posted on March 23, 2003 @ 9:49 am
for some reason i really like this. ooh, and this, too. i also really like my kitties. i love them more than my mom. ok, not really. i don't even love music more than my mom. :gasp: she picks something over music? that's right, cause my mom kicks your (and your mother's) ass.
oh, wait, i just remembered the conversation i had with her friday night. i was at work and, like every friday night, the garage was dead. i called her, but they didn't answer. i called nana, and she told me they went out to eat because it was their anniversary. oh yeah. so later, mom calls back, and i wish i could have recorded what i said; i actually made some valid points even in my opinion (and i generally think i'm full of shit). but, you know, basic shit, like bombing them isn't going to make them stop, it'll only make it worse. if all the christians who want them dead would sit around and pray instead, if their god is up there he'll listen and get to it. i fucking hate christians. not all christians, but those fucking stupid ones. "let's kill everyone who doesn't believe the way we do!" yeah, way to go, fuckfaces.
i don't want to talk about that, though. christianity is one of those issues that makes me shake, puts a physical pain in my chest, makes me hyperventilate. i knew i shouldn't have asked mom what she thought about the war, but i felt obligated to. when i asked jared, my supervisor last night, what he thought, he responded, "it's some pretty fucked up shit." this is a real world application of what i'd told owen a while ago, how hearing someone who's normally rather quiet use such profanity is shocking in an exciting way. heh. nevermind, i'm a moron. in any case, he let me have two of his cigarettes and said he liked what i'd said, especially about the christians. maybe i'm not full of shit. or maybe i found someone else who is. who knows.
every now and again i'm overwhelmed by the feeling of being unwanted. normally, it poses no real problem, like this morning around 7:00, because owen was online. i hope he realizes how much blood-letting he's prevented.
what scares me now, however, is that i actually casually considered cutting myself. there were no sobs, no breakdown, just a simple thought. you should do that. she surfaced just like that, no struggle. the computer mooed, and i was sort of jerked back. she left just like that, no struggle.
what's this remind us of? ah yes, several years ago, when she made this sort of nonchalant appearance daily. she didn't have to make drama; she knew i'd always be compliant. back in the day when my blood coursed through my vessels completely medication-free, like now. no one's going to see your scars. no one cares. just get it over with.
ok.
but now there's jennifer and layla (who went through the trouble of designing a hilarious book of when and when not to use a razor blade, which i've purposely left over there in the floor, out of sight). the temperature's beginning to reach 80, so it's not like i'll be able to walk around campus in my hoodie everyday. other places, sure, but not walking around; i sweat when it's above 60.
but she always seems to make such valid points. no one's going to cry anymore over you, no one's going to sit you down and tell you they love you so you should stop. because you're not worth it.
on our way home from longview a couple weeks ago, i was listening to rhett miller's album for the billionth time. the world was grey, and the clouds were pouring tears onto a car filled with two lonely little girls and their luggage as i sang:
i had a dream i was employed in my old position as your second string. it cut me down to the quick. it hurt so badly. who's to say is it possible. it felt like it was real. there was no god i could believe in. you got terrible vision if you don't see that i'm in love with you and how that means everything. i had a dream that you were gone. it was a heart condition like i'd never known what my name was. you couldn't see me. you got terrible vision if you don't see that i'm in love with you and how that means everything. if i had known that you could leave i would have stolen myself out. as it is i'm so in love. there is no god. it was a dream. that's all it was. you gotta wake me up now. you gotta wake me up. you got terrible vision if you don't see that i'm in love with you and how that means everything. you got terrible vision if you don't see that i'm in love with you and how that means everything.
for those few minutes, not a word was spoken betwixt the two of us. i closely followed the policeman, watching the vw and volvo with whom i'd been racing (though they didn't know) for some hours (i won, ha). the simplicity of that song tore through my car and my heart, as i envisioned rhett sitting in my back seat with my backpack and jennifer's bag, pillow and box, staring at the bleak surroundings feeling as empty as us. he's married, though. she stared straight out the window, unmoving, and i felt like i was singing for both of us: she, who has never had sexual contact with a boy and me, who's had too much sexual contact with boys than i'd like to admit, with only one meaningful relationship. well, mutually meaningful at least. i did, in fact, feel infinite, even if in a sad respect.
then, since that's the last song on the album, it began again with "our love." i continued singing, but even though the words are bleak the music's not, automatically bringing a fresh air into the atmosphere. we jokingly thought of propositions for the cop, tried to use a diesel as cover for passing him, made fun of his head, inspected him as i sped past (he was exiting). everything returned to normal.
so, yeah. the time right now on the entry page says 6:47 am. that's when i clicked "add an entry," but between owen and just thinking about what i wrote in here, it's taken a while.
friday night around 12:30 or 1:00 a.m., frank came over and watched the ring. jennifer went to bed afterward, and we just sat on my bed for a long time. he bent one of my forks, actually twisted it 360 degrees. it looks cool now, though, with the curl in it. we went to heb around 5:00 a.m. to get chocolate and peanut butter chips for pancakes. i put in akira and made him cook, since he said mine sucked. i pulled out the futon, and we slept, til jennifer woke me up at 9:00 to take her to work. it took me 45 minutes to get home because of contruction (definitely do not want to get into that), crawled into bed (couldn't handle the cat hair on the futon anymore), and woke up at 3:30 to a frank-less apartment. i was supposed to get jennifer at 2:00, but i don't know what happened. i went back to bed, sleeping til 9:30 p.m., and didn't talk to jennifer so she can get over hating me. "it's hard to say you're sorry when you know that you were wrong." i had another middle of the night cleaning frenzy. i hope we can be reacquainted soon. i haven't really cleaned in about three months, except for last tuesday.
i took a quiz earlier that said i see the world in red. "'life is like a rose; although it wilts, it is beautiful.' red: aren't you the romantic? life is poetic. if you don't already, write poetry, you're good at it." blah. yeah, go romance.
"i'll spend my whole life loving [him], my heart exploding words."
<3, chelsea.
p.s.�i add this at the bottom because it's not necessarily important. a while (months) ago i picked up a hardcover version of sylvia plath's journals (abridged, of course) at half-price books. it was $6.98, so i opened up to a random page (54) to see if it'd be worth my money. i read part of november 3, 1952's entry, and needless to say bought it.
"god, if ever i have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain and the damn little men across the street pounding on the roof with picks and axes and chisels, and the acrid hellish stench of tar. i fell into bed again this morning, begging for sleep, withdrawing into the dark, warm, fetid escape from action, from responsibility. ... to annihilate the world by annihilation of one's self is the deluded height of desperate egoism. the simple way out of all the little brick dead ends we scratch our nails against. ...
i am afraid. i am not solid, but hollow. i feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell mimicking nothingness. i never thought. i never wrote, i never suffered. i want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. i do not know who i am, where i am going�and i am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions. i long for a noble escape from freedom�i am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constuctive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will. there is nowhere to go�not home, where i would blubber and cry, a grotesque fool, into my mother's skirts�not to men, where i want more than ever now their stern, final, paternal directive�not to church, which is liberal, free�no, i turn wearliy to the totalitarian dictatorship where i am absolved of all personal responsibility and can sacrifice myself in a "splurge of altruism" on the altar of the cause with a capital 'c.'
now i sit here, crying almost, afraid, seeing the finger writing my hollow futility on the wall, damning me�god, where is the integrating force going to come from? my life up till now seems messy, inconclusive, disorganized...i am drowning in negativism, self-hate, doubt, madness�and even i am not strong enough to deny the routine, the rote, to simplify. no, i go plodding on, afriad that the blank hell in back of my eye will break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence, afraid that the disease which eats away the pith of my body with merciless impersonality will break forth in obvious sores and warts, screaming, 'traitor, sinner, imposter.'"
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