Tuesday, January 29, 2008

[excuse this post. i am just working out a really bad day in a public place. don't try to make sense out of it. war. no food in house. papers to write. no days off from work for weeks. mean people. lazy rude coworkers. misunderstandings. zits. okay. now for the incoherence]

I should be in bed preparing for my weeks of hell ahead. I will not have a single day off, and then, I get to come home to write 2 5 page papers and 1 25 page paper, and maybe if I am lucky I can go out to a poetry reading on Thursday even though I am feeling antisocial because I am sick of dealing with hissyfits and phoneys and liars and egomaniacs. And poetry readings are magnets for all of those.
I should be doing something worthwhile but instead I am wanting to blog because I feel like I always have something to say, except tonight, it's a lot of nothing. I am cranky. I am living off crackers and ramen noodles and I desperately need something of nutritional value, but there is no food in the house and I am too tired to go buy any.

I feel bad because I told someone to "cheer up" and I didn't mean it like, "oh, it's easy, all you have to do is cheer up" because I know it's not. All I meant to do was tell her that I recognize she's going through tough emotions, and that I hope she feels better, but it didn't come out like that. Nothing I say anymore comes out like the way I intend it to.

Nothing happens as I intend it to. Nothing.

I feel like fucking John Cougar Mellancamp. Not literally. I mean. I fight authority and authority always wins. I fight and fight and fight and Nothing.
I go to work and deal with rudeness and come home with an empty stomach to find no food and want a cigarette so badly and oh, yeah, there is a war going on and all these people are dying, and I feel like a fucking empath.

I feel like a vampire.
I make things suffer.
And I don't mean to.
I can't help how people respond to me.
I wish I were drunk. I want something to blame this on.

This is not a fucking blog entry, this is lj-style crap, but I don't care for that tonight.

And how is it that anyone is expected to live off $7/hour wages and how is it that stress is not going to kill? How is it that we are all complicit in these murders everywhere because noone has had the balls yet to stop it? I certainly haven't proven myself. I don't even know where to begin to make change.

I want to tell everyone that I am sorry, but I don't feel apologetic for anything I have ever done, except maybe to S____ for 1995 and maybe to J____ for all that bullshit from years ago, but I think I have already said I'm sorry and you can't force someone to accept an apology.

I'm not sorry.
I'm not.
I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm fed up with fairweather friends and talking in circles. I'm tired of backstabbers and low pay. Tired of having no health insurance.

I'm going to name names. I want to talk to liz and dave and suzanne and meg and kevin (even though) and kalia and I want to talk to them because they understand me. I don't want to bother with people who are going to pass judgement or fight me.

I'm a fucking mess. I'm going to bed.
Work better be good tomorrow or I'm gonna shit a brick, I swear to god.

No, I have more to say. I am sitting here fighting back tears because there are things I can not control and I need to have control. I can't control who is dying and my cousin is over there, and I am just waiting because I have no illusions about mortality, and he could be dead now for all i know, and yes, the reason I can't get close to my buddy dave is because I am afraid he'll be sent next to die. there. there is as close to a confession as anyone will get me. i hope he never reads this. yes. i like him. a lot. but fuck, i can't get attached. he's too old for me anyway. i don't want anyone reading this to know about him, but everyone seems to find things out anyway. i have no secrets.the last time i had sex with a person (as opposed to sex w/ toy) was so fucking long ago I can't even remember. Like, we're talking, last summer. Maybe. I'm going to guess it was a lot longer ago than that. Nobody reading this needs to know that. I can't even remember what I was talking about. Now I have one more thing to be annoyed about.

I refuse to buy the myth that these are the happiest years of my life. It is not all downhill from here. I've been down enough.

I want dance revolution! hippo revolution! I want more joy and less of this he said/she said bullshit.
I want to have more dates spoken primarily in Spanish.
I want to have fun and not be up with insomnia because the world blows goats right now.
Sleep is good, but I get only a few hours if I'm lucky.

I just go go go go go. I get amazing amounts of nothing done.
I am supposed to write about how women accomodate for men. I try to write about sociological ideas and relate it to literature. If I were a history teacher, I'd have been fired by now for being too opinionated.

I haven't had caffienated coffee for months.
And yet I am still up.

I am still up because I can't fix the world, and no, that is not the first time I've realized that. And I am angry at myself for contributing to an ageist conversation today. I am angry because my intentions are always misread.


It's like undoing those knots that happen in thin necklace chains.
the harder you try to fix it, the worse it gets.
you hand it to someone else, and they know how to undo it right away.

i need to fix things that need fixing. i can not fix these things.

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