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Post by fico on Jan 24, 2003 22:04:18 GMT -5
I don't think I really need an explanation...
I don't have anything new, so I'll just repost mine from Nialle's journal.1.21.03 6:43pm I'm quitting my job. For some people, this is really huge. For other people, it's just another happening in the day. I guess reasons are what make me feel like I'm set apart from that. But I suppose my reasons aren't really any different from anyone else's. Maybe it's just because the reasons are applicable to me. It makes it seem so very different from when other people quit jobs, but it really isn't. I'll be putting in my two weeks' notice the next time I go in, Thursday. (I think it's kinda funny that I'm putting in my notice exactly four months before my birthday, but I'm weird like that.) Until then, I'll be keeping up my gumption to actually do it. Quitting my job feels sort of like I would imagine breaking up with someone would feel like, once you had already gotten comfortable. It's just easier to stick with it, to not shake things up. But I am making a private re-write of myself. I will not do things out of habit. I will not let myself fall into a rut, just because the rut is more comfortable than outer space. Ruts can be very good, in their own way, but not when the only reason you're still in it is because you found yourself there. I guess it would be a good idea to record my reasons. I tend to forget things like that, but I don't want forget in this case. I have the classic, shallow reason: I need more money. Of course, since that's what a job is for, and since it's not like I'm sacrificing anything such as my family or friends in order to get more money, I guess you could argue that it really isn't shallow. It still feels that way, though. I have good reasons for needing money. I still owe my parents about $2,000, and I want to pay them back completely before I go to college next year. With the salary I have now, I earn a little more than that in a full year. Besides this, I need money to pay for my guitar lessons and other personal expenses. So I guess the needing more money also isn't shallow because it's not like I'm trying to get more when I'm already rolling in it. Second, I'm bored. Yeah, it's cool that I can listen to headphones while I'm shelving. And yeah, they're really good about scheduling. And yeah, it's really good that I don't have to pay all the fines I get from never turning in books on time. But I can't stand not thinking anymore. Ten hours a week, I don't think. Shelving takes just enough concentration that you can't daydream without making mistakes, and little enough that you aren't preoccupied. I understand that I probably can't get a much better job at this point in my life, but I can at least give it a shot. And if I can't manage it, I can find one that's just as boring but pays more, and learning the new job can keep me occupied for a little while. Third, the people. I have about fifteen co-workers. I like three of them. I don't like one of them. I'm neutral to the rest. For all of you who know me, you understand that someone being neural is almost the equivalent of me not liking them. I don't like dead weight. And the one I don't like… This person got me so mad yesterday that my hands were shaking. I'm serious, shaking. I'm not a very emotional person unless I let myself be. But I guess I could have just been caught at a bad time. I had been having a bad day already. I was busy trying to think out a lot of troubled thoughts. I was dealing with a lot of emotions. And about thirty seconds before s/he approached me, I had heard that my sister's dog had died. It was not a good day. Or it could have just been adrenaline. Because when s/he started ragging on me, I didn't just meekly say, "sorry, what do you want me to do to change?" like I normally do. (Don't misunderstand that question. Just because I ask what people want of me doesn't mean that I always satisfy them.) Instead, I started ragging back. This person is older than I am, and s/he is one of the best scowlers I know. Plus, s/he has a reputation as a hard-ass. You have no clue how good it felt to not let hir put me under hir thumb. And the people I'm neutral to… *shrugs* The library has a lot of old, bored ladies working for it. They tend to gossip, a lot, all-the-time a lot. I don't mind people telling me off to my face, but I hate the idea of people saying things I don't know about. And I hate listening to them tell me about other people. But honestly, how do you remove yourself from a situation like that? They know they're gossiping. They just don't care. So how do you make it obvious that you do care without looking (and possibly being) the complete ass?
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Post by fico on Jan 24, 2003 22:04:46 GMT -5
So that's why I'm quitting. I'll still go there a lot. I mean, honest-to-goodness, take me away from the library? Never. I just… I want to know that I'm not dependant on them. I feel like I am. I feel like they think that I need them. I have to prove to myself and them that I'm not, that I don't. I have to assert within myself the fact that I can hack it. I can find a job under pressure. I can earn more than six fifty an hour. I've already proven to myself that I can deal with sheer boredom. Now I have to prove that I can walk away from comfort in search of something better. I'm afraid that if I don't do this now, I'll never be able to do it later in life. I'm afraid I'm digging myself a much bigger rut than the library alone. Any job-ideas for me?
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Post by fico on Jan 28, 2003 2:52:05 GMT -5
1.28.o3 1:40am. I just had a three-and-a-half-hour long conversation with my mother. I've been going through a lot the past few days, weeks? I dunno. A while. I've been completely besides myself. (That is to be taken literally, as it was described to me. I feel as though my soul isn't in my body. I feel so disconnected from myself as to not be myself, just two halves that can't reconnect. It's disconcerting, to say the least. ) So I've been trying to figure things out. And I've also been trying to finish up my application to my favorite college, 'cause I have to have that in by Feb. 1. And I've been just organizing my heart out, but my heart was never in it in the first place. So I've been kinda stressed and emotional. Today (that's "today" as in the 27th, Monday), I went across the street to see [Chaia]. ("Chaia", by the way, is the feminine form of the Hebrew word "chaim" which means "life", and [Chaia] has been my life for about seven years now.) [Chaia] is my mentor, friend, counselor, second-mother, etc. I asked her to help me with my application. So we work on it, and she totally picks up that something is bugging me out of my mind. The problem is, my mom works for [Chaia], so we couldn't talk until she left. So instead, we just worked on the application. Mom finally finished all her stuff and went home, and [Chaia] and I had a bit of a talk, and she said that I absolutely had to see a movie. It's called "Hedwig and the Angry Inch". So she sent me off to Blockbuster with her card and her money; I picked up the movie, and we watched it together. *sigh* I have to watch this movie about seven million more times before I'll actually understand everything, but it was just... I didn't get it yet, so I can't say it was a great movie. But it had these awesome parts, and it feels like the type of movie that I'll watch again sometime, in a few years or whatever, and it will just hit me so hard, and after that, it'll be my creed or something. That's what it felt like. [Chaia]'s husband came home, and he works a lot, so I always get lovingly tossed out of the house when he arrives. But [Chaia] and I had a quick five-minute talk first. We found out why I've been so angsty lately, and she described being "beside yourself" to me. It was one of out better short talks. I came home very contemplative. I wasn't sure what to make of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch"; I wasn't sure what to make of my new-found reason for being so weird lately; I wasn't sure what to make of myself. So, naturally, I ate dinner and went up to spend time with my younger sisters. Rue and Airlia and I ended up in Rue's room, crammed on the bed, petting each other's hair and talking about sister-stuff. (I love those times with my two younger sisters. They're just beautiful. I love that Rue has the room at the end of the house and that we cram ourselves in there sometimes.) My mom came in. I really wasn't in the mood to talk to my mom. Honestly, I'm almost never in the mood to talk to my mom. I guess we were just on equal wave-lengths tonight or something. We ended up having a really long conversation, some of it involving Rue and Airlia, and the most important part being just me and my mom in her room. Apparently, she's really upset that I don't tell her anything. And she got this vibe a few weeks ago that I was hiding something from her. (I've been hiding that I was bi for almost a year.) The thing with my mom, though, is that she doesn't get what goes on with me... at all. Like, I'll tell her that I read this phenomenal book, and I'll describe it to her all excited-like, and she'll say "that's nice". And I'm thinking, "that's nice?! This book changed the way I think about everything! That's not 'nice'. That's cataclysmic!" And I'll try to explain that it's huge, and she'll say "oh, okay." It's just... she doesn't get me. She doesn't get that when I tell her little things, that I mean big ones. And she doesn't understand when I explain the big ones. So I've kind of learned not to tell her anything. Because when you tell someone something and they don't get it, it's like they "ruin" it, you know? It's not sacred after someone doesn't understand. But I ended up telling her my three biggest secrets that I had from her. 'Cause I was sitting there, and she was totally in this open mood. And I had gotten her all worried that I was on pot and dating some weird guy that raped me daily. (Er, yeah, I kinda gave some weird hints that she took to the wrong place.)
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Post by fico on Jan 28, 2003 2:53:07 GMT -5
So I started off with the easiest one, the one that I figured she would be sympathetic to. I told her that I don't believe in Jesus anymore, which is really huge, considering how religious a person I've always been. I explained my whole plan for how I'm going to tell all the people at church. I explained my reasons. Et cetera. It went really well, and she agreed with me on some of my reasons. (I had kinda picked up on her not being perfectly Christian, but it's not the type of thing you just ask someone.) And she was really good, like, she asked me how I felt about God, 'cause she was all worried that I would be lost and completely without religion. It was really sweet, actually. Throughout our entire conversation, I had really stressed the fact that I didn't want her to assume that anything about me was a phase. I mean, because that's just awful. I'm a very deliberate person. I consider things for a while before I act on them. And if you just write my choices off as nothing when I've spent so much time soul-searching in order to come to my conclusions... that's just the worst kind of condescension (er, sp? it's from "condescend") I can think of. I told her I'm bi... She didn't write me off. She wanted to know why, and you know what? It was so cool. I explained the whole thing about how it's not the other person I'm looking at (even though they can be very attractive); it's the inner person in every respect. And she said, "oh, well, when I was younger, that wasn't even an option. What we were really working on then was ignoring race. So if you could love anyone of any race, that was important." Like, she totally got it! It was so cool. Awesome even. So I was like, "Yeah, yeah. I'm not looking at race or sex; I'm just looking at the person. And, you know, it's not completely intellectual either. I mean, I'm not really comfortable telling this to you anymore, but I do... find... women attractive..." And she was all cool about it and stuff. And she totally understood my reasoning. My mom is a very logical person, so because she understood my reasoning, she could accept my decision. ... And we're not telling my father for a while... So the last thing to tell my mom was also really big. It's kind of that I'm dating someone and have been for a little while. I mean, we don't really talk about that type of thing in my family. But I found out today that my mom actually wants to hear about the people we date. (Who knew? ) Mainly, she wants to know in order to be sure that we're okay, that we're not hanging out in the wrong crowds, that we're not with someone who would abuse or take advantage of us. That type of thing. So I'm all like, "so, I'm dating someone. [very long pause] And I guess you kinda wanna know who it is..." And she did a nervous sort of laugh and said, "yeah, I would". So I told her. And she already knows the person I'm dating, and she was all like "oh!..." Like, surprised but not upset. And she said "okay" (because she always says that after she says "oh"). And then we talked about the person, and she's, like, okay with me dating shim. Totally. Completely. Just... yeah. I mean, it's technically illegal for me to date this person, but my mom was fine with the ages. (hee! she said I'm mature for my age. *beams under motherly compliment*) (ha! And it was so cute. After our conversation, she asked if she had said anything wrong. Like, she was worried, after I had stressed it so much, that she would end up saying something condescending or closed-minded or something. She was totally worried about that. And she asked me to check if she had screwed up. And it was so cool, 'cause she hadn't.) So... That's my major news. My mother is okay with my so-far life decisions, like, big ones. I... I always tell myself I don't really care what my mother thinks or feels about me. Because so often, I know that she's not really seeing me. But tonight, she really saw me, and she was proud of me, in a strange sense. It felt like she was proud of all my choices, proud that I had made good choices for good reasons. I... I don't normally feel proud because of something my mother felt for me, but I did tonight.
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Post by fico on Jan 28, 2003 2:53:36 GMT -5
And then, she and I started to discuss, like, sex and living with someone. I mean, I had to have her opinion on this thing, you know? Just because it's important. Because it's important to me, obviously, and also because she seemed to care that I know her opinion about things. So, like, she trusts me with decisions about my own sexual life. And she trusts the person I'm dating, which is huge. (Like I said, she had been worried it was some weird guy that would pressure me into something.) And, I mean, I asked her about living with, just because I wanted to know my options in life, and she was okay with it. Like, she would be okay with me moving in with this person. That isn't to say that I want to. My person and I aren't exactly ready for that, for one thing. But... *is still blown away* My mom trusts me with that. She would, like, let me and stuff, if I wanted to. I... *can't think of words* That's the ultimate blessing in my mind. Now it feels like my mom truly trusts me. Because sex and living with someone..., those are huge adult decisions, you know? And if I wanted to make them, she would let me. Even though I'm underage. Even though I have no real-life experience. She... she would let me gain my real-life experience with this person. She would. How... how cool is that?
So it was a good day. I'm working on what's been bothering me. My mom really saw me for the first time in three or four years. I... I liked today a lot.
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Post by fico on Jan 28, 2003 13:19:40 GMT -5
1.28.o3 1:00pm. Today is a big day. I'm finally mailing my application. I'm going back to work for the first time since I gave my two weeks' notice. I'm trying to figure out what I think about everything that's been going on. Really, why today is huge, is because I've completely re-written my Coe application essay. I started out with a pretty good essay. My older sister even said it was kick-ass. I was proud of it in a slightly detached way. But everything has felt slightly detached lately, so I didn't think anything of it. Slightly-detached-pride isn't good enough for [Chaia]. She told me to see if I could re-write it and actually put something of myself in it. I guess that's what comes of Chaia really knowing me, whether I want her to or not. Because my original essay was more about who I pretend to be. It was all about the face I put on. In a way, it would be a lie to apply to a college with your mask rather than your self. It starts you thinking about how much you lie to people about who you are. Because all these people said that that essay just shouted "GEN" at them. So how much have a really told them about myself? How much do they really know? And how much have I made them think they know? But now my essay is me. I've toned myself down a little, 'cause I don't think Coe really wants someone who's feeling as hostile as I am right now. And people usually don't want other people full-on. Humans have too much emotion. We don't really want to deal with other people's emotions unless we feel a strong connection to them in some way. It would be unfair, even, for me to put my whole soul into an essay for a complete stranger to read. We can ask that of people reading our books and our poems, but not our application essays. I started the essay last night, right before I had that talk with my mom. This morning, I woke up warm-and-fuzzy next to Rue. I put on my glasses. And I wrote the rest of it. Isn't it amazing how writing something can make you feel... almost like your breaths are deeper and worth more. I guess I'm saying that writing makes me feel like I'm really alive sometimes. And it was amazing. [Chaia] read me some of her stuff. She writes poems and sonnets and songs and stuff on comission. I heard some of the funniest things just an hour ago, less than an hour. That... I want to finish growing up, and I want to be as brilliant a writer as [Chaia].
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Post by fico on Jan 28, 2003 13:21:14 GMT -5
Describe your ideal roommate.
I've spent the past few weeks trying to think how to write the perfect essay for you, an essay that will explain to you who I am and why accepting me will make your lives so much better. While I didn't want to over-stress the second point -- I believe you allow for some pompous attitudes in your accepted students, after all, we are teenagers and therefore immortal and perfect in everything we say and do, but I was scared you would think me too conceited for even your accepted standards -- it was very important to me that you know why accepting me will enlighten you so. Because when you ask me to describe my ideal roommate, you are really asking something else entirely. You are asking about me as a person. You are asking how I see other people, how I value and judge them. You are asking which qualities and temperaments are suited to my own. You are asking what I consider worthwhile in other people, and, through them, myself. All I can write in good conscience is: How can you ask that of us and expect us to squeeze it all into just two pages, double-spaced? It would be cruel of us to write more, for you must read hundreds of these same essays. Yet it is inhuman for us to write less. People are so much more complex than one admissions essay. We have, of course, interests and dislikes, habits and fetishes, wants and concerns, et cetera. But we are so much more than those. Our interests, our passions, our pursuits -- they are not their own; they are not individual pieces of our true, but lower, selves. They are the manifestations of our souls. How can I, with brevity, answer a question that asks me to define my soul much less someone else's? I won't. But perhaps it is all for the better; you have learned far more about me through this than you would have if I had simply answered the question.
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Post by En Sylvan on Jan 28, 2003 14:36:23 GMT -5
so... Whoa. That was... whoa. I am way happy for you, and for your mom. That talk may very well turn out to have made a difference for both of you. I hope it does. Your mom can get worried about stuff sometimes in a way that reminds me of my mom. But she can also be very loving and accepting, also not unlike my mom. I hope that hearing from you helped her feel closer to you, and I hope that having her acceptance settles some things for you.
Though I have to say, I totally was not expecting the first item to come up. Wha?! When did you come to that conclusion about Jesus? I mean... I know you think things through pretty darn thoroughly, so I am sure you came to the right conclusion for Gen, and since by coincidence I have recently realized I don't believe Jesus is the Christ either, I'm looking forward to talking to you about it... I'm also kind of, whoa. *feels sort of behind*
On the rest, I'm just... thrilled and relieved for you. *wipes brow* Coming out to anyone about anything can be a real bummer. I'm glad it went okay. I could say a lot more about it, but I'll say it later, k?
*wonders vaguely whether Gen has told Chandra*
Then the essay: I liked the last one pretty well, but I like this one much better. You're right, there were things about the last one that felt pretty negative. This one, I dunno, it's like the difference between onyx and a prism. Onyx can be lovely, but a prism, a prism DOES something. It takes a ray of light and divides it up and makes it beautiful. Am I making any sense? I mean you could show them something about you, or you could show them how much you can do, and do for them. And this shows both wisdom and a sense of fun, you know?
Er, one more thing. Give Chaia a big hug for me, would you? Even though I've barely talked to her, I want her to know I think she is wonderful, k? I think you're wonderful too, but I will get to hug you myself soon enough.
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Post by fico on Jan 28, 2003 15:16:50 GMT -5
Erm, does Chandra know what exactly? Well, she knows I'm bi, and she knows I'm dating someone. But she doesn't know who I'm dating, and she doesn't know about Jesus.
And... I told you about the Jesus thing in a letter. But I know my letters are kind of... long-winded and intense, so you were probably busy with trying not to be sick and stuff. I thought you had read it by now. I wrote it in the one that was from around Christmas.
I'm not really sure what will happen with me and my mom. She really cool sometimes, and she's really uncool other times. So far today, I haven't seen much of her, so I still have good mother-vibes. But I'm kind of... dreading the time that I know will come when I upset her or she annoys me.
And I'm really glad you liked my essay. I totally get what you mean about onyx and prisms.
Song-flash: "And they poured out their souls, they poured out their memories they poured out their hopes for what's left of eternity To Sister Maria, her soul like a prism For the light of forgiveness on all of their faces" -- Transit, Richard Shindell
And I talked to Chaia for about two seconds on IM, and she told me to tell you this about you:*rolls eyes* You mustn't believe any implied compliments Chaia gives me.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:34:58 GMT -5
1.29.o3 It's snowing. I'm really happy it's snowing, because we haven't had a good, snowy winter since, like, a blizzard way back in '95 or something equally far away and therefor forgettable. But it means that guitar (which is a 45 minute drive away) is almost certainly cancelled for tonight. I practiced really hard this week, 'cause I hadn't had time last week, and I was looking forward to showing off. I told Chaia that I told my mom. She was happy beyond belief. Because my mom has been telling Chaia for the past few days, "[Gen] told me everything." And Chaia's like, "oh, okay, Deenie" (sp? I think it looks cool that way. It's pronounced "dee-nee". *shrugs*) Because other times that my mom has said that, she meant, you know, that I told her I would never wear a dress to church again. And she considered this everything. When what really happened right around then is that it was implied to me that people thought I'd been having sex with a 29 year old man. And Chaia's like, "oh, she told you..." And my mom was like, "no... when did that happen?" So Chaia was laying a little low, not saying anything really. But I told her today what was up, and she was super-happy, and she told my mom that she gets the mom-of-the-year award. (I feel so utterly stupid and childish all of a sudden. Because here I am bragging about how I made my mom way happy. You know?) And I mailed my application. We mailed it this uber-expensive way, and it's garunteed to get there on Friday. (The deadline is Saturday. ) In the packet thingy, I sent my application (properly filled out), my essay, a biography-thingy that explains my interest in writing (I'm applying for the writing scholarship), and four of my written pieces. I tend to write relatively short things, so I figured four would really give them an idea. One was a short story that I wrote in 7th grade (properly labelled, 'cause I've gotten better since then). One was a song (labelled "chant" because there isn't exactly a tune, it's acapella, and "chant" sounds fancier than "song"). Two were snippets. I'm really proud of all of them, and I don't want to forget which ones I sent, so I'm posting them after this entry. (For posterity's and pompaity's sakes. ) Gee, I'm in a good mood today... But I have to drive Rue to class by three forty-five.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:39:21 GMT -5
Uranus -- [Fico Eugenides Jox]; 7th grade
There is a girl, well young woman – even though she just skipped that stage and went straight from a girl to an adult – whose name I don’t quite remember, or maybe I just don’t want to tell you right now. It has been harder and harder to find the separation. I don’t know. This girl was so confused, but she could make everything seem perfectly fine. Her whole family could have been tortured and murdered before her very own two eyes, and I don’t think anyone would have seen a difference the next day.
This girl who was also a woman could be and was everything at once. She was young and beautiful and soft and lovely and curious and innocent, and at the same time, old and ugly and hard and closed-minded and guilty. And still, no one saw anything wrong. To them, she was active and imaginative and young. She was always so young. Free from the boundaries life had made for her. Free from the red stop sign and even the yield. Free from rules but never dangerous. Free from me. But one day, The Day, came. And she was trapped and restless and could hardly move at all. She crashed through walls and broke windows and bent steel, and still, she was active and imaginative and young, and still she was trapped. And the people. the people outside, saw her utterly and entirely young. But they don’t understand, with youth comes vulnerability, and with vulnerability comes pain, and with pain comes hurt, and with hurt, comes vulnerability. She was brilliant and radiant and stunning and shimmering and all this when she was stunted, so I can’t imagine what she could have been like. She was out on a world all her own. She said she would take me there some time, but neither of us got the chance. She used to tell me about her own world, well, one of them at least. I was given the honour and ability to take this radiant girl to a place she called Uranus, because she always said mine was so cute, even if I did keep it hidden behind clothes most of the time I was with her. She told me all about Uranus one time, I mean, our Uranus, even though the real one is pretty cool. It is all water, she said, with only a little part of land. Why is there almost only water? I asked. Because, she answered, I am the water when I am with you; I feel big and bloated, but the good kind, like I am pregnant with a wonderful baby that is ours, and at the same time I feel thin and weightless, and I am soaked up by the sun and dropped in the rain onto the land, and the land is you so I am always near you because I absolutely surround you, and I love every minute of it. She had turned to look at me, and I had been smiling from the second she started, and I feel the same way, except the pregnant part, ‘cause I’m happy enough just to know it would be our baby. I had kept smiling, and then I had leaned over and kissed her really nice and gentle and sweet on the lips, and she had felt perfect, and I knew she loved to be kissed that way, because it made her feel loved, and I loved her, and she didn’t get to be loved that often. We had been out in the woods with a great big blanket under us, and nothing over us except our clothes and the air and the vast open sky. I had rolled over onto my stomach so I could be closer to her and I had held her hand and I had asked her what her own world was like. What world? She had asked and I had answered the one she went to when she was alone. She had taken a deep breath and let it out real slow, and I had done the same thing once I saw her do it, because whenever she did that it meant she would say something deep that would rack my soul and put me in her place for a few painful moments, until I realized I was not her, I was me, and all I could do was to help someone who felt that much pain.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:46:58 GMT -5
Well, I call it Jupiter, because he is the Roman Head God, and I have to control so many things. And I am just like the planet Jupiter. I look O.K. and just a little turbulent, but then someone finds my little storm spot, and all of a sudden all I am is that spot, and all it is is me, and I get so confused, and everything is rushing everywhere, and I can’t see anything, and. . . And hush, I had said.because by then she had started to cry, and I had felt like shit, but I had known I had to find out or it would have gone unasked for days, and the question would have grown between us, and the answer would have hit a lot harder. Let’s stick to Uranus. I had said, and she had smiles, and I had smoothed her hair down and wiped her tears, and I had kissed her nose. And in Uranus, she had said, I get to see your ass all the time.
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I couldn’t believe it. I was like, on fire or something. I felt truly alive as I did this with her. In flashes, I saw all we had gone through to get this far, and all the tests we had taken. Each time they had asked us, Do you have reason to believe either of you has disease whatshisface, and each time we had said, No, we just don’t want either of us to hurt the other if we can help it. I remembered at the HIV/AIDS testing place the woman had said, You know, AIDS could be hiding inside your body and just not be ready to come out yet, and we had said, We know, but we just want to be as sure as we can get, and if we can’t get any surer then that amount of sureness will have to do. The woman had laughed and said, Well, at least you kids are responsible enough to at least do this, and we had said, Thank You. When we went back and found out that neither of us was HIV positive we were so happy because it was the last test so we would be O.K. You will use a condom, won’t you? the lady had asked, and I had answered, No, Ma’am. I am prepared to take this responsibility head on, and we feel that to use a condom would be to make it fake. Well, that is a very astute and mature outlook, but what if you were to get someone pregnant? The only person I would ever consider making pregnant is standing right next to me, and the decision to allow ourselves took such consideration and care that we discussed it for six months before even getting the tests, which took a whole nother year and a half to find out all of the diseases and then get tested, because the health classes in these public schools suck, and we didn’t know many STD’s. We have spent two whole years bonding with this in the back of our heads in the “maybe in the future” slots. We are ready and feel ready, and we don’t just want to have sex’ we want the love to form sparks between us. And if it isn’t full of sparks, well, then I guess sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and we will just continue to bond like we used to. Well, at that, the woman had been entirely blown away, and I had sincerely apologized for going off at her like that and disrespecting my elders, which I still think is important, and then we had left. I came back from my memory of the AIDS helping woman, and then I came out of the memory of remembering that, but I must be suffering from a serious case of nostalgia, because then I tried to remember what it was like to be next to her warm body, but I can’t. But I smile anyway, because I had certainly learned that sex is all it’s cracked up to be.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:48:59 GMT -5
I love that feeling I get when I exert myself a whole lot, and then I sit down, and I can feel my heart beating through my entire body. I feel blood throbbing in my arms and fingers and legs, and I look at my hand and it is trembling from and extremely high dosage of adrenaline, and I can still feel the blood pulsing through me. I feel it everywhere, but especially in my head, in the back of my head, and my heart doesn’t feel like it is in my chest, oh no, it is way down behind my stomach, and each beat shatters my body, but I pick myself up before the next beat so I can be shattered again, and I love the feeling. The throb is especially strong in my lower back, and all the while the pounding and beating continue in my head. I feel as if I am in a daze, and it is like the blood has coated my eyes so that everything is wavy, and I still feel the pounding. Then it slowly starts to subside. And the pounding isn’t as urgent anymore. And my hand stops shaking. And my heart moves back into my chest, where I think it belongs, but it just feels as if it is intruding.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:53:24 GMT -5
Katy -- [Fico Eugenides Jox]
Katy walked along, scruffing his feet in the dirt and leaves, the smell of decay drifting up lazily, almost palpable. It was beautiful. This night, this noise, this air. Everything. He inhaled deeply and the air sang of sweetness. He was a part of this. He truly was. The night enfolded him and honored him and accepted him. He was one of them. A child of the night. A wistful imagining from a youngling’s mind, born on the air of hope. And here he was, Katy. His own person. His own self. A physical being with a life ahead of him and a purpose in his heart. His mind was ignorant, but his heart knew. He could feel it there. There. Just below the breast bone. He was here for a reason. As all people are. Only he was something more. A Child of the Night. The cry tore out of him in a whoop of glory, and then he was running. Running, running. Running. He ran and fell into the wind, a leaf in the sea of sweet decay. The smell was pleasant at the back of his throat, like a delicately fermented wine. The slightest touch of an alien being could displace that smell with all the strength of a storm, whipping away the delight with gnarled, clutching fingers. Instead, the wind danced on his arms and a wolf howled. He turned at the sound, enjoying the chill that sizzled down his spine. More howls joined the first and he longed to be with them. One of them as well. But a Child of the Night can not also be a Child of the Pack. It does not do to become greedy. So Katy simply sat at the crest of the hill, relishing the sound of the Pack, the smell of the air, and the leaves twirled in his hair by the wind. The voices of the wolves faded, intent on the hunt, and Katy felt suddenly alone. The sun was rising and the dark was falling. With a shout of anguish, he rolled down his hill, falling into the shallow valley. The semblance of night was still here, without the nails of the sun clawing the grass and giving shadow to what had been. He curled into a ball at the base of the lone tree, racking sobs tearing his body. Such a pain, the loss of himself, the loss of the Night.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:54:18 GMT -5
Katy awoke to the feel of the Night. It was rising, it was becoming itself, and he himself with it. He breathed in the cold scent of winter air, with its promise of short days and long nights and hope. And this. What? What is this? He was cradled in the tree, no longer at its base. The leaves were swishing overhead, and he turned over in the hollow. A branch. A branch flattened to be bowl shaped, near the trunk, with leaves overhead to keep in the heat and dead leaves below to soften the bark. And he was inside the bowl. This. What? How is this? The struggle to crawl out of the bowl without breaking the tree. Pretty tree. Beautiful tree. Forget you are a lovey of the day, lovely tree. “Wickey. Wickey. Groooan.” goes the tree. “Wickey.” the sound easy in his throat, even and smooth. Crouch on the branch, breath on the bark, beautiful bark. Rough under fingers, easy grip, texture and feeling and life. Lick the life of the tree. “I share with you, Lovely Tree. You give me sleep and hold me from sun. I lick your life and it is strong and good.” Pat the tree like a small child, good job, good you. Katy climbed down the tree, careful not to rub off the precious bark, the precious life. Life that is strong and good. “I’ll come back to you, Lovely-Tree. I will remember you.” Give a final pat to the tree. Oh, pretty, pretty bark. Lick the life once more and run back into the night, enjoy the Night, my Child.
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And the Tree. The Lovely-Tree. The Wickey Wickey Tree. Whistle-laughter in the leaves. Breathing bark, licky-life, strong soul. Soul of the Tree. The Wickey Wickey Tree. Pretty. Pretty boy, Pretty Katy. Tree keep Katy. A Child. A Child of the Night. Tree keep Katy, and one day. One day. Katy’s heart, his heart will share with his mind. And Katy will know. Katy will know, this is me, and this is what me will do. Until then, Wickey Wickey Tree, until then, you are mother to Katy. And you keep him safe and young, Lovely-Tree. You keep him innocent, a True Child of the Night. Because the children of the Night can’t know. If they know, if they know of the Day, they forget the Night. And they leave the Night for the Day, for the Pretty Day, with all its shadows and all its hidings and all its lies. They join with the Day, and they do not know to call Wickey to you, and they do not know to lick your life, and they do not know to take care of you bark, your soul. They do not know, and they do not care. But Katy, my Child, my Night Child. He has many things in his heart, and they are all of them good.
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