The days are getting brighter and more visible, less cloudy, less consumed.
I am hopeful at this point.
Two more months or so in this cement tower and then three or more months in hot, sunny, dry, Orange County. I'm hoping for the beach every week at least, and lounging by the pool. Working seldom about 20 hours a week, saving it mostly to return to the City.
I heard people form the East Coast hate how people over here call San Fran the City 'cause they call NYC the City. Blah blah blah. And people call the West Coast just, "the coast" and people from the East Coast say, "back East." Lingo shmlingo.
I'll be purchasing a MacBook in the near future, I'm excited for that.
New news is Cesar and I might be moving in together and I envision us jamming and writing music, silly or not. My mind is turning constantly thinking of him (not Cesar) at home, what it's going to be like. I initiated conversation the other night as I was walking home, drunk of course. If I was sober I would not have the excitement in my veins to hear his voice. In fact, I dread it to an extent. What can someone call that? Like if you're on drugs and you "can't handle something" or when you've just had an orgasm and anymore penetration or stimulation can make you "not handle it." Is there a word for that? I should find that out.
I heard from my cousin today who I honestly thought I'd never see again. He's supposedly coming to the city in mid June and wants to buy me lunch. We seriously haven't talked since I was 15 or 16. I'm excited to see him though, he's a Cancer. I think it will be fine 'cause I have a feeling we can connect better now. He barely sees or talks to his parents as do I. He lives in L.A. and I live in S.F. Whatever, man.
We've planned to go to the beach one night and just talk. I can't wait to hug him and talk to him about the last few years or months. I want to hear everything and I want to tell him everything, easily, like it used to be... I want closure and some sort of classification on our relationship. Although, last night he asked me if I had a man (ha) and I said no... Sex would be nice. It would be sober, and a first time thing. I can't believe we still talk.
Human relationships trip me out. It's almost impossible for me to forget some people.
It makes me want to talk to Brett.
Ugh.
I have work in an hour. I have fresh herbal remedies. I have good people in my life. I have a future. I have love to give and receive. I have music for my ears. I have art for my eyes.
What more can bring happiness?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
It isn't if you stop giving in to it...
... you will walk away the freest (person)man.
Tilly and the Wall!
A great band.
Today I was supposed to go get something pierced but now I am down to $52 in my SAVINGS. AFTER RENT, thank god. My fucking goodness, talk about drinking away all your money. Might as well spend the night in the street... Dear honey, whose going to take care of me...
?
Tilly and the Wall!
A great band.
Today I was supposed to go get something pierced but now I am down to $52 in my SAVINGS. AFTER RENT, thank god. My fucking goodness, talk about drinking away all your money. Might as well spend the night in the street... Dear honey, whose going to take care of me...
?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
'Rather forget the days we spent tryin' to stay afloat in shallow water...
...and no one says it better than Saves The Day.
Friend come over. Get high.
When something like that lies in the near future it's hard to think about other things.
But today I was listening to the Postal Service and nothing gets me more giddy than some romantic rhyming words. Then I thought about going home and what the fuck that's going to be like to see him.
It keeps getting closer and closer and I can't stop shaking!
Friend come over. Get high.
When something like that lies in the near future it's hard to think about other things.
But today I was listening to the Postal Service and nothing gets me more giddy than some romantic rhyming words. Then I thought about going home and what the fuck that's going to be like to see him.
It keeps getting closer and closer and I can't stop shaking!
Monday, March 23, 2009
The world is a vampire...
Awake at night mostly.
Pale with apathy and blood-sucking consumerism.
Sexually driven societies with human outer crusts, yet animals at the core.
Centuries old, eventually terminated to live on forever.
My thumb is twitching with anxiety. Awaiting tomorrow for the wrong reasons. It won't stop twitching. Awaiting tomorrow for the wrong reasons, and I should go to sleep now.
Keyword: should.
Look, there's a glass half full of Guinness. It'll be warm by the time she gets back.
I'll take a sippity sip.
Snippity snap and off to dream land.
Pale with apathy and blood-sucking consumerism.
Sexually driven societies with human outer crusts, yet animals at the core.
Centuries old, eventually terminated to live on forever.
My thumb is twitching with anxiety. Awaiting tomorrow for the wrong reasons. It won't stop twitching. Awaiting tomorrow for the wrong reasons, and I should go to sleep now.
Keyword: should.
Look, there's a glass half full of Guinness. It'll be warm by the time she gets back.
I'll take a sippity sip.
Snippity snap and off to dream land.
March Twenty-third, Two thousand, nine.
This day will fade, like all the thousands before.
Sometimes it's hard to just let it be that way.
I look outside at the beautiful city scape and remind myself I have to work to make the money to make the city. It's just a vicious cycle.
I can make myself happy by doing miscellaneous things and then I remember why I am here in the first place, and where I'm going back to after two months. And I am saddened to leave my new happiness, and I am saddened upon her happiness and then her hole I am supposed to replace.
It's just impossible. I don't even have money to buy her a present. That's not what she wants anyway. Here, have a small bottle of lotion as a sign of my gratuity and love, mother. May you remember this specific bottle of lotion for the rest of your days and not lump this particular birthday with any other. But she wont, because I'll leave right after. In fact, I wont even be with her on her birthday.
It's like I've run away and blamed it all on them, and I don't want to go back - go back to the love and acceptance and understanding and the unconditional. I'd rather be exploring the unknown and forgetting my past, 'cause it'll forget me someday, and everyone is temporary in each others' reality.
Sometimes it's hard to just let it be that way.
I look outside at the beautiful city scape and remind myself I have to work to make the money to make the city. It's just a vicious cycle.
I can make myself happy by doing miscellaneous things and then I remember why I am here in the first place, and where I'm going back to after two months. And I am saddened to leave my new happiness, and I am saddened upon her happiness and then her hole I am supposed to replace.
It's just impossible. I don't even have money to buy her a present. That's not what she wants anyway. Here, have a small bottle of lotion as a sign of my gratuity and love, mother. May you remember this specific bottle of lotion for the rest of your days and not lump this particular birthday with any other. But she wont, because I'll leave right after. In fact, I wont even be with her on her birthday.
It's like I've run away and blamed it all on them, and I don't want to go back - go back to the love and acceptance and understanding and the unconditional. I'd rather be exploring the unknown and forgetting my past, 'cause it'll forget me someday, and everyone is temporary in each others' reality.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Weezer comparable to Shakespeare...
You can't resist her.
She's in your bones.
She is your marrow
And your ride home.
You can't avoid her.
She's in the air...
In between molecules of
Oxygen and Carbon Dioxide.
Only in dreams
We see what it means.
Reach out our hands.
Hold onto hers.
But when we wake
It's all been erased.
And so it seems
Only in dreams.
You walk up to her.
Ask her to dance.
She says, "Hey, baby, I just might take the chance."
You say, "It's a good thing
That you float in the air...
That way there's no way I will crush your pretty toenails into a thousand pieces."
Only in dreams.
I think I just creamed myself. ;)
She's in your bones.
She is your marrow
And your ride home.
You can't avoid her.
She's in the air...
In between molecules of
Oxygen and Carbon Dioxide.
Only in dreams
We see what it means.
Reach out our hands.
Hold onto hers.
But when we wake
It's all been erased.
And so it seems
Only in dreams.
You walk up to her.
Ask her to dance.
She says, "Hey, baby, I just might take the chance."
You say, "It's a good thing
That you float in the air...
That way there's no way I will crush your pretty toenails into a thousand pieces."
Only in dreams.
I think I just creamed myself. ;)
Friday, March 20, 2009
Lyrics.
"...and it smothers me in flames
that lick and scortch my feet
as the smoke reaches the sky,
know i'm burnin' tonight..."
that lick and scortch my feet
as the smoke reaches the sky,
know i'm burnin' tonight..."
Shortcomings.
Anger and Love.
I've been mad at myself lately and I can't wait to go home and see him. I just want to talk to him. And when we part my heart will ache and mend the wall back up. For I my perception is clouded, yet he is in all of my memories. He sparked my adventure in a way, he showed me the outskirts of our bubble, he conjured up the night with me in the palm of his hand. Young and in love, with out a care in the world. I shared his warmness in myself with someone else. He reminded me of compassion, and dedication, of warm hearts and originality. I can't help but miss that natural instinct. I can't help but be thankful for his input, I can't help but dread the confrontation, and the return of it all. The automatic rejection, the pulling of my passion. My chest actually gravitates toward his and my hands break the invisible chains to my side. It's inevitable.
But I was thinking today that I can't give in - would that really be closure, I ask? Or would that pass him off as just another one in my past - disposable and meaningless. But the thing is I'll never forget his last name, I'll never forget the feeling, and when it happens again I'll remember, ever last detail. Sometimes it makes me cry, other times it makes me hopeful. There is a barrier I can't seem to identify. Never mind, it's my family barrier. Now I see it as an excuse. He's not a loser. He is one of the happiest and lovable and dedicated people I've ever met. Just thinking about him here is legendary - like when it happens I know the moment will last forever with no pictures needed. I used to think he was so preoccupied and would forget me, and I never him. Now I see that that assumption isn't true... that he is really thinking about me. I want to express this to him but would he disarm at my initiation and truly see me as someone else, someone lost and impulsive; or would he see me? The same person from years ago, so close in distance but unreachable.
I have to see him - I need the closure.
Talking will be easy, I know it will be.
Now there's this, and all I want to do is go backwards to where I first started questioning my sexuality and tell myself to forget about it and let it happen when it happens. Instead I dove in with my arms tied behind my back and blindfolded and aimless. Like a fluttering moth bumping into a cobwebbed flickering light on a porch. Scared by the reflection, but drawn by the heat, and the excuse is him....
So it goes.
I've been mad at myself lately and I can't wait to go home and see him. I just want to talk to him. And when we part my heart will ache and mend the wall back up. For I my perception is clouded, yet he is in all of my memories. He sparked my adventure in a way, he showed me the outskirts of our bubble, he conjured up the night with me in the palm of his hand. Young and in love, with out a care in the world. I shared his warmness in myself with someone else. He reminded me of compassion, and dedication, of warm hearts and originality. I can't help but miss that natural instinct. I can't help but be thankful for his input, I can't help but dread the confrontation, and the return of it all. The automatic rejection, the pulling of my passion. My chest actually gravitates toward his and my hands break the invisible chains to my side. It's inevitable.
But I was thinking today that I can't give in - would that really be closure, I ask? Or would that pass him off as just another one in my past - disposable and meaningless. But the thing is I'll never forget his last name, I'll never forget the feeling, and when it happens again I'll remember, ever last detail. Sometimes it makes me cry, other times it makes me hopeful. There is a barrier I can't seem to identify. Never mind, it's my family barrier. Now I see it as an excuse. He's not a loser. He is one of the happiest and lovable and dedicated people I've ever met. Just thinking about him here is legendary - like when it happens I know the moment will last forever with no pictures needed. I used to think he was so preoccupied and would forget me, and I never him. Now I see that that assumption isn't true... that he is really thinking about me. I want to express this to him but would he disarm at my initiation and truly see me as someone else, someone lost and impulsive; or would he see me? The same person from years ago, so close in distance but unreachable.
I have to see him - I need the closure.
Talking will be easy, I know it will be.
Now there's this, and all I want to do is go backwards to where I first started questioning my sexuality and tell myself to forget about it and let it happen when it happens. Instead I dove in with my arms tied behind my back and blindfolded and aimless. Like a fluttering moth bumping into a cobwebbed flickering light on a porch. Scared by the reflection, but drawn by the heat, and the excuse is him....
So it goes.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Some one said it...
"Destined to die unsatisfied."
I read it somewhere but I can't remember. It's an accurate description of my late moods. I've been kind of a book worm lately, truly! It's actually awesome because I've never read many books before the last few months. On the commute, my nose is in a book 'cause I never charge my i pod.
Using room mate's computers is tedious, I've been "using my resources" at the library however . (god bless ccsf!) I'm halfway done with Choke, and I've been taking notes.
Next semester I want to take life drawing and the Shakespeare class (drools).
I was happy today when I was reading chapter 5 in my anthropology book that alot of it was explaining stuff I learned in Symbolic Logic. I loved that class. I've had a headache all day today and I got my period today. But lately I've been diggin my periods ha ha.
My mind goes pretty scary places when it's thinkin' under the green shrubbery anymore. Cubbyhole mate and washroom sharer - gilded. I am bringing Clue back up here. See aslo: Mrs. White.
See also: Yellow Ranger
See also: Bianca - Taming of the Shrew. (i stole that see also from cp)
I added text to my collage that says, "Clear as a bell, and no one can tell." It's from this one poem that was actually published in the real "Liberated Space" magazine of the Haight in 1975. Anwyay, the title isn't in my head but I know I have it written down somewhere. Post I shall.
I can't think of what to write right now. I see him every week and I just enjoy our ten-minute-if-that coversations. It's pretty awesome and puts me in a good mood. Ew. And when I go home I will see the other him. I cannot guarentee that what must'nt happen will. Hopefully that day I will choose to respect myself.
Some one said it...
I can't think of any thing else to say.
I read it somewhere but I can't remember. It's an accurate description of my late moods. I've been kind of a book worm lately, truly! It's actually awesome because I've never read many books before the last few months. On the commute, my nose is in a book 'cause I never charge my i pod.
Using room mate's computers is tedious, I've been "using my resources" at the library however . (god bless ccsf!) I'm halfway done with Choke, and I've been taking notes.
Next semester I want to take life drawing and the Shakespeare class (drools).
I was happy today when I was reading chapter 5 in my anthropology book that alot of it was explaining stuff I learned in Symbolic Logic. I loved that class. I've had a headache all day today and I got my period today. But lately I've been diggin my periods ha ha.
My mind goes pretty scary places when it's thinkin' under the green shrubbery anymore. Cubbyhole mate and washroom sharer - gilded. I am bringing Clue back up here. See aslo: Mrs. White.
See also: Yellow Ranger
See also: Bianca - Taming of the Shrew. (i stole that see also from cp)
I added text to my collage that says, "Clear as a bell, and no one can tell." It's from this one poem that was actually published in the real "Liberated Space" magazine of the Haight in 1975. Anwyay, the title isn't in my head but I know I have it written down somewhere. Post I shall.
I can't think of what to write right now. I see him every week and I just enjoy our ten-minute-if-that coversations. It's pretty awesome and puts me in a good mood. Ew. And when I go home I will see the other him. I cannot guarentee that what must'nt happen will. Hopefully that day I will choose to respect myself.
Some one said it...
I can't think of any thing else to say.
Wha tam I doing?
Ay yi yi, isn't that the question of the century?
Latte in the morning, latte in the evening, latte at supper time, when lattes in a Tati, she can have lattes anytime!
Three glasses of wine before my night class, and some weed, and that goes for massive head nodding. Today I get paid a pathetic paycheck, I don't even want it! I most likely won't be able to get my tattoo, which can totally wait.
I don't even know what I'm trying to say here. I'm looking forward to going home in the summer as well as May 20 when Dusty Rhodes and the River Band is coming to SF. I had a dream about Slims so now it seems that I have been there before. And I also had a dream that Chrystal and Michael spent the night in my apartment again, but in the snake cage curled up in sleeping bags.
I'm neurotic. No, really.
In closing:
Red gummy bear on the ground of Muni K
Grime of Muni dust catchers.
It is beautiful
My life.
Straw wrappers, gum blackened with soot and poo.
To see my lady
Clean with perfume and cigarettes and arm pit hair.
To flatter to impress to see to marvel.
She, kind with compassion,
Meanly whole-hearted.
Next stop West Portal Station, and walk up
Claremont to see my lady
Lady who loves other ladies.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa;ihus
Latte in the morning, latte in the evening, latte at supper time, when lattes in a Tati, she can have lattes anytime!
Three glasses of wine before my night class, and some weed, and that goes for massive head nodding. Today I get paid a pathetic paycheck, I don't even want it! I most likely won't be able to get my tattoo, which can totally wait.
I don't even know what I'm trying to say here. I'm looking forward to going home in the summer as well as May 20 when Dusty Rhodes and the River Band is coming to SF. I had a dream about Slims so now it seems that I have been there before. And I also had a dream that Chrystal and Michael spent the night in my apartment again, but in the snake cage curled up in sleeping bags.
I'm neurotic. No, really.
In closing:
Red gummy bear on the ground of Muni K
Grime of Muni dust catchers.
It is beautiful
My life.
Straw wrappers, gum blackened with soot and poo.
To see my lady
Clean with perfume and cigarettes and arm pit hair.
To flatter to impress to see to marvel.
She, kind with compassion,
Meanly whole-hearted.
Next stop West Portal Station, and walk up
Claremont to see my lady
Lady who loves other ladies.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa;ihus
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Illiterate.
I still don't know how to read other people's blogs. It's quite the mystery.
I've been feeling anything but pensive the last couple of days. I haven't been smoking much pot lately, which is a good thing right now. It's actually nice, believe it or not to be able to blame my laziness on myself and not something else for once.
I have my last "therapy" appointment in t-minus nine minutes. I should go.
Therapy is ego boost is alcohol is weed is girlfriend is boyfriend is guilty pleasure is just plain guilt.
I've been feeling anything but pensive the last couple of days. I haven't been smoking much pot lately, which is a good thing right now. It's actually nice, believe it or not to be able to blame my laziness on myself and not something else for once.
I have my last "therapy" appointment in t-minus nine minutes. I should go.
Therapy is ego boost is alcohol is weed is girlfriend is boyfriend is guilty pleasure is just plain guilt.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Shut you out.
And you and you and you....
My mom is asleep on the couch still. Part of me pities her comfort right now. I can only imagine what's going through her head. I remember wanting to fully open up to her, and being with her makes me forget the point in that. We should just enjoy our time together, right? Forget the bad things and focus on the good things... In a way I find that unrealistic because there are bad things everywhere all the time especially in my head right now. Everything that comes out of her mouth is Shakespearean in the sense that it is blunt and correct advice. He knew everything, damnit and I don't care what anyone says! She really does not need to know my drug/drinking habits, my experimentation process, my love that is in the background of every dream, every humorous moment, every silly stand up, and compassionate respectful moment. But I can't help but despise him. They do say that you can only hate someone you love. That seems to be the case.
I read his writings and I am blown away by what he remembers and what I've been determined to forget. Hot summer days and breezy nights. Nights that we felt so undeniably connected, on complete other sides of the house. And when it finally happened it was messy. He broke my heart and I fell for someone else immediately. Now it's years later and I can't help but get farther and farther away. "Truly animalistic," he said. I don't even know if that's a word, but it describes perfectly. Shedding of the skin, changing of colors, to decieve you. And now all I want to see is him.
Then there's the other. Someone new, exciting, yet so similar to the latter. Almost too similar to him. And he's a game player, a rock star, a Scorpio, a sexy sexy man complete with the dissipating flutter. I can't help but hate that. Love is too temporary for my liking. Love and everything in between, all forms of it. It's hard to get back into the trusting of other people, compassion, sympathy and so on. When one doens't show the same qualities you wish to exude, the same curtosy, respect, it's hard to give anyone a chance. Then I feel I'm being victimized and I just turn the other cheek for the time being, and I put up with the... (referencing palahnuik...)
"Shit," isn't the right word to use, but it's the first word that comes to mind.
Then there's her. And I feel useful and opportune. And horrible and ridiculous and experimental and Eistein-esque.
And my thoughts gravitate back to him. To my past young soul, naive and hopeful and with the world in the palm of my hand. Now old and wrinlking with the stress of everyday creation, now that it's actually there I can't help but want to throw it back into the sky, recreating mystery. I could make a list of what I thought he'd for sure forget. I could bash myself on the head for falling. That seems to always be the case.
So it goes.
My mom is asleep on the couch still. Part of me pities her comfort right now. I can only imagine what's going through her head. I remember wanting to fully open up to her, and being with her makes me forget the point in that. We should just enjoy our time together, right? Forget the bad things and focus on the good things... In a way I find that unrealistic because there are bad things everywhere all the time especially in my head right now. Everything that comes out of her mouth is Shakespearean in the sense that it is blunt and correct advice. He knew everything, damnit and I don't care what anyone says! She really does not need to know my drug/drinking habits, my experimentation process, my love that is in the background of every dream, every humorous moment, every silly stand up, and compassionate respectful moment. But I can't help but despise him. They do say that you can only hate someone you love. That seems to be the case.
I read his writings and I am blown away by what he remembers and what I've been determined to forget. Hot summer days and breezy nights. Nights that we felt so undeniably connected, on complete other sides of the house. And when it finally happened it was messy. He broke my heart and I fell for someone else immediately. Now it's years later and I can't help but get farther and farther away. "Truly animalistic," he said. I don't even know if that's a word, but it describes perfectly. Shedding of the skin, changing of colors, to decieve you. And now all I want to see is him.
Then there's the other. Someone new, exciting, yet so similar to the latter. Almost too similar to him. And he's a game player, a rock star, a Scorpio, a sexy sexy man complete with the dissipating flutter. I can't help but hate that. Love is too temporary for my liking. Love and everything in between, all forms of it. It's hard to get back into the trusting of other people, compassion, sympathy and so on. When one doens't show the same qualities you wish to exude, the same curtosy, respect, it's hard to give anyone a chance. Then I feel I'm being victimized and I just turn the other cheek for the time being, and I put up with the... (referencing palahnuik...)
"Shit," isn't the right word to use, but it's the first word that comes to mind.
Then there's her. And I feel useful and opportune. And horrible and ridiculous and experimental and Eistein-esque.
And my thoughts gravitate back to him. To my past young soul, naive and hopeful and with the world in the palm of my hand. Now old and wrinlking with the stress of everyday creation, now that it's actually there I can't help but want to throw it back into the sky, recreating mystery. I could make a list of what I thought he'd for sure forget. I could bash myself on the head for falling. That seems to always be the case.
So it goes.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Writer's Block.
So last week my journalism class was assigned to cover the Prop 8 march down Market St. I have pages and pages of scribbled notes I could use but I can't right now. I am exhausted from the first later night in a while, but too much coffee to go to sleep. Also I think it's because I know someone will be home soon to wake me up anyway, so what's the point? It's already 8 o'clock and if I want to get a good rest tonight to wake up at 7am I should pass out by 10 or something. Which means I should get to writing. But I can't, 'cause I'm tired.
I got a D on my anthropology midterm, the first one. At least it's not an F.... So I decided to be a good student and go to the Greenhouse in West Portal to read the new chapter. It was like fifty textbook pages and I stopped after about ten. Then I started writing a bit, and then a someone started texting me and I got all giddy. Is giddy even the right word? Do I even know what I'm doing right now? I feel that I have to clear the air between her and I before things get complicated - if they decide to do so. I think it'll be okay, I guess having sex was the wall we needed to break in order to be fucking calm around each other - in my case at least. I drew this cool picture that symbolizes our... "coming together." I quite like it.
I bought some canvases at the art supply store 'cause they were on sale. I'll be starting a collage on Thursday which I'm looking forward to. It's going to be a black and white city scape background from a picture I took up here two or three summers ago, when I came up with my last boyfriend and the woman I'm still in love with and her girlfriend to see this band called Music for Animals who I'm still in love with and turn everybody on to (ya like how I totally took credit for that, gag me). Anyway, the picture is at 18th and Castro. I'm going to add some little Huckleberry Finn-esque characters in magenta blue and white and black in the left corner, similar colored birds in the sky and I need one more thing, but I can't decide what. Something colorful, abstract, different from the characters and the blck and white, yet something easy for me to paint. I've come to the conclusion that I am not a painter, it's rather difficult to have patience for attention to detail with fucking paint. I like to sketch and draw however, so I bought some charcoal pencils. It's just discouraging to try art and then seeing how easy it is for everyone else and their shit is so much better than yours. Same with writing, and drug dealing, and making friends, and life... why don't we all just shoot ourselves, quit our jobs, drop out of school, and live freely.... there's no such thing.
I finished Slaughterhouse-Five today, whoopeee for me! That means I'm on my next book called Choke by Chuck Palahnuik. His writing is conversational and makes for fast and easy reading, which makes me feel better about myself 'cause I can finish it faster and move on to the next one. I'm glad I've been reading lately, and painting, and going for it. "It" being it all. Experimentation and the like.
My mother is coming up Thursday and staying with me for the weekend. I'm going to try my hardest to resist the Billy Pilgrim in me and love her for being here with me. I feel so sorry for the way I make her feel, 'cause all I want is her. I have a gaping hoel in my heart for her, it's a severe love-hate thing for me that I don't think anyone gets. She might get it because her mother was similar to herself... I feel that I have lots of mending to do. I feel I have lots of essplainin' to do! I feel I have a lot to owe and at the same time, I feel that I deserve more. Always, deserving.
I'm excited to add some SHF and Bell Jar quotations to my collage. It better turn out rad or I'm going to kill myself.
Sometimes I can't tell when I'm kidding. I want to see and listen to Band of Horses, and I want to see Fleet Foxes, and I want to tell Cesar about summer, and I want to tell Brittany about Liz, and I want to tell Carolyn about her, and I want to punch and slap my family members for causing me agonizing pain and I want to slice myself for being a bitch my whole life and I want to castrate the poor victim of my next love.
I got a D on my anthropology midterm, the first one. At least it's not an F.... So I decided to be a good student and go to the Greenhouse in West Portal to read the new chapter. It was like fifty textbook pages and I stopped after about ten. Then I started writing a bit, and then a someone started texting me and I got all giddy. Is giddy even the right word? Do I even know what I'm doing right now? I feel that I have to clear the air between her and I before things get complicated - if they decide to do so. I think it'll be okay, I guess having sex was the wall we needed to break in order to be fucking calm around each other - in my case at least. I drew this cool picture that symbolizes our... "coming together." I quite like it.
I bought some canvases at the art supply store 'cause they were on sale. I'll be starting a collage on Thursday which I'm looking forward to. It's going to be a black and white city scape background from a picture I took up here two or three summers ago, when I came up with my last boyfriend and the woman I'm still in love with and her girlfriend to see this band called Music for Animals who I'm still in love with and turn everybody on to (ya like how I totally took credit for that, gag me). Anyway, the picture is at 18th and Castro. I'm going to add some little Huckleberry Finn-esque characters in magenta blue and white and black in the left corner, similar colored birds in the sky and I need one more thing, but I can't decide what. Something colorful, abstract, different from the characters and the blck and white, yet something easy for me to paint. I've come to the conclusion that I am not a painter, it's rather difficult to have patience for attention to detail with fucking paint. I like to sketch and draw however, so I bought some charcoal pencils. It's just discouraging to try art and then seeing how easy it is for everyone else and their shit is so much better than yours. Same with writing, and drug dealing, and making friends, and life... why don't we all just shoot ourselves, quit our jobs, drop out of school, and live freely.... there's no such thing.
I finished Slaughterhouse-Five today, whoopeee for me! That means I'm on my next book called Choke by Chuck Palahnuik. His writing is conversational and makes for fast and easy reading, which makes me feel better about myself 'cause I can finish it faster and move on to the next one. I'm glad I've been reading lately, and painting, and going for it. "It" being it all. Experimentation and the like.
My mother is coming up Thursday and staying with me for the weekend. I'm going to try my hardest to resist the Billy Pilgrim in me and love her for being here with me. I feel so sorry for the way I make her feel, 'cause all I want is her. I have a gaping hoel in my heart for her, it's a severe love-hate thing for me that I don't think anyone gets. She might get it because her mother was similar to herself... I feel that I have lots of mending to do. I feel I have lots of essplainin' to do! I feel I have a lot to owe and at the same time, I feel that I deserve more. Always, deserving.
I'm excited to add some SHF and Bell Jar quotations to my collage. It better turn out rad or I'm going to kill myself.
Sometimes I can't tell when I'm kidding. I want to see and listen to Band of Horses, and I want to see Fleet Foxes, and I want to tell Cesar about summer, and I want to tell Brittany about Liz, and I want to tell Carolyn about her, and I want to punch and slap my family members for causing me agonizing pain and I want to slice myself for being a bitch my whole life and I want to castrate the poor victim of my next love.
Monday, March 9, 2009
"It was a simple minded thing for a femlae to do, to associate sex and glamour with war (Vonnegut, pg. 121)."
Right now I'm reading Slaughterhouse-Five, if I haven't mentioned that yet. I thoroughly enjoy this snippet.
A few things have happened and I don't know what to think about any of them, the usual.
I lost my L V card the other night on the couch. Wide open for anyone who walked out of the beaded hallway, kissed by the day-saving moonlight and uncovered windows. The softest thing I could have imagined. It's not that I expected more, I just expected something quite different.
"So beautiful," she said, as we lie there half naked, our warm bodies next to each other, anything but sticky and sweaty, but soft and velvety.
So going to the Lexington Club was a great fucking idea. I can't help but lose control on my impulses and I can't help but feel innocent (or ignorant?) to the situation I'm in. My friend before anything, an experiment on my part, and so it seems like something more on her part.
"You have an amazing body," exchanged mutually, soft kisses in between, up and down arms and pale bellies and necks. Sensibly positioned arms embracing my vessel remind me to stay calm as my heart beat expands out of my temples and chest.
And so I got what I've been wanting. Now I can say that. Now what? Two more months in the city and back to suburbia (great movie, by the way) for no more than three. And then what? Back to the city, my home away from home, always my home - I have to stop trying to deny this. I have to come up with my own opinions about my situation, that's why I'm going home.
My mom is coming up this week, on Thursday actually. I have to clean the apartment and deweed it, entertain her and try my hardest to change her mind on my insanity. My poor mother, almost everything I do is for her yet I refuse her. Stiff as a rock that can shatter like glass, and the bell jar descends.....
A few things have happened and I don't know what to think about any of them, the usual.
I lost my L V card the other night on the couch. Wide open for anyone who walked out of the beaded hallway, kissed by the day-saving moonlight and uncovered windows. The softest thing I could have imagined. It's not that I expected more, I just expected something quite different.
"So beautiful," she said, as we lie there half naked, our warm bodies next to each other, anything but sticky and sweaty, but soft and velvety.
So going to the Lexington Club was a great fucking idea. I can't help but lose control on my impulses and I can't help but feel innocent (or ignorant?) to the situation I'm in. My friend before anything, an experiment on my part, and so it seems like something more on her part.
"You have an amazing body," exchanged mutually, soft kisses in between, up and down arms and pale bellies and necks. Sensibly positioned arms embracing my vessel remind me to stay calm as my heart beat expands out of my temples and chest.
And so I got what I've been wanting. Now I can say that. Now what? Two more months in the city and back to suburbia (great movie, by the way) for no more than three. And then what? Back to the city, my home away from home, always my home - I have to stop trying to deny this. I have to come up with my own opinions about my situation, that's why I'm going home.
My mom is coming up this week, on Thursday actually. I have to clean the apartment and deweed it, entertain her and try my hardest to change her mind on my insanity. My poor mother, almost everything I do is for her yet I refuse her. Stiff as a rock that can shatter like glass, and the bell jar descends.....
Friday, March 6, 2009
Blue and Ivory
Short and sweet today
I had a nice night last night. Not too much happened, and I've been craving that. Tonight should be good too. I FINALLY got a eight hour shift at work, but only because I called in early and asked for it. It's my only full shit of the week, pathetic right.
Music for Animals is playing at the Bottom of the Hill tonight yay! I get off at 6 so I will be there with Taren. I thought I was going to go to this party last night with Liz, this Andy Warhol party but it ended up being tonight. Ohh well...
I think I like this blog thing, I haven't done this since livejournal and I enjoy it... Too bad no one reads it because sometimes I feel embarrassed with what I write. I still have to get back into the whole don't give a fuck what you think attitude I used to hold dear. Now for some reason I'm as transparent and synthetic as plastic wrap and can't even muster up opinion or courage.
But it's coming.
I inititated talk with both of my interests last night via text message (still have to get back into that too). I just hate technology and money and shit that everyone relies on for communication rather than actual speaking. But hey, if it works it works, and I guess I'm the only one who doesn't get it. It kind of bugs me that blogspot doesn't catch spelling errors, I saw a few in another post and it really poked me!!!!!
POKE.
I had a nice night last night. Not too much happened, and I've been craving that. Tonight should be good too. I FINALLY got a eight hour shift at work, but only because I called in early and asked for it. It's my only full shit of the week, pathetic right.
Music for Animals is playing at the Bottom of the Hill tonight yay! I get off at 6 so I will be there with Taren. I thought I was going to go to this party last night with Liz, this Andy Warhol party but it ended up being tonight. Ohh well...
I think I like this blog thing, I haven't done this since livejournal and I enjoy it... Too bad no one reads it because sometimes I feel embarrassed with what I write. I still have to get back into the whole don't give a fuck what you think attitude I used to hold dear. Now for some reason I'm as transparent and synthetic as plastic wrap and can't even muster up opinion or courage.
But it's coming.
I inititated talk with both of my interests last night via text message (still have to get back into that too). I just hate technology and money and shit that everyone relies on for communication rather than actual speaking. But hey, if it works it works, and I guess I'm the only one who doesn't get it. It kind of bugs me that blogspot doesn't catch spelling errors, I saw a few in another post and it really poked me!!!!!
POKE.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Did you know Einstein's birthday is March 14th?
PI! Ironic much? Well, it's really not that ironic. I remember in my first English class in college we spent an entire class period defining "ironic" and my teacher accepted very few examples. It was pretty fucking awesome.
So, I've had a pretty alright day today. To my dismay, my "therapist" said that next week will be our last meeting. There's a waiting list for other troubled CCSF students, ya know.
I've been really passive aggressive lately. Two of my good friends contacted me today, and another yesterday and it made me really happy. I've been in isolation pretty much. Voluntarily under a rock, yet blaming my problems on others and obsessing over things that everyone else seems to be fine with. Things like money and consuming and the government and tiring of hearing about Obama. I must admit, I yelled out the window in reply to the kids joyfully screaming and running through the streets when he got elected. Thank God, right? Well, I think I've had enough with inspirational speakers/speaking/speeches in general. The same rush can be given at a rock show or, for example, the Prop 8 (prop hate!) march I attended tonight.
Got to journalism class downtown, semi-prepared (not stoned this time) only to leave right after to catch the march that started in the Castro. I took many pages of notes and quotes and crowd estimates and jotted down some of the signs I saw. A favorite: "Which civil rights Would Jesus Deny?" So that was pretty cool, but that's about it. They took some eleven year old kid up with two moms and he read a letter he sent to someone or other important in Sacramento or something. It was fucking cute. Then some old labor fighter guy almost made me cry. Then I got distracted by this bum I've actually seen around town before, dressed in rainbow and American flag with a fire fighter's hat- AND a broom which he used as a saber. He marched in place and posed for the cameras and twirled his cape to the music. The horrible music. Heard of Johnny Schaeffer? Check him out - he's from L.A. and apparently can sing about gay issues and love and what not... that's all I will tell you. They saved the best for last, let's say.
Important officials from the NAACP and lots of ther organizations appeared in support for the march and issue being negotiated tomorrow. It was cool, Harvey Milk's (needless to say gay) nephew was there. I awkwardly asked a few people some questions, perhaps a little too personal. Tried asking a cop/security guard a question and he was all, "Are you the media?" and I said no... But he still didn't cooperate, so I took his bat and hit him over the bald head and watched blood seep out. Hahahahahahha.
Then I saved my march candles for nastolgia's sake and started toward the station when I ran into two classmates and my teacher headed for a beer. I accepted the offer and we went ot this fancy shcmancy place with Anchor Steam AND Fat Tire on tap in these really awesome tall beer glasses. He paid and offered to pay for two even! Teacher's a good funny guy, Virgo. Can't help but find him cute. And I can't believe I denied a second beer. I've been accusing myself of alcoholism and addiction lately but really I just have a lack of control and no spine...
That's my excuse.
I walked hom in the rain and didn't cry about it for the first time in like a month.
My mom and dad are coming to visit me in a week. I feel so bad for the way I've been acting toward them, they probably think I'm fucking insane. I told me mom I heard voices ONLY because she asked me if I did, and I said sometimes. Then she asked me how much weed I was smoking and I said not that much.
Lie.
I go bck and fourth and I need to cement my feet in an appropriate boundary for substance abuse... I need to not focus my attention on the one person I can't stand right now, and I need to be clear with my priorities and my options and my wants and needs and so on.
Simple as that, right?
So, I've had a pretty alright day today. To my dismay, my "therapist" said that next week will be our last meeting. There's a waiting list for other troubled CCSF students, ya know.
I've been really passive aggressive lately. Two of my good friends contacted me today, and another yesterday and it made me really happy. I've been in isolation pretty much. Voluntarily under a rock, yet blaming my problems on others and obsessing over things that everyone else seems to be fine with. Things like money and consuming and the government and tiring of hearing about Obama. I must admit, I yelled out the window in reply to the kids joyfully screaming and running through the streets when he got elected. Thank God, right? Well, I think I've had enough with inspirational speakers/speaking/speeches in general. The same rush can be given at a rock show or, for example, the Prop 8 (prop hate!) march I attended tonight.
Got to journalism class downtown, semi-prepared (not stoned this time) only to leave right after to catch the march that started in the Castro. I took many pages of notes and quotes and crowd estimates and jotted down some of the signs I saw. A favorite: "Which civil rights Would Jesus Deny?" So that was pretty cool, but that's about it. They took some eleven year old kid up with two moms and he read a letter he sent to someone or other important in Sacramento or something. It was fucking cute. Then some old labor fighter guy almost made me cry. Then I got distracted by this bum I've actually seen around town before, dressed in rainbow and American flag with a fire fighter's hat- AND a broom which he used as a saber. He marched in place and posed for the cameras and twirled his cape to the music. The horrible music. Heard of Johnny Schaeffer? Check him out - he's from L.A. and apparently can sing about gay issues and love and what not... that's all I will tell you. They saved the best for last, let's say.
Important officials from the NAACP and lots of ther organizations appeared in support for the march and issue being negotiated tomorrow. It was cool, Harvey Milk's (needless to say gay) nephew was there. I awkwardly asked a few people some questions, perhaps a little too personal. Tried asking a cop/security guard a question and he was all, "Are you the media?" and I said no... But he still didn't cooperate, so I took his bat and hit him over the bald head and watched blood seep out. Hahahahahahha.
Then I saved my march candles for nastolgia's sake and started toward the station when I ran into two classmates and my teacher headed for a beer. I accepted the offer and we went ot this fancy shcmancy place with Anchor Steam AND Fat Tire on tap in these really awesome tall beer glasses. He paid and offered to pay for two even! Teacher's a good funny guy, Virgo. Can't help but find him cute. And I can't believe I denied a second beer. I've been accusing myself of alcoholism and addiction lately but really I just have a lack of control and no spine...
That's my excuse.
I walked hom in the rain and didn't cry about it for the first time in like a month.
My mom and dad are coming to visit me in a week. I feel so bad for the way I've been acting toward them, they probably think I'm fucking insane. I told me mom I heard voices ONLY because she asked me if I did, and I said sometimes. Then she asked me how much weed I was smoking and I said not that much.
Lie.
I go bck and fourth and I need to cement my feet in an appropriate boundary for substance abuse... I need to not focus my attention on the one person I can't stand right now, and I need to be clear with my priorities and my options and my wants and needs and so on.
Simple as that, right?
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Bad Day.
So I think I have depression or am in a depression. I can see it in my face and feel it in my stride. And I have a stride, 5'8'' and all legs it seems. I block out the wind and water and noise to my destination and remember it all. Take one step toward my class and forget it at the last second. All day, dreading that very decision. It was only after I failed my first midterm when I decided to skip my next class.
I call my mother in tears in search for reassurance, I call my father 'cause I felt like I should, I premeditated that outcome, me getting annoyed with him talking down to me. Then my aunt calls me and leaves a voice mail, and of course I call her back. How can I possibly find the courage to ignore that sort of attention? I hate to call it attention....
But that's what I want right?
I just have to finish out this dreadful semester and go home for a break.
I was too sad to walk to the bus stop, some days I make myself. I saw the boy I have a crush on today. He made me laugh and gave me a nice hug.
I'm leaving to see the woman I have a crush on in a few minutes to cut her hair. She doesn't make me laugh, she makes me think. She's a nice person, beautiful and nice person.
But I'm leaving in May anyways. I decided I'm going to pay my last month to month and slowly move home.
Hm, that didn't make much sense. My head doesn't make much sense today.
Distracted drive home. One second I'm watching snot hang from my dripping nose with my forehead resting on the steering wheel, the next I'm pulling up my clicking emergency break.
I call my mother in tears in search for reassurance, I call my father 'cause I felt like I should, I premeditated that outcome, me getting annoyed with him talking down to me. Then my aunt calls me and leaves a voice mail, and of course I call her back. How can I possibly find the courage to ignore that sort of attention? I hate to call it attention....
But that's what I want right?
I just have to finish out this dreadful semester and go home for a break.
I was too sad to walk to the bus stop, some days I make myself. I saw the boy I have a crush on today. He made me laugh and gave me a nice hug.
I'm leaving to see the woman I have a crush on in a few minutes to cut her hair. She doesn't make me laugh, she makes me think. She's a nice person, beautiful and nice person.
But I'm leaving in May anyways. I decided I'm going to pay my last month to month and slowly move home.
Hm, that didn't make much sense. My head doesn't make much sense today.
Distracted drive home. One second I'm watching snot hang from my dripping nose with my forehead resting on the steering wheel, the next I'm pulling up my clicking emergency break.
Monday, March 2, 2009
So it goes.
So I've been living here for almost a year - in July. What if it still feels like fucking July?
I just finished the Bell Jar for the first time (by Sylvia Plath, if I even needed to include that) and it made me go crazy. That is my prognosis. But it just seems worthy of eye-rolling...
I've epiphanized(is that even a word)/ truly realized/ made a reality that it is the trigger to my insanity... I totally just lost my train of though. We should differentiate the trains. The train of though should be the trein of thought... for the treng of thought... hmmm.
So I read the Bell Jar and now I'm reading Slaughterhouse-Five (vonnegut for clarity purposes). It's quite funny but sexist and it pisses me off sometimes. Anyway, I relate more to the Bell Jar.
I'm in a journalism class so I guess I should practice, 'cause that's what I wanna do right? Be a fucking journalist and write for a fucking newspaper - sounds peachy (or is it peechy). OR I can be an English major and teach kids how to do this stuff. To me, majoring in English is the same as majoring in cosmetology or cooking or something. Or anything, really. The cubby holes are driving me crazy. How can I possibly choose? How can the lady at the store tell me that she's glad I'm smart and also know that red meat sits in your bodies and rots for days and that's why your poop smells so bad and that's why we don't eat it anymore. How's that for a mental cushion? How would it be any different than majoring in Anthropology or Philosophy? You still get graded on papers based around a single idea or theme or argument or whatever - three to eightteen? eighteen pages in length, complete with bibliography WITH annotations.
Like, come the fuck on. Do I really get some sort of pleasurable fun out of that crap? Okay, so I'll teach it. I'll teach it to some girls majoring in cosmetology.
It's like my journalism teacher. He says he's the most boring person in the world and that he loves dictionaries. I feel that if I want to be an English major I should AT LEAST love dictionaries or reading the newspaper. Where's the motivation? And it's not that I'm unhappy... I go through waves.
Which brings me to my next point - I think I might have bipolar disorder or schizophrenia? Based on the umm.edu subtitle (I don't remember the university). Euphoria, irritability, both symptoms at once, gradual excelleration to an episode, isolation, inability to concentrate or make decisions, spurts of achievement or take-ons of responsibility (okay I don't remember if it said quite that, but I remember relating that to it), disrupted sleep patters (always wake up in the middle of the night to get water or eat a little bit of food or something, it's like I get up to compare the times I get up each night). So I get a therapist for free (god -or higher power or lack thereof- bless ccsf!) and i confide in my friends. It helps me realize what a mad woman I've become, while exposing my insecurities to those who turn around and agree with me in the end.... I can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing. So I just shouldn't let it bother me. It doesn't for a while, then it comes back, haunting me like the ghost in the north-west corner of the apartment, the one who opens the fridge when I turn away, and flips the kitchen light back on after I've turned it off and some tugging at my shoulder pulls me away from the pillow and back to the bathroom to notice it. It pokes fun and howls with the wind. And we sit, get high, talk about it, forget about it, but I don't. I really believe it. But then there are times like this where I'm intoxicated, by myself, unable to do the things I should. Like study or do homework. I continue to procrastinate. I am afraid of the unplanned day, I'm afraid of routine. I feel that I need to plan something so close to the minute that if something interrupts, be it an emergency and in that case I'll be rightfully fucked, or unable to attend, in that case I'll feel a green steam seep from my pores.
So the internet information rightfully listed some relatable symptoms, to my satisfaction I GUESS, included substance abuse (come on, that's what it is), alcoholism etc. But who is the judge to that? Someone who feels addicted to a mind altering substance or someone who doesn't? Crazy people don't know they are crazy, right? But what if I am really crazy, and I know it, and I live with it and control it - I think I am masking it. I've sabotaged my self esteem and my living environment to the point of an explosive episode... Mania, and as Sylv would say, like an eye of the hurricane with chaos floating around her (I wish I could quote directly with page number - cream in pants). One bullet even said a sudden turn to resent the ones you held/hold close and be convinced that they are decieving you and spying on you at all times, could be a symptom - hello, the last eight months. It also said that family members find it hard to differentiate episodes from "normal expressive behavior" (I shouldn't put those quotes there) and therefore the disorder can go untreated for years. And it also said that bipolar disorder is a step into schizophrenia. Can't deny that I've hallucinated, heard voices, be stuck in a paranoid and manic state, talked in a flat tone of voice, ad hoc repeat (that's probably not accurate).
My name is Yon Yonson I live in Wisconsin...
Maybe I made this blog so I can have a connection with the outside world of online journalism.
Maybe to practice my typing, spelling, writing style.
Maybe to impress.
Maybe to sabotage.
It's all the same to me at this point. I mean this is the kind of shit I write in my journal although the hand writing differs from entry to entry depending on my mood. And I write pretty much everyday and when you think about it that's a lot of wasted paper I could be saving by just switching my brain occupancy with the internet, like everyone else.
Like everyone else.
So it goes.
So I feel like I am able to recognize my illness, since Dr. Tati has diagnosed herself and with that will medicate herself with wine and weed and xantax/zanax and all together and mushrooms and acid in the future. But it will only prolong my process of insanity. If I let the people around me sway my way and offer me love and I return, I can stay sane. I feel that a lack of love can cause one to be crazy or me, at least. I feel no love from my family so I call them in balling tears the size of boulders (reference to the Rock n Rollers gang of SF from the beat generation), shaking voice impossible to understand complete with snot, and anger, and cursing, and harmful thoughts for about a week. Exhausted for the next, enthused for the next.
It also read that episodes are enhanced in a woman around her period - hence, during her PMSing. Which totally happens to me... it's embarrassing to say that my episode was a week before my period. I didn't know that at the time, and to be honest it didn't even cross my mind. I remember I used to be able to recognize it. I've had episodes like that before - It's almost like I'm seeking someone to put up with my shit, like a child. I just give into my true emotions and I break down to an innocent and pathetic jelly pool, floating among it alphabet soup (word soup; also a symptom of schizophrenia) and noodles shaped like question marks. Other questions sprout, should I go to Oregon or should I stay in the state? Should I try cutting myself 'cause it looks like it helps people? Should I be gay or straight - rather, AM I gay or straight or bi? Should I get another job or should I mope in my filth day in and day out 'cause the truth is, I deserve it.
So I exited out of UC applications because the one for winter 2010 isn't up, and the deadline for fall 2009 already passed.
I just want someone to do it for me. So it goes.
Now I have to make an appointment with a counselor at school so they can tell me what to do.
I don't want to move away from San Francisco anymore because I want to live with Cesar and Bailey and be up here, with everyone. If I can't stay in SF then I want to stay in the Bay Area.
But I'm torn between my family and my friends.
But I just want to be me, I just want to find that out.
That sounds really retarded, but it's true. I feel alone, that no one (and I mean pretty much fucking no one) understands me. I feel lost, I feel that I need a break, which is what summer will be for... what if I took the summer off and then came back up to SF with Cesar and Bailey and then after I finish my GE I can go to Sonoma or Santa Cruz or something.
OR SOMETHING.
God I don't even know.
Lava cake.
Maybe I'll go to sleep now and wake up extra early to cram for my anthropology midterm.
Then I stare at my silly painting, and vomit creeps up my throat when I think about my other one at school in my little art class slot.
My art teacher reminds me of a pothead fat Jack Nicholson. He's kind of sexy in the most nasty way, sunspotted crackled face from acid trips and speed and sunburns and a big beer belly from beer and sitting on his ass painting and the only hair on his head is white, and he is a bubbly aquarian with a holey Amoeba shirt (that says San Francisco and Berkley on the same shirt??).
Divorced a few times, wears gold shiny rings and collects antique toys, I can only imagine what his house looks/smells like.
No one's going to read this... So it goes...
My name is Yon Yonson(I think I may have spelled it with an h), I live in Wisconsin....
I just finished the Bell Jar for the first time (by Sylvia Plath, if I even needed to include that) and it made me go crazy. That is my prognosis. But it just seems worthy of eye-rolling...
I've epiphanized(is that even a word)/ truly realized/ made a reality that it is the trigger to my insanity... I totally just lost my train of though. We should differentiate the trains. The train of though should be the trein of thought... for the treng of thought... hmmm.
So I read the Bell Jar and now I'm reading Slaughterhouse-Five (vonnegut for clarity purposes). It's quite funny but sexist and it pisses me off sometimes. Anyway, I relate more to the Bell Jar.
I'm in a journalism class so I guess I should practice, 'cause that's what I wanna do right? Be a fucking journalist and write for a fucking newspaper - sounds peachy (or is it peechy). OR I can be an English major and teach kids how to do this stuff. To me, majoring in English is the same as majoring in cosmetology or cooking or something. Or anything, really. The cubby holes are driving me crazy. How can I possibly choose? How can the lady at the store tell me that she's glad I'm smart and also know that red meat sits in your bodies and rots for days and that's why your poop smells so bad and that's why we don't eat it anymore. How's that for a mental cushion? How would it be any different than majoring in Anthropology or Philosophy? You still get graded on papers based around a single idea or theme or argument or whatever - three to eightteen? eighteen pages in length, complete with bibliography WITH annotations.
Like, come the fuck on. Do I really get some sort of pleasurable fun out of that crap? Okay, so I'll teach it. I'll teach it to some girls majoring in cosmetology.
It's like my journalism teacher. He says he's the most boring person in the world and that he loves dictionaries. I feel that if I want to be an English major I should AT LEAST love dictionaries or reading the newspaper. Where's the motivation? And it's not that I'm unhappy... I go through waves.
Which brings me to my next point - I think I might have bipolar disorder or schizophrenia? Based on the umm.edu subtitle (I don't remember the university). Euphoria, irritability, both symptoms at once, gradual excelleration to an episode, isolation, inability to concentrate or make decisions, spurts of achievement or take-ons of responsibility (okay I don't remember if it said quite that, but I remember relating that to it), disrupted sleep patters (always wake up in the middle of the night to get water or eat a little bit of food or something, it's like I get up to compare the times I get up each night). So I get a therapist for free (god -or higher power or lack thereof- bless ccsf!) and i confide in my friends. It helps me realize what a mad woman I've become, while exposing my insecurities to those who turn around and agree with me in the end.... I can't decide if that's a good or a bad thing. So I just shouldn't let it bother me. It doesn't for a while, then it comes back, haunting me like the ghost in the north-west corner of the apartment, the one who opens the fridge when I turn away, and flips the kitchen light back on after I've turned it off and some tugging at my shoulder pulls me away from the pillow and back to the bathroom to notice it. It pokes fun and howls with the wind. And we sit, get high, talk about it, forget about it, but I don't. I really believe it. But then there are times like this where I'm intoxicated, by myself, unable to do the things I should. Like study or do homework. I continue to procrastinate. I am afraid of the unplanned day, I'm afraid of routine. I feel that I need to plan something so close to the minute that if something interrupts, be it an emergency and in that case I'll be rightfully fucked, or unable to attend, in that case I'll feel a green steam seep from my pores.
So the internet information rightfully listed some relatable symptoms, to my satisfaction I GUESS, included substance abuse (come on, that's what it is), alcoholism etc. But who is the judge to that? Someone who feels addicted to a mind altering substance or someone who doesn't? Crazy people don't know they are crazy, right? But what if I am really crazy, and I know it, and I live with it and control it - I think I am masking it. I've sabotaged my self esteem and my living environment to the point of an explosive episode... Mania, and as Sylv would say, like an eye of the hurricane with chaos floating around her (I wish I could quote directly with page number - cream in pants). One bullet even said a sudden turn to resent the ones you held/hold close and be convinced that they are decieving you and spying on you at all times, could be a symptom - hello, the last eight months. It also said that family members find it hard to differentiate episodes from "normal expressive behavior" (I shouldn't put those quotes there) and therefore the disorder can go untreated for years. And it also said that bipolar disorder is a step into schizophrenia. Can't deny that I've hallucinated, heard voices, be stuck in a paranoid and manic state, talked in a flat tone of voice, ad hoc repeat (that's probably not accurate).
My name is Yon Yonson I live in Wisconsin...
Maybe I made this blog so I can have a connection with the outside world of online journalism.
Maybe to practice my typing, spelling, writing style.
Maybe to impress.
Maybe to sabotage.
It's all the same to me at this point. I mean this is the kind of shit I write in my journal although the hand writing differs from entry to entry depending on my mood. And I write pretty much everyday and when you think about it that's a lot of wasted paper I could be saving by just switching my brain occupancy with the internet, like everyone else.
Like everyone else.
So it goes.
So I feel like I am able to recognize my illness, since Dr. Tati has diagnosed herself and with that will medicate herself with wine and weed and xantax/zanax and all together and mushrooms and acid in the future. But it will only prolong my process of insanity. If I let the people around me sway my way and offer me love and I return, I can stay sane. I feel that a lack of love can cause one to be crazy or me, at least. I feel no love from my family so I call them in balling tears the size of boulders (reference to the Rock n Rollers gang of SF from the beat generation), shaking voice impossible to understand complete with snot, and anger, and cursing, and harmful thoughts for about a week. Exhausted for the next, enthused for the next.
It also read that episodes are enhanced in a woman around her period - hence, during her PMSing. Which totally happens to me... it's embarrassing to say that my episode was a week before my period. I didn't know that at the time, and to be honest it didn't even cross my mind. I remember I used to be able to recognize it. I've had episodes like that before - It's almost like I'm seeking someone to put up with my shit, like a child. I just give into my true emotions and I break down to an innocent and pathetic jelly pool, floating among it alphabet soup (word soup; also a symptom of schizophrenia) and noodles shaped like question marks. Other questions sprout, should I go to Oregon or should I stay in the state? Should I try cutting myself 'cause it looks like it helps people? Should I be gay or straight - rather, AM I gay or straight or bi? Should I get another job or should I mope in my filth day in and day out 'cause the truth is, I deserve it.
So I exited out of UC applications because the one for winter 2010 isn't up, and the deadline for fall 2009 already passed.
I just want someone to do it for me. So it goes.
Now I have to make an appointment with a counselor at school so they can tell me what to do.
I don't want to move away from San Francisco anymore because I want to live with Cesar and Bailey and be up here, with everyone. If I can't stay in SF then I want to stay in the Bay Area.
But I'm torn between my family and my friends.
But I just want to be me, I just want to find that out.
That sounds really retarded, but it's true. I feel alone, that no one (and I mean pretty much fucking no one) understands me. I feel lost, I feel that I need a break, which is what summer will be for... what if I took the summer off and then came back up to SF with Cesar and Bailey and then after I finish my GE I can go to Sonoma or Santa Cruz or something.
OR SOMETHING.
God I don't even know.
Lava cake.
Maybe I'll go to sleep now and wake up extra early to cram for my anthropology midterm.
Then I stare at my silly painting, and vomit creeps up my throat when I think about my other one at school in my little art class slot.
My art teacher reminds me of a pothead fat Jack Nicholson. He's kind of sexy in the most nasty way, sunspotted crackled face from acid trips and speed and sunburns and a big beer belly from beer and sitting on his ass painting and the only hair on his head is white, and he is a bubbly aquarian with a holey Amoeba shirt (that says San Francisco and Berkley on the same shirt??).
Divorced a few times, wears gold shiny rings and collects antique toys, I can only imagine what his house looks/smells like.
No one's going to read this... So it goes...
My name is Yon Yonson(I think I may have spelled it with an h), I live in Wisconsin....
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