I’m crying idealistic tears of creativity.

Wednesday, June 25th 2008 at 5:09am

I glanced at a blog just now that had a six word memoir. It’s a challenge going around and I’d like to take the opportunity to take it on. I know for a fact that one of my six words needs to be “creative.” Hers was “many mistakes later I am laughing,” which is very clever, so I want to think of something really clever too.

Imaginative creativity applied to idealism leads to disappointment... But that’s too long. Idealistic creativity manifests deep dissatisfaction... But that is five words. I am crying idealistic tears of creativity. Drat, that’s seven words and I really like that one. Oh! I know!

I’m crying idealistic tears of creativity!

That’s my six word memoir. But, there are still so many things I wish to creep into it... I’m weeping in idealistic love and ingenuity. That is seven words, but I’d really like to actually say “idealistic love” now that I think about it, because so much of my life is centered around my ideals for love even though so much of my life is also centered around my creative whims.

“Whimsical creativity and idealistic love battle!”

I like that one too, but that one sounds like a phrase and not a memoir. I’m centered in dissatisfied idealistic love...

Okay, I’m not sure which I like best anymore. You knew I couldn’t write just one! Which probably defeats the whole purpose...

I’m crying idealistic tears of creativity.

Whimsical creativity and idealistic love battle.

I’m centered in dissatisfied idealistic love.

Idealist is understating my imaginative nature.

I could probably roll these out for days now that I’ve begun. It’s really quite addictive. I invite you all to try to come up with your own now, and do leave them in my notes or guest book once you’ve thought of them.

Wednesday, June 25th 2008 at 3:41pm

I feel sick to my stomach.

I must be missing something here... What on earth am I doing wrong? I feel like the more things I do “right” the more wrong I am. I’ve been having sex with Crusifer everyday just like he wanted, I even woke him up to morning sex. I dressed up the way he likes when we went grocery shopping. I gave him plenty of affection. I held him all night. I asked what he wanted to do. I offered to braid his hair, which he refused. I offered sex with him again, and he refused. I feel so rejected. I feel invisible. I keep touching his hair and hugging him and he’s not pushing me away but it’s as though I’m not even there...

I told him that I wanted to feel close to him. I kissed him the way he says makes him “melt” and even that didn’t do anything. I feel completely helpless. I could be asleep or reading my book right now and it wouldn’t make a difference to him and it’s burning me up. This is so stupid! I feel like it’s all my fault. I must have said something or done something... He’s never like this without a reason, although sometimes he himself doesn’t even know what it is...

I want to cry, and scream and throw a fit, but that would make me feel terribly immature and it probably wouldn’t help at all. When he ignores me like this I feel like anything I do is inconsequential. Like if I were to clean the entire room he probably wouldn’t notice... Heck, that’s a good idea... What would he do if I just began cleaning obsessively? Probably nothing...

I don’t understand how last night he was so happy, so loving, so full of kisses and consideration for me, and how I do all the same things he likes so much today and I’m nobody! It doesn’t even make any sense... I don’t feel like doing a god damned thing. I did want to watch a movie with him. I was hungry. I did want to play Pharaoh while he played Gears of War, I did want to work on reformatting all the card-files for the board game (which I accidently made in a low resolution... *cries*)... I even wanted to fuck him. I was content to braid his hair. I would have done anything he pleased, but since he turned down me doing anything now I don’t want to do anything...

I measure myself in what he wants from me. The more he wants from me (and appreciates from me) the more I’m worth. When he doesn’t want or appreciate anything of me, then I am nothing. At least I can understand that, but I’ll be damned if I can change it.

(Mentally I’m punching my monitor and feeling the glass break on my knuckles and watching the glass fly around and my knuckles are bleeding down my arm... I’m opening the window and watching to see if Crusifer notices. I burst into tears... I hang myself part way out the window, fall, fall... Darkness... No one is with me... Would I ever do such ridiculous things? No. That’s why I’m sitting here writing, dry-eyed and fidgeting like mad.)

I suppose I’m going to start cleaning now. I shall start with the fridge. It needs cleaning pretty bad.

Wednesday, June 25th 2008 at 4:40pm

Interesting. It’s been exactly one hour.

In that hour I washed out the fridge throughly, took out the trash, put away the laundry, cleaned up the clothing area in general (put all dirty clothes in laundry and all left-out clothing that was still clean away), fixed our craft table, rinsed the sink, took some things out to the compost, took a couple dishes down to the kitchen and washed my face while I was there, straightened up the craft-table area next to the bed, put away the water bottles and washed off the top of our snack-station on wheels...

In this time I also touched Crusifer twice to scratch his head and have spoken to him about three time. I’ve received no response, verbal, physical or even a glance. I’m so confused as to what he could be upset about. I know for a fact that if I ask that he will claim nothing is wrong. Oh yeah? Then why is it then he only doesn’t acknowledge me when he’s upset about something? Like, is that supposed to be a coincidence?

I wonder if this has to do with drinking. Retarded as that sounds... Friday he worked overtime and hung out with “barbie gone emo” afterwards with her “fine as hell” friends and got home at 4:00am rather blazed. On Saturday his cousins were in town so he hung out with them, gave on of his broke-ass nigga cousins $40, drank his ass off, got home at five o’clock in the morning and passed out. I couldn’t sleep so I went for an early-morning bike ride Sunday morning around six o’clock in the morning.

Sunday I allowed him to drink, grudgingly because I want him to decide that he doesn’t need it in his life once and for all on his own. He didn’t do anything “not nice” on Sunday, so I noted that if he asked next Sunday I’d allow it again. Monday I realized my period was going thin and decided to break the sex-fast early because I realized that I wanted it almost as much as he, and he was delighted. Tuesday, (yesterday) though he said it wasn’t necessary I had sex with him again, keeping to my word about every single day that I’m able...

(I need to learn to spell necessary. I spell it wrong every time and need to correct it. Ne Cess Ary... Ne Cess Ary... Ne Cess Ary! Necessary... Now, without looking... Necessary...! Yeah!)

And then, felling inspired, at six o’clock in the morning I woke him up to riding him, to his delight. We both were well satisfied and went to sleep afterwards. We get up this morning, and at first he’s all nice to me, and affectionate as he has been... And then we go to get groceries, and we hurried because Mom needed to car to pick up Dad so we had to be back before four o’clock. He was fine on the way there in the car I think... Though if I think back he seemed a little agitated then though I didn’t pay much mind...

In the grocery store he wasn’t as affectionate as usual... Then in the check-out lane as I’m trying persistently to get him to pay attention to me (I’m out in public in lingerie for goodness sakes, he could at least pay me some mind) and he asks me, “Can I get a couple beers today?”

I thought for a moment and I said, “but it Wednesday...” I said, a little uneasy by him asking again so soon. “But I’ll be good,” he said. I thought about that doubtfully since he was paying more attention to the magazines than me. “Yeah, but that would make three times in only four days...”

He frowned, “How is that?”

I sighed, “Friday you got home at 4:00am, Saturday you drank and got home at 5:00am, and Sunday I allowed you to drink... Can’t you at least wait until next Sunday?”

“How about I don’t drink Sunday then?”

I looked at him, angrily. Come to think of it, he’s barely spoken a word to me since. We road in silence most of the way home. On the way into the house I kissed him, and he said, “come on, let’s go,” instead of kissing me back. I was the one holding a bag of groceries when I leaned to kiss him, but he was empty-handed and didn’t reach for me at all. When we got upstairs I went to hug him and give him a kiss again, thinking surely now that we’re home and in our room he’ll stop being so distant, and I was completely wrong because he said, “It’s hot, I’m trying to take my clothes off.”

Disgruntled I waited for him to take off his clothes and then pulled him to the bed and pulled him down on top of me and kissed him again the way that he says he likes so much... I never used to kiss so much before him, nor did I ever do the things I do with him like sucking on the lips, and using my tongue in such intricate and deliberate movements... Nothing was working. He kissed back, in the most empty-hearted way and still didn’t touch me despite all of my touching of him.

At this point I’m completely desperate for affection so I’m grinding on him, and kissing him deeply and moaning... (Clearly that’s a sexual invitation!) And he pulls away and starts playing with his hair. Distressed, I asked, “Don’t you want me?”

“Want you how? You could mean a zillion different things by that!”

I rolled my eyes, “I clearly want to have sex with you. Why don’t you want me?”

“Maybe later,” he says.

At that point I’m on the verge of rage, but I turn around my approach and start touching his hair (since that is what he is doing) and then I go to braid it, since he requested that I braid his hair today. He said, “no don’t braid it.”

“Why not?” I asked, feeling worse and worse by the moment.

“I don’t want to walk around with my hair half-braiding looking stupid all day.”

I swallowed my anger yet again. (I probably should explain that I’m no good at braiding hair, but a few days ago I braided some of his hair for the fun of it, just to be taken out again in the morning, and his hair curled up in a way that he liked after it was taken out so I’ve been braiding it every night or so as far as I could get before my fingers hurt from the process. He says he enjoys how it feels when I do it and that he likes how it looks when he pulls it out, and it’s good practice and exercise for me.)

He doesn’t want sex, he doesn’t want to be groomed, he doesn’t want affection, he doesn’t want attention, and he also doesn’t want to give anything to me. What do you do with a person who won’t give or receive! And even now, at five o’clock now he’s sitting next to me, ignoring me entirely digitally painting. That’s all well and good that he is digitally painting, but come on. It’s been twelve hours since he last paid me mind at five in the morning when we had sex.

I’m beginning to analyze everything I can looking for an answer... Did I not thank him for the cup of tea he made me? I thought I said something appreciative of it. Is he this upset because he’s not drinking right now? Would he ignore me just because he’s not drinking! It makes me so angry and so desperate. I want to go buy him a goddamned drink so he’ll pay attention to me and I also want to smack him for being so silly!

I’m sitting here in this bran-new lingerie dress that is completely transparent with a transparent lace bra that he insisted I have when he saw it at Target, and I’ve been in it since I first woke. I even cleaned wearing it, and walked around Wegmans in it, and I’m still fucking invisible! It makes me so angry I could just burst.

I feel like if only I could do something more, or if only I said or did something differently today then he’d notice me. I’m so sick of being ignored. The rest of the world already ignores me for my age, or my sex, or my race, or my background. The last thing I need is for the center of my world to ignore me too!

It’s not bloody fair at all! I do anything he asks and all I want is some god damned affection and attention and I’ll be bloody damned if I ever get it for more than a couple hours here and there... I feel like half the time we touch each other is during sex, maybe more. I hate being nothing but a damned sex object. $60 groceries today, and sometimes they’re $100 a week, and now and then I get new lingerie and I give out all the services he wants! What am I? A cheap fucking whore?

Thirst

Saturday, June 21st 2008 at 10:45pm

I’m so sick of crying. Last night Crusifer stayed to work overtime on a tattoo... He called me ahead of time to let me know. I was upset, especially when he said he was going to smoke a blunt with the customer afterwards. He told me when he got home how hot this girl was. He told me...;

“Yo babe, I think I got a girl friend.”

“You what?!?!” I exclaimed.

“Not like that.”

“I don’t want to hear that in any form.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I said, I don’t want to hear that in any form!”

“But babe, I just got mad connections just now. This fine as hell bitch comes in the shop today with three other fine as hell chicks,” he makes this little gesture he does where he touches his nose with one finger and then brushes it, I’m not sure why he does it, or where it comes from, but I know it’s like purposely blushing or along those lines. “She wanted a tattoo and as I was tattooing her she got to talking and she starts telling me how she’s in an open relationship. I did one of those tut numbers, because I know how that is. He’s sleeping with other girls but she hasn’t slept with anyone yet. I asked her if she wanted to get laid, and she said that she did.”

As he’s telling me this he’s getting undressed in the area of the room that I can’t see from the bed where I’m lying. I keep waiting for him to greet me and kiss me and tell me how he misses me, but without any input he continues.

“She was like preppy, but not that preppy. She had this sort of emo thing going on, not that she was gothed out or anything... She was just fine as hell, like... She was like a barbie, but she was emo though. Anyway, I asked her why she wasn’t getting laid even though she wanted to get laid and she said she doesn’t tell the guys she likes that she likes them, she wants them to figure it out. So I was like, ‘oh, you’re one of those chicks’ and she was like ‘what do you mean by that?’”

I say, “Baby?” Hoping to prompt him to greet me and touch me to stop talking about her, but after a moment of silence he says, “She was like Barbie gone emo, but not emo gone Barbie if you know what I mean. She was like one those chicks. Anyway, I got done tattooing her and then her friend wanted to get tattooed too. She was tattooed before by Cory Cudney so I was feeling pretty good. Like they were tattooed by him but she wanted to get a tattoo from me after seeing my stuff.”

I sigh and give up on him paying any notice to me. After another silence he says, “She was fine as hell though. Like she was really thin, and she was so pale, like you think you’re pale, you should have seen how pale she is. You would definitely think she’s hot. She was like Barbie gone emo.”

“You said that,” I said, getting extremely annoyed.

“Oh. Well, yeah, all her friends wanted to get tattooed by me too. And I saw (insert some name I forgot here) on the way home too, he gave me a slim-jim. Man, I’m coming up on Elmwood. I want everyone to know me. Like Hardcore wasn’t even all-like-that before I was there and now people who wouldn’t get tattooed there, get tattooed there by me.”

Still, no greeting, no hug, no kiss. All the happiness in me drains out of me and I listen despairingly as he continues, repeating himself often.

“And not just anybody either, I mean, this chick was fine as hell. And she asked for my number and of course I had to give it to her.”

“No you didn’t have to,” I muttered, but I don’t think he heard me.

“Like I just swooned her.”

“You did what?!?!”

“I swooned her, cause like she was mad fine.”

“Why would you do that? You’re encouraging her?” I say incredulously.

“No, no, of course not. It’s just flattering, you’d do it too.”

“I most certainly would not swoon anyone but you!”

“Yeah right, like you don’t get all happy when guys flatter you. You’re a woman so you wouldn’t understand. Women always get attention. I’m a man so it’s cool to me when a girl takes notice of me. It’s flattering you know. Cause she was mad hot and like emo, but Barbie though.”

“That’s like the third time you’ve said that now. And I don’t get flattered, and even if I did I wouldn’t come home bragging about it. You wouldn’t like it if I did.”

“Yeah, but you’re a woman. Let me put it this way, I have a lot more to worry about than you do.”

“Yeah right!” I exclaimed. “You’re at work tattooing every single fucking day. You tattoo mad fine fucking bitches all the fucking time! And you said so your self, even your fucking boss wants to fuck you!”

At this point I roll over and face away from him even though he’s walked into view. He crawls onto the bed and kisses my neck and says, “But I just got mad connections though.”

“I don’t fucking care about your connections!” I spat. This is the part where I messed up. I should have rolled over and kisses him back and told him how I felt earnestly but instead I just lost it. Instead of confronting the wrong I felt he had done, I added my own wrong to the picture by discounting his happiness, discounting his long-awaiting affection and discounting his socializing to further his career and lied about my own feelings on a level even though I didn’t care at that moment.

He abruptly pulls away and adds onto the pile of wrong-doings of the night by saying, “You think you don’t care about my connections, but what do you think is going to support us? You just go find some other man who has connections and then call me and let me know when you’ve found him and tell me you understand then!”

Of course this statement didn’t really make sense but I understood what he meant. His connections are something I should care about, and of course I do. Not so much because it’s important but because I care about everything he does. However his relationship with me, is so much more important to me. I didn’t want to hear about the chick he’d been with for the last three hours, tattooing her and then smoking a blunt with her when he could have been home with me, especially not before he even greets me.

The whole ordeal was only really a minor set-back and we eventually worked it out, but after a lot of crying and acting the fool on my part...

Today, ironically Jeremy visited me. Two weeks ago, when I was about ready to leave Crusifer, I was dying for Jeremy to visit me so that I could evaluate that possibility if it even was one. Today I saw that while I could ask him back out, it probably wouldn’t work. I’m not the same girl he was so crazy about, and my perspective is so different that he doesn’t seem like all that he was to me then. I feel a very sisterly-brotherly love for him. It’s obvious he feels a much more lustful love for me. We both dream about each other which is interesting, but not surprising really.

I kept trying to engage in an interesting conversation with him, but I realize now that we never got to talking about much of anything interesting. We’re both to distracted by who we are and what we used to be when we were together that it’s hard to talk about anything else. We don’t have recent memories together so we always go back to the common ground of what we did have. As I’ve said a zillion times, I wish dearly that I could be his friend, but I know that’s beyond impossible.

This is the first time seeing him again in probably three months. I see Tina only about twice as much, and that about ends the people I try to keep in touch with. I keep trying to talk to Will online, mostly out of courtesy for the friendship he’s offered me on many occasions. He was there to talk to when I was down and out. The truth is though that there seems to be nobody I can have easy conversation with but Crusifer, and even that sometimes seems strained. It’s wonderful and everything to be able to talk to my mother but nothing can change the dramatic age gap and the determined rolls of mother and daughter which will forever limit our conversations’ content.

I hope Jeremy saw no pity in my eyes when I looked at him, but I’m afraid he did because he said to me, “why do you keep looking at me like that?” And I said, “like what?” and he said, “the way you’re looking at me now which makes me feel so stupid.”

I laughed and determinedly looked at him in a silly way. He was also surprised when I said fluently without being conscious of the statements origins, “what the fruit cup?” in response to something he said or did, though I forgot what it was. I got that expression from him and never lost it.

He stayed for perhaps two hours. He wouldn’t have stayed so long but I told him he couldn’t go after only just showing up and did my typical move for when I don’t want someone to leave: I hide something that belongs to them. I hid his ipod. So as he was looking for it (mostly to be funny) I hid his shoes, and while he was looking for those I hid his hoodie. It made for more interesting interacting that the goofy faces and small talk we were having.

After I gave him his things back perhaps half an hour later we both opened our mouths and took a breath as if to say something at the same moment. We both didn’t speak, waiting for the other, and I said, “you first,” and then, before I could blink he snuck in a kiss – a quick peck to the lips. I was rather stunned, because it was so unexpected and so ironic after all the complaining I had done last night about Crusifer smoking a blunt with that chick.

I told Jeremy about last night’s happenings and the irony of it. He seemed embarrassed for having done it, but leaned towards me as if to look for something more. “I can’t,” I said. “I don’t like being a hypocrite, and I also don’t like feeling guilty.” This of course didn’t prevent him from getting a few gropes before he left, and somehow I do feel guilty anyway. I know that if Crusifer watched our interactions he would have been just as upset (if not more so) than I would have been if I could have watched him last night with that emo chick.

At least I wasn’t swooning anybody, and at least this is like a once in forever thing, and I’m hanging around a bunch of “hot” guys. So why do I feel like a hypocrite anyway?

This whole jealousy thing keeps getting worse for me. I don’t know how to stop the feelings I get every time I hear about or think about Crusifer and his profession. Tattoos in private places is bad enough, and so is smoking with customers, but doing it on my time and then coming home and bragging about it is more than I can handle. Sometimes I feel like he’s doing it just to make me jealous because of his insecurities.

And if all of this wasn’t enough weighing on my mind, now he’s probably not coming home again tonight because his cousin is in town. I feel bad for making it such a big deal for him to hang out with his cousin, but I feel like it’s so unfair that he should get to go out and have a good time with his cousins when I’m stuck here, lonely, on my period, with cramps, feeling like shit, missing him, after waiting for him and thinking about him all day long. I thought I said it in jest when I said to Jeremy, “Crusifer probably won’t even be home until four o’clock in the morning again. I’m lucky if I ever see that nigga!”

That was in response to Jeremy telling me about his new work schedule which has him working more hours than Crusifer. 8:00am to 8:00pm Mondays through Saturdays. Pretty crazy, huh? I feel bad for him. Mordern work is bull shit.

Now he isn’t going to be coming home tonight either. I’m so sick of this dance. If I’m not doing this dance with Crusifer then I’m doing the longer dance of hopping from man to man, and if it’s not that dance then it’s the lonely one. I feel like that of the three options this has to be the better one. He does love me, he is trying and he is providing for me... But I’m so fucking sick of being alone.

---

Thirst

How many do you know?

That are going with the flow?

How many do you know?

That don’t know where to go?

How many, are ready?

How many, are steady?

How many started great?

How many were fate?

How many ended late?

How many are yet to state?

I just want to shout. I just want to pout.

I just want to yell. I just want to tell...

All the lovers in the land,

all the people holding hands,

all the famous and their fans,

all the ladies and their mans...

I just want to scream. I just want to dream.

I just want to yell. I just want to tell...

Everyone and anyone,

that it’s not as hard as they think,

that everything changes in a blink,

that you don’t have to circle, the same small rink!

Break traditions and the fads,

Ladies don’t leave your lads,

Guys don’t get so mad,

and stop making your lover sad.

It’s simple don’t you see?

I’m so sure that you will agree.

Because love is loud and free,

strong and sturdy as a tree.

I know that you’ve been hurting,

and I know that you’ve been burning.

You suffer from a great and terrible thirst,

but all you need to do; is put your love first.

By Atara

Sunday, June, 22nd 2008, 3:30am

---

Sunday, June 22nd 2008 at 5:40am

I shouldn’t be surprised, and I guess I’m not. He drank. He arrived at five in the morning. He passed out before five thirty. He didn’t say he was sorry, or that he missed me, or that it was a mistake. All he said was, “I forgot” and “I love you.” I beyond tears. I’m just cold and empty for now. I plan on going on a very early bike ride shortly. But it’s so early that I thought I’d wait a little longer.

Crusifer, as usual, when passed out doesn’t move at all once he’s asleep. He won’t notice I’ve left the bed for hours, if at all before he wakes up. The lights being on don’t bother him, nor does the clacking of this key board, or the noises I made while getting dressed.

He left the fridge open. He does the stupidest things when he’s drunk. I haven’t left a fridge door open since I was like a child. And that was mostly because our old fridge, before the fire, was bootleg as hell. He also poured himself this huge bowl of “munchies” from the downstairs kitchen when he has all these snacks up here just for him. I swear, I should stop wasting my time buying all his favorite nuts and snacks and bagging them for him. If it were my son I’d just make him eat it since he asked for it, but since it’s my “fiancé” there is little point in doing anything but stopping.

I wish it was eight o’clock in the morning instead of not yet six o’clock. Then I could feel like there was something to do with myself. I most certainly can’t sleep, and I’m all dressed to go biking. I barely know why I want to go bike... I just want to leave because I feel so left. Is that revenge? I am that petty? Surely the real reason is that I want to feel free and the wind and stuff... Am I hoping to run into someone? If I was, I don’t know who’d it be since nobody will be out at this time in the morning...

Crusifer has ruined our Sunday and it’s barely even begun. For what? So he could hang out with his drunken cousins? What a disgusting waste. He doesn’t know it, but I told myself that after three strikes after this “all or nothing” deal I’d call it quits for good and for sure. This is strike two... And it’s been... Two weeks? Pathetic! Why am I bothering?

I’m so deeply engrossed with someone who just won’t see me for me... It’s stupid and yet I feel so obligated to give one more fucking chance. Again, and again and again... Just like with Tre, until I was sure. This is so freaking stupid! I want to rip my own veins out of my arms, but I’m rather timid for such an ambition... Too timid to do anything other than imagine it vividly with a sour expression on my face. What useless masochism! (As Erica Jong would say...)

This should be the beginning of my own book about me, starring my dobblegander (sp?) with some nifty name...

Novel Draft

Kasandra paces back and forth on the floor, too angry to cry and too depressed to be truly angry. Was anyone going to ever love her? Was she cursed? Where did she go wrong? Was it on the phone earlier that day when she said that it wasn’t fair for him to go out with his cousins while she stayed at home alone? Was it last week when she gave him (yet again) another undeserved chance at marriage? Was it when she proposed to him in the first place five months ago on their year anniversary? Perhaps she just went wrong before the entire relationship consummated itself with a lusty sex on the first night they met? Perhaps it was rooted in the last ex, or the one before that? Maybe, just maybe, if she had been a better woman (like the woman she’s sure she must be by now) back where she was first in love, then maybe none of this would have happened.

Certainly she’s paying for something she’s done wrong four years ago, like when she cheated on her first love with lonely and desperate tears in her eyes. If one minute of sex before you dismount and break down in tears can really be considered cheating...

Kasandra waits for him to get home like a dog waiting for their master, or a cat waiting for food, like a toddler waiting to be picked up. She’s impulsive in her desire and anguish. She takes out her energy dancing wildly to recorded music videos for a time. When this loses it’s interest she reads the end of a book she’s been reading, then she goes on to play a PC game on his laptop next to the bed. When all of this has failed in pleasing her, failed in distracting her, failed in occupying her until he finally arrives, she settles at about three thirty in the morning in front of the TV with a unopened bag of Kettle chips; Salt & Vinegar flavored.

After consuming the chips and an entire episode of the Tyra Banks show she’s still just as unhappy, undistracted and alone as she was one hour previously. All occupations thus having failed her she begins to doodle. She’s still doodling when finally the drunk Mardarous arrives at five o’clock in the morning. She’s too angry to look up, and too cold to even cry. This scene has repeated in collideiscope of past nights and early mornings, only usually there are more tears. She’s losing hope to the point where even tears give no solace.

One might think that a year and half was a period of time too short to become to immensely attached, but then again, one might not know Kasandra.

That’s a little something of how I want the book to go. Something I can write, something I can get into, something that is relatable and such... It ought to start with tonight.

Sunday, June 22nd 2008 at 6:38pm

In a primitive society there isn’t a lot of time to think. Get up in the morning, and cook breakfast, which in itself requires making the fire, getting cooking stones hot, gathering water, etc. Say that takes an hour, and perhaps longer if there are kids to watch after. Then there is hunting, which takes hours of planning and practice, and hours to make the weapons, and then the actual process which takes hours of stalking which may not even lead to a catch. Foraging is all well as good, but not sustaining enough in a small community which can’t mass-produce fruits and vegetables.

Time not spent hunting would be used to make clothing, starting with skinning the animal, and cleaning the fur. The entire process of preparing a fur can take days with cleaning, stretching, and smoking. This was more than enough work for a man and a woman to be kept busy from dawn until dusk for eternity.

Farms and cities began to change that, allowing for entertainment, such as they had in Egyptian, Roman and Sumerian empires. However, when enough inventions come along, and enough wealth can be provided there is allowed to be a higher class of people that may become educated. This is a privilege and not to be taken lightly, because those few that may become educated come up with the new ideas that allow for the growing world population to continue to prosper and grow.

As terrible as slavery is, the slaves in many ancient empires allowed their masters the leisure to think. Being allowed to think gives us the opportunity to conceive great ideas to bring us forward into a new generation, a new century, a new era. For example, if Benjamin Franklin had been born into a more primitive society where he had to hunt and gather for food, or if he had been too busy being entertained after a long day’s work then electricity may never have been found. Of course, it may have still happened, but who can be sure?

Electricity is what allows so many millions of us to sit on our tails and think and for us to have an education. Electricity allows the mass production that brings us cheap clothing (we don’t have to work for days and days on one garment as we would have if we were starting with fur on an animal), and cheap food (instead of gathering ourselves, or planting ourselves factories do half the work for us), and cheap housing (instead of us building our homes big machines and specialized workers do it) and so on. Without all these inventions we’d have a lot less time. What’s funny is that we feel like we don’t have much time as is!

Perhaps “me-time” is addictive, because just a couple thousand years ago “me-time” didn’t exist for much of anybody. Survival was all there was. The problem with this development is that it’s grinding to a halt. We have so much freedom, and so much cheap junk, and so much education and opportunities that today’s generation is taking it all for granted. It’s the obligation of those who have time to think to be able to use that time in a productive way for their own sake, and the sake of their children and community. Unfortunately free time is often spent on partying, drugs, small-talk, gossip, fashion, relaxing, TV, and websites like Myspace.

In contrast to a couple hundred years ago... Education was coveted, and books were valuable. Now that everyone can write a book there tends to be less and less content worth reading! Now that books are everywhere there are less and less readers! Anybody notice the size of Reader’s Digest? The poor magazine is half the size it used to be! I suspect this is due to a lack of funding because of a lack of subscriptions rooted in a lack of education in the new working generation.

The deepest problem with this trend is the lack of invention. Today as I walked through Target I realized that everything I saw was something I’d seen before with a new color on it, or a new print, or a cut just slightly different. There was nothing new and innovative to be seen. Nothing is unique or hand-made and nothing is of the type of quality that it could be. Hence why we buy so many products that don’t work, or break shortly thereafter buying them.

Point-blank being that all this time we have to think and all this free education is all for nothing. We’re not making good enough use of any of our resources or capabilities.

To further my point, take prescription drugs for example. Aside from antibiotics which is an incredible discovery that changed life as we know it by turning things like strep-throat from deadly to a week of discomfort. If you take the other medications into consideration however, like drugs that combat the side affects of ADD or ADHD or pain pills, you’ll find a bunch of products that are worthless at their core.

Why are they worthless? Because studies (not acclaimed by our incompetent government) show that ADD is reversible through the practices of functional medicine. We need to take the path away from the diagnoses. Correlation does not mean causation (as an old friend recently reminded me). Which means that just because two people have a runny nose does not mean they have it for the same reason. This is a simple one to say, because we all know there is a difference between allergies and having a cold. But what about if two people have flaky scalp? Would you say they both have it for the same reason? You could be bloated from eating or from cramps. You could have a headache from noise or from lack of sleep. You could have pimples from puberty or from oily skin or from a disagreeable diet.

These are things that everyone knows, so why do we assume that just because two or three symptoms line up that it is what they say it is. The way the system works now is like taking aspirin to cure a nail through the foot. And that sad fact is that this is known to the researchers, the scientists and many doctors, but it’s not acknowledged.

Studies have shown that many “conditions” like diabetes and attention-deficit-disorder can be eliminated through dietary changes. This means that for many people (perhaps most but not all) their prescriptions are a waste of money and not needed. Think of the money put into the research of these drugs, the money put into the production of them, the selling of them, the insurance companies that help pay for them, the people who work in pharmacies selling them when so many of them are worthless junk.

This should be common knowledge but education is slipping, and so is research. Our entire network of systems that makes the world run is collapsing in on itself and I feel like nobody else can see it.

Together Forever?

Tuesday, April 29th 2008 at 2:37am

Boredom comes from not being obsessed with something. I wish I was obsessed with something. I want to be obsessed with something creative, productive, engaging, and skill enhancing. I guess that’s a bit much to ask though, isn’t it? I’ve gone back to working on my computer-game-design, but it’s not very engaging. There is nothing exciting about it. It’s just a bunch of text and concept art. Tables, and descriptions and stats aren’t very easy to be obsessed with.

Crusifer isn’t here often enough for me to really obsess over him, and even if he was, he never wants anything. I could shower him with affection, attention, and doing what he wants to do, but it hardly makes a difference to him at all. I mean, he’ll notice, but he’ll say “it’s nice and all, but not really necessary.”

I have anime music blasting through my headphones right now, so that I don’t have to hear the music emitting from Crusifer’s headphones. He’s drawing, looking adorable as he does so. He’s drawing a chick out of a magazine for “anatomy practice.” This is something he does periodically, usually filling an entire page with random sketches. I don’t have the type of drive to do something like that. I’m all about a finished product, when the finished product is disappointing or long in coming I tend to have a habit of quitting.

I suppose that’s one reason why art appeals to me. Why ever quit a picture? It won’t take that long to finish it. And, it’s more appealing to look at every moment that you work on it (to a degree).

I’d like to complete this computer game design and submit it to a company... After some research on how that’s done. How do you submit something without them just stealing the ideas they want and then rejecting your proposal? I know there are ways, but of course I don’t really know much about it. Copyrighting your work and such. It would be nice if they would steal the entire thing and do it just the way I outlined it, but more likely they’d steal several key ideas and dump the rest, and then I couldn’t even prove they ever “stole” anything.

Anyway, say I could submit it without it being stolen, then there is fact that they probably won’t even give it a second glance because I have no degree or work experience in the field. Yet, there is a chance someone might look at and take in the uniqueness of the ideas presented, and see that there is a good sized market for such a game. But that chance will hang in impossibility without a complete design to look at.

I won’t consider the design complete until all aspects of the game are covered, all races, all items, all spells, all functions, all abilities, all disciplines, all realms and terrains, and maps and so on. I’d like all the concept art to be all complete too, but that’s a lot of concept art. The interface design is not a problem for me, but the concept art is really more than I could hope to accomplish. Crusifer and I together could probably do all of it, but relying on Crusifer for something like that (I’ve learned) is folly.
There is no point in asking myself if it is worth it or not to complete the design, because it most certainly is even though the chance of it ever being used for the template for a real game is slim. If but nothing but for my pride.

There is also the chance of putting together a team to design it with me with an agreed about of percentages of payoff (if and) when there is one. My major issue with that is how low quality the game would be if I managed to do that. Saga clearly took a very long time in the making and it’s coding is clearly crap because the load times are terrible for a game with low graphics and small playing fields. This leads me to believe that they have the inexperienced coders as well as average-joe modelers. And while Saga’s game concept is very good, the whole game (as it is now) doesn’t have draw after a certain point in the game for the economical strategist. I want this game to be made much more professionally.

Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 12:06pm

I’m getting that sick to my stomach feeling again. I get it every time I start to believe that Crusifer and I might not be... Good for each other?

He said to me last week (and has written on several occasions) that he wants to quit drinking. This morning he said that he doesn’t want to quit. I think it’s over, that’s what I think. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. As fast as life flies by it’ll be over and in the past before I can really comprehend why.

What happened to all of his talk of forever? What happened to all of mine? He’s not willing to budge an inch for me. Well, I guess a few inches. I don’t have enough time with him to prove my points to him. I don’t have enough time with him to really understand him, to really understand where our relationship stands.

He hardly ever admits to changing his mind, or tells me that he has changed his mind. It’s always “well I think...” or “I feel...” about whatever it is, and it’s almost always different than the last time. I don’t think I know him as well as I thought I did. I don’t think he wants this as bad as I thought he did.

In the middle of February, when I was the most happy with this relationship if he had threatened to break up with me I would have bent over backwards to change his mind. I would have given up anything, picked up anything, given him more freedoms, done anything but feel the heartbreak surely to come. I see so much of myself in him that I expected him to be the same way. I thought if I expressed that I felt it wasn’t working... If I told him I was having second thoughts... If I made it clear that his actions were upsetting me, depressing me and pushing me away... I thought if I told him those things that he would suddenly be a panic to keep me, the way I would be and have been over him.

I was sorely wrong.

He barely seems to care. I want to say that this is because he hardly shows any emotions, but perhaps it’s because he doesn’t feel things. He says things like “I’m human too you know” but how can I remember that when he hardly shows it?

I don’t believe that I’m not crying right now. That shows how close to the end it really is. I’m already starting to accept my heart cracking down the center. I’m already beginning to accept that I need to find a life outside of him. I’m already accepting the fact that I have to be independent... Some part of me (that I don’t know to well) is preparing for it, some part of me that is wiser than the part of me that has control.

How can I leave him? He’s a good man. He is. He’s a beautiful artist. He’s beautiful in general. He makes good money with his talent. He has worth while goals. He has stamina. I want to say he’s passionate, as I’ve said before, but I’m not sure that word applies so much anymore. I see it more and more as lust and not passion. Passion implies emotions, and deep emotions at that. Oddly I see him more and more as a less emotional being, and more robotic and cruel.

Why do I see that? It’s not even a logical assertion! He’s not violent (like Tre was), he’s not messy (like Tre was), he’s not a drug dealer (like Tre was), and he is logical (like Tre wasn’t)... Or is he logical? I’m having trouble with that one these days too. So have I just scratched off passionate and logical with one blow? That certainly is a lot. If I scratch those off it’s a lot harder to make a good case for him. Have I deluded myself into thinking he’s more than he is?

He did buy me a laptop. He does give me incredible orgasms. Why don’t those things matter in the face of how he speaks to me? I’m so word-oriented. I keep believing his words. Perhaps out of spite for him not believing mine?

I want to sink into being suicidal. I want to declare that my life is over!

I also want to be more mature than that.

So is maturity... Break up? It’s tempting in the way that I wouldn’t have to keep trying to work it out. It’s tempting in that there would never been another screaming fit. Christ! When did breaking up with him become tempting? My love, my future, my plans and attachments are slipping right through my fingers! I’m standing in sand. I’m in quicksand. And I’m sinking, sinking, sinking... Sinking out of love with him?

I feel the beginnings of tears. I don’t want to cry, oddly. I usually can’t wait to cry when I feel like this. Just get it out you know? But I know once I start to cry the little negative voices will chirp up. The ones that say things like, “this is all your fault,” and “it’s because you’re ugly,” and “if you weren’t such a retard, like he said,” and “if you weren’t such a needy baby,” and “you just don’t love him enough,” and “if only you’d just let him drink,” and “maybe you can settle for less,” and “maybe if you change and adapt enough you won’t feel this way,” and “maybe if you were more considerate,” and “maybe if you lost weight,” and “maybe if you gained weight,” and “maybe if you had sex with him more often,” and so on, and so on, and so on!

I’m trying to be rational here. If I keep being rational I can hold those thoughts at bay. Why is this really happening? It’s because I have needs that he can’t satisfy. I want a companion, for several hours a day, (preferably more, but three or four is a good minimum) that will give me affection, talk to me, kiss me, possibly sleep with me (at least once a week, preferably two to five times) and tell me how wonderful I am, (while I tell them how wonderful they are) who will work with me on a project (the actual content of the project not being half as important as the fact that we’re doing it together) and then another project and then another over time and years, who will comfort me if I cry, who will care for me (instead of saying I’m a pussy, or that I’m weak, or that I’m being a typical woman), and who will make me feel special. And at least one day out of the week, (really the minimum is more like two days a week, I guess I made an exception for Crusifer) spends time with me all day long, where we might go out together, where we get dressed together, brush our teeth together, hold hands along a nice walk, wash each other’s faces, take a bath together, clean each other’s toe nails, scratch each other’s heads, watch a good movie, draw together, read together, write together, play video games together...

That’s what I want, most simply put.

He has needs that I can’t satisfy as well. He wants to listen to loud rap music. (It has to be loud, it has to be rap.) In the future he hopes to have his own room far away enough from mine where he can blare his music loud as he wants. (He’ll never understand that I can’t stand it no matter what I say. He won’t believe it. I’m just being a pussy after all. (This is a moment where you’d think I roll my eyes, but rather I’m too upset to stop staring blankly at the screen.))

He also needs his friends. This one is hard to argue with really. Everyone has friends. Everyone but me. And at this point in my life it’s actually my choice. Perhaps I’m so used to not having friends that I’ve become comfortable with it?

It’s occurred to me that his quest to not being enslaved (as he puts it) is leading him to try and enslave me. He told me this morning that men have more say in the relationship, and that is the way it’s always been, and always will be. I tried not to hear him. I was disgusted, but I tried to pretend that he was kidding. He started laughing afterwards, like it was a joke, but it wasn’t a joke. He’s trying to pin me under his thumb. Once I let him listen to his blaring loud rap music, and let him drink, and let him bring friends over, and let him go out with friends, then he’ll be excited to marry me. And then I won’t be interested anymore.

I never thought these issues would escalate. I remember saying to Crusifer, “I can’t imagine what problems we’ll have,” and he replied, “We won’t have any.”

What a naive reply! And how much denial it really shows in him. Or hopefulness?

Perhaps he’s in denial that this isn’t working. Or perhaps he’s just quietly separating himself from me, the way I know I am somewhere deep inside of me. That’s that pain we feel in our chest. I’ve concluded that feeling is the soul ripping apart. My soul is slowly, one tiny spot at a time tearing away from his, and the change in energy is centering in my stomach, making me sway with uneasiness, making my chest vibrate and ache. If I cry, I’ll try to heal the tear inside of me, I’ll try to calm my restless energies. Perhaps I shouldn’t cry yet. I need to keep tearing, tearing, tearing away from a man who wants to control me. A man who wants to party, drink, smoke, blare his rap music and “chill wit da boys.”

I can’t believe my own thoughts! I’m thinking about the fact that I ought to try dating a white guy. I’m thinking about actually trying to find someone else! God help me! Someone help me!

I will. Not. Cry. Yet.

I think I understand something about him now. Why he doesn’t cry. Crying leads you back to safety. I’ll cry my way back into Crusifer’s arms and peacefully forget how I felt, and why I felt that way. Tears lead me back into my emotions, back away from logic, they allow me to let go what I’m holding back right now so that I can analyze.

Right now I need to choose. To pull away from Crusifer, or to try and mend it. Again, again, again. I’ve tried this before. I’ve tried mending it several times. We tried the compromises. Sadly it’s not even what he does at the moment. It’s the things he’s said.

I don’t want to keep being called a retard (even from the same man that calls me a genius – neither of which I am I suppose) and I don’t want to be treated the way I was this morning. The way he cut me off, the way he wouldn’t listen, the way he called me full of shit again.

He’ll never keep his promises, will he? It’s been a year and a half and he’s still drinking, and I’m still a liar, and he still won’t believe that the sound of music is really disturbing enough to matter, and I feel more and more and more alone. I feel so lonely I could burst.

I will. Not. Cry yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

He’s been better than Isadora’s Josh. He’s not a big baby. He started off like Isadora’s Bean. (I’m talking about Isadora Wing, from the three-book series by Erica Jong.) He started off making love to me in the most amazing ways. We were sex maniacs together, and after the sex we talked and talked and talked until the mornings. He was understanding. Our pasts related to each other. I understood him in ways he had not been understood before, and he did the same for me. We were so affectionate. Oh how I miss how he used to touch me!

I will not cry yet! Not yet! Not yet!

I miss being happy with him. I miss being sure. I was so fucking sure! I was sure! I wanted nobody but him! I wanted to marry him! I wanted his kids! I did this all over again! All fucking over again! (Not yet!)

Why is this all in past tense? I have not given up, have I? Christ, I’m not even sure about that! Please forgive me for my sins, for I am thinking this isn’t going to work, and I’m thinking that I should cut it off sooner rather than later, and my heart is pounding, and my face is contorted from holding back tears, and my lips are fidgeting, and I’m paralyzed from the neck down aside from my fingers, clacking, taping, jittering, pressing, moving, like spider’s legs across the keyboard, finding the next letter, seeking, searching, searching, searching the way I am for love, for affection, for companionship, for someone to feel the way I feel.

I want him to feel how I feel.

I just want him to fucking feel the way I fucking feel.

I’m degrading, I’m falling apart, my logic is failing me, my heart is burning. I want to curl up in his arms and I want to cry. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful. I want him to tell me he’s sorry. I want to believe that this will work... Will work... Will work... Will work...

Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 5:42pm

Predictably, I left my entry this morning to sprawl on my bed and cry. I think I wept loudly for about five minutes, quietly for another five, stared at nothingness for around ten minutes and then I decided to focus my entry into the drawing I’m working on. It’s an anime rendition of Crusifer and I together. What I like about the picture most is that it actually looks like Crusifer, and it kinda really looks like me too. Except that we both have big anime eyes, and our heads are rather large for the bodies, and the bodies are longer and thinner, and the necks very thin, especially mine. I love how the picture is coming out.

Crusifer inspires my art time and time and time again. I don’t want to give up, but I also don’t want to “waste” my time with him. Not that I really believe it’s a waste, because after all we’re learning from each other (from the negative and the positive experiences). I still have hope for our relationship, but this morning was another punch to the tit. Telling me that I was full of shit again really socked it to me. And then bringing up the music thing again... Telling me the man should have the say in the relationship... Telling me that I shouldn’t go take a college class because one class is useless and a waste of money. Telling me that I’m spending all his money and preventing him from saving. Telling me he’s not very sure about marrying me, at all. And the real whopper, he doesn’t want to quit drinking, and doesn’t plan on it. He said that he wrote that he wanted to quit because I got the idea in his head, implying that I clouded his judgement. (As if beer doesn’t cloud one’s judgement...)

I’ve considered all the possibilities that I can, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I will take the summer college course (sculpting – mostly because that is the only art course there was that was at a somewhat reasonable hour and that sounded interesting enough and was at an entry level) and I will soon have my bike in the mail. When my bike arrives I will bike to and from work with Crusifer, which may improve our relationship, or it may not. Either way, I’ll get exercise and see the outdoors and will be exploring another possible area of our relationship. That would add another hour onto the amount of time we spend together each and every day that I bike with him to and from work. In addition, taking the course will give me something else to learn about, something else to focus on, and somewhere new to meet new people interested in similar things.

Another measure I’m taking is that I’m halting all the wedding and children talk. The man I saw this morning was absolutely not the man I’m going to marry. This morning did serious damage to my opinion of him, and this time I think the damage is more permanent than before. Previously I’ve been able to forgive him, to let him redeem himself with promises and kisses. I won’t take promises and kisses as redemption for the things he said to me this morning. I will not marry a man who drinks, no matter how little, or how often. It’s a disgusting habit and if he can’t kick it for me then I’m obviously not worth it to him, thus making him not worth it to me.

I’m in no hurry to get out of this relationship, and at the moment I don’t even feel like I’m in a hurry to have kids and get married. I’m in no hurry to do anything in my love life at all. At the moment it’s functional, though somewhat upsetting at times. If I drop the marriage talk, the drinking talk, the kids talk, and an assortment of my other complaints about video games and people and such, then perhaps the arguing will stop, and perhaps things can mend from there. Perhaps biking with him will rekindle something between us that I feel is dying. Does he feel this way about to me too? I really believe that he does, based on the things he’s said and done. He just doesn’t seem committed, or sure that he wants this for himself, and that alone is enough to make me wonder if I’m with the wrong man.

I’m not putting him on some sort of trial, and I’m not going to test him. I don’t believe that he’s going to change. I’m going to push myself to socialize and find new avenues for myself this summer.

I’m going to try to adapt. If I can’t adapt, then I guess that’s that.

You know what really makes me sick though? I don’t feel like he’s really truly tried to do this my way, even under threat of breaking up. Perhaps February was a fluke and he was really just rushing home because it was cold. The back-rubs have stopped. The giddy cuddling is down below the minimum required for sanity in my life. The conversations become more and more argumentative and less and less productive (or even funny or thoughtful.) He doesn’t compliment me half as much as he used to. I get a “you look cute today” in a standard tone, with his standard admiration look... Sometimes he’s not even looking at me when he says it.

Oh, and I forgot the other sock to my guts he gave me last night. He brought up us having a girlfriend... After all this time of having dropped the subject, after ruling it out, after mutually deciding that it would ruin our relationship he brought it up again. I don’t really think it’s that bad that he brought it up, really. I mean, so it’s a nice fantasy and all, but it’s just so impossible to bring to reality, and if it did become reality I know we’d breakup over it. How do I know? I can imagine it clearly now... I know my jealousy better now...

I can see this pretty white girl, blond most likely, sitting on his lap while he’s at his computer. (I’m imagining this in print here, for the benefit of future recollection of my point.) He let’s her distract him from his computer (the way he would get mad at me for doing) and they kiss and kiss and kiss (the way we did when we were a new couple) and they sleep together often (making me feel out of place, jealous and angry and neglected) and she leaves most of the day, comes home when he does, and then they’re all over each other again, talking, laughing... It wouldn’t work unless I loved her too, unless she loved me too. Chances of that? Zilch.

Just thinking about it makes my blood boil. I want him to behave that way towards me again, not watch him behave the way towards a new woman!

I want his love and affection and attention so bad that I’m a wreak. I’m so blasted lonely in here that I could just set myself on fire. (That would take more guts than I really have.)

I’ve been working every single day towards getting that office done in the back. And it’s coming along quite well, as I’ve said before. It’s a good project to keep me distracted. All the boxes of books are out of there. All of the boxes of papers I have sorted through (tossing 90% of it – magazines and pamphlets and other text not written by either of my parents). I kept the stuff that had their signatures or handwriting and carefully filed it into a bin. The materials for my binders about my parents that I will create in the future.

All the tools I found I put in one box. I painted over the plain soot-covered shelves that the boxes had been on. The shelves are built into what is usually the knee-wall. They’re on both sides of the soon-to-be office. On the one side I’ve finished painting them black and there is the CD player, cleaning supplies, the bin full of old papers, trash bags, an assortment of now-empty binders, a box of reader’s digest magazines (from the late 80s and early 90s) and the box of tools.

The office project brings me closer to making Crusifer more comfortable and happy with our arrangement. He’ll probably be able to play music on the whole opposite end of the attic while I’m on the bed if there is a fan going in between, which there will be in the summer time. That would allow him music time on Sundays. I’m not too happy about not being with him during any part of our time together in the house, but then again, I’m obviously not happy about a lot of things, so compromises of any kind are helpful at the moment.

I’m not going to tell him about how I feel about this morning. I can’t really see the point. He knows what I want from him. He’ll notice that the chain I gave him (where he puts his engagement ring) is missing along with the bracelet, and promise ring are missing. He’ll notice that I won’t talk of marriage or kids anymore. It’s clear enough, just like it’s clear that I’m not his ideal wife either.

I don't like being alone.

Sunday, March 16th 2008 at 7:03pm

My boyfriend is leaving right now with my car keys to my mom’s car. He’s going to deposit some money, but he won’t tell me how much, or for what. I suspect he’s buying me a ring or something symbolic of that sort. I hope so, I might be disappointed if I find out it had nothing to do with me and that he just wouldn’t tell me for rash or vain reasons.

I’d say over all things are still going smoothly. And I’m still obsessed with playing Saga online. If anyone wants a referral to play online with me, let me know.

Sunday, March 16th 2008 at 9:00pm

I grew up as an only child, so you’d think I’d love being alone. And I guess I do to an extent. But I have this habit of latching onto one person, and then wanting them there all the time. Jeremy could put up with it for the better part of the time, but we had a great deal of arguments about me always being on him. Travanti couldn’t stand it, and constantly complained about me putting “my weight” on him. But My boyfriend has never been like that. He’s been so accepting of affection, so giving of his affection, so willing to be around me all the time. He used to never get tired of talking to me.

I remember him saying, “Does it ever get boring being around you?” or something along those lines. And I told him how I felt the same way. But that was the second month into our relationship after all, so it’s no use comparing things now to how they were then. Because this is a year and two months into our relationship. I can’t expect him to still want to be all over me all the time...

But wait, what am I saying?

Monday, March 17th 2008 at 12:34am

My boyfriend just hasn’t been as affectionate because he’s not getting laid because I’m still recovering from my yeast infection. And I’m only being so needy because he’s not fucking me (because I’m still recovering from my yeast infection). What a silly, silly girl I can be.

Wednesday, March 19th 2008 at 5:45am

So I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep at all. My boyfriend is really hurting me right now. He won’t listen to me. He’s been drinking, so I shouldn’t be surprised. He thinks I write for the online attention. He thinks I’m an attention whore... He doesn’t understand that I need to write like he needs to draw. It’s my form of creation, this is my self expression. This is my passion.

It’s just like Isadora says towards the end of “Fear of Flying” – She missed her typewriter more than her fucked up marriage. She wanted to go home to have custody of the typewriter. She compares it to having custody of the kids. Later on, either in that chapter or the next she pulls out her written journal and she talks about how much it means to her, about how she can’t wait to leave somewhere to come home and commit it to writing. She writes in ink because it’s permanent unlike pencils.

This is my permanence. This is what will be left of my pride, my love, my lust, my thoughts, my needs, my wants, my complaints, my hungers, my desires, my goals, aspirations, wishes, and insanity when I’m gone. This is the real me. This me is complete with it’s imperfections. My writing remembers more than I do. It watches my growth in a way that I can’t.

My writing is myself listening to myself. I’m conversating with myself. I’m thinking out loud. I’m sorting things out. I’m logic-ing my way into loving myself for myself by writing. Writing makes me feel good about myself.

“Every time I’m mad I run to my journal,” he yells at me across the room from the bed. It’s true. I did it with Travanti, and I did it with Jeremy. I did it with my parents before then. I’ve been doing it since I was a young child. Before Kasheef told me about diaryland I wrote.

I am one with myself when I write. My mind clears, the headache clears, and I become understanding of myself. I open myself to myself. I forgive myself. How could I do those things without writing?

I hate that he won’t listen and understand me right now, but because he won’t, I can’t just sit there and steam. I don’t want to break down and cry. I don’t want to lay there trapped within my fury. I don’t want to scream at him. I’m tired of saying “Don’t tell me how I feel!”

He tells me that I think I’m better than everyone. I told him that I don’t think I’m any better than my Mom, or him, or El or Tina, or my Dad or Aunt Mary. Sure I’m better at certain things, and don’t I have a right to be proud of those things which I have? Don’t I have a right to have pride in myself? I’d feel like shit without being proud of myself. I’d sink into a depression, and I’d cry, and I’d be bitter, and slowly but surely I’d have less and less to be proud of.

I just want to die when he yells at me. My head throbs just recalling it. The eerie almost-silent room is deafening to my ears. The humming of his computer, my computer and the fridge. His plaintive kicking. He’s awake and I’m not with him. Well, gosh-gee, where was he from 11:00pm to 1:30am when he got home? He was with Dana and other friends. He was drinking two beers and getting hit on by some hot chick. I was sitting here playing Saga online. He came home, and he kept asking me, “Can we fuck? Can I eat you out?”

“No. And no.” We’ve been through this. I’m still recovering from the yeast infection and I’d like it to heal. He asks again, and again, and again, and again. Finally the sixth time he says “Can I suck your dick,” and for the hell of it I say yes. He eats me out, and I’m not enjoying it because he’s tipsy and he’s not doing it the way he normally would, and on top of that I’m still highly annoyed with him. I feel bad for agreeing for the purpose of shutting him up. I was afraid he might try to fuck me once he got me wet but he didn’t.

So obviously I didn’t cum, and he gave up eventually, and then shortly thereafter he passed out. I stayed wide awake. I read two chapters from “Fear of Flying” towards the end of the book. A very good two chapters I might add. I then drew on a picture I’ve been working on for about a week. Then at about 3:00am I started writing in a notebook until 3:30am. But still I couldn’t sleep. Him falling asleep before me invariably does this to me.

I tried anyway. I turned of the light and held him for a while. I rolled over and held Silent for a while. Then I took out my vibrator and had a shitty orgasm that only made me sleepy for about two minutes. Then at about 4:30am My boyfriend starting stirring, who knows why.

He woke up at 4:45am and starting asking to fuck me again. So then he started asking about fucking other girls again. I explained to him (again) that my feelings towards that have changed, and (again) I explained why. The topic moved from marriage and kids. We talked about pregnancy and child birth, and that’s when the argument started getting heated for some reason.

I’m not even sure why. We had a heated argument about sex during pregnancy, about childbirth, about arrogance and pride, about being real and being fake, about threatening someone in a way that Travanti would (which he assumed I was doing, but I wasn’t.) He kept saying “whatever” and playfully hitting me in such a way that basically means “whatever” in our own language. He kept telling me I wasn’t telling the truth about how I felt. I couldn’t take it anymore and here I am now at 6:08am in the morning.

This is nuts, he woke up to me giving him kisses and affection and then tries to tell me I’m not real, and that I lie about how I feel... In a nutshell. He made a lot of good points but what was driving me nuts is that every time I agreed with him he told me that I didn’t really agree. What kind of bull shit is that? Basically accusing me of patronizing him though he never used those words.

Shit between him and I has been really fucked up since I this yeast infection. Not being able to have sex with him makes everything fucked up and that worries me. Does he really love me for me? Or does ‘me for me’ exclusively include my sex?

Friday, March 21th 2008 at 11:51pm

I have not been writing much. I’m content with that. I’m really into playing Saga right now, and I’m enjoying being so in to something like I have not been in so long.

Monday, March 25th 2008 at 5:22pm

I’ve been thinking about turning my writings into a novel about myself written as fiction, with different names and such. Since I’d be working on it as a novel, I wouldn’t post it as entries in the hopes of publishing it, but instead my entries would be mostly short excerpts of the draft version. I feel the need to take my writing in a new direction, and I’m considering taking Erica Jong’s lead.

Lately I’ve been writing more in the Saga forums than anywhere else. It’s really quite astounding how interests can change so quickly.