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.

1 four, 4 fours, 2 fours

Today should be a very creative today, if numerology means anything, as it is composed of fours 4/16/08. Thus far nothing stands out as being very special. However I did go to the podiatrist this morning and was given a cortizone shot in my foot. I was very afraid but it felt like extreme acupunture, which I have had on that foot. My big toe is still numb.

Yesterday after work I visited my friend at her giant apartment in Kensington, smoked with her, and on the way home became very paranoid and started to sorely regret my impulsive exhibition of self on craigslist via the posting of this blog address. I started to think what if someone really hates me after reading it, or hates homos or anything like that, and decides to kill me and Michelle? Plus as I was looking through some older posts, I found statements that I do not recall making and no longer agree with. According Buddhism there is no me - so it's fine that I'm constantly changing. I have been reading this book about Buddhism at work. It is somewhat comforting, the idea of being detached, as I'm getting worried about losing Michelle again, even though she would say I'm exaggerating.

Sometimes I do or say things that are wrong, and I want to escape judgement but in the end I usually come around and accept responsibility. Which reminds me, the pope has an evil face.

being part of a group

I went outside on a little picture taking trip today. I want to photograph the Hasidim in this neighborhood (or at home in Brooklyn). I think they are beautiful. I like the outfit, I like the bangs and side-curls, and I like the hats. Actually own haircut resembles the chavas and I like to dress in black also. I don't care for the women's style however, which tends to feature tacky, modest clothes and blue eyeshadow. I like when I see the Chasidim running down 9th avenue to catch buses to Deal and Monsey. I want to take pictures of that but Ihave thus far been too shy, and it doesn't happen today anyway because they go home before sundown. So this morning I walked over to B&H and was standing outside trying to capture them on the move but I only got a family of Pakistanis, then I went into the store and took a couple pictures. I felt very conspicuous though and I didn't want my objective to be obvious to anyone. So I left and just took a couple shots of 33rd street and the building where I work.

I just read Rolling Stone and this article about Larry Brilliant and Google. I enjoyed the description of Google as "the first psychedelically informed superpower... The core mission comes right out of the psychedelic atlas: a vision of super-connectivity and superconductivity which is a hallmark of the psychedelic landscape." This encapsulates how I think about the Internet too and why I love it. I have a feeling it's related to God or ultimate enlightenment somehow. This is why I started blogging and stopped writing in my private journal. Sometimes I think God hears everything we write on the Internet.

Every person will suffer and die, says Buddha. Michelle just called. She inadvertently got a dope dealer's number because she was with her client when the client's dealer approached them in the park and she said the only way to get him to go away was to write his number down. Lately I have felt an increased level of trust toward Michelle and faith in her strength and ability to fight the disease of addiction. I even got her a little present and a card to celebrate her 8 months of h-free living (that is, since her last relapse- her overall clean time is several years) as of today. But this story disturbed and annoyed me. I wonder if she'll keep that phone number just to torture herself.

this fire will only end with the coldness of death

I hope it does not sound grandiose to say that I think there may be something special about myself and my life, especially in terms of what I am becoming and my future role as a teacher. I have been taking note of signs and symbols in my dreams and realities of my waking life that strike me as portentous and mystical, and I will make a short list right now.

1. My lineage on both the maternal and paternal side is composed of religious maniacs, pacifists, Mennonites, teachers, and preachers.

2. I was born at 4:44 am. Yesterday I did some numerology research and discovered the following from a guy posting under the handle "Magikin10" on Bridgettwalther.com:

"4 is that of the creative impulse, the earth, "chaotic grounding." To give an understanding of four, it is the first number that repeats each step before it within itself. 4=0 in it's second emanation... meaning, 1,2,3 are all unique and separate, 4 is crazy, it takes all of em and surrounds them, which gives it its definition. Then once it has all of these inside it, it bounces back and forth between all of them depending upon how it feels at the moment.. Numerology portrays quantum physics perfectly (no wonder Isaac Newton was a numerologist)... so, first you have space, from this space an Ion is known to just appear... this is one... we'll say it's one single proton(1) not yet attached, then it balances itself out with the electrons(2), it is now a balanced entity... to change itself in a new form rather than just multiplying its bonding natures it will create a neutron(3), this changes its molecular weight and creates it into a new atom by finding a medium and not upsetting the attraction properties... we don't have a negative form of a neutron that we know of.. so that's it, that's creation... where four comes in is the nucleus itself, it is the collective of all portions of the whole and the space between... so picture emotions or whatever the situation may be in your life, and realise the flow inside of the atom, the rapid transmission of energy and movement which seems chaotic until well studied... this is four, the bounce of life, back and fourth here to there, but steady."

This makes perfect sense to me, especially if I think about poetry and songwriting, which depend on repetitive fours. (Four line stanzas. Rhythm in 4/4.) Tis not a coincidence. Four is the building block of creation.

3. When I was around five years old I could close my eyes, concentrate, do a mental ritual and travel into other worlds. I tried to teach my friend how to do it, to bring her with me, and I did feel frightened that we might not come back.

4. When I was twelve several important things happened. One, I was in my bedroom with four windows looking out on the street. I heard a strange wind and had a dark feeling, and I heard, very quietly someone whispering my true name. I don't remember what name they told me. The second thing that happened is I fell in love for the first time. This was with a boy in the neighborhood, and the course my feelings took remained the model for all future affairs (obsessions) of the heart and mind. There was no body involved, as all my sexual feelings went underground around the age of eleven (when I ceased playing naughty games with my little girlfriends and repressed that drive completely) and did not resurface until College, when I first acted on my (adult) homosexuality and broke from Christianity. But for Nathan, who was beautiful, I felt very deeply and wrote many poems. He was a simple teenage male and we did not connect on the level I aspired toward, which was divinity itself. My fantasies were of a spiritual bond and as it was not realized between the two of us, these events coincided with the beginnings of suicidal ideation for me. He must have been a mixture of Caucasian and Greek, Arab, or Italian because he had the white/brown skin tone, dark hair, and purple coloring around the eyes that I have always found the most beautiful. I tried chanting, burning symbolic objects, and other witchcraft to make him care if I killed myself or not, but our friendship ended.

5. In 1998 I had my tarot cards read by a woman named Elisandra, who has real spiritual powers, according to an old friend of mine, her mother, and their group of friends in Minneapolis. After the reading I felt I'd be scammed, but as time goes on I see meaning in the statements she made about me. The main thing was that she insisted I was pregnant in some way. She also said there was or would be a black man in my life who could guide and lead me. Being so newly gay, I felt this reading wasn't taking into account my nature, but I was being too literal.

6. In 1999 I had my tarot cards read by my friend's mom, who is a spiritual lesbian and is also Elisandra's friend. She was somewhat new to reading cards at the time. When I am given the cards before they lay them I really concentrate on putting my energy into them. This was the second of three readings I've ever had another person do for me, although I have a deck and have done a few for myself. In this one, there was fire everywhere, which is both creativity and destruction. I just remember her saying that she was most impressed by all the fire. There was also a fire going in the room, I believe. (The third reading I had doesn't count because the reader was just my friend's girlfriend and I was so high that I felt detached and critical of everything).

7. My dream about the bunnies and rabbits killing the cat. Themes of motherhood, sacrifice and rebirth, predator and prey.

8. My dreams about spiders. Very similar themes.

9. Michelle says that it is hard for her to trust my thoughts and feelings because they are constantly changing. It's true, I am not stable, I am the chaotic, fourth neutron, the nucleus itself. I have transformed myself many times, with respect to appearance, culture, norms, beliefs, so that I only take only a few commitments or aspects of my identity seriously.

10. The feeling I have when I look at a full moon, or at the sun (through clouds).

Well, that's my list, for now. Some people might characterize the list as more evidence of my insanity or as typical ravings of a new age dyke. But I'm onto something real here. What isn't real is the disguise of language and objects. Let me tell you about a dream I had last night, of which I only remember a small part. Basically I was hanging out with this guy, a cross between Jared Leto and Josh Hartnett, and I liked him. It became increasingly clear from his comments and gestures that he was looking to meet someone else and wasn't attracted to me, so I confronted him. I said something like, "I like you. If you don't like me... like that... I'm going to find someone else and not hang out with you anymore tonight." I think this dream has to do with the fact that I was watching my So-Called-Life episodes last night. Also, Josh Hartnett went to my high school and in fact we were in a musical together, Guys and Dolls. I sometimes have dreams where I'm saying, "So how do you like being famous?" In real life, I had a crush on Josh, who was probably afraid of me, because again I wanted a very deep, intense connection, not the casual chatting, talking, and flirting that normal teenage heterosexuals engage in to start dating. I began to feel very angry about it, and I believe I said something mean and Josh kicked me pretty hard in my shin, backstage. Later, outside the school, I kicked him back and after that there was some residual animosity there. However, I think we had a little conversation on the porch at our cast party, and there was some interest on his part, but I was too crazy and intense to ever truly be capable of simple, friendly relations with a love object.

This aspect of myself kept me running from one intense, confusing relationship to the next one, leaving a trail of burning crosses in my wake, until I met Michelle. Michelle and I are enough alike to want and need the same things, and be capable of giving them. Socrates said (according to someone on craigslist), the hottest love has the coldest end. That has been true, in my case, definitely. In my relationship with Michelle, I hope the fire will only end with the coldness of death, in sixty years or so, for both of us.

Arachnophobia

Do you remember the dream I had about the large, black spider outside the holy temple on Houston St.? Not a real temple, but the one Michelle and I visited in my dream. I did some research on spiders after I had that dream and read how they represent the connectedness of all people, predators and prey, fate, and motherhood and rebirth, which makes sense. The spider in my dream was repugnant but also fascinating to me. It's limbs were thick and glossy like worms or tentacles and it's head was fat and featureless. Well I had another dream about spiders this weekend. In this dream, the "one" spider gave birth to hundreds or thousands of small spiders of different exact sizes and shapes. All the spiders were on the ceiling of a hallway through which I was walking. I felt a combination of fear and excitement and I quickened my pace.

Simplicity

I woke up at 3 am feeling very confused and anxious, thinking it was time to get up. In order to go back to sleep, I took a klonopin and in the morning I took a xanax because on Thursdays I go to observe classes at a high school in East Harlem. I tend to get anxious about it, although much less so now than when I first started. The affect of having taken both pills is that I feel pretty detached and apathetic today. I enjoyed being in the school though because I like the students. But for the most part, I don't like the teachers. Well, there is one I especially don't like and I observed her class today. The students are hilarious. I love their comments, their sense of humor, and their questions. I think I will be a good teacher someday, even a great one, because I love teenagers and am not interested in controlling or silencing them. I understand the conditions that foster creativity, and those that kill it, because I've spent my whole life thus far studying my own reactions to various environments, including the environment of my own mind. In some ways, I really can't wait to be a teacher. But I'm still afraid, mostly of the responsibility. I have a couple years to go in this program, so hopefully when I finish I will feel even more ready and excited.

I just read through Rolling Stone magazine and for a minute I remembered my old dream of becoming some sort of star or famous singer. But for some reason when I met Michelle I just didn't need that dream anymore and was able to recognize that I don't have what it takes. Maybe I am (or was) a good songwriter in terms of lyrics and melody, but my singing was too timid, controlled, and restricted, which reflected a feeling I constantly had of not wanting to show off, let go, or be so vulnerable. I still like the idea of being famous (the timeless, black and white photo of myself existing beyond my mortal comprehension), but what does it really matter? To be loved and understood by the whole world is not possible. To be loved and understood by one person is enough.

Last night over dinner I was able to express to Michelle some of what had been bothering me ever since my therapy session (wherein I discussed how we had basically resolved our conflicts over her substance use the previous weekend). I told Michelle that I see "the addict" as if it is a separate person, inside herself, and it has its own agenda, rationalizations, arguments, and feelings. And I said that I have to be allowed to feel angry when I feel angry, or scared or frightened or any human emotion arising from issues and events involving substances. If I view my anger (over her getting trashed on alcohol and pills) as "making it worse," and even making it more likely that she use heroin, as she tells me that it does, then my feelings and reactions are being defined as responsible for her choices. This is one of the addict's beliefs and arguments, among many, but it comes out of Michelle's mouth. It is also a responsibility I'm tempted to take on because it carries the illusion of control. Like, if I can manage to handle everything perfectly, I can control and prevent the possibility of relapse and substance abuse (which carry, for me, the threat of losing her to overdose, coma, and/or death). This would be an enabling role for me to play though, one that could drain the love out of me and leave me depressed, exhausted, and bitter. It's important to understand and recognize when it's Michelle talking and reasoning and when I'm actually communicating with the addict, who hates my guts. That much is very clear to me by now. I have repeatedly prevented the addict from getting what it wants. I told Michelle how helpful it is for me to differentiate her from the addict (who does not love me) and that I think it might be helpful for her too, and provide her with with more strength for the fight, to recognize when this entity is trying to seize control of herself. Unfortunately, this conversation had to happen after she had already had a couple vodka shots (before I got home) and although I felt angry about this, I was able to be clear about my reaction. And I made it clearer over the course of the evening. My therapist told me that we have to move toward having a totally sober home, and she's right. So I said I do not want vodka in this apartment any more!! And I told her this and I really hope she makes this choice and respects my wish. After she passed out at 8:30pm, I wanted to dump out the bottle of vodka, but I figured it is better to let her make good choices and learn from the bad ones. But I definitely felt disappointed and lonely after she passed out. I ended up calling my sister, which was good. It seems like she needed someone to talk to about her job and her evil supervisor. Why there are so many evil supervisors in this world, who knows? A law of nature? Better to work for yourself, but then the government will tax the fucking shit out of you, another law, not of nature but of man. Michelle passed out with her head at weird angle and with her glasses falling off her face. I wanted to adjust her but I remembered my therapist's advice to not be a caretaker (enabler) like that. "Let them clean up their own mess," she said.

In the morning, Mishy was very disappointed and upset to have lost an evening of hanging out with me. I told her I also had felt disappointed. But it is not helpful to punish yourself for mistakes, rather to learn from them. I said you're not a bad girl but you have trouble making good choices with substances. She ended up taking the day off work after our toilet overflowed (she informed me via text) and she had to pee in the garbage can instead. She said the toilet still will not flush nor will the water go down. I guess I try to fix it tonight, after class. I like trying to fix things, and it's probably simple.

I did buy that (tiny) white gold, diamond ring for Michelle yesterday. Her birthstone (April) is a diamond, and it's her golden birthday, so come on'... could I really have got her anything else? I can't wait to give it to her though. I really hope it fits. If not, I'll exchange it or something, but I am usually pretty good at estimating all sorts of sizes.

affairs

It is nice when someone can understand your experience. My whole life I have been looking for someone to complete me, and rule me. This is transference, but when experienced by a Scorpio like me, translates into seriously intense infatuations and heartbreaks. One of my friends for many years is going through this situation where her partner of seven years is leading a duplicate life. On the one hand, saying she loves my friend (actually they're both friends of mine) and can't lose her, and on the other hand writing clandestine emails to a girl from her job about how she's never felt passion like this before, how the stars are aligned and they're meant to be... You get the picture. I understand this fantasy, but it's not real.

I want to be in perfect symbiosis with Michelle. To that end, I am willing to become someone else, to a certain extent. Although I have a side of me that lacks empathy, the flip side is that I am too empathetic and the boundaries feel blurred.