Stercus accidit

How many nights have I sat here promising reform? How many days have I sworn reform to myself? Shayne chastises me for thinking negatively.

Yes shit happens, and yes the holidays have been an informative time for me and for all- but I'm happy they end with New Years. God I'm happy for that.

Jean is Dead.

I don't know what to say; I am unable to even eek out a sentence or two of semi-brilliance. At least I'm writing again, it's a start. I feel like something- maybe the very core of who I was has perished, maybe she peeled away in defeat. Maybe I left behind a husk of who I was and while I was away she continued on in mechanical steps to carry through the rest of last semester.

Rest in peace.

I had been petrified of the holiday season even before it began. I was afraid of the three "F"s that pervaded the cluster of days ending the year. Now believe me when I say I've seen my share of F's recently- but "fun", "Family" and "Food" were the three most terrifying I saw on the horizon.

As it turns out, I had a relatively calm few days, ironically without most relatives. I think that was the best part. I am going to have to work a little harder to make up for the setbacks and the damages endured at the hands of last semester, but I'm not thinking about that right now.

I'm looking ahead to my horizons hopefully, but without any concrete confidence in myself. I am fighting for that last bit.

I fully intend to escape from the rubble of last semester. I plan to rise from the ashes of who I was a fierce redhead with a passion for life- all beauty and rage. And I'll blaze on into the night seeking a place where I can finally rest. Either way, I plan to be better than myself previous to now.

And I want this to be the place I declare such resolution. Before the dawning of the decade I will remake myself and dedicate this resolve to the creation of a better me. God as my witness, I will learn form this, and I will emerge stronger.

The Calm

I'm holding on to today. It was so simple, but I had such a good day. Of course there was that one moment right at the end which inspired my most sincere 'fuck it all' sentiment. I refuse to think of that and will push it out of my mind with a sigh. Inhale calm, and allow those thoughts to detach. I will lose them as they fly away into the dark. I will think of nothing but the flame in the void. Exhale, inhale. And I am calm once more. Today was amazing.

It started when I woke up at almost noon, with a piggu on my head. Allow me to restate: one of the things that makes me happiest- probably the sole thing that can calm me down from the deepest of rages, is the impulse to love. In this case, it is the maternal spark created by a small bundle of fuzz-covered love. One look from those ebony doll eyes, and my heart melts through, and bubbles over. I woke up, dressed and took a walk. The day was perfect for it, moderate temperature and veiled skies, and for once, clean air. I hiked the train tracks to my friend Shayne's house (a mile away) while we talked about stereotypes and writing.

When we arrived, he ran inside to check on his family, giving me a second of much-needed rest. Endorphins still running, we hopped in his car and drove to the harbor. Ten minutes later (and not a second longer) we were seating ourselves at Andria's. Authentic to the last, we just missed the lunch rush (which would hit as we dined).

And there my day continued as it had begun, smiling, sublime, euphoria in calm slow waves like the rolling in to the rocks under the melody of gulls. Heaven.

After that we walked over to the arcade, where much to my chagrin, I tried my skills against a new rhythm game: Technika. Regarding rhythm games: may god always bless me that I never live without a song I can't conquer. This game gives me a good few years toward that end. I swear, divinity on a touch screen.

After that I cleaned my ass off, as a thank-you for such a stress-free morning. That took the rest of the day. And let me tell you, it was awkward. Shayne's family hates me, but my merit of my position as a university student has been forced to accept ma as a good role-model for their son/brother/etc. You get the idea. Because of this, I am placed in an uncomfortable place. Frequently I remind you all: I hate lying, and detest liars. Now see me standing there, where all social convention requires me to lie 'it's nice to see you too, Mrs. Patterson!' accompanied by a huge,fake, smile to match hers. It was not a situation I liked but it was a situation that played out through the day with each chance occurrence (repeated ad nausium with all family members except with the stepdad who genuinely smiled at me, and allowed me the chance to return the same).

But that withstanding, it was a good day. I felt like by small steps my life is getting better. I mean, after cleaning we watched naruto and ate cold stone. Simple pleasures. I pray for more of these. I prayed for a savior, and had I only known he was with me all along.

When I came home these small steps, taken by this man who is both mentor and friend. I have longed for someone like Shayne my whole life- and here though I was broken his kindness showed me yet one more good day. I am blessed for him, and for the grace of one good day.

I needed this; I pray this calm persists.

Oh my god, that Kiara's shameless.

Einstein was right. I came home to escape my problems, in so doing immersing myself in an equally troublesome set of circumstances.

I never learn.

I'll break down before this is over, maybe they'll take my ashes and make some glass.
I will do it all with a smile. You think you see it, you think you understand this drama.

I dance through life, don't I? Love the elegant irony, the degradation of my self-esteem. Whore and handmaiden. That's right. It's a paradox. Messing with your pretty notions of me? Yeah, tug on the ribbon, unwrap the truth, try it. I dare you. Think you see even half?

Think again. You don't know the half of it. Watch me spend the cash I get cleaning up others shit, feeding their lardy asses. Watch me smile. See this gloss-covered venom? This is for you. Watch me hating this self 24/7 so you don't have to. Saccharine sarcasm? You don't have a clue.

I'm dying by good measures, and becoming something loathsome. I've ripped out my heart and sold it on the black market. I'm bleeding for fun and profit. I'm selling out by the second, and loving every minute of it. Ruining this lifetime for the mildly inspiring end.

At least I can make it look good.

Contact High

Alright, so let me first say that if you think I am bragging in any way- or find that to be objectionable in any way, you should walk away now. Go back to whatever you were doing before coming across this. Walk away now and be all the less for it. Maybe.

So, here's how it went down.

Friday I finish the Political Science final from hell. I shit you not.

more to come.

The Importance of Being Earnest

If I could take an honest moment- I would say that I am lost, very very lost. I am drowning and afraid. This is all coming at a very bad time. I wonder if I am redeemable. There are some who would say I'm fooling myself- maybe I am.

But the beauty in apathy is that it leaves you with no more than a dim self awareness of your surroundings when all other signs point to utter catastrophe. Better yet, when the world is falling around me, I am only vuagely able so manage a smile-- my last benign act of charity-- for the dying stars as they fall. I love them, feel pity for them. They are breaking my heart, so I weep with them in our parting moments.

This aside, I can't weep for myself. I have no reason, no sadness for this sad, self-destructive creature. This poor witless beast has managed to raise itself hell now, hasn't it? Well, its misery will be over soon, I hope. I don't feel bad for it. Like Dante- I am tempted to prod at it sadly, or feel the sear of contempt and scorn for its pathetic form.

If I could take an honest moment, I would say all of this-- but I can't. I can't because this smile will have to be all that is left to express my emotion. I want it to be all. I want to be done, and I want to call this the end. If only I could.

A Dark Drizzly November in My Soul

I'm not asking for a miracle here, but an end to all of this rotten luck would be nice. For a change. I'm reminded of my "never give up attitude" at times like this (the times when I'm being petty and whiney, the times I want to crawl under the covers and hide in my own immaturity like a security blankey of self-righteous angst). And I am disgusted by it. Under normal circumstances, I would call this the most moral guidance I could give myself. I see progress as being divine, and the highest calling of man-- his greatest duty to himself being the discovery of that which he loves to do, and his greatest duty to others (in as much as he has one) being to do it well and to the full measure of his ability and passion. But these are not normal circumstances, I am tired and I have a head-cold. These factors make me predisposed (more so than normally) to trivial complaints and a general, yet all pervasive lethargy.

Furthermore, I have found that such conditions lead to thought such as this :

"There are times when even the most ardent worker needs a break, a day (or in my case week) to overcome the challenges life has so rudely heaved at them. The kind of challenges that come on like a bullet train to the face; leaving you alive but only enough to laugh when you are informed that "overworked-type-A- Dumbass" is medically a preexisting condition. And when one is faced with just such times, and just such luck, the only rational thing to do is say (if only for one day) "fuck it, I'm calling in sick". Sometimes that is the only thing stopping us from stepping out into the quad and giving that bastard "Boomer" what for."

But that is a very dark place that no one wants to go to, least of all me; I would assume we all love our mascot bobcat dearly (or at least would rather he not have his tail forcibly fed to him-- making him the world's first Möbius mascot). And so I will say this: it is a damn good thing that every once in a while the movers of the universe take a sick day. This is my substitute for pistol and ball; and quite frankly, it suits me just fine.

Persona non Grata

I don't have long before I have to work, a little less than an hour now. The weather is a brooding gray, but I'm pleased by it. I love this weather, I feel like I can think in it. Right now I feel a little tired, a little bound. I am feeling a little unlike I should be if I want to function in this environment at this time. Why is this?

I'd guess it is at least in part due to the presence of more than a few persons of an undesirable nature in my life- and immediate range of vision. I know this is not the whole story, however. It is also the presence of an unwanted stray emotion or two. More later

Dramatis Personae

Thoughts of a troubled protagonist. But the show must go on!

"I want to tell him, just to stir shit up; I want him to know just to get it out there in the open. I want to say it just so that in the numbness afforded to me by tears and caffeine I can say I said it.

I know it will leave me vulnerable, and that I am meeting him on his terms. I know that I face rejection- or worse the exploitative nature of a vengeful ex. I know this, and because I do I am compelled all the more strongly to act. Accordingly, I am faced with an equal and opposite force-- the pull of my own repulsion to the thought, to those feelings, to myself.

To be vulnerable in such a way is to give control to emotion. It would mean accepting powerlessness-- this, from the girl who white-knuckles life, and would spit in fate's eye at first chance. Emotional honesty has never been my strong suit. But he wants me to be honest. But right now, I know that is the one thing I cannot do. I know that if I were to do this, he would leave again, to spare us both. It is for that reason that I cannot be honest.

He's trying to look out for my well-being, I know. He's taking care of me again like he used to, and I'm crying out-- begging him not to.

But how can I possibly say: "Leaving you was the worst thing I could have ever done. I love you. And it hurts me to think I've continually done things to lose you over this past year. It hurts me to think that you still care, and to remember how much I love you. Please, don't take care of me; don't be so gentle; don't be so kind. Don't care so well as only you can. Please, you're breaking my heart..." ?"

Krystalnacht in my mind...

If I didn't have to work, I wouldn't. It is so painful, to think that I have to work at such a feverish pace to make something of myself.

Melancholy Moment

If I could take a moment of personal reflection- I would say that peace for me is a foreign thing, and that I am saddened immensely by this fact. I very much yearn to be at peace.

It comes in waves and often not when I would expect it--or need it. God help me.

A new day, an old problem.

The day is brilliant- it is shining away my focus and rationality. The white outside is a contrast to the shaded and cool interior of this place. Even the dirty gravel pattern linoleum is cool to the touch. I shiver amidst the drone of students and machinery.Shivering, I am reminded of the vent above me. It is an oppressive cool, an abrasive one, it assaults thought and demands a shut down of response. The heat outside is ever more the tyrant though, and so I am glad for this oppression, being the favored of the two evils. I am sick, and rambling.

I am also a hypocrite and a dangerously self-preservationist one. Ambition is an ugly thing, a dirty thing, a treasonous whore. I hate and love her. I want to rid myself of this addiction I've developed to the pleasures and pains of my relationship with her- a mixture of equal parts torture and ecstasy. I want to close the gap.

So far have I roamed after her and the night mistress Perfection, temptress and devil (though hers is a game never won, and so I easily tire in the courting). So far and yet farther still would I roam if it meant my desires come to fruition.

I am shivering and weak, will and sustainable having left me for resolve. I am skin and bone, muscle and fat worn to the quick, propelled by the whips of a will. This cluster of impulses moves in lurching jerks- completing its task by rote memory and nothing more. Sleep has abandoned me and I long for the comfort of void and sleep. I am sick, and rambling.

Motherhood

I can't understand this: motivated self-starter and social-climbing, soon-to-be lawyer reduced to a slave to her maternal instinct. There is a sick guinea pig in my hands. It is not human; but it is my baby. God save me, she's sick, and my hands are tied.

Whispers of reassurance are nothing. If I thought it would do a damned bit of good I would storm the castle gates. I would tear through any tangible resistance, if I had any inclination that it would do the littlest of good. In retrospect I might yet, if only to externalize this powerlessness in a fit of violence.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, nor does it know torture like that felt by a woman whose child lies sick and defenseless in her arms. This is one battle I can't fight, and it scares me to the point of tears.

Nightmare Cinema

I'm walking through a dream or a nightmare. I can't decide which. It feels so surreal, I can only imagine that any moment I will awaken- wrapped warm in the folds of my feather blanket drowsy with this lingering sleep and blissful at the day's coming. Though I pray for this end, I know it will not come.

The dream plays out and the curtains part.

Act one is narrated by a still persistent voice on some far away receiver; he tells me this is reality, and I believe him. His benevolence lowers me, and I sink to my knees defeated. I am entangled in these slackened strings. This is the voice echoing in my head, it congeals to a razor point. He reminds me to fear and love alike; to bleed and to heal. This voice which reminds me to watch commands, and I feel the eyes searching back at me for signs of the break. His tone is flat and self-controlled. I hear ice and steel. I loathe that tone. It's the tone he always uses when he's furious but unwilling to betray the emotion.

And so it is. Cracks appear and the paint flays under fingers probing porcelain cheeks. But then the tender hopes fade and strings tug once more. I am moving, I am dancing, as the voice has now commanded. Looking upwards, I see candles lighted high up on the ceiling- those same hands guiding waltzes spinning dizzy. Delirium glows warm and shining, the voice speaking a velvet demand. Of instinct the strings jump and I react.

The ushers bow as act two begins full in ferocity; it's swirling around me and these insecurities take the stage like goblin marionettes of myself, deformed and mocking. They chant and cry out to me, and though I avert my eyes they persist.

The curtains remain parted, tied back taught still, and yet I have outlived my purpose. The scene plays out perfectly as I lie prostrate and helpless, abandoned with disdain. The disapproval, the loving hands having turned away from me, it scalds and cauterizes this wound searing across my consciousness. I can't scream but sit fascinated by this gorgeous implosion. Sentience collapses inward as all is drowned in a sea of burgundy velvet. Exhausted and furious, full of rage and venom I cannot move. I am helpless and ruined. Drowning and sinking, lost and forgotten at the bottom of a steamer trunk post-performance. I am dragged back into the blackness and lose thoughts of myself.

Pull my strings, for you I'll dance, and be no more myself. From this point forward no more will I think but to be of a puppet and a toy. So statuesque will I remain, thoughtless and complacent so that no more harsh words will I endure.

But please god please if there be mercy in you- to save the light shining dull in these doll eyes- wake me from this nightmare cinema.

The first of many?

So, I've left my more common internet haunt for this. Whatever it becomes from this point on is out of my hands. It may be something; it may be nothing. And in light of my indecision on the matter, I close with the words of a man far wiser than myself: "We shall see".