I'm so happy to be moving out. Its been so long since I had my own space, and its been way too long since I had the space and privacy to have a daily practice, I hope it materializes. I'm really worried about my mom and S. This morning I was lying in bed, trying to sleep again before the alarm went off and I thought of the time I drug S out of a hot tub and she came up, spitting up water and crying. I couldn't go back to sleep.
Its strange how when you fix something, when you're there for someone at just the right time, it doesn't make you feel better about yourself, or the world, or the event that could have happened. I don't, anyway. It just brings me nearer to it when I think of it, makes me feel worse for here that she had such inattentive parents, and that I, a skinny eight year-old, was the only thing around to pull her out. I feel that way now, like a poor excuse for a parent. I am soo frightened by the distant future of parenthood. I don't know if I'll ever really be able to do it.
Au contraire, I'm looking forward to having a place for Savannah to come to when she needs to get away from mom, where we can hang out without mom being around. I hope that actually happens. I'm just really, really, excited about school this year, having my own space. I think I can really make it work much easier, being able to walk to class, living without TV, having a desk, the whole set up. Maybe I'll get a cheap laptop. Maybe I'll be indubitably happy.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
I feel good today. I am calm and relaxed. I love my boyfriend and do not hate my work. I'm very excited to be living by myself again, and I'm reading more positive things lately.
My biggest problem with the boyfriend is myself. I've noticed, over the years, that this is always the case, but in this instance its more about him them me. Let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up: I need to relax, a lot, with him. I am quite a mean person, and although I don't want him to do some of the things he does, I think that instead of just being passive aggressive about it I should just organize my time with him better- that us time is us time, and that there isn't too much of that. This also ties in with the fact that I need to spend more time with my sister, and having him around just isn't really the same, and he doesn't really like hanging out with my sister (which I can understand, but if he would get off his ass and get a car it wouldn't be much of a problem). We will be living next door to eachother, but I would really like to partition off my time there, as well. I need to be alone, a few days of the week, and although it may seem cold to him, nights when I get off work I will probably just give him a goodnight kiss and then hop off to my own bed; and when he calls to see what I'm doing, if I'm doing homework I'll tell him so, and tell him that I need to be alone or that I can't hang out for too long.
What can I say, I'm kind of a hateful bitch. Some people could do this in warmer ways than I can. I'm just not naturally warm, and I'm scared that if I ask for what I want in a warm way, I won't get it (contrary to past experience).
On to lighter matters...
I'm currently reading Les Miserables. I don't know what it is, but the authors I most enjoy are 19th Century French. If I knew more about history I could draw some really pedantic conclusions, so if anyone in the world out there would like to brutally comment on my boring life, go on.
I feel much better when reading Les Mis. I've read the first four hundred pages three or four times (au moins), and the simple literary cheese gets me every time. Selected excerpts:
"What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure hours of his life, where he had so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was this narrow enclosure with the sky for a background not space enough for him to adore God in his most beautiful, most sublime works? Indeed, is that not everything?What more do you need? A little garden to walk in, and immensity to reflect on. At his feet something to cultivate and gather; above his head something to study and meditate on; a few flowers on earth and all the stars in heaven."
"He recognized he was not an innocent man unustly punished. He acknowledged he had committed an extraordinary and reprehensible act; that the loaf might not have been refused him, if he had asked for it; that in any even it would have been better to wait, either for pity or for work; that it is not altogether an unanswerable reply to say, 'Could I wait when I was hungry?"; that, in the first place, it is very rare that anyone dies of actual hunger; and that, fortunately or unfortunately, man is so made that he can suffer long and hard, morally and physically, without dying; that he should, therefore, have had patience; that that would have been better even for the poor little ones; that it was an act of folly in him- a poor, worthless man- to grab all of society forcibly by the collar and imagine he could escape from misery by theft; that, in any event, it was a bad door for getting out of misery, by entering into infamy; in short, that he had done wrong.
Then he asked himself if he were not the only one who had done wrong in the course of his disastrous story. If, in the first place, it was not a serious thing that he, a workman, could not have found work and he, an industrious man, should have been without bread. If, moreover, the fault committed and confessed, the punishment had not been cruel and excessive. If there were not a greater abuse on the part of the law, in the penalty, than there had been, on the part of the guilty, in the crime. If there were not too much weight on one side of the scales- on the side of expiation. If the excess of the penalty were not the eradication of the crime; and if the result were not the reversal of the situation, replacing the wrong of the delinquent with the wrong of the repression, to make a victim of the guilty, and a creditor of the debtor, and actually to out the right on the side of the one who had violated it. If that penalty, in conjunction with its successive extensions for his attempted escapes, were not finally a sort of outrage of the stronger on the weaker, a crime of society on the individual, a crime committed afresh every day, a crime that was committed for nineteen years.
He asked himself whether human society could rightfully make its member submit equally, in the one case by its unreasonable carelessness and in the other by its pitiless care; and to hold a poor man forever between a lack and an excess, a lack of work, an excess of punishment.
If it was not outrageous that society should treat with such rigid precision those of its members who were most poorly endowed in the chance distribution of wealth and were therefore most deserving of its tolerance.
With these questions asked and answered, he condemned society and sentenced it.
He sentenced it to his hatred.
He made it responsible for his fate, and promised himself that he perhaps would not hesitate someday to call it to account. He declared to himself that there was no equity between the injury he had committed and the injury committed on him; he concluded, in short, that his punishment was not merely an injustice, but, beyond all doubt, a gross injustice.
Anger may be foolish and absurd, and one may be wrongly irritated, but a man never feels outraged unless in some respect he is fundamentally right. Jean Valjean felt outraged."
And etcetera.....
My biggest problem with the boyfriend is myself. I've noticed, over the years, that this is always the case, but in this instance its more about him them me. Let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up: I need to relax, a lot, with him. I am quite a mean person, and although I don't want him to do some of the things he does, I think that instead of just being passive aggressive about it I should just organize my time with him better- that us time is us time, and that there isn't too much of that. This also ties in with the fact that I need to spend more time with my sister, and having him around just isn't really the same, and he doesn't really like hanging out with my sister (which I can understand, but if he would get off his ass and get a car it wouldn't be much of a problem). We will be living next door to eachother, but I would really like to partition off my time there, as well. I need to be alone, a few days of the week, and although it may seem cold to him, nights when I get off work I will probably just give him a goodnight kiss and then hop off to my own bed; and when he calls to see what I'm doing, if I'm doing homework I'll tell him so, and tell him that I need to be alone or that I can't hang out for too long.
What can I say, I'm kind of a hateful bitch. Some people could do this in warmer ways than I can. I'm just not naturally warm, and I'm scared that if I ask for what I want in a warm way, I won't get it (contrary to past experience).
On to lighter matters...
I'm currently reading Les Miserables. I don't know what it is, but the authors I most enjoy are 19th Century French. If I knew more about history I could draw some really pedantic conclusions, so if anyone in the world out there would like to brutally comment on my boring life, go on.
I feel much better when reading Les Mis. I've read the first four hundred pages three or four times (au moins), and the simple literary cheese gets me every time. Selected excerpts:
"What more was needed by this old man, who divided the leisure hours of his life, where he had so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night? Was this narrow enclosure with the sky for a background not space enough for him to adore God in his most beautiful, most sublime works? Indeed, is that not everything?What more do you need? A little garden to walk in, and immensity to reflect on. At his feet something to cultivate and gather; above his head something to study and meditate on; a few flowers on earth and all the stars in heaven."
"He recognized he was not an innocent man unustly punished. He acknowledged he had committed an extraordinary and reprehensible act; that the loaf might not have been refused him, if he had asked for it; that in any even it would have been better to wait, either for pity or for work; that it is not altogether an unanswerable reply to say, 'Could I wait when I was hungry?"; that, in the first place, it is very rare that anyone dies of actual hunger; and that, fortunately or unfortunately, man is so made that he can suffer long and hard, morally and physically, without dying; that he should, therefore, have had patience; that that would have been better even for the poor little ones; that it was an act of folly in him- a poor, worthless man- to grab all of society forcibly by the collar and imagine he could escape from misery by theft; that, in any event, it was a bad door for getting out of misery, by entering into infamy; in short, that he had done wrong.
Then he asked himself if he were not the only one who had done wrong in the course of his disastrous story. If, in the first place, it was not a serious thing that he, a workman, could not have found work and he, an industrious man, should have been without bread. If, moreover, the fault committed and confessed, the punishment had not been cruel and excessive. If there were not a greater abuse on the part of the law, in the penalty, than there had been, on the part of the guilty, in the crime. If there were not too much weight on one side of the scales- on the side of expiation. If the excess of the penalty were not the eradication of the crime; and if the result were not the reversal of the situation, replacing the wrong of the delinquent with the wrong of the repression, to make a victim of the guilty, and a creditor of the debtor, and actually to out the right on the side of the one who had violated it. If that penalty, in conjunction with its successive extensions for his attempted escapes, were not finally a sort of outrage of the stronger on the weaker, a crime of society on the individual, a crime committed afresh every day, a crime that was committed for nineteen years.
He asked himself whether human society could rightfully make its member submit equally, in the one case by its unreasonable carelessness and in the other by its pitiless care; and to hold a poor man forever between a lack and an excess, a lack of work, an excess of punishment.
If it was not outrageous that society should treat with such rigid precision those of its members who were most poorly endowed in the chance distribution of wealth and were therefore most deserving of its tolerance.
With these questions asked and answered, he condemned society and sentenced it.
He sentenced it to his hatred.
He made it responsible for his fate, and promised himself that he perhaps would not hesitate someday to call it to account. He declared to himself that there was no equity between the injury he had committed and the injury committed on him; he concluded, in short, that his punishment was not merely an injustice, but, beyond all doubt, a gross injustice.
Anger may be foolish and absurd, and one may be wrongly irritated, but a man never feels outraged unless in some respect he is fundamentally right. Jean Valjean felt outraged."
And etcetera.....
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Master Plan. Only three monthly payments of 69.99! Call Now!
Je suis desolee, mes amis (comme tout le monde ecoute).
What I was getting to, with that poorly ended last post, is that my stress level is very high, these days, and stress is the cause of all of this. I have come to this theory: all my previous theories, involving my lacking of value, my lacking of self, my lacking of ability, of humanity, of clarity; that I am heartless, that I am a bad person, that I am a genius, that I am evil, insane, depressed and addicted to substances, and OCD (that may still be true) are almost all just stuff coming out in the stress wash, the dirty dirty laundry detergent (think tide commercials that are more set up like: "You take the kids to soccer practice- your little man got a grass stain on his shorts- No Problem! You just get over it!") of life.
I'm getting to that point in life where I can no longer feel sorry for myself because my car has broken down or my brother may or may not be going to prison. At this juncture, I am realizing that this is just life. And it kind of sucks. And it probably won't ever get easier. The only thing I can do is the PP: reduce all Possible stresses that I Possibly can.
I know this is Possible because I've done it before. THAT is very encouraging. Je vous presentez: the good life list. I've made this list before. But maybe I can actually do this since I'm getting a one-bedroom apartment away from my family.
1) Regular meditation.
2) Regular sleeping.
3) Regular yoga (and/or exercise).
4) Eating well (lots of fruits and vegetables, miso soup, etc).
5) The boyfriend. The last time I was really peaceful, I was away from my boyfriend. So maybe I should just leanr about a lot of new boundaries and me time. Maybe I can really put myself through being in bed by a certain time every night, and getting up by a certain time. Maybe. This is something I should learn about anyways.
6) Don't Panic (As I'm fucking writing this I'm panicking. What if I just can't do this? What if I do it and it doesn't work? Thats my big fear. What if, because this is a totally different envrionment from my last period of something-like-contentment, it doesn't work at all and I just become totally depressed from being
alone all the time? School is like that, folks. School can be like that. Hopefully my fun-filled job will save me from all of that).
9) I don't remember what nine was, but
8)No smoking/ very limited drinking. I feel fanfuckingtastic when I don't smoke or drink and I eat well. This is key.
What I was getting to, with that poorly ended last post, is that my stress level is very high, these days, and stress is the cause of all of this. I have come to this theory: all my previous theories, involving my lacking of value, my lacking of self, my lacking of ability, of humanity, of clarity; that I am heartless, that I am a bad person, that I am a genius, that I am evil, insane, depressed and addicted to substances, and OCD (that may still be true) are almost all just stuff coming out in the stress wash, the dirty dirty laundry detergent (think tide commercials that are more set up like: "You take the kids to soccer practice- your little man got a grass stain on his shorts- No Problem! You just get over it!") of life.
I'm getting to that point in life where I can no longer feel sorry for myself because my car has broken down or my brother may or may not be going to prison. At this juncture, I am realizing that this is just life. And it kind of sucks. And it probably won't ever get easier. The only thing I can do is the PP: reduce all Possible stresses that I Possibly can.
I know this is Possible because I've done it before. THAT is very encouraging. Je vous presentez: the good life list. I've made this list before. But maybe I can actually do this since I'm getting a one-bedroom apartment away from my family.
1) Regular meditation.
2) Regular sleeping.
3) Regular yoga (and/or exercise).
4) Eating well (lots of fruits and vegetables, miso soup, etc).
5) The boyfriend. The last time I was really peaceful, I was away from my boyfriend. So maybe I should just leanr about a lot of new boundaries and me time. Maybe I can really put myself through being in bed by a certain time every night, and getting up by a certain time. Maybe. This is something I should learn about anyways.
6) Don't Panic (As I'm fucking writing this I'm panicking. What if I just can't do this? What if I do it and it doesn't work? Thats my big fear. What if, because this is a totally different envrionment from my last period of something-like-contentment, it doesn't work at all and I just become totally depressed from being
alone all the time? School is like that, folks. School can be like that. Hopefully my fun-filled job will save me from all of that).
9) I don't remember what nine was, but
8)No smoking/ very limited drinking. I feel fanfuckingtastic when I don't smoke or drink and I eat well. This is key.
Monday, July 21, 2008
I have ten minutes to tell you everything.
I woke up today at ten. I ate a breakfast of apple and cheese and banana and peanut butter toast. I watched doctor who and a bit of The Secret Diary of a Call Girl (ep. 4. S&M. Very enlightening, honestly. My whole experience with the show and the blog (www.belledejour-uk.blogspot.com) has been very enlightening) while I was eating breakfast. I rode my bike home, via providence properties, where I turned in my application for an apartment and found out that there is one open right now right next door to the boyfriend, same apartment complex and everything. I thought about it for a while. Its six inches from moving in together, without all the nasty mindclogging annoyances of living together. I called his mum and asked her humble opinion- because I do not, as a rule, take advice from my mum- and she seemed to think it would be ok because the bf and I have quite literally hated eachother in the past, so we know eachother's bad sides, and this will either strengthen our relationship or we'll know what to expect if the shit ever does hit the fan and we break up and we're stuck with living in the same ap. complex for a year. That would be interesting. I hadn't really thought about that. Unlike most previous relationships I've had, I don't really fantasize about us breaking up, so....It just doesn't occur to me that we would.
Which brings me to Sunday Breakfast.
We went over for breakfast at j & R's place the other day, and I was very tired and kind of grumpy and kind of smashed with the BF about it a bit before we even got there, and snapped at when we did. He snapped back. It was a little shocking, because I was being a bitch before I could even process it.
This has really concerned me, a lot, in the following days. It has occured to me before that my bitchiness (which I sometimes see as the future downfall of my entire web of relationships).
Which brings me to Sunday Breakfast.
We went over for breakfast at j & R's place the other day, and I was very tired and kind of grumpy and kind of smashed with the BF about it a bit before we even got there, and snapped at when we did. He snapped back. It was a little shocking, because I was being a bitch before I could even process it.
This has really concerned me, a lot, in the following days. It has occured to me before that my bitchiness (which I sometimes see as the future downfall of my entire web of relationships).
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Yesterday I got home from the restaurant and watched TV for four hours. I can't even recall what I was watching, until the end. I tell myself its stress, that I'm working too much, but its just left-over crap from dealing with the boyfriend. I think just hanging out with him too much gets me down. I can't handle it. He's a liar, in the worst sense, but the sad part is that I know most of this is the product of him trying and just not knowing how. Its a trial and error thing.
But thats the thing of it. I feel like clammy monster for wanting someone who doesn't really care about all of this. Someone who just wants to have fun. Someone who isn't going to fake the drawn-out stares and the incessant compliments just to make sure they're still on the right track. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't want someone to pretend that they're in love with me, even if they are and they just don't know how to show it. I want the late nights to be quiet, and the anger to be honest, and the mania to subside.
It doesn't matter, I'm moving out anyhow. Soon enough I'll have all that time to myself, and we'll see how well all my hypothesizing and superiority folds over. I've just gotten to the point where I really enjoy my sister, and I haven't really enjoyed living with someone since Jared and Zac in New York. Maybe I'm just a huge mess. Maybe I should move into a house.
Today Israel got back two bodies in exchange for hundreds, for two or three living men who went home to Lebanon, I presume. I wonder who has the power there.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/17/world/middleeast/17mideast.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Alas, all the rooms on craigslist compare to the boyfriend's payment for a one-bedroom apartment. I don't care. I need to cough up the cash somehow before mom and sis move out. I just want to be on my own. Hopefully I'll be able to make rent with this new job and loans, and not have to skimp too much on books. I hate skimping on books.
I realized last night, as visions of Hyde and Forman danced before my eyes, that I really do suffer from depression. Probably not more than most people, but I haven't noticed myself falling into lows that affect me all day until now. I haven't realized that all the markers in my life that sometimes alarm me- open sores on my scalp and arms, smoking, not eating well, not exercising, watching tv for alarming amounts of time- are tolls that I am paying for stress about something else, earlier in the day or week or year or lifetime, that I still feel shitty about. Its been a bad couple of weeks, true, and chris is here now, with all his eyes bent on me, and its going to be hard for me to just get me time in. Hopefully once I move out and have my own place I can get some personal, meditative schedule going.
Its crazy how far I've come from last summer in NS. I knew at the time that my life there was fit to make me happy. It was a lot of things: regular meals, good activity levels, regular sleeping hours, and about an hour and a half of yoga and meditation every day. I have been striving for all of this again, but its been really hard to reach here. I really think living on my own (no roommates) will help me in this department, especially if I'm aggressive about my time alone and my time with the Boyfriend.
Memories of last summer come to me now often, with a smug unavailability. I'm sure there are plenty of other outlets that could help me, if I did them regularly, if my life was at all more regular than it is now, that would improve my quality of life. But I know, surely, that the only thing that has ever truly brought me peace is meditation. I have never been as happy as I was then. It was frustrating at times, to be sure (working on a farm and living in one house with nine or ten stinky, horny travellers will be), but all of that seemed to fade so much farther into the background than it ever had for me, and I had been there before. I had felt it much differently there, at other times, other seasons.
The weeks that followed my departure from the farm were very painful. I went to Europe with my (now ex) boyfriend and we had a long, drawn out, working out of our relationship. I didn't exactly make it easy on him, and he was pulling all his old tricks out of his basket. I hate him so much now. Its funny: I've never hated a boyfriend after we broke up before, at least nothing more than a mild irritation mixed with pity.
It ended badly- secrets and lies came up afterward that made that postclosure sting just a little too tangy- and then he started dating S. Just after we had broken up, I had joked with her that she should date him, had long, drunken, gooey conversations about how he had hurt me, manipulated me, how crazed he was. The part that really bothers me is not how fucked they both are, what bothers me is that I know they both like it, a little. Pervs.
But thats the thing of it. I feel like clammy monster for wanting someone who doesn't really care about all of this. Someone who just wants to have fun. Someone who isn't going to fake the drawn-out stares and the incessant compliments just to make sure they're still on the right track. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't want someone to pretend that they're in love with me, even if they are and they just don't know how to show it. I want the late nights to be quiet, and the anger to be honest, and the mania to subside.
It doesn't matter, I'm moving out anyhow. Soon enough I'll have all that time to myself, and we'll see how well all my hypothesizing and superiority folds over. I've just gotten to the point where I really enjoy my sister, and I haven't really enjoyed living with someone since Jared and Zac in New York. Maybe I'm just a huge mess. Maybe I should move into a house.
Today Israel got back two bodies in exchange for hundreds, for two or three living men who went home to Lebanon, I presume. I wonder who has the power there.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/17/world/middleeast/17mideast.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Alas, all the rooms on craigslist compare to the boyfriend's payment for a one-bedroom apartment. I don't care. I need to cough up the cash somehow before mom and sis move out. I just want to be on my own. Hopefully I'll be able to make rent with this new job and loans, and not have to skimp too much on books. I hate skimping on books.
I realized last night, as visions of Hyde and Forman danced before my eyes, that I really do suffer from depression. Probably not more than most people, but I haven't noticed myself falling into lows that affect me all day until now. I haven't realized that all the markers in my life that sometimes alarm me- open sores on my scalp and arms, smoking, not eating well, not exercising, watching tv for alarming amounts of time- are tolls that I am paying for stress about something else, earlier in the day or week or year or lifetime, that I still feel shitty about. Its been a bad couple of weeks, true, and chris is here now, with all his eyes bent on me, and its going to be hard for me to just get me time in. Hopefully once I move out and have my own place I can get some personal, meditative schedule going.
Its crazy how far I've come from last summer in NS. I knew at the time that my life there was fit to make me happy. It was a lot of things: regular meals, good activity levels, regular sleeping hours, and about an hour and a half of yoga and meditation every day. I have been striving for all of this again, but its been really hard to reach here. I really think living on my own (no roommates) will help me in this department, especially if I'm aggressive about my time alone and my time with the Boyfriend.
Memories of last summer come to me now often, with a smug unavailability. I'm sure there are plenty of other outlets that could help me, if I did them regularly, if my life was at all more regular than it is now, that would improve my quality of life. But I know, surely, that the only thing that has ever truly brought me peace is meditation. I have never been as happy as I was then. It was frustrating at times, to be sure (working on a farm and living in one house with nine or ten stinky, horny travellers will be), but all of that seemed to fade so much farther into the background than it ever had for me, and I had been there before. I had felt it much differently there, at other times, other seasons.
The weeks that followed my departure from the farm were very painful. I went to Europe with my (now ex) boyfriend and we had a long, drawn out, working out of our relationship. I didn't exactly make it easy on him, and he was pulling all his old tricks out of his basket. I hate him so much now. Its funny: I've never hated a boyfriend after we broke up before, at least nothing more than a mild irritation mixed with pity.
It ended badly- secrets and lies came up afterward that made that postclosure sting just a little too tangy- and then he started dating S. Just after we had broken up, I had joked with her that she should date him, had long, drunken, gooey conversations about how he had hurt me, manipulated me, how crazed he was. The part that really bothers me is not how fucked they both are, what bothers me is that I know they both like it, a little. Pervs.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
it shouldn't be this big of a deal. i should have just asked him to do something for me, i was close enough. but he didn't really want to, and i was kind of mad about him not even attempting to go down. i'm tired of hearing excuses now. the thought of being used really really hurts. once you do something enough times, it doesn't really matter what you say afterwards. a person gets the feeling that they're not important, and it gets harder and harder to be okay with that, the less important you are.
its my own fault. i should have just asked him to do something else, but in that moment, when he was feeling it, all i could think of was his selfishness, how it used to be in the beginning. the very thought of it makes me want to cry. its happened to me before. i can feel it coming already.
its my own fault. i should have just asked him to do something else, but in that moment, when he was feeling it, all i could think of was his selfishness, how it used to be in the beginning. the very thought of it makes me want to cry. its happened to me before. i can feel it coming already.
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