Days, weeks almost, go by and I rarely see the light of day from the four walls of my home. It's vaguely depressing. AM's are spent eating a hurried bowl of instant oatmeal and finding socks. I get home at a decent hour, 7is, but I am so tired I usually am sleeping within the hour. By home I don't mean any of those. I mean home and doing the things I love: cleaning the floor or making my bed. Seriously, the state of my house...
I believe that if I spent more waking time here, I would be more grounded. But, there are only so many hours in a day, week, year. Sleep and wake and dream are tangled together in the sheets of my unmade bed.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Life's Kitchen
I am the only person in the lower 48 who is unable to get a credit
card? It seems that I am. I am not only smarting from this injustice, I am enraged at the new system of price differentiation for credit worthy people. Congress is discussing whether or not it is legal for insurance companies to check your rating before issuing coverage. Because, poor f*cks don't deserve health care.
issue two: I don't get advertised prices on cellphones and plans. Those are for "credit worthy" people. You know, the kind of people who haven't done the bad things I've done. Things like buy a vehicle and make monthly payments for three years. The fact that in the last two years, I have never once had a late phone payment is little assurance to this company. They don't want poor people to have cool phones; it's bad for their image.
F*ck all of them. Companies are not people.
They do not have emotions and are not singling me out; it just feels that way. Thanks 14Th amendment! Corporate person-hood is TOPS!
The ranting has left me flustered and wretched. The record player is broken. Well, this one's a total bitch and I am so tired of feeling w*rthless for my lack of lasting stability. I could cry, but where does that leave me? with a basket full of tissues and a red nose. Who am I to disparage life's offerings. They are not meager. Funny, how things make worth and worth is an estimable quality. Naturally I recognize the fallibility of material satisfaction. Recognition does not stop me from wanting or in some cases, needing.
I relate the tightness in my throat to the unfairness I felt as a girl. I learned, very young, to never ask for anything. Not because I couldn't have it, which was true. Because, in voicing the unfairness of not being able to get a pair of jeans, I would have to face the reality without the dream. This brings it all back. I still feel my worth based, judged, mirrored, by my economic power. This is such a long standing and corrosive field that I best not tread on it.
This is the nature of the world and I cannot understand why the world continues to reject me. It is being unable to meet a standard; I do not pass the bar. It is a constant test to my resilience and vulnerability. Neither of which are feeling up to the constant barrage of insults heaped upon me by non-people: machines that cannot feel but instead think.
card? It seems that I am. I am not only smarting from this injustice, I am enraged at the new system of price differentiation for credit worthy people. Congress is discussing whether or not it is legal for insurance companies to check your rating before issuing coverage. Because, poor f*cks don't deserve health care.
issue two: I don't get advertised prices on cellphones and plans. Those are for "credit worthy" people. You know, the kind of people who haven't done the bad things I've done. Things like buy a vehicle and make monthly payments for three years. The fact that in the last two years, I have never once had a late phone payment is little assurance to this company. They don't want poor people to have cool phones; it's bad for their image.
F*ck all of them. Companies are not people.
They do not have emotions and are not singling me out; it just feels that way. Thanks 14Th amendment! Corporate person-hood is TOPS!
The ranting has left me flustered and wretched. The record player is broken. Well, this one's a total bitch and I am so tired of feeling w*rthless for my lack of lasting stability. I could cry, but where does that leave me? with a basket full of tissues and a red nose. Who am I to disparage life's offerings. They are not meager. Funny, how things make worth and worth is an estimable quality. Naturally I recognize the fallibility of material satisfaction. Recognition does not stop me from wanting or in some cases, needing.
I relate the tightness in my throat to the unfairness I felt as a girl. I learned, very young, to never ask for anything. Not because I couldn't have it, which was true. Because, in voicing the unfairness of not being able to get a pair of jeans, I would have to face the reality without the dream. This brings it all back. I still feel my worth based, judged, mirrored, by my economic power. This is such a long standing and corrosive field that I best not tread on it.
This is the nature of the world and I cannot understand why the world continues to reject me. It is being unable to meet a standard; I do not pass the bar. It is a constant test to my resilience and vulnerability. Neither of which are feeling up to the constant barrage of insults heaped upon me by non-people: machines that cannot feel but instead think.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
bondo
I have a hard time sleeping. It eludes me, an orchid that won't bloom.
Today. Today was bound to happen sooner or later. It started off a little off.
Typically, I get woken up. And today I didn't. After getting out bed, I
rubbed my eye and found some clothes. I was mad: it's not fair to
change the rules on someone without telling them. I recovered.
I swim, lap after lap. The pool, in the morning, is full of sunlight. I swam particularly well today. During my final lap— the: "ohh I think I'll do one more" lap— I broke my watch. My father's watch. Broke and can't fix and won't ever
get to wear it again. I have been missing him so much. When someone
dies they are gone. I know that sound simplistic, it is. I never knew I
had a place, shaped just like my father, in my chest. Now, it just sits
there, empty. There is nothing fair about who death chooses. But there
are times I wish I could cry and not feel guilty, weird, alone. It
doesn't matter if their mine, yours or anyone elses: emotions,
for most, are too much. Especially a raw grief. I don't want to be
comforted, there is none. Just finding the space to be with people who
understand the inexplicable rock in my gut, fire in my throat, salt in
my nose. Mementos are just that, reminders. A photo of
a whale will never impress upon me the majesty of the creature. Being
in a boat and watching it's body lift from the depths, will.
Better now
Today. Today was bound to happen sooner or later. It started off a little off.
Typically, I get woken up. And today I didn't. After getting out bed, I
rubbed my eye and found some clothes. I was mad: it's not fair to
change the rules on someone without telling them. I recovered.
I swim, lap after lap. The pool, in the morning, is full of sunlight. I swam particularly well today. During my final lap— the: "ohh I think I'll do one more" lap— I broke my watch. My father's watch. Broke and can't fix and won't ever
get to wear it again. I have been missing him so much. When someone
dies they are gone. I know that sound simplistic, it is. I never knew I
had a place, shaped just like my father, in my chest. Now, it just sits
there, empty. There is nothing fair about who death chooses. But there
are times I wish I could cry and not feel guilty, weird, alone. It
doesn't matter if their mine, yours or anyone elses: emotions,
for most, are too much. Especially a raw grief. I don't want to be
comforted, there is none. Just finding the space to be with people who
understand the inexplicable rock in my gut, fire in my throat, salt in
my nose. Mementos are just that, reminders. A photo of
a whale will never impress upon me the majesty of the creature. Being
in a boat and watching it's body lift from the depths, will.
Better now
Friday, October 06, 2006
rustic
Things that don't age well:
Gloating over other people is not nice. But it's fun. When I see a person who broke my heart ten years ago, fat old and married, I can't help but laugh, relieved.
The Internet makes the world into a huge pocket. There is so much information about so many people, a finger tap away. Not me, however. It seems I have done very little of note. I like my solitude and dislike interruptions: mon plume-de-nom me cache.
I was nicely wrapped in my many blankets last night, when my phone rang. No I don't want to go drink beer, I need sleep; it was 7:45. Much later, deep into the early hours of dawn, I woke. The air had changed, it was thick and fresh, I heard an owl. I fell back to sleep and missed my alarm.
The world, so fast and full and I contribute by needing to be places. I left late for school (above mentioned missed alarm), missing my first class. The perennial headache behind my right eye, a reminder to get glasses. I hope glasses are all I need. I have been losing hair in handfuls. I become paranoid. I fear I am sick sick sick. The sleep, the hair, the headaches, all contribute to a sense of panic. I attribute all of it to stress, the need to be someplace seven minutes ago. The racing heart is from the caffeine. The headaches are from dehydration, it's so hard to drink fluids when it's raining. Push harder, swim upstream, and don't ever get sick. That's a crap mantra and I will get sick if I damn well please.
Gloating over other people is not nice. But it's fun. When I see a person who broke my heart ten years ago, fat old and married, I can't help but laugh, relieved.
The Internet makes the world into a huge pocket. There is so much information about so many people, a finger tap away. Not me, however. It seems I have done very little of note. I like my solitude and dislike interruptions: mon plume-de-nom me cache.
I was nicely wrapped in my many blankets last night, when my phone rang. No I don't want to go drink beer, I need sleep; it was 7:45. Much later, deep into the early hours of dawn, I woke. The air had changed, it was thick and fresh, I heard an owl. I fell back to sleep and missed my alarm.
The world, so fast and full and I contribute by needing to be places. I left late for school (above mentioned missed alarm), missing my first class. The perennial headache behind my right eye, a reminder to get glasses. I hope glasses are all I need. I have been losing hair in handfuls. I become paranoid. I fear I am sick sick sick. The sleep, the hair, the headaches, all contribute to a sense of panic. I attribute all of it to stress, the need to be someplace seven minutes ago. The racing heart is from the caffeine. The headaches are from dehydration, it's so hard to drink fluids when it's raining. Push harder, swim upstream, and don't ever get sick. That's a crap mantra and I will get sick if I damn well please.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
pacing
I fought a good fight, and I won.
My financial-aid has been reinstated. Who knew I could find esteem in an envelope? Though interestingly enough, as of yesterday, I had
abandoned hope in either direction. I came to a place where I could no
longer see which outcome was better. Both were good; both were bad.
Being in this opportunity took time, the kind words of my family. I found a place of surrender outside of the structure of my day to day.
Most difficult part was continuing to attend my classes. Doing hours of homework amidst such uncertainty was exacerbating. Assuming that I would be awarded the aid,
I was diligent in my studies. Having received the news, I am glad I remained focused.
Irony could have prevailed: if I would have assumed failure; been
awarded aid; and ultimately failed because of falling behind early in the quarter.
The contentment that comes from letting go of any notion of the right,
good, best way, is enormous. There are six billion ways to make a bed.
I am relieved not to have to change my path, but had I, the adventure
would have been welcome.
My financial-aid has been reinstated. Who knew I could find esteem in an envelope? Though interestingly enough, as of yesterday, I had
abandoned hope in either direction. I came to a place where I could no
longer see which outcome was better. Both were good; both were bad.
Being in this opportunity took time, the kind words of my family. I found a place of surrender outside of the structure of my day to day.
Most difficult part was continuing to attend my classes. Doing hours of homework amidst such uncertainty was exacerbating. Assuming that I would be awarded the aid,
I was diligent in my studies. Having received the news, I am glad I remained focused.
Irony could have prevailed: if I would have assumed failure; been
awarded aid; and ultimately failed because of falling behind early in the quarter.
The contentment that comes from letting go of any notion of the right,
good, best way, is enormous. There are six billion ways to make a bed.
I am relieved not to have to change my path, but had I, the adventure
would have been welcome.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
velcro
Fragile little wings of life
Unison, unison, we beat in unison--
Officially I am a failure. I am incapable of attending a damned community college. Ham sandwiches all around, with weak coffee to wash down their concrete system. Ahh, well, September.
It is now time for me to refigure my life, goals, dreams; retire my downfall. I don't know how I'm supposed to get through this with any grace. Sick of dreams and my failure, these tears are pathetic. I need a break! Curses, my skin is crawling! My heart twists and my stomach wants to disgorge itself. It just doesn't stop, this awkward life. I'll take it; my dimensional perspective of existence: is this life?
Time to incorporate my heart with my mind, I tell myself firmly, today's the day. But it's not, wait until tomorrow. That's the minuteman's lie I have been believing for years. Life is finite. F*ck, I know this bodily existence can hurt. Happiness is not one of those purchases that comes with easy-read instructions. I am not certain if it even comes in a box.
When I focus in, deep and to my core, I have joy. Why then am I afraid of reaching for it? Am I become a coward? No, happiness takes fearless courage. My college doesn't offer a course in finding the courage to be happy. I don't need one. I need honesty and support. My first step is into the unknown. So is the next and the next.
That which holds me apart from my true nature is the unknown. The unknown is both a place of possibility and of chaos. It's dichotomy is confounding. How can something be both infinite and exact? Being vunerable and not knowing what comes next is code for existance in the plane of human experience.
Looking honestly at my life, I tend only to see the first layer. The day to day existence and routine. I see my mistakes and resentments. Those few activities take most of my concentration. Concentration equals energy. I use my limited energy doing things which do not bring happiness. Knowing this why do I continue to do them? The status quo and the reality that I am not getting any younger. The pressure to perform in society and to be part of a machine. The fear that if I don't do this a vacuum will come along and suck me into outer space.
I can affirm that I am having a difficult time. Realistically, all of the signals are the universal mind telling me to stop. I am removing the layers and am preparing to go in deep. Here is the first step into the unknown, bringing me one pace closer to joy. Wish me luck and love, I will send greatings from the other side.
Unison, unison, we beat in unison--
Officially I am a failure. I am incapable of attending a damned community college. Ham sandwiches all around, with weak coffee to wash down their concrete system. Ahh, well, September.
It is now time for me to refigure my life, goals, dreams; retire my downfall. I don't know how I'm supposed to get through this with any grace. Sick of dreams and my failure, these tears are pathetic. I need a break! Curses, my skin is crawling! My heart twists and my stomach wants to disgorge itself. It just doesn't stop, this awkward life. I'll take it; my dimensional perspective of existence: is this life?
Time to incorporate my heart with my mind, I tell myself firmly, today's the day. But it's not, wait until tomorrow. That's the minuteman's lie I have been believing for years. Life is finite. F*ck, I know this bodily existence can hurt. Happiness is not one of those purchases that comes with easy-read instructions. I am not certain if it even comes in a box.
When I focus in, deep and to my core, I have joy. Why then am I afraid of reaching for it? Am I become a coward? No, happiness takes fearless courage. My college doesn't offer a course in finding the courage to be happy. I don't need one. I need honesty and support. My first step is into the unknown. So is the next and the next.
That which holds me apart from my true nature is the unknown. The unknown is both a place of possibility and of chaos. It's dichotomy is confounding. How can something be both infinite and exact? Being vunerable and not knowing what comes next is code for existance in the plane of human experience.
Looking honestly at my life, I tend only to see the first layer. The day to day existence and routine. I see my mistakes and resentments. Those few activities take most of my concentration. Concentration equals energy. I use my limited energy doing things which do not bring happiness. Knowing this why do I continue to do them? The status quo and the reality that I am not getting any younger. The pressure to perform in society and to be part of a machine. The fear that if I don't do this a vacuum will come along and suck me into outer space.
I can affirm that I am having a difficult time. Realistically, all of the signals are the universal mind telling me to stop. I am removing the layers and am preparing to go in deep. Here is the first step into the unknown, bringing me one pace closer to joy. Wish me luck and love, I will send greatings from the other side.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
depraved
Even the connotation is based in madness.
There are times I believe there is a hole in my skull or heart; is there an effervescent structure amiss? I have no solid conclusions such a state of unbeing. Recognise the eyes I use to see are sequentially limited. I question my role: a limiter, existence is limited. The natural unstate. I do long division in my head, staring out across the haze, the horizon. Minutes pass, forty minutes. I proceed to class, I am an hour early, which leaves time for more numbers. Weary of numbers I progress to words. Words make promises. Words shape pictures across the red of my eyelids. Faster and more demanding, they thrash my eardrums. The cacophony stops more abruptly than it started.
Much later I push my voice up into a false tempo. Everything is just fine, my voice clips along. Astride my mind, I hunt for clues. It is a long and lonely night. My external and internal caress with lover's finesse. Nude I am left to witness their molestation.
There are times I believe there is a hole in my skull or heart; is there an effervescent structure amiss? I have no solid conclusions such a state of unbeing. Recognise the eyes I use to see are sequentially limited. I question my role: a limiter, existence is limited. The natural unstate. I do long division in my head, staring out across the haze, the horizon. Minutes pass, forty minutes. I proceed to class, I am an hour early, which leaves time for more numbers. Weary of numbers I progress to words. Words make promises. Words shape pictures across the red of my eyelids. Faster and more demanding, they thrash my eardrums. The cacophony stops more abruptly than it started.
Much later I push my voice up into a false tempo. Everything is just fine, my voice clips along. Astride my mind, I hunt for clues. It is a long and lonely night. My external and internal caress with lover's finesse. Nude I am left to witness their molestation.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
a darker shade of gray:
September is the ides of March and April's fools all rolled into one long month of practical and impractical jokes. The last was losing my wallet. Which might have been a good thing 'cause I'm broke and the sun don't shine where I'm going.
School is a place where a lot of people look (no one speaks) at me. I am uncertain if this is because I have some large leafy foliage in my teeth or another less obvious reason. The days are dazzlingly airy. I put my sweaters away, sadly. I can't even wear a coat. People stand around talking, giving one another knowing looks.
Tons of people smoke tons of ciggies. Not me and not the French. Turns out they're trying to pass an anti-smoking law similar to New York and California... We here in good ol' Oregon with all our fresh air can smoke till the sky turns red.
Typical that France, emblematic of smokers and futurism and maniacal elitism, would ban their favorite hobby
School is a place where a lot of people look (no one speaks) at me. I am uncertain if this is because I have some large leafy foliage in my teeth or another less obvious reason. The days are dazzlingly airy. I put my sweaters away, sadly. I can't even wear a coat. People stand around talking, giving one another knowing looks.
Tons of people smoke tons of ciggies. Not me and not the French. Turns out they're trying to pass an anti-smoking law similar to New York and California... We here in good ol' Oregon with all our fresh air can smoke till the sky turns red.
Typical that France, emblematic of smokers and futurism and maniacal elitism, would ban their favorite hobby
Thursday, September 21, 2006
rasp
A wet woolen sweater--
Two years ago today my life changed. This morning my mail declared that I am disqualified for financial aid. This is worse than bad and needs fixing. I have been having one of those months. My car exploded, I had to borrow the cash to fix it. Cash that I would repay on good faith of student loans. Those same loans that I now might not receive. Looks like internet porn (sic) is my last resort. This is one of those days, months. I am not fond of September and wish it would be over; it hurts like hell and back again.
But, as they say, cowboy up girl, cowboy up. And I will. I'll pull on my boots and fill out the forms. I will talk to important people and use decisive words. OR I'll say f*ck all of this and quit everything. That seems good right about now. No more children of miserable bosses asking me about the mating habits of marsupials. No more making less than $700 in a month. Instead I'll say kiss it! and start working a decent job with low morals and a high wage. By low, I mean pulling coffee and writing erotica for online magazines.
Why, I ask, am I doing all of this? Did I really suppose that I could better myself and have a decent, respectable future? Was that the point, or was it just something to do? Now that I am doing other things more fulfilling... There are allot of questions going through my brain. I am severely distraught and angry at the bottom of it. I dealt with this problem a month ago. I filled out the paper work, both the white and yellow sheets, and was not expecting this blow. Not today, today hurt enough without that.
Two years ago today my life changed. This morning my mail declared that I am disqualified for financial aid. This is worse than bad and needs fixing. I have been having one of those months. My car exploded, I had to borrow the cash to fix it. Cash that I would repay on good faith of student loans. Those same loans that I now might not receive. Looks like internet porn (sic) is my last resort. This is one of those days, months. I am not fond of September and wish it would be over; it hurts like hell and back again.
But, as they say, cowboy up girl, cowboy up. And I will. I'll pull on my boots and fill out the forms. I will talk to important people and use decisive words. OR I'll say f*ck all of this and quit everything. That seems good right about now. No more children of miserable bosses asking me about the mating habits of marsupials. No more making less than $700 in a month. Instead I'll say kiss it! and start working a decent job with low morals and a high wage. By low, I mean pulling coffee and writing erotica for online magazines.
Why, I ask, am I doing all of this? Did I really suppose that I could better myself and have a decent, respectable future? Was that the point, or was it just something to do? Now that I am doing other things more fulfilling... There are allot of questions going through my brain. I am severely distraught and angry at the bottom of it. I dealt with this problem a month ago. I filled out the paper work, both the white and yellow sheets, and was not expecting this blow. Not today, today hurt enough without that.
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