4/15/00

This fucking sucks.  I can't work at home because my computer sucks, and I can't work at school because the internet server is down.  Dammit!  I hate computers!  This makes me want to go out and spend a lot of money.

I read over the last few entries (before I accidentally deleted 4/14, hope nothing good happened that day) and realized how stupid I sound.  I'd run a word count on "like" and "so" but I fear the result.  I apologize to any and all who may have read through this.  My first reaction was "oh my God, I don't talk that way," then I gave it some thought and realized with horror that YES I DO TALK THAT WAY.  Eeeew.  I can't help it, I saw "Valley Girl" when I was 10 and it affected me profoundly.  Anyway, I will try from this point to write like the intelligent soul I truly am.  Please don't hurt me.

I am in a shitty, shitty mood today.  I woke up at 7:00 and I felt great.  Refreshed, competent, SANE.  No panic, no fear, no dread.  It was beautiful!  So I fucked it all up by going back to bed.  I was hoping to sleep another hour, tops, but ended up falling into this crazy dream about going to Mexico and ending up in Cuba (who knew Cuba wasn't an island at all, but just a 50-foot walk from the beach in Cozumel?  It's also incredibly easy to get across the border--they let me return to Mexico on my promise that I would obtain a $1.50 passport and bring it back to show them).  So I finally wake up around 9:30 or so, feeling like crap.  And I had absolutely no ambition, and I couldn't think straight--I know I had all sorts of things on the gay agenda for today, but I'll be damned if I know what they were.  So I cleaned the house and then Meghan and I came here to the school, she's at the gym (using my student ID because I pay for gym use and will Never NEVER go to the gym). 

I feel kind of crappy doing this behind her back, like I'm having an affair or something.  I just don't want her reading most of the stuff I write about here because I just don't think she'd get it.  So if you don't feel comfortable baring your soul to your "spouse," what kind of relationship can you possibly have?  I used to think that way, until I actually met the love 'o' my life.  Sometimes you keep your mouth shut because you want to protect the people you love and it seems the easiest way to do that is to not drag them into your well.  Unfortunately, that all too often creates more problems, but I think Meghan and I have managed rather well with our denial...we just admit things to each other way after the fact, when the initial crisis has passed.  We're freaks.

So I'm not letting her in on this page.  I just need something that is mine, all mine.  And while some people use the web to be someone they're not, I'm kind of doing the opposite--using this page to be who I really am, not the "character" I play in real life.

I've been listening to a lot of the music I used to listen to when I first went nutty years ago--Concrete Blonde (Bloodletting, which is by far not their best, I mean, "Joey" is certainly no "God is the Bullet"), Mazzy Star (which makes me either want to sleep or smoke pot, I'm not sure which), old Indigo Girls.  I'm supposed to be doing homework today but I can't get on the fucking net to do my research and HELL NO, I won't just go to the book library. 

I need something to do with myself.  I'm seriously considering an exercise program--BLASPHEMY!  But I am, considering I'm no young thing anymore, and my ass has begun to broaden its horizons.  I'm not ready to get "floppy" yet.  Like in grade school, when teachers would wear short sleeves, and they'd write on the board, and their arms would just do the hula all over the place, and you and your friends would make rude references to Jell-O?  That kind of floppy.  No thanks.

"Joey, baby, get your drunk ass off my floor..."  This song came out the year I moved into my first apartment.  Ah, memories.  It was a filthy one-room job in a decaying building in downtown Cess Pool.  The jerk-off I was screwing at the time lived across the street in a much nicer building, but my apartment was furnished (EEEEEEW--furnished apartment furniture--picture it!).  The other tenants were mostly dirty old men with liquor breath and they'd congregate in the office every afternoon to watch me walk up the stairs when I got home from work.  When I had a job, that is.  I did telemarketing, got mono and quit because they had no "sick leave" policy.  Then I waited tables.  That was fun, especially when I was drunk off my ass.  Sleep all day, work all evening, drink all night.  What a scene.  The jerk-off had a girlfriend who, lucky for me, was still in high school and had a curfew--bummer.  So I'd wait for him to take her home and then meet him at his place where we would fuck merrily for hours and get wasted drunk.  Then he got a couple of roommates and it turned into goth-punk party central.  Liquor and pot and acid, oh my!  Every hippie freak with a baggie would end up there.  Eventually we had to find other places to have sex, like the laundry room down the hall.  I was so totally bonkers over this guy--he was like, a more extreme version of me...we were so much alike.  As much as I loved him, I hated him.  He knew every button I had, and he pushed them all every chance he had.  Then the one and only time I dropped acid, he decided to get back together with his ex-girlfriend, who he had dated all through high school and who I hated more than anything in the world.  Talk about a "bad trip."  I sat in a corner all night and thought about how everyone hated me and all the horrible ways in which I was probably going to die.  Rumor has it that I ended up knocked up that fall, and had a miscarriage around my 18th birthday.  Truth is, I don't really remember much about that time.  I know that I thought I was pregnant, but who knows?  One test said yes, the other said no.  And I was so damn drunk all the time I probably pissed all over the tests and rendered them useless.  At any rate, it's a damn good thing I either wasn't pregnant or stopped being pregnant, because what a nightmare that would have been.  It's not something I talk about, not even with my therapist, because I don't know if it was real or not.  I was really upset about it for a long time, until I finally started to come out of the fog and straighten out my life, and then I started to question the validity of it all.  And I don't even really think about it at all anymore.  I don't even really consider it a part of my life.  I don't even know why I just mentioned it.  Certain songs bring strange associations and strong memories, I guess.

"If he ever saw it, it was through these eyes of mine, and if he ever suffered it was me who did his crying..."