Showing posts with label water issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label water issues. Show all posts

Friday, June 6, 2008

Muscle Cramps Are Sure To Occur

Monday, June 2nd 2008 at 1:48am


So much for everything.

I’m still going to try the marriage fitness program, but after the fourteen weeks are up, if things are looking anything like they are now then this will just never work.

I’m hurting myself with all this misery. My muscles all over my body are cramping because I’ve let myself get cold in my desperate actions. Crying naked on a cold tiled floor is not generally good for your health.

In this last week I’ve thrown my keyboard into my monitor causing a scrape in the monitor. I’ve also stayed up until 9:00am arguing and crying. I smoked weed for the second time in one year. I spent a good deal of time on the floor naked. I banged my head into the wall about twenty times, and on the floor around six or seven times. I screamed out the window “I hate you” to no particular person at the top of my lungs in such a high pitch that my words were indiscernible. I’ve spent countless hours trying to find a solution. I’ve spent countless hours crying.

These are all very bad signs, and while I’m fully aware of all of the implications behind all of those actions I’m still unsure how to salvage myself best in this situation. I care too much for Crusifer to leave him when I know he wants to be with me so badly. It was hard enough with Tre, but with Tre I had several advantages. One of those advantages was that I realized I was with a thief, and there is no way I could ever stay with someone who is stealing from me. Another was that I wasn’t as attached as I thought I was because a lot of the connection was placed in the weed. These sorts of things do not apply to my relationship with Crusifer. I’ve been nuts about him since the start. I have never stopped loving him, though I have drifted more and more in the last few months. I have never really hated him. I have never really said “It’s over” and expected and wanted him to leave at that very moment. I proposed to Crusifer because I thought for sure that it was the right time, and what we both needed and wanted.

There are a couple things I can focus on to force myself to leave him. For one, he confessed to me this morning that the letter he wrote me about having a drinking problem was bull shit. He doesn’t believe he has a problem. So this tells me that he lied, that he won’t quit drinking, and that he did things just to make me stay. I resent all three of those with equal disgust, anger and depression. Another thing I can focus on to make myself leave him is the fact that he almost invariably ignores me when I cry now. The part of him that cares about my feelings seems to have retreated beyond my reaching. And thirdly, he’s told me he’ll continue to drink and hang out with his friends even if it causes us to break up.

There is an abundance of other things pissing me off, like his lack of trust in me, his continual proclamations that I’m lying or “full of shit,” the fact that he doesn’t call when he’s gone for a long time, that he doesn’t care if he breaks a promise to me, the fact that he finds comforting me something he shouldn’t have to do or doesn’t care to do or find worth while to do or whatever. The fact that he considers his own pain before mine in all situations even including situations where I’m obviously the one in more physical or emotional pain. He tells me that I come after his work and his art. He told me today he’ll try to put me first. We promised to try some more. I think this might be our last dance of trying, but nevertheless I still am going to give it everything I got. I won’t fall hypocrite to the very things I’m accusing him of by neglecting him.

Crusifer told me today that he feels like he’s two people... The one that likes to drink and hang out with his friends, the him that he is at work and the him that makes me miserable. We’re calling that part of him Cav, cause that’s what they call him at work. Crusifer however always cares about how I feel and is always striving to improve himself, be productive and spend time with me. Unfortunately he’ll always be more Cav than Crusifer because of his work life. That means that he isn’t ever going to be mine. Let me tell you, that’s heartbreaking. I feel wrung out to the point where I’m not even holding my head up straight. I don’t shift positions when my foot goes numb. I don’t cover up when I get cold. I keep shaking... I never shook so much or so violently as I have these past couple days. Unless I shook like this when Jeremy left me...

Needless to say I’ve been thinking about Jeremy a lot. Feeling so desperate always makes me think about him, partly because I associate the desperate feeling to how I felt after he left me. I also think about the fact that him and I could have been together this past year and a half. I was seriously considering it before I went out with Crusifer. I love the experience I’ve had with Crusifer. It’s had so many, many good times, and so many lessons and new ways to express myself and my love and find who I really am and what I really want on levels I never touched before... But I sometimes wonder if this was the choice that would bring me the most happiness...

Hard to say. I’d be a whole person right now if I had spent this time with anyone other than Crusifer. Really issue is that Crusifer and I identify in each other something that we can find no where else. I can find love with another man, but I might not be able to find the incredible relate-ability I’ve found with Crusifer. But while I’m on that thought, perhaps we don’t relate as much as I thought anyway. Those incredible discoveries in our first few months revolved around sex and art. Two incredible aspects of life, but not the most important aspect of life. For him, those are the most important aspects, for me, they come after my health, and after love.

I used to think I wasn’t right in my head because of the emphasis I put on love, being in love and the effects that love had on my life. Because other people didn’t relate to my affection need and because other people don’t feel the deep pain that I feel when I feel a lack of affection, I thought something was very wrong with me. Mort Fertel explained to me why I’m not a freak of nature. It’s not the affection that I want so bad, it’s the love that it signifies. I feel that if someone isn’t willing to move their hands about my body for ten minutes or so, then surely they don’t love me. The joy of touching is universal, and it’s easy and it’s enjoyable. If you’re not enjoying it, then either you’re not in love with the person, or you’re upset with that person at the time.

I can follow this same logic to uncover everything that Crusifer does that bothers me. By not calling me he’s saying a lot of things. He’s saying that he doesn’t believe that I care enough to worry, or that he doesn’t care that I’m worried. He’s saying that he doesn’t really miss me, or that he doesn’t think I’d like to be bothered with his call. He’s showing a lack of caring no matter the circumstance. Even if he’s busy, and even if he’s got other things on his mind, then this still shows a lack of priority. If I was his top priority, like he is to me, then he would never forget to call me, never lack of missing me, never neglect to touch me or talk to me.

A huge thing that bothers me is that I can’t get out of him anything he wants. Mort suggests intimacy interviews to uncover all of your partner’s desires. This interview should last for an hour or so, and hundreds of wants should be uncovered in detail. To my dismay I uncovered nothing new at all except for the lack of my priority in his life. I want opportunities to show him how much I love him, and to give to him. Part of the program is to pick three things from the list you’ve uncovered to do every day. One of these three things might be the same thing everyday. I have so little to pick from that it’s impossible without doing the same things everyday.

Pedicure, manicure, massages, cooking, and sex. Nothing else makes the slightest difference to him at all. And as Mort says, you can’t give something with having a willing receiver. Therefor if he doesn’t want it, then I can’t give it. Since I should spread my “gives” throughout the day, all I can really do is wake up, give him a massage, visit him at work and bring him lunch, cook for him when he gets home, and/or have sex with him. What a dull selection. Doesn’t he like it when I write him letters? *sighs*


Tuesday, June 3rd 2008 at 7:18pm


My mind has been turning to Jeremy a lot lately. I keep expecting to see him for some reason, and then feeling out of place when I don’t. I want to talk to him about the issues I’ve been facing with Crusifer and with myself. I’d like to hear his perspective. I seem to have lost my security in my relationship, because I don’t feel that “safe” feeling a lot, and perhaps I wish to see Jeremy to see if I feel “safe” around him.

I can’t say I don’t feel guilty about this. Certainly it’s not a socially acceptable thing to want to see your ex. It’s even less acceptable when your current relationship is shaky. I can blow this off by saying that I always wish I could make Jeremy into a friend, but clearly the meaning behind my desires in much deeper, and to deny it would simply be dishonest to myself.

More than anything I want to put the past behind me and start a family with Crusifer. Short of that I want to at least get most of the past behind me and be married to Crusifer without regret. Short of that, I’d like to at least find the deepest truth of the matter within myself and put the past behind me including Crusifer if need be. Short of that, I’d like to at least use a part of my past – Jeremy – for comfort through the hard times the future may bring. Short of all of that, perhaps I can write, write, and write my misery away until I feel much better.

I feel so utterly drained. I can’t seem to find a creative scrap inside me. I have no drive to create anything right now. I have no burning craving to do anything. I have no thought nagging to be written. I have no obligation to fulfill... Why does Tina never call me?

I wanted to be there for Tina after her baby’s birth and to visit her a lot and to babysit for her...

Why do I feel so blasted empty and heavy? Surely I’ve slept well enough. It’s not lack of exercise because I biked to see Crusifer at work. I did that today and yesterday in the spirit of Marriage Fitness. Three “gives” a day, and five “talk-charges...”

I’m really lost right now. Not sure why. I suspect a shower would help...


Wednesday, June 4th 2008 at 3:29pm


Preparations for Crusifer’s birthday have begun. Despite the stress in the past few weeks between him and I, I’m still determined to give this my best shot until I don’t see any decent options other than leaving him. Crusifer is following through with his promise to listen to the CDs and to do what they say to do. He keeps quoting, “put you first” in reference to me to remind himself, and I find it absolutely adorable. He even answered the phone in the middle of a tattoo to say hi to me when I called.

His actions the past two days prove yet again that he does want to make this work very badly, but it’s nothing convincing because I’ve seen him put forth a lot of effort before when he thought it was either put forth the effort or get dumped (and of course, it was a matter of putting for the effort or being dumped.)

I discussed with him the night before last the fact that I don’t even approve of him smoking weed. Ideally, he’d quit doing that too. He of course looks at me in exasperation for a moment, but also with questing. He is curious as to know why, and not jumping to conclusions, not accusing me of trying to make him a slave.

Somewhere along the past few days I pointed out that he’s a complete hypocrite. I was able to quote at least five things he said and then contradicted within the past few days. He wasn’t able to deny his hypocrisy, but together, we were able to explain it. He doesn’t have a split-personality, but he does have two sets of values. He adopted the second set of values (he says) in seventh grade in order to fit in. The second set of values are the common values of a low class black male living in Buffalo. These values include:

Drinking, partying, not caring, fighting at the drop of a hat, demanding respect from those around you, smoking a lot of weed, listening to hardcore music, staying far away from anything homosexual and generally being a homophob. They also include not taking any “shit” from your “bitch” and “slapping a hoe” if she gets out of line, and many other things along those lines.

We gave this set of values a name; Cav, which is what they call him at work. It makes perfect sense for them to call him Cav, because he is Cav while he’s at work. This worries me because he spends so much time there. Visiting him for several hours on Monday at work made a dramatic difference in his day and in mine. He felt like he had an ally and wasn’t afraid to be the “self” that he is around me. I felt like I had my soul-mate and was drawn out of the depression I’d been in for two days if only for a few hours.

Because visiting him helped so much on Monday I visited again briefly on Tuesday, both times bringing him a sandwich. The first one just meet, cheese and vegetables. The second one included meet, eggs, cheese and vegetables. Needless to say, the eggs were much appreciated.

So this brings me back to the conversation I had with him about the weed. Smoking weed once or twice a day is not something the Crusifer I know would do, it’s something that Cav does. I brought up that this is why his mother looks down on his job. She doesn’t understand that art is all Crusifer is about, and all Crusifer will ever do for a living and that tattoos is the best way for him to turn his art into cash, at least for now. Because his mother can’t understand those things all she can see is the ghetto customers, the ghetto co-workers, the foul language, the drug usage, and so forth. I agree that those things are hard to deal with, especially when someone you love in working in those conditions day in and day out. I’m more aware than anybody the toll it takes on his personality, ego and pride.

I explained to Crusifer about the values I wanted my children to have, and the values that I have. Those values don’t include associating with people who throw their lives away, who don’t care about their health or the health of their families and friends.


My values place compassion and love far above pride and material possessions and drugs and parties. My values place health far above the temporary enjoyment of any unhealthy activity. And I want my children to share that, and my husband. If my husband doesn’t share those values than my children will share those values about fifty-percent of the time, and that would be that.

After I explained in detail about that, he nodded and agreed, and said, “I’m not ready to just quit smoking weed. What do you want me to do?”

“Start small. Don’t smoke more than once a day, and don’t smoke near the time you come home from work. I want to see you sober.”

He agreed easily, because not that many days does he get the chance to smoke twice in a day. The only problem is, despite Crusifer’s ambition and understanding of self-improvement and of love, Cav has no respect for my values or for self-improvement. Is Cav the problem?

According to Mort, he explains that in every marriage there is Rachel and there is Laya. (Refer to the Bible, and to Jacob and his two wives.) Rachel is the person you want to marry, the person of your choice and desire. Laya is the person of your fate that comes with your choice no matter what you do. Mort says that Laya is not the problem. Cav is not the problem. How I react to Cav is the problem. I certainly don’t react well. I used to I think, but I’ve been losing my patience. It’s been too long to still have this problems in my opinion. But this isn’t about “me,” it’s about “we.”

Using Mort’s principles certainly steer away from breakup, and they certainly create bonding. The only thing that takes so much time is to bond enough and love enough to be able to really drop your issues with the other person. Accepting Cav will prevent break-up, but living with him will always cause me distress unless a deeper solution can be created. The theory is that if we both put each other first, and we both move our circle of life to include each other a much as possible, if we both establish that connection and compassion for each other, if we both rekindle the way we felt when we first met, if we both remove the conditions, drop the issues, and give each other affection, loving conversation and our presence in our giving each and every day then our problems will dissipate or find easy resolutions.

I believe that this is true, but I also believe that it’s no easy matter. Granted, when Crusifer makes me happy, it’s easier to let him do something I don’t want him to do. I can leave the room, because I’m not being needy because I already had my fill of him previously in the day. Granted, that if he asks for something I don’t prefer him to do, instead of just doing it, I’m much more likely to say “okay.” Granted that if he calls me throughout the day I’m going to feel more loved, and if I call him too he’ll feel more loved. All of this is very true and makes a very good point, but it really takes two. Keeping the ambition to do all this giving is beyond what I’ll be able to manage within a few weeks if I don’t feel that he loves me enough to do the same.

Note how I worded that. Not that I have to get the same back. I need him to love me enough to give the same back. Another important point which Mort stresses is that it’s not about what you’re getting, but what you both are giving. When you look at it that way, it straightens out a heck of a lot.


Friday, June 6th 2008 at 10:09pm


As any of my long-time readers know, the lack of entries is a good sign in 80% of cases with me. I have not written the past few days because I have not felt stressed enough to need to write. Even, now, I don’t need to. I just wanted to record a joyful day where I accomplished much.

I woke up from a dream where I was enjoying myself. I don’t know what the dream was about, though I do remember being pelted with bits of crushed brick. However, whatever the dream was mostly about, I enjoyed. I know this because I woke up feeling especially refreshed and good.

Crusifer brought me a cup of tea. I drank half of it, as usual, and then turned to giving him attention. As he bored of this activity (touching and talking about nothing) he strayed from the bed. I absentmindedly starting touching myself, and found myself aroused. I called him back to the bed, and after several minutes he finally came back and I lured him inside me. The lovemaking was short and sweet, the way I generally prefer. I came, he came. Can’t ask for much more, can you?

Well, I did ask for more. I asked him to take the few extra minutes it would take to shower with me, but he declined. I made a few attempts into coaxing him into it, but I think he became annoyed at this attempt. I cleaned up in my attic bathroom (the one with only hot water, no warm water) and then hurriedly got dresses and applied sun-block and followed him downstairs into the livingroom. We grabbed our bikes and carted them out the front door, off the porch and biked with him all the way to work. He was quiet and rebuffed my attempts at conversation. This dismayed me, but I didn’t let it affect my attitude towards the day. He didn’t smile, he didn’t speak except to answer questions, he didn’t initiate any kissing or touching when we got there, and so I was a little disappointed.

I contemplated my short skirt, tank top, morning sex and ride to work with him on the way back wondering what I could have done wrong. I guess it was the “nagging” about the shower. Frustrating as that was, the day was too bright to be bogged down because he didn’t smile for me.

I got home, showered. I asked my mom if she wanted to “play with blocks” before or after going to Wegmans. We decided on before going. I’m currently making the twenty-four “wonders” for the game I’m creating. These wonders all have the same size of the base but the wooden parts connected with hot glue are arranged in drastically different designs. So far my mother has made two, and Crusifer has made two, and I’ve made nine. None of them are really painted yet though, so that’s a whole other task in it self. My mother really enjoyed herself and that made me happy.

Then my mother and I went to Wegmans. I picked up organic granola (five boxes to mix), four packages of rice crisps, three cartons of Wegmans orange juice, one flat of Wegmans water, one bag of pistachios, two bags of sour cream and onion kettle chips and two bags of salt and vinegar kettle chips. Anything else... Hmm. I also got more razor heads, and... Grapes. I got the grapes mostly to eat while I was there because I was so dehydrated.

I gave my mom $25 in cash, because it’s all I had. I think I picked up $60 worth of stuff. Crusifer usually provides for these things, but recent strains in our relationship make me feel guilty for asking for money. He’s trying to save to go to Mass. for a week. Something about experienced tattoo artists who are friends of a friend who want to help him out and have him be a guest artist at their shop. I insisted that he wouldn’t go anywhere without me for the week so it’s a decent expense to save for.

I got home, decided it was dreadfully hot, showered again, and then went about the daunted process of extracting my air conditioner. It’s been rolled into a corner for the winter behind plastic sorting drawers full of crafts, my craft table, my chair, and other related things which are extremely close to my bed which is up against an opposite wall. In other words, there is no room to just rearrange. I had to lift things, dismantle the table, sort things, put many things away temporarily, and finally pull the air conditioner to where it could hook up to the outside world. The reward sucks, because despite it’s 9000BTW, it doesn’t help much. If it’s above 93 degrees or so it can’t do anything. It blows out “cooler” air, but the cooler air is like 85 degrees or something, so it doesn’t feel like it’s working when it’s that hot. At 85 degrees or so it works quite well. What a silly machine.

I also removed the curtains the separate the “back” of the attic from my room and put them at the door at the bottom of the attic steps to help heat stay downstairs. Previously I had added foil to the windows and I have two window fans going at all times. I’ve recently starting using my third fan, a big circular one to help bring the fresh air to the bed area. All of these measures make it about five degrees hotter than the second floor instead of twenty degrees hotter, which is of note, but still daunting when I’ve gone to such lengths to make it livable up here.

Anyway, after I did that (and got all sweaty again) I took another shower... And broke the shower. I had no idea that the plumping was so fragile that if I adjusted the shower head too hard that it would disconnect on the other side. Water poured out of the pipe for a moment before I thought to turn it off. The bathtub still worked so I resorted to a bath.

Then my parents and I attended an event at my church. A very good local group called the Blood Thirsty Vegans plays there the first Friday of every month, but I’ve never been before even though I know the lead guy Alex vaguely from other open mics and such.

They played for about an hour and a half and then had an intermission for open mic. I read my poems: Intimacy, then Fire, then Dissatisfied and lastly Rain. Four of my favorites of course. I still like Beyond Reality, but it needs a revision before I read it aloud again. It screams “sixteen years old” in the middle of it even though it starts out so strong.

I danced my heart out tonight, which made me feel really good and alive. I started out with a little shoulder movement and thrusting my heal out to the beat. It quickly evolved into the most elegant arm movements I can muster, the most rhythmic hip movements I can make, the most crazy but intricate and rhythmic feet movements I can make without stumbling, and swishing my damp hair about whenever I saw fit. Being the white girl that I am, and a stereotypical one at that when it comes to dancing it takes a lot of technique for me to muster rhythm. I believe that rhythm is not a “have it or don’t” sort of thing. I don’t naturally have rhythm the way many people do, but I have techniques to keep following the beat.

My first and most important technique is to pick on element of the music to follow to get into it. Once you’re in the zone you won’t need to focus so much, but when I begin I follow one element in the music very closely which is generally the base.

The second technique I have, which is almost as important is my feet. I always try to jerk my foot on every beat that I’m following. Whether it’s a step, a stomp, a tap, or more of an ankle bounce, it’s almost vital to keeping myself in tune. However, once I’m really into it, I can switch my attention from my feet to my shoulders. Thrusting one shoulder forward, or alternating my shoulders on each beat, or thrusting them back, is another way to remind myself of what I’m following.

The third technique I have is to move my entire body in every movement. In order to look animated you can’t have limp hands, or stiff ankles or a ridged back. I utilize this to the fullest possible when focusing on technique one and two. If the song is fast paced enough, and if I have energy enough, and if I’m into it enough I can twist all three of these techniques together and do what many people just do naturally. I can move my shoulders to the in between beat and my feet to the main beat and then thrust my body forward and back, stretching up and bending low while continuing the motions with my feet and shoulders which make my other seemingly-random movements look coordinated.

Dancing has never been easy for me, but I enjoy the freedom of it, and the expression of it. We arrived at 7:00pm and left at 10:00pm. It’s going on 11:00pm now and Crusifer has called me to let me know that he won’t be home until midnight, possibly one o’clock in the morning, but he has no intentions of being longer than that. He’s going to “the park” to chill with “some people” on his lap top while smoking “a couple blunts” and doesn’t expect it to take “until three o’clock in the morning or anything like that.”

I have my doubts as to what will really happen though I imagine his intentions are good. He even warned me earlier that he wanted to go out, and I’ve accepted Fridays and Saturdays as acceptable nights to go out. I’ve accepted him going out once a week as long as it’s one of those nights. I can’t argue when he meets every condition, but none of it settles the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when he goes out. It doesn’t hurt when he lets me know ahead of time, and my heart doesn’t ache when he follows my conditions, but my stomach never feels quite settled when he’s out when I know he could be home with me.

I’m not letting it dampen my spirits though. I had a good day despite his indecisive moods.

I think I may go read now. I’m on the fourth book of The Bridge of D’Arnath by Carol Berg, which by the way is a phenomenal series of epic adventure, fantasy, vivid sorcery, and deep characters who really portray how layered real people are. I’m becoming a huge fan of Carol Berg and look forward to buying her other series which I can’t remember the name of at the moment.

Thanks for reading. I miss you guys when you don’t comment. Anyone who comes here at all knows my social life is lacking. This is my friend. Writing is my social life. I talk, talk, and talk, but without feedback, it’s not social, it’s just talking to myself – which might make me slightly crazy. Something for you to think about – if you don’t respond, that means I’m talking to myself, which makes me crazy.

Cheers and smiles and love for everyone! Recycle your junk mail, eat more organic food, cut back on your sugar intake, smile to a stranger, give someone special a hug, and write me a detailed comment about yourself and how you can or can’t relate to me, and consider you good deeds done for the day.

Friday, April 11, 2008

I scream. I write. I dream.

Tuesday, April 1st 2008 at 4:30pm


For those of you who don’t know, we don’t have a bathtub currently. We’ve never really had a shower, I grew up with baths, not really knowing that showers existed. I didn’t even like showers growing up. I was probably somewhat afraid of the water pouring down on top of me instead of enveloping me at my pace.

Aunt Mary, who has been living with us for about three years now (has it really been that long?!) doesn’t like not having a shower, and after Dad got used to having a shower in our temporary apartment (after the fire when I was fourteen) he wanted one too. Mom didn’t think this would be such a hard thing to install, but every attempt resulted in more leaks.

One weekend, about a month and a half ago Mary went on some trip somewhere. (I have no idea for what.) Mom decided this was a perfect opportunity to move the bathtub and inspect the plumbing and get everything done right once and for all. She thought she’d have it done before Mary got back, so that Mary (who can’t go without a shower everyday) wouldn’t miss a weekend without bathing. Mary got back, and it still wasn’t done. At that time, we all thought it would be done within a few days.

More leaks, more complications, and the next thing we know a week has gone by, and Mom’s response is no longer “soon” or “in a few days” or “in a week” but rather “I don’t know” or “I’m doing the best I can” or “It takes as long as it takes.” I’m not a clean-freak so a week and a half without a bath didn’t bother me at first. When it got to about two and a half weeks I was feeling disgusting and washes my hair, arms and upper body as best as I could in the kitchen sink. I’ve gone through a tremendous amount of wipes keeping myself as clean as I can without being able to soak in water.

I’ve been given the offer to go to Asa’s house or to Gerri’s, neither of which would be comfortable. I could go and use Tina’s shower, but it would be rude to come and use the shower and leave, and I’d hate to see Arrin while I’m there, or Scott, or even Tim for that matter. Not that they would be in Tina’s apartment, but nevertheless, I might see them on the porch, or on there way in, or something along those lines.

So about three weeks into not having a bathtub the hot water tank quits on top of it. I resorted to boiling water in the stove, pouring it into the sink, heating more water, and then using the water from the sink with a fluffy cleaning utensil cleaning myself letting the water drip into the turkey pan. Standing nude in our very exposed kitchen while my mom was just over in the living room was highly humiliating, and I haven’t decided to do that again since, especially when the turkey pan got so cold that my feet went numb in the cold water.

I’ve resorted to be contented with washing elbows to hands, neck, face, hair, and sometimes feet, and using wipes whenever I use the bathroom. I don’t smell, but I certainly don’t feel clean. I can’t say I really feel dirty either, but... It’s not pleasant knowing how dirty I probably really am. I’ve gotten lax about cleaning the floors because My boyfriend and I are shedding so much hair and skin that there really isn’t much point in cleaning it when we’re just going to make everything dirty again so fast. Might as well wait until we can take a bath again.

Just now I’ve come back from laying cement and floor tiles in the bathroom. We laid five files. It’s slow going because we’re not professionals. We don’t have professional tools or supplies, we just have what works and what we can afford. And Mom has had to forgo using male teenage-ish helpers as she has been doing most of my life. (Thomas – Summerlee’s brother, Jeremy – my first love, Carlos – a dufus kid who used to have a decent work ethic, Magarret – an idiot who thinks he’s smart who is a friend of Carlos, El – My boyfriend’s friend, and now that all of that has either passed or didn’t work, it’s moved on to me. ) They all don’t work out for one reason or another. Either they can’t understand, or can’t listen, or make to many mistakes, or don’t communicate, or complain too much, or whatever. I certainly wouldn’t trust any one of them, probably not even Jeremy or even My boyfriend for that matter with the task I was just helping my mom with. I mean, not that My boyfriend couldn’t do it, but it’s not something I’d leave him alone with if I was my mom. (Not that it’s logical to bring My boyfriend into this since he’s not the construction type, and doesn’t have the time to be laying floor tiles with cement.)

I’m certainly not the best person for any job involving construction, but I have enough of a care not to be careless. I’m intelligent enough not to ask one thousand questions, and to ask a question when I need to. I’m familiar with the tools and don’t have to be taught anything. I know about the importance of being accurate. I’ve done this stuff before. I listen to what my mom says. I don’t have to be picked up, and I don’t have to be paid. So it does make a lot more sense for me to be the one doing the work.

(My mom can’t do it all herself because she also has to take care of my Dad, the kitchen, the bills, and herself, not to mention that she has a bad hip, and a hip replacement on the other side.)

Today I’ve laid five floor tiles in the downstairs bathroom, spent three hours writing and formatting my writing, and spent about half an hour eating and on the phone with My boyfriend. No Saga yet today, a record for me since I started playing the game...


Tuesday, April 8th 2008 at 12:19am


It’s been exactly one week since the last time I wrote. I’ve been writing, I just haven’t been writing entries. I’ve been writing Saga suggestions, I’ve been writing letters, I’ve been working on a new novel idea. I can’t really ever stop writing, but entries themselves aren’t really necessary every single day for me to get that sense of satisfaction that writing gives.


Wednesday, April 9th 2008 at 1:41am


Today was a little different than most days. I attached a shoulder strap to My boyfriend’s laptop bag, but I never got a chance to show him. He called me at 10:50pm to ask me if I wanted to come and hang out with El, El’s girlfriend and some other guy that none of us knew but El. (I think it was kinda rude of El to completely ignore him when none of us knew him.)

El’s girlfriend is really superficial and flaky, but there was no real reason for me not to like her, or to really like her either. I feel completely ambivalent towards her, though I do I hope I don’t see her again since I know (via My boyfriend, via El) that she doesn’t like me. Further proof of her flakiness is her reason: Wearing a lot of black eyeliner and fishnet top. Oh god, heaven forbid. But I’m so used it, doesn’t even phase me actually. But it upset My boyfriend.

So nothing much really happened while we were out, we went to Delaware park (El’s girlfriend picked me up and dropped us off again in her car) and we just did nothing. They drank, they smoked weed, they smoked cigarettes – well, that was only that other guy I don’t know. I munched. I brought rice crisps, rice cakes, pistachios, and almonds.

It was better than some lame house party, but it wasn’t exactly fun either. I enjoyed the fresh air more than anything, but if My boyfriend hadn’t been there I wouldn’t have liked it at all. My boyfriend was kinda down after he discovered that El’s girl doesn’t like us.

So then we get home, and My boyfriend finally tells me what’s bothering him, he eats a bowl of ramen noodles and turns down the watermelon offer. (My mom left him a slice of water melon, but I knew My boyfriend wasn’t going to want it.) We get upstairs, and we start talking. He wants to fuck me of course, and I of course don’t really want to, but I’ll try to want to. I rant for a while about how unfair it is that I was so bloody horny when I couldn’t get laid, when I was too young for anyone to look twice at me, when I couldn’t orgasm on my own. I was so fucking horny then. I couldn’t do anything about it then. It consumed me. No sex is so hard for me to get in the mood for. Usually I don’t mind it so much once I’m into it, but it’s just the getting into it at all that’s the problem. I thought getting off of birth control would bring back my sex drive, but it didn’t. I just feel more myself, healthier and such. But I certainly don’t feel more inclined towards sex, nor any less inclined for that matter.

Why is getting horny now work? Where did all my fantasies go? Why don’t they work for me anymore? It used to be so simple to turn myself on. I thought about a tight pussy getting fucked by a big black dick, and then I was horny. Then I added stories later on. I added background stories, warm-up, foreplay and such. Now even the most insane things I can think of don’t help.

I’m nineteen, how can I be just not horny all the time? I miss being horny now. How come when being horny would actually benefit me I’m not horny, but back when I was so young, and didn’t know better I couldn’t stop being horny!

It’s just plain stupid. It makes me hate myself. What’s wrong with me?

It’s not My boyfriend’s fault. He is plenty attractive. I like a lot of things about his body that other men don’t have – his large collar bones, his toned thin body, the shape of his jaw bone, the size of his lips, the size of his feet, the thinness of his fingers – but somehow no body turns me on. Not the hottest chick or guy. Porn is a joke, and never really works. There are only two things that work – reading erotic stories (which only works with really good stories) and (of course) My boyfriend talking to me about something erotic. Always through language. Touch and sight don’t seem to do it for me, and this bothers me immensely. I want to just throw my head through a wall.

But anyway, I try to horny for My boyfriend, and set my mind to thinking about sexual things. And he’s touching me and stuff, but he’s touching me in a way that makes me want to fall asleep, not in a sexual way. So I asked him, “Do you know what body mapping is?”

I kinda expected him to know, it’s used in all sorts of books, but mostly how-to sex books, (which are secretly how-to-make-your-woman-want-you books) but he didn’t know what it was. I shook my head, surprised. And of all things he gets mad at me for shaking my head. For shaking my fucking head! What a reason to get upset! I was so mad at him for getting mad at such a stupid thing that fucking became out of the question. He goes on to rant about how I always am trying to play him, and about how I’m trying to talk books while he’s trying to have sex. Books sure had nothing to do with it.

All I wanted to express to him is that maybe sometime he should map my body like they say to in the books. Experiment with touching me in different ways and places. But he doesn’t even want to try to turn me on. That’s what really pisses me off. Why doesn’t he want to? I like turning him on, but it’s so easy that I don’t ever get to do anything. He tells me that I ask him to do so much when it comes to sex, which isn’t true. I mean, how is asking him to touch me a big deal? How is that any different than him asking me to sleep naked? (Which I’ve been doing for weeks now, for him. )

He always wants to tell me doesn’t ask for shit, then he tries not to ask for shit to prove himself right, then he gets mad when I don’t do shit for him! I’m sick of the damned cycle. How to break it? By not asking for anything to? Somehow I don’t think that would make any progress. I tried all the ups and downs with Tre. All of the not asking, the asking more, the being distant, the being close, the caring a lot, and the pretending to not care... Switching from one to the other trying to find the answer doesn’t solve anything, it just makes you look like a hypocrite and it confuses your partner, and the worst part is, if it does solve anything, then you’re in deep shit because that’s not who you really are. So I can’t just stop being myself to see if that works, because not being myself will never work.

I’m so mad at myself for not being able to fix things, and so mad at My boyfriend for not trying to fix things with me. I once read that you have to stop trying to “work on your relationship” and just “live” with your partner instead. To go out and stuff, but it’s so not like that. That’s such an over simplification of everything that doesn’t really solve anything. I also once read that one person can fix a relationship by themselves through apathy, because it would make the other person want them (because now they can’t have them) but that’s also not true, at least not most of the time it isn’t. Apathy makes the other person feel unloved, and then ultimately separates you even more. Being depressed doesn’t help anything either.


Wednesday, April 9th 2008 at 11:18am


Perhaps it’s true that misery is writing’s best inspiration. I think My boyfriend is going to give up on me soon. He still doesn’t trust me. He still calls me a liar, and he lately keeps accusing me of trying to “play” him. Why doesn’t he understand that all I want is the best for him? He’s also got this new thing about how if I loved him I’d care that he has to walk home alone. It’s not as though I’ve never thought about it, but you know, I’m so used to men having to walk places in Buffalo that I forgot that it could be dangerous even more a man, excuse me. But if I had been concerned all along he’s probably think I was trying to “play him” or that I didn’t have confidence in him being a man.

I should do a tarot card reading today... See what is around the corner and brace myself for impact. I’m terribly afraid. He’s not going to break up with me, is he? I don’t fucking understand what I’m doing wrong! I went out with him like he asked, and I let him drink one beer (on the condition that there would be no other sorts of exceptions for three months) and I stayed out as long as everyone else pretty much wanted to stay out. I was going to fuck him, but then he had to try and tell me that I was “playing” him again. I don’t want to fuck when I’m thinking about how my man thinks I’m a liar. I just told him last night that I am never trying to “play” him.

Why does he mistrust me? I’ve never fucked lied to him. Never. It’s beginning to be pointless to be so honest with him. It’s gotten me into more scrapes than anything since I’ve met him.

You know what’s still bothering me just as much as the not trusting me part? The fact that he really doesn’t she why he should have to spend a goddamned five to ten minutes trying to make me horny. Why the fuck is that so bad?

For the first time since January I’m wondering if this is really going to work out or not. I feel like dog shit. No, I feel like frozen dog shit. (Don’t ask me for how this works, I just feel like dog shit smells and looks.) I’m not looking forward to Summer anymore. In fact, I’m not looking forward to anything anymore.

I want to grab him by the neck and scream in his face, what do you want from me? What can I fucking do to make you happy? What the fuck is your plan? You want to leave me? Just fucking do it! Spare me getting married to you only to find that you still don’t fucking trust me, and that you still don’t like anything about me!

I want to scream until my voice goes hoarse. I want to bang my head into a wall until I bleed or until the wall breaks, or both. I was to throw something and watch is shatter. I want to fall to the ground and thrash and scream and kick like a madwoman. I’m shaking with anger and betrayal. Why, why, WHY after all this fucking time does he still not fucking trust me? I’ve put all of my faith in him after he’s lied to me, after he’s slept with other girls (though I said he could), after he’s ditched me, after he’s not called me, after he’s ignored me, after he’s left me alone in my misery time after time, even though he’s ignored my tears and went to sleep right through them and he has the nerve to not trust me?

He’s sitting there with his headphones on, pretending I don’t exist. I want to rip them off and demand that we work this out, but it’s no use. He’s ignoring me for a reason. He doesn’t want to talk to me. I suppose I should just not talk to him until he talks to me. God that could be forever.

What’s the right approach? To fuck him right now? Some guys would be insulted, but My boyfriend probably wouldn’t care. He’d probably go on not caring after he got his orgasm as well. It’s not a solution, just a doorway, and one that I’m too bloody angry to take.


1:21pm – I’m so sick of crying over him. I left him a letter in his journal after writing the following poem...


Love Me Like Organic Ice-Cream


No kisses, or hugs goodbye,

Cross my heart and I’m hoping to die,

Giving me no love for me to fly,

And so I break down and start to cry.


My cheeks are cold,

From his writing so bold,

And from what I’m told,

This doesn’t even break the mold.


We’re just the same,

As everyone else,

We’re just as lame,

And playing the same stupid game.


I might as well start to lie,

I might as well sit here and cry,

Because there is no where for me to fly,

I might as well drop dead and die.


I’m a myriad of mistakes,

And my tears fill up lakes,

As I scream to you,

That I’m not a fake.


My words hit walls,

And my heart sinks and falls,

With no answer to my calls,

I better start looking in shops and malls.


Soon this is will all end,

And soon I’ll need a new friend,

That will be able to offer and lend,

Me his love even as I’m rounding a bend.


It’s a cycle, a pattern, a never ending dream,

That I can never wake from, and so I scream,

Feel for me in the heat and through the steam,

Love me, love me, eat me like ice cream.



Thursday, April 10th 2008 at 3:00pm


I really believed that he was going to break up with me, little did I know that he was stumbling over things he really didn’t mean to say, stammering forward without being able to find the words he was really looking for, crushing my heart with every line he spoke me. We screamed it out (over the phone) for a good hour working it out.

He tried to play me something along the lines of “Oh, yeah, well I’m about to make you look really stupid. Really fucking stupid. Watch, watch me. I go to work every fucking day, work my ass off, give you money at the end of the week, come home to you every fucking night, give you rubs, give you affection, do what the fuck ever you want to do, and I make you tea in the morning! And you can’t even let a nigga chill with his friends once in a fucking blue moon? You can’t even let me go hang with the big boys sometimes and drink a couple beers?”

I didn’t feel stupid at all, I considered all of that. I counted all of that in one long speech that went something along these lines:

You going to work everyday is not relevant to our relationship. You give me one hundred dollars a week, out of five hundred to one thousand depending on the week.

“What am I supposed to do, give you half?” he exclaims.

I roll my eyes (but he can’t see me do that). No, no, not at all my point. You can bring up the one hundred dollars if you want, but you can’t bring up your sixty hours a week. You do that for you, you spend the money the way you want to spend the money. You work to bring your tattoo skills up, that is irrelevant to our argument.

In terms of giving me rubs, it’s not as though you do this every day, and for a second thing, you don’t ask for rubs in return. The handful of times you’ve asked me to rub you, I did it. I’ve offered to rub you six times in the last week, and you accepted it three times out of those six.

What ever happened to all you wanted was sex, food, your computer time, and for me to clean up after you? I’ve done all that. Is fucking you five to seven times a week still not enough? I cook for you every time you ask, and I offer almost every single night. Is cooking for you a whole meal worth less than you making me a cup of tea? Is fucking you worth less than you giving me affection?

And when do I not offer to do what you want to do?

“Oh for like an hour, and then you start saying things like babe, don’t you want to go lay down? Don’t you want to cuddle with me? Don’t you want to give me attention?” He cuts in to say.

“And I can’t ask you a simple question?” I retort immediately. “I don’t have the same rights to suggestion what I want to do?”

So then I broke it down. This argument isn’t about affection, or sex, or doing things for each other, because we do those things for each other because we love each other. This argument is about you going out. So about two months ago now I said to you that what I’d really like is if you went out once a month. I could live with that peacefully and easily. I wouldn’t resent you for once a month. And I asked if you could handle that. And you said yes. So now I’m asking you again My boyfriend. Can you handle it? Can you accept hanging out with your friends once a month?

“I don’t know,” he says meekly. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

We came to the conclusion that we would go out with El and Connie last night (for the second night in a row) but My boyfriend wouldn’t drink anything. He didn’t. He was sweet to me the whole time. We brought out laptops and spent the night, and Connie drove us home in the morning.

Then My boyfriend was feeling so loving that he took the day off for me. And that made me so happy that I went downstairs and cooked him pizza and brought it up to him as surprise. He was delighted.


Friday, April 11th 2008 at 2:05pm


My dream


I was in a convention building of sorts. I went to use the lady’s room but something was clearly wrong inside the bathroom. Every toilet was terribly dirty. Different color stains and things clinging all over the seats. It looked like they’d be used constantly without being cleaned for weeks. There were several rooms conjoined the large bathroom and I wandered into the next one where the toilets were slightly cleaner, but there were no individual walls surrounding each toilet. They were simply there in the open. I covered one with toilet paper and sat down. A minute later (with me still trying to go) a stampede of people, mostly men start coming on through the bathroom. My coat is huge, so I try to completely cover myself with my coat, including my face.

Two “security” guards approach me. They get fairly close to me and pull out devices that look like large old walkie-talkies. They both press a series of buttons and then one looks up as says to me, “We’ve just disabled you cell phone. You can’t get away.” Suddenly all the boys coming through the lady’s room seem to be focused on me. Angry, I stand, pulling up my pants. And I run. I run as fast as I can out of the bathroom, around the corner, up the down escalator because it’s closer. I then realize I can’t make it, jump down, run over to the up escalator and takes the stairs two at a time. I round the bend, desperately looking for my hotel room so I can hide.

I burst inside my hotel room. Inside I find Lonna’s father (she looks just like Lonna from Smallville) at the head of the table. He is dressed richly in black silk highlighted with other colors. Shortly after I take my seat he remarks that no extra people will be coming to his dinner table. There is a fabulous amount of food, enough for twenty people, and there are about ten of us.

Lonna enters from the opposite side of the room, near the unoccupied head of the table. She is wearing a full length white dress with artistically places Rhine stones. Her finger nails are four inches long and resemble her dress. They are also white with Rhine stones and a swirling cream pattern. Her face is flawless and her black hair is down, straight and shining. I pull out my camera and I begin to photograph her.

During her photo shoot someone or something whisks Lonna away into the next room. I follow her, and I’m inside the office (what used to be the household office growing up) downstairs and there is no Lonna. I call out for her, look for her, but she’s no where to be seen. I go to leave the office and there is a body bag on the living room floor, the head of the body bag right near the doorway to the office, facing perpendicular to the office doorway.

I fall to my knees and grab at the bag. I find a hand, and it’s warm, and it’s soft, and it grabs me. I squeeze back. “Lonna! Lonna! Are you alive? Are you okay?” There is no answer, but her hand grips mine. I go to pull away the cover from her face, but then my Mom appears like an guardian angel and shakes her head. “Don’t.” she says, and then telepathically she tells me that Lonna is alive and must pretend to be dead.

I then begin to weep, to help her pretend that she is dead. I keen loudly, thinking she really is dead in my mind so that my weeping will be convincing. Somewhere during my crying I transform from my body into Elijah Wood, and I’m in love with Lonna and so sad that I can’t have her. Her father is yelling, barking orders to find me. Perhaps he thought it was my fault?

I tremble as I see him. His face is contorting, and his skin it turning black, and he’s growing in height. He yells; “Give me the powers and strength of a Death God!” And suddenly I realize that he is a Shinigami, which means that Lonna is a half Shinigami. I am amazed, and I am terrified. I crouch in the office, trying to hide.

I wait for a long time, and nothing happens, but I’m too afraid to move. Just then two men enter the room, and I try to hide from them, but I can’t. When they find me they tell me to be quiet. “He said we are to bring you back in one week. We’re here to run away with you. Where do we go?”

I shake my head, and I kneel before Lonna. As I do, I become myself again. I tell her that he is gone, and she comes out of the body bag. Her clothes are in ruins. I bring her into what now is the craft room on the first floor, adjacent to the dining room, but in the dream it’s a laundry room full of assorted clothes. She pulls on blue jeans a little large for her, and a tee shirt. I say to her, “You might find clothes that fit you better in my room.”

We file on up the stairs, and when I get the top of the attic stairs I am stunned. The floor is disconnected in the center, everything has fallen through and smashed, and burned, and cracked and shattered. There is nothing left. One can not even step onto the floor without falling through.

One of the men shakes his head, “It’s the Death God.”

I walk down to the second floor, but it’s barren as the third, and just as ruined though the floors are somewhat solid. I feel as though I’m being tested, and then I become Elijah Wood again. (Still looking through my own eyes, as I am the entire dream, but I have flashes from the top view, only flashes.) On the first floor I hunt for something to put on and settle on a pair of pants much like the pair Lonna is wearing. (When did I become almost nude? Don’t know.)

We proceed out the backdoor. Branches cover the back yard. And we find a canoe. We speculate about where we can go to sea. (Even though we were at my house, we were not in Buffalo.) I get that feeling again as though I’m being tested. “We’ll have to seer with branches,” one of the men says.

“No,” I say, looking up at the garage where an array of tools were neatly leaning. There was one paddle which was colored blue, and a three different colored plastic shovels. We selected them, and then suddenly I yelled “Run!”

I knew instinctually that this test involved gaining speed and distance fast. And before the explosion happened, I expected it. The garage blew up. And just then, I woke up.


Strangest part was the lack of fear in the dream. I have no idea what this dream could really mean. Do I feel like I’m being tested in real life? Do I feel like there is an illusive beautiful woman in my life? Am I afraid that my father is going to banish me, kill me, or test me in some cruel way? No, no and no. So if there is a real meaning in direct relationship to my life, it’s less obvious.

The Elijah Wood thing is really odd too. I can only imagine that is because of my connection with my mom and her obsession with him. That’s either the second or the third time he’s been in a dream of mine that I remember. The first time I was a girl and he was making out with me, and it was just peaceful and bright, and I remember his hair being so soft and him giggling and laughing. (Strange he’s always straight in my dreams when I know he’s gay.) I really think I had another one about him that I didn’t write or talk about that I’ve forgotten, and now this one where I was him for a short time.

Another odd part about the dream is the presence of Lonna. Two actors in one dream? (I don’t even know the name of the person who plays Lonna.) Two unrelated actors no less. The fact that Lonna dies, but isn’t really dead reflects Smallville’s last season finale, but it didn’t seem like that in the dream. It seemed so much more important than that. And what about my mother being a guardian angel? She was so ephemeral, and I could never really talk to her, but her presence seemed to be there throughout the dream.

It doesn’t seem to fit together. The Death God part was obviously from Death Note. Why so much TV in the dream? I watched Top Model last night, but there were no models, unless you count Lonna. And what about the convention and being chased and the dirty bathrooms? Perhaps that’s how I feel about all bathrooms, and about life in way. That would make sense.