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jugular dance

encore vide.

31 January 2004

A quote about MTV from this fine gentleman:
'What does MTV offer? Nothing but mindless garbage!...It makes gangsters out of Nebraskans, and turns girls into wannabes and sluts.'
Gangsters out of Nebraskans, indeed!


this is brilliant...I could sit up for the next two hours creating a detailed paint image of C leching with him and taking fridays off, but I was nasty to the self-anointed 'hot abercrombie chick' on her comments today, and that's quite more than enough unchristian behaviour from my end, don't you think?

oh yeah...turns out the film from Porcupine Tree's show at HOB Los Angeles in Aug 2002 is actually not film, just audio...as I said to Maritza, I will have to be content with replaying the image of those patchwork curtains sweeping open to reveal SW, guitar in hand, lips slightly parted, already in the throes of the beginning of 'Blackest Eyes' in my mind's video...
'she bangs like a barn door'
'on fire and put out with a shovel, that sort of thing'
'quite breathtakingly unattractive'
opeth was incredible
eh, 'deliverance' is SO SW-ish...I was half-expecting him to come out on stage
and at one point Mikael started strumming something that sounded like 'stop swimming' but alas no
one new song, two songs they've never played live before, 'deliverance', 'the drapery falls', 'demon of the fall' as the encore, and more and more...happy jenny :)

i am seriously delirious and my hearing has somewhat dimmed
and my motor skills are good as they ever were
so excuse me if this is not a real language
never did find maritza there, but it's cool, i had a great time

once upon a time i was terrified to go to live shows because i feared dancing in front of others
josh cured me of this by FORCING me to go to ska shows with him, and i ended up always having a blast...tonight i realised that i have come full circle and that live shows, especially metal shows, especially OPETH shows, are a release for me instead of a tension
this is my first opeth show (of five..?) without him

once upon a time we went to see in flames and they played a song he really likes
josh, being the sexy beast he is,
screwed up his face like he was 'metal as fuck' and
dived right into the circle pit (if you could call it that...)
taking elbows to the gut and fists to the forehead
he emerged sweaty and glowing and i was of the mind to screw him against the wall
forgot how hot sweaty long-haired metal guys are!
(especially ones wearing shirts saying 'metal as fuck'
he was blond, beautiful features, kind of looked like blondie
there was a derek-from-eng-102 lookalike
and several other generally lovely men)
all i could think of was josh tonight,
diving into that pit with such abandon and force
i miss that abandon and force in my life.

then delirious i lost my car in the downtown disney parking lot, walked for three days to find it. finally found it. drove it out of disneyland. drove it onto ball road. being delirious, i chuckled and screamed to myself all the way down ball road about balls. pulled into a chevron station to get something to drink, still enormously delirious. TJ waited on me; he had a huge beard. I think I may have broken a stand holding sunflower seeds. bought a green tea. fished in all my pockets for a $1 bill and a nickel while TJ looked at me as though my mind were leaking from my ear. perhaps mumbled slightly. 'it's cold out there eh?' he said conversationally as the nickel hunt continued. 'yeahmfdfdf.....' i said, equally unconversationally. found nickel gave to TJ. he gave me a penny; good man. back on ball road i started screaming to myself, 'fucking A, TJ! it's zero degrees fahrenheit where i'm from and you think it's cold in anaheim because a little wind is blowing through?' having rolled down the window i ascertained that it was a tad chilly but wholly un-cold. Then i remembered i wasn't wearing a bra and thought perhaps his comment had had an entirely different inspiration, that sick bastard. still not sure. berated myself about my nipples until someone drove past me with a bumper sticker that read 'don't throw your baby away!' in english AND spanish, as well as a bumper sticker that read 'i don't suffer from insanity, i enjoy every minute of it'. at this point, still very much delirious, i digressed from the subject of my own bralessness to begin screaming 'i had an abortion and i enjoyed every minute of it!' heh.

also jim lovely jim from the world-renowned fugue state press sent me three of his books, all quite autographed with sentiments lovelier than the gifts that the three fairies bestowed upon sleeping beauty at her christening, damned fairies.

jim is too much metal for one hand

oh ya, and it was almost all over before it began:
stupid me, i'm NOT afraid of the pit, i don't care
so i was standing there before demon-devil or whatever they're called came onstage
thinking 'I'm ok where i am, whatever, it's cool'
of course as soon as demon-crud graced the stage a HUGE circle pit formed with me at the center...i got jostled, knocked a bit, tossed slightly, finally ending up on my ass on the floor, eyeglasses hanging dangerously from my nose...i'm thinking, 'fuck it's all over, these people are going to trample me and my eyeglasses are going to be ground to dust and i'm going to have to sleep on a fountain at the house of blues'
but no! some wonderful, wonderful boy wearing a stocking cap pulled me up from under my armpits, AND proceeded to stand in front of me the whole set so i wouldn't get accidentally thrown back in
i love when people observe metal pit etiquette
i love you stocking cap boy!

29 January 2004

i wrote a LOT last night...all thanks to a certain jim
who may or may not write me back, seeing as i am a certifiable IDIOT
eh, at least my notebook's heavier

28 January 2004

ok, it's wednesday and i'm okay again...

going to opeth on friday. forcing myself to go to opeth on friday even though it's in anaheim and i don't wanna go alone. D switched me the late night and I'm going. Going!

G got off the phone with him today and promptly screamed, 'I'm going to set you up with him!' Excepting that she used his real name. Loudly. And with the spy-from-Riverside seated quite within earshot. Over New Year's I confessed to her that I thought he was great-looking. She remembered this. She told J I like him. We discussed his hair briefly. She thinks he's near my age (eek, i think he's way older & shares a birthday with Josh besides, but hey!). She thinks we'd be 'cute' together. I think she's fucking brilliant and am wondering what paperwork will be necessary for the new 'Shrine to G' that will be opening in downtown Corona soon.

26 January 2004

looks like i'll be missing APC too...show is 4/1/04, tickets are $80, floor is sold out...
*sigh*...missing the Opeth show on 29th Jan because I am quite disinclined to drive to LA all by myself, and Maritza no longer likes me so I can't go with her. I only write this because I was just reading a blog of some boy who apparently loves Opeth, and I wanted to email him and ask him what he thought of the Opeth/PT shows, but fuckin A there's no contact information on his blog!! Argh! So I am taking out all the Opeth frustrations I am feeling here...Josh and all his buddies are driving to Washington DC on Valentine's Day to see them...and are hitting all the museums besides...Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! I have never felt more at home than at an Opeth show. The lights are dim, the mood is thick and heavy, they play for days and I awake on a tide of gold lights and barbed wire, murmuring about my maker. Nobody looks at me, nobody judges me, nobody cares, everyone adores Opeth, everyone listens to every note they play as though it fell in a raindrop. Hey, if anyone wants to email me about how much they love seeing Opeth play live, I'll be sitting right here in front of my computer on the 29th Jan, pushing los picos de hielo into my eyes and humming 'Harvest'. Bastards. I haven't been to DC since May of 2001 when Josh and I went with the intent to do exactly what he and his friends will be doing in three weeks...unfortunately our trip was cut short, but that, even more unfortunately, is a story I can't easily tell here. All the important shows of my life, with the one exception of the PT show in LA at the HOB, I've seen with Josh. I've been with him each time Opeth played. Saw PT three times with him. In Flames, Slackers, King Crimson, Tool, and about four hundred million smaller ones I can't think of...plus all the stupid ska and punk shows we would meet up at as high schoolers...how about when I was at the Suicide Machines show with Eric, miserable, and he came by wicked drunk and tried to get me to dance and dumped a cup of water over his head to make me smile? That was before I even fell in love with him...I am so angry, that I'm missing Opeth, that I have to eat PB&J for dinner tonight, that I am all the way out here and am still so fucking lonely, that I could have let Josh slip through my fingers, that I might never see another show with him again, that Cibo Matto and Soul Coughing might, by some miraculous feat of glory, tour again together and I won't be there by his side watching them. Goddamnit, I am so ANGRY!!!

25 January 2004

Lovely conversation with Josh tonight; he was driving about in the 6-degrees-F snowstorm when I caught him. He's been trading discs of live shows online lately and has obtained, glory of glories, film of the August-2002 Porcupine Tree House of Blues show in Los Angeles! 'I saw this,' he said, 'and I thought I'd get it for you, cause I knew you'd love to see it again'. Ack! And he still loves me...he told me so...twice. Is that good or bad?

...decidedly good! (at least for this evening)
and for all who are following my current semi-obsession with new wave:

Listening to:

'The Best of New Order', New Order :: I'm surprised how much I like this record. This is not even quite like the Pet Shop Boys' 'Discography' on which I like perhaps six songs out of eighteen. I really like most of the whole of this record! I was listening to it on the way back from Temecula yesterday, and I concluded that it is the veritable soundtrack to camaraderie. It makes me feel like I'm part of a team, part of a group, on an adventure with others, like others depend on me and think highly of me, like I am capable of doing something important with my life. incidentally, these are the same reasons I have grown to like anime: the Japanese have a better grip on the idea of camaraderie - especially between adolescents/teenagers/early adults who are perhaps more sensitive to the idea - than American writers and cartoonists ever could. Also the reason I love movies like LOTR, books like Harry Potter, etc - I'm quite enthralled by anything involving camaraderie. arg, this is fast becoming a rant, and I need to shower, so...later!

24 January 2004

oh ya

if you really must know,
the kenshin and the evangelion are absolutely spectacular. my robot whirrs and clinks about them with the greatest of grace. yay...{grins wanly}

feeling decidedly depressed...going to go begin watching kenshin. bought ten new articles of clothing today (TEN!) and they are all hanging in the closet rather standoffishly. they're all quite lovely and actually rather jealous, i believe, of the fact that i am still wearing a pair of jeans and the yellow 'the hardest working people in America give blood - it's a labour of love' t-shirt that i bought for $1.50 in a thrift store in Laurel, MD. makes my boobs look big and smells comfortable and worn. has usurped the position of #1 Thrift Store T-shirt from the yellow 'Brentwood Clean-up Day 1992' shirt. that one's a bit threadbare, now
ahhhh, depressing post alert!

alright, first go here and read.

my story, ok? good, bad, pretentious, however you think, it's my story and i'm rather fond of it. it means something to me. it's about my parents. in it my father is portrayed as the person i have never had to lie to, the person who has always saved me and accepted me. it is the quintessential portrait of my father through my eyes.

today i was driving in temecula after doing some serious, serious shopping. i was thinking about tomorrow night, when i'll call my parents and tell them what i did all weekend. i was picturing saying to my dad, 'yeah, i did some serious, serious shopping in temecula', and then trailing off into silence. i wondered if that would please him, if that was enough activity for me in a weekend. that's when i had this thought, the thought that maybe i should make something up that i did to tell my dad so he wouldn't be disappointed in me and chastise me because i spent another weekend not out making friends and shaping a social life for myself.

i've never lied to my dad. there are sundry small things he doesn't know about me, but when i talk to him, i am truthful. this is the first time i've ever even considered telling him a lie. and it's a lie so that he'll approve of me, instead of think me a loser. this new milestone makes me want to fucking cry.

23 January 2004

'tears before bedtime'

how i hope he was looking at my hair, the point of my shoes, the curve of my face, keys scraping porcelain, he's so beautiful, he likes sweets,

blah

we're all good at the ten-key
all sisters in the ten-key

22 January 2004

I go to send something in an interbranch envelope to Riverside and his name is scrawled on the one I choose. From G, to him. From Cor, to Riv. Then from him back to her, to her first name and last initial, from him. From Riv, to Cor. Bleh. I look at it for a few moments, trying to take a long time in stuffing the envelope before I had to wield the sharpie and cross out his name, cross out her name, cross out G's writing, cross out the office names, start fresh on the next line, write my name immaculately, hope that this envelope too somehow makes its way into his hands so he can see how I form my 'J' and think that I'm cool! ai, such a loser...

His letters are sloppy 'cause he's left-handed. I wonder if his mouse is left-handed; Lindsay (a programmer) is left-handed but works with a right-handed mouse and proclaims it drives her bonkers at times. I wonder if he's ever looked at my handwriting. I mostly wonder why every fucking time I open the cabinet to get an interbranch envelope the one I choose was sent to him, from someone in our office, and the very next day sent back to her. Does he send her something everyday? Interbranch is confidential; it's not as though we'd ever know! Every day she gets something in his handwriting. Everyday she talks to him on the phone. She's so stupid sometimes, too - yesterday she had me over at her desk trying to teach her how to use her email inbox. She had this elaborate system of folders that made no sense at all and that were that way because she can barely switch on a computer, much less handle input. I moved everything out of folders into the inbox, and then deleted all the folders and created a brilliant new organised system. While doing all this I caught sight of a reply-email he sent her, a reply to an email she had sent him about doing something else for me. In the original she asked him to call me about the various situations; he replied to her instead, plus called her on the phone. I put my guts out and try to write him a nice sentiment so he won't think I'm the Ice Queen but he only has eyes for her. Currently I'm trying to figure out a way to evacuate the branch so that I can just read that poor, deleted reply email and know for sure that I am sub-par. Please tell your new accounts to quit writing me flirtatious emails. Also I'm quite tiring of the robot remarks. I currently have 61 pieces of email in my inbox, because I don't want to delete any of his, and I can't very well delete every email but his. Thus the volume of my inbox will swell until he himself sends me an email demanding that I delete the unwanted messages because the bank has actually fallen back into defecit paying for the space required to store my excess of emails. I will refuse to comply; he will terminal in on a Saturday and clear the whole thing out. Monday morning I will send him an email screaming

Robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot robot! Baka!
He opened the door to my laughter. First time in the branch in nearly a month. Last time was the day of the horrid EOY party when he came to gnaw on wires. There are public bathrooms directly above us. Something is leaking, spreading, or perhaps rotting, and it smells like poo in the office. J, D and I were absolutely cackling at our own jokes on the subject. It was perhaps the first time I shared real mirth with the girls, genuine, unaffected, uncontrolled laughter. He flung the door open to it, looked around uncertainly. We all looked at him with red eyes and smiles, still laughing. J blurted, 'Hey, {name}, does it smell bad in here?' We lost it again. He turned as he walked, murmuring, 'I don't know if I should answer that!' He was here to perform an 'office favour' for T...'I think it was stuck!' he said. Whatever that might mean.

He always eats cake and sweets when he comes over. They must live on lentils at the Riverside office, eesh! For Halloween he brought a cauldron full of some Oreo-cream-cheese-whipped-cream gunk. For Christmas one of our customers bought the branch two huge, 3-layer chocolate cakes; he must've eaten half of one himself! Today was G's birthday; we had a huge, 3-layer strawberry shortcake with lots of dense whipped cream and fresh strawberries and powdered sugar, plus pizza and chips and dip. He finished with T's problem in under thirty seconds and then went to the back. G said he bypassed the food and went straight for a slab o' cake...while he was back there, she called him, or he called her. They were in the same office as each other, talking on intercom! Is she so irresistable that his ear would wither without her voice beating against it? He said 'Happy Birthday' to G and asked how old she was. C said, '25!' T said, '47!' She's actually right in the middle. Smart boy, judging G so astutely. She might've clobbered him with her purse, asking her age! But G is the most laid-back person on earth...if she were eighty she'd say 'I'm eighty-five' and do a dance 'bout it.

20 January 2004

work post:

She said: ‘Yeah, he was here all weekend’. So that was his car I saw in front of the branch when I came down on Saturday to go to the 99¢ Store, even though there were no lights on inside. What she didn’t say: ‘Yeah, I was here too. Got a babysitter for my kids so I could come down in secret and do it in the ATM room’. Bleh. Wonder if he sat in my chair…

She hangs up the phone so gently after speaking with him. Was talking to him about ‘telling T his own side of the story’. I’ve never seen gentleness creep into her demeanor before.

Could he be in trouble for something?
ok, went to bed but couldn't quit thinking so here i am

today i downloaded 'i hate jimmy page' by MSI, expecting something grand & clever like screeching weasel's 'i hate led zeppelin'. i don't know why i was expecting that. i actually really love LZ & so i don't even know why all the anti-LZ songs.

all i know is that this song SUCKED! oh, did it. horrifying.

also i am yearning to hear 'in memory of elizabeth reed'...it just popped into my head and now i shall be plagued with it

it's classic rock nite in jenny's brain!

and since you're already here,

Listening to:
'Lovers Live', Sade :: in what promises to be a wholly unsuccessful attempt to get to sleep soon...*yawn*

19 January 2004

ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya = the sound of someone else's child running down the hall at ungodly hours of the morning.

brrrrrnnnnnn... = the sound of my patience, grinding to a stop.

los picos de hielo are urging for action...
is it illegal to kill other people's children?
heh...only if you eat them afterwards
when i shower the skin on the palms of my hands prunes up so bad it hurts
joel is currently on an existential/nostalgic roll with his music posts...best go now before they're all gone
I have attended in two weddings - as maid of honour in Lindsay's, and as a bridesmaid in the wedding of the daughter of the woman who used to babysit my brother and me when we were young.

The former marriage is thriving and flourishing. The latter is, as I learned this morning, currently crumbling beyond rectification. They were engaged for ten years. Married for another seven. Endured a life-threatening pregnancy. Have a sweet little boy together. Now he is leaving her for an older woman he met at...church.

You know, sometimes marriages don't work. My parents married and were together for seventeen years as well. About five years in they realised they had made a mistake. They stayed for another twelve. Their children still weren't fully grown then, but they did what they could do. They looked about them and realised that other elements had wound into the vine of their marriage, that it wasn't the two of them alone in the void anymore. They clipped the ties delicately, cauterizing the edges so they wouldn't jab or ooze too much, teaching their children to love themselves and others even though they couldn't love each other anymore. Months before we stood on the lawn while Mum told the neighbors, I came across my parents in an embrace in the dining room. They weren't insensitive people. They knew the fine art of selflessness, of sacrifice and of letting one down easy.

How have we as a whole society regressed from believing in marriage as a deep basket - one that holds all your life and takes effort and purposeful, decisive action to crawl out of - to believing in it as a monkey-tree - one small, makeshift roost in a series, inhabited until the next tree is in sight - ?

I'm a remarkable heathen, and even I take seriously the things two people say to each other when they vow marriage. The man in question is a Christian - a so-called 'born-again' Christian at that! - and yet he does not even take his oath seriously!

Words are important. Oaths are important. When you speak them, they change the world around you. No one writes them for you. If the default is accepted, it either means you believe in what you are vowing, or you are too lazy to make changes. This is important. This is momentous. And now we are a society of oathbreakers, traitors, villains of the highest order.

This is different from a marriage not working. This is different from sacrificing and putting whatever you can into the basket. This is different from my parents, sitting me at the dining room table and easing the seams of my life apart, gently so that I wouldn't feel and hurt too much. This is simply idolatry, misguided worship of humans and their charms, disbelief in - worse, ignorance of - the power of one's own words and actions.
'The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth'.

'Children are themselves; adults act themselves'.

18 January 2004

arg, just spent $150 on anime that might not even work in the robot, and still have these purchases to make:
coma divine 2-cd reissue
warszawa live preorder
in absentia DVD-A
and don't forget grass seed and binary code...



Am (STILL) listening to 'Coma Divine'...can't believe the guitar on 'Dislocated Day' and I must post



this, and



this.

ahh....
L is my housemate. But not for long.

She's here from her native Kenya, a nursing student at one of the UC schools. She's young, not much older than I am. Married and divorced. Her son usually stays with the father fulltime, and she gets the famous 'weekend-custody' (a staple of my own childhood!). Lately, he's been here more and more.

He's a tiny thing, little bald head, chocolate skin, sparkling eyes. My guess would put him at about five years. He is a font of energy. He runs circles around L, asking questions, commenting on the colours of things, opening cabinets and standing inside them to elevate himself to the level of what is going on amongst the 'grown-ups'. His voice carries effortlessly.

Hence me being out of bed and ready-to-type at a quite hideous 9:30 a.m. on a Sunday.

He doesn't really bother me. He's a sweet child, and he opens doors for me and asks me what my name is every five minutes and helps me stir my cooking concoctions. It's L that bothers me, and it's not even her - it's her-with-him. Most women change when their lovers come by. L seems to change as soon as weekend-custody begins.

During the week she's bright, brilliant, shining. Her skin glows. She's really lovely. She glides into the room and out of it. Joy is in her voice. Her smile is excellent! Her words, her mannerisms, the bend of her accent - she puts me at ease.

Friday comes and she turns into a ghoul. Hair in a bandanna, back straight, bones stiff, muscles clenching, teeth grinding, ready-to-scream. I have been around enough mothers to know that it's not easy to be one...but this is more than L tying back her hair and rolling up her sleeves and taking to her task. This is genuine discomfort, genuine unhappiness. She tiptoes about. The only word on her accented lilt is his name, repeated over and over at various tones and decibel levels, all designed to make him quit exploring, quit making noise, quit doing something and sit-down-shut-up. She walks about him like he's a dead bird. She doesn't want to touch his wings. She doesn't want to grab his shoulders. She doesn't want to peck him on the nose and regurgitate worms into his mouth. She is absolutely detached from him.

I heard L and P, the owner of the house, talking last eve. L will leave within a month, it seems. Her son would be the primary cause - P's no. 1 clause for tenantship here is 'not bothering the other tenants'. While he doesn't necessarily outright 'bother' us, he transforms the quiet, peaceful house into a playpen that none of us wanted when we moved here. We all like him - but our bones stiffen, our teeth grind, and we put ourselves on tiptoe...

So I imagined L, her life with him. What it must be like to try to raise a child in one room - not a one-bedroom apartment, but one room in someone else's home. I wondered how many other homes she's had to leave because of the boy. I imagined him, waking up long before her, sneaking out of her room and running around the house making fire-engine noises, and her, once she's discovered his absence, emerging from her room with his name on her tongue, tiptoeing, that horrified dead-bird look on her face.

She'll never be young again. He, it seems, will have eternal youth. One day when they're older she'll explode at him, for ruining her early life. From then on he won't know what to do with himself. What do you have if your own mother resents you?

I feel sorry for her...but I don't want a son either.

17 January 2004

Listening to:
  1. 'The Power to Believe', King Crimson :: yup, again...so delectably good...


  2. 'Coma Divine', Porcupine Tree :: another repeat...my grumpy cd-rom drive wouldn't play it so i put it on headphones, and i can't believe how wonderful it is...i'm hearing things that i've never heard on this record before! 'Waiting'...ahh...

very interesting occurrences & happenings currently...unfortunately i cannot reveal a single word of them lest the secret police get me...more later
two interesting places:
pettycoat relaxer
scriptorium

and jim chapman from fsp wrote me a long soulful letter last eve...lucky me :)
will respond momentarily...he managed not only to immerse himself in my life for two hours but to analyse my writing here as a fellow writer...(it brings tears to my eyes and i must compose myself)

also won the kenshin discs, so they + evangelion will be speeding towards me from somewhere in texas very shortly....ahahhhhhhmmmmfllllllll {unintelligible}

AND, a new interview with SW (for those of you I've managed to convert to the ways and wonders of PT)

où est la France? où est la tolérance? :: an update to this particular bleeding-heart post...

also, I wrote a fairly decent analysis of why I am growing increasingly unfond of interactions with C while in LAX waiting for a plane...though it is contrary, I suppose, to the 'stream-of-consciousness' nature of the BLOG, I will try to transcribe/post it here soon

wow! hadn't checked on loveless for two weeks, and i found today she's up from four chapters to eleven! great story, go and read!

oh yeah: MSI = mindless self indulgence
punk rock from way back (or something)
offensive is good!
note:

i am not european
i was born in pennsylvania
dear god the mad-libs are not far behind!

alicia hannah likes MSI and I have no clue who they are but I will learn...and then I will truly understand the meaning of the phrase 'commez talle vous ce va talle vous ce va me be the phenomenon phenomenomenon'

and i promise i will eventually become unlazy enough to edit the css so that my links blink properly...just not today

*blinks* oh...thought this was today...actually it's tomorrow
damned american time zones

people who have contacted me via email as a result of this blog:
  1. jim chapman from the glorious fugue state press, who i love nearly unreasonably

  2. rodger connolly, or someone claiming to be him, old gradeschool classmate who wrote, asked why his name was mentioned here, revealed his identity, then dropped off the face of the earth...er, in the future try not to be so shocked when you google your own name and something actually fucking happens

that is all
(except for tomorrow when i scan and post the b&w photo of rodger dressed like a girl)
{evil grin}

16 January 2004

things to look at

nasubionna (hp)
alicia hannah
alicia hannah at deviantart.com
david farré
johannes abeling
amelia peel art
and i hope everyone else in the world DIES...
gawd, but it's good to be filled with nameless angst

when i feel ready to part with a nameless $30 i will join deviantart.com and become a {fill in the blank here}
am i going to be forty years old and the author of several successful mad-lib compilations?

wo

i just realised how SUPER EMO i am

'too much fucking emo it's false i know'

{grin}

we painted our second apartment to that record...

{clutches heart}

how EMO
another worthless workpost...
1/16/04
It’s really bad…S called before, started saying things to her. She said, ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying!’ S repeated herself, evidently more clearly. She said, ‘Oh, and you said that in front of {his name}, huh? Thanks a lot!’ I felt like I was back in eighth grade. What was she saying? Why did it matter? Why was he listening? Who was saying what? As Josh would say, 'The who with the what now?' What????

Later, she and he on the phone together: ‘I knew that’s why you called me! I knew that’s what you wanted to ask me! Don’t say it, {name}! Don’t say it!’ (not whispering but in the characteristic louder-than-love voice, while laughing uproariously)

I feel like I've been run over by a very heavy bumblebee

Today at lunch J made a comment about my weird desktop picture. I told her about my conversation with him about it. Proceeded to lunch upon a turkey-ranch-bacon sandwich and then fall into a very deep funk from which I am yet to emerge. Hopefully tomorrow, when I win the entirety of the Rurouni Kenshin series on ebay and am almost too gleeful for my own physical good. But even that is sure to be short-lived.

Listening to:

'Discography: The Complete Singles Collection', Pet Shop Boys :: Generally I hate this record. But the good songs that are on it are almost intoxicatingly good, hence me not throwing it out. 'West End Girls', 'Love Comes Quickly', 'What Have I Done to Deserve This?', 'Domino Dancing', and 'It's Alright'...oh yeah, and 'Being Boring' is okay too, especially the first :16...

As I said I've been training J all week in new accounts, and it's been really cool. It's actually done something to alleviate the feeling that I can't drill through C's personality to find anyone else's. We've had some really good conversations and I feel like I really do actually like her, even as she's more than twenty years my senior and we don't truly have much in common. We talked today about how as women we're both jealous. She related how she, the matriarch of a tensely blended family, feels jealous when her husband spends time with his kids from his first marriage; I told her how when Josh and I lived together I would feel jealous if he would go to the other room and play guitar instead of sitting with me, or feel almost betrayed if he would go out, as though I were chained to the apartment. We understood each other as women and it felt nice. I told her I was feeling kind of down; she (if there is a god) has no clue about my ill-starred affections for our mutual coworker, but I did say I often felt lonely on the weekends because I hadn't really made much of an effort to meet people. She felt bad; I noticed this before she verbalised anything and said, 'Oh, J, don't you go inviting me over for supper, okay?' She laughed and joked, 'Well, I was thinking you could come over tomorrow and help us capture the rat run loose in our garage!'

Her situation is very interesting. Her husband is the ex-husband of a woman she worked with at her former bank for nearly 15 years. They split up; he became friends with J; eventually it turned to love. The ex-wife repeatedly regaled her with accusations of homewrecking and marriage-breaking, though there was no attraction until well after the divorce. J said to me, relating the story, 'Don't I deserve to be happy too? Why should I pass by a man I am growing to love just because it's a difficult situation?'

Yes, J deserves to be happy. And her comment, of course, got my own pathetic mind going...do I deserve to be happy? What about what James said to me on the flight to Atlanta, about humans never being put in the path of other humans by accident? It's certainly not an accident that I got this job and rose so far in it...being able to adequately provide for myself while in California was my biggest worry. There's a reason that, though quite qualified and easily the most charismatic and interesting interviewee, the folks at AmeriCorps decided to pass me by...I simply wouldn't have been able to do it. It wouldn't have been enough money, and it just wasn't right for me at the time. Instead I was hired as a part-time teller at the bank; within a month I was promoted to full-time new accounts and now I can more than support myself. I've said before that it would be impossible for me to deny that, since I've moved out here, there has been something protecting me and guiding my life in the right direction. So, my life has been guided away from Josh - that much is clear to me. Is there anything else for me, to fill the hole left by my departure from our life together? Right, so someone crossed my path, and I became interested and tried to communicate that. Admittedly I am a most poor communicator, but I have done what I could. It seems I have failed miserably, both in communicating and in getting him to even notice me in the slightest.

I feel like I am being mocked. I feel so lonely and sad sometimes, because I cannot be a normal woman who can rope a man into her clutches. I can't be any more straightforward than I've been; I can only blush so much. I am fascinated by him and attracted to him, and he only has eyes for her. I try to get away from it, to break the attraction and move on, but it is difficult. I am slow to recover. I suppose I should be a feminist about it, chalk it up to man's incompetence concerning womankind, move on and start reading 'The Feminine Mystique'. The liberal in me yearns to do that - but I am far too traditional. What I want is for a man to love me. I want to get married like my friends are. I've lost the love of the person I thought I would spend my life with - is it just that I am too difficult to contemplate loving? Am I so ugly? Is my personality so uninteresting? Am I really just not of the correct material?

And this particular situation is a huge battle of my self-esteem. I can't help but feel myself crushed under her pervading sense of self. She dominates everything she comes into contact with. How can I ever be anything but second-rate? I put myself out just a little bit - I try to thank him when he does things for me, even though I quite perceive that he is annoyed by me - and I feel like an idiot with huge feet, bumbling all over everything. I should move on, concentrate on studies & writing, try and make some new friends...but all I can think of is this situation, and how it makes me feel like an absolute nobody, and quite obviously boosts her self-esteem beyond the boundaries. I am not clever like she is, I'm not pretty like she is, I don't talk like she does, I am just not of the same ilk. There is no way I will ever be able to catch his attention, with the possible exception of getting to go over there and train in new accounts without her, which will never happen because she does not want it to happen. Nothing will ever come of this...I must stop hoping so and being such a fool!

sorry for the rambling, i'm quite out of sorts tonight

15 January 2004

she was not in the branch today...in her absence I thought of a third possible reason for the seditious whispering. A quick recap of the list:
  1. She is having an affair with him.

  2. (This is the one we're not putting into words)

  3. They are LAUGHING UPROARIOUSLY about my ridiculous shameful crush on him, the one they both know all about and mock continuously in undertones. Whispered conversations as follows:
She: 'I know it's freaky...just don't respond to her emails and it'll be ok...'

He: 'Yeah, but she keeps transcribing our entire conversations on her blog! It's fucking weird! And what's this shit about a robot?!?'

She: 'Hey...next time you're in branch just walk up to her, poke her in the forehead, and call her Rosemary...that'll really piss her off'

What else could explain T's tolerance of the whispering? He's probably writing up my pink slip as we speak...lustful electronic advances to senior member of Riverside staff...unable to control desire for a man who could build her a robot...nearly connipts when people remember her name and place the word 'Hi' after it in textual greeting.
a great HP art page...especially love her Lupin ;)

14 January 2004

{the dear author exerts all her willpower towards not uttering an expletive a string of expletives}

VALENTINE'S DAY is 'around the corner'! of all ridiculous contrived irritating mumble grud...skrmnsmfks....blurg...argh...

{el pico de hielo gleams steady in the dear author's hand...}
and a quote from the grand and munificent Joel's bio:
'Cycling is my Prozac, although I may still need Prozac'.
times likes these, I almost love my family :)
ok, am at home and can write without being paranoid that he is...well, he wouldn't be watching anyway. too busy whispering. that takes all the brain and both hands besides, don't you know?

ok, I have to know, why is she constantly whispering to him? I can only think of two reasons:
  1. She is having an affair with him.

I won't even bother to put the other in words.

I don't sit and whisper with Josh. The married women in the branch don't sit and whisper with their husbands. I have never experienced such sneaky, underhanded whispering as that which occurs between him and her. It is absolutely unfathomable. I am trying to rack my brain for an instance where I would possibly be possessed to whisper in that way to another human being. Here's one possibility:
  1. If I were fucking their brains out!

I know little about her. Is she happy in her marriage? I know even less about him. Would he sleep with a married woman?

Every time I get my hope up just the tiniest bit - we talk & he's silly with me, or he sends an email that's not entirely awash with his corporate personality - it is dashed by end-of-day by the sound of that treacherous whispering, coming from round about her desk.

'I pay attention to the small details' - a reassurance, as to me picking apart each email he sends with the dedication of...er, well, one who builds robots.

Translation: Mountains. Molehills. Lease me a fucking construction yard and I could make you millions. Er, in theory, that is.

Her personality is like saran-wrap on the entire mood of the office. She comes on so strong that I can't help but fall back into my chair in wonderment, brushing loose strands of hair from my eyes as she dazzles the crowd. Why would he notice me? I was holding out for my intelligence to best her personality. Evidently things do not work that way in California.

And it's not just me. I don't know D or J or G half as well as I should, simply because 99% of every day is spent under crushing exposure to the woman that is C. The physics of the office are staggering. Mutual gravitation is not an observable phenomenon but a participation sport. None of us can escape from her, none of us can turn our eyes from her. And she's a really excellent person - that's the most difficult point of all, the fact that she's not someone I can just downright despise.

May as well get used to the feel of Fiddle No. 2 scraping under my chin.

Listening to: Loneliness and oppression coursing through my veins. Oh, and whispering, coming from the far corner.

Yeah, and the conversation with Josh was really nice today, we spent a good 15 minutes talking about anime and anime websites and Dario Argento movie posters and him composing a jingle for the pizza shop he delivers for. He said, 'I was waiting for you to call me'. I can't/won't even bring myself to be happy about that. Erg..

And further, let it be known that, even though I am trying to wrangle myself free of the horrible dry-spell-writer's-block-disease that has had me in its grip for the past year or so, I am firmly committed to, against that which I am wont so often in my autobiographical nature to do, not making this into a story. But it will happen sooner or later, mark me words, for the dear author has no will power. It's only a matter of time before the Famous Trio who so haunts my mediocre, semi-autobiographical body of work makes its appearance - Me, the Boy I Love, and the Woman who Wants to Stop Me! It's a bestseller every time!

Bafflingly, this whispering takes place in plain earshot of T, who is not only my superior but hers! Why does he let this continue? Even if he cannot hear what they're speaking about, surely he would notice the deviousness with which these conversations are conducted? What is going on that I cannot perceive?!
post du travail:

1/14/04

She is whispering to him again. I keep allowing myself to be hopeful and then getting absolutely shot down. Emailed some stupid words; he didn’t reply but called C and passed a message through her. I read way into everything and am too hopeful for my own good. He should learn his lesson and just never, ever be in contact with me again.Why does she behave so with him? Why are they so close? Why am I invisible? Had a quite-nice conversation with Josh today, but I won’t allow myself to become hopeful about that anymore. I should, I suppose, resign myself to being alone for the time being.

Something nice: the CFO recognises my voice on the telephone.
Something not-so-nice: I am never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever going to get married.

13 January 2004

Mardi, quelle belle journée!

Trained J all day today; she caught on infinitely more quickly than I had thought she might. Training is hard work & I feel quite contented ;)

Will be training the new new-accounts from Riverside all next week. Ah, contentment. All this...and I was only hired in September. The new new-accounts called Corona today at 5:15 just as we were walking out the door; I signed back on & stayed on until 5:30 or so, walking him through maintenance with my supervisors looking on, quite beaming. T had brief thoughts of me going to Riverside to do the training. I jumped on the chance, saying, 'That would be fine with me!' C protested, saying, 'No, Jenny, once they see how quickly you catch on they'll do nothing but make you sign on, open accounts, and clean up their huge mess'. The discussion ended with C saying, 'It is NON-NEGOTIABLE that Jenny go to Riverside!'

She's definitely trying to protect me. But in the back of her mind, was she thinking, Don't want her to go over there and get too close to him, can't risk any possibilities...? Er, perhaps.

Was my mind, frantically volunteering to spend a week in Riverside, thinking, I could spend a whole week in his presence, try to catch his attention...?

Er...you bet!!

and had a nice email today which he evidently sent on Saturday whilst in the office during nonhours...what a dedicated robot maker...he did some other 'office favour' for me...but he apologised with intense politeness for not having done it sooner (even though I had no clue he was even working on it!), and addressed me 'Hi Jenny', and signed his name grandly...guess we're back on that again...:)

also - managed to secure the entire Evangelion set for myself, plus am quite safely bidding on the entire Kenshin set, both straight from the same glorious ebay seller...how steeped in anime I shall be!

11 January 2004

OK, it's about time I published my manual on how to eat an orange.

Peel the orange.
Separate each wedge.
Remove all seeds.
Remove all corrective lenses for an intimate view of the orange.
Remove the skin from each wedge in turn.
Fingernails help in the peeling effort.
Eat the flesh inside the skin of each wedge.
Feel each string of juice burst under your teeth.
Feel infinitely more alive, as
not eating the skin makes all the difference.

I would have made this into an acrostic for your reading pleasure, but alas this orange has exhausted me.
{sexy wink at orange}


Spoke to Josh tonight. We talked about the music we were listening to. He was spinning a Slackers live record, Mars Volta, and - surprise of surprises - 'Kiss Me' by the Cure! I said, 'I was just listening to that last night!' We crowed together - literally, in stereo! - 'Like Cockatooooooooos....' and it was quite grand! A bonding moment, if you will! Then...

I told him I was proud of him for kicking ass with his musical progression. He said thank you and sounded flattered. He consoled me about and expressed confidence in my writing. Told him I missed him. He said, 'Awww...! I miss you too...' in a don't-feel-bad-you're-sweet voice. I said, 'No you don't!!' as though he were silly for trying to make me think so. He said, 'yes...I do...' (quite tentatively, as though he weren't sure) '...it was nice to see you for that very short period of time...' I, still trying to get the gold out of him, said 'We're choosing vacations at work...would you be up for hanging out with me this summer if I come home?' He said, 'Of course, we'll hang out, why wouldn't we?' But somehow I am unsatisfied?

The realisation: He doesn't miss me. Why would he? I was a nag, a nervous breakdown, a harpy, an impossible person. He misses my personality, and he misses being my lover, but he doesn't miss my actual presence in his life...and there's no reason he should. I had three-and-a-half years to be a person he would want to keep around in his life, and I failed. He meant it when he said he was enjoying being alone - he is happier now that I no longer reside in his throat.

Also spoke to my mother, which made me depressed. She launched right into a full, uncensored update about my (ever-so-incarcerated) brother, detailing how she had searched his room today, and every single word he had said during their visit on Wednesday. Was rather short and down and now she and Mike probably think I am irretrievably depressed. Tried to call my dad but the line was busy. Talked to him Friday to say thank you for the TV/DVD robot of doom; he barely paid attention to a word I said, sounded like he was quite eager to get off the phone, and said 'You should!' when I told him I missed him. Probably he was just daydreaming of getting home to Karen. She is more important to him than I am now and I must get over it.

Once I get over it, though, where am I going? Suddenly the relatively-near future has been laid bare to me: my life is out here now. I am going forward out here. Next year I will be enrolling in a creative writing degree program, yet I have done little writing in the past few months. Josh is in Pennsylvania and is realising slowly that he is better off without me. Vast savannahs of empty white space roll over the next few years of my life. They may be filled with whatever I want. Here's hoping I make some better choices than I have the last few.
I like:
Count Basie
Count Chocula
Count de Cagliostro
Count from Sesame Street
Count Dracula
Count of Monte Cristo

(Journal 20/1/02-28/3/02: 1st February 2002)
Listening to:

  1. 'Lateralus', Tool :: Because the APC was kind of starting to bore me...yes, I'm ashamed!! Gosh, but does this record rock...


  2. 'Undertow', Tool :: Incredible how MJK's voice has progressed...so angelic...
And now a quote from Journal 29/3/02-30/5/02, written after his aunt Cooki's wedding when a fight actually declined into a brief 'break-up':

20th April 2002: 'Josh just called me and he was weeping. How many times have I wept and suffered over something he has said or done? I do not want him to hurt - but I do want him to understand how much I suffer for him'.

It has become quite apparent to me that a great measure of forgiveness is necessary on my part if Josh and I are ever to continue. This kind of quote fills my journals - 'He's hurt me' 'But I love him so much' 'He makes me suffer but I can't stop loving him' and further, and so on.

The truth is that I have suffered at my own hands, and he has no idea what to do with a suffering Jenny. I need to forgive him for the stupid things he's done and then I need to quit archiving them and putting them in alphabetical order and running over to the files like a noisome secretary, pulling out a file of misdeeds every time he opens his mouth and his lips make a shape that is displeasing to me. People who love each other are supposed to forgive each other; I have done a poor job of loving him.
it NEVER FAILS...no matter when I wake up, no matter what what time of the day or night, the following two occur:

  1. i have a full bladder

  2. Jackie is in the bathroom rearranging her closet for the fifteenth time that week


I HAVE TO PEE! god...

...and so ONE HOUR AND TEN MINUTES after I actually arose from bed, the bathroom finally becomes free...she's getting the bill for my urinary tract infection!

10 January 2004

feelin...not all right, actually kinda down...it's all this damn journal-reading, it is! that and that I think Maritza doesn't like me anymore...her emails are less friendly since I sent her a gift...she disagrees with everything I say now and doesn't even indulge in the excited PT talk anymore...oye, I should be locked away...

and my dad asked me friday if I had any plans for the weekend...and when I said 'nope...just watch anime...read...write...' he chastised me outright and said I should call Lalo & Ambrosio, or go out with one of my coworkers, or something...because his fiancée's children have no trouble finding absolute loads of friends wherever they go...fuck.

made a list of all my stories (instead of actually working on any of them...erg, little by little, I guess)...totalling at 44, not including all the fictionish journal entries, fictionish essays & pieces, poem-stories, pieces written by the red robot, pieces written by the blue robot, and crud. ai, wait, it's all crud!

ok so now what should I do with meself? guess I better get crackin' on something...so depressing, Josh and I lived together from August 2000 thru January 2002...I wrote exactly one (1) story during then, the ill-fated and still-unfinished 'July' story which began as a tale about another man I was fantasising about at the time! ai, what a faithless hussy I am...;)

my mood is spiralling steadily downward, and i have to quit reading this shit for the time being...am missing him intensely and can do nothing...must find something uplifting to do and apply myself to it entirely...here I come, Evangelion!
Listening to:

  1. 'Wish', The Cure :: Gotta love 'Wendy Time' and, of course, the studio version of the mind-boggling 'From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea'


  2. 'Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me', The Cure :: Yup, dragging up all the old Cure records again! That post the other night really put me in a sentimental mood...'Like Cockatoos' is my favourite, one day a few months ago I called Josh, and he had this record playing in his car and was all excited that I had called just as 'Like Cockatoos' had come on...:) Also love 'Why Can't I Be You?' and 'Hot Hot Hot!' which always seemed two parts of the same song to me...



*** *** ***

Just ate a fantastic bowl of $1 Breakfast Choice Honey Corn Flakes. Brought back memories of August and early September, getting ready for school in the morning, eating two bowls of these with ice cold fresh milk. Or I would come back from class and, before going to work, would heat some of Ambrosio's potato/chorizo mix and some tortillas on the comal, and top it with Lupe's homemade chile and fresh avocado that Ambrosio would bring home from his cargo.

OK...so reading the journals again...and they, in combination with the above, are causing me to realise once again something pertinent about myself, something that I have wilfully ignored for many years now.

I am unable to distinguish between tenses.

No, no, not in literature, not in writing, not in language...IN LIFE. The above just happened in August/September 2003, yet I am gazing back upon it wistfully, wishing to repeat it. Did I forget the fact that I was oppressed and unhappy sometimes, too, at Lupe's? 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it' - and indeed, I repeat the same arguments, the same problems, the same heartaches in my life because I both cannot quit wishing to live in the past and am only capable of remembering the desirable things I wish I could return to, and not the things that should make me glad I have progressed past them.

This is a major factor in my problems with Josh. I remember riding around in the car with him, just gazing at him, thinking, 'He used to be so romantic. He used to hold my hand. He used to...he used to...he used to...' Then I would pick a fight with him about what he 'used to' be. Then we would argue all night and not have any fun. Then he would grow distant and be afraid of me. Then I moved away and am sitting here in California wondering why we're not together anymore.

I am why we are not together anymore!

OK, of course it's not as simple as all that. Josh is a prick, and has a wild tendency to get caught up in his own little world, and I would submit that those things should not be forgotten when assessing the damages. However, I SHOULD HAVE ACTED DIFFERENTLY, and I cannot escape my personal responsibility for the way I did act. I lived in our relationship as though there were no present, as though the past were the only desirable thing. Most of our fights centred on returning to the way things were. I refused to accept changes in Josh. When he tried to change according to my demands I was unaccepting, skeptical, mean. When he refused to change and called me crazy, I was hurt, offended, upset that he wasn't devoted enough to me to change. When he progressed as a person and a musician, I acted happy but was secretly afraid that he would progress away from me, jealous of the progress he was making next to me, who was standing quite still.

You might think that with this attitude, upon my move to California I might become immersed in remembering the 'good times' of my relationship with Josh and forget all the difficulties. The truth is that I found myself really beginning to do that - that is why I have begun reading my journals again, to remember how I truly was feeling in the past two years.

I was feeling manic/depressed. I was feeling unloved, unwanted. I was stressed out about work and school, I was alternately worried for and elated by our relationship, and I was alternately dreading and welcoming the move out here.

But now that I'm here, I can barely remember feeling these things. Coming here was a culture shock: I was plunged headfirst into being self-sufficient, finding my way around, finding a job, going to school, and had no time for the thoughts I was literally obsessed with and consumed by in Pennsylvania. I was so fascinated by and repelled by the things around me - living with Lupe, job interviews, RCC, my classes and classmates and instructors - that I could barely recollect who I was before the move. Now that I have settled down, I am struggling to remember why there was such tension and difficulty between Josh and me. Reading back, I realise why, and it's not pleasant to consider.

Of course Josh could do things differently. Going back home reminded me that he's not perfect. But it also reminded me of the superhuman rapport that exists between us, of what good friends we are, of what great lovers we are, of how much I am attracted to him, of how much we have shared, of how close we are - of how much I absolutely adore him. I had a great time with him even as he managed to infuriate me a few times. Why did I never realise what a great time I had with him when I still had him? In all those car trips where I sat simmering because he wasn't paying attention to me, wasn't fawning over me, wasn't offering me his hand like he used to? Why did I not talk to him like I did when I was home, talk to him like we were the best of friends, talk to him like I hadn't a care in the world but sitting beside him and having fun with him?

Because I think I needed to go through this, to purge myself of this, to gain some kind of perspective on who I am and what I was expecting from my life.

Yesterday I had my annual performance review at work and T said to me, 'In age you're young; in maturity you're not, and that's a compliment to you'. If he could only know how much I have gained in maturity since I moved across the country. If he had known the person I shed and left in Pennsylvania he may not have hired me.

I think perhaps all the strain and stress of getting my bearings out here may have pushed me, finally, into living in the present. I have finally realised that the future is out of my control and that all I can do is work as hard as I can. I have had little time - and even littler desire - to reflect on how the past was. When I try, all I can do is be ashamed of myself that I rode beside the man I love for all that time, wishing he was someone else, wishing I was someone else, wishing we were back at 19 years old as though that time were any easier than the present. I have not accepted any of the progression that has occurred between us. I have not even reflected seriously on how I have changed between the time I began dating Josh and the time I left him to come here.

Our relationship is a dilemma for me because it requires a change that is, to someone, unfair. I hated hearing myself ask him to change. It was even more difficult for me to change what I wanted in a relationship so I could stay with him. So what to do? All I can do is correct and change myself, and have faith that he will grow up a little. I will also have to expel the notion of the 'perfect' relationship that we once had, and be realistic about what we do have. Josh will never be the type to fawn all over me, shower me with romance and affection, think of those small little things that I think of. That's not him - he is the most logical, practical person to ever be, and more, he is so occupied by his art that things tend to slip by him occasionally. It is necessary that I accept this if we are ever to be together - Josh will never be like Lindsay's Sean, blubbering to her drunk on the phone about how much he loves her. Can I accept this? Can I accept the cool-headed, rational Josh, me, the hot-headed, emotional Jenny? Can I learn to live with his way of expression, without feeling like I am making excuses for the way he is so that I can be comfortable with what I am lacking?

Well, I am working on it. I still don't have an answer as per the 'Can we ever be together?' question. I still don't know if I can overlook the lack of romance, the occasional self-absorption. But what about what I do get from the relationship? What about the fact that Josh is the ultimate brain crush, the smartest boy I know? What about all the fantastic conversations we've had? What about the comfort and safety I feel at knowing he's in my life? I can't even describe the terror I felt at going home and sleeping in my mother's house again, plunging back into those early-teenage-years fears and knowing that I couldn't look out the window and see Josh there, in his Slackers hoodie and carpet slippers, come to rescue me in the middle of the night! What about the passion and attraction that exists between us? What about when he curls up against me and smells my hair and calls me 'poozler'? What about when he buys me a CD he knows I've been wanting, or finds me a small carven elephant at the flea market? What about all the tender moments, and the challenges we've surmounted? All of these things mean something. They might not be enough, but they mean the world to me.

I have an obligation to remember them when I am with him, to remember his sweetness and only hope that he will forgive me my ferocity.

I also have an obligation to grow up, and be away from him for awhile. There is no doubt that he needed some time away from me, and I needed the same. He said to me, when I asked him (yet again) about any new 'pretty girls', that he was 'actually enjoying being alone'. If he had said that to me in July I would have jumped down his throat, demanding to know why he was not suffering tremendously at being out of my presence. But when he actually said it to me in December I thought only that he hadn't run for cover in another girl's embraces, and felt glad that he was purging his life of all the troubles and just concentrating on music. Later on I was thinking about our interaction that day and it occurred to me how, once upon a time, I would have reacted to that statement.

I realised then that I was also, in some perverted way, enjoying being alone. I told him awhile ago that I was learning, in his absence, to be alone without being lonely. This is a lesson that Josh has never had to learn. He is wholly comfortable being alone; alone, he becomes wildly productive and creative. I think I am working my way slowly towards being able to be alone without being scared of it.

When we lived together, Josh would leave me sometimes to hang out with his friends, and I would literally weep and become horribly depressed and offended that he would leave me all alone. It was probably only once a week or so, but I was in such bad shape emotionally at that point that it seemed he was absolutely abandoning me. I had nobody - at this point I had not spoken to Lindsay in nearly two years. I was ashamed to be around my family so depressed, and I was unable to concentrate on reading or writing anything, and so I would sit alone in our apartment with Izzy our kitty, weeping and eating and feeling sorry for myself. The time we lived together was definitely a low point for me, as it marked the period of my deepest depression.

I would like to think that I am not that same person who was terrified to be left alone with herself anymore. Indeed it would terrify me if I were. I am alone with myself constantly, and while I am still working to get up to a satisfactory level of productiveness (in writing), I am not moping about and weeping and overeating. But being here and being alone is different than being there, being with Josh again, and being left alone. I wonder, if we were to, this summer, get an apartment together in Pittsburgh again, and he were to leave me alone to go out with his friends one or two evenings a week, how I would feel, how I would react, how it would affect me. Whether I would become incensed or depressed, or whether I would just go about reading or writing or watching anime and ignore his absence. I wonder, truly, if I am capable now of handling being alone in that way without becoming lonely. This was a serious problem for me/us when we lived together, and I wonder if I have overcome it. I suppose that only time will tell!

It is so painful to read my thought processes from these past two years. I was in therapy, and I was taking my medication on a semi-regular basis, but I was still having these terrible fears about being left alone.

Here's hoping that I have snapped from it and can now like myself enough to be comfortable living my life in the present...
Did anybody else ever say 'none of your beeswax!' as a child?

and another great phrase: 'grab your ankles and take it like a choirboy' !!!
Realised last night, as I put the 0:2 disc of Evangelion into the new robot, that I only own 0:1, 0:2, and 0:3. I thought I had 0:4 as well, but evidently not, and further, 0:4 is evidently the most difficult one to find. Thus I am doing some serious ebaying to make up for this deficiency in my...well, I would call it a collection, but it's quite too meagre for that! I want to keep watching, but I also don't - I know I'm going to get to the end of episode 12 and then let out a hearty cry because I can't continue. I'm currently bidding on the whole 8-disc set on ebay, as well as watching some individual discs; fingers crossed, please!

Listening to:

'Anam', Clannad :: Funny...this record doesn't even technically belong to me. It was lent to me by none other than M's prickish older brother P, and then (right on schedule) a rift occurred in our relationship and I never managed to get it back to him. That must've been a good five years ago...anyhow, I like it OK. The Gaelic language interests me, and Mare (Enya's sister) sings well. 'In a Lifetme' (with Bono), 'Harry's Game', and 'Why Worry?' would be my favourites.
Two stories about stains:

  1. I rarely wear white because I, without fail, spill something on every white garment I own. One exception is a t-shirt I found for $10 at Borders of the 'A Series of Unfortunate Events' books, which is quite grand and which I bought immediately. Sometime roughly ten minutes after donning this shirt for the first time, I spilled something on it (I can't even remember this spill!) that left an orangeish sort of trickling stain right down the front, below the picture of the 3 unfortunate children. However, I quite love this t-shirt and was not about to quit wearing it; thus one holiday last summer (I believe the 4th of July), I wore it to a family party held by my father's side of the family, who are notoriously stuffy and conservative. Josh, upon picking me up for said party, grinned and said, 'I can't believe you're really going to go there wearing a shirt with a stain on it!' This, from a boy whose hair trails in curls two feet down his back & who wears Dr Marten boots and a chain with his suits to family weddings!


  2. During the 'nothing's going right' phase of several days ago, I, like a dummy, attempted to drink the last drops of some orange soda directly from the bottle, and, like a dummy, achieved no thirst-quenching but rather a nice current of orange soda splashed right down the front of my most favourite thrift-store-bought t-shirt, the 'Shalom' shirt which reads 'peace' in Hebrew and which, of course, is white! But, triumphantly, after nicking a bit of a roommate's Spray N Wash, I managed to 'lift' said stain from the shirt, restoring it to its usual slightly yellowed yet peaceful demeanor!

Received, last night, an email - another email - from M, the most difficult person in the world to be friends with. We met when we were fourteen years old and went all through high school together. We are opposites in every way possible barring the fact that we are both exceptionally emotionally sensitive: She's a fundamentalist Catholic, I've rejected my Catholic roots and am now in possession of one (1) bleeding heart; she's got lots of friends and acquaintances and is always surrounded by people, I am a loner and a wistful, reflective type; I'm usually considerate of others' feelings and she is usually not; and further and so on. The result of our unlikely pairing has been, over the years, very little pleasure and a good deal of pain. She has tried to convert me to Christianity. We have gotten into nearly physical arguments about abortion. She has, because of all her church friends who mill around her and are much more fun than we secular folks, consistently made me feel like a second-class citizen in her presence. She ignores me for months and then writes me pages about her life. If I don't respond to these promptly, she writes again telling me

I find that my feelings are hurt. I wish they weren't. You and I have had so many problems relating over the years that I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I thought that a lot of that was at least partially dealt with. We were different people when a lot of that happened.


Oh yeah? Then why do we still have the same problems?

It's tedious. I like M; we do have history together, though most of it is not pleasant to look back on. We shared a lot of difficulties, especially in our 12th grade year. It's just that most of the difficulties are ones I would rather not reflect on in my time of repose.

Our relationship is built on difficulty and heartache. It's difficult for me to want to approach that, want to be a part of that anymore.

I think that if you talked to me or hung out with me now you would find that I am very different then I was then. I guess that is why I am sad that you have decided not to write to me. I think that we could be friends now.


M and I have this discussion at least twice a year, whether we're on speaking terms or not. 'Can we be friends?' 'Should we be friends?' 'It's difficult being your friend.' 'Yes, but...things are different now.'

The truth is that things are the same as they ever were. She is still selfish and I still react negatively to that. I am still sensitive and she still gets irritated with me for not shrugging off her indifference.

I get busy and don't always have time to sit and write but I am friends with a lot of people that I don't talk to on a regular basis...I have actually made more of an effort to write to you in the past couple of months then I have for a lot of people.


During this twice-annual conversation of doom, some mention is always made about how I should realise that even though she's got friends literally swarming around her demanding her attentions and affections, she has consciously set aside time to stay in contact with me, and that I should be utterly grateful and appreciative of this daunting task she has performed on my behalf.

Jami is a good example. That doesn't mean that I don't care for her or that I wouldn't do anything for her. I just get caught up in what is going on around me.


So caught up that, even though she assured Jami she'd go to her baby shower, she never showed up and didn't bother to offer an explanation. Jami was hurt. I was hurt that Jami was hurt. I was hurt that, as I had suspected, things are the same as they ever were.

I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings with this or if I have hurt your feelings in the past unknowingly. That wasn't my intention. I just won't write any more e-mails. Leave me on your group e-mail list if you like. I don't mind knowing what you are up too [sic].


This would be the 'guilt trip' phase of the discussion. 'I'll just shrink back into the corner now...' Am I supposed to feel guilty about her shrinking back and feeling unwanted when that's how I have felt throughout the duration of our acquaintance?

In high school the core of the circle was me, M, and Lindsay. I will say that, because that was the core of my circle. M would say that me and Lindsay were two people she was friends with outside the CYO. Lindsay, blunt as ever, would say that I was/am her best friend and that M didn't/doesn't give a fuck about either of us.

She might be right. M hasn't bothered to keep in touch with Lindsay at all. Lindz is okay with that (or perhaps 'relieved by that' would state it better), and at the same time hurt, since M used to profess that we were both such important people to her. At times I think the only reason M stays in touch with me is because she perceives me as a person who will not outright tell her to fuck off.

She may be right about that, too. I am disinclined to hurt feelings, even as mine have been somewhat trodden upon.

I think M wants a connection to how things used to be, and I am it. She is largely it for me as well; Lindsay, Josh, and Jami are the only others I'm still in contact with from high school, and none of the three are at all inclined to talk about the good old days. Each has moved in his/her own direction and would not engage in a session of fond reminiscence if you paid them or beat them. Lindsay and I, when I was home over the holidays, even tried to talk about our memories of how high school had been for us; both of us ended up close to tears and feeling as though we had largely blocked out the horrors of it from our delicate psyches. Josh becomes vocally incensed every time he sees someone we used to go to school with. Jami is married and a soon-to-be-mummy, and would rather forget the whole thing and go forward.

It seems that M and I are the only two still in connection who would, in my case largely against herself, engage in the kind of remembering it would take to dredge all those memories into light. It's not as though going through high school was like going through war, not quite - but it was a battle and a torture, and the scars are enough of a memory for me. M and I are enough of sadomasochists that we would prod the scars open.

But I don't want that anymore; I want to willingly resist that sadomasochistic tendency. I will write about it someday, I will figure all those people I loved and hated into my stories somehow. I don't want to relive it. M says that she is much different, that I would not feel the same tension between us if I were to see her again after all this time. But I feel that even in silence, when talking about boyfriends or classes, being friends with M is like parachuting myself back onto the front lines, reeling myself back to me, fifteen years old. I don't want that anymore.

But how to tell her?
A pretty good place to go for those of us who don't know our history...

09 January 2004

I do something strange to the people around me. I must dazzle and terrify them. T pats my head in passing and puts his cool hands around my throat in jest, but something in his eyes says he wishes he could view me from a thousand miles away, on a mountaintop. Simultaneously beautiful and horrible; simultaneously interesting and repelling; simultaneously comfortable and terrifying.

I suppose it can only get better!

08 January 2004

Watched the first four episodes of 'Neon Genesis Evangelion' on my brand new glorious gleaming TV/DVD robot. Ahhhhhhhh, how I love Ikari Shinji-kun! How we empathise!

Target at the centre...pull the switch
Target at the centre...pull the switch
Target at the centre...pull the switch

Mustn't run away...mustn't run away...mustn't run away...MUSTN'T RUN AWAY!

The closer we become the more deeply we hurt each other
(the hedgehog's dilemma)

today I called parkvale to get some info on my account. the teller who took my place, after I introduced myself, said, 'ahh, ha! the infamous Jenny!' ha...

One of the other new accounts folks from the otherwise foul Riverside office called me an 'angel' today for promising to send him copies of my new accounts notes. T specifically told him to call me and ask for help...how grand.

seen on the back of a truck today: 'Daddy love a daughter/I love my little girl'. Is that love, or love? Nothing would surprise me.

work posts of doom and destruction:

1/8/04
It would not be far from the truth if I said ‘Nothing is going right lately’. In general things are fine, and I’m doing lots of reading and trying my hardest to get back to writing. But stupid little things keep going wrong, a wave of them sweeping over my life in quick succession, and I’m irritated by it. The CD player in my car wouldn’t allow me to put the volume above 3. Then it began functioning normally again yesterday, but this morning the batteries, after about four days’ worth of playing, ran out. I put too much ground meat in the Hamburger Helper two nights ago, and the meat loaf I attempted to make was awful. P was in the kitchen while I was attempting to cook, hovering over me and making sure I didn’t drip on the floor or cut anything on the granite countertop. I described myself as an artist; she asked me what my art was; I told her I was a writer; she stared at me incredulously and inquired as to whether I really believed that writing is art. Last night I had to dissect my stereo to extract four CDs, which took about an hour and left me exceptionally irritated. I was also eating some of the altogether-too-meaty HH (mostly picking out the noodles), and in trying to catch a bite of it and wield a screwdriver, I knocked half a glass of cran-raspberry juice onto the carpet in my (rented) room. I don’t have any paper towel, and I only own one washrag (dummy me), so I was forced to scrub the spill out of the carpet with the rag I bathe with. This necessitated me doing laundry so I could take a shower this morning. I thought I would wash the comforter on my bed which is not mine, and which I soiled awhile back due to lack of preparation for my period (yup, gross); I believe I used too much detergent, though, because there were wet clumps of it stuck to everything in the laundry when I was done. I ran it through twice, the second time just using water, and still the comforter and two of my shirts have detergent clumps on them. P needed the dryer, too, so she was waiting around for my misfit load of laundry to get out of the dryer, and I felt really stupid. And even though I used Spray N Wash, the stain did not come out, and of course the sheets and the bedskirt match so I will be buying someone a new bedroom set. I tried to wash the detergent out of the two shirts, to no avail, of course. Yesterday I went to buy a new TV/DVD combo because my dad gave me a Costco gift card for Christmas for that purpose. The stupid card was demagnetised in my bag and by the time I found a supervisor and had them transfer the balance to a new card, there was barely enough time for me and G to eat. We got back ten minutes late and C screamed, ‘Running a little late, are we?’ I didn’t eat lunch until 2:00 pm and by then the free Farmer Boys’ cheeseburger was cold and kind of foul.

C just said, ‘He doesn’t get in until 1:00 today’ to a customer on the phone. But she was just talking to him half an hour ago on the phone! So she has his private number now? Yes, evidently! I just went over to help her with something in Excel and get the cash balancing information and she told me she had talked to him at home! It figures.

In rather good news, T himself asked me yesterday if I was planning on staying full-time new accounts once I go back to school in the fall. I, remembering the tension the last time we discussed this, tentatively nodded and said yes. He grinned huge and said, ‘You can stay for the next fifteen years, if you want! This is great!’ So I’ll be taking all night classes and keeping my position here, as long as no catfights erupt between myself and select other members of the staff.

The new accounts in Riverside is ridiculous. Every time I call her, no matter how polite or wheedling I am, she’s a bitch to me. I really dislike being made to feel as though I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s annoying and rude and inefficient, and I, I would like to think, am at least the opposite of those things, yet she feels she has the right to treat me as her subordinate because of seniority. In fact I would extend the same assessment to most of the rest of the Riverside office, with notable exceptions. It seems the entire line staff, with the exception of one girl, are miserable young women (women my age or within ten years!) who are quite disinclined to help customers or do anything except sit at their windows and take deposits. They transfer all their telephone calls to us, and are unwilling to take any initiative whatsoever to help a customer. I dislike people who don’t bear their burden of work.

Thankfully there has been one instance of redemption and grandness this week, and it came yesterday in the mail in the form of a copy of ‘Futile’ plus an interview with Steven Wilson that Maritza made for me. Of course I couldn’t listen to it last night because my stereo was in several pieces and my computer is ancient and will evidently not play CD-Rs, but I listened to both tracks this morning on the car player and it was ecstatic. Steven talked for ten minutes about Americans’ long-lasting love affair with rock music. I love listening to him speak; his ideas on everything are revolutionary.

Yesterday the Riverside office opened 12 new accounts; Corona by comparison opened zero. Am I meant to walk the streets with a sandwich board or an arrow-ad (which people do constantly here!) to gain new accounts? C claims we’re slow because we haven’t had a grand opening and there’s no advertising going on for us, and so it’s administration’s fault. I don’t want to hear about blame particularly, although I do agree with her – I just want something of a reassurance that my position here will not become obsolete and thus render me useless and fireable.

We have one customer – the one who brought us the Persian pastries – who, every single time he comes into the branch, even though I am the first one in the door and I say hello directly to him each time, merely nods in my direction and then looks right past me and waves heartily and with a big smile to D. Why does no one come to me? Am I so unlovely? Evidemment oui.

Now C is whispering to him, whispering! Erg…

When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage then tootle him with vigor


'as the people here grow colder
i turn to my computer
and spend my evenings with it like a friend...
hello? i know that you've been feeling tired
i bring you love and deeper understanding
hello? i know that you're unhappy
i bring you love and deeper understanding'

(kate bush :: deeper understanding)

'you know i've been searchin' for someone
who can share that special love with me
and your eyes have that glow...
could it be your face i see
on my computer screen?'

(zapp & roger :: computer love)

07 January 2004

I have to do something. I have to do something, write something, give something away. I feel the old feelings brewing again, the ones I would get when I could sit up for eight hours at a time slaving over a story, interchanging names and drawing charts and burning the pages of the thesaurus and recording the lovely and revolutionary ideas that now seem part of a grand myth that I never participated in at all. how do I convince myself that I did write all of that, that I can write it again, that I can do something with the ideas that pulse in me, that I do not have to be afraid of me and them and words? I looked at a few stories tonight, but was afraid to get too far into them. I wrote a few paragraphs because I was looking at some photos but I am not yet sure if they are utisables. They are written within the Villy-and-Stephen text, which is now ten pages long and which you will likely never see because I am afraid of it, I allow it to grow and add to it but I am afraid of it, it lurks in my files and I yearn for it but am terrified to go back to it. I don't know that anything in the world or out of it scares me as much as something I wrote half of and then abandoned a year ago.
the girl died! relative-humanisation : Israelis : Palestinians :: from a quite Palestinian perspective

'It was not 'human'. It did not seem real. But it was all too real, it was the only life that some of the prisoners had known for years. Maybe it was all too human. Maybe this is what we are.' :: http://www.remember.org/liberators.html#Lib
Just returned from a search-and-destroy mission involving my quite-ancient 5-disc-changer, four hostage CDs, a rather large screwdriver, and me still in high heels and pantyhose from work. The rescued discs:

  1. 'Tango in the Night', Fleetwood Mac (yeah, I'm going from bottom to top here)

  2. 'I Care 4 U', Aaliyah (a gift from the boy)

  3. 'Vespertine', Björk (I went to listen to this last night and realised, with fear in my heart, that it had been eaten)

  4. 'Stars Die: The Delerium Years' (disc A), Porcupine Tree (I would have flippin' killed someone if this had been irretrievable - yet another gift from the boy and home of the dazzling 'Up the Downstair')



But it's sad to say that the mission was necessitated by the fact that during my move, I made the duplicate mistake of (1) not taking the discs out of the stereo, and (2) turning the stereo upside-down. Alas I believe the good electronic device was bought for me when I was in ninth grade or so, and I am due for an upgrade.

a short and entirely irrelevant work-post:

1/7/04
Just called Josh; he asked me to call back later because Matt and Matt are there hanging out, and he was busy. I said I would just call him back tomorrow. Hung up without saying he loved me. One of G’s friends from her old bank just came into the office; she introduced her to everyone but me. Feeling righteously passed-by right about now.

Listening to:

'Vespertine', Björk :: finally!

06 January 2004

'I let go of her gently
then you can swim to me'

(the fog)
talked to the boy briefly today, said he's already made a copy of and is intending to send me the new 'sunny day real estate' record. er...ok. I don't really care at all about SDRE; i'm just jazzed he sat down and copied a CD with me in mind.

Listening to:

'The Sensual World', Kate Bush :: 'Rocket's Tail' being my favourite - Trio Bulgarka is the greatest thing I've ever heard. I can't believe the thought that goes into her lyrics; each song is like penetrating someone's life.

Er...I am not sure but I think I am about to google for 'Josh Groban photos'...don't be surprised if you don't hear from me for the next couple days...

05 January 2004

and now for something that is too fuckin' hilarious to not link to:

robert smith of the cure has a screen-shot of himself as Mega-Babwa's
Worst Enemy from 'South Park' on his own personal page!


(scroll all the way to almost-the-bottom-of-the-page)

New Year's Eve 1998-into-1999...me and Krista sitting in the back room watching South Park...'Disintegration rules!'

ai....too much excitement for one evening

and it's a shame I don't listen to the Cure much anymore 'cause here are all the records I own by them:

faith
seventeen seconds
head on the door
kiss me x3
wild mood swings
boys don't cry
pornography
bloodflowers
show
paris
wish
disintegration
greatest hits
japanese whispers
mixed up
galore

(2 singles, rare for me)
the 13th
lullaby

plus a cdr of 'Live at Glastonbury 1990' made lovingly for me by the boy

most studio releases (except 'standing on a beach...staring at the sea', all singles, blarg (I have been in record stores thousands of times and have consciously chosen not to buy this record), and the 'three imaginary boys' thing, and apparently two offical live records 'entreat' (1991) and 'concert' (1984)), nary a rare single or reissue or bootleg or foreign release in sight. i do own a recording of a unknown-to-me live show with a really wonderful version of 'disintegration'...but it's on cassette, LOL! i'm such a non-music-dweeb.

but i will never rest until I own 'the top', elusive and slightly-overpriced source of unrest that it is for me

and now that i am on the subject and shall get no sleep tonight...

i must tell you that in my life there was a time when the live version of 'by the edge of the deep green sea' to be found on show held the esteem that the 11-min coma divine version of 'moonloop' now holds...ah how things change

though 'deep green sea' still makes me cry...and oh good god 'prayers for rain'...erg, hopefully listening to 'disintegration' all night will not give me Morgan dreams
Reading through the old journals. Starting most recent and working backwards. Within each journal, working least recent to most. All this time-tugging is making me want to drink root beer. Alas I depleted my store earlier in the evening and now must resort to cran-raspberry juice.

...becoming horribly depressed at all the back-and-forthing about Josh; becoming mildly aware that if I hadn't written these journals I may well have purged several years out of my life entirely; triumphantly resisting the wicked urges to post all the juicy bits and poems and stories up here. À bientôt, j'espère! Soyez patients!

And a quote from the boy, upon hearing of his sordid liaison with Morgan in the land of my dreams: 'I'd sooner castrate myself'. Ai, there you have it!

Listening to:

'Signify', Porcupine Tree :: Over and over...'Intermediate Jesus' is playing...I'm not even thinking in terms of this world anymore. The time seems ripe to throw a nice lovely SW photo out...but which to choose?...how about...



...celui-ci?

I have a sister photo to this one too...it's SW wearing the same shirt, but while I have been led to believe that the above one is from a show in Italy, the sister photo was labeled from a show in Poland on 5/12/99...so evidently SW digs wearing the same shirt a lot...which, as with the two-fisted eating, is not necessarily un-sexy...unfortunately, that one, because some schloompf wanted to add pretty text, is an enormous bitmap and will require me tooling around in Photoshop a bit, so perhaps next month.

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