Sunday, December 30, 2007

My Man: Stuck between His Friend and Me

Sunday the 30th of December, 2007.

It is 3:54pm at the moment.



And so he calls me, and he kinda apologizes. He says he doesn’t understand why I’m being so moody. He asks if I still love him. He makes me feel better, even though I don’t smile. I hit bottom, now I’m creeping up again. Just wait, I’ll hit the bottom again. Another slope will come, I will cry again. I will laugh again. I will repeat, like an idiot. Ignorant in my bliss, enlightened in my pain, forever cycling, until I’m too dizzy to carry on.


It is 5:05pm at the moment.


Believing I was pregnant has fucked up everything. Now I feel worthless. I needed to look forward to that. Now I’m scared again if I should be having a baby. Facing the reality is harder than the chance or worse; the choice.

Everything makes me cry. Music, thinking, reading, dancing... Writing. It’s all tears. He didn’t answer is phone when I called half an hour ago. Why does it feel like that alone was hours ago? Why does the day already feel over? Why do I feel so lost? I haven’t felt so lost in a long time. I’m questing myself, my reasoning, my desires... I’m questing my wants and needs...

And I’m crying, quaking and shaking. I need direction. I need a smack to the face. I need comfort and love. I need someone to listen. I need someone to understand.

The phone rings, and I answer. I’m crying, and he’s questioning. I don’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. He’s distracted, and I’m scattered. He says he loves me at the same moment I tell him I love him. We hang up, and I feel even worse.


It is 5:22pm at the moment.


He’s been gone three and a half hours now. I feel like shit. I hate that I’m so dependant, and yet I don’t even want to break away. I didn’t want to break away a year and two months ago either, but it had to be done. How much worse my life could be right now if I hadn’t done that. Who knows how I would have felt living in Chicago, alone, friendless, jobless without anything to do with myself.

Let’s compare. Oh. Hm. Sounds not so different in that light. Though there is Tina and such, but why does that just not really matter? Why is that so irrelevant? Why does everything pale before My boyfriend? Am I really that weak? Am I really so wretched?

I want to knock some sense into myself. I want a lot of useless wants. I breathe useless breaths. I write useless words. I live useless life. I suppose nobody can do better than that anyway, eh?


It is 5:42pm at the moment.


He doesn’t seem to understand that calling me and telling me what a fucking good time he’s having doesn’t help. It’s not going to make me feel better. I hate Sundays. It’s just a fucking disappointment waiting to happen each week. I kinda wish he didn’t have any days off at all so I didn’t feel like he was choosing everybody over me.




It is 7:46pm at the moment.


This isn’t surprising. Company is always bad. Boyfriends are always difficult. Life is always bull shit. I hardly even have a thing to say about this. I want to crawl into a hole and disappear. I can’t believe El is defending me, after I thought I had no respect for the guy, but then again, this was never a problem between El and me, this is problem between My boyfriend and I.

Summerlee and Timmy are here of all people. They now call themselves Tim and Summer.

My boyfriend has been drinking, they all have been drinking, but My boyfriend is the one who has promised me over and over again that he’d quit. I dumped his drink down the drain. He tried to say "but I paid for it" which makes it worse, not better. He’s lost his temper and left the room.

I told him, "if you’re still not done drinking than leave," and he said, "peace" as in "bye" and then wouldn’t leave. El tried to stop the whole thing from happening... It’s no use, is it?


It is 10:00pm at the moment.


I just spoke to El, and he feels like he’s in the same situation as me. He prefers to go out with My boyfriend than to go out by himself. Since he himself drinks and smokes, it’s hard for him to reinforce things with My boyfriend, especially when there is such a pressure at a party to be doing those things.

Neither of us see a solution that is fully satisfying for everybody. It’s possible to make My boyfriend perfectly happy, El mildly happy, and me damn-near miserable, and that’s about is good as it looks, which is making seriously consider what I really want in my future.

I want a husband, and I want children, and I want a home, and I want to take care of all three as best as I can, and I’m not trying to wait until I’m old to do that. My boyfriend seemed like the perfect candidate, especially with how much we have in common. We’ve spent a year together now, and I feel closer to him than I did to Tre after two years, by far.

It’s not that I couldn’t find another man, and it’s not even that I couldn’t compromise, but they both sound like misery and failure. All options sound bad. I don’t want to deal with him being gone once a week, and El was talking about damn-near splitting days fifty-fifty.

I want to smash my head into a wall. I want to disappear. I want out, I want out, I want out.

I Am Nothing But Names

Friday the 28th of December, 2007.

It is 10:14pm at the moment.


My heart never seems to fail to drop into my stomach when My boyfriend tells me that he’ll be going out. Though it’s worse than slowly realizing he’s not coming home by the passing of time. It takes all the hope of my evening out. The entire day then seems pointless. The reward at the end being snatched from under me...

I’m pregnant now. If he goes out later on in this, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it. Tonight, I understand that it is a little different. His cousins are in from out of town, several of them, and them and several of his friends came by. They invited him out, and this being a mix of his favorite family and friends, he didn’t even ask, he told me that he was going out. I understand. I’m just hurt. I don’t know how to not be hurt.

One night shouldn’t be so hard to ask, should it? So why do I feel this, each and every single time I feel this way. My emotions are set to "down" and I feel alone. What keeps me from crying is the logical thought that says that it’s only fair, and that it is only, after all, one night. It is, after all, following what I said, once a week. So why do I keep hoping that he’ll choose once in a month or less out of choice? Why do I keep believing that it will work out that way?

Even if my brain computes that as impossible, my heart won’t let go. I want him all to myself, and perhaps that’s just greedy, but perhaps it’s because I can’t relate with wanting to go out. I don’t know how it feels to enjoy being out with a group of people. Perhaps I have enjoyed it on occasion, but not often enough, not consistently enough for it to ever amount to beans for me.

I’m trying so hard to push away what-ifs like, "What if he continues to follow his pattern of leaving me once or twice a week for long periods of time, forever, no matter what happens?"

It’s not fair. Him and I don’t argue when he doesn’t go out. There is nothing to argue about except him going out (and doing drugs while he’s out.) I called him back and told him that this means he is not going out New Years Eve with his boss and his boss’s husband/boyfriend. He told me that it wasn’t fair, but I really didn’t want him to go out New Years Eve anyway. Perhaps this is better, assuming he comes home without being tipsy. Assuming he doesn’t take until six o’clock in the morning to arrive. Assuming he does indeed stay in for New Years Eve.

Would he defy a direct "order" from me if I’m pregnant with his child? If I told him he couldn’t do something, would he still do it to spite me? Please, please, please tell me he wouldn’t. I don’t think he would, but god the what-ifs are attacking me.

It’s just painful knowing I’m alone tonight I suppose. Is there anything really else that could be to it? I don’t want to be alone, and I can’t relate with wanting to go out, and even if I did, I don’t have anywhere to go, so of course I’m going to feel alone. I’ll never be used to it, I’ll never accept it. I’ll continue to pray and hope for him to decide staying in is better, and if he won’t come around on his own, then he’ll be forced to come around when he sees his baby.

But he has been spending more time with me. I just hate that it’s our only problem, and that it can be so easily deflected. Just don’t leave me My boyfriend, that’s it. That’s all I’m asking.









Sunday the 30th of December, 2007.

It is 1:41pm at the moment.



Everything has come full circle. The last two weeks might have well have never happened. I’m not pregnant, and I’m about at the edge of my stamina for meaning. I don’t have any sort of meaning. And I’m shown that. I’ve had it proven to my face. Maybe men just hate me because I’m worth hating. I’m too fucking demanding. I changed my mind about things, and now look what happens. I wanted to be pregnant. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. It’s like running towards everything you always wanted up a path floating in the air, to a cloud with a castle in the sky, and then, out of no where, you hit this glass screen. I never saw it coming, and then I’m falling, falling, falling back to whence I came.

No, the last two weeks did happen. And now I’ve gone from a break-up that would have caused me three months of turmoil to a break-up that would give me a year. I’m so sick of starting over with everything. My art is still garbage, and don’t try and tell me otherwise. I stopped writing on my novel, again, and now I’ve come to realize what I really need to write, and it’s going to be very different, and it’s going to be very hard, but it will be all I can write with any sort of feeling.

I feel like the two halves of my body are not quite connected. I’m all emotion, or I’m all logic, and funny enough, they are telling me the same things... Fuck everything.

There’s El. He’s here already. With that my heart sinks so far inside that I can’t even dig it out. I’m not sure if it’s good or not that I’m not pregnant now. I hate myself. I hate myself for being so ignorant, for not knowing anything useful! I hate myself for not being useful.

I will myself not to speak. I will not speak. I will keep a blank face, and say nothing. I need to just ignore this. If I put my headphones on they’ll be more likely to put music on.

They’ll be leaving soon enough. My boyfriend is going to go buy some new pants, so he has something new to wear tomorrow when he spends Christmas Eve away from me, with his boss. He says he has to go. That this is so he "can eat" as he put it.

I’m not convinced any of it’s worth it any more. Am I going to regret all of this?

I have a new idea. But it’s a bad one. It’s a very bad one. Actually, it’s not a new idea at all. What if I just went out? What if I went and made friends and came home high? Well, perhaps not that last part.

So much for not speaking. I can’t help it. I thought this up and down was done dude. I believed it. He’s leaving, again. I threatened to break up with him this morning again, and it was the same, even before El got here. Everything is all for not. It’s all a waste. Everything I’ve tried to do, everything I’ve tried to say. It’s all nothing. It’s all worthless.

It’s so painful. I want to be hit. I want to be thrown out the window, and shot three times before I hit the ground. Fuck everyone else’s feelings, just kill me. I don’t have the strength to do it to myself, so just do it to me.

I don’t have many more words to describe this... "Beautiful Liar" by Shakira and Beonce, "Breakin Dishes" by Rihanna. I leave it at that. Let me just go lay down and cry now...


Sunday the 30th of December, 2007.

It is 2:37pm at the moment.



They’ve been gone for forty minutes now. I feel that desolate empty feeling that I get when some part of me, conscious or not, decides to shut off the water works. The part of me that wants to shrug and walk away and say, "it was just another year of lessons." That part of me knows how to stop crying.

Breakups shouldn’t be the tip of my tongue. We were just talking about having a baby. We’re still engaged. My fiancĂ© is out right now... Looking for a new outfit to wear to go out with his boss. I’m, of course not being fair, not being understanding. I’m still a sucky a girlfriend.

I think I know why Tre keeps coming up in my dreams right now. I’m usually running from him in these dreams, in one way or another. In the dream I had last night, there was this bug that resembled a scorpion, but it was hard to tell what it was because it kept growing and changing, and then, suddenly it grew to full size and it was Tre. Suddenly it seemed obvious that it had been Tre all along. In the dream My boyfriend is calm about this. I think this is a metaphor for my fear of My boyfriend turning out to be just like Tre. That is probably my greatest fear of all.

But comparing the two is completely moot, especially at this point. This is about now. There is a rift between my father and I, and this is because I’ve went from one man to another, never asking for his approval. At least, I think that is what’s happened. It seems like the rift just gets bigger and bigger. Whenever him and I talk about anything personal, it’s a dead conversation, or it’s an argument. I’ve unknowingly sacrificed my relationship with my father in the hopes of having a better marriage than he did. In the hopes of finding Mr. Right.

I’ve stashed away my own ambitions, and subsumed myself into one man’s dreams or another. I’ve let myself be controlled, belittled, smothered, abandoned and miserable. I’ve let that happen. This is my fault. I can always leave. I could have always said or done something differently. I could have cut things off before I got attached, this time, last time, or the first time. I should know better. I’m the one crying, and being pathetic.

I can’t blame him. He believes he needs new pants before he shows himself tomorrow. He thinks it will be beneficial to his job to go out on New Years. Just leave me. Fine. I’ll sit here, by myself, and I’ll go ahead and be pathetic some more.

Why am I still so upset that I’m not pregnant? Isn’t it just completely stupid of me to feel like that is going to fix anything? Why is babies another tear jerkier?

A giant spider landed in my face last night before My boyfriend got home. A large daddy-long-leg. A deadly spider that can not penetrate human skin because it’s mouth is too small. A cannibal spider that eats it’s own kind, that gets larger and larger for all the time that it lives. It was probably an inch an a half tall, two inches wide. It’s legs that is, while bent. It’s body is actually rather small. The thing was terrifying though. I leaped out of beg, thrashing my hair, my face, my arms. I checked myself thoroughly in the mirror and then returned to the bed, pulling the covered apart one at a time, and moving the pillows, until finally it emerged. I was ready for it, and I heard it crunch inside the tissue. Totally grossed out I laid back down.

A sign? How could it not be? I have not seen a spider like that in so long, and then My boyfriend gets home and we argue about this and that until we come to an understanding. An understanding that was completely negated first thing this morning.

Perhaps right now I’m checking myself in the mirror for the problem. What is the problem? Is it El? Is it My boyfriend? Is it his work? Is it me? Is it just everything? Can anything be done about it?

And then, when I find it, carefully I have to pull the layers away, lean in, pull more layers away, until finally it emerges, and then, squashed the deadly thing with only a tissue to protect my hand. (I don’t think there is enough venom to kill you from touch or anything like that, but I wouldn’t squash that thing in my bare hand even if it was harmless.)

Too bad human emotions and issues are much harder to locate than spiders. I’ve been awake for two and a half hours. One of those hours he’s been gone for. The half-hour before that, El was here. The hour before that My boyfriend and I argued. This is just so stupid. I think I’m going back to the old approach of not reacting to anything in does except in private.

Let him leave. How will he feel if I don’t care, or at least don’t seem to? It probably won’t help. I don’t know what would help. I’ve tried explaining, and listening, explaining and listening, and then compromising. Then he just breaks the compromise and goes back to his original argument. Back to square one again, and why is that so familiar?

Start over. Start over. Our anniversary was going to be a start-over. He was really going to change. It’s not like I even want who he is to change. I just don’t want him to go out. I want him to be the him that he is when he’s inside the room, cuddling beside me, talking, drawing, reading, writing, designing, watching TV, eating, laughing, playing, sharing computer interests, sharing memories, sharing love, sex and attention. Why the fuck isn’t that enough? Why can’t I relate to wanting to be amongst people? Why can’t he keep a promise to me?

Why are all promises made to be broken? Why are all hearts made to be broken? Why am I so fragile? Why is everything so breakable, so hurtful, so hard?

It’s like him and I said last night: if our relationship was perfect, karma would come along and fuck up everything else. So him and I are doomed to fight, and fight, and fight until we get fed up enough to call it quits for good. Is that the way of love? Or have I still, yet, to this day, never known a real love? Am I still floundering in false realities? Is there such thing as reality? Perhaps reality is only pain, and everything else is a blissful illusion before we return to base one: hurt.

Two-thousand-and-seven is about to end. I’ll be kissing the year goodbye without him, and perhaps that’s just another sign. Maybe this is building up the exact same way. Rocky and beautiful after a year, with discouraging signs creating further determination, stubbornness living on, wearing down the heart, wearing down the connection, until there are sparks, an outage, until I shut down, and tearless, give up after two years of fighting. Am I doomed to that same pattern?

Up and down, up and down, up and down, perhaps emotions are just sex. On the out-stroke we’re scared for a moment that the pleasure won’t come back, we’re anxious, desperate, were not in a position of enough control, and then it comes back, and we’re in ecstacy, the moment in between lost in our memories, only existing in it’s present, it’s now, never there when we look back for it, trying to remember it. The orgasm abolishing the worries, the pain, for a few seconds at least, maybe even a few hours, before "reality" comes back to us, smacks us in the face, and makes us realize we’re dripping and dirty, sweaty and tired, and that we’re meaningless beings addicted and chained, helpless slaves to our own desires. Helpless slaves to our need to be loved, and to love back fully, unrestrained.


Nothing but Names

It is 3:16pm at the moment.


I am your lover, your slave.

I’m a typical woman to my grave.

I’m a bitch and a brat,

I’m as slick as a cat.

I’m pretty and plain, not fat.

I’m a trickster, not to be trusted.

You say a lot, until my heart is busted.


Held up so high, on praise and joy.

It hurts more as I fall into another ploy.


I’m a lover, a slave, a liar to the grave.

I’m a bitch, a brat, a player, a cat.

I’m stupid, retarded, demented, twisted.


I’m the girl next door, plain.

Easily slain.


You like me like this, you like me in pain.

I have everything to lose, everything to gain.

Go ahead, call me one more name.


I’m a lover, a slave, a bitch to the grave.

I’m a brat, a trickster, a woman, and I crave.

I’m stupid, twisted, demented, retarded.


I’m dirty. I’m crazy. I’m flirty. I’m lazy.

I’m a typical, lying bitch; my words hazy.

A snake, a sliver, totally untrustworthy.

I’m alone picking a daisy.


He loves me, he love me not.

He loves me... Fuck – He loves me not.


I’m a girl, a babe, a sweety, a shorty.

I’m a brat, I’m a bitch, it’s all the same.


How come I’m nothing despite all my names?

Friday, December 28, 2007

Christmas & Aftermath

Tuesday the 25th of December, 2007.

* Merry Christmas*

It is 8:23pm at the moment.



My head rather hurts, and so do my eyes. I’d still be smiling like I have been all day if My boyfriend wasn’t in his mother’s car right now, on his way to her home to be made to feel like shit. At least, that’s what I’m assuming is going to happen.

My boyfriend arranged to go Christmas Shopping with his mother on Sunday, December 2nd. When he told me about making plans to do this he talked about it with an sprinkle of excitement. He really seemed to want to go shopping with her. Yet when he returned he seemed very upset. I asked him why and he took a long time about answering, but finally he quoted her on a remark about him spending too much money, which I found out later was because of him buying me a play station 2 for our anniversary.

It seems to me that while My boyfriend’s mom thinks I’m acceptable, I don’t think she quite approves of me. I’m not sure why. She can’t disapprove of me any more than she can her own son. Something you have to keep in mind about Coriver’s mother is that she is a woman, she’s educated, and she has good logic, but she’s still black. Now perhaps this doesn’t matter in Africa, or France or Japan, but here in America, and especially in Buffalo, it matters.

I can’t speak for everywhere, but here in my experience, and in the experience of everyone I know, black women are more aggressive than anyone. They have the tendency to not listen if they don’t like what they hear. They tend to be loud, though My boyfriend’s mother is not like most in that one. Black women tend to think that they can say whatever they want about anything, and be damned if you argue with them, the younger ones will fight with you, the older ones with send their children or boyfriend’s after you.

I don’t mess with black women. I don’t criticize them, I don’t talk back to them, I don’t tell them (usually) when they’re wrong. I try very hard not to stare at them, and use only quick glances to gather enough information about them to remember them, or to come up with a complement. This is not just superstition or stereotype, this is my experience. Especially growing up. The young black girls are vicious.

I recall one time recently when a six or seven year old black girl was standing in the middle of a main isle in Joan An Fabrics, and I really had to steer my cart right to where she was. Most people just move out of the way, but she looked at me pointedly and stood there. I continued to fix my eyes on what I was after, and as I came very close to her she finally moved and then as she turned on her heal she made loud remarks about how a "white girl" almost ran right into her, about how I needed to look where I was going, etc. And she was still so young!

Anyway, the point is, My boyfriend’s mother is for the most part a reasonable woman, certainly a good woman, but she still falls in to the category of black women living in the region. After the shopping trip, only about a week ago My boyfriend’s mother showed up at My boyfriend’s work-place and began criticizing the entire career of tattooing. She not only criticized My boyfriend for being a tattoo artist, but the industry of tattoos. As My boyfriend put it, she made it sound like I was too good for it, as if being a tattoo-artist was the same as being a whore – or the same as being a drug a dealer. Certainly using his talent for what he wants to do in such a way that he brings home a pay check is a fine thing to do! But not to her.

My boyfriend came home that night very upset as well. Before either of those incidents she wrote him a few e-mails which made him upset as well. One accused him one way or another of not caring about her, and not taking the time to see her. Well, let’s see, back to him working fifty to sixty hours weekly and only having one day off. If he saw everyone who wanted to see him on a Sunday, then he’d have no time to himself as well as not spending much time with any one person at all.

I’m the one (as I’ve said over and over) who’ll be around for him in thirty years. I’m the one who is probably pregnant with his baby right now. (My period is seven days late.) I’m the person who does his laundry, his dishes, and who makes love to him, and who rubs his back and his head and his feet. And I like my role, and I like being the girl-friend, the fiancĂ©, soon-to-be wife. This is what I want, and this is what he wants. I wish his mother, El, and other assorted people would just butt-out of the entire thing. His days off are mine, and soon enough his days off will be mine and our baby’s.

I’m not trying to block out his mother, I’m really not. I’ve done nothing to try and prevent him from seeing his mother. In fact, I’ve encouraged it. I’ve excused it. It’s his freaking mother, of course she has a right to see him and to be with him, and of course he wants to see her now and then too. But I really wish she would stop lecturing him about everything and sending him home with his tail between his legs.

He’s probably there right now. Aparently she made it semi-clear to him that she didn’t want me along. She didn’t say specifically, but the last time she didn’t say specifically and he thought she didn’t want me to come and came to pick him up, she told me as I was getting into the car that she didn’t want me along. (This was shortly after his grandfather’s death.)

I figure her coming to pick him up is part of the message, since that means she’s taking control of the situation. Yes, I’d be bored if I went probably, but I really wanted to spend the entire day with My boyfriend, but such is life, eh? We did spend all of Thanksgiving together by going over to his mom’s house after eating at Robert’s and Patty’s house.

*sigh* Christmas has been pretty darn good. I couldn’t have asked it to be better really. Considering that we didn’t go to Aunt Martha’s, it was amazing. Aunt Mary, My boyfriend, Dad, Mom and I each had a stocking, and this year we changed tradition and went youngest to oldest in opening stockings.

I really planned on typing out everything I received, but I already wrote it by hand, so I won’t forget, and I’m really quite tired. I think I shall nap, and perhaps sleep all the way up until My boyfriend returns, which would be nice, all except for the fact that I would then be awake later than he. Ah, again, such is life; such is life.









Wednesday the 26th of December, 2007.

It is 6:54pm at the moment.


"And what happens when you’re mother is dead and My boyfriend leaves you?" My father asked me. I stormed out of the room in tears, saying, "I will not be talked at like I’m a ten year old! I don’t need to hear this right now. I will not hear this right now."

I rushed upstairs and then collapsed on the couch in tears. I cried for a few minutes, and then, not able to take the pressure of being inside my room, inside the house, I pulled on the socks mom gave me for Christmas, pulled on the hoddie My boyfriend gave me yesterday, my coat, then realized I needed to use the bathroom. As I was in the bathroom my mother came up the stairs.

I frowned, that would make it hard to leave. I said to her, "I don’t want to talk right now, I want to walk." She held up her tarot cards and said to me, "I need you to read my cards. I need to know if I should be getting a divorce right now."

My face contorted back into tears, and I sat upon my bed. A divorce? Because I want to have a baby? How unjust! How backward! How insane!

Mary came up my stairs next, and then I knew I was trapped. I cried as she hugged me.

"I’ve just lost all respect for him," Mary says. "Often I take his side, but as I told him, this time, I’m with Ruth." (Ruth is my Mom.)

"Formal Operations," my mom said, pointedly looking at me. It sounded familiar, but I didn’t remember what it meant. "Full maturity is when our brain reaches formal operations and they realize that indeed the rest of the world is as real, and as important as themselves. Most people never reach that point, and your father hasn’t."

I thought about that. Dad had said just mere minutes ago, "Your mother says she wants to live to see her grandchild. That has nothing to do with you having a baby!"

I said, "You can’t separate her from me like that. You can’t separate people like that. All of our wants and goals are interlocked, all of us under this roof."

He completely ignored my statement. But when my mom said that I realized that if he thought that my mother’s wishes were not relevant, then why would his wishes be relevant?

"I want to see the baby too," Mary said after I stormed out the room. That was the last thing she said before she came upstairs to talk with Mom and I.

I still wanted to walk more than I wanted to talk. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I think I still might. I might just walk to pick My boyfriend up from work.

Dad said that I was giving up responsibility and rights to my body by telling My boyfriend, "Condom or Crib." But that’s not true at all, is it? I was basically asking him, "Do you want to have a baby with me now? I don’t mind, I want one, but do you?" I certainly wouldn’t give that option if I wasn’t ready to have a baby.

Dad told me that I had no relevant plans. My child raising plans are irrelevant to him. What about health insurance? What about the money? What about my responsibility?

In other words, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with paying for my child. Or in yet, other words, he’d rather me not have one then him have to pay for it.

Mom told me that my father said, "I will not raise another child!"

At this point I rushed down the stairs crying, seeking my Dad. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to cry in his arms. I wanted him to stroke my head and tell me that he loved me, and that he would love my baby too. I was so upset. He doesn’t want my baby, he doesn’t want anything to do with him or her! I called out "Dad?" in a voice that cracked.

"Yeah?" I heard a reply from the bathroom. I waited a moment, wondering if he would come out. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to tell him I loved him. He didn’t say anything more, and he didn’t come out.

"I don’t want you and mom to break up," I blurted, bursting into tears again. "I want you to be there for my baby. I want you to be there for me. I don’t want you to leave. I love My boyfriend, and I want to marry him, and I want to have his baby, and I want you to be there."

I hit the wall behind me and slid to the floor and continued to cry. He said something that sounded like, "You need to think about that." It didn’t seem like much of a reply. Almost like saying nothing. Maybe he said, "I understand that," since he says that a lot, especially when he doesn’t understand. I slowly got up as my tears slowed again, and walked away. No hugs, no I love yous, no make-up.

I returned up stairs quietly, my face so contorted I could barely see where I was going. I crawled past Mary onto my bed. They were talking about what would happen if Dad left. I don’t want to think about Dad leaving any more than I want to think about Mom dying or My boyfriend leaving! I don’t want to think about anything at all! I screamed inside my head. One of those moments you just want to roll-over and die.

But then suddenly, I felt that motherly duty overcome me. No. I can’t die, I might be pregnant, and having thoughts like that will transfer to the baby. Thoughts like that could cause a miscarriage. Thoughts like that are for the self-centered people who don’t realize how much hurt their death would cause everyone around them. Suicide is not for moms or daughters, and therefor, it is for noone.

Usually I’m insane about planning and preparing. For some odd reason, having a baby is the most planless thing I want to ever do. Somehow I just know that no matter what I plan, things will be as they will. Oh I think about what I want to do with them all the time, but oddly, I want to wing-it. Some things are better not being over-planned. The baby will have their own karma, and it’s better that I flow with that karma, not against it.

Make the best choice I can at the moment, is my plan. Right now, I feel like my best choice is to wait and see. There is no action I can take. Nothing to do but to calm down and think some more. My best choice is to meditate and pray. My best choice is to make sure that everyone under this roof knows how much I love them, and how much I want each of them to be a part of my baby’s life.

I’m afraid of My boyfriend’s reaction to hearing about today’s events. He’ll be devastated by my father not approving. He’s said over and over again that he doesn’t feel that my father approves. The thing is that I asked my father four months ago how he felt about My boyfriend.

He said, "He’s quiet, and he works a lot." That’s all he could say about him. Two facts, no opinion. So I pressed on, and asked about marrying My boyfriend. He gave me more facts, no opinions. I asked about having a baby with My boyfriend, and it was the same. He only said that he didn’t think I should want to raise kids in this house, because this house is a "white elephant" as he called it. Something that looks cool, and seems neat, but something that you don’t really want to have once you have it.

I disagree entirely. I want this house. I love this house. I’ve spent my entire life here, and when the fire happened, I was desolated by it. And when I discovered that we would not be moving, that we would be repairing, I was happy that we’d be moving back in, and that the house would be improved with new floors. Unfortunately, the house hasn’t become nicer, it’s become messier.

It doesn’t change the fact that I want to keep the house, and My boyfriend seems to want to, too. But even more unfortunate is the part where my father is right about all of this. The financial part. We don’t have money for anything.

"If they apply for medicaid or welfare, I’ll kick them out," My father said to my mother. Since he works downtown the people he works with would know if we were to apply. He feels this might affect his getting a promotion. Also, they investigate the house, and he doesn’t want anybody to see the condition of it, and I agree with that part. I don’t want the house investigated either.

Mary says there are other insurances that we can put the baby on, and I’m sure there are. Now, in the DDP, there is no such thing as insurance. Then again, nor are there cars, bills, or uneducated people. Too bad no one will ever put me in charge of the world and let me unite us under the Direct Democracy of the Phoenix. *sigh* (Nor is there High Fructose Corn Syrup in the DDP.)

I hate that I have to have insurance for doctors that don’t do shit. I hate that health education is pitiful and that health bills are ridiculous. I hate that the whole system is hollow, that the rich support the rich, and the poor just become more poor. I hate that getting ahead is an illusion. I hate that hobbies are suppressed and unappreciated while getting an average-joe job is considered mandatory. I hate that my baby will be born into a world like this, and that I can’t change the world before I have one.

Most of all, I hate that my father has slipped into this world. He’s thinking with his money and not with his heart. Where is the chess-playing writer? Where is my loving hero of a father? Where is my father? Where is the Dad that loves roller-coasters and adventures? Has he really become a club-attending, drinking, smoking, TV-watching, money-thinking, empty-hearted person? Is that really my father? I love him! I’ve trusted him!

But to think, he thought because he smelled cigarets on me that I smoked. He thought that because I had Jeremy over sometime when I was several months into my relationship with Tre that I was sleeping with him. He thought I slept with Will when I had him over many months ago. He thinks I’m an empty-brained slut. He thinks that I have not thought about having a baby. He probably thinks I’m just as easily on drugs as I’m not. He’s even accused me of being a thief! God I don’t know what he thinks, but he doesn’t even know me and it’s so painful to know that he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know My boyfriend either. My boyfriend has said to me that he wouldn’t leave me if I cheated on him. He wouldn’t leave me for the world. He wants to have children with me too, even though he’s afraid, and who wouldn’t be? He’s considerate of me. He’s attracted to me. He loves me. He accepted my engagement ring and necklace. He’s mine and I want to be with him.

The father of my children isn’t going to be a TV-watching, club-attending, drinking, smoking, empty-hearted person. The father of my children is going to be intimate, compassionate, loving, caring, logical, practical, understanding and fair. How dare he criticize my fore-thought and my intentions!

I’m in love. And I want a baby. It’s coming out of my goddamned body, and My boyfriend loves this body, and this baby, and he’s going to do everything he can for us and the baby. It’s so not fair for Dad to rain on my parade. After all, he’s the one who is supposed to take my arm at the wedding.

Shit, tears are as free-flowing as a stream. I can’t stop them, just like I can’t stop nature.
You probably want to read the previous entry before reading this one, so you know what is going on. Just a thought...


2007-12-26 23:53:39 Ashley

Maybe you should move out of your parents house before you make such grown up plans. I know that money doesn't make the world go 'round and that all you need is love, but you need to get a job. You need to grow up and take responsibility for your life. Having a baby is huge, and if you're not grown up enough to move out of your parents house and start your own household, your own home, then what makes you think you could possibly have a baby?


2007-12-27 00:54:02 Hallie

I'm sorry your father is being so cold. I have to say, though, that I see some of his points. I also think that you may be underestimating his own fear – after all, you're young, and you can't afford much, and the whole prospect of your having a child is very scary. Whether you like it or not, you are making a major life choice for your parents, too. You're making them grandparents and brining the grandchild into their home. You're still dependent on their income – your baby will be too. I'm not saying you're wrong, or that your mother is wrong, or, necessarily, that your father is wrong. I'm saying that you should give him time and space and maybe (only maybe) if there really is a baby, your father will come around. He might have time to deal with his fear, he might resign himself to acceptance once it's too late to change anything, and he might just warm up because babies are sweet. You never know.

If it turns out you're not pregnant, of course, you might also go out and get a job, as Ashley suggested. I think you're right not to over-plan parenting itself because I think that until you actually know your child as an individual it's hard to predict how things will go. However, the fact of having children really does need to be planned for. You might have trouble finding work if you're already pregnant, but if you're not, you might be able to get a job with some kind of benefits. Maybe an employee discount on things you'll need. Maybe enough money for rent.




Thursday the 27th of December, 2007.

It is 1:18am at the moment.


Ashley,

Starting my own household is entirely different than raising a child. Households mean a gas bill, an electric bill, a water bill, a cable bill, an internet bill, fixing our own plumbing, our own lights when the wiring goes bad. It means paying for every expense off of one income. As is, we pay my parents $200 a month rent to cover our food. And My boyfriend pays for his lunches at work in addition to that. And we still make enough extra that we went crazy with gifts for Christmas and our Anniversary. We have enough room in the attic to make a room for the baby, and with some more work, a new office, and turn our old computer space into a kitchen, making this a fully-functional apartment in my parent’s home.

If we raise a child here they will have five people to love them and take care of them. If we move out, it’ll be just two, with no money left-over for anything fun at all. If I require a job to move out, then I can’t have a baby because who would take care of the baby? I refuse to send them to public school because of how public school messed me up as a child. And I refuse to be away from my child because I know how much I learned and how much better I felt when my Mom was around when I was growing up.

My boyfriend is still building his tattoo portfolio and his art is getting better every single day. He’s also working on tattoo flash sheets. Many flash-sheet companies will pay as much as three-hundred dollars for a single flash sheet, which would mean that in addition to his tattoo income he could make another three hundred dollars a week. (I would computer edit and rearrange his art to make the sheets.) We haven’t sent any in yet, but his co-workers, friends, and I agree that his art is as good and in most cases better than the standard flash. The real question is what type of flash is in demand.

In other words, while he’s only making enough right now to feed the two of us and pay our cell phone bill, and perhaps be able to pay for diapers, baby powder, and baby food, over time, we just may be able to pay for all of our own bills. My real question is, why bother? Why move out?

Us being in the attic hardly effects the rest of the household at all. I do our laundry and dishes, and I help my mom out a lot. Mary even said she’d move out before she’d let us move out. Mary and Mom want us to stay here and have the baby.

Babies are not like houses. Babies need love more than they need money. In studies, they’ve shown that a baby who has food, and warmth, will still die without being touched. And this baby will have heaps and heaps of love. My father’s income is important, yes, but his income pertains mostly to the house mortgage, the utilities of the house, which will need to be paid if we’re here or not, and the food of himself and my mother. I doubt I cost them more than $300 dollars a month. And Mary pays more than that in rent a month herself. She has her own income which is considerable.

Not to mention, I seriously doubt My boyfriend’s parent’s would let our baby starve either. I don’t think having a home of our own is really related to taking responsibility for our baby.






Hallie,

This would make my father a first-time grandparent. My mother, however, already has two grandchildren from my half-brother, Roy. (Aerielle who is currently 12 or 13, and Mike who is currently 16 or 17.) I do believe that my father is scared. He probably thinks that he is going to have to do something when the child is born – like look after them or pay for them, but I really don’t think that his responsibility in terms of the child will include much at all. Perhaps another $100 a month. I don’t plan on lavishing my kid with baby toys and clothes. I don’t even intend on buying a crib.

I plan on using a box with blankets, and other than that, I plan on holding her (or him) at my computer, carrying her (or him) everywhere with me. Constantly talking to them, holding them. The only added recurring expenses for the first year will be for diapers, wipes and baby powder. I only plan on buying a few clothing items from salvation army. I’ll probably get enough at a baby shower that I won’t even need to do that. And I plan on nursing them for the first year and a half (if I can possibly bare it, and I’ll be very determined to bare it). The second year I’ll need a small amount more for a baby carrier and for raw vegetables which I’ll grind in the blender and mix with milk for added substance.

As I’ve said, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it at all. Just because I haven’t thought about health insurance doesn’t mean I haven’t thought. And that’s part of why I’m so hurt about the things he said. Before the argument, earlier in the day, I said to my mother, "I’d much rather have my father catch the baby when it comes out than some stranger-doctor." And I meant it. I’m so upset that he might not want to do something like that for me. That he doesn’t want to be there for me. It’s heart breaking.

In terms of getting a job, My boyfriend doesn’t want me to work, and neither does my Mom. Three out of five people in a household working is plenty. Without me being home, who’d keep my mother company? And who would help her out? I’d come home tired and wouldn’t want to do all the cleaning, cooking and such afterwards. I’d end up having to ask more of My boyfriend around the house if I was working. I don’t want to do that. I want to be a house-wife, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. If I was planning on being a career woman then I would still be dead-set on getting into college full-time. But since I’m not, I’ve shrugged college off. (Why have life-time bills if I’m not going to start the career after-wards to pay them off?)

Mom and I keep each other company while everyone else is being kept company by their work and their co-workers. When we clean together, more gets done, and we both feel better. Not only do I not want to work, but it would put added strain on my mother and My boyfriend both if I did. Honestly, I don’t feel that we really need more money, just that it would be nice.

It’s true that my Dad’s income alone is not enough to support all five of us in this home, but his, plus Mary’s, plus My boyfriend’s is enough to keep us all afloat and a little one. Dad is really the only one who is objecting, and you’re right, it’s because he’s scared.
I love him, so I hope he comes around.








Thursday the 27th of December, 2007.

It is 12:43am at the moment.



Nephelium are the creators that I believe created us. For more on that theory, read The Twelfth Planet, by Zecharia Sitchin and his other books. Also look up The Dark Star theory, all of mythology, Sumerian history and texts, alternate translations of the Bible and alternate evolution theories including the holes in the current evolution of man theory.

Nephelium created us by mixing their DNA with the DNA of apes to create the perfect slave race. They had many other previously failed attempts, like mixes with the feline creating the sphinx, mixes with the fish creating the mermaid, then there were the minotaurs, the centaurs, etc. These were real experiments, but it wasn’t until they made Adapa, the proto-type man, that they found what they had been looking for.

We were a creature created in their image. We looked like them, but we were smaller, less intelligent, supposedly not smart enough to overcome them. But we were beautiful as well, and they inbred with us. (Think of Zeus and Hercules.) And over time, an illusion of very fast evolution happened. Somehow we got from chipping stones to space-ships in fifty-thousand years when it took us two million to go from chipping stones one way to chipping it in a more advanced way. (This is covered in more detail in The Twelfth Planet.)

Anyway, my reason for bringing this up is that I had a thought. We have the technology to know what the nephelium looked like. (Also known as the Anunnaki. Nephelium is the biblical term for them.) If we presume that the original humans, like Adapa (called Adam in the bible) were exactly half Anunnaki, and half ape then we have this formula:

Original Human = .5 Ape + .5 Nephelium

And if we assume that they inbred with us until we were exactly half "us" and half "them" then we would have this formula:

Current Human = .25 Ape + .75 Nephelium

Okay, now let’s call our current human "C" and our original human "O" and apes we shall call "A" and Nephelium we will call "n." (N is made lowercase to show that it is the unknown.)

C = Current Human

O = Original Human

A = Ape

n = Nephelium

Following that train of thought, let’s treat those first two formulas like any equation and get the unknown by it self.

O = .5A + .5n

.5n = O - .5A

And the next equation:

C = .25A + .75n

.75n = C - .25A
Now, let’s get variable "Nephelium DNA" to be the same in both equations. To avoid using more complicated decimals, I’m going to turn them both into 1.5n, instead of 1n because to turn .75n into 1n would require multiplying by 1.334 and I’d rather not get into that.

3(.5n) = 3(O - .5A)

2(.75n) = 2(C - .25A)

1.5n = 3(O - .5A)

1.5n = 2(C - .25A)

Now we can set the opposite sides equal to each other (though I’m not sure what good it all does...)

3(O - .5A) = 2(C - .25A)

Anyway, science should with those assumptions be able to come up with a good idea of what Nephelium looked like, how much more intelligent they were than us, etc. I just wanted to know what anyone else thought, and if my math made sense, even if you disagree with what it represents.


Sitchin’s Official Website











Thursday the 28th of December, 2007.

It is 2:37pm at the moment.


2007-12-27 16:51:45, Ashley


o.O


Well...I'm guessing there are 2 Ashley's here, because I didn't leave that comment. Granted I do agree with it for the MOST part, I didn't leave it. Lol.



Ashley,

I find that interesting. I bet there have been two Ashleys for a long time now. Sometimes I’ve felt that you’ve said something unlike what I thought you would say, and that explains it.


2007-12-27 04:52:25 , Nicole


Well, from one pregnant teenager to another, it's not exactly the ball of fun you think it's going to be. I'm sorry your father isn't taking it as well as you'd like him to, but maybe he just needs time to adjust to the idea. I think you'll have no problem raising a child, and I think you're totally right when you say that he or she will never EVER be without love, but after reading some of what you've written about you and My boyfriend, I'm worried a baby might further complicate your relationship. It sucks to feel alone and abandoned when your boyfriend is at work or with his friends, but when you're pregnant with his baby, it's a whole new level of worry and emptiness and despair. I hope it turns out for the best, I'm crossing my fingers for you. Much love!



2007-12-27 13:45:14 Tater

This is a super complicated situation (I'm really hoping you are pregnant..it makes me excited for some reason...maybe it is because I am trying to get pregnant)...but it is extremely life changing (which I know you know) and as far as your father, I agree with the others...I think he is scared and frustrated, etc. but I think he will come around. Just keep trying to talk to him but most of all...give a lot of love to yourself..esp. if you are pregnant...the less stress the better for the baby, sweetie (easier said than done, though)..Life is full of wonderful people and things and this is coming from ME who lost their sister to murder and their mom to cancer in such a short time..if I can somehow lift myself up out of crazy insane despair and grief, I think you can get through all of this with flying colors....thinking of you and hoping you will start to have more happy days than sad....Ultimately (and THIS is easier said than done too) you have complete control over YOUR emotions...they don't have to control you...Good luck. I will pray for you and send you a ton of good vibes (I will send it to your family and My boyfriend, too)...in fact, I'm going to go someplace quiet right now and send all of you love and peace and good health and wisdom to make good decisions, etc.

Nicole,

I’m positive it won’t be easy. Child birth, nursing and getting up a lot in the middle of the night are the three things that scare me the most. That, and My boyfriend’s fear. He’s terrified, but he is trying very hard to be strong and comforting for my sake. It’s true that My boyfriend is a variable. I don’t feel like I can count on his constant support. But I don’t think he’ll be disappearing with his friends much at all after it’s confirmed that I’m pregnant.

He keeps saying, my life is over, which is a bad thing to say, and a good thing too. Bad, because it means that he’s more afraid of this life that he’s known ending than he is excited for this new one beginning. Good because he recognizes that his responsibilities will be much grander, much more important, much more pressing. He’s mostly fretting about his income. He’s worried that if he loses his job that there might be a gap in which he’d have to work a shitty job before finding another tattoo shop to hire him, and other things along those lines. I, however, believe that he will step up to the plate when he realizes he’s a father, and I believe that he will be overcome with joy by the reality.

The anticipation is the worst part, right?


Tater,

I found out this morning that my father is actually very afraid for my mother’s health. And aparently when my mother said "I want to live to see my baby" he thought that she might just die after seeing Corvie. (I’m calling the baby Corvie until we know the gender.) His argument for this is that people live for years with cancer until they’re opened up and know they have it, and then they die within a couple weeks. It’s a good point, but not a relevant analogy in my opinion, and in the opinion of my mother.

I think your wisdom must have hit me this morning. That is, the wisdom and vibes you sent me. I suddenly got this pang in my chest, and it wasn’t an entirely new feeling. I usually feel it while mediating. Sometimes it’s almost pleasant, but this time, it was straining. I felt dizzy, and I had to go sit, and when I did, I opened up notepad on my mother’s computer and I typed the following:


I have a message for you, I'm am coming and you better get ready for me.

I love you.

I hope you remember me, I remember you.

You need to meditate more, I'll see you then.




Though I heard the words in my head just before typing them, the rate at which I typed this message was so fast, and so consistent, even though I couldn’t have said what the message was until I had typed it. Afterwards I shook, almost burst out into tears, and then, it was as though I had opened a door. I saw this little ball of light swimming around my head.

This somehow pleases me immensely. I find it interesting that I didn’t feel sure I was pregnant until then, and that last night was the first night that I was so committed to the thought of having this baby that I sat there and prayed to keep it, saying over and over again that I want this baby.

I ever made sure My boyfriend said he wants this too. Though he kept amending it with his fear.









Friday the 28th of December, 2007.

It is 7:47pm at the moment.


That was interesting, but not very fun. Roy, my brother, is here from Texas. He’s leaving again early Sunday morning. He was up in My boyfriend’s and my apartment when Jeremy showed up. It’s Jeremy’s birthday, and since he was already visiting several people, it wasn’t too far out of the way for him to stop here. It probably wasn’t out of the way at all.

I was playing tekken when he got here. Jeremy said he’d play a few rounds before setting out again. Just into our second match Jay and Laura showed up. At this point, it’s kinda cool, but also kinda annoying. I don’t like having a "party" unexpectedly. But since Roy was already here, I figured I didn’t mind.

Roy went downstairs shortly, perhaps it was too much noise, or perhaps he felt like he was invading. Jeremy went on his way shortly after that, leaving me with Jay and Laura. Jay, was drugged up, as usual, and so was Laura. I discovered that Laura and Mich broke up, which explained why Jay was pretty much all over her, as he is with any girl who will let him be.

Jay played a few rounds of tekken with me, and then I guess he got bored. He put the controller down and remarked about how he needed music. I obliged and began to play the playlist I’ve collected on my DVR of music videos. I didn’t really want them there anymore, an hour was plenty of socialization with them. I’m just not interesting in hanging around the drug-crowd anymore, at all really.

I’d enjoy a book club much more, or a creative writing group, or making an art piece with a few people to make something totally wild and fun. But watching music videos with two people completely drugged out is totally dull. The conversation is about nothing, just like the music videos are about nothing, unless you count tits and ass.

I find that my brother and I can’t find anything to talk about but chicks either. How drab.

At some point Jay asks when My boyfriend is coming home. Laura answers faster than I do, "eleven" and I said, "eleven-thirty is when he gets home." They looked at the clock, it was seven o’clock. I watched my play-list roll on by, wishing I was doing something else for another half-hour. Jay made remarks about needing to go outside to smoke a cigarette. I decided that I’d wait until he gave into the craving before telling him that he needed to go.

They left. I went to see what my brother was up to. He was still browsing myspace, only this time on mom’s computer. He remarked that he was bored, but didn’t suggest doing anything about it. I tried making small-talk with him about this and that, but couldn’t come up with anything real to talk about. And so I came up here.

I never know what to do with a day like this. It’s best if I latch onto a project all day long, like cleaning, construction, art-editing, drawing, website-building, reading, scrap-booking, or a video game. Then for a break, I’ll do one of the other things for a little while, and then get back to the day’s focus. Today didn’t have a focus at all, and that makes it hard for me to want to do anything at this point in the day, especially since I didn’t get as many hours of sleep as usual.

I suppose I should just be happy mom helped me put the coat hooks up today. Thanks mom!

Monday, December 24, 2007

My Biography

~ The Beginning ~


I was born in January. That makes me an Aquarius. From birth, you could have easily applied general Aquarius traits to me.
"Those with the sign of the Aquarius are humanitarian, philanthropic and keenly interested in making the world a better place. Along those lines, they'd like to make the world work better, which is why they focus much of their energy on our social institutions and how they work (or don't work). Aquarians are visionaries, progressive souls who love to spend time thinking about how things can be better."
I’m the epitome of that, especially considering I was born on January 30th, twenty days from where Aquarius begins, and nineteen days from where it ends.
I’ve been told that I didn’t cry when I was born. I suckled happily for about five minutes until the doctors insisted I be taken away for shots. My mother told them not to give me a bottle, and they assured her that they wouldn’t. A nurse said to my parents that we were the only normal people there. I suppose the other Buffalo families consisted of single moms, teenagers, drug addicts, divorced couples and other such unhappy situations. I was born normal, perfect.
But we’re all doomed to be ruined sooner or later. For me, I was ruined the moment they took me from my mother’s arms, stuck needles in me and shoved a bottle in my mouth. They spoiled me! Taught me with their actions that food could be given from the bite of a nipple, without the effort of sucking. My due hatred of doctors had begun, and I didn’t even know it yet.
When they brought me back, Mom could no longer convince me to suckle. I was only interested in biting, and so I did. My mother describes another ill fortune that happened on my very first birthday. She says:
"The bubble of love that your father had wrapped around me went..." She makes a sound that I can only write as "chooop!" and moves her arms from one side of her body to the other rather rapidly. "And then it was around you and there was nothing I could do about it."
I don’t feel guilty about this, just a little annoyed with my Dad for being obsessive. It just happened to be that when I was born, I was the obsession. I suppose that’s where I get my obsessive phases from. As a child they were not easy to control.
The earliest memory I have, I can no longer remember. I remember remembering it. I remember describing it as being close to a wall that was orange and there being familiar voices around. My Mom told me when I relayed this to her at nine or ten or so that she doesn’t know when that could have been. There are no orange rooms in our house.
The earliest memory I can remember now would be in day care. I was four. Some kid didn’t believe I was really four, and I didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t believe what I had to say. I also remember one of the other children calling me "corny" and I didn’t understand how a person could be corn. Corn is a yellow food item, is it not? I remember that the carpet was blue, and that I once took a toy home with me, not seeing why I couldn’t do so. It was my toy, wasn’t it?
I remember sitting in the gym room in preschool, but that’s about all I remember from that. Just the wooden floor, and some sort of wagon that I was sitting in or on. I remember one image from being in Futures, in kindergarten. I was left behind in the lunch room because I didn’t know my class number. Each class had a number, and when it was called, you got up and left with your class. Apparently, no one explained to me that I even had a class, because I wasn’t sitting with mine, and didn’t even notice them leave. I remember crying when the room was empty, and an adult scolding me and not believing that I didn’t know my class number. My dislike of outside authority had begun.
My Mom will tell a story from around that age where I was trick-or-treating with Richard and David, the two children of Susan, a friend of my Mom. I was about four. We had walked between two and four blocks and I was complaining about being tired and wanting to go home. Candy wasn’t motivation enough for a four-year-old to trick-or-treat. The doctors proclaimed that this wasn’t out of the ordinary. My response to that now is eat shit.
They also said that I just had a rash when I had rheumatic fever, and sent me home. Four days into it, they finally saw me with my 103 fever. I took penicillin before my teeth grew in. This resulted in my adult teeth growing in yellow. I was accused of bad hygiene from first grade and up, before I even realized my teeth were yellow. This probably had something to do with my obsession with mustard at that age. I would tend to get it on everything. Especially white shirts.
Half way through kindergarten my Dad decided I should be switched to Olmstead, and my Mom went along with it. Olmstead was supposedly a really good school. My memories include walking through the front door, alone, washed in a sea of students being totally lost. My mother was assured there would be someone there to find me, someone expecting me. There wasn’t.
The hall was clear, and then I was alone. I didn’t know where to go. I tentatively walked a ways down the main entrance hall. A girl my age rounded the corner, I believe her name was Kansas. She said to me, "you must be the new girl" and I said something to the effect of "I guess so" and she led me down the hall to the right. I remember when I entered the class thinking that the other students were bigger than me. I have a blurred image of one of the other girls stuck in my head. It seems her neck was level with my eyes.
My memories from Olmstead are as few as they are short, and none of them are particularly good. I was there for half of kindergarten, first and second grade. I remember getting mustard on a white shirt in kindergarten and trying to wipe it off, but only smearing it. I remember being dubbed "mustard girl" and being dared to eat it on apples, cookies, and other odd combinations, and because it got me attention, I did so.
I loved attention. I found an excellent way to get it while sitting on the floor in a square along the edge of a carpet. We did this every morning I think. The boy sitting next to me decided one day it would be cool to pull his pants down enough in back to show off his crack. He then tapped me and whispered look. I looked, and then said ewww. But I couldn’t help looking back again to see if he had fixed it or not. He had.
So then, I decided I could do it too. But I’m an idiot. I always over do things. I pulled my pants down far enough that my entire ass might as well been on the floor. Then I poked him and whispered look. He did, and then he said ewww. This is a great illustration of how odd children are. I think it was several days later when the girl who usually sat opposite to him was instead sitting next to me, while he was on my other side. I was in the corner of the square instead of him. The farthest away from the huge lined white tablet in which the class was circling words that are different parts of the sentence. At that point I didn’t even know school was supposed to teach you things. When I was finally called to circle a word one day, I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do, and just completely guessed.
Anyway, as I was saying. I was sitting between the boy and this other girl, and we were showing off our ass cracks again when the girl noticed. She said ewww and threatened to tell the teacher. I didn’t even care, but he was terrified. "Don’t tell! Please don’t tell! You can’t tell! Don’t tell!" She pretended that she didn’t care if we got in trouble, but the next thing you know, she’s poking me and whispering look. So I looked, she had taken things a step farther. I caught a quick glimpse of her exposed little snatch.
I don’t remember what any of this really looked like, they are memories, of memories, of memories, and I don’t recall any names from this point in my life, just remember recalling it previously. For the moment that she did this I remember feeling repulsed, and the seeing the color of what it would look like if she spread her lips apart when she showed us. I don’t know if she did or not, only that some part of her snatch had been exposed.
So me, being the entrepreneur of trouble, decided the next time I got a good opportunity I would do it too. I directed it at her, not him, because she was the one who started this new level of the game. I think I spread my lips apart when I did this, because I remember later in life thinking (for no apparent reason) that you had to show it that way. Perhaps that is how she did it, and perhaps that’s where I got the idea from.
The teachers didn’t seem to notice, but I think they actually did notice. I say this because later, when I was standing in line to exit the class room to go somewhere, while the teacher was waiting for the line to be complete and quiet, a boy behind me when to reach his hand up my skirt. I think he was trying to do that anyway, but I suppose he missed, because his arm came up in front of me between my knees. I was so startled that I screamed.
The teachers pulled me aside and I thought I was in serious trouble for screaming. I proclaimed that he was bothering me, and they told me this was no reason to scream. So I protested and said that he was touching me. Then they started being serious. How is he touching you? I tried to explain what he had done, and just to be clear she had to ask me if he had done this; and she put her hand up my skirt enough that it brushed my thighs. I was beginning to feel like the world was conspiring against me. I shook my head, no, not like that. I tried to explain, but who knows what they got out of it.
I suppose kindergarten was when I was exposed to a bunch of confusing sexual things. None of it was serious, but it was enough to spark my curiosity. I knew there was more to it, but what? The other girls were talking about having boyfriends, so I proclaimed one of the other boys my boyfriend, and the other girls held him down so that I could press my lips on his. I was so pleased with myself, but then he said "It’s over!" And the other girls said "He dumped you" and I didn’t get either statement.
So I kept trying to stand in line next to him, but the other girls would push me away and yell "he dumped you! He dumped you! Stay away from him!" I remember imaging a garbage truck dumping me on the ground, and being utterly confused. I didn’t understand that it could be over, because I didn’t know what there was to end in the first place.
My first grade memories include a girl "teaching" me to rock on the back two legs of a chair. Being blamed for making the "cubby" doors squeak intentionally, being made to miss a movie and write lines for something I didn’t do, being tricked in to talking in class by the other girls when I was trying to be quiet and pay attention, and still being called mustard girl. Too too
I believe it was during first grade that I started to play with Barbies. I remember that I was six when I started, at the same time that most children stop playing with dolls. At least that’s when my classmates stopped. Somehow, Barbie dolls changed everything.
~ Flying Dolls ~
Mom was determined that I would not have Barbie dolls because they were too expensive. But one Christmas I received two Barbie dolls anyway, in addition to a few older dolls that were hand-me-downs from an unknown source. I still remember my first dolls – Moly, a Christmas gift that was a ballerina in the box, her legs painted white for permanent stockings. She was the bad doll. There was Sabrina, a Teen Skipper doll. That was back when they made the younger dolls completely flat-chested, and she was a little taller than the later Stacy dolls.
Sabrina, named after Sabrina, the teenage witch, was the good Barbie, the hero of my tales. There was Crystal, a cheap doll that was not from Mattel, but rather some cheaper brand, whose body was a soft smashable plastic. She became Moly’s accomplice in crime. There was another doll whose name changed many times, another old styled doll – Sabrina’s mother, who was later named Ruth, after my mother.
These dolls, and the stories, names, adventures, clothing and purposes I gave to them became my version of a social life. My first Ken doll was named Kevin, which was a re-name I gave him at eleven, I don’t remember her original name. His first mate was Christy, a blonde, blue-eyed Barbie who was flexible at the knees and elbows. That made her my favorite. And if I remember correctly, that was the original crew: Ruth, Moly, Sabrina, Crystal, Kevin and Christy.
I was teased even more for playing with Barbie dolls in first grade. I was still the mustard girl, though not as often as I was in Kindergarten. My two most striking memories from first/second grade are not pleasant ones, and both occurred at Olmstead. One is short and vague, and it’s of a teacher pulling me up the stairs by my ear. She was moving too fast for me to properly keep up with her, and I remember the pain in my ear.
The second is much longer, and more taunting. Perhaps because I feel so embarrassed for how young and naive I was. I remember that I was in the class of my least-favorite teacher. Perhaps the teacher for "advanced students" or something of that sort. I remember her giving instructions about a piece of paper she handed out. She said "ignore the right column of words" and I didn’t know the difference between right and left yet. But I was pretty sure she meant the first column.
The paper had a column of words that I couldn’t read, and the second column had the word "page" over and over again, and the third column were blank spaces. I remember being so confused, and looking at the girl’s paper beside me. She was writing numbers in the spaces – page numbers of where she found the word in the dictionary.
I was so set on following directions that I tried not to be confused by the fact that all the numbers should be the same, because page should only be on one page. I went to the Ps and started hunting for page. I became quite sure that page was not in the dictionary at all. Several times I came close to giving up, but then I continue to look at each and every word in the Ps section. The girl beside me went up the teacher, had her paper corrected and sat back down. I could have copied some the numbers, and I considered it, since I could see which three she had gotten wrong. But I told myself that I would not be that sort of person and continued looking for page.
I remember that we left the class when we were done, and soon I was the very last student, and my paper was still blank, and I was still looking for the word page. Forty-five minutes had passed. The teacher came up to me, and exclaimed:
"Why are you in the Ps when you have not even started on the As!" I think there wasn’t even any P-words to be looked up on the page, because she was convinced that I hadn’t been trying at all. She told me I was her worst student, that I didn’t pay attention, that I was lazy, that I couldn’t possibly be that stupid.
I protested, "You told us to ignore that column!" And she said to me, "All the other students were paying attention! Everyone else understood the assignment. In forty-five minutes you couldn’t figure out that page is for what PAGE you find it on?" At that point everything became clear to me, and I think that she might have been the teacher to pull me up the stairs by my ear, but I’m not sure.
I was humiliated and angry.

December Blues

Sunday the 23rd of December, 2007.

It is 1:44pm at the moment.



"If you were in my shoes, you’d be thinking the same way, man," he says to me as he walks down the stairs to let El in so they can smoke a blunt.

Heh, really? Not at all. Not at all. If I had to work fifty to sixty hours a week I’d never want to go out. I just spent all that time out. Being at work, at the store and at somebody’s house is all the same to me. It’s all out as far as I’m concerned.

Why is it so odd that I’d like to spend all of my free time with him? Why is it so odd that I don’t want to party? Why is that so fucking unacceptable? Then again, why is it unacceptable to me that he wants to go out once a week or so?

It’s not that I’d mind that, if he worked... Let’s say, 10:00am to 5:00pm, Mon-Fri. Sure, then go out Friday night, and have some people over half the day on Sunday. But for him to take his entire, and only day off, and leave me alone... That is unacceptable.

I fucking proposed to him. I thought that he’d suddenly realize that I’m serious, that I want him and only him. He doesn’t seem to get it. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care that I’m dying of loneliness when he leaves me to be with a bunch of degenerates who stand around drinking soda, beer, and vodka or whatever. Yeah, let’s go hang out with a bunch of cigarette smoke. That is just dandy.

I don’t want to have a headache, be bored, still be lonely, and have to watch My boyfriend acting like he’s one of them. Damn. But it’s not an act is it? On some level, he is, isn’t he? Why can’t I just not care? Why can’t I just carry on with my bull shit when he’s not here? Why is playing a game, writing my novel, cleaning, eating... Why is everything so difficult when I know he could be home with me at the moment?

El and Ivan are here again. I don’t really know Ivan that well, but I suppose I will over time, eh? They’re playing Death Metal, which doesn’t really bother me, at least not at first. But once they start, they tend to never stop...

*sigh* I don’t even get what I’m doing wrong half the time. Perhaps there is nothing to be done about all of this. Perhaps My boyfriend just is a party person, and maybe I’m just not. And maybe I just have to deal with it or leave him, eh? Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

They’re smoking a blunt. *sigh* They’ve been here for almost an hour already. What to say? What to do? I’m scanning My boyfriend’s art at the moment. Something I’ve been putting off for too long.

It’s not really that bad to have El over and such, it’s just that it’s always for too long, and usually at some point or another they start playing gangster rap, and usually at some point or another My boyfriend ends up leaving for "a few minutes" which turns out to be forever. But I’m really hoping that is not the case today.





Sunday the 23rd of December, 2007.

It is 6:42pm at the moment.



Thankfully, with a little luck, El and Ivan got out of here after being here for two and a half hours. The luck being that my Dad returned with the car sooner than I expected, and My boyfriend wanted to go to Best Buy to get this new 500Gig External Hard-drive that was on sale. So we dropped El and Ivan off at Ivan’s house, or wherever they were going to on Auburn street. It was practically on the way anyway.

We browsed at Best Buy after picking out the hard drive; looking at the digital cameras and the digital video cameras. I picked out which video camera I’d want if I were to buy one – $1000, and it had a 60Gig Hard-drive built-in, good zoom, flip out screen of course, sleek black... I’d never get a video camera again though without first finding out about how good it was at adjusting to movement and lighting. The bull-shit two I’ve had before both were terrible with movement and lighting, especially when both were an issue at once. You’d end up with a blur of nothingness.

Then we went to the Wegmands that is near Best Buy. Not the one that is on Amherst – so it was a much bigger grocery store, including a two large buffets and such. He got a sub, I picked out a bunch of things from the buffet. I picked up three packages of Rice Crisps from the Organic section.

Then we drove home in the already-dark, rainy, cold. Must have been just 33 degrees since it was switching from rain to snow to rain again. Keeping the window’s cracked to keep the windshield from fogging up since the heater in the car only works sporadically.

Now we’re finally home again and My boyfriend is questioning if he can go to some party. I don’t know what to make of that. Why? Like, as far as I’m concerned, there has been commotion all day – from Ivan and El, to being out and about. Now we’re home and he wants to be out. What’s so good about being out? I don’t get that.

Weather, bad smells (like cigarettes), noise, ignorant people, drama, drunks, gangs, lack of places to sit or be comfortable, constricting clothing, a heavy bag (or purse in my case), people who you have to figure out what you can and can’t say to. It’s a pain. When here, it’s quiet, it’s peaceful. Nothing ignorant being said, no smoke in the air, no drama. I can be comfortable, I can be as clothed or unclothed as I want. I don’t have to worry about thieves or where I left my stuff at. No bulky coat. And I can say anything I want to say. I don’t have to worry about the cold. What does he want from going out? What is out there that he can’t have here? I just don’t get it.

I Proposed

Monday the 17th of December, 2007.

It is 7:54pm at the moment.



That went well. Not. This document is now password protected because of what I’m about to write, and obviously will not be posted on the internet until at least December 20th, if ever. This is because I’ve been planning on proposing to My boyfriend on December 20th, our one-year anniversary. I’ve been planning on doing this for over a month, in fact, almost two months. I’ve had the ring and a necklace for a month now. I have them sitting here in my desk.

Mom knows about it, and so does Tina, Will, and a bunch of other people I couldn’t resist telling. My mom and Tina have even seen the ring. It’s so perfect for him, that is, if it fits. And if it doesn’t, perhaps it’s a hint? I stopped questioning my decision so much towards the beginning of December, and just a few days ago I had no doubt that this is what I wanted.

Now I feel completely desolate. I feel like he only spends time with me if he’s fucking me. And then he’s off to somewhere else – if not out of the house, then into sleep. There has been perhaps one occasion in months that he’s actually talked to me afterwards. And only a hand-full of times he’s curled up with me afterwards. He’ll argue that this is my fault, because I tend want to get cleaned up before cuddling. Which takes all of five-fucking-minutes. But by the time I’m done washing up, he’ll be either getting dressed or fast asleep, or even sitting on the bed looking pointedly annoyed.

For a while there things really seemed to be getting better. I thought I was making a break-through with him. Just like I thought so many times with Tre. But perhaps I mistake good acting for improvement? I know that was mostly the case with Tre. His "improvements" lapsed into the same old shit in the wink of an eye, time and time again. My fear of that happening again is almost as strong as it was when I first met My boyfriend.

It’s so useless to recite the exact arguments. We’ve had them before after all.

"Heaven forbid I play some music!" He’ll say. Funny that he got "heaven forbid" from me. At least, I think he did. I know I got that from Mom years ago.

"We’ve been through this," I say dismally, since it’s so beyond the point in this case. It’s about the fact that I can’t do anything with El here. I can’t read, can’t write, can’t talk to My boyfriend, can’t blasted think about anything but what they’re talking about.

All they talk about is sports (biking, skate-boarding and such), bitches (mostly that they know on myspace and in person) and their assets, music (gangster rap and death metal), drugs and parties.

Seriously, like I want to discuss those things. I didn’t originally think that El was going to be a problem. In fact, since El brought us together in the first place, both My boyfriend and I felt like we owed him something. I’m long since over that naive notion.

I don’t want to come between El and My boyfriend. But what can I do? As I’ve said, over and over, My boyfriend works sixty hours a week. He’s only got one day off. And I feel bad, because he spent a portion of the time he was out shopping for me. But damn, he spent a total of ten hours out, and four of them were devoted to parting, and outside of those four hours, he drank a Tilt, and came home bitching at me about nothing. And when I got defensive, he blamed it on me.

This morning he told me he called the day off, and that he wanted to spend some time with me. He ate me out for a short while, and since it wasn’t working so well for me (it never does in the morning) he fucked me. He came, I didn’t, and I didn’t care because I was going to be with my babe after all. Since I wasn’t with him yesterday.

Then he tells me he won’t be gone long. Famous last words. But I accepted this graciously because after all, look how close it is to Christmas. If he wants to shop for me, how can I say no? He says he doesn’t want to do it alone, so he brings El along. I have to question how they can say they never spend time together when they spent all yesterday and now all today together! The nerve.

He’s my boyfriend. I’m the one who’s doing his laundry, his dishes, his hair, and holding him at night. I’m the one who sees him when he’s in a mood, who gets vented at. And you know what? I accept that on the basis that I get some fucking attention and love in return.

Anyway, so he left out of here today at 3:00pm, got back here at 6:30pm with El. El stayed here for the last hour, and now they’ve left again because I "was being a brat" as My boyfriend might say.

So how can I propose to him this Thursday?


Tuesday the 18th of December, 2007.

It is 5:40pm at the moment.



Then he left again with El at 7:00pm, came back with El and Ivan at 7:30pm, they stayed until 10:30pm, and in the meantime Angel showed up at well. What a not fun night, eh? The whole time asking myself, am I really going to propose to him as planned?

The answer is: Yes. Why? Because I’d much rather deal with My boyfriend’s issues than with Tre’s, or with Will’s, or with Jeremy’s or with Ronnie’s or with any of the issues of any of the guys I’ve ever dated. I’d take My boyfriend over any of my exs in a heart-beat. Shit, I’d take My boyfriend over having Jeremy and Tre at once, both fawning over me. That is how much more My boyfriend means to me.

Yeah, so My boyfriend is insecure. At least he’s not a thief. At least he has a job. At least he has ethic. At least he’s clean and neat. He also has talent. He’s not an average Joe; he thinks outside the box, even if half the time he’s only sitting on top of it rather than inside it, and then thinks he’s far, far, far away from "the box".

He loves saying "but let’s get down to the nitty-gritty" when from my perspective I feel like I was, and that he was only scratching the surface. But I might be biased since I am after all inside my own head. And he, is of course, inside his.

I’m going to propose to him. Yep, I am. I wonder what he intends to give me for our anniversary? And I wonder when he plans on wrapping anything? He claims he can wrap a gift, but I’ve yet to see it done. Though the one gift Jeremy wrapped for me was done completely without experience, and it was done very well. I still have the box, as well as what was in it (aside from the chocolates).


Wednesday the 19th of December, 2007.

It is 9:47pm at the moment.


I’m trying really hard not to cry right now. I’ve spent the last hour or two cleaning off the card table, gathering wrapping papers, ribbons, bows, "to & from tags" as well as boxes, bags, tissue papers, scissors, tape and more all onto this table. Really, more like around the table so that there is actually room to wrap on it. And what’s more, the table is right near the room where everything is stashed. And what’s he do? He grabs two wrapping paper rolls on his way through and plops them on the little coffee table in our attic apartment.

I’m so confused by this and I inquire as to what he’s doing. All he does is explode at me about how he doesn’t need my help. Insecure much? I’d rather he not wrap a god-damned thing than yell at me about the effort I’ve put in to help him. And what’s he doing now? Watching TV I think! For goodness sakes, what am I supposed to do? Fuck me for ever trying to do anything. But if I don’t do anything than I’m lazy and perhaps even accused of being useless!

Sometimes I wish someone would just shoot me.

What will married life with My boyfriend bring? I can already see the beginnings of further neglect. Not notice of what I spent my day doing. No notice of my effort. No notice of my consideration. I feel like I’m drowning in fear, and verging on disappointment. The TV making things only worse. It makes it harder to open conversation. It makes it easier to stay emotionally strung close to breaking point.

What does he expect? I feel so helpless sometimes. I want something different than what my parents have. Am I succeeding, or falling into the same trap after all?


Saturday the 22th of December, 2007.

It is 11:48am at the moment.


I proposed to him on our anniversary two days ago. He accepted happily. I knew things would improve if I did this, but I guess I might have knew wrong. I’m afraid at the moment that it might push us apart rather than bring us together.

My boyfriend may just be upset about other things right now, but I find it hard to believe when he didn’t touch me at all the entire night. This is highly unusual of him. I had to tell myself "you’re making moutains out of mole hills," over and over and over again to force myself to sleep instead of cry.

I’ve asked him about four times now what’s wrong. He says "nothing." From my experience nothing is often actually more than something. He’s never like this except for when he’s extremely upset, or extremely angry.

No response, no touch, no talk... Not even looking at me. Perhaps I might read what it is in his eyes? Perhaps if he touched me right now it would be too painful for him? Perhaps his touch might make me spoiled? I don’t know what he’s thinking. It could be anything!

Is he worried about me being pregnant? Is it because his Mom made an ass of herself and him at his work yesterday? Is it because he’s scared to be tied down with me? (Hasn’t he always been that though?) Did I say something wrong? Dare it be sex – I tried to have sex with him last night!

Come to think of it, that’s when he stopped smiling. I got frustrated, because I had been touching him, attempting to pull his clothes off and smothering him with kisses for ten minutes. I had taken my panties off. I obviously wanted to have sex. But he was unresponsive. A touch here and there, and then he laid down, with his clothes still on.

At this point I became disheartened to the idea, but kept at it for about two more minutes before I said, "I don’t get you. You always want to get laid, but won’t put in your own two cents for it."

He replied, "Then I guess I won’t get laid." He rolled over and didn’t speak to me again. Come on that can’t be all he’s upset about! How can someone wake up upset still? It’s hard for me to do that. If he’s really trying to hold a grudge against me for that, then I don’t know what to think anymore.

I told myself I wanted to marry him despite the arguments, the days where we’d yell at each other, and the late nights with no calls. I said to myself, "After all, I’d rather have his problems than Jeremy’s or Tre’s, or any other ex’s problems, or any other man’s problem’s in general!"

But what are his problems? At the root of it, what am I really dealing with? Is it that he’s insecure, or is it more than just that? (As if anything is ever just anything!) At the rate I’ve been going since I was nine I ought to have cancer by now. I wish death on myself at least once a week. Then again I follow it by saying: I don’t want to die of cancer, please, please, please, do NOT let me get cancer!

I’m thinking more along the lines of a bullet to the head, but then there are the people in my life that I don’t want hurt that way. My Mom, my Dad, Aunt Mary, of course My boyfriend. What a terrible thing to do to them to be dead. So I don’t really want to be dead, I just want all of the issues to disappear, and on that note, I’m in the same boat as everyone else in the world, eh?

But what to do? I’m going to be miserable all day now. All he’s said to me this morning was, "Sorry babe, you’ll have to get me a smaller ring." Perhaps that is what he’s upset about? The ring being too big to fit him right – even though it sticks on his knuckle. Perhaps his fingers are not meant for rings. With such thin fingers and such bony knuckles. I like them that way, so what should I do? Get him a bracelet? And should I be considering any of that when he’s "ignoring" me.

Though he’s not ignoring me of course. He’ll answer if I probe him enough. Really he’s just being neglectful and uncaring I suppose you could say.

Drat! I sat down to record my dream, and now all I’ve done is rant about how sad I am this morning. I had a dream that I met Ayian. In my dream she looked like a cross between Marie and her own photos. Not the best mix, but still beautiful. But I couldn’t have her. Her boyfriend was there, and her boyfriend’s brother. Who knows if her boyfriend even has a brother, or if she has a man at the moment. My parent’s were there too, and we were at someone’s relative’s house. My boyfriend was with me, but like in most dreams I have, he didn’t play a significant role. The only thing he said in the dream was when I invited Ayian to lay between us, he said "why?"

At this point in the dream I’m very confused. Not just by his statement, but by Ayian’s poised smile that never stops. By the darkness in the room, by the location, by the smallness of the bed, by how ridged and quiet My boyfriend is. What is happening?


Forget the damn dream. My boyfriend must freaking hate me right now. I will not cry. I will not cry! I will not, I will not. I will not! Let him leave without saying goodbye, without telling me he loves me. Let him tell me to shut up. Let him make me question my intentions with him. I don’t need to act based upon everything he does. After all, he’s not acting upon my misery – just multiplying it!

I don’t want to do anything. I feel terribly far away from the Christmas spirit. This relationship, as much as I hate the truth, is going the same way as the last one. Maybe not as fast, maybe not as drastically bad, but it’s getting there. Squash my happy attitude, why don’t you? Make me feel like shit in a gutter, why don’t you? Why not! Who the fuck cares about my little, itty-bitty, inconsequential feelings anyway!

Just dump me in the nearest trash. I’m sick of this! Sick of it! Sick of being made to feel like I don’t matter. Sick of being made to hate my own flesh, my own mind! I’m sick of hating myself, sick of crying. I’m supposed to be his partner. I should be working on his career right now by putting together flash sheets for him. (The art tattoo artist’s put on there walls and ask you to choose from.)

I’m supposed to do this so that he can make more money for us, and a possible baby. I don’t think he’s ready for a baby. I feel so ready, I feel past due by two or three years. I’ve wanted one for so long that I’ve been secretly wishing that I was pregnant. Now I’m not so sure. With the way My boyfriend is acting... Perhaps I’ve thought this whole thing the wrong way.

I certainly should not be questioning having a baby or not when I can question marriage or not, relationship or not! But I don’t want to have anybody but him! I’m in the same bind. Things look bleak, and I can’t let go, and I don’t want to let go, and I’m madly in love with him – his body, his mind, his art, his ethic... And yet he sets my emotions on a fucked-up roller-coaster. And yet time and time again I feel like he doesn’t love me, like he doesn’t want this as much as I do, like I’m wasting my time, like all this effort, all this emotion is all for not.

How can I help but cry? That’s what we woman to do anyway, isn’t it? We cry, and cry, and cry some fucking more. We cry for the father who never gave us the attention and approval we wanted. We cry for the man, the next man, and the next who doesn’t appreciate us, who doesn’t care for us, who makes us feel like we’re worthless. We cry for the man who tells us that they can’t fuck up our self-esteem, because it’s self-esteem, as in, it comes from ourselves.

Shaking, shivering, gasping, moaning, leaking from the eyes, the heart, the soul, we cry, and we cry and we cry, they snore right through it. They look past us into the distance. They ignore. They carry their thoughts as their own. Women are doomed to be alone. Other women will be jealous and hateful, will be rude and nasty. Men will always pretend to love, pretend to care, and smash your heart while nobody is looking, not even themselves. They’ll deny it, because they don’t know they’ve done it.


Saturday the 22th of December, 2007.

It is 1:10pm at the moment.


Now that I’ve presented all the evidence of the bad, let’s just mention all of the good, for an equal measure, okay?

I got my first game consol two days ago. A PS2, which I’ve wanted for a while, but told myself that it was "too expensive, not necessary" which is why it was the perfect gift for him to give me. He wrapped it in a dress he bought for me. He used safety pins to hold it on. He included Tecken, and a memory card. How thoughtful!

I’ve been enjoying playing it. I got him a blue hoddie with a skull on it, and a book – Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, which he’s wanted for a long time. He was very excited when he unwrapped that one.

We made love before opening the presents. I proposed to him before we made love. (He said he wouldn’t accept an engagement ring unless I came on it and left it in my pussy for him to find. He was also very pleased that I followed these instructions.)

PS2, Tecken, Memory Card and Dress for me. Hoddie, Book, Ring, Necklace, and Black Flowers for him. Except for the Hoddie and the Dress, doesn’t that seem a little backwards? Heh, but we are backwards, no denying that.

We cuddled half the night that night, which isn’t unusual for us, we cuddle a lot. He said he wouldn’t mind having a baby with me then... He said he wouldn’t mind it being sooner rather than later, but I guess that was a tentative statement which quickly withdrew in his mind the more he thought about it. Of course this is from the guy (back when I had patches) who tried to take my patch off without me noticing while we were having sex because he was scared of losing me! Does he ever stop being afraid of something? I mean, yeah, there is a lot to be afraid of, but doesn’t do much good to fret about everything.

I hate how he gets to be upset about things, afraid of things, that I ought to be more upset/afraid about. Like my pussy being sore. I’m the one in pain! But I act casual, and perhaps that is what leaves room for him to be upset. I’m the one who has to worry about delivering the baby, about nursing, about being home with them raising them. Only the first of which really scares me. But I’m playing it cool, because why worry? Worrying is useless!

The only thing I can’t help but worry about is My boyfriend. I want this to work out so bad. Damn, I was supposed to write an entire page of good things, and I got caught up again. It’s easier to write about bad things, isn’t it?

He’s beautiful. His art is beautiful. His ideas are beautiful. When he’s not busy being depressed, his words, his thoughts, his actions are beautiful too. The way he’ll touch me, talk to me... And it’s just so heartbreaking how easily he snaps out of his love-daze to be busy worrying about what may or may not be!

I don’t deserve to feel this way. I know I don’t. But what do I do? I have everything I asked for – the person I could relate to, the man I could draw with, someone who was clingy like me, someone who had fantasias like me, someone who had a worth-while hobby... He has so much more potential then other guys I’ve met, and he is what I asked for. He even looks the way I want him to.

I’ll never be able to let go, will I? I can’t let go of him, or my dreams for him... I can’t sit back and be casual about this. I’ve let him in, and I’m connected to everything he does and says, and I want this. But what do I do when he shuts me out? I can’t just be okay with being shut out. I won’t be!


It is 2:45pm at the moment.

IM with Will


Me [12:39 PM]: I hate living. It's terrible.

Will: Life...is life.

Me [12:40 PM]: It makes you happy and then sad, happy and then sad until you're spinning into insanity.

Will: Well, you have to be stronger than life, you know. It's the one we've got, and thus it's precious.

Me: Can anybody be stronger than what they love and hate both?

Will [12:41 PM]: Yes.

Me: We're doomed to become that both what we hate and what we love. And then repeat the process on ourselves.

Will: I suppose some context could help. What's going on?

Me: I don't even know! I may or may not be pregnant. My relationship may or may not be in the gutter. My boyfriend may or may not be angry at me right now. He may or may not be having second thoughts. I may or may not be having second thoughts! I'm writing an entry... It may be more clear - or it may not be.

Will [12:42 PM]: Hm. That's some heavy shit, self-doubt.

Me [12:43 PM]: Yeah. It is. I have this problem. I rely on men, and they are not worth relying on!

Will [12:44 PM]: Maybe your problem is you rely on men who don't think they can rely on you.

Me: For love, for sex, for understanding, for compassion, for affection, for company, for money, for effort.... And yeah, men are terrible at providing any of it. And it doesn't matter how much I prove myself! I'm NOT a fucking liar. I'm NOT going to bail out and leave someone on a whim. I'm not a bitch. I don't complain about bullshit. I don't ask for unreasonable things! So why can't I get this right?

Will [12:45 PM]: *Points at what he last wrote*

Me [12:46 PM]: I know. I was following your string of thought... And fuck holding tears back, if I wanna cry I'm gonna cry. Why don't men get that either? Input "most" before every time I wrote "men".

Will [12:47 PM]: Got it. My string of thought is as follows: Perhaps you're not happy with My boyfriend because for all you give to him, he hasn't offered much more beyond what you believe you need.

Me [12:49 PM]: And sometimes not even that. I've been trying hard not to rag on him too badly because he's so insecure, and the more insecure he is the worse he behaves. But there is only so much I can say honestly to him in a positive light. When all of the things that are good about him don't ring as true in his own mind, and all of his faults are blatant and loud, then what can be done about it? He doesn't believe his art is any good. He doesn't believe he is attractive.

Will [12:50 PM]: Wow, he sounds like me.

Me [12:51 PM]: He doesn't believe that I really want to stay with him, even after proposing I doubt he believes me!

Will: Oi. He. Has. Low. Self. Esteem.

Me: He's scared of his ability to keep me happy, and the more scared he is of it, the worse he is at making me happy!

Will: Possibly depression as well.

Me: I know. Yep. And he HATES being told that. He gets even more withdrawn when it's brought up! What can I do?

Will [12:52 PM]: Of course, denying and being adamant against it isn't going to help things.

Me: I want to bang my head on the wall repeatedly, but I doubt that will help. I know.

Will: Well, the first thing you have to do is build his self-esteem.

Me [12:55 PM]: I've been trying.

Will [12:56 PM]: How's that been going? Pretty shittily, huh?

Me: I tell him every night that he looks sexy. I insist that he take his shirt off. He still disbelieves. I tell him that I love him more than twice a day. I tell him reasons why I love him at least once a day. I compliment his every art work with real compliments, not just flattery. I cook for him and tell him how I enjoy doing so. I exclaim about every orgasm he gives me, as though it was the best thing anyone could give a person. I usually can't help rambling about how good an orgasm was afterwards anyway. He just isn't letting any of that in. He's too busy telling himself that it's not true.

Will [12:58 PM]: Well, he's a veritable sad-sack.

Me [12:59 PM]: What's veritable mean?

Will [1:00 PM]: An adjective, used as an intensifier. It's like saying "He's a regular sad-sack."

Me [1:01 PM]: I suppose. ... I'm a sad-sack. At the moment anyway. I was a bundle of joy yesterday. Funny how fast these things change.

Will [1:02 PM]: That's how depression is.

Me [1:03 PM]: I feel so stupid. I shouldn't let anybody control how I feel like this. But what happiness is there without giving your heart (i.e. that control) to someone? I suppose you're the wrong person to be asking about that... heh.

Me [1:09 PM]: Please shoot me now.

Will [1:10 PM]: Killing you won't solve anything.

Me: I know. I mentioned that in the entry I'm writing

Will [1:14 PM]: Well, what options do you have?

Me [1:15 PM]: Do nothing, try to talk to him about it, or break up with him. Same as always. I've tried the first two immeasurable times! ugh.

Will [1:15 PM]: The first and third ones are not options.

Me: Yeah, I know. He'll eventually try to talk to me. When he's ready. But I hate waiting for that.

Will [1:16 PM]: After all the times you've tried talking to him? I think he's become comfortable in his self-imposed misery.

Me: He always does... He'll say he's sorry, and that things will change... And then... (dare I say it) ... things don't change. Either that, or that problem goes away and a new one arises. Yeah. He doesn't know how to be happy. He thinks he's better when he's angry. He's not.

Will [1:18 PM]: So, your first and second choices are simply insanity. Doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. So. You either need to give up (breaking up with him) or find a new angle of attack.

Me [1:19 PM]: I know! I know! Now re-read all of what this started out with!

Will: Wow... You've tried other angles.

Me [1:21 PM]: I've tried ignoring. I've tried crying. I've tried writing. I've tried talking. I've tried waiting. I've tried being super supportive and neglecting to mention his wrong-doings. I've tried pointing everything wrong out. Each of those I've tried many times, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days or weeks. I've even tried acting as though I didn't give a hoot about anything he did for over a week. That made things worse. That was a long time ago though.

Will [1:22 PM]: He's difficult to please.

Me: Exactly what I said!

Will: Have you tried asking what he wants?

Me: And he says I'm the difficult one. Yes! Over and over and over and over again!

Will: What has he told you?

Me [1:23 PM]: He says "sex and attention" But I give him both in bundles! I asked him last night what he wanted, and he didn't answer. I asked him what was wrong, and he said "nothing."

Will [1:24 PM]: Of course then he wouldn't be getting any better. He's keeping you at arm's length with that answer, keeping you from getting to the crux of whatever his problems may be. He doesn't want to let you in.

Me: I know. Exactly. And when I point that out, he's even more upset.

Will [1:25 PM]: You probably would benefit from couple's therapy. But your opinion on doctors makes that difficult.

Me: Therapy is expensive.

Will: That too.

Me: And as long as they don't give me pills, then I'm fine with them.

Will: Usually couple's therapists don't prescribe medicine.

Me: I think therapy might be just another blow to his ego.

Will [1:26 PM]: His ego, huh?

Me: And we couldn't afford it. I've thought about it.

Will: You just proposed to him, kiddo. If anything, he shouldn't be acting like this.

Me: I know! That's why this isn't just normal hish-hash. The fact that I proposed makes it miserable.

Will: I say it's becoming too much trouble for its own good.

Me: I thought this would change if I proposed!

Will [1:27 PM]: You honestly thought that? Kid, the fight only gets harder after that.

Me: I thought he could stop being insecure if he KNEW he had me.

Will [1:30 PM]: Of course, this is not the case.

Me: So now that I'm backed into a corner, now what?

Will [1:31 PM]: Perhaps he knows this as well, and is insecure because he feels that you proposed just to try and make him feel better.

Me [1:32 PM]: Shit, I didn't think of that! But I did propose because I want to marry him. At least, I thought I did. But the way he's been acting since last night has me questioning again.

Will [1:33 PM]: Most people wait a lot longer than one year to propose for a reason.

Me [1:34 PM]: I really thought that things would just magically change after I proposed. I'm such an idiot. I feel like a blundering fool! All I've been working towards... All I ever put my heart into was being this perfect girlfriend, perfect wife and mother that I'll never fucking be! Everyone see's right through my supposed calm, my supposed wisdom and sees me for the idiot I am, and that's why nobody trusts me.

Will [1:36 PM]: I trust you. Despite the council of people who I suppose should know better, I do trust you. That's the point of being a good friend.

Me [1:37 PM]: I suppose that's hard for me to comprehend sometimes.

Will: Being able to see past failing and accepting a person for both their good qualities and bad. Which is why I have friends who tend to not get along with each other.

Me [1:39 PM]: I just realized that he was writing this morning. I'm going to see what he wrote.

Will: Oh? Maybe it'll make you feel better. I certainly hope so.

Me: That or worse...

Me [1:42 PM]: His entry is just about useless to my emotional state.

Will: Oh?

Me: He's afraid of me neglecting him after I have a baby. Oh seriously! I wish I could smack him right now for thinking of that.

Will [1:43 PM]: Hm.

Me: I've told him time and time and time again that if we had a baby (or a girlfriend for that matter) that with as much time as he works, I'll still be able to devote the few hours before we sleep to him. It's not like it's that much time!

Will: Think that.

Me [1:44 PM]: Not taking care of the baby – that will take a lot of time. I mean, he's not here for that much time. He's only got four hours after work before we go to bed. And I'm sure he'd want to spend time with our baby too! For goodness sakes, he's such a worry wart sometimes.

Will [1:46 PM]: Oi oi. We're getting distracted.. How does this change your feelings of the situation? Other than what he wrote being "useless".

Me [1:48 PM]: Heh...
Will [1:50 PM]: So what can you do? Will you just keep playing the same game with him? Or is this all worth breaking up with him?

Me [1:54 PM]: I don't know yet... On the phone with him.

Me [2:04 PM]: Well, I still don't know what the fuck to think.

Will: What happened?

Me [2:05 PM]: He spent all the time we were on the phone listing off things he's scared about. He believes that I'm pregnant, and that after the baby is born that I'll stop paying attention to him. Basically he's scared of his "sex and attention" being compromised by a baby. This is so ridiculous.

Will [2:06 PM]: That's not good.

Me: Well, I told him that it's normal to be scared, but that it's not okay for him to ignore me because of it.

Will [2:07 PM]: You and him are planning for this child, right?

Me [2:08 PM]: That I may or may not be having... Yes and no. Planning in thought, not so much in action, since we don't know if I am or not.

Will [2:09 PM]: Perhaps waiting until you're married would be a better time.

Me: I know it would. But I'm not getting an abortion if I am pregnant.

Will [2:11 PM]: I'm disturbed though. This is all sounding like it's leading towards something terrible. Say you are pregnant? Then all that comes with it hits.

Me [2:16 PM]: I know. It does. That is why I'm so lost right now. I've never been one to break up over a disagreement. I've never been one to throw away my effort because of a hang up. Especially not with relationships. But when children are involved, it's more serious. ‘Wait and see’ doesn't always work with kids.

Will [2:18 PM]: No, it doesn't.

Me [2:19 PM]: There is no compromising on drugs or over-reacting with kids. You're either committed, or you're not.

Will [2:20 PM]: And you're still fighting with him over that, aren't you?

Me: Not exactly. We're still compromising with certain things.

Will [2:21 PM]: Compromising? How?

Me: Currently he's supposed to only smoke weed once a week. Supposedly we're done with the drinking. He slipped up about a week ago and drank one tilt, thinking that one wine-cooler wouldn't hurt. But it did, so I hope he learned his lesson.

Will [2:24 PM]: And you're not sure whether or not you'll be able to stick with My boyfriend as you go through a pregnancy he's pretty afraid for?

Me [2:25 PM]: Well, no, it's not that. I'm sure I can stick with him. I stuck with Tre for goodness sakes. But I'm not sure it'll be as pleasant as I'd hoped.

Will: It never is.

Me [2:26 PM]: I mean, of course there are problems, but I had hoped for less of them. If two people can just sit down and talk calmly about things without waiting for a day or so to pass before doing this, then a relationship is a lot smoother.

Will [2:27 PM]: Yeah, but it hasn't been that?

Me [2:28 PM]: It always takes him a day to come around. In the mean time, it hurts. I don't see why he should have to come around throughout a day over the same things over and over again. We should have been done with the "all women are liars, and so are you" the first time he called me up and told me "You know what, you're not a liar. You never have lied to me. I'm sorry. I do believe you." I shouldn't have had to deal with that, five, ten, fifteen more times!

Will [2:30 PM]: Stuff like that is never settled the first time around.

Me: But I've never lied to him. I don't understand why he had to keep bringing it up. Him and Brianna were over five years ago. And he's had a year with me to prove that I'm a liar. So why does he have to think I'm a liar just because she was? It's not liar! If I was still basing him on Tre then I'd have left him months ago.

Will: Because he's insecure, duh! His insecurity is the single biggest problem in your relationship. Not the drugs. Not the drinking.

Me [2:31 PM]: I know. You don't know how he is when he's drunk He's terrible.

Will: Hm?

Me: Mean, irrational, illogical... Totally rude, totally unwilling to compromise, easy to anger, easy to forget... Him drunk is intolerable.

Will [2:32 PM]: Alcohol is said to reveal our true inner selves. Unless you overcome that insecurity, I doubt there's any way you're going to be able to not have a rocky relationship. But now that I think about it... I wonder if his insecurity was a factor in his relationship with Brianna. Think long and hard about this, Rae. I'd hate for you to make a decision you'd regret.