Reconsidering

Friday the 4th of January, 2008.
It is 6:19pm at the moment.

I’m half-way through listening to a physic reading I had done for me two years ago where much of what was told to me came true. She gave me the tape, and I intended to listen to it again soon, but never did, until today. Because it was two years ago, you would think it would have lost it’s relevancy, but it hasn’t. One thing that I remember her saying that it hasn’t even gotten to yet is me getting into retail a certain time, which was the Mary Kay, which happened just when she said it would, as I remember it.

But before she gets to all of that, she’s telling me that I’m the sort of person who can make a statement about what I want, and then work towards it, and then get it. That’s a very powerful thing to say to a person. She tells me that by doubting myself, and thinking about the negative, and the aspects holding me back, that I’m adding to the energy that is holding me back.

Make a statement. My boyfriend and I are getting married and I’m getting pregnant with his baby within 2008. I’m going to finish the attic, I’m going to edit and submit his art as flash to liquid skin, and they are going to accept his art, and he’s going to get paid enough for it to cover our growing expenses. Working with his art will be my full-time job, up until I share that responsibility with that of having a baby.

Things I need to accomplish these goals:

2 construction lights

6 drawers for sorting

6 bins for sorting

staples for the staple-gun

a heart-felt conversation with my father

all of My boyfriend’s art scanned

line-work for all of My boyfriend’s art

a complete understand of flash and how it’s submitted and sold

enough mental and physical health to follow-through

Saturday the 5th of January, 2008.

It is 9:24pm at the moment.

My readers know me. How can you not know me if you read this blog? I describe everything about my life, at one time or another. Anybody who has read this entire blog could tell you most everything about me. But my readers, that being you, also know that I write in the heat of the moment. I write things that I feel right then. And we all feel things for periods of time that are not always accurate.

I hated Jeremy when I first met him. He disgusted me. And then, four or five months after we met, I fell in love with him, dated him on and off for a year, and then completely for another year. Jeremy was one of the best things to ever happen to me. He taught me the value of being a lady, and respecting myself, and laughing at myself, and being myself while still blending in. If I had written back then like I do now, I would have written an entry about how disgusting he was, about how his jokes were lame, how he was twisted and ugly. I would have written very nasty things, and I would have been wrong and shallow.

When I met Tre I thought he was romantic, understanding, kind-hearted and loving. Looks can be so deceiving, but they’re so hard to ignore. Tre did have a spark of romance to him (like heating my towel in the dryer) but only a spark. Most of what I saw in Tre I saw because of his long dreads and chiseled body. It was, again, a shallow first impression, that was hard to erase. Believing that he is or was a thief is still sometimes difficult for me. I never wanted to believe something like that of someone I loved. But the fact of the matter is, things stopped disappearing when he disappeared.

On top of all of that, I’m a nervous person. I get nervous about everything. Especially work. I was scared shitless when C hired me. In fact, I was scared most of the time I worked for C, scared of making a mistake, of being fired, of not being good enough. True, I was never scared that he was a pedophile, but he was married and has two kids.

Arrinn really is a lonely puppy in some ways though. I still stick with that part of what I wrote. But he has to be legit. I should have never really doubted his legitimacy. I think Saundra was putting too many ideas in my head. She amplified my nervousness through the roof. She was the one who questioned how legitimate he was technically. I just thought that perhaps she was right.

I guess Scott isn’t actually being fired. I don’t know what the whole story with Scott is. Perhaps it’s not relevant, but I get good vibes from Scott. He seems like an easy-going, well-meaning guy. (Perhaps another shallow judgement based on the fact that he’s almost hot for a white guy.)

Though I think the biggest relief to my apprehension is that Aaron admitted he liked me today. He told me that he’s attracted to me, and thought that I might be too. (I do have a flirty look to me sometimes unintentionally.) And the fact that he was a 180-turnaround on his behavior towards me after that made me feel better. I don’t have a problem with being around a guy I know likes me, after all, I can handle being around Will. What bothers me is when I’m not sure if they understand that I’m not interested. Now that I know that he knows, it’s a lot more comfortable.

Not to mention the photography was fun today. I’m going to be uploading photos to my computer either tonight or Monday. Perhaps even tomorrow, depending on what My boyfriend is doing.

Mom is right about giving things some time. And she’s had a good feeling about it from the beginning. *sigh* How come Mom is always right? I mean, I suppose she isn’t quite always right, but every time I discover that I’m wrong, it seems like she was right. So I suppose she seems to be right about so much just because she turns out to be right when I’m wrong. There are plenty of things her and I disagree about though. Mom was amused to discover that Dad and My boyfriend both seem to think I’m brainwashed by her, and that the men of the house feel that I believe everything Mom says. Mom laughed actually, because she knows how often I argue with her about things, and tell her how I think things should be. We just tend to ally up in conversations because when it comes to important stuff, we do usually agree.

Mom came over as well as Dad today. They met Aaron. Saundra quit today and left me all of her contacts to follow up on about the extras casting and modeling. So now I have a place to really start on everything. Another thing that was good about today is that the make-up and hair person, Lisa, was very interesting. Her and I got along very well. She’s into herbs, healings, spiritualism, etc. So it was cool to talk to her about that stuff.

I had a good day, in other words. I actually didn’t miss My boyfriend as much for once. I was so occupied with focusing on the models and getting them to pose in the best ways that I actually broke out of my normal chain of thoughts. Another thing Mom was right about. Having a job that uses my abilities will help how displaced I feel over not having a family and household to run. People need work. Not a career necessarily, but something they can work at, think about, use their abilities on, come to conclusions with, act on, and get a result from. That result can be pride, it can be money, it can be happiness, it can be satisfaction, or all of the above. I’ve experienced so much where I put in everything just to feel none of those as a result that I recoil from a lot.

I’m just scared. Committing to man is easy for me, but committing to work is hard for me. I don’t want to let myself attach to just anything, but oh how I attach! But I’m glad I didn’t bail after one day. I feel like a broke through a barrier within myself today. Perhaps only to meet another barrier a few feet back, but progress nonetheless. I suppose part of my fear is the loss of my dependance. I like to feel like I answer to My boyfriend, and that he is my sole commander. Odd for me, when I’m otherwise so independent, and so free-thinking. Maybe I need to learn to keep my submissive side in the bedroom, and out of our relationship as a whole? My independent-dependant, aggressive-submissive actions might be confusing and hard to deal with for My boyfriend. *sigh*

Sometimes I just feel like my world was collapsing. But it’s really not. It’s just changing. I’m still upset about the changes that have occurred with My boyfriend, but I suppose that’s all the more reason for me to be independent, occupied, and paid. And Aaron isn’t a creep. I take that back. He seems like a creep because of a few expression quirks he has. Just like Will has some quirks that make him seem like a total dork sometimes. I wonder what I look like to everyone else?

Well, what else can I say about all of that? Tons, come to think of it, but I really should upload those pictures now so that I don’t have to do it later. I’m so emotional sometimes that I want to kick myself. But at the same time, some part of me likes feeling all of those feelings. Maybe that’s my spirit rejoicing that I’m learning so much through all of my fits and bouts and tantrums.

Being skeptical is being smart. So I’ll continue to watch my back and be skeptical. And I suppose I’m doomed to more bad first-impressions. But first-impressions really don’t last forever. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. Hm, I just blinked.

Not What I Wanted

Friday the 4th of January, 2008.

It is 3:18pm at the moment.

I guess Saundra is the only one who shares my apprehension.

Saundra is a sixty-somethin year old woman who acts much like a person who hasn’t quite come out of teens in their thirties – if you get what I mean. (Celeste is a woman in her thirties who hasn’t quite come out of her teens.) Saundra has been working for Aaron, and she’s done all of the recruiting that’s been done so far.

Then there is Scott, who is a young man, probably in his twenties somewhere, who did work for Aaron, but got fired basically on my first day, which was yesterday. I’ve seen Scott a few times. I saw him when I met with Saundra to be an extra. I saw him when I met with Aaron to interview for the position of talent scout. I saw him briefly before he left when I arrived yesterday. I’ve been told he had been living there by Aaron, and Saundra tells me that the actual business is in Scott’s name. This is a questionable thing.

Saundra has been complaining that the clients need copies of their registration papers, because it’s not professional to not give them a copy. Aaron has apparently been blowing her off entirely on this matter, which is also questionable.

Saundra called me at ten o’clock this morning (to my utter unhappiness) to tell me about how she doesn’t think she can work for Aaron anymore because he disrespects her, and because he’s not professional enough, and because he’s constantly being sarcastic, and because she lost her keys yesterday (and she never loses her keys) and because she’s been having anxiety attacks (and she never has anxiety attacks) and because her friend has been having them too. (Get the feeling that she kept me on the phone forever after apologizing for waking me up?) And she feels like something just isn’t right, but she hopes it works out for me, but she knows it can’t work out for her, because after all, she’s going back to school, and that is going to take all of her energy, and do be careful because you know that Aaron is trying to take you away from your boyfriend.

Okay, okay, okay Saundra, I got it, now please SHUT UP! She must have went on for about ten minutes about all of that. And she brought up all the good points. Something doesn’t feel right when I’m there. I’m having anxiety attacks, but I just thought that was because I’m always having anxiety attacks, about everything. (Am I going to have to get a job? Will we be kicked out? Will Dad leave? Is My boyfriend as nuts about me as I am about him? Am I making a mistake? Am I really ready for all of this? I’m never going to get what I want out of all of this, am I? And other assorted things to have anxiety attacks about.)

Worst is the feeling of being trapped. Everyone wants me to do this. Even Saundra said, "I hope it works out for you." The closest I’ve had to someone not wanting me to do it was My boyfriend saying, "I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this." *extra heavy sigh*

I’m not getting paid on a salary, and that alone is making me want to run. I want to be paid for the trauma I went through yesterday. While I smiling, making stupid small talk, and Saundra was in the other room on the verge of tears, I was thinking inside my head; I have to escape, I have to escape, I have to escape somehow. But how? Mom said she expects me to give it at least three months, which means if I don’t, she’s going to be upset. Dad’s all happy about this happening, and I never wanted him to know in the first place because I never wanted to do this in the first place.

What the fuck is wrong with me? If it’s not about My boyfriend I have an intense dislike for doing it. His art, his laundry, his dishes, his room, his shelves, his love, his sex, his job, his touch, his everything. I want to do it for him. Doing things for Mom is okay too. Doing things for Dad or Mary is like doing something for myself – possible, but sometimes difficult. Everybody else can be torturous. I feel like I’m wasting my effort on people that don’t love me, on money that hates me, with time that I should be giving to My boyfriend.

This can’t be right. Maybe I just need some fucking B-vitamins, since that’s usually the case when all someone wants is out.

I woke up even more dismal than ever today. I felt like I had even less of a reason to get up. All I keep thinking is that I’m not pregnant, and I can’t be pregnant, because I’m not allowed to be pregnant, and I have to go back on birth control, so that I can feel even more worthless, so that I can be dragged even further away from what I want out of life, so that I can be trapped even more, so I can be crushed and despised in my misery.

If you understand what I mean. I’m dreading going back on birth control. (Ugh, I just remember part of an awful dream I had where my teeth with dangling, browning, rotting, and hurting terribly. I bet that’s a message to pay the $20 a month to continue my dentist coverage.) I’m dreading losing my sexual appetite again.

I wanted a baby so bad. I’ve never wanted anything so much. I’ve never been so happy about anything. I feel so worthless. Why, why, why won’t somebody just kill me? For goodness sakes, it made me stop giving myself death wishes. You can’t wish death on yourself when you have baby, or even if you’re pregnant with one. It’s a rule you just shouldn’t ever break.

What am I doing? Crying at almost four o’clock in the afternoon. I haven’t done a goddamned thing today because all I can think about is My boyfriend, My boyfriend’s baby, this fucking job I don’t want, my parents and how I can’t please them, this attic and how it’s not done... My boyfriend’s baby, did I mention that one? This job that I already hate. Working with Aaron frightens me. The guy is a creep.

I hate the way he stops talking, keeps smiling, and stares at me. I hate that I’m going back there tomorrow. I’ve already giving flyers to My boyfriend with my work information to find people. I’ve already called people letting them know. I’ve changed my myspace, and I’ve messaged a ton of people on myspace, vampire freak, and other places. But how much harder will it be to escape if I have a full-fledged office there?

It would be so much better if he didn’t drop ten-thousand hints about trying to date me. He’s fucking thirty-seven years old, and he’s a fucking creep. What’s worse is that he knows he’s intimidating me because he asked if he his sun-glasses (which are for an "eye condition") intimidated me. I cooly said that they didn’t and pulled out my own prescription sun-glasses.

If I were to work anywhere happily, it would be back at my old job. This just screams SCAM, and RAPE, all-fucking-over-it. If not tomorrow, then eventually. I caught him testing my number ability. If a client pays a certain amount of dollars, then someone gets a certain portion, and he gets a certain portion, and I get a certain portion, does that sound good? No, I said, it doesn’t. Where’d the last hundred dollars go?

I don’t trust him. I don’t like him. I don’t want a job in the first place.

It is 4:03pm at the moment.

Mom brought me breakfast. She also told me that she visited Aaron this morning to tell him to stop hitting on me. That’s great and all, but I’m still nervous about this. Scott has been fired, Saundra is quitting, and that means just him and I, alone in that huge house. Can anybody say creepy?

As My boyfriend said, all I ever talk about is children. And I don’t want to raise children and have a job simultaneously. That sounds terribly miserable, for them and for me. Already, when they’re ten, I’d been thirty, if I was pregnant now. I don’t want to wait, I don’t want to wait, I hate this.

My boyfriend says he’s sad that he’s not making enough to support a little one on his own yet. He says he’s upset that I’m not pregnant too. He’s terrified of me going back on the birth control. I’m terrified of going back on birth control, now that I know it was causing the mysterious pain that feels exactly like a terrible yeast-infection, except that there is no yeast. I even went to get checked for a yeast infection one of the worst times and they said I had no yeast, and that my flora levels that combat yeast were indeed very high. No creams helped. Itching, pain, soreness, the inability to have sex, discomfort when sitting down and while using the bathroom all so that I don’t have a baby that I desperately want to have!

I hate this fucking bull shit! Hate it, hate it, hate it.

The drive that we’re born with to have children must have been increased in me. Then again, poor cousin Colleen wanted a baby so bad at fourteen that she had one. Now she has three children and an abusive girlfriend. Then again, she also managed to get through the rest of high school, and through college, and hold a job, and take care of her aging father, my uncle Eugene even after the death of her mother. (My uncle Eugene and her mother adopted her incidently.)

As Mom put it, the logic that Colleen would have had was that she didn’t have her mother to love her, and her boyfriend wasn’t loving her right, and her father was getting her old, so why not have a baby to love her? But of course it doesn’t work that way at all.

I want a baby to love. The dependance sounds exciting. Someone who wants me to do everything for them, and who needs it, and who one day will appreciate it. Someone to teach everything I’ve learned about health to. Someone to pass my sense of fashion on to (even if they rebel and hate how I dress in their teens, I still get to try.) Someone to make like me. I can watch them stumble as I did, and pick them up, and teach them to fight back at the world. Teach them to care as so many of the new generation doesn’t.

I don’t want a job for money. I want a baby for love and for pride. Money will not buy me love and pride and joy. Money might possibly make having a baby easier, but then what, just to quit and not have the money anyway? Why work towards having a career I don’t want to keep?

I wanted to bail out of Mary Kay as well, and I stuck with it, and went no-where with it. Now I have something that might allow me to go somewhere with more things, and I want to bail again. Surprise, surprise, really? But nothing changes the fact that Aaron is a creep.

The attic needs rebuilding, and that takes more time and effort than it does money. We already have the drywall. We already have the tools. All I need are a couple of construction lights and some plastic sorting drawers and bins and I’ll be able to get started on the project myself. Currently there isn’t even enough light back their to assess what needs doing. A baby would need it’s own room as it gets older, and building the room while Cheanna is actually growing up doesn’t sound like the best idea to me.

I think I’m just going to have to convince my Dad to let me do it. I’m not interested in doing anything else with myself. They didn’t want to let me learn to read (at daycare) when I was ready, and then I didn’t end up reading until I was ten. (In fifth grade.) I still didn’t read much of anything until well into High School. I only read the same series over and over until somewhere in High School. (That series being Ever World, by K. A. Applegate.)

My point being that I know when I’m ready. If I wait I might change my mind.

My Mom says I’m not making sense. She says it’s my hormones that I’m not used to dealing with because of the birth control. Great. Another lead against what I want. What am I saying? My boyfriend is still partly in question, isn’t he? Oh fuck. I’m just going back to bed. I hate everything.

I Am Nothing But Names

Friday the 28th of December, 2007.

It is 10:14pm at the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Sunday the 30th of December, 2007.

It is 1:41pm at the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday the 30th of December, 2007.

It is 2:37pm at the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing but Names

It is 3:16pm at the moment.

I am your lover, your slave.

I’m a typical woman to my grave.

I’m a bitch and a brat,

I’m as slick as a cat.

I’m pretty and plain, not fat.

I’m a trickster, not to be trusted.

You say a lot, until my heart is busted.

Held up so high, on praise and joy.

It hurts more as I fall into another ploy.

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

I’m a bitch, a brat, a player, a cat.

I’m stupid, retarded, demented, twisted.

I’m the girl next door, plain.

Easily slain.

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

I have everything to lose, everything to gain.

Go ahead, call me one more name.

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

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

I’m stupid, twisted, demented, retarded.

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

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

A snake, a sliver, totally untrustworthy.

I’m alone picking a daisy.

He loves me, he love me not.

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

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

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

How come I’m nothing despite all my names?