinda quick, so you notice it is happening. “Why am I behaving like this?” You ask yourself. “Why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the sugar. Perhaps you are insane.” You answer yourself rationally. Heh. Rationally. Answer yourself.
I watched a lovely movie last night. I Capture the Castle. Lovely young women: English and poor. Lovely young, rich American men (and one was Henry Thomas... makes me kinda glad he survived ET). OK SPOILER. So, the lovely young woman, our heroine.. winds up with.. well, not nothing.. . and not alone, she has taken care of her family. But not with the object of her affection. And the end of the movie (my hand to gawd) she says, “I love. I have loved. I will love.” Fade to Black. Fuck. What the hell. Ok, great. But that’s why I watch movies. I need a mother-fucking, even-if-it-makes-no-sense, twisted plot, don’t-care-how, HAPPY ENDING. Need it. Like I need to breathe. And so yeah, a little hope, but not really happiness. And I’ve discovered in my pitiable life that HOPE kills you every time. Every time. Obliterates you. Crushes your soul. Kills your spirit. Makes you waltz then sticks out its big, rude foot and purposely trips you. So you fall on your face, in the most dramatic, theatrical, humiliating, public way, ever.
What am I complaining for? Well. After that and I just wanted to cry, I got on my newly returned, fixed computer. (Moment of silence and reverence for the COMPUTER.) And I checked my horoscope. And it was all.. You have had to relive part of stuff you thought you already handled, but didn’t (and pushed deep into your subconscious, you pathetic idiot. And will now wake up out of a very real dream and cry inexplicably for an hour whilst you are overcome with sadness and deep, deep, hidden trauma) and now that you’ve re-dealt with those aspects, move on and push your boundaries. Made complete and total sense. [Now I know that these are vague. And allow for various interpretations, but seriously, folks, how do they do it??? And as I write this… this is what they’ve written:
“Circumstances in your life may be full of drama and you'll need to use all channels of communication to share your story with those around you. Although you can be putting on quite an impressive show, you may not realize that you are only telling part of the story. Your beliefs are coloring your perceptions more than usual and you can only see what you believe.”
So here I am thinking I am giving myself therapy, and hopefully entertaining people. But I’m not being totally honest, with myself or with you, dear reader. Fuckers calling me a liar. But I digress.]
Soooo, anyway…I felt really sad. And I did a little (expensive) tarot reading (but considering they gave me the credits for free, wasn’t really a bad deal). And what was this wondrous question I inquired about in my future? I couldn’t really decide. Would I find love.. that’s not right, I have love. I love my mother. I love my friends, etc. And what if I love someone who doesn’t love me back? Would I be loved? No, that’s not right, either. G loves me with all his heart. Just can’t work out. So, I settled on “Will I find happiness in love?” So lovely Tarot tells me to push my boundaries…let my passions come through (because this is obviously something you are uncomfortable with, you fucked-up, damaged prude). And then goes on.. and I’m all.. who is it talking about?
Yeah, well. Money well spent.
Oh, look it’s been about 3 hours. And no sugar. Good for me.
And yet, the discomfort lingers. But I’m not weeping at work either. So. There ya go.
sugar
Ok. Here we go again kids. Trying to kick the juice, the junk, the dope, the lightening. The Sugar.
Hour Two.
Actually, I’ve been up a little more than two hours. . . but who’s counting. Oh, that’s right, I am.
I am depressed and weepy. I tell myself not to despair. Nothing ever comes from despairing—nothing, nothing ever gets done. And it’s true.
Did you see Scarlet O’Hara despair? No. She decided she was too busy trying to fix things, trying to save the beloved Tara, trying not to starve, trying to keep her family from starving. She just didn’t have time to despair.
And it helps. (Telling myself that.) Oh, and also I’ve been telling myself that it’s just coming off of the juice, the smack, the sugar that is making my emotions so . . . volatile. And it could be true. What it really feels like is going insane. And not so slowly. Kinda quick, so you notice it is happening. “Why am I behaving like this?” You ask yourself. “Why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the sugar. Perhaps you are insane.” You answer yourself rationally. Heh. Rationally. Answer yourself.
I watched a lovely movie last night. I Capture the Castle. Lovely young women: English and poor. Lovely young, rich American men (and one was Henry Thomas... makes me kinda glad he survived ET). OK SPOILER. So, the lovely young woman, our heroine.. winds up with.. well, not nothing.. . and not alone, she has taken care of her family. But not with the object of her affection. And the end of the movie (my hand to gawd) she says, “I love. I have loved. I will love.” Fade to Black. Fuck. What the hell. Ok, great. But that’s why I watch movies. I need a mother-fucking, even-if-it-makes-no-sense, twisted plot, don’t-care-how, HAPPY ENDING. Need it. Like I need to breathe. And so yeah, a little hope, but not really happiness. And I’ve discovered in my pitiable life that HOPE kills you every time. Every time. Obliterates you. Crushes your soul. Kills your spirit. Makes you waltz then sticks out its big, rude foot and purposely trips you. So you fall on your face, in the most dramatic, theatrical, humiliating, public way, ever.
What am I complaining for? Well. After that and I just wanted to cry, I got on my newly returned, fixed computer. (Moment of silence and reverence for the COMPUTER.) And I checked my horoscope. And it was all.. You have had to relive part of stuff you thought you already handled, but didn’t (and pushed deep into your subconscious, you pathetic idiot. And will now wake up out of a very real dream and cry inexplicably for an hour whilst you are overcome with sadness and deep, deep, hidden trauma) and now that you’ve re-dealt with those aspects, move on and push your boundaries. Made complete and total sense. [Now I know that these are vague. And allow for various interpretations, but seriously, folks, how do they do it??? And as I write this… this is what they’ve written:
“Circumstances in your life may be full of drama and you'll need to use all channels of communication to share your story with those around you. Although you can be putting on quite an impressive show, you may not realize that you are only telling part of the story. Your beliefs are coloring your perceptions more than usual and you can only see what you believe.”
So here I am thinking I am giving myself therapy, and hopefully entertaining people. But I’m not being totally honest, with myself or with you, dear reader. Fuckers calling me a liar. But I digress.]
Soooo, anyway…I felt really sad. And I did a little (expensive) tarot reading (but considering they gave me the credits for free, wasn’t really a bad deal). And what was this wondrous question I inquired about in my future? I couldn’t really decide. Would I find love.. that’s not right, I have love. I love my mother. I love my friends, etc. And what if I love someone who doesn’t love me back? Would I be loved? No, that’s not right, either. G loves me with all his heart. Just can’t work out. So, I settled on “Will I find happiness in love?” So lovely Tarot tells me to push my boundaries…let my passions come through (because this is obviously something you are uncomfortable with, you fucked-up, damaged prude). And then goes on.. and I’m all.. who is it talking about?
Yeah, well. Money well spent.
Oh, look it’s been about 3 hours. And no sugar. Good for me.
And yet, the discomfort lingers. But I’m not weeping at work either. So. There ya go.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Dumbass and uncomfortable.
Why I should not have sugar.
I have a headache. A sugar headache. A headache that could have totally been avoided. But no, I have one. I had a HUGE, ooh, a HUMUNGUS sweet thing of somesort. Which, by all accounts, I should not have had. Not because – I am allergic to sugar, not because it leeches the B vitamins from my body, the very B vitamins that are essential to weight loss, gives me a sugar high, then a raucous sugar crash- and then I wish for death, not because I am going to considerable difficulty to be on a health maintenance (read weight loss) program, not because I am spending not inconsiderable sums of money on vitamins and healthy eats (when I truly have no money), not because today, of all days, is the day of the week that I must face my fears and weigh in , in front of a kind (skinny) woman who has taken on my case, at no charge, just for my betterment. No, not for any of those reasons. The real reason is because I had one very similar to it yesterday. And it was gross. Grody. Yucky. It did not taste good.
Any normal sane human being would have remembered (apart from all those reasons listed above) that yesterday, it tasted like crap, and today, it is one day older- and has been sitting out for the better part of 2 days. Do Not Eat This Vile Thing.
But I did. And I must say, it was very good. Right up to the blueberry goo—that was indescribable, and very much tasteless, but I ate anyway.
And now. The. Head. Ache.
Dumbass.
I have a
Any normal sane human being would have remembered (apart from all those reasons listed above) that yesterday, it tasted like crap, and today, it is one day older- and has been sitting out for the better part of 2 days. Do Not Eat This Vile Thing.
But I did. And I must say, it was very good. Right up to the blueberry goo—that was indescribable, and very much tasteless, but I ate anyway.
And now. The. Head. Ache.
Dumbass.
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