Chivalry

One thing I really don't understand is what can you do if a feeling keeps building and building toward actions that you know are unhealthy or that you will regret? It seems like the only way to make that feeling go away is to give in and act on it, and then you feel relief, regret, remorse, but primarily relief. For a time, anyway, and then the cycle starts all over again. I really don't know what people are supposed to do about things like this. Must discuss with therapist.

I titled this blog "Chivalry" because of an altercation that occurred between myself and a man who were vying for a cab on the LES on Saturday night. Michelle and I were trying to decide whether to get one or not, then we saw one pull up and let some people out, so I said let's go. As the people were getting out, this guy came up to me, a regular button-up shirt and jeans, straight-type guy, and goes, "I was actually waiting for that cab." I said, "Yeah? So were we." And he said, "That's like really ignorant of you though, because I was waiting first." And I said, "Whatever dude!" And we hopped in the cab. Then, quite suprisingly, the guy smashed his fist against our window! What an asshole.

It's actually kind of nice to be at work this morning. It's very safe here.

I love Pathmark in the morning

I have taken a sort of "weed pill" and am waiting to feel some effect, but so far, nothing. You probably have to take more than one, which I don't have. Oh well.

This morning on the way to the clinic, Michelle and I were asked for like the tenth time if we're twins. The man asked, "You two sister?" and we said no and he said, "You look like twin!" We were holding hands. What kind of sisters hold hands? Besides that, I couldn't think about much besides my physical pains all morning. My foot is killing me (thank god, acupuncture tomorrow) and lower back too. It's hard to walk. It's almost impossible to walk and talk.

Me and Val actually talked about my fam last night. Val asked me, "Do you want to let go of the past?" and I wasn't sure how to answer. I said, "I have no idea what that would even look like." I said, "Yes I would, because I would probably feel more like real person with a real past." Then I said, "But no, I would not, because maybe they don't deserve it?" Then Val said, "It's not about them though." I said, "Okay, but I'm confused," because I know how to do this- you're supposed to realize: oh, they were incapable of meeting my needs, but now I forgive them and let it go. But nothing feels different. I know that now my folks are just sweet, harmless parents. But "letting go" is like nirvana- no can really explain how to do it. Then Val said, "It's not something you can do with your rationale mind." So I'm just going to forget about it for now. At the end of our session, Val gave me a kiss on the cheek! We hug every week, but this was new. Hmm... I kind of liked it. It's hard to imagine her creating false memories by hypnotising people, because she never suggested hypnotising me or going into the unreachable recesses of my memory to dig something out. If she was interested in getting me to think my dad molested me or something, yesterday was a perfect opportunity to suggest hypnotism. I was practically asking for it. But no, she asked if I want to let go of it... the rage or disappointment or whatever.

I signed up for twitter. It's not that fun. My work will probably block it soon anyway.

Thursdays 4 Therapy

Gosh, I almost forgot how much I love writing in my blog... I swear to never forget again. Last night I had the following dreams:

I entered the church sanctuary on Christmas Eve and saw my family sitting together. For unknown reasons, I was sickened by the sight of my father. I planned to sit next to one of my sisters, with at least two sisters in between me and either parent. Then, my traitorous mother got up and switched seats, so that I would be forced to sit either next to a parent or with only one sister between us. I opted to sit in another row. I thought how I didn't even want my Christmas presents because I didn't want to be around my parents. Later on, my father tried to hug me. I said, "No, I'm not wanting hugs," or something to that effect and he looked very hurt. I thought my anger had something to do with sexuality, and so I told my parents that I would remain angry until they were happy about me being gay. It seemed that Lora supported me, and I felt better after I said it, but had a sense that there was more to the situation. There was some travelling bits that I don't remember, including watching a man jump into the subway tracks to catch a D train on the other platform. We all said, "Ohh!" Then, there was something with my ex gf Erin. Then, a bit where I gave Tatiana away to a friend or cousin because I thought she might be happier there, having a ferret friend and another kitten to play with. But after one night, I realized I couldn't live without her, and made arrangements to get her back. And I went to get her and had difficulty getting her into her cage. Then, I realized that all these people had given me presents: a new guitar, amp, this thing you attach that converts all jams into sheet music, and a recording system... and I started having the idea for this awesome song and was intent on getting home to play.

Then I woke up and realized I gave up on guitar and have no such equipment. And I haven't even worked on any music in a few weeks, and what the fucking fuck! I wonder if I got a guitar if I could just pick up where I left off. That's it, I'm buying one. A cheap one or something, I don't know.

Last night, other than watching The Wire and CSI, Michelle and I had an interesting theraputic breakthrough, led by me. One very standout thing about Michelle is her voice, which is quite high pitched and childlike, naturally. But then, at least 50% of the time, she also talks in baby-speak, like with kiddie words and such. So, last night I named that character. For whatever reason, I named her Rachel. Now, when Rachel is around, I simply call her Rachel.

NOW I AM GOING TO WRITE THIS ANNOYING PAPER. It's on young adult literature. Then I'm going to look for guitars on ebay, which is, probably, the stupidest place to buy one. But I am too shy to walk into a store.

...if you're goin' way too hard...

well, it looks as though i will make it through the workday. i took a walk up 34th street to Citibank and listened to Dance Song six times in a row, fast forwarding the parts where my ipod makes it skip. i felt confident and attractive on my walk, for a change. maybe it's the fact that i'm wearing my favorite sweater today.

when i got back from my walk, yolanda told me to take another hour and so i went to do some filing in my cube. then i made the mistake of answering an unknown number on my cell, and it was the girl from my GYN's office, asking me if i'd received dr. mcdaniel's message about having my HIV test re-done, since the results were inconclusive. i said i had received the message but preferred not to re-do the test since i'm pretty sure what the results would be. the girl seemed unimpressed by my response and started talking me into it. so now i have to go there tomorrow and give more blood when they already took like 4 little bottles of it! all my other results were normal, i do not even have the Heps, any of them, and i was pretty sure i might. in a weird way, i feel disappointed that i'm so healthy. i feel like that means i haven't been anywhere or done much at all. i want some scars, you know? obviously i don't want anything fatal. i guess i'll have to be satisfied with oral herpes.

i just finished "Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging." I truly had some LOLs at that book. it reminds me of Bridget Jones but it's better because the speaker is 14 years old. i am still avoiding my paper. ironically, the amount of blogging i did today is probably longer than the paper even has to be.

shall i leave off, then? let me just say this, that i hate going to the GYN more than anything, and that is one reason i refuse to reproduce. i just can't have people papping me and whatnot. plus during my last appointment dr. mcdaniels told me i smelled fishy and had DC and a longstanding infection, which was humiliating, especially after i told her that i thought everything was fine. and the doctor before dr. mcdaniels did an anal probe on me and then made me go home and do an enema and then come back for another probe. terrible. i don't even know if that was legit or if i was seriously assaulted! she was Asian, so i thought maybe they do things that way. anywho, that's what i get for being responsible and answering my phone.

must stay sane

Damn, I'm just really bored and antsy today. Right now I'm having my regular lunch, peanut butter and jelly, yogurt, and banana (I also had an orange and an apple and carrots). I eat constantly at work, just for entertainment. I wonder if people think it's unprofessional, always having a mouth full of food or gum. I have almost thirty packs of sugarless gum in my drawer, quite a collection.

I have been pondering the phrase "floridly psychotic" for the last 45 minutes or so. I looked up several definitions and I truly appreciate the flower analogy. Psychosis in full bloom. I also found a site claiming that the whole DSM is a big conspiracy of liars, and they had a video to prove it but I didn't watch because I don't care. Their point is basically irrelevant. Yesterday I was walking home from work on 33rd street near 8th avenue and I observed a common site- a homeless man (appearing to be, anyways) having an animated conversation with himself. This is the flower in bloom. I thought, it's so strange, he's in a totally different reality. And we say his reality is not real, because we agree that our reality is really real and .... aaaah. I feel like running out of the office screaming! And why shouldn't I? What's stopping me? I feel like giving up the charade! I feel like breaking rules and doing drugs! I feel like going dancing! I feel like wrestling and running around in the nudicles!

Why can't that be my reality? And by the way, do you think I am the "hoarder with OCD" featured in my dream? My aunt is Schizophrenic and she is a hoarder. My mom had to help her clean out her apartment when she was evicted a couple months ago, and apparently it was a nightmare. The truth is, I am totally sane. It's actually a disappointment. Michelle, on the other hand, had BPD, has OCD, possibly Bipolar (according to her therapist, she is supposed to get tested for this) and all the other exciting disorders that just elude me. I am bored. I am so fucking bored and refuse to work on my paper. I really don't understand Bipolar at all. It's like the hardest one to understand the criteria. All I get is that you have to have manic episodes. I asked Michelle, "Do you think I'm manic when I am all set to write a novel and such?" And she said, "No, but you would think that." So I asked, "Well, what is it? And why does Ger think you have it? You don't have mania." But then I said, "Is a drug binge mania?" And she said she doesn't know, so I give up. And if Bipolars can be floridly psychotic, what's the difference from Schizophrenia? It seems like they all start to run together. But it's not a conspiracy, that's just stupid.

I didn't watch the president last night. He was talking about the economy. I'm sick of hearing about the fucking economy. Everything's a mess, the bad guy always wins and steals everything and what's the point of talking about it. Instead I watched a 20/20 special about this Latina girl who, with the help of her gangster boyfriend, beat her beautiful daughter to death. They showed pictures. It was so sick. I have a hard time wrapping my head around violence because it is just foreign to me. I don't get how anybody can do that. The girl was just some ignorant stupid girl who probably also had a shitty mom with a monster boyfriend. See, it's depressing. It never ends. It's pointless to punish people because they don't change and they don't even admit they are wrong. It's always someone else's fault in their mind. We didn't stay up to see if the girl was convicted, because it doesn't matter. The cutie is dead, age two.

I guess I'll go back to my book now. I'm reading, "Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging." It's really funny. I don't like the title because the words are gross, but I like the book. It's a nice escape. It doesn't quell my desire for chaos, however... and unfortunately I am always depressed in the evenings. I find TV so very depressing, but I'm too lazy to do anything else. Plus this winter is lasting forever. So sick of winter!!!!!!!

When You Hate Your Clients

One of the funniest stories Michelle ever told me was from her old job at Pathways, where she had to make home visits to these clients (in the Bronx, mostly). One female client she visited was floridly psychotic, and she answered the door topless, in a diaper, with crack pipes scattered all over the floor, and she called Michelle a fucking bitch and every other insult and then tried to swing a punch at her. It's mostly funny because I can picture Michelle remaining absolutely calm and not blinking an eye at this lady, just saying something professional and respectful, whereas I don't know what the fuck I would do. At her new job she doesn't do home visits because the clients live there. Lately though, she has been complaining about this lady named Cathy, who basically abuses her verbally and I don't know why Michelle has trouble telling the lady to bugger off or whatever it is you tell crazy people to get them out of your office. Michelle said she thinks Cathy might try to hit her, so I advised having a plan. Michelle said her plan is to run because Cathy has the bug (all the clients are HIV pos). Anyways, Mich has to write up notes on her clients and yesterday she sent me the following notes, which made me laugh. Hopefully I've given enough background information so that you can at least picture the incident:

Subject: unbelievable

This morning writer attempted to telephone Cathy to remind her of this Friday's Step One Case Conference. Because she did not answer, writer left her a Voicemail message that left the date and time and the importance of her attending. Writer then typed her a letter that reminded her of the same and went to drop it off at her apartment. When she opened the door and was told that writer was there to remind her of the meeting, she instantaneously became agitated and shouted, "I told you I'm not going!" She went on to say that she didn't understand why writer was asking her again to attend. Writer explained that it was policy. Cathy then mentioned that she planned to pay rent tomorrow, as if to suggest there were no longer grounds for a Conference. She then slammed the door on writer.

About one hour later, while this writer was in a Staff Meeting with the rest of the Clover Hall team, Cathy disrupted the meeting when she opened the door and entered. She immediately began shouting at this writer, stating her belief that writer should not leave her any sort of messages on her phone and that she believed receiving a message was "harassment." Because Cathy refused to exit the room independently, Mr. Saint Victor had to physically walk to the door area and escort her out. During this disturbance, writer remained silent except for making one statement, which was that writer did not believe a message reminding her about a meeting was harassment.

Michelle Karam, LMSW
Case Manager

Kill Iraqi Killers... ?

Are these dreams just a bunch of jumbled nonsense or do they mean something? I was in this large, upstairs room. It was packed full of stuff, all kinds of household stuff, used, and somewhat organized. For instance, there were giant piles of dishes and silverware, including plastic utinsils, which were all separated, and clothes, and magazines, miscellaneous junk, all according to its type. It was as if a hoarder with OCD lived there. Well we needed to clear this space, and people from my old church were there helping, putting it into black plastic bags to be thrown away. I was somewhat in charge. I became upset because I thought a lot of it could be donated, including all these childrens clothes, such as boys sweaters. But I could tell it wasn't going to get donated because no one knew where to bring it. And it looked good getting the space cleared. The scratched and worn, wooden floor began to show. It was going to be the new work space. Then I called a cab and took at least one bag full of stuff downstairs to at least leave somewhere for people to pick through. Then me and Lora, my sister, were on bikes with the stuff, trying to find the intersection where the cab would be. But it was dark and there were threatening youths on the street, but they didn't bother us. We couldn't find the intersection at all. In another part of the dream, I was in my old church, in the doorway to the sanctuary. Across the hallway there were all these Iraqis in a room. I noticed they had written on the sanctuary doorway, "Kill Iraqi Killers," by which they meant to kill people who killed Iraqis, not Iraqis who killed others. It was written in red paint or blood. Then they came to the entrance, and I held the door open for them to enter the sanctuary, although I hoped no violence would ensue. It ended up being a peaceful protest.

Sorry... kinda boring. I wish they didn't block facebook at my work, although that was getting boring too. This leaves me no option but to work on my paper or to enter invoices and such. What about my "social" life? It suffers. It suffers especially since it seems that my one real friend is taking a break from me, once again. She sent me an amusingly borderline text on Monday saying that she can tell I don't love her, more or less, and didn't have a good time hanging out with her on Sunday, and she won't have me come over anymore. This is not the first time. I hope it doesn't last long, or escalate, because I need at least one real person in the world to hang out with. Michelle gets upset when this happens, but I take it in stride for the most part. So people are crazy, so what. What else? Nothing. Boring boring boring. I'm sorry. Although, why should I be sorry? No one writes in their blog for me! I have no role models. I am not entertained. Why should I do all the work?

huh?

...because i can't remember hardly anything. i can't remember my mom. or my dad or my sisters, especially my older sister. i have some pictures in my head attached to photos and flashes of recognition surrounding anecdotes that have been told over the years. like, a couple fights. a couple things i'm not sure if i remember or if someone else mentions so it feels like i remember. but i am really bothered by not remembering. i remember friends, but almost nothing from home or school. trying to be a teacher when i can't remember my teachers. maybe this goes according to what i paid attention to. clearly, not school, even though i did good. i want to be able to go into my memory like a movie and replay it. where is my sister, lora? she's not on the tape. there's no tape! why. I guess it probably doesn't matter. no need to be dramatic here.

but i tell myself, i'm ready to watch it, so let's have it, it can't be that bad. then i wonder, maybe i just don't watch it bc it's boring and there are more interesting things happening here and now? or maybe all the stuff on the tape is sweet and happy and i'm resisting bc it will make me sad that it's over? but either way, i should be able to watch if i want to. and that fact that i can't is upsetting. i try to start with happy little scraps of the neighborhood or my room or the house or smells that bring back the exciting feeling of summer or winter... stuff like that. i can totally go there. but that's it. is that weird? or is it normal? my mom said she is the same way. but her family was really crazy. like, schizophrenia and people starting religious cults and trying to perform miracles, people locking children in closets or beating them, or trying to cast demons out of them. what was my family? just a bit tense?

in this dream i had the other night, there was a wedding, and i was going to be in it. but then i freaked out and started screaming at everyone that it was bullshit, that the bride and groom didn't love each other and they would divorce soon, and the whole thing made me sick, and i was swearing at everyone and i stomped off. everyone was mad at me, including my mom. then one of my sisters came to me with michelle and michelle said, "i don't know if it's going to work out between us," and i couldn't believe it. i just stared at her, trying to accept the fact that she didn't have my back. then i said, "alrighty then, you can both fuck off." and i was thinking, "yeah i know i have some mental problems, i really do, but i can't stand for this shit and i won't." then my sister lora came and i was laying face down on the ground and she laid down on top of me. i don't know why this meant she had my back, maybe it's a literal pun? michelle is the person i trust the most, so this dream is really weird to me.

it's funny, i have "googled" my therapist and found out she was involved in all this *false memory* controversy back in the day. it would seem i'm in a vulnerable position because i really want some memories and i want them to put my weird feelings in perspective... but honestly we don't even talk about the past at all. we just talk about girls and drugs (and my so-called career plans). we've been talking about that stuff for like eight years now. somehow, it never gets old.

a mi me odia las lunes

This weekend Michelle and I went over to see Mark's new place on 5th avenue. It is totally awesome and we are jealous. It's basically just a huge loftspace above the Asian bodega between 8th and 9th street. The front of the apartment looks out over 5th ave. and the entire wall is windows. It's so sweet. I was kind of disappointed to find out that Jen is pregnant though because what would have been the music room (Mark built walls and stuff) is now going to be the baby room. The music room is now going to be this tiny space in the back, doubling as a closet, with a drip coming from the ceiling. There is no stove in the apt. because it's not a legal residential rental. I'm not saying I don't love babies... I just don't understand how people can be willing to give up their own life for the baby. It seems to me like your independent life is pretty much over at that point.

I am still hating my bod, insofar as the weight I gained isn't going away, it's just sitting on my booty... but Michelle seems to like it, so I really shouldn't complain. If she likes it, then I'm happy. But I don't want to be at work right now. I don't want to study. I just spent a while reading about Bipolar disorder. Last night I had this weird convo with my mom where I was saying that I am into setting limits with responsiblities, such as saying that NOTHING is worth working on more than 50 hours a week, tops. Like, she is nuts, because she works long hours during the weekdays, and then spends 8 hours + doing paperwork on both Saturday and Sunday. And she has all the reasons as to why that is reasonable. And my point is just that nothing is worth that. There has to be a way to do things differently so that you can have the weekend off... I just don't get it. She seems very stubborn in her ways here, but then she has all these terrible migraines and other health problems, and she has to take all these meds. And then it's like, duh, anyone would have a headache if they did paperwork all weekend, literally. wtf. Anyways, that's why I say that even when (and if) I become I teacher, I fucking refuse to run myself into the ground. There are reasonable amounts of energy and time to expect for anyone in any given occupation, and I just REFUSE. I am totally willing to be a half-assed teacher if that's what it takes to have my evenings and weekends free. Besides the fact that I don't agree that teachers should bend over backwards for kids who don't give a fuck anyways. I still want to be their teacher, but I will be clear on the fact that it's their responsibility if they want to do something with their life, or if they want to try to be a thug and end up dead or in jail. This will not be a HBO movie, this right here. I don't think great lesson plans, etc., have a whole lot to do with anything. Certain individuals are stronger than the herd, and they will fight, but the majority of people are weak and pathetic. My personal worldview on this Monday morning.

Oh, btw, *someone* is 29 days free of crack and cocaine. Doing better than ever. As for me, I had my period this weekend so I had to treat that a bit. Now I've got natural seratonin moving around in my brain and I need to concentrate. I need to get shit done. I'm posting these photos to show off my new bangs, cut last night. I have class tonight, which sucks. I like to just go home.

PS. New York State just took back over half of the measley refund that they initially gave me. That is total bullshit! Why do I pay so much taxes in this city?

things you can see and things you can't see

just journaling and shit

this is probably the subject people would least likely want to hear about, but it's my blog and i'm obsessed. my dreams last night had several memorable elements: one is this giant bird that could talk. it was so cool. it belonged to my jr. high school teacher (possibly) but it took a real liking to me. it grabbed my ice cream cone and gobbled up some of it and then it tried to kiss/gobble up my mouth. it was funny but kind of scary too. this was in a setting among youths, like a school. to get inside you had to lay down and go under this hill/tunnel. some of the girls there were being mean to me, making fun of the way i dance and trying to play a trick on me. but then i wore this cute little dress, and they started to like me. then there was going to be a wedding, and i changed into a gorgeous, strapless, two piece, white/pink, lacy dress that rivaled the bride's dress and i worried about that. but someone said it was beautiful and i could wear it. then i needed a ride home on the bus and this had to do with mr. granberg again, and i might miss my ride. and i lost my shoes and kept forgetting things. some kids had strep throat. then i asked the teacher to use his bathroom but i couldn't pee. then i was in another bathroom and the floor started to cave in. i ran out, and saw that the bathroom was on top of an oven, and buckets of poo were pouring through the floor into/onto the oven. it was disgusting!! i ran to tell someone, and i think my dad cleaned it up.

last night, in my real life, something bad happened. i got a B on a mini-paper and on a mini-presentation. this shouldn't be a big deal. like michelle said, i am paying to learn things, not already know everything. i'm not teaching the course. it's okay to receive constructive criticism. it's hard for me though, and i find it very embarrassing. the things i did bad on the paper were careless mistakes... like grammar or whatever. for my little presentation, the professor said i could put some "pep into my step." that really hurt. i'm very nervous to talk in front of a group of people, and it felt like i talked for much longer than i really did. here, i am talkative. at home, i will often get excited about books and let it show in my affect. but in front of my peers? that's hard for me. anyways, i thought i got an easy A on both things, and i was upset to receive rubrics with all the parts circled that i didn't do well and minus marks where i failed. as michelle said, most people don't sail through grad school getting straight A's. and technically, i know it's fine. but after i got those grades, i felt really mad in class, and like i didn't even want to be a teacher anymore. like, i hate rubrics, hate homework, hate essays, hate papers, hate teachers, hate creative projects.... ugh, for me to be in charge of it all. and to make it worse, before i went to class i had glanced into the bathroom mirror at my body and i didn't like it. so when class got out, i was very upset. then i got to the train and it was leaving the station right as i got to the platform, and i had been running, taking escalator steps two at a time and such. so i started crying, like sobbing because i felt i didn't want to be a teacher anymore, and i hated my body, and i thought i was ugly, and poor, and gross, and my whole image of my perfect self was shattering around me. so i cried all the way home. i knew i was being kind of silly and i just wanted to get home to michelle.

today i'm not freaking out anymore but i still don't want to be a teacher. i don't want to be anything.

regular boring day

i don't know if i can write that "novel." i don't really want to work on it. today i feel better than i have all week, but not great. my dreams are disturbing and reveal unhealthy obsessions. my fragile commitment to health and wealth seems unrewarding. my sisters are coming to visit me this weekend. i want out of this office. i want the world. i want more power and more love. i wish i was more talented and more intelligent and more beautiful. i want to lay on the beach. i'm wearing ugly clothes. this blog sucks. i don't like the things i've written here. i was going to print it out, but then i realized it's pointless. there is nothing here worth saving. great novels are worth saving. blogs and journals don't really tell you that much about someone anyway. it tells you who they want you to think they are, and sometimes who they think they are. there are many beautiful moments with people i can remember perfectly. every girl that i have loved exists in my mind and is still loved. michelle is clinically depressed. she tries to get an appointment with a psychiatrist but for some reason there aren't many available in nyc or bklyn. michelle has nice shoulders and i find it comforting to think about them. my psychiatrist is a russian lady who really does not give a shit but who makes a point of following the rules. i could be a psychiatrist. anybody could. how hard is it to prescribe antidepressants? i really don't think they do shit anyway. all you need is the internet and perhaps a dsm manual and you're all set. anybody whose title begins with "psych" should have some kind of psychic powers. but you can tell these people anything, and they just go by what you tell them. if i said, i'm going to kill myself, knowing full well that i'm not, they would still have me put in the hospital. and if i said i'm fine, even if i obviously wasn't, they would just say, "alrighty then, this here zoloft should do the trick," (hmm, not in those words) and send you on your way. that's an extreme example, but it's true all around. and if they get the sense that you already know what you need, they resent you. like, if i say i need xanax, the doctor will give me a suspicious look, but if i said, "i can't sleep and i'm obsessing over this or that etc." they would say, "gosh let me prescribe you some xanax." it's not the solution. whatever. i wish there was something i was really looking forward to. like an alternate universe. i wish i could really write a novel. Alicia Dipietro stopped being my friend. i miss her and i really wish we were still friends. i want people to know that i am a very fair and kind person. i have done or said some things that were not nice but there was a method to the madness and i would never mess with anyone's life who didn't deserve it. well, i am on my own as far as this goes. maybe i just miss my college friends. but i really wish i could be friends with some gay artists here. i also miss G., and i wish i could reach out to her. but with her it is always a question of power, whether she admits it or not, and i will not lay my head on her chopping block. fuck no! my wife is busy during the day. she's not sitting at a computer, looking for interesting jokes and information, able to IM or leave comments on each other's pages and stuff. i really miss Alicia. she's such an interesting person and totally hilarious. you know what? i was looking at these pics of me as a baby/child and i noticed something strange. in the pics with my mom, even where i am clearly trying to cozy up to her, her hands hang limply at her sides. was she always cold like that? she has a really pretty smile, but why isn't she grabbing and hugging her kids? i keep having dreams that i'm screaming at her, "you're such a fucking bitch!!" and stuff like that. rage. feces. (contamination? disturbance during the anal stage of childhood?) it's me or tati (my cat) having to go and the bathroom sways wildly, sewage runs on the floor, there are broken locks on the door or no doors on the stall, kitty littery poo in my mouth, on my hands, just lots of nasty stuff. i need to know why. or do i? i might ask my therapist to try to hypnotize me but i don't think it would work. well, 5.5 hours to go of work. i am avoiding writing a boring paper. it's quiet here. no calls. i might try to leave early.

Francine, The Lesbian Vampire

I'm writing a novel. It isn't exactly about a vampire, but there are fantasy elements. Francine is not human. Anymore. Francine is searching for the one, and she finds Masha. Masha and Francine are agents of justice. They can fly and they can appear as cats. They stalk and kill male predators, child molesters, and abusers of power. Francine looks like Michelle, and Masha looks like me. Eventually, Masha immaculately conceives the savior of the world, Christina. The book begins with Francine's suicide. It takes place in NYC, of course, and I have written three paragraphs so far. There is no reason why I can't write a novel! I am the most voracious and accomplished 30 year old reader that I know, I have a good imagination, and I only need to stick to it. I am nervous yet excited to write the "mating scenes," because the gothic gals have large, feathery black wings and they look like two bats in the act. The wings go away though, and they are able to walk/stalk the human world stealthily. I got this story idea while riding on the Septa train last weekend, driving through the depressing yet beautiful landscape of Northern Philadelphia and New Jersey. I was day dreaming about us as lesbian vampires living in a castle in Eastern Europe, but I have to fit the story to what I know. Until now, I always thought I can't write fiction, but I'm going to work really hard on this. If I can write a novel, I can make money and buy us a tiny piece of property in Brooklyn and Michelle will stop wanting to move.