Dear James.
My friend, you look to me, to judge the other half of honesty,
and here I sit, all complacent, to which I am not,
But with understanding, you realize,
the person oft forgot.
A smile that half realizes
sane and stupid compremisises
for what I look for,
and yet not,
I am who I am.
I am one person
No, I am onother,
But that is me.
Can you, dear James, understand?
Friday, May 13, 2005
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
I Could Go to Bed Right Now...
But I won't.
Oh, Erica, you have it right. I want Hot Sexxxy Fighting action! And there better be some!
But I won't.
Oh, Erica, you have it right. I want Hot Sexxxy Fighting action! And there better be some!
Sunday, May 08, 2005
The Booze Factor
Popcorn! How I love thee!
Sadly, my body's like, "So you have a diet of booze, I don't care!". Actually, my body has been craving booze more than actual food. I could live off of beer and still be functional. Really. It's odd....I go out, have beers, then get home, have tequila, then eat PB, and my body doesn't care. And I don't wake up hungover, like I have been for weeks. Now, I wake up, and dammit, it wants the tequila. If I were to go ahead and do that, my body would not mind. Seriously. I could live through the whole week, a sip (and really that, a sip) of tequila a day. I've thought about it, so I guess that makes me an alcoholic, that I would replace actual nutrition with booze. THAT I COULD LIVE OFF OF BOOZE. And it's been so tempting to me right now. To live off of booze. Who the hell at work is going to oppose me? No one, really. I'm genious at my job, oh, wait, and at OTHER people's jobs too. And with tequila, I can cope. I can be the alcoholic that I know rests inside. And I know I won't loose the pittance that they call my pay.
I have a college degree, and they don't acknowlege that. But it's the same for everyone. It doesn't matter how much schooling you've had, can you come in on time? They are loosing the best and brightest to other jobs, which are higher paying, than looking and developing a person's potential. Because I'm a "clerk", I can't break into underwriting. Because "I don't know enough". Excuse me? I have a college education in diplomacy...and I've heard the underwriters. You don't say, "no". You say, "let me look into this, and I'll let you know in 24-48 hours what the decision will be." My whole major is about diplomacy. WTF? And I have to be a CSR or a UT before I can be an underwriter? Um, Hello, International Relations? As in, "Well that's good that you lost a lot of weight under your diet, but I still have to look at the guidlines" kind of thing? Uh, I majored in diplomcy. A graduate, in fact. But I still have to maintain a monkey postition to get anything? Yeah, and management learned from the Zoo. I'm not stupid, but there aren't enough jobs for me. Gonna take advantage of that? Oh, hell, then I'm looking around for something else. HA!
Popcorn! How I love thee!
Sadly, my body's like, "So you have a diet of booze, I don't care!". Actually, my body has been craving booze more than actual food. I could live off of beer and still be functional. Really. It's odd....I go out, have beers, then get home, have tequila, then eat PB, and my body doesn't care. And I don't wake up hungover, like I have been for weeks. Now, I wake up, and dammit, it wants the tequila. If I were to go ahead and do that, my body would not mind. Seriously. I could live through the whole week, a sip (and really that, a sip) of tequila a day. I've thought about it, so I guess that makes me an alcoholic, that I would replace actual nutrition with booze. THAT I COULD LIVE OFF OF BOOZE. And it's been so tempting to me right now. To live off of booze. Who the hell at work is going to oppose me? No one, really. I'm genious at my job, oh, wait, and at OTHER people's jobs too. And with tequila, I can cope. I can be the alcoholic that I know rests inside. And I know I won't loose the pittance that they call my pay.
I have a college degree, and they don't acknowlege that. But it's the same for everyone. It doesn't matter how much schooling you've had, can you come in on time? They are loosing the best and brightest to other jobs, which are higher paying, than looking and developing a person's potential. Because I'm a "clerk", I can't break into underwriting. Because "I don't know enough". Excuse me? I have a college education in diplomacy...and I've heard the underwriters. You don't say, "no". You say, "let me look into this, and I'll let you know in 24-48 hours what the decision will be." My whole major is about diplomacy. WTF? And I have to be a CSR or a UT before I can be an underwriter? Um, Hello, International Relations? As in, "Well that's good that you lost a lot of weight under your diet, but I still have to look at the guidlines" kind of thing? Uh, I majored in diplomcy. A graduate, in fact. But I still have to maintain a monkey postition to get anything? Yeah, and management learned from the Zoo. I'm not stupid, but there aren't enough jobs for me. Gonna take advantage of that? Oh, hell, then I'm looking around for something else. HA!
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Okay...
for the people who want to take the "How republican am I?" test, I have a link toa site at http://www.pandagon.net/archives/2005/04/why_yes_that_is.html#more Pandagon for you. They're worth checking out on a regular basis, actually. Hopefully, it works.
for the people who want to take the "How republican am I?" test, I have a link to
The Year
No one knows. The Year.
I'll be at her funeral. Really, I will. And all I will do is touch your arm. "Next year," I'll tell you, because I know, "I'll still be here for you."
You won't know it then. Too confused and saddened. But a year after, a bit different. What all of you do for me now, you don't really know what you're doing. Oh, but you will know. You will know the pain and the suffering. After that first year. Parents go before children. If you want the recipe, do it now. Not Later. You don't have later...I thought I did. I didn't. And in the broad stroke of an artist painting a watercolor, she was gone. Art is life, it's all around, and I can't explain it. It just is.
I just want want one time where I can talk about her, without the interruptions, and about her funny stories. And if "He's" out there, I know what loss is.....
No one knows. The Year.
I'll be at her funeral. Really, I will. And all I will do is touch your arm. "Next year," I'll tell you, because I know, "I'll still be here for you."
You won't know it then. Too confused and saddened. But a year after, a bit different. What all of you do for me now, you don't really know what you're doing. Oh, but you will know. You will know the pain and the suffering. After that first year. Parents go before children. If you want the recipe, do it now. Not Later. You don't have later...I thought I did. I didn't. And in the broad stroke of an artist painting a watercolor, she was gone. Art is life, it's all around, and I can't explain it. It just is.
I just want want one time where I can talk about her, without the interruptions, and about her funny stories. And if "He's" out there, I know what loss is.....
Reminders
You are like my friend Carla. You are like Leigh. You are like all of my friends. Well, at least most of them.
I asked John if he considered himself a feminist. He said yes. He is not. I cannot interrupt him, yet he feels he can interrupt me. I may make snide comments, but it's bad, and I'm being a bitch for doing so. When he does it, it's okay. He can interrupt my thoughts, and I can't interurrpt his. I must pay attention to him. I gave a scathing anyalsis of his family, and I was wrong and/or horrible and wrong for doing so, but it's okay to do that to my family. That's like sooooo Brendan or something. Oh, but he can't live with that once a month PMS. He put up with it for 2 years....why now? Something odd happened to him...how else to explain the awkwardness? He dosn't understand how odd he is...and it has nothing to do with the intelligence.
It's just him.
There are a certain set of people out there, in the world, who can't think beyond themselves. Actually, that's most of the people. They really and honestly can't think about things other than themselves. They can't think in terms of how/what other people can feel. And that's about 96% of the world. They can't even imagine that other people have feelings vastly different than their own. They are locked in their world. And that's him. Really, it is. He portrays himself as Not Normal, and he's entirely normal. That's what makes me mad. And he won't admit, even though he's in the top 5% of intelligence, he's so NOT in the top 5% for emotional intelligence. I have way more knowledge of people than he does. I'm not smart in the way he is, but he wants to guadge it that way, so that he actually appears smarter than he really is. Even though that's not what he claims to do, it is what he does. But he doesn't like it if you point that out to him. If I was a man, and said something, he'd remember it. But because I'm not, it's not worth noting.
What makes me bitter is that I can forgive hin for kicking me in the leg. Not forgotten, but forgiven. And a single bitter episode of PMS makes him not want to be with me?
Asshole. Major Asshole, First Gunner.
Arg.
You are like my friend Carla. You are like Leigh. You are like all of my friends. Well, at least most of them.
I asked John if he considered himself a feminist. He said yes. He is not. I cannot interrupt him, yet he feels he can interrupt me. I may make snide comments, but it's bad, and I'm being a bitch for doing so. When he does it, it's okay. He can interrupt my thoughts, and I can't interurrpt his. I must pay attention to him. I gave a scathing anyalsis of his family, and I was wrong and/or horrible and wrong for doing so, but it's okay to do that to my family. That's like sooooo Brendan or something. Oh, but he can't live with that once a month PMS. He put up with it for 2 years....why now? Something odd happened to him...how else to explain the awkwardness? He dosn't understand how odd he is...and it has nothing to do with the intelligence.
It's just him.
There are a certain set of people out there, in the world, who can't think beyond themselves. Actually, that's most of the people. They really and honestly can't think about things other than themselves. They can't think in terms of how/what other people can feel. And that's about 96% of the world. They can't even imagine that other people have feelings vastly different than their own. They are locked in their world. And that's him. Really, it is. He portrays himself as Not Normal, and he's entirely normal. That's what makes me mad. And he won't admit, even though he's in the top 5% of intelligence, he's so NOT in the top 5% for emotional intelligence. I have way more knowledge of people than he does. I'm not smart in the way he is, but he wants to guadge it that way, so that he actually appears smarter than he really is. Even though that's not what he claims to do, it is what he does. But he doesn't like it if you point that out to him. If I was a man, and said something, he'd remember it. But because I'm not, it's not worth noting.
What makes me bitter is that I can forgive hin for kicking me in the leg. Not forgotten, but forgiven. And a single bitter episode of PMS makes him not want to be with me?
Asshole. Major Asshole, First Gunner.
Arg.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Wow! Don't you know...
It's easier to think about a diet that has you eat six times a day than about the mother who died almost a year ago, who sits in a crystal urn on the mantelpiece so that she can see the TV. Is that what it is? I really think so. Until the note from my aunt, I thought it was because I wanted to be healthy. Not die. Not die of heart problems. For the love of God, I think too much. Raise the pineapple rum in salute. Gone. Away.
I lost 20-25 pounds just on my own, with a few simple changes to my diet. Granted, it took 6-8 months, but that's what happened. And I had butter. And salt. The thing is, I may cook with a bit of butter, but practially no salt whatsoever. And water? I drink a lot of that. So why am I so gung-ho with the diet this week? My mom...mother's day...which leads to...her birthday...which...oh, dear god, the 27th, died then? This year she would've been 61, one year closer to retirement. Lord, I'm not holding up well. But mother's day was interwoven with her birthday, and that, in and of itself, is intertwined with her death. All in ONE FUCKING MONTH. She died as Grandma Serwin died, but there's still a hole in my life. Oh, Mom, I wanted you to be here, to see me move out, and even to make my own meals. Mom, I wish you were here, bringing me stuff, making sure I had enough. God, I miss you. Really, I do. You'd have me over for Sunday dinner, no getting out of it, and of course, we'd watch the food network. I love you. Always have. If I didn't, I wouldn't have told you what I did. Given what I knew, why do I still feel this way. Oh, Lord, it hurts in ways unimaginable.
I want it to stop. But I can't help but feel it.
It's easier to think about a diet that has you eat six times a day than about the mother who died almost a year ago, who sits in a crystal urn on the mantelpiece so that she can see the TV. Is that what it is? I really think so. Until the note from my aunt, I thought it was because I wanted to be healthy. Not die. Not die of heart problems. For the love of God, I think too much. Raise the pineapple rum in salute. Gone. Away.
I lost 20-25 pounds just on my own, with a few simple changes to my diet. Granted, it took 6-8 months, but that's what happened. And I had butter. And salt. The thing is, I may cook with a bit of butter, but practially no salt whatsoever. And water? I drink a lot of that. So why am I so gung-ho with the diet this week? My mom...mother's day...which leads to...her birthday...which...oh, dear god, the 27th, died then? This year she would've been 61, one year closer to retirement. Lord, I'm not holding up well. But mother's day was interwoven with her birthday, and that, in and of itself, is intertwined with her death. All in ONE FUCKING MONTH. She died as Grandma Serwin died, but there's still a hole in my life. Oh, Mom, I wanted you to be here, to see me move out, and even to make my own meals. Mom, I wish you were here, bringing me stuff, making sure I had enough. God, I miss you. Really, I do. You'd have me over for Sunday dinner, no getting out of it, and of course, we'd watch the food network. I love you. Always have. If I didn't, I wouldn't have told you what I did. Given what I knew, why do I still feel this way. Oh, Lord, it hurts in ways unimaginable.
I want it to stop. But I can't help but feel it.
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