I'm just so tired, and so lackluster.
A couple of weeks ago I was feeling suicidal; it's passed now but it's always a scary feeling.
I have this critical voice in my head, and it is always telling me I'm lazy and not good enough. I'm even starting to worry about getting older and looking older. I'm worried that my most attractive years are already behind me and I still wasn't good enough then.
I've lost almost all of my self-confidence. I used to think I was pretty but now I slouch around. I don't feel pretty. I feel like a washed up fat hag. Awful stuff to write. It's like all of the insecurities of 16 have come flooding back to me. I hate it.
I feel like I always have to work at relationships because I am unlikable or undesirable and people don't want to be around me. It is likely a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I just feel awful right now.
I just don't know.
Or maybe not?
Talked to Mom and she has this brilliant plan to move to Calgary--except she's not calling her mother to tell her! She's just going to show up and move in with her; I'm sure it will be a wonderful surprise. This puts her beyond my scope of influence, and beyond my capability to help her. She had me call my Grandmother and my Aunt so I could tell them. Didn't get ahold of either of them.
Not much else is going on. I'm watching a newlywed couple cart gifts out to their car.
frame her heart shaped face. She’s not reed thin, she’s as curvy as the Dempster highway. She does not walk, she floats. She drinks habitually and if you go into her apartment on the weekend you might find her sniffing powder off of a key.
She falls in love quickly; one week it’s a stranger she met in a coffee shop and the next week it’s a sensitive, poor playwright. The only restriction she has is that they are never useful, she never falls in love with productive members of society.
“It would probably take the romance out of it.” She told me when I questioned her choice of paramours.
Of course I was on the bus and had no pen or paper in hand. "Why do you have to do this?" I asked, "can't you come back at a better time? Don't you see that I have no paper or pen?"
Of course, no answer.
But anyway, I'm not crazy. I am crazy excited to finally feel inspired after a couple of months of what felt like writerly impotence.
I'm trying to read "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test" while at work. So far, I haven't been able to get into it, but I think that is more of a result of the ultra fine print that this particular book has.
I finally took out "Wuthering Heights" from the library, and I'm a couple of pages in.
"The Enchantress of Florence" by Salman Rushdie was a pretty good book. It has a theme that lingers on long after you've finished reading it, and characters so real that you want to ask them their opinions about selecting new wallpaper for your bedroom. Well, ok I can't really wallpaper the closet that I live in anyway--but if I could, I would ask Lady Black Eyes what she would recommend. The subtexts of the book are difficult to figure out sometimes, Rushdie seems to alternate his view on religion and women quite often.
This also comes with ideas. If I could collect enougn stories, maybe I could put together a book and direct the profits towards the Compassion House.
It's very exciting. I now have two volunteering experiences that have to do with writing. I also have more material to write about.
I'm feeling better, and though not exactly bouyant I am feeling more confidant. There are still good things in the world, and hopefully volunteering will remind me of some of the good stuff.
I'm still afraid though. I'm still apprehensive. I still have this swirrling, bubbling black cauldron of feelings. I am resentful that I have to bear a burden that shouldn't be mine. I'm not her mother, she's mine. I don't know what to do. A part of me wants to run away from all of it, and a part of me is feeling very confrontational. This subject brings me back to places that I don't want to be, and it stirs up memories that I have buried. Some things I don't know if I will ever be able to "deal" with; some things are better left buried.
I have a temporary costume at work because the old one started falling apart on me. This one is kind of damaging to the self-esteem because all of my co-workers either burst out laughin or come over to tell me how bad I look. It gets to you after awhile. I know I'm not looking really cute but I don't need to be constantly reminded.
My actual costume has not even been sewed yet, and we're almost into July....
Ok, picture me making large cute eyes at you. So cute that you just can't resist me. Think about whatever gets you to that point.
Ready? Ok
http://www.cahootsmagazine.com/index.ph
Please check out this magazine. If you like it, subscribe! I'm a new intern there and we need to expand our readership. It's a great magazine! Tell your wife. Tell your husband. Tell your mistress. Tell your milkman.
Remember: I'm too cute for you to resist!
"Loving Katya" is one of my favorite stories from cahoots.
Ya know, I often wish that I read more science fiction. This sounds ridiculous and you are probably wondering why I don’t just read more science fiction, instead of wishing that I did.
(Some old trappers from the Fort just left the bar…surreal)
Anyway, as I was typing…
I’ve come across a lot of science fiction that is good but also a lot that is loosely disguised smut. I used to say that Sci-Fi was the romance novels for males. The major difference being there are at least a few light bulbs still on in that genre.
I used to like “Outer Limits” and, of course “The X Files” but I don’t know if those count as sci-fi. I’m also not overly excited by the thought of giant ants that suck brains from mars.
I think the problem is that I perceive it as a male dominated genre with dominantly male focus; you know, like porn. As such, I am a little intimidated by the subject.
I thought I was suffering from allergies, which was strange because I don’t have allergies. Sadly, I was just getting sick. That explains the dip in mood I have been feeling for the past few days. I don’t think I have ever been sick in the summertime before. I thought it sucked to be sick in the cold, but the scorching weather is making me reconsider my viewpoint. I’ve been coughing like a tuberculosis patient.
I called in sick for two days. Good thing I got a job so I could lounge around more. Missed the pride parade but I did make it to my friend’s birthday party. Vinyl. Drinking, laughing, pictures. It was fun.
My foot was injured when someone stabbed their high heeled shoe into it. Ouch. You don’t think about the pressure per square inch on those things. Good thing I was tipsy, I felt it, but I wasn’t concerned.
I also had coffee with Idris. I just love talking to him. He has a more mature viewpoint of the world than I do and he has given me useful advice on many occasions. He’s one of those people that I would like to see more of. I have heaps of friends to drink with, to do next to nothing with, or to run around in circles with. I have very few friends that I can talk to. Very few friends that are intellectually fulfilling.
Also, went swimming with Joy. When we were fifteen we used to go swimming every day. The day was filled with warm nostalgia.
Made final plans for Shambhala.
Ate delicious steak and potatoes at the Keg.
All in all gentle reader, I’m not suffering so don’t worry about me.
Oh, and the lobby is full of priests *gasp* but they are Anglicans *whew*. There was a strange procession of robed men from the catholic church on whyte when I was on my way home from Amanda's birthday (it was early morning. I was dressed black sequined dress, red high heels and Adrian's sweater). I didn't stick around to see what was going on.
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Some things that working on 1920 street has made me realise and/or wonder about:
1. Do people really need to be entertained all the time? Yes, apparently they do. People come into the hotel and are appalled when they find out that the rooms do not have televisions. They demand to know if there are events at night. "What is there to do?" They cry. Oh, I don't know, you could try reading a book, sleeping--I'd recommend love-making, but make sure it's between the sheets because the comforter isn't dry cleaned after every visitor, or you could always talk to each other.
2. Is it because I have said I don't like actors that I am now continually surrounded by them? I am now starting to grow fond of actors, or these actors at the very least. I even danced the Charleston with the actors that came in today. The gay actors, of which there are plenty, are very good-looking, so maybe I can introduce them to the newest gay in my life...
3. Work, at least here is about as fun as you choose to make it. The front desk manager can be a bit of a negative Nancy and things never seem to go well for her. This is the kind of place that you have to relax and accept that bad things are going to happen sometimes. People are going to screw up and you might even ruin a wedding or two in your lifetime.
I grew up in a Catholic school and sex ed was a joke. The most we ever did was label diagrams of genitalia and, of course, we learned about abstinence. I went into the world with an amazing ability to locate the Labia, or Vans Deferens, but no practical knowledge.
I also grew up I believing that my sexual orientation was something to be hidden from the world, not something I could celebrate. In my family, it meant that I was a freak. I grew up hearing my Grandmother say that "queers should be dropped on an island where they could screw each other to death". I'd spend nights crying because I was never going to be able to make the life decisions that I wanted without being alienated from my family.
I never, ever learned about bi-sexual or homosexual relationships at school. There was never anyone around to tell me that it was ok. My family asked me if I was gay, but it was in a way that was so sneering and hateful that I could never bring myself to tell them the truth.
I lived a lie for years and years which may have finally been the cause of the end of my homosexual relationship. To many people, I have not come out of the closet. I can't bring it up casually, talking about being bi makes me feel like crying--I'd rather have my teeth pulled. Even though I'm away from home I've carried the homophobia with me. I don't want children to grow up like that, I want them to have someone around to tell them that that are not freaks. I want them to know that they have the option of pursuing a lifelong relationship with someone of the same sex.
Being bi-sexual is confusing at the best of times. There are people who believe that I either do not exist or am sorely confused. Apparently it's one or the other--but what if it isn't? Homosexuality isn't brought up enough in schools as it is, and now parents can choose to keep their children ignorant.
It's frustrating to watch this step back happen in schools and think that there are going to be more young people who are as confused and terrified as I used to be--as I still am, in many ways.
Also, we hung out and watched T.V just like we used to when we were younger. SO much fun.
I'm tired and hung over from last night and a part of me wants to go sit in the sun somewhere (the part that doesn't remember that I turn purple and blister ir red and itchy I guess) and a part of me wants to curl up and have a nap. I can't combine the two because around Whyte Ave I think it's only the homeless people that sleep outside. Also, someone may take my shoes.
One thing is certain, all of me is hungry. I should have taken my delicious leftovers home. Anyone want to go out for a veggie burger?
I'm surrounded by the awful sounds of children crying. Wah wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Just another wedding at the Hotel.
It's a dry wedding too. A dry wedding! I wouldn't want to be at a wedding if I couldn't drink; at least if the guests were my family. Of course I just mean that they are so much fun when they've been drinking--yeah, that's it.
Realistically, my family would just bring flasks and drink. I wonder if anyone at this wedding is going to do that. I was told that it is a “surprise” dry wedding. This likely means that there are people with severe drinking problems and the bride and groom wanted to avoid the possibility of flasks.
It’s a beautiful day today and probably a wonderful time to get married.
I’m really tired today—I worked at the hotel and Sorrentino’s last night so I was working from 7am to 11pm. Don’t feel too bad for me though because after that, I went out to a house party. It was fun! Someone made an intricate pattern out of discarded nitrous oxide (N2O) containers. Boy, they must eat a lot of whipping cream at that house. And yet they are so thin…hmmm
There was loud music, a giant cat, and the rooms were filled with marijuana smoke. I had a bottle of Bellini.
Jason’s friend consumed 7 2CI pills. I didn’t know that anyone could do that and live. I didn’t see him but I imagine he was sp
Adrian and I walked home from the Kingsway back to whyte. It was a lovely walk. By the legislature grounds we tried to get sprayed by the sprinkler system but it shut off. I should have pushed him in the grass, next time.
You’ve slipped through my hands,
More like water than sand;
Leaving behind just enough moisture to dampen my face.
***
Memories
This snake: bright green and tangled,
Too florescent to ignore.
As I walk;
It wraps around my neck,
Threatening to strangle me.
I lost my damn cell phone. Fuck.
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