annenayne

I'm almost 35, sitting on my bed, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up on my head. I have a homemade hairdo - home bleached, home cut, home done. And a hood is on my head. I wonder why I bother, but I know why I do it. It's so I can stand out and blend in with the freaks I think might be like me. But now, I'm alone.

I'm listening to talk radio - it's a podcast of a radio broadcast. They're talking of infidelity, which is exactly what I'm supposed to be writing about.  But I'm not, I'm writing about me, and fixated on how dirty my feet feel.

I'm slightly ill from a couple of drinks. I know very well I shouldn't drink alone. I've stopped taking my antidepressants and I've stopped seeing my therapist because I can't pay for either. I don't like either of them anyway.

I'm 17 again.

But I'm not, I'm almost 35, and I live alone in a tiny apartment, and the smell of the chemicals that I use to clean my floor is making me ill, and the plans I had for the evening fell through, and when I hug my pillow and lie on my side I feel like I'm floating. And the smell of Nag Champa burning is almost theraputic, and I'm tugging on my clothes because it feels like someone else is here, and for a minute or two I don't feel alone.

I know everything that I'm supposed to do to take care of myself. I almost never do any of it. I spend a lot of time with my palms over my eyes, holding my breath, waiting to float again.

I get together with friends and laugh about depression and drugs and hahaha, that's for people who can't get out of bed or shower. And I often can't get out of bed. Or shower. And I hide from the truth behind the laughter.

And the hood.

I did something terrible when I was 15. I stole longtime girlfriend's journal.

She was, I thought at the time, silly and desperate, and I wasn't alone in the planning, but I alone did the deed. It was a spiral notebook, filled less than twenty pages (in swirly 1980s girl writing). I did share it with two people. I also destroyed it, and when I was accused I denied everything.

The journal was mostly personal, rambling thoughts of the sort that no one would ever care to share, and few would care to read; ramblings of a 15 year old girl. I was perfectly aware of being in the wrong; I also believed that no great secrets or knowledge would be lost in its destruction and found no remorse in destroying it. Nevertheless, in the aftermath of the incident I discovered what personal damage I'd done, and the guilt of it has haunted me for years.

I have recently made contact with the writer, and I admitted my guilt and offered my apologies. They were ably accepted, wrapped in white linen and Christian faiths. And at this point in time, while I absolutely acknowledge that I was in the wrong, the acceptance does not ring true.

The acceptance leans toward a belief that a friendship went sour, which it did, but takes no responsibility for the vinegar. It acknowledges that a foursome of friends went awry, but puts all of the blame on me.

So I thank you, dear old friend, for your forgiveness. I will put the past to rest, just after I remind you that I had the journal. I read the journal. I knew your intentions. And I destroyed the journal.

I am most certainly the villain in this story, but there are shadows unknown to all but you and me, and I hereby let them fly into the night to find their rest.

As you once wrote, but there is no longer any proof: "She is easy to let go of." I hope that I will find the same to be true of you.

My life is wrecked and loved and cleft in twain
But yet alone and serving everlong
This suckling at my breast who comes again
And urges, begs of me my heart be strong

Would I could find a bed to rest in peace
With faithful love alive and kind and true
Then sucklings find their ample hunger cease
And leave me my dry breast to beat anew

These musings, which I beg of thee not share
Pour from my soul, but favor no relief
I cannot find a way in me to pair
My devious heart with a gentle thief

I love, I live, I want, I dream, I flail
With arrogance, yet always fear to fail

Thoughts of you seduce me to a dreamland
Where sensual and logical minds meet
Where cupids flutter 'round my head and beam and
Serpents hiss and tangle at my feet.

I turn to face your face, forever searching
Will dreams and cruel reality here meet
To settle this - Oh God - this pleasant urging
To lay me down my breast upon your feet?

But heretofore my callings, most unanswered
Have met Fate's deaf, uncaring, labored ears
I fear that this affair is but a dancer
Who, 'pon the midnight hour, disappears.

Oh love - Oh life! - To live with dreams of love
Whilst knowing it not yet deigned from 'bove.

In honor of the recent anniversary:

Some friends and I were at a bar after rehearsal from some play or another at school. A favorite drink of ours at the time was the Black & Tan. When we ordered a round, the bartender, a tall, Irish fellow, shook his head and slowly spoke his mind.

I'll make yer drinks, but it's fookin' blasphemy. The only thing you should mix with Guinness is more fookin' Guinness!

That was over thirteen years ago, and we still recall that line whenever we get together.

Happy birthday, Guinness. Thanks for the good times.

Twelve years later
When you reached for my hand
When you held out your arm
When you were as nervous as you were
Twelve years ago
I was twelve years younger
I was twelve years older
I was twelve years more and less naive
And I thought
I'm holding his hand
And my heart sang me to peace

This K80 unit is experiencing technical difficulties and requires restart. Please install the following updates: Job 5.1, Apartment 3.2. If difficulties persist, it may be necessary to upgrade Medical Packet.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

Dearest David Tennant,

They say to leave them wanting more.

You will.

This is the way the world ends
He says
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Wrong.

This is the way the world ends
Women weep
Children wail
The strong attempt an escape
The weak attempt an escape
(Their routes do not meet).

This is the way the world ends
She cannot find the door
He cannot find the dog
The child cries, still.

This is the way the world ends
The cats cower
The fish are anxious
The radio plays only cotton sounds.

This is the way the world ends
Did I love, my love?
Did I comfort, my love?
See the skies, my love!

This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang
Not with a whimper
But panic
And riot
And regret
And fear.
But those who have loved will take peace and smile
And simply rest.

Do you like to smell flowers?
I love to smell flowers.
I love to smell flowers when I have the time.
Sometimes, they smell beautiful
Or calming, or peaceful.
Sometimes they smell clean and dull, like dirt
Or sharp, acrid, like cut onions or poison.
Their looks can be deceiving
But you can't tell by looking
Even the prettiest can smell awful.
But I love having the time to smell flowers.

These blocks aren't much noticed for flowers.
They aren't much noticed at all.
Except for those down on their luck and looking for homes.
Or they pass by and, laughing, say,
"I'd hate to live here!"
Or, "Imagine the nights!"
I thought that, too,
For years.
I don't love it.
And I somehow agree with them.
But then, I live here, too.

Stop STOP says the big red sign
Or the big red light.
We walkers take caution but you drivers
Mostly
Fail to see us
Until halfway through.
Then you roll your eyes and sigh.
I suspect that where you are going is Very Important!
To you.

Stop taking care of people who are not you!
Says the sign.
Stop punishing yourself!
Stop indulging yourself!
And look out for that Ford Taurus!
(Why are those cars driven by the worst drivers?
I'd have suspected a Volvo,
But I love you, Dad.)

Stop loving the wounded
You endeavor to give them comfort
This sign is loud!
And it talks a lot!
Where is your comfort?
Where is your peace?

My peace is in the dollar I donate to battered women and children in a strangely converted ammunition box.
My peace is in the smile I give to young mothers and their children
Or old men waiting for the bus
(They always smile back! Have you tried?)
My peace is in a walk to downtown and home again

Life, survival, life.
They interfere with my peace.

Someone cleaned the bathtub this morning. I'm not naming names, but I will admit that the person who cleaned the bathtub was not me.

The toilet gets a good scrubbing ... by me. The kitchen gets a good disinfecting ... by me. And it's a well-known fact (which means at least seven people know this) that I throw out my back every time I clean the bathtub.

This household has been at a silent tub-cleaning standoff for months. It's one of those little things that go unspoken but eat away at your soul every day. Kind of like the useless you-didn't-call-me-when-you-were-going-to-be-late-why-should-you-expect-me-to-call standoff, only less emotionally charged and more long-lasting.

So imagine my surprise when I sat in bed this morning contemplating my daily "is 11 am too early to continue my personal OC DVD marathon or should I wait until noon" dilemma (with that annoying voice in the back of my head trying to scream "GET A JOB!" through the ball gag I put in it six weeks ago) and noticed the tub water running at odd intervals. Running .... off. Running .... off. Running .... off. Then the faintest of sounds, the scritch scritch scritch of the rough end of a sponge on something that vaguely resembles porcelain.

The sound of running water in the morning makes me have to pee. I'm relatively certain that this unspoken affliction affects a large percentage of our population. So when the shower started up, I went in and asked, "What made you want to clean the tub?"

Reply: "It needed it." As if I hadn't noticed the giant black ring around the base of the tub. But I let it go; the tub did need cleaning, and I didn't have to do it.

When all was said and done, unsaid person went off to work and I had resumed my place on the couch (to fold laundry, I swear, and accidentally turned the DVD player on).  And soon, the need to visit the restroom revisited me.

And then my real personality took over. Not the nice one that says, "Yay, someone else cleaned the tub!" The one that looks at the tub and notices that only the bottom had been cleaned. The sides, while not disgusting, were completely dingy. And my true colors screamed "I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!"

But you know what I did? I went back to my laundry and the OC.

And so the standoff continues.

"Is this call about something important? Because I've really found that taking a call from home while my psychiatrist has a standing reservation for me in the ER doesn't do any of us any good."

"Well, YEAH, I talk about you in therapy."

"Of course my birth control works! I've tried at least ten, so now I'm positive that I've finally found the right one."

Liev Schreiber
David Tennant
John Cusack
Robert Downey, Jr.
Caddyshack-era Chevy Chase (but Jason Lee will do in a pinch)

Most posts, I write them on my phone, or in Notepad, or whatever, and I paste them into LJ.

But now I'm angry.

So you know what? Fire me. Ask me for an explanation. Talk to my supervisor. But please. This looking over my shoulder thing? It has to stop. I am accountable for every step of my day. Stop checking on me via my coworkers (especially the ones that aren't my supervisor anymore).

I used to love to come here.

USED to.

Carrie Prejean.

You know what? She's 21. And she answered a difficult question honestly.

I don't agree with her. I'd love for her to change her mind.

But she was honest. That's what she believes. She's wrong got the right to her opinion, she's 21, maybe one day she will choose a different stance on the subject of gay marriage, but for now, can't we just leave her alone?

Seriously. When did beauty pageants become a platform for politically correct pontificating? When did vigilant liberals start caring about beauty pageants? Where did you lean when Vanessa Williams had to give up her crown? America is lovely because we're diverse, whether you like the diversity or not, we have the right to it. So please. Ignore it, move on. She's not a senator. She does not represent us in Congress. She's a girl made famous by being pretty.

Let's stop making her a pawn for an agenda. Let's not be that petty.

I'm not adding a cut. Sorry. I wouldn't know where to put it. All of my answers are relevant. How could I possibly decide where to put a cut? The four of you who read my blog will simply have to deal.

1. Have you ever been searched by the cops?
Yes, but I wasn't holding.

2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters?
If you're going to close your eyes on a roller coaster, go ride Star Tours. Same sensation, plus Number Nine! NO DISASSEMBLE STEPHANIE! Wait what was I talking about?

3. When's the last time you've been sledding?
I think it was about 31 years ago. And I am not sure that I was on the sled. I wanted to on a trip to Reno, but it was darn near impossible to find a place to do it, and the snow was sparse and not fresh and blah blah.

4. Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone?
Someone else. I have realistic nightmares something terrible and appreciate that I can test reality with another human being.

5. Do you believe in ghosts?
Ghosts scare me and I'm pretty sure that one is living under my bed. I hate ghosts. They're spooky. And I don't respond well to spooky behavior (get in on that at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rXAxvnm_IuQ ).

6. Do you consider yourself creative?
I get by with my IS THAT FABRIC ON SALE? Bento! ... What?

7. Do you think O.J. killed his wife?
Probably, but it seems that I was wrong about Jean Benet and Gary Conditt, so I'm open to being wrong. But yes, I believe that he was responsible if not the actual killer. Then again, wookies live on Endor. So whatever. He's not coming to dinner at my house, that's all I know.

8. Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?
Jen. I think Angie's going down the crazy brick road.

9. Can you honestly say you know ANYTHING about politics?
Yes, I can. Honestly. Do I know a lot? No. But I know stuff. Scary stuff. You don't even wanna know.

10. Do you know how to play poker?
Why, is there a card stuck to my forehead? Hit me. I fold.

11. Have you ever been awake for 48 hours straight?
My god. The colors!

12. What's your favorite commercial?
Thanks Easter Bunny! BAWK BAWK!

13. Who was your first love?
Richard, pre-school. I think he died in a car crash when I was in high school. Very sad. Moving on.

14. If you're driving in the middle of the night, and no one is around you, do you run a red light?
Well, if I'm riding my bike at any time of day or night, I will absolutely run a red light if no one's around. Would I do that in a car? Maybe. Depends on whether I'm in the country or the city, I think. City, probably not, because I'd do it and then WOOOOO a cop would come out of nowhere and I'd probably have wine on my breath but not be drunk because I'd never drive drunk and it would take me like forever to get home after clearing the road tests. And really, who wants that? Might as well have waited for the light at that point. But in the country? Yeah, I might. And by country, you betcher sweet bottom that I mean Tracy. Because good lord, TRACY.

15. Do you have a secret that no one knows but you?
Mmmmmmmaybe.

16. Boston Red Sox or New York Yankees?
Yankees, if only to spite that guy I dated in college. YES, YOU. AND YES, I DID BACK OUT OF THAT CONCERT BECAUSE YOU WERE SINGING IN IT. DOUCHE. I'm over that, though.

17. Have you ever been Ice Skating?
Yeah! We were lucky to have a rink in my hometown, and there was another one just a short bus ride away (Fashion Island, anyone?). It was surprisingly popular in the Bay Area when I was growing up.

18. How often do you remember your dreams?
I always remember a lot about the recurring ones. Others I only tend to remember when I get that deja vu feeling. You know? Where you're all, "Whoa. I totally dreamed about this moment. I think."

19. What's the one thing on your mind?
THE one thing. Um. When I'm done with this I may need to use the restroom. Mmmm, pickles. Why are mangoes so difficult to work with? I love sparkly water. Should I try this 5-hour Energy drink? I can't choose.

20. Do you always wear your seat belt?
Yes. It's instinctive. LAMB forever.

21. What talent do you wish you had?
OOooooh. Hm. Organizing! Decorating! HELP.

22. Do you like Sushi?
Put it in my mouth, please. But please be a dear and scrape the fish eggs off first.

23. What do you wear to bed?
Chanel no. 5. Hahahaha. I crack myself up. No really. I like soft, comfortable things. I don't usually wear sleeves to bed. Pants, it depends.

24. Do you truly hate anyone?
Not specifically, but there are definitely a few people on my "I'm SO done with you" list. I'm lookin' at you, #16.

25. If you could sleep with one famous person, who would it be?
The one that loved me most of all. Or Lloyd Dobbler, but frankly I'm getting the age where that might be creepy, and besides, they tell me that he's not real. Where's the blue fairy when you need her? MAKE HIM A REAL BOY!

26. Do you know anyone in jail?
I don't know whether he's still incarcerated or not. Don't care.

27. What food do you find disgusting?
Poultry. (Did you want something funny? Sorry. Because seriously, chicken freaks me right the fuck out. Especially the dark meat.)

28. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back?
My friends? Nothing I wouldn't say to their face. ... I'm not very popular.

29. Have you ever been punched in the face?
Yes! TINA. I'm looking at you, you horrible child. Are you a horrible adult? You were a super mean kid.

30. Do you believe in angels and demons?
I don't want to commit to a yes or know on this one. I'm agnostic? What's the angels/demons version of agnostic? That's what I am.

Peter Sagal's recent blog post regarding gay marriage tickled me greatly.

I was going to post something about yesterday, but I mistook "Square Root Day" for "Square Pegs Day" and spent most of my afternoon web-stalking Amy Linker.

Lauren: "Listen. I've got this whole high school thing psyched out. It all breaks down into cliques."

Patty: "Cliques?"

Lauren: "Yeah, you know. Cliques. Little in-groups of different kids. All we have to do is click with the right clique, and we can finally have a social life that's worthy of us."

Patty: "No way! Not even with cleavage."

Lauren: "I tell you, this year we're going to be popular."

Patty: "Yeah?"

Lauren: "Yeah. Even if it kills us."

Anyway, here's little post I wrote in 2005 on my MySpace blog. In honor of National Grammar Day, I'm reposting it here.

- The possessive form of it:
I love the swirly pattern in my bouncy ball, that is its best feature.

IT'S - A contraction for, or shorter way of saying, it is:
I hate that bouncy ball because it smells like it's made of skunk butt (and not in a good way).

YOUR - The possessive form of you:
I love your bouncy ball, it smells like orange blossoms.

YOU'RE - A contraction for, or shorter way of saying, you are:
I think you're pretty cool because you like bouncy balls, too.

THERE - At or in that place:
My bouncy ball went over there where I can't reach it; can you help me get it back?

THEIR - The possessive form of they:
I am disturbed because they are all playing with their bouncy balls, even though they all know that I lost mine.

THEY'RE - A contraction for, or shorter way of saying, they are:
See?!  They're still doing it, even though they know it makes me sad!

WHOSE - The possessive form of who:
Hey, I found a bouncy ball!  Whose is it?

WHO'S - A contraction for, or shorter way of saying, who is:
If no one claims the bouncy ball, I'm keeping it; who's with me?