I don't have to be angry all the time! To-day is what I would call a Good Day, and it's not even 1pm.
Cases in point:
*I didn't want to go to the gym, but I convinced myself to anyway, and I ended up having a good workout.
*While at the gym, the girl I've been eyeing and chatting with for a while asked for my number and e-mail address. (OK, not like THAT, it's because she's going on tour with GUNS 'N' ROSES as their MASSAGE THERAPIST for at least six months and she wants to keep in touch. DO YOU SEE WHY SHE IS SO COOL? Plus, you know how most people sweat when they work out? She just glows.)
*Just after that I found a quarter, heads-up on the floor.
*A friend gave me something I've been waiting for for a few days.
*I was reminded that WORDS ARE SO COOL. This job can be mind-numbingly mechanical at times, but now and again, I come across something here that really makes me happy. Like WORDS.
Oh, and!
*Last night I booked my flight to return to Oxford for a few days in the Spring and attend my very first Wadstock.
*Last night was the first evening in weeks that I didn't get drunk and sad and alone. I've been regularly having incredible amounts of lousy wine every day, but I'm going to take a break from that now. And I began it yesterday.
Life's not all lousy.
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
Monday, 30 November 2009
Default
Anger is my default mode.
Lately when I've been frustrated or fearful about my applications or lonely and cold in the Los Angeles sun or when I see the ones I love so far away loving each other and I think of my impotence a fear, I just get angry.
I am so angry at myself for letting myself love when I said I wouldn't, for drinking with you till we couldn't talk and I crawled into your bed to not-talk again, for drinking alone till I couldn't walk or keep things straight in my head, for studying so hard I didn't find time to fit myself between the two of you, and for slacking off and ruining my chances to ever do it again.
I have been so angry in my sadness lately, and the self-loathing means I'm even more alone. When did this happen?
Lately when I've been frustrated or fearful about my applications or lonely and cold in the Los Angeles sun or when I see the ones I love so far away loving each other and I think of my impotence a fear, I just get angry.
I am so angry at myself for letting myself love when I said I wouldn't, for drinking with you till we couldn't talk and I crawled into your bed to not-talk again, for drinking alone till I couldn't walk or keep things straight in my head, for studying so hard I didn't find time to fit myself between the two of you, and for slacking off and ruining my chances to ever do it again.
I have been so angry in my sadness lately, and the self-loathing means I'm even more alone. When did this happen?
Friday, 20 November 2009
Straws
Lately, the only honest, non-stilted writing I do is when I am all-a-drink-a-roo. It is not good or safe or peaceful; it is rarely inspired. But this is something I scribbled last night, this is some piece of my soul as I grasp at familiar-but-fading straws:
The closest you'll have to something upon which to depend is the mist of your favorite perfume on your wrist. Perhaps then you won't feel so alone under the covers, resting your head against your arm (skinonskin) in the dark. When it fades too soon, you press the glass edge of the empty bottle to your veins, not even a drop left to spray, hoping to catch some scent upon your skin.
It's gone. All. Gone.
YOU ARE ALONE.
The closest you'll have to something upon which to depend is the mist of your favorite perfume on your wrist. Perhaps then you won't feel so alone under the covers, resting your head against your arm (skinonskin) in the dark. When it fades too soon, you press the glass edge of the empty bottle to your veins, not even a drop left to spray, hoping to catch some scent upon your skin.
It's gone. All. Gone.
YOU ARE ALONE.
Friday, 13 November 2009
Ad-dick-shun
Things I've (Lately) Worried I'm Addicted To:
Work
Alcohol
Being Busy
Cheese
Feeling needed
Cocaine
Attention
Things That Make Me Think There are Other Things to Worry About:
Work
My dad coming into my room with produce in his hands asking, "Rina, can you tell me which of these is a pomegranate and which is a persimmon?"
My dad coming into my room fewer than five minutes later asking, "Rina, wait, I forgot, can you tell me again? Which of these is a pomegranate and which is a persimmon?"
Graduate school applications and all the strings attached, especially my referees. In this category, the health problems my referees have had; they put my "needs" in perspective
Sleep
So much art coming in at work; the whole lot of it makes me feel like a teeny, tiny cog in the whole operation.
In any case, I need to focus on:
Applications
Work
Sleep
I think this is what "Life" is supposed to be. I'm not looking forward to it.
Work
Alcohol
Being Busy
Cheese
Feeling needed
Cocaine
Attention
Things That Make Me Think There are Other Things to Worry About:
Work
My dad coming into my room with produce in his hands asking, "Rina, can you tell me which of these is a pomegranate and which is a persimmon?"
My dad coming into my room fewer than five minutes later asking, "Rina, wait, I forgot, can you tell me again? Which of these is a pomegranate and which is a persimmon?"
Graduate school applications and all the strings attached, especially my referees. In this category, the health problems my referees have had; they put my "needs" in perspective
Sleep
So much art coming in at work; the whole lot of it makes me feel like a teeny, tiny cog in the whole operation.
In any case, I need to focus on:
Applications
Work
Sleep
I think this is what "Life" is supposed to be. I'm not looking forward to it.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
Dear Jon Hamm, Please Come Back, Love Rina
I spent a few hours with sort-of-friends to-night and even carved my very first pumpkin ever, but now it's 1.30am and time to go to sleep and I'm painfully lonely. So lonely, in fact, that I hope a character from a dream I had last night comes back to my dreams to-night so I don't feel lonely anymore. I mean, this is a fictional character who appeared (as himself) IN A DREAM and I still want him to come back. To my DREAMS.
Fucked. Up.
And it's not that I'm alone all the time -- I'm never ALONE and I'm often with people I sort of like. But still: Don Draper playing Jon Hamm playing Don Draper loving me (dreams are complicated, duh), come back. Please.
Fucked. Up.
And it's not that I'm alone all the time -- I'm never ALONE and I'm often with people I sort of like. But still: Don Draper playing Jon Hamm playing Don Draper loving me (dreams are complicated, duh), come back. Please.
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Truthen Drunkery
So, I got drunk. I wrote what I felt, and then I tried to read it again when I was sober. Here's my best bet:
We're having some weather around these parts. When I say weather, I mean wind. But my cigarettes, they're weather-y -- they taste like they used to: smokey, tobacco-y I'm [...] but maybe it's the text from the one woman I love. Things seem real again. She's the only girl I could see myself spending my life with. She's [...] this is fucked up and I used to be able to read the words of my soul but I will never be able to read these words again. [...] writing these [...] used to be able hope. I hope can read these words when I'm sober. Life is a highway. How do I go back to the time when all my cigarettes tasted so good/bad? This is what life is supposed to be. With [...] the cigarettes [...] I don't think happiness is supposed to be a past-file. Life is planned. I don't think she will ever love me like I love her. I'm writing this in the dark. I hope I can read this in the light, because this! This is the moment.
We're having some weather around these parts. When I say weather, I mean wind. But my cigarettes, they're weather-y -- they taste like they used to: smokey, tobacco-y I'm [...] but maybe it's the text from the one woman I love. Things seem real again. She's the only girl I could see myself spending my life with. She's [...] this is fucked up and I used to be able to read the words of my soul but I will never be able to read these words again. [...] writing these [...] used to be able hope. I hope can read these words when I'm sober. Life is a highway. How do I go back to the time when all my cigarettes tasted so good/bad? This is what life is supposed to be. With [...] the cigarettes [...] I don't think happiness is supposed to be a past-file. Life is planned. I don't think she will ever love me like I love her. I'm writing this in the dark. I hope I can read this in the light, because this! This is the moment.
Monday, 26 October 2009
Boss-Man
I'm pretty sure I have the best boss ever. He bought me a car after three months with the company so I wouldn't have to take the bus. He kissed me on the forehead on my birthday and told me I have "many more years to destroy my body." He (and my other boss) bought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers on my birthday. Whenever he can see that I'm stressing out, he asks how I'm doing. And just now? He saw that dazed look on my face again and asked.
See, I had just (a moment before) realized that I'm twenty-two and still living with my folks, without any real idea of when I'm leaving. And hey, even if I do get into grad school (there's a whole 'nother set of anxieties) and go next fall, what about when I'm done there? No marketable skills really come of a master's degree in history -- and then I'll be twenty-FOUR and living with my parents.
So the Boss-Man, he asks, and I tell him and, without a pause, he says, "if there's anything we can do to help you, let me know." And not in that insincere way a lot of people would say that -- he meant, "if you need help finding a place and making rent, let's talk." I mean, this guy, he doesn't just SAY things, he DOES things. He gets thing done. And he's wonderful.
Yeah, I'm living at home at the age of twenty-two and I'm scared and feel a bit useless and I'm spending too much time and money on my addictions and my self-loathing is through the roof and people breathe too close to me, but I have an incredible boss. And he's very nice to look at, too.
See, I had just (a moment before) realized that I'm twenty-two and still living with my folks, without any real idea of when I'm leaving. And hey, even if I do get into grad school (there's a whole 'nother set of anxieties) and go next fall, what about when I'm done there? No marketable skills really come of a master's degree in history -- and then I'll be twenty-FOUR and living with my parents.
So the Boss-Man, he asks, and I tell him and, without a pause, he says, "if there's anything we can do to help you, let me know." And not in that insincere way a lot of people would say that -- he meant, "if you need help finding a place and making rent, let's talk." I mean, this guy, he doesn't just SAY things, he DOES things. He gets thing done. And he's wonderful.
Yeah, I'm living at home at the age of twenty-two and I'm scared and feel a bit useless and I'm spending too much time and money on my addictions and my self-loathing is through the roof and people breathe too close to me, but I have an incredible boss. And he's very nice to look at, too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
