i've done my best to try to make friends and talk to people. but everyone i meet is such a conformist...and hardly shows any interest in what i have to say. i wish i could meet just one person, one friend, that i have a lot of things in common with. someone who likes the velvet underground or leonard cohen maybe even ayn rand. these are mainstream things. why is it so hard to meet people who like the same things? i just want someone to give of his or herself. i want to know someone inside and out. someone i can talk about life with. not stupid shit like did you watch the giants game last night? our sociology professor is such an idiot..etc. i could argue that i've already met someone like this, but he doesn't go to school with me anymore and if we get any closer we'll probably end up going out again which i don't want to do.
and i'm sick of people blabbering on and on about themselves. i mean i do want to hear it. i AM interested. but EVERYONE LIKES TO TALK ABOUT HIS OR HERSELF. it's a fucking fact. give me a turn. when i ask how you are, answer and then maybe ask how i'm doing. i won't bore you with a five minute long answer that doesn't withhold any details. it's common courtesy. i'm so sick of rude people. i'm in college. shouldn't kids be more mature than this? i shouldn't have to put up with this shit anymore. i've exchanged numbers with a bunch of people since i've been here, but do they ever call back? are this many people that busy? excuse me for waving at you the other day. excuse me for believing we were friends. i'm sorry i'm not cool enough for you. and old friends. when you say you're gonna come over, do it. i know this probably sounds really pathetic but i don't care anymore. i don't want to have to deal with flakes. and everyone i know is one. with the exception of maybe ..ermm..two.
am i seriously paying $15000.00 a year for this shit? the majority of my teachers are totally incompetent. i could probably teach them a thing or two. who doesn't know what a mnemonic device is? or has a phd and never learned how to spell necessarily or say liVes instead of liFes..or know that croatia is in europe, not the fucking middle east.
i know that you're sorry for accidentally stepping on my foot this morning. or for saying something i don't particularly agree with. i know i didn't have to leave to talk on the phone while you were sleeping. it's okay. don't say sorry for it. don't feel the need to overapologize for every damn thing.
and i know that you think you're a music critic. but, i'm sorry. dave matthews band is not better than nirvana. before you diss kurt and his insanely brilliant mind, or nirvana altogether, you might want to learn who the hell dave grohl is.
you're a very busy person, yes. but i have no one i can talk to about the burning feeling. i'm losing it. i feel panic attacks coming on, i feel like crying all the time and i'm so scared. i don't want more xanax. i don't want more lamictal. i just want some advice.
i'm sorry i brought up my grandfather's death on 911. i know it was a touchy subject for you but did you really have to swear at me for it? and don't treat me like such a dumbass. i know i'm absent minded, but you obviously were never that into me in the first place so it doesn't matter to me too much anymore. and yeah, i really was just about to go outside for a smoke. i'm coming back. don't take everything so personally. if you want to talk to me, and be civil about it, be my guest.
and just because i told you my deepest darkest secret doesn't mean you have to act so different around me. is it that bad? any psychologist could explain this. i know it's horrible, but i already threw up out of disgust for myself, remember? i feel shitty enough. your job is done.
and don't think i don't know you just want to get laid.
so i just started my first semester at radford the other day...i really like it here. i'm making friends, i love my roommates, and i feel like my classes are going to be a lot of fun. but lately the burning feeling has been coming back. it feels like my head is on fire and like i'll spontaneously combust at any moment. sometimes i wish i would, so i wouldn't have to go through this anymore. i feel like there's a lump in my throat. i haven't been hungry for three days and whenever i eat i feel like i'm going to puke it back up, and whenever i stand up i feel like the floor is moving underneath me- this really dizzy feeling. i know people have told me it's probably from not eating but i had this a few days ago when i was eating well. maybe it's cause of the heat. but i feel like something is seriously wrong with me. i don't feel like reading..listening to music...watching tv..eating..going to class..i'm having these horrible thoughts...i don't want my roommates to think i'm depressed so i've been trying to hold my tears back. it didn't work last night. once i started crying i couldn't stop for about an hour. maybe i'm just homesick..and scared about all this change. i'm not sure. i do think i need someone to tlak to though. not a friend but a psychologist. i really don't want to go back to one cause they hardly ever help but i have to let all this out somehow...a part of me wants to go back home...but i desperately need to become more independent. i'm such a baby..i wish i could get over all these insecurites but it probably just takes time. my mom is coming to visit me today and i kind of don't want her to. i think seeing her leave will just make this more difficult. i've always been so codependent on her. i know it's time to break away from that. but how can i concentrate on anything when i constantly feel like my head is going to explode?
i was the only one who clapped at the end. then again there was hardly anyone in the theatre. someone started to but then no one else was so she stopped. it reminded me of fight club. some parts were kind of predictable though. it made me want to do more with my life. cause i noticed that i'm just like the main character before he became a killer. wasting the day away. being a pussy. i'm so much of a pussy that i'm afraid to go to parties. i'm afraid of getting a job where i need to smile a lot cause it hurts for some reason. i'm afraid of the other person hanging up first so i always beat them to it. i'm afraid to go back to ferrum. i'm afraid of loving. i'm afraid of life. and so was wesley. until he became someone. someone with a purpose.
i've been reading this book, a new earth, and in it he talks about how we all play roles. at first i didn't think about it but then i started paying attention to how i act with different people, and how they act around other people. it varies with everyone but i have a role for each person i encounter in my life. with my mom i'm anywhere from dissonant to listening very intently to what she has to say. with my brother i don't care as much what he thinks of me, say whatever i want for the most part. and when i'm buying something at a store my role is the polite customer that asks how the cashier's day is going. i act like i'm better than some people and i act like i'm inferior to some. and so on and so forth. i'm in a play with everyone. everything is fake. and my thoughts are not me.
sometimes i feel like if i fell off the face of this planet, no one would notice except the people i live with.
i guess i'll finally post that dante and i have broken up. it was really both of our decisions yet the other day we still played that game of who broke up with who. we were arguing constantly and there was hardly ever a peaceful moment - let alone day. we were miserable, and it was both of our faults. also i think i'm just not ready for a boyfriend or any type of relationship yet because, this never happened with any other guy but, with dante i began to get very jealous as the relationship progressed. i also think i'm not ready for one until my depression goes away - then again this could take years and years, it may never go away. today i read on dante's blog that he listened to a song and it made him cry thinking about me. i wanted to tell him that almost every song i've been listening to has been reminding me of him, but he doesn't want to hear from me and that would only make things harder. there's this white stripes song that goes: i just don't know what to do with myself/ i just don't know what to do with myself/ something something/ and now that we're through/ i just don't know what to do. and that's exactly how i feel. i feel lost without him. he was really my only friend. i've been trying to socialize and crap but almost everyone i know is a flake. like this guy told me he'd come hang out after school yesterday to make up for something he did to me, and of course he didn't call or come. it's not that i have feelings for him i'm just desperate for companionship. for something to fill this void in my heart. not a boyfriend but someone i can depend on, even though i know the main person i need to be depending on is myself. i hate this feeling of needing someone to be there. i used to hate people and want nothing to do with them. and now that that's over no one's here for me after they all said they would be. it's just hard, we were together nine months, living together, and i saw him every single day, literally. for large amounts of the day. i don't know.
also i got fired from bojangles after four days. training was supposed to last two weeks. they said i was too slow, but the only reason was because this lady kept erasing the orders when i needed to see what they were. when my boss told me i started to cry in front of him then got up and left. i called him about my paycheck a week later and he still hasn't called me back. what i really couldn't believe was my sister works there too - and she asked him why i was fired exactly. "miriam just didn't have a happy demeanor," he said. which is true. i was going through a hard time with dante and all. but he also said that when he asked me to do something i would just stand there for five minutes and not move. what bullshit. i did everything he told me to. even burned myself once for it which is probably going to leave a scar. so i'm looking for a job now. i applied at shoprite, i wanted to work with james and it pays like $7.50 an hour at the deli. but really i would have liked to work at a bookstore. kitty's is probably about to close. when i asked her if they were hiring she said i was the first person to walk in the door that day. there's this other place, martha and mary's but i doubt they're hiring. my only choice left is to be a waitress at el rancho viejo. which i'd rather lop my head off than have people literally snap at me to get my attention. but maybe it was only that way at michael's. any way things go, it's looking grim.
oh wait, some good news. i might be getting a car. sarah and i would share it and split the bills. then she'd probly get it for the school year and i'd spend another year at ferrum without a car. but at least we'd have it for part of the summer.
"the problems at hand are lighter than at heart."
this came to me while i was high. i was looking at the sun shining through leaves and i came up with this:
sun shining through trees' leaves
a broken mirror - cracked, shining
one flashlight looks through
it's all a metaphor, i won't give it away and so undermine your intelligence.
and i just now noticed the syllables are off. forgive me.
so i got burned at work the other day, and yesterday i noticed that my burn is like my depression. it's really cliche but, it hurts to touch for a while, then it leaves a scar that may never go away, but at least it fades away. i'm hoping my depression gets better as my burn heals.
the school red clock's heart
beats seconds away.
how many more minutes
'till the end of the day?
smoking my lungs dark
while something deeper than
melancholy leaves its mark.
the burning and itching doesn't stop
as rats bury themselves in my brain,
wanting and aching for nothing more
than a purifying rain.
i got a B in philosophy! that's the hardest class i have ever taken. i failed the first exam cause i didn't write enough he said, but i must have aced the last two in order to have gotten a B. i'm so proud of myself. it's made my whole month pretty much.
so i'm out of college now. it was pretty sad leaving the room. tarzan was on tv but the sound was muffled by my sniffles and sobs. dante sat on the floor with me and held me. everything looked so empty and final. it was bittersweet. i was giggling while i was crying too for some reason. i guess so many emotions at once. the year was somewhere between heaven and hell, as he would say. it was horrible, and a wonderful experience i wouldn't trade the world for at the same time. even though we argued constantly, the happy times we had were definitely worth it. it was basically my first time being married since we lived together. it was so nice to wake up to his beautiful face every morning.
next year should be fun. i'm rooming with this really cool girl named courtney - she's good to talk to about philosophy too. we'll be living in sue wes, an all girls dorm. i'm glad i'm still at lakeside so i can feed the ducks and soak up the sun on the gazebos. got some upsetting news from dante the other day though: waddles is dead. he's this duck we used to feed all the time, and now he's gone. d found him lying on his side in the lake.
i got a job at bojangles. (i know, right? me at a fast food store.) someone told me they always pictured me working in a bookstore or something, and i did too but this pays like 8 dollars an hour and it's a short driving distance. the sick part is i come home smelling like ham and bacon and chicken and sausage gravy every day. smelling that for 8 hours straight makes me pretty nausiated. i've made some friends there though, the people are really nice for the most part. i wore my lucky shamrock socks today, which is why i got off work half an hour early.
i've also been making an effort to hang out with old friends, become social again and talk to people other than my boyfriend, so far i've got two dates set up, so those should be fun..
dante has been absolutely amazing to me lately, compared to the way he's acted in the past. he came to my house over the weekend. and saturday night neither of us could sleep cause he had a tooth ache and i kept sneezing. so we went outside at like 2:30 and sat in the driveway while i smoked and he layed his head on my shoulder with a blanket. we had such a great talk, and we saw a shooting star (the first shooting star i've ever seen, and it was with him) and we kissed and made a wish. lol. it was so romantic. then we started naming all the things that cost $2.00 and came up with a shitload of things. it was kind of entertaining. and we talked about aliens and UFOs and i kept thinking i was seeing ghosts cause the trees looked like figures. we stayed out there for hours, and went in just before the sun rose cuase it was cold and we were too tired. i stayed up to see it set by myself though. oh and i read in his journal something like, that he's so lucky to have me and shouldn't take me for granted, and he should treat me so much better than he does. which is all true. oh and the other day he said my beauty increases daily for him and that he appreciates me! i feel like a princess, i do.
my philosophy teacher basically told me to throw all my plans for my future away and that i should major in philosophy. he said only a handful of people at this school are capable of thinking philosophically and i'm one of them apparently. it was such a big compliment. so i think i'm going to, cause it seems like you can actually do a lot with a degree in philosophy, including being a lawyer or a teacher. so we were sitting there in his office, and dante was saying how he used to feel like his whole life was like the truman show and dr. angel was like, we need you on board too cause he could tell right off he was a thinker too. i know he is, we argue about philosophy constantly. the only thing is i can't write six paragraphs on one theory. i just run out of things to say. i guess i'm not thinking hard enough though. oh yeah and i've decided i want dr. angel to be my new mentor. what i'm hoping is that he becomes a mentor - like figure for me. he's brilliant.
i just today noticed what that word really means. cognition is to think. and re is to do or see again. so to think again. hum.
today in philosophy we learned that whatever object (including non-materialistic things) we are conscious of, we are not. i asked my teacher, then, how can we be conscious of ourselves? he gave me this really complex answer as to how we are not ourselves, which i didn't quite understand. (even sort of tuned out.) once i kind of got it, i asked him what would happen once we are dead and we have become, and done everything that we could have been and could have done?
he said that once we are dead, we lose consciousness even if there is an after life. so we would become the object of someone else's consciousness. i'm trying to get this, but i just don't understand how we can be conscious of ourselves, and not be ourselves. isn't this hypocrisy?
does anyone know what i'm talking about or have any input?
in other news, incense makes me happy. and boys make me sad.
i am not who i see in the mirror.
i'm hurting myself and those around me. all because i can't let go of past experiences - that's what everything comes down to.
i'm desperate to let go.
- be a photographer
- be a psychologist/counselour/art therapist
- go to paris again, and cornwall and athens and egypt and marakech
- fall in love, and stay in love (get married)
- have a kid or two
- write a book and/or decent poetry
- constantly try to better myself
- incorporate more love into my life
Jonathan Abbey stood near the fireplace which added much light to the dimly lit
room that he occupied. He had on a black overcoat and boots and appeared quite
dashing for a young man his age. He was only nineteen, but nevertheless had a
strong jaw line and thoughtful-looking face. He had a respectful, aloof look
about him in the way he posed; he clasped his hands together, but they remained
limp at the same time. If one were to have shaken hands with him one would have
felt unworthy (though he was such a soft-spoken boy), for his hands appeared
extremely pure. The fire blazing next to him warmed his backside
which made him feel most comfortable in this unfamiliar place. Yes, it was his
parent’s house, but was newly purchased and foreign (as he had not come home to
visit as much as a boy of his age, who has left home, should), except for the
tall and imposing grandfather clock, adjacent to the fireplace.
A few cat hairs which had found their way onto his coat were not too easily
noticed unless one made a point of looking for them. Jonathan’s tabby cat,
Martha, had found a wonderful resting place on his stomach before he made his
way to his parents' dinner party. His collar rested comfortably around his neck
though he was not at all fond of dressing up. The last time his beard had been
shaven was one week ago and a little bit of stubble crept up from his face and
neck. His lips were pink and delicate, his mouth parted only a tad while he
basked in the warmth of the fire crackling and spitting behind him. Mr. Abbey’s
mouth was usually open (but not stupidly); as if in amazement of something no
one else was capable of seeing. His nose was a fairly usual one; no nose hairs
were visible to the average person who conversed with him, and his cheeks were
rosy red from the fire as if he were coming down with a fever. His eyes were
shades of bright grey and long ebony lashes served as their canopy. Wild bushy
brown eyebrows added a feeling of chaos to his face and balanced out what seemed
to be a slight touch of tainted perfection in the rest of his features. His
hair had not been brushed in over one month and untamed dark brown locks were
fearlessly unkempt in public and in private. His hair was definitely something
to behold because it reflected his own personality in many different lights. It
was wild, uncontrollable, honest, sweetly out of order, and unsure of its place
in the world.
I'm the sort of man who, when given the opportunity to do something spontaneous,
not only takes it, but seizes it. So there I was all by my lonesome, standing
in front of the fire at my parent’s dinner party when, all of a sudden, this
little girl in a royal blue jumper and shiny black dress shoes, came right up to
me and pulled on the bottom cuff of my trousers.
“Oh well hello there,” I said.
“Hallo sir. My name is Louise and I wanted to ask you a question.”
“And what question would that be young lady?” I asked. She had the most
magnificent dark blue eyes to go with her jumper of the same color, and stringy
light brown hair that framed her face.
“Oh umm…,” she mumbled. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old but
nevertheless, was extremely nervous and alert about everything going on around
“Louise,” I went on, “you must ask me the question soon lest I die of
curiosity.” I teased her a bit, but I really was becoming quite curious as to
what the question was. She stood there biting her nails, which was a fantastic
feat to pull off, for they were already bitten down past the quick, and on the
verge of bleeding.
“Oh, I…” She went on. She stared at her fingers. “I… I …should like for you to
It was a strange question indeed, but I was enthralled by it. It was much
better than the average, ‘lovely night isn’t it?’ or ‘the weather is behaving
very beautifully, wouldn’t you say so?’ Grown people have the blandest
questions. I much prefer speaking to little children. Oh- forgive me, I have gone off topic.
I looked at her for a moment, wondering what she was thinking.
“Louise, if I were to kidnap you, wouldn’t your mother miss you?” I asked.
“No sir. No one will miss me.” I could barely hear these last few words
because she was being so quiet. I pondered what my answer to this question
would be. I am not the sort of person to just say no to these kinds of things.
There was an element to consider: why she wanted to be taken away. Perhaps she
wanted to escape from some one or thing. I could not blame this reasoning if
that was the cause behind this. There are lots of things everywhere to want to
get away from, in anyone’s life: the new fallen snow that has been made impure
from being stepped on, the street on one’s way to work littered with trash, the
hungry and frost bitten faces of beggars, and many other things that might not
be quite so detailed or easily noticed.
“Alright,” I said. “If I do kidnap you, where would I take you?”
“It doesn’t horribly matter to me sir, as long as it is far away and somewhere
hidden where no one can see me.” She answered my question fairly quickly as if
she had known she wanted to get away, from the time she could form logical
So then I thought to myself, why not? This poor girl was so innocent (I knew
this just by looking at her), and to only be asking to be taken away is not such
a terrible crime. Then I realized that the regular thing to do would be to not
kidnap her, and I wanted just the opposite of regular. I would kidnap this
sweet child, looking up at me as if I were a door or ladder out of the cruel
world in which she existed. All I needed to find out now was where. Where I
should take her. I thought about someplace hidden. Someplace where we could
never be found. Then it came to me and I could almost feel a star beginning to
sparkle in the dark recesses of my brain.
The woods! I knew the perfect spot in a secluded forest that was about three
hours away from the current city where we both resided. There was an abandoned
cottage I visited secretly sometimes. In front of the cottage there was a
gurgling creek. It stretched far into breath-taking horizons that were gloomy,
mysterious dark grays in the daytime. Clear midnight blue skies dominated the
nightscape. Every now and again the sky glistened with some of the brightest
stars one would ever behold in a life time.
I peeked into her deep wondering eyes. I would do this. But for how long?
Time was no object anymore, she told me mystically with her look. That was one
of the purposes of this mission. No, not time, nor school, nor family, nor
jobs, nor any other thing that might make some one feel like they are in a
straight jacket. Time doesn’t exist in the woods for one reason only (if you
are alone): no people. For time exists with life, and that is what makes it
most obvious to us.
I looked at the party around me. Everyone seemed so happy, but I knew that all
of it was just a façade. The girl knew this too somehow. She had known the
entire time. I saw smug people wearing strong, ugly cologne and perfume, whose
eyes danced across the room as they gossiped and formed uninteresting
conversations about gossip, politics and the weather. They wore makeup to make
themselves seem pretty. They were always trying to make everything seem better
than it actually is, and there is no honesty in that.
Then I took a closer look at Louise. Her eyelashes were black and clean,
without any curl in them whatsoever. Her eyebrows grew freely, unaffected. She
smelt of soap and laundry detergent. Her fingernails were not painted. The
only red was from beautiful scarlet blood that had just begun to seep out of her
fingernails (her anxiousness made her bite them harder). There was not a more
beautiful sight in the world than the one I was beholding at that specific
moment in time. The grandfather clock ticked precious seconds away.
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Sir, I should like to leave now please,” she urged. She was more anxious than
ever. She heard the clock ticking also. She looked up at me with a
sort of nervous look in her eyes. Louise looked as if she did not get away
soon, her fingernails might begin to soak the entire wooden floor where we were
standing in a pool of red. Neither of us wanted that to happen, I decided. We
could not have this entire room soaked in the redness that belonged only
underneath her fingernails and nowhere else. I looked at her small hand in
mine, took her index finger, and wiped some droplets of blood off of it.
It stained my own hand, and I didn’t mind.
I led her cautiously and carefully towards the front door and away from the
cheery atmosphere of the party to the darkness where a carriage waited for us.
I soon found out that there was no need for me to be cautious and careful
leaving. Not a head turned as we left.
pretty good flick. i went to see this based on ashley's blog about it and IMDB alone..i think it got a 7.9/10. anyway dante and i went, and i kept telling him that it was genius for whoever thought that up to film it the way they did. they probably knew it might make people sick, and of course that would make it even more popular. i didn't bring anything into the theater but a fanta, so i was fine, and it didn't seem like anyone else was too nauseated or anything. but of course they set it in new york, and as the attack is going on one of the characters frantically asks a friend,
"is it another attack?" it kind of hit on almost every american's fear that 9/11 could very well happen again, which made the film even more intense. i feel like i should compare it to the latest godzilla movie but i never saw it. i kind of want to now...
(more natural-acting ..actors? would have been better.
ohhhh, apparently there's all this stuff that goes with the movie. go to geeksofdoom.com and search cloverfield if you're interested.)
i had a good day.
willard was a wonderful film.
i love crispin glover.
that is all.
ok so, last night my mom asked me to go to shoprite to pick up some tomato sauce and colby jack cheese. i invited dante to come with me and eli decided to come too. so everything was going fine..right as we were pulling in to the driveway they were telling me what a good driver i am, and i knew something bad would happen soon. so as i try to make my way into the garage, i apparently didn't drive out far enough cause one of the side doors skidded against the side of it and now we can't close it. of course, i felt like an absolute idiot. mostly because my mom doesn't have the money to fix it (but luckily one of her clients fixes cars). i felt so bad for her and myself and cried for about an hour until i realized that it was an honest mistake, and it could have happened to anyone (only with the help of dante). my mom didn't care as much as i thought she would, she was just thankful i hadn't gotten in a wreck or anything. so it seemed like everything would be fine by tuesday, when her client would see her.
but, of course i was expecting shit from (at the very least) my sister's friend, and i got it. she was talking to eli (who, i guess, she thought wouldn't tell me) about what a stupid mistake it was and how i'm such a dumbass. now anyone in my family can get away with calling me a dumbass, but fortunately, she is not a part of it. this wasn't the first straw. she had, in the past few weekends i've been here, put down my father, my religion, and finally, myself. that was strike three. now i could have gone on about how she comes to our house just to call guys over here for one night stands (even done the dirty with a 14 year old. she's almost 17.) but i haven't, and the only reason i've said all this shit about her here is cause none of you know who i'm talking about.
also, that same night, they were all talking about how selfish the fifth pillar of islam is: pilgrimage to mecca. yes, very selfish to want to visit a sacred site within one's religion. it's not like christians never visit jerusalem. but she said that the word 'mecca' is forbidden in this house. obviously, i'm not taking any of this too well, and all i want is to go back to school and not come home for a while. she lets us do virtually whatever we want. there are no boundaries. as my boyfriend put it, it would be ok for him to choke me to death in this house, as long as he did it with a smile on his face. :0 but she won't take me back to school today it looks like. i can't say i blame her, today is her day to relax and it IS selfish of me to demand to be taken back to school just because i can't control my temper. i guess i should be learning here, instead of heaving. i could be learning how to tolerate ignorance. i think it was robert frost who said that the evidence of a good education is being able to tolerate anything, without losing your temper. something like that.