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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:58:12 GMT -5
parents have it pretty rough -- [Fico Eugenides Jox]
Parents have it pretty rough if you think about it. I mean, you grow up, and you believe in them entirely, and they can do anything. And you believe in them so much, that they begin to buy into the lie, and then they believe too. And then, one day, they can’t do anything and everything, and you don’t believe in them anymore, and the dreams that you built up for them come crashing down around their knees. And instead of comforting them, you say you hate them and you never want to see them again, and you run away. And then they spend hours worrying about you and they call all your friends, only you don’t tell them who you know anymore, so the only number they have is of the friend you haven’t talked to since grade school. So they have to call the police. And the police get there just as you are coming up the driveway, and you quickly snuff out your cigarette so your parents won’t see. And they tell you how worried they were, and you say whatever, and they say they love you, and you say nothing and the police officer says nothing. And you go in without permission to leave, because nobody needs permission to do anything these days. And the police officer says something that your parents instantly forget, and then they leave. And your parents have nothing to do but come in out of the cold. And they find your room, and it is locked, and the music is blaring out of it. And they wonder why you play your music so loud. And they wonder if it plays in your head all day long and if that is why you never listen to them anymore. And they walk to their bedroom and they shut the door quietly, and they have thoughtless sex in order to try to drive you from their minds for just one second of the day. But it doesn’t work, because you are their baby, and they worry for you. And you go out one night, one night out of so many, and you get drunk, and instead of calling home you decide to try your chances with a car crash. And the crash doesn’t happen, but it was a near miss. And the next day you laugh it off, and the next weekend you do it again. And your parents have more sex, because the pills don’t work, and you don’t talk to them, and they can’t think of anything else to do. And then you get pregnant too, and they are happy and they are angry. And they tell you so, but you only hear the angry bit, because they are so worried about you that they can’t keep the emotion from their voices and in your ears it sounds like anger. And you want an abortion, but they say no, and you ask why, and they say because it is a human life. And you say it is a maggot that has crawled inside you. And your parents are horrified that their sweet little girl has turned into this. And they can do nothing but blame themselves, because who else’s fault could it be? And they tell you they will take care of the baby, but you get the abortion anyway, because you know what you are and you think it must be their fault too, and you don’t want your little Andy or your little Meg to turn out like you. And when you get home from the clinic, and when you tell them what you did, then they become angry. And now you realize that they were only worried before, and now you realize how you have fucked up yet again. And you can do nothing but blame them. And so now you are in college, and you go to parties and you get wasted. Because that is what everyone else is doing, and that is what you do. And this way, you don’t have to think about how your life was over at the age of twelve when you stopped talking to that nice girl who was once your friend. Only now, the drugs do nothing but make you feel worse, and you can do nothing but take more. So you consume the drugs, and the drugs consume your soul and your body and your checking account, and the drugs have the upper hand.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 14:59:24 GMT -5
[still part of the first paragraph] And now you have been kicked out of college and you go home to mom and dad because they are all you have left. And the boy that said he loved you really doesn’t and this baby you will not lose because the one thing you have left is the hope your parents still have in you. Because your parents realize that there is always a chance for everyone. And you raise the baby, and you don’t smoke around the baby, and you don’t drink near the baby, and your parents help. And now you are just beginning to deal with the fact that your two younger siblings turned out just like you because they took right after you. And you deal with this by playing with the baby and then going out and getting wasted and having sex. And soon you have another baby and you don’t know what to do and your parents don’t know what to do. So they send you to a clinic and they take care of your little Andy and your little Meg. And you are happy in the clinic because here you don’t have to think about things, and they don’t care. And you know that your babies are safe and good and they won’t turn out like you if your parents can help it. And now you are allowed home from the clinic and you go home and you see your children and you cry because they are so big and they don’t recognize you and you are their own mother damn it. And you try to hug them and instead they run to your parents who give them hugs and kisses and try to explain to their innocent ears. And they don’t understand and they don’t like you because you smell strange. So you leave and you walk around and you run away again. Only this time you are twenty-five and you can live on your own. So you do for a while, but then you think one day that living is too hard, and you let yourself die. Because your children don’t recognize you or love you or know you, and you realize now how much you hurt your parents when you were still young and innocent and experimenting and running away.
And your parents are in more pain than they can say because they understand why you are dead and they should have done more to stop it and it’s over now and they can’t. And they tell your children your life story every year on Christmas and they tell them that if she had just had hope, everything would have been all right.
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Post by fico on Jan 29, 2003 15:01:26 GMT -5
Wooden (a chant) -- [Fico Eugenides Jox]
Drink myself dead, Dance through the door Kiss the boy I hate, chuck up on the floor --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --I could do this every day, every day Laugh with the men, take a hit Let's pretend that I like it --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --I could do this every night, through the day Pour another drink, get real drunk Then I can forget his hands up my trunk --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --I'm so pretty, so witty, so gay Drive around town, waste some gas I can feel his hand touch my ass --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --I'll be what you want, malleable as clay Kiss me real hard, slap my face Watch my eye, leave no trace --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --I bite my lip to keep all my fears at bay Smoke up the car, cigarettes and sweat I can hear you groan, but I'm not wet --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --Trapped up tight, but I don't really wanna stay Slip inside, dry and hot Throat's all sore, bile and rot --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --Cry out to god, only time you ever pray Kiss my dove, small and white I lie inert, frightened of flight --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --I liked that a lot, really you do okay You drive me back home, feeling pleased I'm the slut, you're the sleaze --It's a really great life, wouldn'tcha say? --It's okay, I'll laugh all the tears away
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Post by fico on Jan 31, 2003 13:17:10 GMT -5
1.31.o3 about 12:00pm. I love the 31sts of the month. I love that number. However, my days have become endless and boring. They are made up of sleep, Spanish, work, Spanish, reading/writing, and occasional bits of food, oh, and some Spanish. Always. And I sometimes have to deal with human relations in the form of family and friends. I really only want to talk to... three people, tops. Instead I have to talk to seemingly countless amounts, and not the three I want to. So I'm just waiting and biding my time until I can talk to the people I want. It's not that long a wait, and I have to learn more patience. *EDIT* 9:48pm. I take it back. Interesting things are happening, they just aren't happening to me. At work today, I saw an old woman. When I'm old, I want to look like she does. She has white-white hair, and it's shortish, but messy-looking. And she was in all plaid. Honest. She had these plaid pants on, and she had a plaid jacket on over it. It was just gorgeous. I want plaid pants like that. I mean, the pants you can buy now, plaid is a punk look or something. But I don't want that kind. I want the "I'm a 90-year-old woman with clothes from before I was married" plaid pants. She was rickety-thin, like a strong wind would just break her. But I've got the feeling she's actually a very head-strong person, and not about to give into anything too easily, not even the wind... or death. I also saw one of the coolest things. I was over in the kid's section. It looks like this (ignore the periods): ______________ |............|..........| |............|..........| |............|______| The open-ended area to the left just has some books around the rim, and then a table and stools in the center. The closed area is a room, called the Storybook Room. It's got a small table, a small chair, two stools, a rocking chair, and some toys, including four crates full or stuffed animals. It also has shelves of books along the left wall. That's where the little guys go, the ones in 1st grade and below. Anyway, I was shelving in the open section, and I passed by the kid's room while moving my cart. I got a glimpse of a boy playing with something, and a girl reaching for it, and I heard the first bit of a whine coming from the boy's throat. I ignored it and just kept shelving, 'cause there was a parent in there anyway. (It's a rule; if your kid is six years or younger, you have to stay in the room with hir.) There was a woman looking at books in the open section. And I heard the two kids start to go at it in the room. They were yelling and screaming, and at least one started to cry. And it was amazing, I saw these two women flock to the room immediately. 'Cause the boy's mother hadn't followed him in yet, and the woman who had been in the open section had left her daughter in there. It was just... beautiful. In a way. The way the mothers just flew to the scene to see what was up. And they calmed their kids down, and they tried to organize who could play with the toy, and another little girl told them what had happened. I just thought that was cool, because then the mothers started talking. And they were, like, discussing all kinds of things that you wouldn't think would come up from a conversation about who had stolen who's toy, you know? I just... I thought it was cool how that happened.
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Post by fico on Feb 3, 2003 1:18:24 GMT -5
2.2.o3 11:52pm. I had a good day today, busy, but good. I've started sorting my days into good ones and bad ones, and I'm wondering if that's maybe because I've started writing this journal. I'm wondering if it's because I really think about my days now, and so I've started classifying them... Well, it started out bad. (*ignores the fact that "ly" is supposed to be on the end of "bad", because he likes how the sentence sounds this way* ) I went to bed late, and consequently woke up late. This meant I wasn't able to finish my shower before my mother wanted to leave for church, and we had to go early because the Youth Group spaghetti dinner was today. We were supposed to show up early in order to help out with set-up and cooking, and my parents wanted to catch the Hungarian Service. It turned out okay, though, because Airlia had her two friends over last night, and the two friends went with to church. There wasn't enough room in the car, so Rue and I tagged along with the other car, after I finished getting ready. At church, we had a cool discussion with [Lani]. (He's the minister's eldest son. I'm pretty good friends with him. He reads anything I give him, listens to any music I lend him, and occasionally gives me stuff to read/hear. Plus, we have cool discussions.) I gave him another book to read (a sequel to a book he had liked). This one ( Magician's Ward) has a romantic element to it, and he's not really into that as much. I mean, I know he's looking for love before he dies, but that doesn't mean he wants to read semi-schwoopy, yucky-love stuff, you know? Lani and I ended up with the job of selling tickets at the door. It's an easy-as-anything job, so we just sat and talked for the entire dinner, occasionally taking breaks to collect money and return tickets. (heh, other people were serving, heh) So Lani and I got to talking, and Rue and I decided he had to come onto Trapdoor, and Glenmore if he could. I started telling him about how proboards work and all that, so he could come on and have a basic idea of what to do. I recommended a few threads, I explained what a thread is, that sort of thing. And then Rue pointed out that I happen to talk about my bisexuality quite a lot on proboards. And it also occured to me that I mentioned not believing in Jesus. I sort of hadn't told Lani any of that. So we decided I would have to have a talk with him about a few things (I had been waiting for a good incentive to tell Lani this stuff) sometime soon, like, before he got on proboards. He and I grabbed our food and went in search of a private place to talk. We ended up on this stairwell. My Sunday School building is made really niftily. It's got three different stairways up to the third floor (which has the ballroom and the stage). And it's got two different ways of getting into the basement (one of which you have to go outside to get to). And all kinds of groovy things. [Arlo Guthrie flash] We were in one of the stairways that goes to the third floor. I started out telling him about my bisexuality. I mean, people who know me almost always assume/guess/think anyway. I figured he probably had an inkling, even if he wasn't sure. And I thought this would make it easier for us to say/accept. Besides, from how I know him, I thought he would have an easier time with the fact that I'm bi than the fact that I don't think that Jesus is the son of God. I forget exactly what he did, but I think he nodded and said "okay". We had a quick two-minute conversation about that, but neither of us could really think of anything to say about it, so I told him about Jesus. We ended up having a much-longer-than-two-minute conversation about God and Jesus and why I think this. I, *blushes*, I kind of felt like he was "trying to save me" or something, which made me... mad. But I figured it was just a difference of opinion, and he had a right to defend his point, and he wasn't just saying "you're wrong", 'cause he's not like that. He was asking why I thought things and then answering with his own thoughts. And if it felt like he was trying to persuade me or something, so what? Well, we talked God, Jesus, and religion just about to death. We also talked about a lot of personal stuff, and I realized that Lani is cooler than even I had thought. (And I've got a pretty high opinion of him. High enough that I want to introduce him to cool people I know. Which means... You know how when you proclaim someone "cool", and then you introduce shim to someone, you're sort of putting yourself on the line? Like, the people you're introducing hir to might not agree. I'm... I don't even second-guess calling him cool. Especially not after some of the stuff we talked about.) We went back to the whole bi thing. We just hashed out our souls for a while, you know? It was... beautiful.
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Post by fico on Feb 3, 2003 1:24:29 GMT -5
We finished our conversation and went back into the thick of things. Clean-up was pretty much finished. We joked with some people a while, and then I had to drive Airlia, her friends, and Rue home. Besides, I had to get home because I was going over to [Charlotte's] house for dinner. [eh, we'll call Charlotte "Cheri"] I gave Lani my Phil Ochs case, because he had the cd in his Nirvana case, but he hadn't known it was there, so he hadn't listened to it yet, and I drove home. (Which reminds me, don't let me forget to listen to his Neil Young tapes. I've got to return them next week, 'cause I won't be at church the week after that.) Almost as soon as I got home, I was off to Cheri's. Cheri is one of my bosses. She's head of the children's department at the library. She's the one who interviewed me. She's the one who got me my first hook-up to the folk world. She's the one who told me about my local folk station. She's the one who set me up with my guitar teacher. She just... yeah. She's really into parties. I had Thanksgiving with her. She set up a cool dinner tonight. All kindsa stuff. She and her husband, [Hark], are pretty fun. Not pseudo-parents, but pretty cool. And her dog, Logan, rocks. (He actually got me started on this awesome Harry Potter fanfiction that I have to finish writing.) I pet/house sit for them and cool stuff like that. So Cheri had invited my guitar teacher, [Ely], my guitar teacher's fiance, [Mitri], and a woman named Harriet or Helen or Heather or something with an "h". I went early, because she always goes all-out with these things, and I feel bad for not giving her a small gift or something whenever she sets them up. So I always arrive early and help set up or whatever. *rolls eyes* I've basically become her stooge. "[Gen]! Could you get this for me?" "[Gen], c'mere. Okay, take this very carefully and put it on the tea table." Go here, do that... it's kinda fun actually. Ely kept laughing at me, and I told her that she's just happy to see me take over her old job. We had a good time. Thing is... You know how some people are fun, but they just don't do much? Like, you all already know how I hate deadweight. So... these are kind of deadweight people. But... *sighs and tries to think honestly yet caringly* I mean, they're cool, I'll give them that. But you know how I love geek-talk? They're not too into geek talk. So I love talking guitar with them, because guitar is simple, it's just "here are the chords you play, here are the notes and words you sing", you know? But I can't Sanalyze with them. I can joke with them, but they're not the type of people I would want to come out to. Does that make sense? (Though it is lots of fun dropping hints without ever following them. Like, tonight, I talked about how a girl was flirting with me and stuff. Loads of fun. Because they're sharp, so I know they're picking up on my hints, but they never ask.)
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Post by fico on Feb 3, 2003 1:26:04 GMT -5
I remember I was sitting at the table, and I was listening to them, just sitting back for a little while. Because they were talking about "old times" and stuff, when they used to go out drinking and what-not together. And they were talking about all their old friends, what they're up to and things. And they kept talking about this stuff for a really long time. And it got me thinking, what did they talk about when they didn't know all the same people? Like, what did they connect over before they could just keep each other up to date on their friends? What did they discuss while they were in their favorite bar? 'Cause here, they were just talking over old times, but there must have been a reason their old times were times with each other, you know? *shrugs* It got me thinking a lot. I had a sip of Hark's wine... it was dry. Bleck. And then I had a sip of his port when we had dessert. It was phenomenal. I'm telling you. Just... mmmm. Right before I left, Cheri said something. I think she really wants to be a mom-figure for me. Like, really wants it. She's always adopting people. (She adopted Ely, before Ely was one of the crowd.) I think she wants me to be her next protege. I mean, we were joking about how the fact that I'm underage for drinking is okay in her house, as long as I don't try to drive. (I had those two sips way more than an hour before I left, so no lectures about drinking and driving.) How it was okay because it wouldn't leave her house, like, no one would tell. And then she got serious and said, "you know, nothing you say leaves this house", and I sorta smiled and got uncomfortable and shrugged it off and said "yeah, I know". I mean, it... The way she said it, it felt like she really wants me to confide in her, you know? But, like I said, she's cool, but I wouldn't trust her with my soul. I... yeah. That's all. I love driving to and from Cheri's house. (Nialle, I got the same feeling going to McVille as I do going to Cheri's, if that gives you a really specific idea.) She's way out in the country, but you have to pass through some towns and developements and stuff first. It's just... She lives about forty-five minutes away from me, and I can just feel myself relaxing from my usual guards and building up different ones as I go. Because I can let down some guards with her, even though others become a lot stronger. And it's just... nice. Good. And then I come back, and it feels good to get my guards back that I'm comfortable with. (That wasn't the exact feeling I was referring to, about McVille. But more just the relaxing feeling. I mean, I was relaxed both times, but for different reasons.) And it's always really late at night when I drive back. I love driving late at night. I especially love those cool summer nights and those warm fall nights. And all the windows are down and the radio is way loud, but it's not loud enough to disturb anyone. I feel... alone in a good way when that happens. *sighs and realizes how long this entry is* Sorry 'bout that. But whatever. PS This might be tmi (too much information), but I'm really happy, so I'm saying it anyway and ignoring any embarrassment I might cause myself. So I got my period today, and this is super-good, because it's, like, two weeks late. I was really worried that something was wrong. Like, not that I was pregnant or anything, but that I might be sick. And I was also worried that I would end up getting it when I visit Coe in two weeks. I absolutely hate having my period when I'm not at home. So, yeah, that was everything that happened today. *hopes but seriously doubts that this will fit into only two posts*
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Post by fico on Feb 3, 2003 15:49:34 GMT -5
2.3.o3 3:36pm. It is absolutely gorgeous today. The air is perfect. It's cool with this warm-ish breeze. All you really need are some pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Just gorgeous. I was standing at the front door, and I took a deep breath, and the thought struck me that it smells like Florida. I hate Florida. But this smell was one of the few things I liked about it. So I thought a lot, and I stuck my head outside to get a better whiff, trying to place what the smell could be. I think it's sunlight. I hate sunlight. But if it gives this smell, then it might end up growing on me. I got a letter from Coe. It told me what I had to do in order to apply for the Writing Scholarship. I kind of hadn't done a lot of it. I had done the main stuff though, like submitting a portfolio with a biography blurbee. I had to call them anyway, to ask about the Spanish Competition. I was so nervous. I grabbed the envelope the application had come in, 'cause it has their phone number on it. I grabbed the cell phone, 'cause Chandra was online. And I went outside, 'cause I didn't want reception to be a problem. I walked around a while, all nervous-like. Finally, I stuck the cell phone in my pocket, tucked the envelope into the back waistband of my pants, and climbed my favorite tree. From up there, I got comfortable and got set up. Took a deep breath. It wasn't enough, so I took a few more. Finally got up the gumption and just dialed the damn number. It went really well. Like, really well. The girl said it was okay that I hadn't done all that stuff for the Writing Scholarship. Then she patched me into this guy named Scott so I could talk to him about the Spanish Competition. While I was waiting for the connection, I got happy, and I did what I always do when I'm happy and near my favorite tree... I licked the bark. It sounds weird, I know. It is weird. But it was just... bark doesn't really taste like anything. If you get a part that's ready to come off, then it's really granular, and sort of... bland? You know how dirt tastes? It's like mild dirt. But it's very... earthy and comforting. And trees are very good at being happy with you when you're happy. I love that tree like you wouldn't believe. I want to pick it up and take it with me to college... but it's much too big, and I would end up killing it. So I'd better not try. Things went really well with Coe, and I'm definitely going to the competition. (My mom had been threatening that I wouldn't be able to.) And it's still a gorgeous day, so I'm going to ruin/enjoy it by studying Spanish outside for a change. And then I have to work 5-9.
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Post by fico on Feb 6, 2003 11:52:12 GMT -5
2. 6.o3 written 10.29am, but not posted for a while. It's strange sitting here and trying to sort out what I should say and what I should not. I'm... confused, for one; scared for another, lots of things. My dad is going to Turkey. He's leaving for Fort [Brat] on the 14th of February. That's the day I leave for Coe. He'll do some training stuff at Fort Brat, and then he's being shipped off to Turkey. My mom says something uberweird/uberbad would have to happen in order to stop Bush's war at this point. Like, North Korea would have to bomb Japan or something. Is it selfish of me to hope North Korea does? I don't think it is entirely. For a lot of reasons, yes, I'm being selfish. I want something to stop my daddy leaving me. I want something to stop making people I know susceptible to the draft. I want something to stop utter stupidity ruling "my" country. But for other things, it's anyone's say. Except for the fact that I'm relatively a pacifist… I mean, if there has to be a war of some kind, I would rather have one started for a real reason. Does that make sense? Is it still selfish? So, yeah. My dad will be gone for one to two years. I'm not particularly close to my dad. I can't talk to him. I can't… anything, really. He and I just don't connect. But… he is my dad. I can make him laugh. And he gives one of the best massages on the face of the planet. He… has redeeming qualities, even if they don't redeem him most of the time. Besides, with him gone, my mom will get really weird. She always is when dad's away. Like we can't handle his absence or something. That's what she seems to think. I'm just… I sometimes think things are better when he is gone, but that's a whole nother issue. My dad is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army Reserve. He's a public relations officer. I'm not worried about him getting hurt or anything. I don't know if I could worry about that. I mean, I'm not sure it would upset me if my dad got hurt. Is that heartless? Stupid? Something? He'll be handling the refugees that will be coming out of Iraq. He'll be making sure they get food and medicine and things, and he'll be dealing with the Turkish government, and other fun stuff like that. He said a few days ago that he didn't want to go. We were in the kitchen. I only remember the two of us there, but someone could have been nearby, in the hallway or something. I told him he should protest the war. He should run starkers across the military base or something. He laughed and said he would love to, but that he could get court-martialed for it. I asked him if getting court-martialed was worth it, and he said probably not. I hate how our government is being. I hate what it has become. I hate that I feel helpless and stupid. I realized just now that my first paragraph is not what I wanted it to be. I wanted to give the impression that I didn't know what to say because some of the things are important, and other things don't seem to be important. I want to talk about everything that is important, but… But how does it make sense that this one night I spent with Rue is as important to me as the fact that my dad is leaving for at least a year? I wanted to say that. I wanted to talk about how everything in my life is starting to kick off, and I'm feeling the back-lash. I wanted to talk about how I have so many things I need to think about, but I'm stuck thinking about no-thought things just because they'll give me more thought later. Like, I'm studying Spanish, every day. I don't know how long every day, but… College is important, I know this, but is it more important than making sure my sister and I will be okay with each other when I go? I guess I just feel frazzled because I'm feeling like I have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in. I have to cram Spanish and math for the next week and a half. And while I'm cramming that, I also have to start researching politics. And while I'm researching that, I also have to be practicing guitar every day. And while I'm practicing that, I also have to be dealing with everyday things. And while I'm dealing with that I also have to be thinking about fun things, just to stay sane. And while I'm thinking about that… Just frazzled. But small things represent bigger things, yes? So I can talk about this night with Rue, and people will get it, they'll know that I don't mean I'm hanging out with my baby sister. they'll know I mean I'm connecting with her, and they'll understand how big connections really are. I hope they will, anyway. I don't remember which night it was. Rue and I both ended up in her bed. I was feeling pretty crappy. (I've been feeling pretty crappy lately. I'll have good moments, and my overall days are good, but my nights are getting… blargh.) So she sat on her bed, and I lay down with my head in her lap. We were talking, or she was talking, or something. And then she sang something. I… I don't remember exactly what happened. But she grabbed her Josh Joplin lyrics from the bookcase next to her bed, and she proceeded to sing me every Josh Joplin Group song she has. Her voice was soft and low-ish and flat, but it was pretty and very comforting. It was… It was the perfect voice to fall asleep to, but I was too enthralled to fall asleep. She finished all of Josh Joplin, and we got under the covers 'cause it was cold, hugging and singing to each other. We sang all the songs we could. One of us would fade out at some points. We wouldn't finish songs. We would start songs in the middle because we couldn't remember the beginning. We both sounded horrible, but that wasn't the point. We just… were. You know how sometimes it just feels good to be? We were being. We were beings. It was beautiful.
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Post by fico on Feb 6, 2003 11:54:00 GMT -5
But I'm screwing things up again. I have this habitual thing. I systematically, without noticing it, screw things up with everyone I like. So, you know, I end up lying to people. Or I tell them something that will hurt them. Or something equally stupid and devastating. I think the only person I haven't screwed up with so far is the person I'm dating. Knowing me, it's probably just a matter of time. I caught myself once already. I was writing this e-mail, but I stopped myself from writing something completely stupid and argument-material-like. So Rue and I were talking last night, and… I dunno. I'm being stupid. In a lot of things. I'm being stupid and I feel stupid. (And if people reply to this saying I'm not stupid, I will be mad beyond belief. I'm not joking or drawing attention to it or anything. I'm dead serious.)
Rue and I have very different views about things. But she's so… good. She's just good. So I have this thing where I always end up assuming she's better than I am. I mean, not better than me, but a better person than I am, you know? Like, I'm so Slyth, and she's so Huff. So I end up assuming she's right when it comes to being mean and things. And I assume she's right about… a lot of things. She gets mad at me sometimes and tells me I'm being mean. You have no clue how much that tears me up. I, like, think about it for hours straight until I get it right in my head. And I almost always end up trying to be more like the person she expects me to be. I'm not saying this is bad. Or that I'm mad about it. Or anything. I'm just saying… I'm saying I wish I were good already. I'm saying I wish she didn't feel the need to tell me I'm not good. But I can't admit this to her. Not directly. *points to last two sentences* not-so-subtle hint So I don't admit it. I just… argue with what she says, listening carefully to her stance and acting like I think she's stupid. But then I end up doing what she thinks I should be doing. That's one of the main ways I'm screwing up with Rue right now.
With other people… I lied to [Gilt]. I'm kind of messing things up with Cheri. I lied to [Bet]. I'm avoiding Bet. I've totally screwed Bet over. Can't-describe-how-badly screwed her over. Hell, I'm even screwing up with Chaia. How pathetic is it that I'm screwing up with the person who still sees me as five, and thus everything I do is a learning experience and therefore forgivable?
*pulls his head bodily out of his own ass* Okay, enough of poor-poor-gen time.
My mom and I are back at it. She doesn't understand me, and I can't explain myself. But we're kind of being civil, which is better than we were for a long while. I guess… I'm just mad that we're back to what we used to be, when what we were becoming was so much fun. *shrugs* She seems to think I'm not studying Spanish. I want to go to this damn college more than she wants me to; I'm not about to throw away a potential $5000. *shrugs again* We're… having artistic differences. She and I see studying as an art, but… she sees it in 3-D, whereas I think there's a lot more to be learned in exploring 2-Dimensional design. Does that make sense?
I feel pent-up; that's what it is. I need to get a good thought in my head and just let myself burst for a little while. That's how I get "parents have it pretty rough". I was just… ready to burst, so I did.
You ever get scared you're never going to write again? You ever just get scared that you won't be able to for whatever reason? God, what the hell would I do then?
I was going to just leave it at that, but I refuse to leave with such a pessimistic attitude. I think everyone should listen to essence. essence (yes, that's spelled with a lower-case "e") is the shit. She's this singer/songwriter, living in San Francisco. She… You know how with songs, you never really know what's real about the song-writer, what's real but the song-writer observed, and what's made up? With her, everything is from real life, her real life. Everything. She doesn't make up songs; she doesn't record other people's lives; she just records her own. No one will need to write her biography, she's already got mini auto's floating around. There's this one song called "Sleeping With the Driver", and it's just… cool, beautiful. She has a good voice, and good lyrics, and good stories, and good messages. So I'm just gonna quote a little piece. *snatches it out of his memory, hoping is memory is correct*
"She's got her head shaved like a monk She's got her hands all up my trunk Tickle tickle her toes are on my knee I'm invading her strawberry 'Cause we're in a truck, going for a ride I'm looking at the flowers that are outside" -- Sleeping With the Driver, essence
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Post by En Sylvan on Feb 8, 2003 0:55:11 GMT -5
*wishes s/he knew where to find those mirrors that are making Gen see screwups as much bigger then they are... so that s/he could smash them*
*and wishes s/he could smash them over Bush's head*
*and thinks that Gen's dad is going to Turkey for sort of the same reasons that Nialle thinks hanging on to friendships even through screwups is the most important thing Gen or Nialle can do, but not quite, and needs to figure out how to explain that*
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Post by fico on Feb 8, 2003 16:11:07 GMT -5
2.8.o3 about 3:20pm. There are some people out there who just know what to say when. Like, like they know how to turn arguements aside. And they know how to say something that shows they care about someone, without having to cause embarrassment with the words "I care about you". And they know how to help people save face. They know all these things, or at least some of them. I know none of them. I don't understand those little social niceties. I don't understand those weird little things that people consider "natural". They're not actually natural, they're just the culture. So I guess I don't understand the culture. But whatever. The point is that I don't know how to deal with social differences. This is where I screw up. 'Cause I can always help people when they have something that's wrong. But I never know what I can do when there's something wrong with me. And I never know what to do when I feel uncomfortable somewhere. My gut reaction is always just to leave. Just leave the situation, and without me there, the situation will go away. Thing is, some things are bigger than just a situation. Some things become, like, a life-style. So I've developed this life-style, this way of living. I've developed these habits and these routines and these consistencies. But a little over a year ago, around December of 2000, I started changing a whole lot. And I haven't stopped changing. That's, what, fourteen months straight? And I'm not done. So my routine is left in the dust, and everyone who was involved in that routine is left with it. Which means that I've started really hurting a few people.
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Post by fico on Feb 8, 2003 16:12:40 GMT -5
Take Bet, for example. Bet and I were... we were like this. *holds up two fingers which are crossed* And then some things happened, and we were more like this. *holds up two fingers that are squeezed next to each other but not intertwined* But now... Now she's in metaphorical USA, and I'm in metaphorical Venus. Hell, I'm farther than that, I've practically left the Milky Way. So she's left on Earth, and she's bought this really high-powered telescope, but it's not enough. I mean, besides the fact that the commute is just too long and expensive, who wants to go back to Earth when other galaxies are so cool?
So that's where Bet and I are right now. But I kind of haven't told her this. I'm just... yeah. How do you... I mean, she knows I've gone to another galaxy. She told me that. She understands it and is accepting and all that. But how do you tell someone that the commute isn't worth it? But it's not really the commute. It's that Earth is boring, so why would I go back? You know? How do you tell someone you think they're boring? Especially after you've spent ages doing the things that you now want to call boring. How do you do that?
So that's one of the major ways I'm screwing up. I couldn't just wait until college to go through my major changes, I had to be an early budder. And then, I don't even know how to deal with so much change. I mean, if I'm going to go off changing on people, I might as well make it as easy on everyone as possible, right? That's just common courtesy, right? Instead, here I am lying to people and avoiding them and saying the wrong things. And then I say things that aren't lies, but they'll make it harder for people to understand the truth.
It's not like I haven't changed before. I'm supposed to know how to deal with myself changing.
Because it's a screwup, right, when you lie to someone when they really, really trust you. And it's a screwup when you make your best friend mad at you. And it's a screwup when you then get your best friend worried, and then get her fed up, all within an hour and a half. And it's a screwup when people you don't even know but who seem to know you get upset about things you say. These are all social mistakes. They're things that you're not supposed to do. But I keep doing them.
So the *thinks* two people I'm really, very close to, I'm cool with them. And the two people I'm just close to, I'm trying to sort that out. And the one person I'm supposed to be close to but am not, there's my biggest mistake. And I have no fucking clue what to do about it.
So I'm thinking a lot about it. And I'm trying to write a letter. And I'm trying to figure out if I could just squash my soul for a little while, until I go to college and things take their natural course.
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Post by fico on Feb 9, 2003 3:22:25 GMT -5
2.9.o3 1:24am. I have been getting good, strong doses of you're-not-as-smart-as-you-think lately. I guess this is a good thing. Or maybe I'm just getting good, strong doses of other-people-are-smarter-than-you-think. Because people really have been, lately. I'm finding out that I'm a lot more transparent than I ever thought. And I'm finding out that the normal tricks of dissuation don't work with smart people. Which is annoying, since I pretty much only hang out with smart people now. *thinks a while* I've noticed that I don't really post about things that happen on the day they happen. Because I'm about to talk about this great night I had with Rue. I don't remember when it happened, one or two nights ago. But I'm not posting about it until now. And I think this is strange. So Rue and I wrote this song together. She wrote these absolutely amazing lyrics. And she wanted a tune. So the two of us hung out in my room for three or four hours straight. We shared ideas. I told her what I had noticed when listening to "professional" people. We discussed how it should sound, how we had both thought of it. And the whole while, I was sitting there just about rubbing the tips of my fingers right off from doing so many chord-changes. We organized rhyme and meter. We made sure it wasn't repetitive. Everything. It was amazing. You know how you sometimes just get on a wavelength with someone, and you just ride the wave? That's the first time I ever surfed. This song is, like, record-material. I mean, I'm not bragging or anything. I'm just stating a fact. I think it's good enough that if we wrote about about twelve more that are just as good, it would actually sell. Not global or anything, but tolerable for two kids working on a whim. Other things have been happening. Big things. Gilt and I had this big connection. It's funny, 'cause we connected over my screwup. Like, the way I messed up with Gilt, that's what got us really connecting. *shrugs* Gilt's cool. Today, my Christmas present from Rue finally arrived. There was this mix-up with the post office. She ordered it back in early December, but whatever. So she's the sisterly shit. Like, okay. She got me three, count them, three Ani DiFranco songbooks. Of course, Ani is amazing beyond belief, and so I couldn't even figure out how to get to the different tunings she wants me to be in, let alone try to play in them. But that's not the point. There has to be at least one song of hers that is in standard tuning without too many bar chords. And if there isn't, then I'm gonna figure something out. Rue also got me this sticker. It's a Righteous Babe Records sticker. But I already promised away the first sticker for my guitar, so I can't put it on yet. And I got two little RBR-logo patches. These patches are going to be my trademark. They cost a dollar each, so when I finally pay my parents back, I'm just going to splurge and buy about forty of them. And then, I'm going to put them onto almost every piece of clothing I own. No, that's not true. I'm only going to put them on the clothes that I always feel Ani-vibes in. Which means about two thirds of my clothes... So, yeah, Rue is the shit. I suggest you all get a sister as cool as Rue. ;D (That isn't to say someone who will buy you things, but rather someone who knows what you would want someone to buy for you. You know? 'Cause I wish she had spent less on me, but at least she spent it on stuff I appreciate and like and will keep for years and years. See?) I started a new story. It's another book that probably won't get finished. (My books never get finished. (That's a broad statement without much grounding. I've only ever started two actual "books".) This is because I change before I can finish them. And then the me that was driven to write them is gone. She doesn't care about figuring out what was being figured in that book. And so she moves on to a new idea.) It's the story of this kid who has this complete mask. I mean complete. I mean that people never know what he's actually thinking. I mean, they sort of have a vague idea, because of course he acts in his basic self-interest. But they don't know why those actions are in his self-interest. It's interesting. It's just a pain, because the main character is based really heavily on me. I'm mildly scared people who know me will read it and say something sorta sarcastic like, "don't you write fiction?" But this is why I write right now. At this point in my life, I write in order to express what I'm thinking about at that time. And I'm still working on figuring out how to seperate my characters into people other than myself.
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Post by fico on Feb 9, 2003 3:23:04 GMT -5
The book also focuses on why the kid is like this. So there are four main ways the book is being written. They're all told from the kid's point of view, but he has developed four main styles in my mind. 1) he addresses the reader directly, as "you". he starts off each chapter with a three-sentence paragraph directed at the reader. the paragraph is connected to the rest of the chapter, but subtely. 2) he thinks on paper. he writes down his ideas and theories. 3) he tells stories of his day. these are told from such a distant perspective that it's practically told in third person. but that's the idea. because he recognizes that he has this mask. so his ideas and theories are what he thinks about, they are very detailed. and his actions are very different from how he thinks. he uses the distance as a sort of buffer. to show the reader what he thinks it must be like to look at him from outside his own head. 4) he writes memories. this is vital to the story. because a large part of who we are is made up of who we used to be. and so we learn a lot about him by seeing him change over the years. I'll probably end up screwing the story up royally and re-writing it years later, when I actually know some truths about people. But for now, I think it's going pretty well. I like my main character a lot, even if the only reason for that is the fact that I like myself. I've also been thinking a lot about kids. And I've been becoming uber-protective of everyone younger than myself. Which is stupid, but whatever. It's just... I was talking with Chaia a while back, after I read "Wooden" to her. And she told me some statistics. Something like 46% of the females in America have been sexually abused. And I foget how many of them were kids. And I just... Airlia was babysitting the kid down the street, [Sara]. Sara, Airlia's friend, and I were all camped out in the bathroom, since it's got the heater. Kate was sitting there. I was lying down. And Sara lay down with her head on my stomach. I had a hand on her knee or something. Sara is seven; her birthday was in January. It just made me feel sick to think of her being hurt in any way. You know? And I kept having this image of her sitting in a car, in the back seat. And her legs were so short that they stuck straight out instead of bending at the knee over the edge of the seat, like they do when you're older. That's, like, the epitome of "child" to me right now. This picture of a kid with hir legs straight out because hir seat is too big. And I physically felt nauseous at the thought of people abusing kids, just because the kids didn't know better, or because they didn't know how to refuse an adult, or whatever. Why isn't the point. The point is that it's happening, and the fact that it could happen to someone I care about makes me angry enough to bodily harm people. All these different thoughts have been forcing me to remember my own childhood. I think a lot about what things made me into the person I am. I think a lot about how I've changed. I think about a lot of things. And I've just met someone who's making me think a lot more. [Jamie] is... amazing. Jamie is a sort of hybrid of how I perceive myself, my character in the book I'm writing right now, who I want to be, and something else "alien but beautiful". By "alien", I don't mean weird or scary. I just mean something different enough from myself that I don't know how to comprehend it. I mean that I don't exactly understand this part of her, but I think it is cool. But you know what the weirdest part is? I don't understand what it is about her that I don't understand. I mean, I understand what she says, and I understand all that. But I don't always understand why she talks about some things and not others. So I'm thinking about that too. And I'm wishing it were Friday. And I'm wishing it weren't Sunday, because Sunday means I go to church and lie to people about my religion.
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