|
|
Tuesday, December 24th, 2002
| |
12:32 pm - seasons of love.
|
my problem with life is that i do everything half-assed. i'm always on the edge, teetering; afraid to fully commit, to fully involve myself in anything. afraid to make any decision that could have even remotely negative consequences. i live my life somewhat afraid - of myself, of others. of what could happen if i were to give 100% of myself. because what happens if it doesn't work out in the end? what are you left with? what is your safety net? how can possibly risk losing it all - how can you put everything on the line? how can you not know the path from point A to B?
i knew it would come to this in the end - that this is what it would all boil down to. and maybe i didn't want to believe it and i always wanted to change it. maybe i thought i was (insert your favorite adjective here) enough to change the direction of the fork in the road. maybe i wanted more, maybe i wanted less. maybe i never expected what i got. but, then end result was the same. at some point, some time, someday, goodbye.
3500 miles between us. and the soonest he could move is 3 years. 525,600 minutes times three. and he's not a sure thing, hell, he's hardly a maybe. and he doesn't think it's fair to ask me to wait for that long. and he's right, i agree - it isn't fair. and i won't wait that long. we're at different places right now, he says. he's not looking for anyone there, doesn't want someone else. he could continue on like this indefinitely. but he knows i want more. im closer to being ready for the long term. and he's right. it doesn't always feel right, he says. and he never wants to hurt me. and he's not happy about any of this, about how it will all turn out in the end. and this doesn't mean that he doesn't love me. i love you, he says with his arms wrapped around me, my head tight to his chest. and i drive 90 miles south and he drives 120 miles north and now everything is on pause until we meet in the denver airport in 2 weeks.
i feel like i dug myself into a hole, i said. i knew all along that you didn't see our future, i knew it and i kept going. i let myself get wrapped up in places i shouldn't have. i can't keep hoping for one ending and knowing that another one is going to happen. he says, i've always been honest with you. and he has. i reply, that's why i feel like at this point if i get hurt, i have no one to blame but myself. because that is what it all boils down to. i made this bed.
the ironic part of the whole thing is that i don't kow what i want. that i've never known. that sometimes things roll off my lips and my hips that im not quite aware of.
sometimes, i wish i could be stronger. i wish i could see the future. i wish i knew what to do now. i wish i knew how this fit into the grand scheme of things. what am i afraid of?
i had a romantic card to give him. but i couldn't, it's still in my bag. it makes me said, the words inside seem empty, are empty. their meaning got lost. and my name seems so small inside - the only thing left with meaning. but it's so small. so lost. so lonely inside floating around with the big words.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, July 10th, 2002
| |
12:42 pm
|
So, anyway. I'm still here. I found an apartment this past weekend. And I'm at work doing worky things. And I'm trying to get settled and get used to the fact that I am here and not there anymore and that this is permanent and real. And I'm trying to make friends only I really don't remember how to make friends and I never learned how to make friends with the people that you are working with. And I'm trying to do my job only I don't fully understand what I'll be doing in the long run and I'm getting stressed out at all of the things that I'll eventually end up doing. Only I don't need to worry about them now and I need to keep reminding myselft of that.
It's strange to only have an hour of lunch, one hour to do what you want... that hour sure does fly.
When I move into my new house, I will have high speed internet and so I promise that I will write more :)
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, July 4th, 2002
| |
3:22 pm - patience.
|
i'm here. on the west. in seattle. one week today i've been here. and one week isn't very long and i still feel like i'm on vacation and i'm still adjusting to everything and most of the time i feel like my head is going to explode.
i am going apartment hunting this weekend and i hopehopehope that i will find something (and i shouldn't be worried because i know that i will). and then in two weeks (two weeks from today!) my beautiful boy is coming out. and it's much earlier than either of us thought but oh, i am so happy that he will be here.
and work is going fine, i have a lot to do and i know that i can do it and i want to do a good job and oh, i'm sure i will, it will just take time.
so for those of you on my friends list, be patient of me, these past few weeks (and the few to come) will be crazy but i will be back and i will read and i will write and i promise it will be spectacular.
(ps maria, i got your words. and oh, i will write)
|
|
(3 comments | comment on this)
|
| Saturday, June 29th, 2002
| |
11:14 pm
|
i'm here, across the country, a million miles away.
but i have a bad internet connection and won't really be re-connected until monday. but i want to be back and i want to write about my adventures. oh. just wait.
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Friday, June 21st, 2002
| |
4:00 pm - something bigger
|
last night i wrote in my journal here for at least two hours. wrote and wrote. about nothing and everything all at once. and when i was done, i didn't feel any freer, didn't feel any less burdened. didn't feel like i had made any real progress anywhere, expect, i had written.
and i want to go back and read over those words today, but i just can't bring myself to do so, i just can't bear to take my journal from the shelf and open it and read. because that's what happened to me last night.
last night i read through the entire journal, everything i had written - not much, maybe 25 pages written over the past year. and coincidentally, the first entry was dated exactly one year ago from yesterday. i don't really know how that affects anything, but i feel that somehow, that has deeper meaning. that something forced me, something called me to read over the past year of my life.
and it just made me sad. it made me hurt for the girl that i was, the girl that i still am. and i didn't want to be sad last night, i didn't want to hurt last night, i wanted to curl under the sheets with his arms around me, but instead, last night was awful. strained speech and prolonged silences. you could cut the air with a knife and i cried myself to sleep, in my room next door (we each have our space). and this morning, oh, i felt like i did everything wrong. and i meant to take out the trash and i didn't and i did it wrong and how oh how does the trash make you cry? and so i went into the shower, which is the only place i can be alone and cry here, where my whole body gets red enough to conceal my puffy eyes, where it's loud enough that i don't have to muffle my sobs. and i crouched on the floor and i bawled. like a baby. and i can't even give you a reason, or a list of reasons, i can't even begin to explain why.
in a year, so much of my life has gone away, has turned into something else, something bigger, something greater, and more of my life has stayed exactly the same, has stayed here, has been confined to these 800 square feet. and i wonder what i'll be saying in a year.
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, June 11th, 2002
| |
6:19 pm
|
i never mean to wait this long between entries, i really don't. but somehow, everything else takes over and i'm stuck staring at a blank screen, having too much to say and the white box being entirely too small.
and i go through these phases where i feel incredibly petty bitching about my life because in the grand scheme of things it really isn't that bad. only, when you're bitching, you aren't really looking at the grand scheme of things, only the little things thrown up in front in your face.
i just finished reading the poisonwood bible. and then yesterday (or was it the day before) i went to see the movie promises that tells the story of the jews and the palestines through the eyes of seven children. and both of these remind me that the world is much bigger than my little area in it. that there are larger things to fight for than the last piece of pizza.
and i have a lot more to say about this. and it's not that i'm suddenly becoming globally aware, because i've always tried to stay somewhat aware of other things, but when you hear a child being taught to hate another because of the transgressions of their fathers, you begin to wonder where it all stems from. you begin to see that in a lot of situations there is no right and wrong, there is only taking. and you learn that sometimes, you don't want to have to side with anyone - you just want to grab them and shake them and tell them to wake up - ask them if they see what they are doing to their children, and their children's children. ask them if they understand that it is up to them to stop what's going on, here, in israel, in africa, in this apartment. and they will reply, someone needs to do something, but that person is not me.
|
|
(3 comments | comment on this)
|
| Sunday, June 9th, 2002
| |
3:41 pm - challenged.
|
i have this bad habit of becoming involved in online diary communitites from the outside only. reading a lot of other people but never saying anything. just lurking. i'm not really sure what i'm trying to find, what answers i think lie in other people's words.
anyway the point of this entry is just to say that i don't really want to do that anymore. i'm going to try and start noting people's posts. and i'm going to try and figure out how my friends list works. and how i can have them all display on a nice page (like i did last night but can't anymore. all 3 of you :) )
that is all.
(ohyeah. and i visited the animal shelter today... i need a pet)
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, June 6th, 2002
| |
7:39 pm
|
|
it's been dark all day today, like the sun just gave up trying to come out, like it woke up this am and just rolled back over in bed. i think the sun's entitled to a 4-day weekend. we all are at some point.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, June 1st, 2002
| |
9:04 pm - senses
|
it's strange, being in his house without him here. and it's not like it's something new, i've been here alone many times - when he goes away i come here sometimes to remind me, to keep me company. but now, it's partly my house. for the next 4 weeks, this is where i call home. and i have to get used to the way it looks, the way it feels, how it smells different from where i was. i have to get used to the kitchen, the bathroom, the bed (same size, but not the same as the one i have). i have to soak it in, every second, filling every corner of my mind. squeeze in as much as possible, so i won't forget. so i'll always remember these days, this apartment, him, us.
in a way, i just want to get my goodbyes over with. and say them all now and just take off in the middle of the night. because i don't want to be sad about the people i'm leaving. i don't want to have more people that i promise to keep in touch with but never quite do. sigh.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, May 29th, 2002
| |
9:02 am
|
you're only a day away...
tomorrow the movers come and take away all of my belongings and move them to storage in seattle. then i move in with boy for a month and then my flight leaves to take me across the country and then i never come back.
how quickly things change.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, May 28th, 2002
| |
4:36 pm - security.
|
sometimes i wonder if i'll ever be able to be completely honest with anyone. if i'll ever really be able to bear my soul, to tell my deepest darkest thoughts. if i'll ever hear them roll of my tongue or feel them on the tips of my fingers. or if i'll always be stuck with them swirling around, blackness in my skyblue mind.
my fingers won't hit the right words on the keyboard. i don't know if it's because i'm out of practice or because my mind is working too fast and my hands can't keep up. i'm a fast typer, but the mind always wins. when i was younger i used to be able to read outloud very good. the teacher would always call on me to read. i was always the narrator, the one with the biggest part. and then i began to read faster than i could speak, and i couldn't be the narrator without tripping over my words. i was always one sentence ahead, trying to keep the order straight in my mind. i'm still an odd reader, i want to say the words aloud, my my eyes want to skip ahead to the next paragraph, and so i'm stuck. mind over matter.
my mom left this morning. as did sarah, the best roommate i have ever had. she moved back to london, to teach, and i hope i will see her again. i can't process that she's gone, can't fathom not seeing her in the kitchen, not hearing her singing in the shower. i have too many other things to deal with. but i'm sure it will hit me like a ton of bricks. at 2am on a thunderstorming night huddled beneath my blankets breathing hard. that's when i'll remember those things.
graduation was yesterday. i am now a master. or a magistre (ceremonies were in latin). and boy bought me a dozen roses that are sitting on my fireplace, making the living room smell like spring.
and i guess that i'm ready to go, to move on, to leave. i guess i am. because the next month will be sad, filled with more goodbyes than hellos. but the month following, there will be more new people, and things to play with and things to do. and sometimes (now) i can't believe i've made it this far, to the last two nights in my own bed here, my own room, my own apartment (32 stairs from the street).
my mother's visit was okay. we didn't fight. she met boy. she drank with us, silly on saki and asahi. and we drove home laughing. but i could sense an edge in my voice, and i don't know why i'm always angry with her, around her. why her presence makes me want to rip my hair out. what deep feelings i must have somewhere, locked up. feelings i can't relate to, feelings i don't want.
and i lied to my father and told him i wasn't graduating so he wouldn't show up on my doorstep, drunk. so he wouldn't get the chance to meet the people here that i love, to taint another aspect of my life. so that i could have this, providence, to myself. i wish i were bold enough to say the things to him that i want to. to never speak to him again. i wish that there wasn't some small part of me that actually cared what he thought (go away).
enough rambling, i have to pack.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, May 21st, 2002
| |
11:46 am
|
and we write
and talk
and yell
and scream
and write.
and wonder if anyone is on the other end.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| |
11:35 am - if wishes were roses.
|
i wish i could laugh and sing and dance. i wish i could not worry, not be anxious, not have my heart beating out of my chest all the time. i wish i were smarter, prettier, thinner, more sure of myself. i wish i were in control. i wish i felt loved and wanted and needed. i wish i loved myself as i am, take it or leave it. i wish there weren't so many things to do, to say, to change. i wish i could run a thousand miles and not get out of breath. i wish i could tell people how i felt, and what i was thinking.
i wish i knew.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, May 20th, 2002
| |
12:35 pm - erasure
|
i'm always afraid to erase the words i have written. anywhere. on little slips of paper, napkins, in my journal. here, there. wherever. i'm afraid that one day i'll forget these words, forget these feelings and that i even had them. that i'll want to turn back the clock and won't be able to. so instead, i savor my words, phone numbers scribbled on the back of movie stubs, pictures of people i once knew but no longer remember, cards and letters, everything. it all sits in my wooden box from bombay company. the box that hides under my bed. the box i never quite look through, but i'm sure i could recite the contents to you with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.
i can't write right now - it seems like too much. i'm afraid if i start i'll never stop. i'm afraid of what might come out, of the words i might be left with, of the words that i won't be able to bear to erase. but i'm packing my books. and i have left out natalie goldberg and my newest journal and my freshest pens. and i have put them on top of the pile of books i will take with me, so i won't forget.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| |
12:34 pm - redux
|
and so we begin again.
maybe it's the clouds. or the temperature. or the ice.
maybe it's my warm bed. my sheets. my blanket.
maybe it's ani. or the humming of computers in my office. or the sound of me typing.
maybe it's you. and the smell of your house. and the way we always come full circle.
but we have to start somewhere, don't we?
|
|
(comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|
