I don't think Natural Balance is agreeing with my kitties. They seem to be pooping more and having especially stinky poops.
I read a biography of Virginia Woolf by Nigel Nicolson, who's the daughter of Virginia's lover, Vita. Mostly I thought the book was very good, but I took exception to Nigel's declaration that there was no evidence to support Virginia's claims of having been molested by her half-brother George and therefore it was unlikely to have happened. Later in the book, Nigel stated that this George fella was a decent person and an upstanding member of society. Awright, fuck you, Nigel! I mean, how *dare* he throw away a fact just because it was ugly and unpalatable. And "evidence"? You think the perp is going to leave evidence around to be discovered? GAWD. That really pissed me off. Methinks Nigel was too close to the subject, personally knew the people discussed, and thus was unable to be objective.
I was feeling so blah yesterday, I made a pan of brownies. Why the hell are brownies so hard? Mixing the stuff together is easy enough, but I never get the baking right, and that is key. My brownies, while good, were slightly overbaked.
Last night I slept more or less peacefully since I took my meds, and today I feel more energetic.
No one bid on my doll dress. I may have to go back to repainting to get some dineros.
I love looking at Newman's muscles. Holy shit, he's a gorgeous cat.
It's warm outside, maybe I should go for another run. Why not go up another notch on the skank-o-meter before I take a shower. Oh wait, I just ate a bunch of brownies. I have to wait for them to digest.
6:45 PM
Next time I make brownies, I'm adding more chocolate. These weren't chocolaty enough.
Dreams, dreams, holy crap. Last night they ran the gambit (didn't take my Effexor), merging seamlessly from one to another. Back in the corps, serving during a war, but I was stateside at first; there was this opulent banquet for everyone to celebrate some occasion or other, but at the restaurant there was a t.v. (well, many t.v.'s, one over each table, but all set to the same station) running a story about marines in the desert who had run out of food and were slowly starving to death -- I, and everyone, felt disgusted and pushed our plates away. I started to cry, which is odd because usually it's animal-related things that are more apt to make me cry, so does that mean that deep down inside I'm more empathetic than I realize? Then a long, drawn-out sequence where I'm standing trial for something I didn't do and knowing nothing about the circumstances I couldn't even defend myself, but it all proved to be a test of some kind, which I passed and was inducted into some kind of exclusive group of women, still in the military, where we had to protect some official, like the pope or something (Charlie's Angels?). This group was provided with a bunch of expensive clothing and whatnot and I found that some of the clothes given me were inappropriate, like a babydoll dress. Even in my dream I said, "there's no way I can wear that." However, I also got this kick-ass pair of boots and a cream-colored tailored wool skirt, which fit beautifully (does this mean that I'll reconsider wearing skirts?). My high-school-best-friend-who-dumped-me was also in this special service and made friendly appearances throughout. I had to join the other women for P.T. (physical training) but had to catch up with them because I was still procuring my P.T. uniform, so when I was running across the base by myself I could hear male marines all over the place making comments and catcalls. Back in the day, in real life, that made me feel very uncomfortable, but in the dream I didn't care, I was like, "whatever they want to do is up to them." When I ran it felt really good, I was flying over ridges and leaping over obstacles. Well, anyway.
High school and the marine corps has irrevocably warped my mind!
I thought of a way to get around that floppy-free lab: copy a Werrrd document onto my camera card and then take the camera and cord to plug into the computer there. Good idea, but it didn't work: the camera wouldn't take a non-image format. But you know, I could buy an external drive that would fulfill the same purpose. I think I'll do that. That way, I won't forget my disk, which I keep doing. I'm down to my last zip disk, and I left that in the veterans' lab yesterday. >:-[
Wait, I'll paste the text into a .jpg file and try that. See, this floppyless lab has put a crimp in my style. I haven't written much at home, knowing I couldn't post it anyway, and I've missed my pointless musings.
Man, I put all this work into this stupid-ass Crissy dress and nobody's bidding on it. Poo. I was sure people would be all over that bad boy. Maybe I'll try a different one. I need to find a way to make money on eBay other than repaints; I've *totally* lost my desire to repaint, and I think it's costing me my eyesight besides.
The cats are hungry. I'm out of the food they like and only have the food they don't. Don't have any money to buy them anything else, but when I do I'll look for a holistic food that's prepared as needed and not stockpiled. I think the Natural Balance is probably a good food, but who knows how old it is?
Should I go for a run or not? I used to love running, love it. It made me feel powerful. But, as I've recently reflected, lots of things changed with the advent of my antidepressants. Not that I've ever been bursting with energy (not since my early teens, anyway), but I seem to have even less now. Plus, my emotions run so flat, there's no sense of motivation or urgency (ustabe, the only way I got something accomplished was borne out of a sense of panic about an approaching deadline). Of course that's welcome in a sense, because my pain used to be so crippling and now at least I can function. Maybe I should go to the VA and see about getting my meds adjusted or something. But I really hate to fuck with something that's not badly broken. I could easily be worse.
2:57 PM
One thing that I'm so glad I don't need to listen to anymore is my shrink saying, "When you're 80, you're going to look back and wish that you'd done something with your life." You know, I don't need to take that kind of shit from a fucking shrink.
GAWD she said so many hurtful things. Surely that's not what shrinkdom is all about?
4:07 PM
I guess inspired by my dreams, I went for a jog. Maybe not the best idea in the world. My limbs felt like they were cast from lead. My breathing wasn't all that great, even though I'd tooted my asthma stuff, and the cool breeze gave me an earrache. I'm gonna have to knit myself one of those headbands that go around your ears.
Was out driving to find a yarn store out in the boondocks. On the way back I saw the most heartbreaking thing. On the highway people were swerving from the middle lane and as I approached I saw a woman in the road, picking up the broken body of her dog. She was grief-stricken. It was awful.
I'm irked. When am I not? I need some cash, like right now. So I got a couple of textbooks and took them to the bookstore to sell back. They've got signs up that say, "Buy-back is year 'round, so why wait?" But they only give you a fraction of the worth right now; you get more back in finals week. Well, I had to sell anyway. I had no cash and was hungry. So there you go. College books are a fucking racket.
Just sitting here, don't have much time before I have to get to class. Today I'm gonna go to Border's and get me one of those Idiot's Guide to Algebra books. According to the reviews at Amazon, it's better than the Dummies version. Ho-hum, what else. Not much. I saw History of Violence last night, which my English prof labeled "brilliant." Can't say I agree. Mortensen handled the action scenes very well, but I feel when it came to the more emotional scenes with his family, he came up a bit lacking. As for the action, there was lots of blood. I don't peek through my fingers anymore, but one time I said, "Eww!" and another time I said, "Gross!" And the sex scenes -- Jesus! They're the most explicit sex scenes I've seen in a movie in a very long time, short of porn. Movies have been so sexually conservative for the past decade or so, I was surprised. So, a mixed bag. Not a bad movie by any means. The prospect of gazing at Mortensen's chisled features for two hours doesn't hurt either. And oh, I liked the scenes with Mortensen's son's situation at his high school, where he was getting bullied. The guy who played the bully really reminded me of someone, not someone specific, but ... maybe of a certain type, with his slitted eyes and perfectly sculpted face.
You'll never believe it. Today I got a call from Walmart. At first I thought, aw fuck, a check bounced. But no, it was in regards to the complaint I submitted through the Walmart website, about the dead and rotting fish in their pet department. You could have knocked me over -- I *never* expected to hear back about this. Well, the manager apologized and said the tanks have been cleaned up. Apparently what happened is, their regular fish person was out on leave for surgery and their replacement was a shitbird (not her words). I did notice that their regular staff member, whom I always presumed to be the "fish person" wasn't there last time. So staff member is sick and no one cleans the tanks. Suck. Hopefully it won't happen again. So I got a call back; ultimately I don't know what, if any, good my complaint did, but at least I took some sort of action."Take action!" "Action will be taken!" Have you ever read that short story? It's a gas, and a total riff on the German obsession with efficiency. Can't remember the author's name, but if you're interested I can find it for you.
There's this pattern for a neat felted toy that I want to make, but it came in a book and I don't want to buy the whole damn book for $25. So, I skulked in the back of the yarn store today and hastily scribbled out the pattern for myself. Is that stealing? Well, I bought the yarn from the store, so it's not like I ripped them off.I'm in the university library right now and considering watching a movie. They're free of course. Sweet. But it's getting late.
I had some Indian food earlier tonight which didn't quite agree with me. Am I turning into a wuss in my old age?Earlier this week I saw In Her Shoes, which I enjoyed. However, I just read a negative review, which took the wind out of my sails.Eh, not much going on. What's playing at the theater?
This chick really needs to ease up on her eye liner. Among other things. Sickening.
I wrote this during class (I'm typing now sitting in the seat at the highest adjustment and I feel like a gopher peeking out of his hole):
My algebra teacher is very young -- late 20's, maybe -- and considerably overweight. It strikes me that he has a low self-esteem and is very sensitive, taking personally comments and asides made by students. Lots of people don't consider the fact that their teachers are human. You hear yawns, guffaws, etc. Even though I find the subject matter appallingly dull, I still try to be polite. Well, it's more than dull; I don't understand it, even if I try. I don't like it. Why why why why why why do I have to do this. I hate the educational system.
I like how the teacher erases the board completely. It irks me when they miss spots.
My art history class, women in art, is turning out to suck and I'll probably drop it. Hell. But the teacher puts us all in discussion groups, which does not work well with my personality. Plus we have some bullshit "collaborative project" -- perish the thought. I wish I'd fucking dropped it the first day. Note to self: if a class is ever dependent upon group performance or collaborative efforts, DROP IT. DROP IT. DROP IT.
f(2) = empty stomach. g(5)=thirsty. F of X reminds me of Seven of Nine from that Star Trek show, whom I used to refer to as T of A. I think I hated her 'cause my ex was all into it. I mentioned to a classmate how Fuck-knuckle used to imitate that Hannibal Lector sucking sound to weird me out. She said, "That's creepy." Never thought about it like that but yeah, he was creepy!
Parabola. Sounds like a disease.
"Miss Hoover has 24 essays left to grade at 3:30. At 4:15, she has 15 essays left. What is the average rate of change?"
Well, to start with, nobody uses "Miss" anymore. Secondly, it sounds like Ms. Hoover needs to get an intern to help her grade papers. Or she could just quit grade altogether and give everyone 100.
Yesterday evening I went to Wallyworld for kibbles and bits and their fish department was in the most deplorable state I've ever seen anywhere. One of the bettas had been dead so long that he'd dissolved in his cup. I asked to fill out a complaint form and was told there's no such paperwork (uh-huh), but that I'd have to present the complaint in person to a manager, which I did. With no written record, do you think anything will happen (not to mention the disdain in her eyes as she was presented with some California bleeding-heart hippie tree-hugging freak)? So today I went to the Wallyworld website and filed a complaint there, citing the store by number and location. Prolly won't do any good but whatever. I mean, I was shocked by what I saw, the worst thing I've ever seen in any pet establishment, even shitty ones.Otherwise, just chillin'. The knitting bug has bitten me in a big way. I'm gonna felt cat beds and make all kinds of stuff.
Holy crap, I can't believe that Yahoo mail is down. Is it just me?
Raining here, a steady rain. While it makes everything humid, it still feels good. Cleansing. The cats have gone *wild*. I woke up to Peep's yowling. I thought she was hurt or stuck somewhere, but no, she was just under the couch. They still refuse to eat that Nature's Balance I bought them, but I still want to change their diets because of yeasty ears.
Took my vitamins yesterday: 2 high-potency multis that contain loads of B's, a B-12 caplet, 1000 mg vitamin C (because my nose has been running), all in the morning. At night I took some calcium. I feel better today. It's odd, huh? I took 'em again today. If I stay on a consistent schedule, I just feel so much better, more energetic physically and mentally. Holy shit, I can't live my life like a sloth. I stopped taking my vitamins before because I wasn't taking a multi, I was taking B's, and boy those stink. They turn my stomach.
I don't know how this has happened, but I've gone over my minutes in a big way. I'm getting bills for, like, $200 - $300. That is SO not me; I'm not the type who hangs on the phone all day. I guess I'll have to be more conscious of my phoning and make only business calls before nine p.m. What a rip. I can call the west coast, where Peggy lives, for personal calls at least. Oh, the fuckers took away my roll-over minutes -- they "expired."
What a boring blog. But oh well, it's primary for myself. Sometimes I feel the need to ramble. Ramble about mundane things.
I have to go to Wallyworld later and I'm making a shopping list, and I *know* there's something else that I can't remember. Don't you hate that? TP, Kleenex, a large crochet hook, grape Gatoraide ... gahhhhh.
Yhgggggggggggggg89i'
/
I told you my cats are crazy.
I am in a funk of sorts. Feeling burned out on school, unmotivated, with no "sense of urgency" in regards to getting my work done. Have missed a bunch of classes. Wonder if I should just take a break from school and get a temp job or something.Feeling free in regards to that knucklehead who wanted a duplicate doll. I don't have to do it! I don't have to do it!!! Thank gawd. And that fucker is SO blocked. I never want to deal with him again.
I started working on a sweater and Newman dozed on my lap. Funny how cats and dogs like knits:
My bro irritates me sometimes. Whenever he calls to get together or something, everything hinges on my immediate response; he gives no notice at all. Friday he called while I was unconscious and said he and his family would be in my part of town and do I want to meet them up for a show of some kind. The message continued that I needed to call him back right away. Well, I didn't get the message until late this evening; I called him on his cell but they're early-to-bed type people. So the damn show is tomorrow and I don't really want to see it but I thought maybe we could get together for a bite to eat afterwards. But who knows.
Anyway, because of the hurricane and stuff, I never got to give Niecey her birthday present. She's only two, so it doesn't serve to get her anything "nice," since she'd only trash it anyway, and besides, her maternal grandparents overload her with crap, expensive crap. So I fixed up one of my Velvets: removed the ponytail and the winding apparatus and dressed her in a Kimberly cheerleading outfit with a red satin ribbon in her hair. I figure, Niecey doesn't need a doll with long hair because it would only get tangled. I'm sure SIL will lift her nose at a second-hand doll that's older than she is, even though it's in good condition (small ink spot on cheek) and clean (I give all new arrivals baths and shampoos). Well, whatever.
SIL turned out to be so whiney and pedestrian. I didn't care for her at first and then I thought she loosened up a bit, but I guess that was only temporary. Never mind. She's not my wife, thank god.
For Christmas, I spotted this cute gift for Niecey in the FAO Schwartz catalog: a pink stuffed dog in a pink stroller. It's only $60, a good value I think. There was a bunch of other stuff I wanted to get her, but I had to consider space and whether or not those small hands could manage it. Oh, and money.
8:12 PM
I think I like to take in throw-away things. Like, the cats. When they were babies, they weren't as pretty as kittens you see from a breeder. They were skinny, dirty and flea-ridden. But I knew that with care they would blossom. So, too, with those nasty old dolls I get off eBay. I take them out of the box and barely want to touch them with my bare hands, but once they're cleaned and shampood, they're almost like new.
I didn't meet up with Bro today, so I guess I'll re-install that winding do-hickey in Velvet and dress her in her own clothes again.
I started knitting on a sweater for myself. I bought the yarn, pattern and needles while I was still working and it's been packed away all this time. It's super-chunky so shouldn't take long to knit up.
I was amused to see an offer for a free Star Wars: Episode I DVD on the back of a box of Mini-Wheats. See, you can't even *give* that movie away.
Funny how Newman meows for milk, but when I put some down, no one drinks it.
So. Whatami gonna do with my evening.
I have totally burned myself out on painting dolls for extra money.
Once again courtesy of John, without whom I would be woefully uninformed:"President Bush said to all of us: 'I'm driven with a mission from God. God would tell me, "George, go and fight those terrorists in Afghanistan." And I did, and then God would tell me, "George, go and end the tyranny in Iraq …" And I did. And now, again, I feel God's words coming to me, "Go get the Palestinians their state and get the Israelis their security, and get peace in the Middle East." And by God I'm gonna do it.'"
What a fucking freak show.
Can you believe that I only got out of bed at four this afternoon? I don't know what's come over me. It's as if I were ill or something, but I felt fine -- physically, at least. I read all of Howard's End. The cats slept with me for several hours. They're so sweet. Peep, in an abrupt personality change, has chewed through the pull-strings for my venetian blinds.
We've *finally* and I mean FINALLY, had a cool front come through. My understanding is that it dropped a ton of snow up north. Here, it brought the temperatures down to what's normal after weeks of unbearable heat. God it's wonderful. I've opened the windows and cracked the sliding glass balcony door. I can't open that all the way or else Peep will climb the screen with her claws. Cats. Whateya gonna do?
Looks like the Wallyworld nearby will be completed soon. Once they got their asses in gear, it went up very quickly.
Contemplating going to see a movie. I feel the need to get out of the apartment. I went back to bed after yesterday's entry and ditched school. *sigh* I feel like such a ne'er-do-well.
I can't get over this sweet cool air. Fresh air in the apartment helps my asthma.
Well the dreaded event of the pest control guy has come and gone. I got up around eight -- highly unusual for me -- and "tidied" a little bit. Namely, collected dishes from all around and threw out old fast-food containers and wrappers. When the guy came in I apologized for the mess, he was here a few seconds and left. I have no shame anymore.
I'm thinking, if I forgo some eBay spending, I could use that money for housekeeping instead. I'm going to look into that. When I was cleaning, stirring up all that dust, I started to wheeze pretty bad and by the time I went up and down three flights of stairs three times to take out the trash, I was in pretty sad shape. I need help.
Two papers due today; neither one of them is done. Sometimes I get so discouraged, but then I remember how many lame-brained motherfuckers I've known who've had college degrees. If they can do it, I can.
Speaking of lame, my mother pisses me off to no end. There's some neat underground caverns that are open to the public roughly an hour from where my parents live; we went there when I was a kid. Even in 100+ degree heat, it's always 75 degrees down there. Well, she won't take her relatives there; she said, "I don't drive that far." I reminded her that she drove us there before and she said, "Yes, well, there's a lot more traffic now." Traffic, my ass. I mean, Jezus fucking Christ. She frustrates me to no end. It's so much more entertaining for her guests when she sits there all day with a dour expression on her face. Poor people, they go walking around for several hours and then take long naps. I would too, what other options do they have without their own vehicle?
And I'm tired of her complaining about her husband. She's the one who married him and stayed with him all these years; if there's anyone to blame, it's herself. I don't want to hear it.
I watched that new president show with Geena Davis, and my dad made some disparaging, misogynistic remark about it. Typical and expected behavior of him. I looked at him and said, "It's a good show." I'm sick of him. I'm sick of them both. I think it's safe to say that I hate my parents.
Okay, they're coming tomorrow to spray for bugs and I've got two papers due as well. What's a girl to do.
Having my own coffee, for the first time in months. I finally roasted some beans.
The financing for my shrink visits has run out and I find that I don't care. I feel that we passed the point where the sessions were effective, and besides, if I want someone to rag on me, I'll call my mom.
I was reflecting on this one person I hung out with when I first got to this city, a condescending, overbearing, insufferable woman. It took me a while to figure out that I didn't like hanging around her. I had (have?) this tendency to disregard my own feelings and do what other people want of me (like, when Eduard wanted to get back together). Anyway, this person would say things like, "[incredulously] You don't know what such-and-such is?!" You know what? I would never speak to others that way. And there's no reason to be with people who do.
My kitty-cats have gone all finicky on me. No longer are they the feral kittens who would plow into anything served to them. I bought some Natural Balance food, figuring that they needed a change of diet for Missy to get rid of the yeast in her ears. Well, they won't eat it. They'll only nibble on it to keep from starving to death. For the record, though, Missy's ears are better. Maybe I need to track down another holistic, human-grade cat food. I was giving them Flint River Ranch before and they seem to like that, although they were getting tired of it. I wish Flint River made other cat food varieties for the dietary-sensitive, like they do for dogs.
Where did I put my phone?
10:22 PM
I was on the 'pooter at school earlier but Blogger was down.
They're giving MS Worrrrd classes at the community college. Shit, I could be teaching those.
I've got a serious spending addiction. Surely that's no surprise to some. I blow my rent money on stupid stuff. Spending is my opiate. I put myself on an eBay moratorium before and will have to do it again. How many damn Velvet dolls do I need, anyway? I've more than made up for not receiving one when I was five.
That dude who commissioned me to make him a doll has filed a complaint with PayPal. He and I had already cordially agreed that I would refund his money. What a dick. I should have known better than to deal with him. Never, and I repeat -- NEVER -- again will I accept a commission.
I feel very flat. Nowadays when I hear a jam on the radio that in previous years would have made me want to get up and boogie, I feel little to no response. Is this the result of getting older? I tried to dance in my living room the other day and I was so ... white. I used to be a good dancer. I used to feel such passion for things, like music or good movies or whatever. Now I'm just like, eh. Maybe it's my recognition of the corporate machinations behind our culture's entertainment. Why should I jump through someone else's hoop. Or maybe it's my meds. But anyway, yeah, I feel very flat.
A humorous aside: Today my dolly buddy Beth said to get some white nylon rope to unravel and use as doll hair. Interesting idea. I had to stop myself from telling her that, oh yeah, Eduard wanted me to get some soft rope to use in our sex games, but I'd never gotten around to it before we broke up (too bad).
He and I laughed about what might happen if I went to a nautical supply place to buy some rope and the clerk asked me what it was for; I'd simply say that it's so my boyfriend can tie me up. [But why couldn't *Eduard* buy the damn rope, huh? Why did I have to pay for every gottdamn thing? I can't believe I was with that fucking loser.] Gotta hand it to him, that was the most (only?) fun I've ever had in bed, and we barely scratched the surface. Nowadays my thinking is, who knows when or if I'll be in a relationship again, so the question of whether or not my partner would be willing to take a walk on the dark side is rather moot. I really don't want a partner; I can't even manage my own life, let alone a relationship. (I can't even handle dogs because it entails getting off my ass to walk them.)
I don't have very strong friendship skills. If I make contact with someone, I inevitably fail to follow through. Like, I'll chat with someone in class and then next time I'll forget to say hello. It's honest oversight, preoccupation and thoughtlessness rather than an intentional snub. My mind's just not all there. If I want to be a friend I have to intentionally tell myself, "say hello," or "write so-and-so." In other words, it's work, and work is not my forte.
I just want to sit in a room with nothing but my hobbies and do craft stuff day in and day out. That's all I want to do. I don't want to go to work; I don't want to go to school. Maybe someone could just lock me up in a padded cell with all my knitting, painting and doll supplies and I'll be a happy camper. Don't even have to feed me but once or twice a day.
It's been about a year since I started seeing Eduard. I don't miss him in the least and many days can go by without my thinking about him at all. I went to see Cheryl at her work the day I left my parents' town. She works for the city animal shelter and has been there four years. I helped her clean the dog runs and stuff. Sad that those beautiful animals will most likely die. There was one dog that had been hit by a car that Cheryl put down. I tried to soothe him while Cheryl gave him the injection. And then I cried like a baby. Someone had to mourn his loss.Oh god there's so much in this world that's so wrong. The animals pain me the most, because they live at the whim of man.
I'm back in my apartment, eleven days after I evacuated. Someone ransacked the place! Oh wait, that's how I left it. My allergies were fine the whole time I was away and now they're acting up -- aha, Sherlock Holmes! Yeah, but holy fucking shit, I can't live like this anymore.
I'm curious as to what really happened around here when Rita hit land. It couldn't have been too much; everything looks normal. I don't see any damage at all, except for a tree knocked over that had already been dead for quite a while. There wasn't even a power outage, or else my bedroom alarm clock would be blinking.
I couldn't have stayed another minute at my parents' house. I feel so bad for our German relatives. I wish to hell my parents could maybe try to be normal, just a little bit, just for a while.
It was really good to see the dogs again. They're my parents' dogs now; they don't even miss me when I leave. I miss them terribly, but they're so much better cared for now. First of all, I don't walk them nearly enough, and secondly, the two of them need more than one person to pay them attention. Oh, and thirdly, my mom feeds them well.Here's some entries I typed a long time ago. I'll post them here instead of at the correct dates.--------------Saturday, September 17, 2005, 4:23 PM
Ugh. On this day, twenty years ago, I went to Parris Island for boot camp. Holy crap, was I an idiot. I don't know what the fuck was running through my mind; maybe I thought I'd be a trailblazer, showing all those men what-for on their own turf. Don't double over laughing, now. I don't know what it's like these days, but back then the marine corps was a very hostile environment for women. "Women are just a life-support system for a cunt." "Women marines are out of their MOS's (military occupational specialty--in other words, your job) as soon as they put their feet on the floor in the morning." Instead of feeling as though I had proven myself at the end of four years, I felt greatly diminished, and I tell ya, there wasn't much there to begin with.
As for boot camp, it only lasted nine weeks. They had us arrive at some god-awful hour in the morning, like two or something, and they started screaming at us immediately. I think I thought that because I was an army brat, I'd be a natural, but the fact is, being the daughter of an officer is nothing like being in boot camp, or, for that matter, being an enlisted schmuck. They let us have all of two hours' sleep the first night and I don't think I recovered from my sleep deprivation the whole time. I was a lousy recruit, not able to catch on and always at the end of the line, and I subsequently incurred the wrath of my platoon-mates. If I were a man, I'd have probably been the subject of a blanket party. As it was, everyone treated me with great disdain, so not only was I hassled by the drill instructors, but also by my fellow recruits. I didn't get the fact that it was all a game. I hadn't acquired the knowledge that the insults and mind-fuck games had nothing to do with me. Instead, I internalized everything.
I only really forgave myself for my "failure" last spring semester, where in the sociology class we learned about that one experiment where people were divided into two groups: prisoners and guards. After a *very* short time, the subjects started to inhabit and become their roles, and the experiment was stopped early because there was the risk of physical harm. I think I probably wrote about that before, but it was valuable to me, to learn that it was "normal" to have let those people influence my self-image.
Sometimes I wonder what kind of a recruit I'd be if faced with those circumstances again. But then I think, nowadays, I'm smart enough to avoid the fucking situation to begin with! I don't have to prove anything to any motherfucker.
According to my horoscope at astrologyzone.com, today is a fine day for romance. Hmmmmm [looking around], dunno about that. I should stop reading those stupid things, they only make me feel bad.
Saturday, September 17, 2005, 11:29 PM
Did some knitting today, a very constructive and soothing hobby. Tomorrow morning is a local doll show, where I'll meet up with Anne. Poor thing, she's so unhappy because she lives way outside the city limits in Redneckville, and she's a die-hard liberal.
Missy had a bad yeast infection in her ears and I took her to the vet the other day (did I already say that?). Upon our return, Peep hissed and yowled at Missy for the rest of the day and maybe part of next day too. I don't know what was up with that; usually they get along fine. Peep behaved that way when Missy came home from her spay, too. Then I just figured that Missy had a strange smell after having been gone all day, but the recent vet appointment only took half an hour or so.
Monday, September 19, 2005, 11:08 AM
I'm relieved that I dropped German class. I don't know what's wrong with me, that I can't make an eleven o'clock class. I've resolved in the future to take as many night classes as possible.
When I was working, I could mask my morning muddlement (sic) by hunching over the computer. I wasn't expected to perform, think or interact with others. Maybe that's why I stayed in those jobs so long, they were safe. Safe and soul-destroyingly boring.
Anne and I were talking about men the other day. She's convinced that all men, regardless of how nice, subconsciously wish women would just shut up and mind their place. It brought to mind that in most of my classes, if not all, women are the majority, so it's not a question of whether or not we should raise our hands and speak out. But in the corporate world, men rule. I really don't look forward to returning to that environment.
I thought for a while that I could sell Mary Kay cosmetics. I like their formula 3 skin cleanser and their formula 2 facial mask, even though I'm not so much into makeup anymore. Mary Kay was voted the number one company for women to work for, or something like that. But Mary Kay wouldn't accept me for who I was. They want all their reps to wear skirts or dresses -- something I never do; I don't even own a skirt or dress except for night gowns -- and they were all godly and stuff. Plus I'm the kind of person to live and let live, so to speak. If someone is interested in the product, sure, I'll sell it to them. But I'm not gonna shove it down someone's throat. Additionally, a big component of Mary Kay is recruitment, which for me is a dirty word. It's actually a glorified pyramid scheme. So, no Mary Kay for me.
I refuse to wear skirts as a matter of principle. Why should I wear a garment that denotes me specifically as a certain gender, a garment that restricts my movements? If men can be comfortable all the time, why can't I? Another reason I don't wear makeup; if men can jump in the shower and be ready in thirty minutes, why can't I?
When I was eleven years old and in fifth grade, I experienced a growth spurt and the advent of adolescence. Suck. A good two years ahead of everyone else. I outgrew all my pants mid-year because of my hips. You think my mom would get me some new clothes? No. She made me wear her skirts every day, complete with slips, hose and women's shoes. You know what a freak that made me? And then when the weather got warm, she wouldn't let me wear shorts to school. Like, with my womanly hips I would entice all those eleven-year-old boys. When I was growing up, my mom was a real asshole. Talk about neurotic, Jesus Christ. I was an active kid, running around and playing games on the playground, and these skirts were a real encumbrance, a way of telling me that I had to behave a certain way because of the accidental fact that I was born without a penis. Yeah, that's probably a major reason I won't wear skirts today.
I've noticed that War of the Worlds has already left the theaters, while Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and other contemporaries are still there. Personally, I was interested in the movie at first, but the antics of Dr. Cruise totally put me off. I feel sorry for Steven Spielberg, but I guess he couldn't control the off-screen behavior of his star. Wonder if the two'll work together again.
Oh gawd, guess what. I found a gray hair in my pubes the other day. The rest is sure to follow.
And oh, the doll show was a bust. $4 to get in, an exorbitant amount. And there really wasn't much there (and I don’t have the money to buy anything I might have wanted anyway). Anne and I caught up but didn't have much time to socialize. I think I stayed barely an hour.
1:37 PM
I like sleeping in the living room. It's so much more quiet! My bedroom window is right over the noisy air conditioning units for my building, which run constantly. Plus the living room isn't connected to any neighbor's room except the downstairs; the bedroom shares a wall with the neighbor's bedroom, and who needs that. When I get my loft bed from Ikea, I'm going to set it up in the living room. I know you're not "supposed" to do that, but who cares. It's not like anyone comes over anyhow. Then, my bedroom will be free to be my art studio. Currently, all my arts/crafts crap is scattered all over the apartment. Painting here, dolly hair there, knitting there. I need to consolidate.
Something else that's interesting: I don't wheeze when I sleep in the living room.
Didn't say that the other day in the local Wally World I saw the guy who took my virginity when I was 17. I almost didn't recognize him, although he didn't change much, just some deeper lines in his forehead and his hair cut shorter. We looked at each other and I'm not sure if he recognized me or not; I was wearing a ponytail through my baseball cap. I couldn't help but send him a sardonic smile but I kept walking and didn't address him.Seeing him was strange although not altogether unexpected -- this town isn't so big, after all. I found I wasn't angry anymore. My prevailing sense was that he was "just" a person. Dunno if I'm explaining that correctly.On my 17th birthday we drove to the lake and made out in his van. The last word I said before he entered me was "no," so I guess you could say that technically it was a date rape, but then again, I shouldn't have been flat on my back and naked in the back of his van, right? I don't think about it much; I think we were interrupted by spotlights shining on our asses. Oh yeah, good times.
Oh, and not helping my mood any is the fact that the cats woke me up with their antics at around five in the morning and when I fell back asleep I had a long, drawn-out and detailed dream (nightmare) about me going public about my dad molesting me. On one hand, it was a positive thing because in my dreams I'm not taking any more crap; but still, it was wearying.
Dude. I'm SO cranky right now. However, fortunately, everyone has left for the day to go visit my bro's family so I have the house to myself, barring dogs and cats. I've been at my folks' house for a week and a half and it's been too long -- I've gotta get the hell out of here. Holy shit my parents get on my nerves. They've got visitors from Germany here, my mom's cousins. Rather, my mom's half-uncle. Whatever. Anyway, these people are here for ten days and what do my parents do to show them the country? Sit in the dark house all day, every day, smoking. Gee that's fun, I'm glad they came all the way over here from Europe for that. My dad's a dickhead because he doesn't like company and my mom's being a bitch as a result. They're both so rude. I revert to my childhood family role: that of the clown, to try to bring levity to the situation. What the fuck is wrong with my stupid-ass parents. Oh. My. Gawd. I'm leaving tomorrow. If I stay here for any longer I'll fucking kill them (the parents, not the relatives, with whom I get along quite well).I mean, last night I suggested looking for a German-language film to rent, like Good-bye Lenin, or something like that. My mom gave me that withering hairy eyeball she's good at, that used to make me shrink inside myself, and said nastily, "Why?" I looked her right in the eye and replied levelly, "To watch." We didn't do it. I can't believe they won't even make such minimal effort to help their guests feel at home. They should be embarrassed.And then after barking orders at me and biting my head off for the past several days, when I get in my car to leave my mom will all but burst into tears, as if she wants me to move back in or something.My parents are fucking freaks. I don't want to be anything like either one of them. Please tell me I don't have to be.I turned on that word verification thing for the comments; sorry about that. I'm sick of those stupid spams.
