What The Future Holds

Lately Michelle has been talking about moving to Philadelphia. She says we should consider it, not now, but in 4-5 years. She is being quite practical, as always. Michelle is a planner. Now that she has a job, she is focusing on retirement. We have both said that we'd like to own property, like people in other cities and states. It's not a possibility here, ever. If we stay here, our rent will just go up every year, while our salaries basically stay the same, and we'll have nothing to show for it at the end of it all. The problem is, I don't really believe in the future. Therefore, I am tentatively agreeing to the 5-year plan with the knowledge that anything could happen in that time. The world, "as we know it" is supposed to end in the year 2012. That makes sense to me, since the year is divisible by fours. We might not be alive in five! Or else, Brooklyn could be totally transformed, for sundry reasons. Who knows what shape the new world will take? Will the U.S. become a totalitarian state? Will China take us over? Will there be a world war III (it seems to be only a matter of time). I can't conceive of "five years from now." But I love NYC and Brooklyn. I am supposed to be here, and right now. Something is happening. Something is about to happen. I can't leave. I have to be a teacher here, and not in Philadelphia. I don't know if Michelle really wants to buy property or she thinks that I do. She is "materialistic," not in a bad way but in a practical way. She says she wants nicer things and a nicer apartment. I really want a backyard. She says that I "should feel poor," even though I feel rich. She says she really doesn't want to leave Brooklyn either. I said maybe we could move to Westchester? But I really want to stay in Brooklyn. Who knows what will happen, even in one year? No point in really dwelling on it.

"How could you steal medication from your mother who needs it?" A bad, bad thing to do. A bad person. A bad daughter. A bad girlfriend. Bad bad bad. What exactly is a conscience? My goals for 2009 include:

-quit smoking, tobacco and weed
-straight edge sober
-try to focus on breathing as much as possible
-acupuncture twice per month
-yoga twice per month

For New Years eve, Michelle and I are going to go on a quiet date. We will probably go see the movie, "Milk" and go out to dinner. Hopefully we can get acupuncture on New Years day, if the Brooklyn Acupunture Project is open.

salt

What does it mean if salt is a reocurring theme in your life? Lately, I have been craving and eating salty things, and have also recently started using a neti pot, which I love, and it entails rinsing the sinuses with salt water. I think I also dreamed about salt recently. Then, the gentleman in these pictures approached me the other morning, and after talking about pictures for a while he began to tell me about bridges. He said that they must be covered with "steel paint" in order to prevent corrosion by salt in the water. He said that salt corrodes everything practically, except steel. I'm not sure if this is true or not, but I know that rivers have fresh not salt water, and he was talking about the bridges around nyc. He mentioned all the types of people who have worked on them over the century, and he said there were built when people used horses and buggies, another fact I'd have to check. I began getting confused, and he talked with increasing excitement and agitation, meanwhile totally violating my personal space. At one point, he accidently spit on my face and my glasses. He apologized, and I realized I was too timid to ask him to please take a step back and respect my physical space. Some people might say I'm not respectful for taking pictures, but he loved it, and no one seems to mind so far. With this man, It felt like another of these spiritual meetings where the crazy person is in tune with truth and other worlds in a way and we are meant to talk... Michelle is so scientific. When I suggest possible past lives, she thinks it's silly. She also said these pictures are kind of boring because she sees that landscape every day. It's beautiful though. This is Gowanus, Brooklyn, near the Smith and 9th F/G train stop. The bridge is truly gorgeous. The morning sky is getting ready to snow for the first time, and signal the beginning of winter.

early retirement or pursue it all?

On my facebook profile, I recently wrote that I was "definitely not done making music" and that I plan to "do my own thing, somehow." Last night, however, I realized that I probably am done. That thought crept up on me after I made those claims, and today I am fairly sure that my days as a singer and band member are over. I was going to try to write stuff for Mark because he's willing to work over the internet - sending me files and me sending back my comments and suggestions - Brian told me he would "never work like that." He wanted me to go all the way to his stupid studio and meet at like 10pm. Of course, he stays up all night! Well, I can't live like that. Maybe if I were single, living on someone's couch, and didn't have a job. Which would never happen because I like security and sleeping at least 8 hours a night and eating regularly, etc. Anyway, Mark sent me a bunch of tracks, and there were about three that I thought had potential. So I started writing some lines, and telling him where I think things work or they don't work.

I like things to be extremely catchy but totally original. I don't like ugliness... don't like strange and jarring transitions... extensive noise and dissonance... I like a very strong melodic relationship between bass, guitar, and lyrical melody, and that's what I like about S-K, in additon to the singing. Anyways, it all starts with a good beat and bassline. Without that, the song isn't going anywhere, no matter how much cool shit you pile on top of it.

Messages from the Other Side

Last night I dreamed that I found Wayne, my friend's deceased cat, who she loved more than anything. I found Wayne, and I couldn't wait to tell her that he was alive. In my dream, he had only been missing, and my friend had a feeling that he was still alive out there. I also found Tatiana, my cat. They came out of nowhere on a random street, and looked at each other, and did not hiss. They were living with a man in his house, but I decided to bring them both home. However, once I got them home, neither were happy. Tatiana hid a lot and I knew I was being too aggresive with her. I knew I should let her come to me. I returned Wayne to my friend, and I think she told me that he had also changed.

During the night, apparently I said to Michelle, in my sleep, "There are whole lives ahead of us." She asked what I meant, and I replied, "That's just how it is." She wrote it down, and told me this morning. I wish I could tell my friend that I saw her cat in my dream, but for some reason I'm being very stubborn in our silence. Usually, I would break it and apologize for whatever I did wrong. This time, I just know that she should apologize, but I'm not sure why. Either way, she insulted me numerous times and had a judgemental attitude toward me. Some of you, I have known for a long time, and we're not finished yet.

poor Shelly . . .

i had the greatest acupuncture session today, in the top of the head, the tum, left elbow, right wrist, front of calves, top of left foot, top and bottom of right foot around scar tissue. usually i get many in my ears, but this week, no. when i got the ones in the right leg, my leg jumped in the air. also, i jumped getting them around the scar tissue, even though breathing out "hard" as instructed. it felt wonderful. i'm at my friend's house. i left Shelly in bed, with cupcake crumbs all over her shirt. she is trying to put something good in that god hole, but can't fill it . . . it's too big! poor Shelly. I loves her. friday night she scared me half to death by coming home later than i expected, and in the evening i had to tell her father not to worry, i think it's just fatigue. i do think that, for the most part. we're back to living for the day! the moment! times like this demand detachment, and i can use all the practice i can get. so can you.

Conduit, Dreams, Imogene, Kumina Queen

Boy am I glad to be at work today, and I'm not joking! Last night our plumbing clogged, and this event, possibly due to the heavy rains, coincided with me acquiring a vicious case of diarrhea! The horror followed me on my commute this morning, as the stalled A train entered a race against the ticking clock of my stomach pains. Do I have Cholera? Only time can tell.

My dreams last night also featured feces, although that is one of my reoccurring dreams and possibly not directly related to the bathroom situation. Before I continue, let me add that there is a gigantic hole in the bathroom wall and there are roaches, etc., coming out of it, one by one. The wall is severely damaged due to leaking pipes; recently I tapped the wall and it caved in. Disgusting! My landlord deserves to be in jail, and I told him that. I also told him his behavior was ungodly, spending all his time in Israel praying while neglecting his responsibilities to his tenants. Asshole! Anyways.... in one part of last night's dreams, little poops were falling out of me as I was walking in a public place. I realized I was shitting my pants, and so I located the public restroom. However, as in all of my feces dreams, there was no privacy or cleanliness to be had. There was a line in the bathroom, and then the door of my stall would not stay closed. I was trying to handle my business discreetly but was highly unsuccessful.

Oh! Let me add... as far as Wednesday night's nightmare goes, starring my father as attacker, I forgot to mention the most sickening part. After the assault, my mother french kissed my dad. Michelle asked, "Why is that the worst part?" Because obviously... it not only implicates her complicity in the crime and failure to protect my sister, but she was obviously aroused, which is unacceptable in every way!

Back to last night's dream. Let me start by giving a little background information... When I was 12 years old or so, I liked this boy named Curtis, who was the god brother of my best friend. Curtis is biracial and has piercing light blue eyes, the epitome of evil. At the time, he lived in a home for problematic youth. We used to meet in the cemetery near the home, and sometimes kiss. Once I kissed him in the alley behind my house, and he shoved his whole, giant, revolting tongue down my mouth while grabbing my ass with both hands through the rips and holes in my jean shorts. I was totally repulsed. Also, in my childhood bedroom, one of the walls faced the intersection of 38th and 10th avenue, and had four windows looking out down the ave. Several boys from the neighborhood had a rude habit of climbing the side of my house and onto the roof, to talk to me through the window. I thought it was flattering, but my father was angry and scared. One time, on the phone, Curtis told me that he and some friends had beat up a skin head. They had arranged his face against a sidewalk curb, with the mouth open and teeth to the concrete, and stomped on his head. I found that image unsettling, but I thought Curtis had a nice voice. I don't know what happened to him, besides having about five children as his teen years progressed. Anyways, in my dream, I was in my old room and Curtis came to my window. I was happy to see him. I asked him how he had been doing. He had a couple other boys with him, and suddenly, I realized that they were there to rob me. He started trying to break the screen. I called for help, and some ninjas appeared. They fought off the boys, and I tried to scream, but couldn't. Once the ninjas had kicked and pushed them off the roof, I looked out and saw Curtis' head and shoulders sitting there on the roof, sans body. The head was still alive, but the severed body was on the lawn below. I was happy to see it, and I spit on him.

In another part of the dream, I was in a giant shoe store / library. I needed shoes because I had to drive Michelle's father's car, and my feet couldn't reach the gas and breaks... so I wanted platform shoes. It was an emergency, because I was trying to finish this project for her family. I was building a giant structure out of pasta and covered with sauce, and it was very important. I didn't want to annoy or upset her mother. They only made the platform shoes in kids' sizes, and a salesperson tried to sell me some Anne Klein ladies slippers instead, which were too expensive and ugly. Then the store became a library. I was in a private reading room, and suddenly, I saw a two little girls playing, one blond and one brunette. The blond came over and talked to me. I wondered if she was a ghost, and then, as I was holding her in my arms, I looked down and saw the white/gray corpse of a dead baby. I was extremely upset and wanted to talk to Michelle about it... she was busy. We were fighting. It had to do with the structure, the pasta, her family, I don't know....

AAh, there was so much more to the dream, but it's gone. Dreams are like that. I only have access to the spiritual world in dreams. Daytime is 'do this' and 'do that' and 'call the plumber.' You know, despite access to the toilet, I am not actually happy to be at work. I'm really pissed. My stomach keeps growling.

What's the use, Zeus?

We can't help what we dream, right? I apologize in advance to the actors in this dream, who did not choose to star in the following scenario. I was with my family. All of a sudden, my dad lept onto my sister in a fit of rage. She did something to piss him off. We were all kind of shocked, but it turned to horror as his wrath continued unabated. I heard and saw a time clock ticking away the seconds that it lasted. He was torturing her. Her had a hose and was putting his thumb over it so that the water came out really hard and right against her neck or face. I could tell that it hurt a lot and that my sister was really scared. The worst part is, she was struggling and calling out, "no no no," and my dad was saying "Yes Yes Yes" in a sexual way, like a rape. I said, "Say goodbye to Lora (my sister)." I knew that my dad could never be forgiven after such a crime. It was far too extreme, inflicted on her for far too long, and it was sexual, which was the worst part. I woke up saying no.

The Moon is so Hollow

I can't sleep tonight. Michelle is passed out and snoring lightly. Sweetly. Once she was asleep, I got close to her. We have barely touched or spoken since last Thursday. Friday, she started using again. Can I talk about this here? I have no idea if anyone reads this. I hope only strangers read it. Michelle and I had a horrible date at Rachel's tonight. She expressed strong disappointment over the fact that it wasn't a nice or "romantic" time. I remained calm. I have remained calm, for the most part, since Friday. Last summer, I could barely cope because I didn't understand addiction. Tonight, I am okay, and I believe that she will be okay too. I married a sick little lady. I almost lost my cool at dinner. I started laughing, not because I was happy, but because she was being so ridiculous, really trying to fight with me, and swearing to god that she was sober while nodding off into her enchilada. It was pathetic. I refused to engage on all levels because I could see that it was pointless. She wanted me to agree that she was "just tired.

the mysterious mind

last night i dreamed about someone from my past where i was at their house with my family, on a vacation or something, stopping by. this person's mother is not alive, but in my dream her mother answered the door and invited us in. i went up to the person's room and was looking around. i felt they way you do when you want to run into someone so badly and you're so excited but nervous. at one point this person returned and we looked at each other close up for a second. then i was wearing these platform socks/slippers with funny multi-colored toes, which made her mom laugh. then my family was leaving and this person was playing a show across the street, down the block, but i knew i wasn't going. i was going with my family.

friendship in my world

I joined facebook. At first it was a lot of fun. Now everything has slowed down, I reconnected with a bunch of folks from my past, no one is available to chat, and it's boring. Plus so many people have their profiles on private, you can't do any research. BORING. I miss my friend Gaige, even though sometimes she really makes me mad. We haven't spoken in a long time now. I miss chatting with her while I'm at work though and hearing about her life. I suppose our argument is a matter of pride. Mine. GOD MY JOB IS DRIVING ME INSANE TODAY. It's mad busy. And I have cramps. I just wanna get the fuck out of here, go home and lay down. Finally, the phone stopped ringing. Thanksgiving is coming up and millions of fat Americans can't wait to celebrate gluttony, a great American value. I'm in one of those moods where people disgust me. Sometimes everyone has a beautiful glow. Other days, such as this one, they are weak, greedy, and pathetic. Like people in the elevator. I just hate listening to their fake/work chat. Why the fuck do people talk about their jobs in the elevator? Can't it wait till you arrive in your office? Also, why do people squeeze into an elevator that's already full? Nobody likes being packed in like sardines. Unless you're late for work, there's just no excuse for that. I've also noticed that the majority of people are really boring. Naturally I surround myself with people that I find interesting, but I would rather be alone than talk to average, boring, married, nice people. Then again, my sister is married and has a baby now, and I don't think she's boring or that her life is boring. In fact, I'm in love with her baby. I guess it's a matter of people being boring to me when I don't know them. Most people are more interesting when you get to know them, right? Wrong. Hey, I really don't know. I know that I'm bored by happiness. I'm bored by self-pitying types too though. Just why can't people say something new and original? Why do they have to say something that anyone could have said? I'm not saying that I'm the most original in the world. I have to participate in certain social niceties such as, "how are you" "I'm fine" etc. I just wish everyone would shut up. Including myself. No one knows anything and all this conversation is meaningless noise. I'd rather fuck. jk :) Well, whatever. It sucks when you miss and love someone but you know they are a jerk and don't deserve your friendship.

NYC Teaching Fellows: a good program?

I was in the NYC Teaching Fellows program for about two and a half months. I quit while I was working as an assistant teacher at a school in Co-op city during summer school. I just became overwhelmed and couldn't manage the stress. So, I admire people that can handle it. I've noticed that it is not the perfectionists who are successful in the program, but those that are more flexible and simply don't quit no matter how unprepared, ignorant or scared they are. I can't say it's a bad program.

(I erased the rest of this post where I started bitching about the annoying teaching fellows in my graduate classes at Hunter. It was mean spirited. They have good intentions. Sometimes, "intentions" aren't enough and excellence is required, but it's not my business to worry about all the students with bad teachers).

No Sense

I listened to the song, NO Sense on repeat today. It's so beautiful. It wasn't making me sad either, just thrilled at the way Cat Power chooses words and melody lines. She's my fav. I can't sleep though, because the damn song is in my head. But I kind of feel like playing it right now.

Why do I write online? Because I don't know which will last longer, the words I put here or in a notebook. It's always been my dream or obsession, to be a "writer." The internet is my dream come true.

Gowanus healer, Heart stealer, Saver of The World

It's a cold rainy day, and I wish to God I was at home, in bed. I went to the h.s. this morning and I was nervous because today was supposed to be the day I ask my group to take turns reading out loud. I'm reluctant to discuss my progress as a future teacher, and my thoughts, because most of them are strange, idealistic, and I imagine people saying, "Oh, she doesn't know what she's talking about because she has no experience." As a teacher, I want to be a sort of Buddhist Socrates... sound impossible? The thing is, I can't be a regular teacher. But if I can pull off my vision, the experience will be so much better than regular. My philosophy is along the lines of what I learned in nar-anon, too, in terms of surrendering control of another person's behavior and decisions. I can't and won't try to force anyone to do anything. I feared my ideas were ineffective during the last tutoring session I ran, during which there was very little focus, but I did not become authoritarian, at all. It just isn't in my nature. Some people might describe me as manipulative, but that's a misunderstanding, for the most part. I would never want anyone to do anything that was wrong or that they wouldn't choose of their own volition. In my group, I told them that from my understanding of the program, they are supposed to motivate and push each other, and help each other study. It is scary to not seize control when they avoid their work. But the moment the teacher seizes control, the students become infantile. If they can and will only do the work when being forced, they won't enjoy it and they won't remember much either. True strength and power only comes from knowledge that we seek on our own. If someone can realize that, at any point, they can get free. Otherwise? Waste of time, this whole schooling business. So this morning, I was happy to note that certain students in the group started taking on the teaching role, and I was able to act as co-learner. I did speak up in order to redirect the group's focus a couple times, but with a sense of humor, and not in a frustrated manner. For instance, the students wanted to look at a magazine catalogue of hoodies and sneakers, rather than study. They were pointing out which hoodies they would buy, so I indicated the one that I preferred, and then noted that they may not be getting the most out of their time in the study group, unless the catalogue were put away for the rest of the session. My plan is to ignore almost everything and permit almost everything (except dangerous behavior). I don't mind gum, soda, swearing, talking, moving around the room, reading other materials, drawing during the lesson.... for the most part. I hope to ask interesting enough questions and form real relationships with the students to the point where they enjoy talking about things with me and as a group, and they feel free to express themselves. This is the difference between being forced to participate in a conversation versus wanting to be involved. And if someone happened to be up all night and unable to participate, that's their decision and their responsibility. The main thing I want to do is encourage self esteem and creativity. I understand that the students have to do well on tests, however, and that if they did poorly, I would be held responsible. But it seems to me that if they were allowed to express themselves more freely, they would do more actual reading and writing, rather than resisting it, and practice in this way would do more for test scores than doing practice tests every day. I'm sure my opinions and methods will change as I get more experience, but I don't think I'll ever want anything more than to give the kiddies the greatest gift with the greatest responsibility, freedom.

The Size of Our Love

Last night I was awakened by Michelle talking to someone through the window. She had been writing in her journal and smoking when Bill walked by. It was Bill. Bill lives in Red Hook and is the main person who was selling dope to her, back in May. I hate this guy! He's a con artist, just like the other men that Michelle has befriended in the neighborhood, and the strange thing is her naive reaction to these types. After Bill left, she was extremely concerned about whether or not she should feel sympathy for him because his mother supposedly died. I said sure, he's a human being, but that doesn't make him a trustworthy person or friend material! This incident naturally reminded me of all the shit we went through during the summer, but I feel confident that she is stable on her methadone dose and will not relapse anytime soon. We were watching Intervention last night too, and I was struck again by the insanity of addiction. It is the very definition of insanity, to know all these facts, everything you have to lose, everything you have lost, and be unable to make the right choice. I really feel for my girl. She's such a generous, wise, kind person. While she's on methadone, she can use her mind to weigh consequences and choose life. If she were not taking it, however, there would be no argument strong enough to stand up to her urge to use. There is no breakthrough she might have in therapy, no set of skills to be gained, no love big enough to win against it. That's just not fair. But hey, life isn't fair. It's possible that someday she will reduce her dose and even stop taking it, but not anytime soon and perhaps she'll need to be on it permanently. I have no problem with that. Some people do, like these girls we met in AA. They were nice, but also narrow minded and judgemental. These two were a couple, and they wouldn't even hang out with us as a couple. Why? It's not proper AA socializing I guess. One girl was Michelle's potential sponsor and one was mine. My friend/potential sponsor was very sweet (and attractive, although I was not personally attracted to her), but she encouraged me to go to more meetings than I was interested in attending, and her girlfriend's stance on methadone turned me off.

I used "my" cane again today. I was very nervous. Using the cane on the subway is one thing-- using it in a high school is another. However, the students did not look at me funny or laugh at me. I had wanted to reschedule but I knew that getting through the morning with my cane might be good for me in terms of building character. I have always been a self-conscious, somewhat vain person. I have wanted to be wearing the right thing, to be cool, which isn't so unusual, but sometimes it's impossible because we may not have been exposed to certain things before. When I first moved to New York, I was out of style in quite a few ways, and this was painful for me because I immediately perceived my shortcomings but didn't have the material resources to make myself over right away. None of my clothes were right, but how could I have known? I was even unsure how to express my gender possibilities, and I wore a lot of lipstick and ugly skirts. And someday I'm going to be old and there will be no bringing sexy back. Some people think the elderly are cute. I have more of a fear of that sort of thing, my body decaying, wrinkling up, the veins showing through and the bones getting weak and breakable. When I look at old people, I feel curious and I want to ask them questions like if they're ready to die or about their faith or what they have learned by living so long. However, when I actually talk to old people, they don't seem any wiser or kinder. My grandma just talks about God and heaven according to her literal, Protestant interpretation of the bible. She's not afraid to die, which is good, but she is comfortable in simplicity, which never worked for me. It seems like it would rude to ask other elderly people if they feel ready to die. But I ask myself the same thing almost every day. Last night Michelle was talking about how she wants security (as in, a job) and I was reminding her that security is an illusion. Anything can happen. As Americans, we like to think we deserve and will probably have a long life of financial success and then retire and sit on the porch. We don't think about all the people who have died since the beginning of time. We don't think, I will definitely die, when and how? Sometimes I feel ready to die. I just think about birds, trees, or the idea of being suspended in the air over the ocean, at the center, with no land around for thousands of miles... the silence there. And I think about how I will join it. And how nothing lasts, including paper and books, electronic media, history... all of it disintegrates over time, or changes beyond recognition. No one will know me, and I don't even know myself from ten years ago. If my childhood self is dead, and it's okay, then it is also okay that I (sfwk on October 7th, 2008) will eventually not exist. I will be transformed into something else. When I look at the span of time like that, I am okay with letting this moment go and letting myself go.

moving slowly in a fast city

This weekend Michelle's mother let me borrow her cane. So I used it while returning to Brooklyn with Michelle and again, on the way to work, this morning. At first I felt quite embarassed. I'm a young lady, and I look funny walking with a cane. It helps though. I can move a little faster. On the F train, a middle aged white lady gave me her seat. Then the F train was re-routed over the G line, and I had to catch the A at Hoyt Schimmerhorn, which was, naturally, packed. I had to train-surf with nothing to hold onto. Before we pulled out of the station, a man was bumping into me and I said to him, "Excuse me. I need a little room because I have a cane." He apologized and moved over a bit. Nobody could see my cane at first because the car was so full, but once it emptied out and people did see, no one offered me their seat. But everyone is aware of my cane. Besides when the car was too crowded, my neighbors on the train and sidewalk have been using that New York skill on me, the glance that takes in everything.

This is all, of course, because of the acupunture I had last week that turned the scar tissue, on my foot, black and blue. I'm going back for more on Thursday. I should see the podiatrist too, but it's expensive and I can't take any more time off work. Plus it's difficult to get across town when I have to walk with the cane. However, it makes me feel vulnerable, to know that I can't run, in the event I needed to run from something or someone.

On the train this morning there was an extremely tall young man who must have had the disorder where people grow beyond a height that is healthy. They have specials about real dwarves (little people) and giants on TV... I think he was a giant. I noticed that he was interested in the way I could train train-surf with my cane, and when a seat opened up next to me, he took it. I think he would have liked to be friends. Alas, we follow the New York rules and don't bother each other by striking up conversation. This is the city where freaks get to relax if they so desire. I'm not trying to call the giant a freak or myself one for using a cane, I'm just noting that people are tolerant here. They may not accept, but they tolerate any type of person. They don't stare or harrass each other, for the most part... except in the case of hate crimes. (Doesn't all crime involve hate against someone?) The point is, here is a place where people of all nationalities, religions, homeless or headed to the office (or construction site), men and women, handicapped or selling candy, preaching or playing a homemade instrument, drunk or high, listening to headphones, reading a Black, porn/romance novel, The Torah, or the newspaper, everyone is basically willing to sit or stand closely together on the train, quietly observing everything while appearing detached or asleep.

Proud Auntie of Asher Justice

surround the dragon

I had to edit the ending of that last entry, deleting the parts where I started fantasizing and bragging. I wish the moments that I experience a feeling akin to self-confidence didn't always sway into a world of make believe and defense mechanism. Oh well!

On Rosh Hoshana, Michelle and I went to the Brooklyn Acupuncture Project again- I have had three sessions there and Michelle went twice. It's only a few short blocks away from our apartment! The ladies who run it are great and they only charge on a sliding scale. Robin lets Michelle pay only 10 dollars bc I told her Michelle is unemployed right now! I pay 25. This last time we went, Robin did a technique she called "surround the dragon" on my foot. That means she put four needles in around the scar tissue on the arch of my foot... it was very sensitive, to say the least. I jerked my foot away twice and she had to remind me to breathe. Once they were all in, however, it felt neat. Michelle gets them in her ears. I also get them in the wrists and hands. I like when the feeling is strong and they screw the needle in deeper. In any case, this surround the dragon really did some shit to my foot! Yikes, today it hurts more than ever. I barely was able to hobble into the office. Yesterday, it hurt when I woke up, then later in the day it felt better than it has felt in years! But in the evening, I noticed bruising and spots of bleeding under the scar tissue. I put the Chinese medicine on it that Robin gave me. She said to get more. It feels weird... like tingling... and this morning I also rubbed Castor Oil into it.

I wish my wife wasn't unemployed during this economic crisis everyone is talking about. I've been thinking a lot about jobs... how everything depends on whether you can get one. I am trying to imagine a world that would take care of people but yet they have to find their own path at the same time. Pain and fear are always the problem... how do you grow without experiencing them? But of course we try to avoid those feelings at all costs. Are they necessary?

Charles

A special meeting just occured between myself and a man named Charles, on 10th avenue, between 32nd and 33rd Street. I have not had a god messenger approach me in several years, and finally, it happened again! I went outside to smoke a cigarette and drink a cup of coffee on my break. I sat down on the sidewalk around the corner from my work office. A black man was walking by and then he looked at me. He said, "It's you!" He had a Jamaican accent, I think. I said, "I'm sorry but I don't recognize you. Do we work in the same office building?" He said he had seen me around the neighborhood and had recorded me in his mind. He said his mind records everything, but particularly me because he liked me. He said he is a computer programmer and is working on book on cell biology and showed me a science book in his bag. I thought me might be mentally ill, but his presence didn't bother me at all. He started explaining how he believes nature is god, nature, all the cells that compose each living and inanimate thing, all the fighting among countries and religion is the product of division and illusion (maya)... in short, we were agreeing on everything!! Everything he said, I was like, yeah yeah yeah, and everything I said, he was like, I can't believe you understand what I'm talking about. I pointed out that it was quite strange he should approach me on the street when we are clearly obsessed with the same truths. We talked about death and the meaning of life (seeing what is real), materialism, and oh my god, I just can't believe it. It was a totally fateful meeting. We were saying how god is the manifestation of energy, as nature, and how we embody divine energy, and we are all connected. My new friend's name is Charles. He believes we can make the world a better place. I'm still undecided on that issue. I kind of think that the world will always manifest the same balance between good and evil. Charles pointed out that change is very slow. Maybe I agree with him, or else why would I attempt to become a teacher? I don't want to become one of those teachers, however, who is constantly frustrated by the difference between how much they want to "help" (aka change) the students and how little change they see. I'm more interested in simply observing and accepting what is. This morning I went to my observation/tutoring session at the high school. This time I stayed awake, although I was still pretty sleepy from having a cold and taking cold medication. I don't know the names of the kids in my group because we never did introductions.

As for Charles, I gave him my phone number. We may take a walk together down to Pier 66. Upon parting, we shook hands several times, and then he kissed my hand!

Matchbook Seeks Maniac

The F train was messed up this morning. I love commuting on the train. I'm not being sarcastic. I find that it is a truly intimate experience with other people. When I observe people, I know them. When I know them, I love them. When Michelle and I ride the train together, we get the same senses about people. We notice the same things too. When I sit next to a man who insists on having his legs open when there's not enough room for that, I open mine too so that our legs are pressing against each other. It means we are communicating throughout the ride. Sometimes I really want to touch people or lean on them. Today there was a cute, short girl standing with her back close to me. I was inspecting the bright skin of her neck, and I wondered if she would scream or something if I put my arm around her waist, like how I hold MK when I'm the big spoon. I also felt that my bum kept brushing against the lap of the guy behind me when the train lurched, and I didn't mind. It makes me feel close to people, like one of them, as if we are a unit, in the one car of the subway train.

Last night during class I realized that I remember almost nothing from Tuesday morning when I observed and tutored students at the high school. I just hope that I my behavior was appropriate, besides the one class that I know I made a bad impression in by falling asleep. It won't happen again!

I don't want to do anything today. I have to work on transcribing a poem into IPA, and I chose one of my favorite poems, Ariel. I guess I have nothing else to say. Oh, Magdalena has been calling me three times a day and I'm glad we're friends again. I'm still not talking to G., and I feel badly because she might be sick, but my true feeling is that she doesn't even really like me, so why should we be friends? She was always judging me and telling me that I'm mean. She doesn't understand me or herself.

matar los monos

Last night I had extremely vivid dreams, and I woke up around 3am and told some of them to Michelle. The main one I remember is that I was moving out of a house, I think, and my dad was there to help me move. This is a dream that I have frequently. Here, there was a flood in the basement, and also the basement was full of monkeys and spiders. The spiders were very scary. I couldn't go down there. My dad was going to kill them, and two cops would help him. I woke myself up by asking outloud, "did you have to kill them in a bloody way?" I didn't want the monkeys to be killed, but the spiders were horrifying and I thought they might creep up from the basement. My other dreams revolved around Michelle: one sexual dream; one dream where we saw someone's dog attack this old lady and hold onto her ankle with its teeth, she was saying "get it off me!" and I tried to call the police from a pay phone, it cost 4.50 and I didn't get through; one dream where we lived in a building where our apartment was in the common space and I was grateful that the neighbors, who often walked through, were nice; one dream where we were male and I was asking god why she couldn't realize her powers and perform the miracles I knew her to be capable of.... towards morning I had more dreams. I was a bridesmaid in Shezronne's wedding (my high school friend). I was late and my dress didn't fit right. I was exhausted and sweaty and didn't have gifts. It was stressful and I was looking for a Duane Reede on google but I knew it was closed. Someone's younger brother had a crush on me and bought me some nice brazzieres, and I messed up his drawer or piles of clothes.

Anyways... probably am boring you, right? Other people's dreams usually seem tedious.

A & B

I wasn't expecting to feel as much love for my little nephew as I actually did upon seeing him, holding him, talking to him, kissing and tickling him, and letting him suck on my pinky finger. Asher Justice is a tiny little angel with white spots on his tiny nose. I believe I got him focusing on people's faces and eyes, and smiling at people - I think I taught him to do that because of how I was talking to him. Michelle taught me how to baby-talk, and I made little Asher smile. He's only two weeks old! He is going to be super smart and handsome though. I hope I still love him when he grows into a real boy and then a teenager and man.

It seems I may have Hepatitis A and B, as well as oral Herpes (which I gave to MK). The Hep antibodies showed up in MK's blood test, and we had similar recent sicknesses, which featured all the symptoms of hepatitis except jaundice. And obviously, I've been exposed to all her bodily fluids. I should get tested. I don't really care though. It's too late anyway, there's no treatment. You have the acute phase, and then you either become immune, or it becomes chronic and you're a carrier. Since we are married, I don't feel that getting tested is time sensitive.

Let me see, what other news is there to share? I fell asleep during my classroom observation on Tuesday. I'm ashamed. I took 1 mg xanax and for some reason it really hit me hard and I couldn't keep my eyes open. Next week, when I go, I'll have to simply tolerate my nervousness. The tutoring itself went fine, although the kids weren't really interested in me but I helped them with math anyway. In general..... one day at a time is a good approach to life.

Make a fearless moral inventory of yourself

This morning I discovered that the writer of a particular blog I used to follow has been writing again after taking a long break, which inspired me to continue to record my experiences here, rather than delete my entries or simply desist. I have class tonight, after work, until 9:30 or so. Tomorrow, I’m flying to Pittsburgh to meet my nephew. You know, I shouldn’t say that I don’t have any friends. I’ve come to know and feel love for quite a few people in the office where I work, including a special person that I call Jules. We totally have deep conversations every day, and this is a person, among many, that I wouldn’t have had an inclination or reason to converse with outside of this setting. We rode the train back to Brooklyn yesterday evening and discussed a wide range of issues, including how Rupert Murdoch owns Fox and The Post and an entire media empire that is brainwashing and distracting millions of ignorant people into becoming celebrity obsessed, materialistic, conservative, divisive haters. Is it any wonder that on today, September 11th, The Post has a picture of a pig (in lipstick) on its front page, instigating further bitterness and confusion about our presidential candidates? The Daily News, at least, is recognizing the date by having it in large, bold letters on their front page. As I said yesterday, I’m remaining detached from political hopes or opinions. I know one thing, which is that power corrupts. Only an enlightened, spiritual teacher is strong enough to lead without getting addicted to power. I’m talking about people such as Jesus, Buddha, or even Krishnamurti. Knowing that, we can assume that “change” is only possible on an individual level, and true freedom can only ever be spiritual. Barack Obama is not Jesus, however much people might want a savior. The savior is within the individual. That said, I will still vote for O. on November 9th. There is no way in hell I want to see Bush #3 and Margaret Thatcher running things for the next four years. And I find it interesting that the RNP is composed of the richest (few) and poorest (many) white people. How do the poor ones not refuse the fiscally conservative agenda? But actually, I've noticed that the current Republicans leaders are not making fiscally conservative decisions after all. They are also not really representing "small government", as supposed Republicans should. What is this buying of "Fanny and Freddie?" They spend a lot of money and control a lot of shit, including attempts to spy on citizens. They just say "small government" or "free market" to trick the masses into thinking things are the way they are naturally rather than a product of specific decisions about allocation of resources and support. I am a socialist. But the answer to why poor white trash are into voting for millionaires who enjoy the inequality is that they are all brainwashed by the morally conservative Repulican agenda. This is where Margaret Thatcher is especially useful. Hate brings people together and makes them excited and efficient. Nazi Germany is the most obvious example of that phenomenon. The worst part of it all is that they do it in the name of Christianity. They don't understand love, eternity, forgiveness, humility and freedom and those aren't easy things to understand. The world is the same way it was during Jesus’ life, where the political and religious leaders fearfully rejected all of his teachings and used religious dogma to accrue more power. Right now I’m reading The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. The conversation between Pontius Pilate and Jesus that he describes is great. I really like the book, but I must have started it at some other point because I already know certain parts of it.

A scorpio would die in the desert

I’m sorry for neglecting you. So much has happened since I last wrote. What a summer! Summer is always difficult for me, it seems. But now it is September, and maybe something in my astrological chart shifted, because ever since I began menstruating last weekend, I feel emotionally stable for the first time in months. It helps that Michelle is basically stabilized and doing so much better. We are rebuilding some trust and I love her more than ever, understanding as I do now, more deeply, the reality of unconditional love. I also have begun to feel a degree of control over my mind, which may be the effect of antidepressant medication, or it may be the result of my meditation attempts, or a combination of the two factors. I used to always feel and think that I had to go wherever my mind wanted to, including increasing states of panic and fear, or emotionally, I was the helpless subject to an internal dictator. Therefore I would be annoyed when people told me to think positively or any advice indicating I could do something about my misery. However, lately I have been choosing what to think about and have noticed myself enjoying more quiet time.

Last night I dreamed that I found heroin spilled on the underside leg of a wooden table, and put my face down and tried to snort it without a straw or anything. I didn’t feel much, but then I went out to a couple bars with a guy friend, and began drinking too. It was boring and frustrating though, because I wanted to run into these hot girls and the bars were empty and nothing to interest me. I came home late and was trying to hide all this from Michelle. Then I went to the wooden table and discovered there was more spilled there than I initially realized and went at it again. Or, I considered saving it for the following morning, and I did not plan to tell Michelle.

Last night Michelle had half-awake terrors, where she was walking around, crying and saying she dreamt that I died. I tried to wake up, but could not. I just kept telling her to come to bed and go to sleep. She dreamt that I died in a desert. She said she experienced every character's perspective and was talking aloud and with various accents. I hardly heard anything, but I do remember her saying nonsensical things to me. She also went on an eating binge with Luna bars, crackers, and there were even more crumbs in the bed this morning. She has a job interview today (she lost her job in June). I am still in school, but I’m less academically motivated this semester. I have been looking forward to actual teaching more though. I start tutoring next week. As far as politics go, I am detaching. I really am taking that Buddhist advice to try to not have opinions or judgment on anything and just to observe.

keeping you in the eternal loop

I’ve only been to two al-anon meetings and this shit is already helping me so much. It’s making me consider my feelings about the world outside of Michelle. The fact is, I am afraid of life and afraid of people. I can only stand being out there so long, and then I want to rush back under my shell. Being with Michelle is not like being with other people. I feel as comfortable around her as being alone. But actually now I feel more comfortable being around her than being alone. Somewhere along the way this happened. I started worrying more about her well-being than making myself happy or facing the fears I have in my own life. Well, I never totally stopped working on myself. But I have to think that I can make something of myself even if she isn’t or wasn’t around. I can’t just feel like if I lose her I’m going to die.

I had a couple important dreams a couple weeks ago, one with an owl where we made eye contact, and the other with a giant turtle, underwater, rushing under the sea. Last night I dreamed I got these very classy red heels. I was really going to wear them. They were beautiful, two toned leather, low heels. This dream must have something to do with my femininity. I really don’t know.

Certain moments, I think, I could choose to not be depressed right now. I could just decide that everything’s okay, it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, just roll with the punches, breathe, and relax. This is just a ride, so ride it out. But when I think about my future and goals, like finishing school and being a real adult with a demanding career and responsibilities, I feel I don’t have the energy for anything and want to be dead. Plus I never enjoy anything, even my day at Sandy Hook beach, I was somewhat anxious the whole time. It was nice to see the world outside the office, the apartment, and landscape of my commute. But I felt insecure as always.

I really, really hope the worst of the nightmare with Michelle’s addiction is over for awhile. She is getting methadone this morning. I think she’s still at the clinic. It’s so hard to just accept and detach like they tell you at al-anon. She was a mess last night. I need to just pretend, in some ways, that I’m single, and surviving it. And I need to not give up in school, even though I want to. It feels good to detach, the little that I’m able to do. It should be easier for me, since it was so difficult to attach to other people before Michelle. We were incomplete, with loose boundaries. That’s how you make symbiosis. Now the test is whether we can become independently complete, interdependent, with good boundaries, and stay together. I can only work on my side of it. This is work that can’t stop, no matter what she’s doing, whether good or bad. I did see her kit this morning in the bathroom. All the h bags were empty, which is good, although she could have a spare somewhere else, like just in case she couldn’t get dosed. I was sad to know that last night she got drugs for a friend who is also in recovery. Addicts have no heart or soul. They really are zombies. They only have the death wish.

nar-anon

I’ve done some research on co-dependence and enabling and I see some work that I need to do. Michelle is getting back into the methadone program; she went for the first time this morning. All the al-anon literature is about finding happiness separately. I feel like my worth and happiness is tied so closely to her, too closely. I feel like I can’t be happy if she’s not okay. Some of that is normal. I know my feelings are normal. Tonight I’m going to NJ to a friend’s house, to get away and try to relax and have a good time. I might have an acupuncture appointment, just splurge the money and I think it’s worth it. I need to take care of myself. Perhaps my detachment attempts are being conveyed in cold ways, I don’t know. Michelle wanted me to express more happiness and pride in her visit to the clinic today. I feel like I don’t want to be emotionally invested in her success or failure. I’m sorry she sees this as me not perceiving how important it is to her and to our relationship. I have been on this hellish roller coaster ride of hope and disappointment, and I want to get off. On the train this morning, I think I said all the right things, keeping it positive, trying not to let my sense of despair show. But I am quiet, and she senses something has changed. She wants me to realize how impressive it is that the disease didn’t accelerate faster, but I think one reason is that I’ve been carrying her and trying to protect her from her fall. I have to let everything be her decision. On the train, thinking, “This might be the last time we see each other.” Not saying it. While I’m away at my friend’s house, in NJ, at the beach, she could take her last shot and OD. But she might do it even if I’m there. I hate seeing the spots of blood on the towel and on the sheets. I’ve stopped going in her phone, and I’m done searching her bag and pockets. I surrender. Like al-anon says, I’m powerless over the addict and the addiction. She can’t be scared into stopping for me or for fear of losing me. She loves me the most in the world and it’s not enough. Okay, I accept that. So I have to find comfort and support elsewhere, but I have isolated myself. That’s why it’s great that I’m going to the beach. I hate that Tati (my cat) sees her getting high. She asked me watch “the last time,” like a goodbye ceremony, but as I know there’s no one “last time,” I felt uncomfortable and declined. She looked terrible this morning. Still, leaning back on her chest in the smoking chair, I felt all her firm heat and so much love and I know that I still hope with all my heart to have her back and healthy. Still, the fact that I feel so codependent, the fact that I feel I can’t even imagine myself surviving if I lost her, the way my fate feels bound to hers and all this depresses me and makes my face a permanent frown. The times she has roused my hopes, giving me encouraging speeches on how she is going to get better and be there for me, that we’re a team, that she is not abandoning me, these are the highs. The highs and lows of being addicted to an addict. A roller coaster ride of bliss and despair. Playing the martyr. Being god, being a savior. These roles need to be given up. They aren’t helpful. If I want my wife to recover, I have to be flexible, patient, take things day by day, “let go and let god,” and focus on my own happiness. The last thing is the hardest part. My own life feels too hard. I have a terrible memory, I miss appointments, I have low self esteem, and I’m terrified of failure. The economy scares me also. The great changes taking place are undeniable and I think many people won’t survive. The future is inconceivable. We can only take it “day by day.” This whole process has, in some ways, made me feel even more love for Michelle, and I can see many opportunities to grow and learn here. I’m committed to her. If it was any other terminal illness, I would not abandon her. I would accompany her to her last day on earth. Being with her, looking at her, I have to walk this fine line, showing affection and encouragement while constantly aware of mortality and the figure of death hovering around her darkly circled eyes. The idea of life without her definitely seems not worth living. I don’t feel I have what it takes to be successful in this world. I am overwhelmed by all I see and hear. What god is providing now, a comfortable job and access to education, the love of Michelle, and a place to live- all seem as if they might be stripped from me at any time, and for some people, everything is lost at once. I’m lucky to have what I have. But the gratefulness I feel is tainted by terror.

Terrrrrrified

Life can be so cruel. Yes, it is generous and kind too, allowing me a chance at love and intimacy. Tonight, I get home, the person I love and need more than anything could be dead. Who knows? Living like that. Keeping faith and hope alive, and letting myself still be close to her. Despite her breaking of the "terms" I could not kick her out again. I couldn't even bear thinking about it. I'm done with my summer classes. I guess I got A's. That's a miracle in itself and evidence of my ability to compartmentalize shit, but now that it's over, I have more time to consider this ephemeral gift of love. ephemeral. ephemeral. That's the truth of everything. Why is it so hard to accept? Because honestly I feel I need this girl, I need this person more than I have ever needed anyone or anything. Maybe if I had never had it... but I have it. I want to keep it. Like I said, I need it. I don't see myself alone in the world anymore. Finally, somebody on my level who gets and accepts me, who loves me... how long did I wait for that and dream about that? It's impossible to describe, the extent of my loneliness and fear before meeting Michelle, and how much I've changed. I feel like, if I don't have Michelle, I don't want to continue with school, I can't become a teacher, I can't do anything. I couldn't do it before on my own. The only reason I even applied to grad school was because she encouraged and pushed me. I honestly feel like I don't want to live if it's going back to being alone. Life, I can barely take it with a partner to support me, I just can't do it alone. I don't know where I'd go. If I could stay here in NYC. I don't want to live in a smaller place. But maybe I should? I don't know. I know security never really exists, like anyone and anything can be ripped from you at any time, that's real. But I feel like I can't deal with that reality. I still sleep with my teddy bear and suck my thumb. What scares me the most is obviously whether I can survive both emotionally and financially if she cannot stop using or ODs and I lose her. And I just can't imagine someone loving me more than her. Why does she have to be so sick?

On a side note, one of co-workers here, who thinks he's my boss and who is a misogynistic pig, suddenly hates me because I stood up for myself last week, god forbid, and challenged his authority- and now he's trying to get me in trouble. I hate this guy. I really do. I can tell he is or was the type for domestic violence. Especially when he was younger and partying. He actually threatened me, this asshole, walking up on me (in the workplace) like he would hit me. I wish he would have.

Maybe we need to leave New York. What's the point anyway. Michelle says, she says, she says, she says, she is going to get it together here. She's trying so hard though, I see how much pain and suffering... this is where I say life is cruel and unfair because we both deserve comfort and happiness but this may be all we get. Who knows what the future holds. I feel a lot of dread but in Al-Anon they said to remain calm and detached. They also taught me I can smoke or drink if I want, I should be focusing on myself rather than breaking over backwards to try to keep her sober, meanwhile she spins lies. So I've been smoking every morning and night, purple haze, and I have my xanax prescription, and the effexor is helping, I think. I don't know. I just want a happy home. I don't want to feel paranoid about where she's going every fucking time she leaves the house or who is texting her and vice versa. Al-Anon is saying let go, don't try to police or control. Okay okay. okay. focus on me. ironically, faced with the task of detachment, michelle is the one who initially made me feel able to attach for the first time, really. now its like an umbilical cord. if the future holds this type of loss, i might have to be hospitalized.

shattered faith

michelle says she would die for me, she said it over and over, sobbing on my voicemail yesterday... but i only ever wanted her to live. what will become of me? and my whole life, picture of a sunny day.

heroin, the destroyer

I sent Michelle home to her parents' house today, to live there for the rest of the month. On Monday evening I found out she has been using heroin for a month or so. She was high when I got home. She has been getting it from this guy named Bill, who I knew was a drug connection, not a friend. I found the bags and I saw a tourniquet in the garbage can. I basically went into a state of shock and am still too overwhelmed to really feel this. After my therapy session last night I decided that I need some space to deal with it. It it not exactly the same, but it feels much like she had an affair in terms of all the deception. She loves me more than heroin, and she said that, and that I'm the first and only person she has loved more than heroin... but she still went there. At least five times, so... I'm surviving on meditation attempts, xanax, and a partial emotional shutdown.

On top of this, or underneath it, the pressure from school is immense. The expectations and demands are so high. Honestly, I feel like I can't do this. But another part of me knows that I can, so I keep taking the next step - reading the next assignment, writing the response, going to class. How I will write thirty pages during the first month of July is beyond comprehension. I don't even know what the fuck I'm supposed to write these papers about... I can't even really absorb the information I'm reading. The professors don't seem to realize that some people are taking more than one class and have a full time job. And now, Michelle will not be around to help me with simple things like grocery shopping, cooking, and laundry. I called her parents and told them she relapsed, and I asked her to stay there for the rest of the month. It was a sad goodbye this morning. We commuted to work together. I turned around as I got off the train at 34th street and I saw her looking down and starting to cry again. I said she can come back in July, and in the meantime I will try to focus on school. I don't understand the power of heroin addiction. It's like, I know she loves me more than anyone or anything, I know she loves her job, her life, yet she would RISK IT ALL. What is that? It's an evil drug. I truly hate it. It's another person inside her who runs her like she's just a shell. And her ability to lie is terrifying. How do I trust her again? I know I will try, I have to, I love her. I already forgive her insofar as she has hurt me. I guess I just have to take it one step at a time. I have to trust in my "higher power" or whatever. Some people are able to stay clean from heroin for years and lifetimes, even if they are always, inside, an addict. I think she can do that, if other people can do it. What will it take for her? She swears that she's going to get stronger and really work on getting control of this. She has a great therapist, an addiction specialist. But seeing that therapist didn't stop her from using...? They say addiction is not logical. I can grasp that. But that is the scariest part. It's fucking disgusting and sad! Michelle says that she will kill herself if she loses me. But knowing that, she still takes the risk, lying so convincingly, to my face, meanwhile pursing her drug - for weeks now, this has been happening. I suspected, but I couldn't prove it and I don't want to spend all my time being a detective. I want to trust her. My heart feels broken and I really just want to curl up into a ball hide, but even then, my thoughts will be there, and hell.

I don't want to be here but I belong here

Trapped in my own mind and my own extremely limited and somewhat demented consciousness! Why do I belong here? Because I am weak and lazy and I haven't worked hard enough at escaping? True, I pray more than most people, but I can't even fucking meditate! I must keep trying. I'm becoming more reading to give up, in a good way, and let go, in that I understand and accept that I belong here. But I don't want to be here! I want out... up... I want to escape pain badly enough to be willing to consider letting my self die. So I have been praying, mostly when I'm standing at the water on the west side highway looking over at New Jersey, saying I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE BUT I BELONG HERE but if there's any way I could move TOWARD the next level of consciousness, I'm ready, make me... really kind of begging god to make me brave enough to keep growing and changing. Then last night I had these intense dreams... only fragments remain. I dreamed this older lady was asking me if I'm ready to give up Maren. I said no! I love Maren (my teddy bear). I have slept with Maren almost every night of my whole life. She is a part of me. Well... so I said no, in my dream. There was another part of the dream where Michelle and I were rageful toward each other and went our separate ways for the night. The context and location was strange, I went "home" to a weird building and room. Also, there was a part of the dream where I was trying to catch the train and the doors were closing. My sister Cary or someone else tried to hold the doors for me but I didn't make it. Then I woke up with a horrible stomach ache from anxiety and couldn't go back to sleep. I took a little xanax and zantac and when I went back to sleep, I had a very sexual dream about Michelle. We were in a reclining "e-z boy" type chair and she was straddling me. We had clothes on and I was holding onto her hips and moving her into a good position for doing the girly grind. When I woke up, Tatiana (gato querido) was next to me as she had been all night, which is adorable. Michelle came into the room with coffee and a cigarette.

FUGAZI book of dragons

I know that most people are not interested in hearing others' dreams. But I am obsessed with dreams and must record them whenever they are vividly recalled. As you may know, if you have read much of my blog, which I'm sure hardly anyone has, my dreams frequently feature bathroom activities and are full of basic and one might even say archaic symbols.

Last night I dreamed I was at a crowded concert or performance, although it was over. I was with Missy, my childhood friend and (basically innocent) sexual playmate, and we were waiting for the bathroom. There was a line and general chaos all around. When it came to be my turn, I found the toilet was brimming with water and threatening to overflow. I found that if one sat down, the water would recede, but only insofar as the whole toilet seat was completely covered, so I used my hands, etc. to make this happen. Nevertheless, the water lapped at my bottom and I found this quite disgusting. I tried to pee for a while but could not do it. Later on, I found Missy and she wanted to use the bathroom. There was someone in there, but she suddenly exclaimed that she had to have a b.m., so she went in anyway. When the door opened, I saw a girl standing over the toilet backward, working it that way, and thought I might have tried that. I heard her passing gas. Then I saw a large puddle of diarrhea spreading from an unseen part of the bathroom where Missy had rushed into, and I knew she had an accident. I felt sorry for her and wondered how she might clean up and change her clothes. Later in the dream, I was trying to find the people I came to the concert with, but I was lost and upset. Then I saw my sister Cary, and she was happy to see me too, as she couldn't find anyone. Then I looked down and saw a beautiful, large book. I picked it up and it was full of bright, red, yellow, and gold images of dragons and other seemingly Chinese or Asian works of art. The title of the book was Fugazi. I asked my sister if the book was from the concert we had attended earlier. She didn't know. I think it belonged to a couple of guys. Then I felt like I had cramps so I reached into my pants and felt for blood. Indeed, I had started my period. Then other family members appeared and I suddenly wanted to smoke some weed and I expressed that desire.

Fugazi has several meanings. Generally it has been understood as a military term for a combat situation in Vietnam that was considered untenable. It is an acronym: "Fucked Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In." It implies the need to flee, of flying; hence, fleeting, transitory. Additionally, according to a ninja dictionary I found online, it refers to an artificial, fake, or false person.

This may have something to do with the stress I'm experiencing in school, although I don't quite see the connection. My summer classes are way more intense than I expected. The amount of reading to do and papers I have to write for these two classes (romanticism and caribbean lit) is actually inhuman. I have been in a state of panic for about 48 hours. I certainly would like to flee. In the next five weeks, I must read about eight books and write fifty pages or so... Now, I am a person who likes to concentrate on one thing at a time, not to mention I prefer a longer writer process including the creation of several drafts and time to process ideas - and this situation requires me to work in a different way. I need some ritalin, cocaine, and klonopin, asap. That's a joke actually, I can't do that. However, I do need to be constantly working, which means I probably won't write very many blogs this month. Oh, well... who cares anyway!!? There's enough here to keep any bored, lonely, curious, or similar person (or any combination thereof) busy for a while.

PS. I also dreamed my mother was gaining her weight back. She had gastric bypass a couple years ago, as you may or may not know. In my dream, I was worried for her. I felt depressed, as if her compulsive eating was an undefeatable disease.

beyond the DSM

Finally! My reader wrote to me and requested the address to my blog, so I might be certain that I am not writing only for myself! I felt depressed knowing that no one would even read at all and so I stopped writing. How long has it been? Hmm that full moon day (May 19th) started off nicely, but it ended with extreme nausea and for no apparent reason. Perhaps somebody who hates me put a curse on me? In the middle of the night, I woke up to pee and while sitting on the toilet I began to violently wretch, and I directed it into the shower. Then I felt better and then I smoked weed and had some very scary and sad thoughts but I went back to sleep. In the morning, I claimed to feel better but I vomited my coffee (into a garbage can). Then, on our commute, I passed out at Jay St./Borough Hall! Michelle had to ride the train back home with me and put me to bed. The police officer wouldn't let me ride the train alone and we couldn't get a cab. I was very sick. I slept for the next couple days and I think the whole thing made me lose a bit of weight. I look the same to myself but the scale says it is so.

The main thing I have been doing today is reading about NPD. I was already familiar enough with the diagnostic criteria to be sure that I do not fit that diagnosis. For one thing, I am extremely empathic, even to the point of empathizing in uncomfortable ways with strangers and inanimate objects. Additionally, I have a rich inner life and enjoy sharing it with others, for instance, what I dreamed or various memories as they arise.

Two nights ago I had a series of little dreams that were somewhat disturbing. I was trying to smoke crack and weed at the same time out of my one hitter while hiding it from my ex girlfriend and ex friend G. I was also taking pictures of her and the colors were pretty. There was a bluish hue but it was clearly her face. In another part of the dream I was trying to cut my hair. There were long pieces and no matter how hard I hacked at them with scissors, they would not cut.

(I think I dreamed about crack because we watched this documentary on Skid Row before falling asleep and there was a lot of crack smoking in it. There was one scene of explicitly shooting heroin so I covered my baby's eyes for that while fast forwarding it).

We have been doing much better in terms of being close and holding down a peaceful fort.

Sometimes I have this sense of not having any true self and I don't really like it. Am I simply a combination of everyone I've ever cathected? I feel like my essence is changeability. Yikes, it's scary! This is why I was reading about NPD. Maybe this feeling I have, of being insubstantial, is related to my narcissism? My therapist says that I'm not a narcissist but that I have a narcissistic injury incurred during early childhood, most likely. This is an injury that is healing. However, I resonate strongly with the following NPD characteristics: amorality/lack of conscience, authoritarian, contemptuous, critical of others, cruel, don't recognize own feelings, envious and competitive, flirtatious or seductive, grandiose, hyper-sensitive to criticism, impulsive, pessimistic, religious, self-contradictory, stingy, strange work habits, and a weird sense of time. The fact that I can recognize these characteristics demonstrates that I'm not a narcissist. And whatever characteristics I have can be improved and modified.

The scary feeling goes away the most thoroughly when I have physical closeness with Mishy- Not just cuddling, although cuddling is like water, it's a necessity. I also forget about the feeling if I have a good conversation with someone. Writing and communicating on the internet makes it worse, but there is something exciting about that too. Honestly, there is something I even like about narcissism. I guess that makes sense in a sick way - of course the narcissist likes her own narcissism. She created it. On the other hand, it's not as much fun as having a connection with someone, like a real moment of being present with them.

I would actually like to spend the weekend getting inebriated, dancing, perhaps having a little fight with someone weaker than myself, going a little crazy, and to the point where I barely remember what happened. However, I have a sense of love and responsibility for my wife, if not for myself, and we have to have a sober home.

Did someone put a curse on me?

On Monday evening I began to feel nauseated. I could barely eat the special dinner Michelle had prepared for me. I forced it down, to be polite. In the middle of the night I woke up and wretched violently. I spent the majority of the night awake. I tried to smoke pot to calm my stomach, but it gave me scary thoughts. In the morning, I tried to go to work. At Jay Street we transfer to the A train, but I took a couple steps onto the platform and crumpled to the floor. The next 15 minutes are a blur. A black lady asking if I was okay - a police officer telling me to try taking a couple steps - somehow getting upstairs - Michelle pouring water on me. She had to take me back home. I didn't even think I could ride the train home by myself without passing out again. I spent the day in bed. The next day I tried to go to work again and I had two doctors appointments. I couldn't stop crying, on the train, in the doctors' offices, in the bathrooms. I got another cortisone shot in my foot. Afterwards, I was exhausted and nauseated so I went home and slept most of the rest of the afternoon. Again, I tried to smoke. Again, I was filled with the scariest, saddest thoughts on earth. I cried the afternoon away. I can't think about the world as it is. Depression is just facing reality. The truth is, you can't. No one can face it and continue to function. We have to be in some denial even if that denial is hope. Truthfully, this world makes no sense. Billions of people covering the earth, consuming it, destroying it, hurting and destroying each other, exploitation and using things up, throwing things away, all for no purpose. Everyone suffers and dies. The lucky ones are loved and love in return. All the same, what's the point? Where is it going? All these years since the beginning of time, if one exists, rushing forward, each conscious mind and life destined to be forgotten and turn into... nothing? If only I could believe in a God. Even just a God to listen to me. But there's no one. I love my wife. I wish she was totally clean and sober, and I pray for that. She prays for that. Why should she suffer so much? If only she deserved it. If only all the people who suffer deserved it, but they don't. They just suffer and die. I want to escape this. I want to be in a group. I want to live on the land, in the forests and farms, surrounded by family and people who love each other... I want the world to stop being destroyed, or I want it to happen NOW ONCE AND FOR ALL. I don't like painful things that drag out. I love animals so much. The idea of extinction and the way these beautiful animals are suffering and disappearing because of humanity... I hate it! I can't do anything about it. I'm just another producing, consuming American, contributing to landfills and too lazy and depressed to make any real difference. If making a difference is even a worthy goal. Why not just observe and see how it all pans out? What kind of teacher would I make? I'm scared of everything. Scared to be in charge, to tell anyone what to do, to be responsible. I don't believe in myself. I'm not like other people who become teachers, they all seem cocky and to love being in charge and in control. I don't want control in this instance. I don't know what I want. I spent last night waking up intermittently with gas cramps and dry diarrhea, meaning nothing coming out but air and a tiny amount of liquid. I haven't eaten in 72 hours, besides some yogurt and a couple other small snacks. How can everyone continue their routines? Don't they see the pointlessness of it all? The devil runs this world. It's been proven too many times. There's no way to redeem all the wrong. Today I am faithless.

full moon in may

Starting my period the day before the night of a full moon, you would think I’d be insane right now. However, I feel happier, more peaceful and calm than I have in a long time! This morning I felt so sweet in bed with Mishy, drinking coffee, smokin’ a cig and petting Tatiana. The room was bright and warm. Michelle wasn’t getting up, she has the day off, but she had her hand on my tummy. I keep saying to myself, “my parents came to visit me.” They left Sunday around noon. The weekend was amazing, and I think that’s why I feel so decent. My parents were sweet and interested in everything I said and showed them. We went to Coney Island on Saturday. We walked on the shore. We took pictures. In the evening, Michelle joined us for dinner at a restaurant near my apartment. Then I played scrabble with my parents, and Mishy rested. She took too much medication and was dopey, which was stressful, but I have communicated my reaction and let it go. Her damage control let me know she really does care how I feel and what my parents think. On Sunday, my parents left, we rested, and then we went to a movie- A stupid one, about this ugly guy who, for some reason, is able to interest two gorgeous girls in Hawaii, including his ex. But we weren’t really watching the movie toward the end. So, I started remembering things after my parents left, having memories of living with my family, laughing, eating, travelling, doing chores, and playing with my sisters. Why haven’t I remembered these things for so long? I totally left home and changed my whole life and self just to be able to become gay. I could not break that rule in the context of home. But, no wonder I have felt so alone. I wasn’t even allowed to think about or miss the people I loved. I’m thinking about it now though, and it feels good. It feels like things are connected, and less like I’m an actress who has no real life.

Acute Viral Hep, Detachment, and Lasagna

My parents are coming to visit tonight. As I mentioned, they haven't come to visit me in many years! I'm pretty nervous about it, but I'm trying to relax. It's a small apartment, and I'm wondering how I will entertain since my Coney Island plan has been revised due to a shitty fucking weather forecast. When I get home from work I plan to go grocery shopping and then make a pan of lasagna.

I wrote several more pages on my paper, and I felt inspired, and I also felt my anxiety from the previous evening melt into sadness and I cried off and on throughout the day. Unfortunately, Mishy is still sick, and it seems to be a viral illness. For 48 hours she suffered deadly gas and explosive diarrhea. I actually had to sleep on the couch because the gas continued in her sleep and the room was a poisonous den of fumes. I did some research and noted that all her symptoms match with Viral Hep A. Do you know what that is??

shady incidents

Late Saturday night, a man accosted Michelle on Smith and 9th. He accused her of being police, insisted there was a secret camera in her glasses, and bent them. I think this is a strange story. I was home during this time and we had just returned from White Plains. Michelle went to see if Duane Reade was open and then if the bagel store was open. Both were closed. My personal theory is that MK copped for drugs and the supposed dealer didn't trust her. But she wouldn't admit that to me. Ever since she got her new therapist, who is an addiction specialist, I don't push too hard on these little secrets. She can tell everything to her therapist. It's a great relief for me, no longer trying to spy, control, and parent her. In any case, the glasses were bent.

On Sunday evening we went for a dinner date at Bar Tano, our "spot" since it opened recently on our street and has outdoor seating. Right before dinner, she got a piece of dirt in her eye. This made her unable to look at me with both eyes throughout dinner and it seemed very uncomfortable and painful for her. After dinner, we took a walk. On the walk, her glasses fell off her face. I was looking at my cell phone and I stepped on them... crunch. That was an unhappy sound! I bought crazy-glue and put them back together, but I accidently smeared glue on the lens, so they were not as good as new. Then Michelle finally came down with the flu/virus that has been hanging on to me for over a month. This, and she also had her first herpes outbreak. I gave it to her. This is only the cold sore kind, but it seems to really upset people when they found out I have it or they might have it. To me, it's not that big of a deal. It's annoying and gross to get cold sores, and I do feel bad for Michelle, but she pointed out that I seemed somewhat happy about it.

As of yesterday, Tuesday, Michelle got a lovely pair of new Lacoste glasses. Unfortunately however, she says the dirt is still in her eye.

Analyzing reality versus feeling it

I want to write a brief but thorough update on my life as I feel overwhelmed by the changes and events that have transpired as of late. Writing a list rather than in paragraphs eases the pressure of that task, so without further ado...

1) My foot is not "all better," as I conveyed to you after receiving the cortisone shot. It remains painful and uncomfortable. This means I will most likely need foot surgery. I am actually looking forward to surgery, as it has become my only hope for relief.

2) Technically, Michelle and I are not married anymore, for now. We are girlfriends. This is because I basically threatened to break up with her again, if she didn't get help and make some significant changes. I told her I was becoming unhappy in the relationship. You can't say this if you're married. I kind of think you can, actually, but in her mind, breaking up is not an option and should not be suggested. We had long talks about this. For some reason, I became extremely stubborn about my main point, which is that behavior that damages a relationship is as much a violation of wedding vows as is an explicit threat to end the relationship. The sad thing is, I did not intend to threaten her and it really hurt her. I explicitly planned to NOT threaten her because it would be the second time and I don't want to "cry wolf." In hindsight, according to her, I did this because I wished to hurt her (because her behavior hurt/stressed/angered me). Realizing the truth in this, I fear myself. It seems that even when I think I'm being fair and rational, there is another part of me that handles all questions of pain and justice. That "other" part is merciless and executes each plan according to an almost unfeeling code of ethics. In a way, I'm grateful. I actually just told Michelle the truth about me, which is that I will suffer for a long time, take the responsibility, take care of the other, allow myself to be disrespected and neglected up until a certain, crucial point. At that point, I become detached and I walk away. I didn't and don't want that to happen with Michelle! That is why I told her - don't let this happen - don't make me leave you - I think you are sabotaging the relationship. The cold part of my personality has saved me many times, which is why it is strong. But I don't want to be pushed to that because I have so much love to give. My little lady is so cute and sweet in the mornings- with her soft, brown curls, the face of a sleepy wolf, the tiny body curled under the sheets, her slightly sour vegetable breath mixed with sleepy, baby smells. Michelle is everything to me; she is my link to sanity. Why do I find sanity through someone who is clearly insane? Sanity and reality have to do with owning your experience and seeing it reflected in other people. However, Michelle and I are not exactly the same. Someone who is more like me would be problematic as a partner. I need more power than the other person.

3.) The somatization of anxiety is obviously behind my pathetic immune system. I keep getting sick and cannot recover. I have a stomachache that only rarely goes away and I have been having 10-12 bowel movements per day, on average.

4.) Lately I have no belief in any sort of god whatsoever. I see is that the world is ruled by evil, always has been and always will be. In some ways reading about colonization, slavery, lynching, treatment of "immigrants," patriarchy, capitalism, religious hypocrisy - all this fucking shit - inspires me to try to change the world. In another way, it makes me want to give up.

5.) I love my cat.

6.) My parents are coming to visit me. They haven't come here in over seven years or so. I'm nervous, but excited, I guess.

7.) I have a paper to write. I have to state my educational philosophy in terms of specific theoretical pedagogies and back it up with articles and/or personal experience. This paper is important to me, so I will be anxious until it's well underway. Then the semester is over. I didn't even think I could motivate myself enough to APPLY to graduate school, and here I am, one significant step closer to my dream. My dream is to save people and save myself.

Tati and flower

Thy will be done

The rain followed us from Portland back to New York. Is it here to stay? It feels like it. In my last entry, I focused on the comical aspect of Michelle’s drinking and otherwise wild behavior. It isn’t funny though.

I have no power in this situation, except to emotionally extricate myself.

Last night I dreamed I was in this hippie girl’s room, and something disgusting happened. There was a bad smell, and it was coming from a bag in her closet. She refused to use toilets because of the sewer system being connected to the ocean, so she only shit in this bag. But even worse, I was supposed to help her scoop out the shit, combine it with hamburger meat and make it into patties to be cooked. Fucking gross! I put on gloves. Then I couldn’t stand the smell and became very concerned about getting a virus/parasite in my stomach from eating shit. I got out of there. There was something about escape in the dream and something about shoes. There was an attraction to a childish figure who may have been a boy from my past. I can't remember any other details from the dream.

I have been sick with a bad cold since last Thursday. What else is there to say? I can’t sleep when I can’t breathe through my nose, and so I’m getting addicted to nasal spray, just like my dad. I need to get back to feeling independent. Feeling dependent on someone who is unavailable or unsympathetic is scary and sad. I guess it’s my life story. I guess I chose to do it again. Then I start looking around me and seeing everyone as miserable, sometimes beautiful, disappointed, unsatisfied, dying, unloved… and I want to know the point. I want to know if it’s worth it. But these are queries with no absolute answers. So I try to meditate, but I end up thinking more about my relationship and the future and the past and then I tell God, I hate you, just like I told Michelle on her birthday, I hate you, and everything is hate and I start crying all over again.

Say Goodbye to Pain (but pain has been her best friend)

Michelle and I have been having some wild times, coast to coast. We went to Portland last weekend and unfortunately the weather was bad. We arrived very late on Friday night. Saturday we spent getting adjusted to our neighborhood and in the evening we went out to dinner with friends. Michelle had one Gin and Tonic, and I could see that she was going to be in rare form for the evening. We began to argue about whether or not to drive to Seattle. I didn't think it was a good idea because it's too much driving in one day and I'm not the type of person who packs as many events and activities into a vacation as possible. I just like to hang out. We ended up not going to Seattle, and that particular evening ended at a jazz bar. At first, Michelle and I were sitting by ourselves at the bar, and I ordered a mud pie and coffee for Michelle. She tried to give me a very demonstrative kiss, which I pulled back from, feeling that it was inappropriate. She was very intoxicated. Then she looked sad and said, "You don't like me." I said, "Yes I do. I love you and I like you." Then she said flatly, "That's nice. Everyone wants to be liked." Then she swallowed her mud pie down the wrong tube. I thought she was vomiting and I jumped up ready to whisk her away to the bathroom, but she just coughed up coffee and ice cream onto herself and then finished her dessert. At one point, she said, "I'm a fraud. I'm shit." I disagreed with those statements and tried to steer her back toward reality. Finally, we joined our friends at a table while the bar closed. Michelle made several extremely agitated but eloquent speeches that pertained to hypocrisy and racism, with her main point being that racism toward middle eastern people, including racist jokes and comments, should be penalized. She said "penalized" at least four times, while gesturing emphatically and pointing her finger in my face. I had to tell her to get her finger out of my face. She also took a trip down memory lane wherein she recounted for the group the injustices she suffered six years ago at the hands of a store clerk who attempted to halt her escape from a shoplifting escapade. Michelle punched the clerk in the face and broke her glasses, "and that fucking bitch deserved it because she broke the rules." (The clerk touched her, God forbid). That night when we got home, Michelle seduced me in a very aggressive manner.

The remainder of our Portland adventures will not be recounted here and now, since I have things to do, but I need to tell you what happened last night. Michelle and I met at Brooklyn Industries after work, since they were having a little party there, but I waited outside because I felt sick. Then we picked up our sushi on 7th avenue and went to Prospect Park for a nighttime picnic. During our picnic, Michelle had a conversation with her mother on the phone that seemed to stir up some strong feelings, or perhaps it was the questions I asked her afterwards. She started to cry, which is rare, and became increasingly upset, punching the ground and yelling, and I felt quite honored to be there for her, to hold her and talk to her, while the tears and anger flowed. We left the park with the goal of writing a letter and delivering it that same evening to a very sick man from her past who has yet to be confronted with his sins and who has yet to pay for them. I suggested taking her time with the letter, but she insisted that it be written by hand and delivered before she lose her nerve. I was tired, but I felt this could be the most important night of her life, so I committed myself to supporting her. Then something terrible happened. This guy was coming up 9th street toward us, and as he passed, he recognized Michelle and said, "Hey don't I know you?" I had a feeling we needed to keep moving, but she stopped to talk to him and I saw them whisper something. They were trying to hide something from me. They said they knew each other from Union Square, years ago, so I knew he was bad news, and she let him walk with us. She pretended to go into her wallet to give him a dollar "because everyone in Union Square needs a dollar," but I kept my eyes on their hands and her wallet. When their hands met I smashed them and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here!" The guy said, "Whoa, she's buggin' out,'" and he practically ran away. Then Michelle realized he had ripped her off by slipping her a piece of paper towel rather than a dimebag of dope, and she started chasing him. I figured she was chasing him to finish the transaction, so I ran after them, back across 3rd avenue. I was screaming, "Michelle get your fucking ass back here! I swear to God I'll lock you out tonight!" When I caught up to them, she said it was too late, he wouldn't give her money back and he was far up the block. She walked home with me. Then she wanted to go back out, she said, to find him and get her money back or kick his ass. I was going insane at this point. I really thought about punching her to knock her out, just to keep her in the house. It seemed like the only option. I wouldn't let her back out through the door, so she went out the front window, and I threatened to call her parents. But I couldn't really call them. It didn't seem smart or fair. Plus I felt stupid, what would I say? And during these moments, I am the parent. I see the transference. So I went back out there and found her again. I believed her at this point, that she was out for revenge because the dope was not an option, this guy simply ripped her off. So we went home and I went into my room and took half of a xanax and smoked a little weed and eventually it seemed like that whole episode had not just occurred. We both calmed down. Michelle said, "All's well that ends well." I didn't think that was the best way to describe it. Somehow we settled down for the evening just like a pair of little old ladies, eating ice cream and watching TV. Then Michelle seduced me again.

Tame/Time

I just came from observing at the high school. I should feel inspired, but instead I just feel like I'll never feel ready to be a real teacher. It seems like way too much work. These teachers must stay up till midnight every night planning all this shit - group projects, media presentations, lectures, handouts, posters on the walls - it's overwhelming. I can't see myself in charge of all that. I didn't even want to do the projects when I was a student. And now I have to get other people to do them?

The cortisone shot really fixed my foot, for now, at least, and I can walk normally.

Yesterday at the podiatrist's office I read this article all about China in National Geographic. It was talking about their industrial growth and the pollution as a result, as well as other political problems. Their two main rivers are almost destroyed and all these plants and factories are causing cancer and birth defects among the people. Later on, in the afternoon, I walked to the West Side Hwy and was watching the waves of the Hudson gently rolling against the shore, filled with trash and splashing onto the rocks covered with trash including plastic bottles, Styrofoam, rags, wrappers, plastic bags, wires, and a film of oil on top of the water. And there were these ducks and seagulls swimming in that, picking out things to eat. Sometimes I wish this whole world would just blow up in an instant rather than suffering through such a long and painstaking death. I love trees. I hate paper. I hate all the AM New York newspapers and all the newspapers that are just trash. Have you ever smelled a paper plant? It is the foul smell of the death of trees. It doesn't smell worse than a turkey farm, however. I don't even recycle everything I use and I don't believe that NY sanitation really recycles the things we put in the bin either. But I feel hopeless. Thinking of those giant factories just destroying everything on such a large scale - and that it won't stop - more people keep being born and demanding to consume on the largest, cheapest scale possible... America is bad but it sound like China is worse. Either way, it's really too late as so much has been lost already, for instance the animals that are extinct or will soon be gone forever. That's why I like to watch Animal Planet because TV is the only way you see wild animals besides the zoo. Fuck humanity, including mysef! And double fuck George Bush and The Pope too, especially to them I say: mother made you, mother had you, mother fuck you! The only time I can feel real joy and peace is when I close my eyes and remember walking or riding my bike through the canopies of tree lined streets, and the smells of grass, flowers, the houses with porches, the sunsets over the park, the winter stars and snow, and the gardens in the neighborhood of my childhood. I want the world to be made of farms, small businesses, and towns, villages, and small cities. I want to stop turning trees into toilet paper that flows out into the ocean. I don't want anymore animals to die. I wish all you breeders would stop fucking breeding! I know it's wrong to make the government control it, but why won't people stop? Why do the poorest people have the most children? I know there are real answers, and that these people need education and birth control - I don't know what else, but I know people must stop reproducing in mass. I want to have a baby too- so badly! But I only want to combine my genes with Michelle's, which is impossible, or her brother's, an unlikely idea. But I don't think I could love any other child as my own- unless they could double my genes and make a mini-me :) Just kidding, but isn't the desire to mate and reproduce essentially narcissistic?

I wish I could take vics or percs today and every day- it's the only way I feel "normal" or how I think/wish I could feel all the time. But I resist because I am better than most people at controlling anything. I know that addiction is real disease, and it's stronger than however strong you think you are, so each indulgence in fake happiness is another step toward death's door. So I give up on the idea of feeling happy today. I should be dealing with the real, present moment, and trying to watch my thoughts as clouds passing in the sky.