lykomancer: (Sweet Smile- Itachi)
I have entered some quietly beatific Zen calm. I am the eye of the storm, perfect stillness in the middle of chaos.

We're moving. Packing things up and living in huge piles of boxes and unsorted stuff and donate heaps. We're calling the landlord, the utility company, the internet company, family, the landlord, friends. We're cramming vans full of boxes and doing three loads from one address to the other after work. We're juggling finances. Trying to remember what we need and what we already have. We're working. I'm still studying algebra; Jinya's jogging.

I recognize that I should feel stressed. In fact, I should feel frustrated and short-tempered and emotionally exhausted.

I don't though. I don't really feel anything but calm and mildly pleasant. Easy-going. Unfazed.


I think that living with depression for so long-- struggling against the burden of it-- strengthened my emotional "muscles", as it were. (Hahahaha, my metaphor just makes me think of Rock Lee and his weights, but that's exactly what I'm talking about.)
lykomancer: (Sweet Smile- Itachi)
So the drugs work.

And I mean, they really, really work.


It's strange. There's a small part of me that's actually unsure of how I feel about this change. It's unfamiliar enough that I almost feel like a different me-- I still live in the same place (not for long!) and eat the same food and like the same things...but emotionally, I'm not the same. If I say, "I feel settled, like the storm passed and now I'm in smooth, beautiful tropical waters", that gives the wrong impression because it implies that "I" am actually still the same "I". But that's not right. I feel like that was another life, or another character, or another story. I don't know. It's difficult to explain.

I'm full of restless energy much of the day, chatty and cheerful, humming and giggling. I'm not quite giddy, but damn close. I feel a need to do things-- not in the sense of obligation or the "this HAS to happen" sense, but just because I need something to do. And so I do things. And I don't feel bitchy or grumpy about it; doing stuff doesn't wear me out, or quickly siphon that shallow, murky pool of energy, motivation, and patience dry.

Maybe this is temporary. I don't know.

It's all very strange.
lykomancer: (Exhausted- Ed)
I sort of hate the sudden onset of spring. While everyone else is cheerfully exclaiming, "Isn't it beeeeyyyuuutiful!? and sighing like they've finally reached orgasm, I'm restless and short-tempered and weepy. Oh, and half the time I feel like I'm baking inside of my own skin, which absolutely no one understands; about a third of the people I meet are still cold, and everyone else is happy.

Fuckers.

In a few weeks, I'll adjust better. After all, the weather shifted from 45 to 75/80 in about 36 hours, and my body really doesn't like abrupt changes like that. In a few weeks, there will be leaves on the trees and thus some shade instead of blaring sunlight that feels like it's searing my translucent skin to a nice, crispy, well-done consistency.

In a few weeks, I'll be packing and moving. I'll have stuff to do and a lot to think about. I'll be re-experiencing the joys of having my own place, of having space in the fridge for my food, of not living in a cluttered shit-hole.

But right now I'm miserable.

The house is so damn cluttered that even if I began packing what little I have in my room-- most is still in storage from when we moved here, so packing up should only take me a few hours, tops-- there's no where to put the boxes. No where.

The warm weather makes me feel sweaty and nauseous, but also restless, fidgety, obligated to go somewhere and do something so that I don't waste these few temperate days that exist between our frigid, icy winter and tropically hot, humid summer. But I don't know what to do. My piece o' shit bike is still up where I can't get it even if I wanted to ride it. I do go for walks, but they're unsatisfying. There's nothing green yet anywhere except for a few sprouts and a little grass, not even dandelions yet. I go for walks in bare sunlight in empty woods, bored and unfulfilled.


Food, body, weight issues. Trigger warning if this topic is upsetting for you. )

I really want to see a doctor. I need to get on state insurance first. I want to ask about my non-stop periods and hypoglycemia and weight and depression and bad reactions to birth control and non-reactions to anti-depressants.
lykomancer: (No Regret & No Future / Itachi)
Another miserable day.

Spent yesterday evening sick, sick, sick. I was okay until half way through How to Train Your Dragon when I started noticing that I was feeling hypoglycemic-ish-- vibrating in my skin, restless, light-headed, queasy. After the movie we went and got food, but I don't know if I ate too fast or ate too much or what, but within twenty minutes I felt wretched, crampy and nauseous. I felt like I ate spiky hunks of metal rather than food.

Nothing's seeming to agree with me right now. I'm still having what feels like uterine cramps; I quite often get the hypoglycemic-ish array of symptoms; I feel queasy or mildly nauseous a lot; I'm snappish and short-tempered and prone to bursting into tears randomly; I've been sleeping several hours more and I still feel tired; I itch like I'm developing a yeast infection; my jaw aches where they removed my wisdom tooth and my right knee pains me like it is developing an Osgood-Schlatter's lump to match the one on the left.
Ugh, and I feel constantly cold.

Even when there's nothing to be frazzled about, I feel frazzled. I started crying today because I looked around the apartment and realized (again) what a mess it is. I don't want to clean with Ed just parked there in the armchair sucked into the internet, totally uncaring while I work my ass off...not to mention the fact that I have to go to work today, so I can't clean anyway. I just want to go back to bed. I thought having two days off would make me feel better, but I feel the same today as I did earlier this week.

I'm just tired of feeling so damned awful. I know as soon as Ed moves out, Jinya's going to be jumping for joy and trying to realign the household into a place she's comfortable and proud to bring people, but that doesn't actually feel like it will be happening as soon as it is; right now I'm so tired of the place looking like shit and there not being enough food in the house and of feeling rundown and of everything else.
lykomancer: (Perception is Suffering)
If I knew how to quit without committing suicide, I would.

Then again, committing suicide would be far more pro-active of an action than I am capable of taking at this juncture in time. If I had that kind of resolve, I wouldn't be in this position.


I'm sitting alone and crying into my coffee like a loser. )

Howl

Oct. 6th, 2008 07:40 pm
lykomancer: (Pascal's Pensees ala Disney)
Has anyone actually been listening? Does anyone have their head up, ears and nose to the wind?

Are words lost in the dull echos of meaningless white noise, so devoured by the frantic static of modernity that even those who are full of sound and fury are drowned out?

Yes, the economy's slipping more. The Senate and the House both agreed to the $850 billion bail-out and it seems right now like that was just throwing good money in after the bad. Strange, how last year-- when the economy was supposedly so robust-- we didn't have $100 billion for healthcare for the nation's poorest children, but suddenly now we have seven times that to spend on Wall Street.

And of course we spend more than that on the military in any given year, especially lately. The figure for the Iraq war is well past 3 trillion.

Palin doesn't believe in global warming, but I do. There's not enough Arctic ice. Polar bears are swimming now; they'll drown soon, and the dark ocean water will keep absorbing more and more solar energy, get warmer, release more methane, melt more. Water has a high specific heat; it may heat up slowly, but it also holds that heat longer.

Another degree Centigrade and we get three times as many Katrinas. How long can the people of New Orleans keep swimming? As long as the polar bears?

In New York, a mentally ill man fell to his death from a fourth-story fire escape after being tasered by the cops; later one of the officers committed suicide. What the hell was the point?

The extinction rate for amphibian species is over 200 times the natural background level. The pollutants of the rivers in southern England are causing fish to gender-switch. Scientists map the ocean floor with sound waves louder than a nuclear blast and then claim that those killing blasts are unrelated to the dead whales washing up on beaches.

852 million people don't get enough food to survive. 1.6 billion people are obese. Can't we split the difference?

A cup of coffee costs me 3 bucks. How much of that money gets back to the farmer who grew the beans? What's lost when fields are converted to monoculture and sprayed with inorganic pesticides and fertilizers? How many trucks are involved in getting that coffee to me- trucks made out of metal that needed to be mined and refined and which run on oil that must be pumped from the earth? How much potable water is used for irrigation? How many rivers diverted or wells dried up? How many middle men are there? And how about the cardboard cups and the espresso machine in all its shiny glory, and the wood of the building and the cloth aprons, and yes, even the barista, making just over minimum wage?
...three US dollars? Really? Who even gets that money? Anyone? Does it vanish into that black hole we're calling global economy, which is impatient and easily bored, which is hungry and has only one rule: more?

Even solar panels need metal pieces. More mining. More burning fossil fuels. More carbon. Damn it!

It doesn't matter what I do, as a consumer, as a cog in a violently capitalist system. I don't own a car, yet car culture continues. I can buy organic apples and grass-fed beef, and those apples are still grown in monoculture and the cattle raised on land that used to shake under herds of bison. It's the corporations, stupid. Du Pont does more damage in a day than I could ever do in a lifetime. And I let it, because I don't know how to stop it.

We go to war because I don't know how to stop it. I bet you don't either.

We're lied to and manipulated by advertising and by people who have more money than us.

I watch people buy twenty dollars of gossip rags full of news about Tom Cruise and Suri, Brad and Angelina, Brittney and Paris, and I want to grab those people by their collars and scream at them about how the world is dying and everyone's insane...but I can't, because they'd just blink their big, dumb, blank, glazed-over cow eyes at me and tell me that I am the crazy one.



Eli, Eli, lamma sabacthani?
lykomancer: (Oh Love Look at you)
- I'm in the kind of mood to write a new story or draw up a doujinshi or something like that. Maybe simply pick up a good fantasy novel or get sucked back into a good anime. I want to take a vacation from this reality into one fast-paced, exciting, nostalgic, terrible and wonderful and real and full of people I fall in love with and who will never love me because they are simply characters. I want to let my brain accumulate all sorts of new material, make new connections, stew in a marinade for a few days, and then come back to this world with a better sense of what the hell is going on.
I'd simply rewatch all of FMA (or any of the thirteen other series I've been hoarding on my hard drive), but I'm holding out until I lose my internet either through moving or through not being able to pay the bill.

- Talking to [profile] chauni last night made me realize how muh I miss Ashland. The soothing flow of mellow days, the calm ease that seems to fill the very air throughout the seasons, from the cool bite of autumn until the blaze of apathy-inducing heat at the end of summer. The rustle of the aspens and maples in the wind off the Lake. The slanting evening sunlight laying gold against the side of Wheeler Hall. The flat, deep blue ceiling of the sky. God, I could cry just thinking about it.

- I am fucking depressed. Even taking my meds like I'm supposed to, like a good girl. It's not enough. I'm still irrationally bitchy, cranky, tired, stressed, despairing, and hopeless. I hate you, dysfunctional brain chemistry. I want to stop sucking ass, so you better start recalibrating ASAP. This is not a suggestion; this is an order.

- I want to make more icons, but I struggle coming up with text. Amuse me and suggest something; maybe I'll use it. I really like icon-making; I'm just not that clever at matching an image with text. -_-;; I do think I'm getting pretty good at this particular little party-trick though, and I'm learning a lot about PS. I'll take requests, if anyone's actually interested.

- Speaking of FMA, Edward Elric has started to take over my life. I spend far too much of my time thinking about this made-up, not-real person, and it makes feel me sad and pathetic.
I'm not sure if I want an Ed in my life, or if I want to be Ed. Does the distinction matter?
...yeah, I think it does. I only wish I knew which one it was. (Ok, I don't mean that. Sitting back and thinking about it more makes me cringe at what either option might say about me. Dammit, I am not envious of a fictional character's personality traits! That's just fucking silly!)

- I want to go swimming and horseback riding. This is probably related to my Ashland-longings. I also want to actually feel happy, and not just tired, bored, amused, entertained, etc, etc... but that can be filed with the "I'm fucking depressed" rant.

Right. I'm going to go to set my alarm to get me up in the early afternoon and get my ass to bed.
lykomancer: (I won't be the wasted potential)
I am so burnt out.

I see it; I recognize it; I know it; I own it.
How could I not? It's the exact same behavior every single May, isn't it?... Dragging ass in classes, trying to work up any level of interest, not matter how fascinating I thought it all was to begin with; dragging ass at home-- the last few years it was my dorm room, but no matter; same idea-- loathing having to interact with real people (too much work) and living in a fantasy world through the interface of imagination, avoidance, and the computer screen.
Last year, I did the same damned thing (which is quite clear if you read my journal entries from a year ago-- like these two entries, or this, or this), only last year it was all fanfic-- I wrote "Quintessence of Dust", "More Sinned Against", and "Eclipse" in a less than two weeks; I called it my "hardcore program of absolute avoidance".

I have to write my American Religious History final. The final question is much, much easier than the midterm question was; it only has to be five pages. It only takes me four or five hours to struggle along, forcing and scraping and grinding, to get a five page paper out. I could do this the same way I chose to do my ill-fated Taoism paper; the morning it's due. But I shouldn't and I don't want to. *sigh*
I have to email Ted about said ill-fated Taoism paper, and figure out how to file an extension. *headDESK*
I have to get my integrative notebook at least started. God... *groans, head shaking*
I have to email Chester about getting my backpack back, since I left it in his car the other night. I really want my Brief History of the Human Race back; I was enjoying reading it.
I have to get a fucking job.

All I want, though, is to write fanfics, role-play (and role-play, and role-play, and role-play somemore... talk about avoiding reality! *laughs*), read the stack of books sitting around my room, and play with my ferret.
God, I'm pathetic. Really pathetic.

Oh, and even better. I still have another month of classes, unless I drop my J-term. *shakes head* Hebrew Short Story with Carolyn, three times a day, four days a week. @_@ WTF was I thinking...?
*DED*
lykomancer: (Default)
Feeling a bit out of it now and then the last few days. Sleepy, tired, lethargic, bored and yet restless, angry, obstinate. I don't know what my problem is.

I'm getting stuff done, and sometimes I'm even doing a good job on it. I'm very happy with my Taoism midterm (in which I compared the tao of the Tao-Te Ching and the logos of The Gospel of John); I've stitched up the massive holes in three pairs of my jeans; I mailed off my FAFSA, organized my closet, located my sandals, did most of my reading for tomorrow's classes, wrote more on my original story for my writing class, and started a new piece of fanfic (Envy/Ed/Wrath, for those curious).

There's a free Stuart Davis concert in St. Paul this Sunday that I will, of course, be attending.

Speaking of this weekend... *raises a brow* May or may not be having company. *pokes [livejournal.com profile] wolfe_guardian* I don't know if that plan's still go, but you are always welcome here, darlin', and I do mean always. (What? Don't you know? You were adopted! ^_^) You're a delight, truly.
And in another week, [livejournal.com profile] ozen will be gracing me with her lovely, lively presence. Yippie! I'm so looking forward to it.

I actually have a job interview with--of all places!--the Sanrio store in the Mall of America on Monday. (Because I'm such a Hello Kitty-type person! *snortlaugh*)
Hell, I even got my hundred dollar room deposit back from Northland today, so I have a little more money.

(Things I Still Need to Get Done:
-Develop film
-Return library books!
-Deposit check
-Patch other two pairs of pants
-Write up evaluation)

But I'm just not feelin' the love for some reason.
I'm not feeling like I'm hitting my stride. Everything's a bit off. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not living up to my potential. I'm not doing good enough; I'm slacking.
But at the same time, I don't want to do anything but slack.

Damn it, I want to be a better person! I want to be someone worthwhile; I want to be someone competent and respectable and friendly and responsible and approachable.
I want to be me, but all the good and none of the bad. I want to be the Mary Sue version of me.
I get so tired of being a fuck-up. Of being a slacker. Or sitting on my ass and blowing time. Of being lazy. Of being irresponsible. Of wasting who I am and what I could be if I just applied myself.

I hate my own hypocrisy.
I hate my envy and useless rage.
I hate my helplessness in the face of my own failings.
I hate all my faults, and if I could take a razor to them and excise them-- like cutting out my right eye or my hand-- I would.
I hate my hatred, but I can't see to do anything about it.

(God, I feel now the way I usually feel when I've been off my Zoloft for a few weeks...and that's not a good sign, 'cause I'm taking the damned stuff. >.< Fuck you, expensive medication.)

I think I need to take some time to back off and assess myself.
*sigh*
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
-- Thomas Hobbes

...This is going to be a long and soul-searching bit of drabble. You've been warned.


I chose my title quote because, as some of you may know, I am plagued by despair. Whether this is a symptom of my chemical inbalance-caused depression, a result of my natural cynicism and anger, a healthy and normal reaction to this crazy, fucked-up world, a manifestation (along with apathy) of learned helplessness, none of the above or all of the above...I don't care.
(Although, for what it's worth, I'm voting on answer F) All of the above.)

[What's another night all alone / When you're spending every day on your own? / Here we go...]

I feel so lost so much of the time. Nothing's right, even when nothing's wrong. I don't have any energy, any inspiration, any drive or goal other than-- most of the time-- finding out what in the hell is wrong with me. I feel restless and lazy and angry and apathetic all at once. I want to climb the walls, but not have to leave my bed.

[I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare / I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair /...and the world is havin' more fun than me]

I've gotten angry-- I suppose envious is a better word-- at others who seem to have goals and plans; people who at least sort of know what they want to do make me so damn mad. They don't inspire me; they infuriate me.
And yeah, I've gotten the It's perfectly natural for you to not know what you want to do... it might be that you don't figure it out until you're 25/30/42/60/dead. That would be fine if just wanted a plan or goal, but that's not how I feel; I feel like I'm wandering around missing some vital part of me, like an arm or my liver, but I don't know what's missing or how I can make the aching stop.
Another analogy: It's like when you see someone else do something you used to be an expert at, but now can't do...you can't grip a pencil to draw because of carpel tunnel, or speak out because it's a dream, or whatever...and all you can do is stand there, ripped apart with jealousy and longing and possessiveness, struggling to live vicariously through this other person and failing because they -aren't- you.

[I'll try to think about the last time / I had a good time / Everyone's got somewhere to go / And they're gonna leave me here on my own]

It doesn't sound logical. I know that. I'm not stupid.
But goddammit, I'm supposed to be doing something-- something important, something major. Something that would make a difference for the better in this shithole world for a lot of people.
I know that, too. I know it in my heart, in my bones and blood; I know it, and it is undeniable-- I know, because I have been trying to deny it for years.
There's a damned reason I am here, now, in this place, skilled in the areas I am, with the quirky charisma I seem to have...and I want to know what that reason is.

Hey, you'd be pissed too if you kept feeling like the butt of a really immature cosmic joke.
(Actually, I'm reminded of something like "Pin the Tail on the Donkey"-- I'm clutching the tail, blindfolded and dizzy, stumbling around the room, while god(s) laugh and occasionally (drunkenly) try to "help".)
The Universe should be glad I don't hold grudges.

[What the fuck is wrong with me? / Don't fit in... / How did this happen to me?]

What brought all this on? my faithful readers might be asking.
Short answer: the sermon this morning at church.
Longer answer: I'm been feeling even more out of whack lately... just nauseas with the feeling. And I've been thinking about it more and more, wondering where I'm actually going. It's been building. Then I went to church and the sermon was on daring to dream, doing the impossible, and how to handle it when a dream of the impossible takes over your life.

[We all know there's always something tearing you apart / It's always so much longer than you counted on / And it hits you so much harder then you thought / But you don't worry, you don't worry / Cause you've got soul]

*scowl, glare, middle finger at the heavens* ...fine! Fine. I'll play this game. I got nothing to lose but my mind anyway.

[Amen... Good night, amen...]

I will get my =fucking= M.Div., and I will get =fucking= ordained, and I will get a thrice-cursed congregation if I damned well have to.
Point me in the general vicinity and I'll do my best to give the paper ass his tail, ok?

Jess is playing ball with the universe, and she bloody well expects to win.

Ah, hai, so da. It doesn't quite follow the form perfectly but, here's my sestina for you. )

~"For as long as space endures
And for as long as living beings remain
Until then may I too abide
To dispel the misery of the world."

--The Way of the Bodhisattva - Shantideva - 8th century


___
...God, either Jenny's making waffles or I'm experiencing the olfactory symptoms of schizophrenia. I hope it's the former, for several reasons.
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
[WARNING: Entering Jess's unmedicated psyche. Probably TMI and disturbing for most people. Proceed at your own risk. You've been warned.]



There is nothing.
Nothing here but a screen, nothing but a fruitless interface through which I fail to communicate anything to anyone except-- at least once daily-- almost palpable shame and idiocy when I say something profoundly stupid or over-step my bounds or lose my temper over one more pointless thing. Nothing real gets through... or rather, it does, but only when I force it to, when I push until I sweat blood to get a valid and important point past the borderland of my fumbling tongue, the vapid wasteland of the English language, through the arrogant, silly, cockiness of my vain personality.
Word fall from my mouth in an uncontrollable stream of drivel, wasting air and assaulting people's ears and saying nothing, until it comes to the point that when I try to speak and mean it, it seems that no one listens at first... not really blowing me off, but simply saying, "Ah, that's Jess, and that is her way."
("Ah," the villagers say, "that shepherd boy is yelling about a wolf again, but we will not be fooled and go running up to the hills again just because he is bored and jesting.")

I am frantic, absolutely frantic, for some kind of affection, some touch, and so I am burying myself in porn and cybersex; it's about the only thing I seem to be able to find any amount of real interest in right now, and I am simultaneously hungry for more and repulsed by my own...sluttishness? boredom? debasement? I don't understand why I keep searching for more and logging onto the MUCK and so forth-- really, I'm covering the same territory over and over and over and...--but I can't seem to stop, either. Nothing else catches any spark of my interest. I am not studying any of my languages; I'm barely reading (usually when the 'net's down or when someone else is on my computer); I'm currently not working nor do I have classes this week.

And I feel vaguely self-mutilating.
Not that I would act on it-- Ok, I would if someone made one more comment about my hair and Valentine's Day, but that's to prove a point-- but I feel it just the same.
I wanna shave off my hair, or shave off patches of it. Nair it. Dye chunks of it other unnatural, contrasting colors. Take a pair of scissors to it.
Sit in a corner and do nothing. Glare at people who try to get me to move. Maybe bite them. Maybe bite myself. Smash my head into the wall a few times.
You know, the usual.

It's ok, by the way, you brave souls still reading. Perfectly ok. I just need to vent, even though I know damned well that this is all because I haven't popped my little blue pill in like, over a week. I really need to take them daily, or at least every other day.
I'll be alright, maybe by tomorrow night...
"Mata haru ni aimashou
Haru ni aimashou
Haru ni aimashou"
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
It's just that I feel like one of the Lost Boys.

Daysha's got Carl. Wendy's got Ryan. Jenny's got Owen.

My friends Jackie and Shawn got married out of high school. Heather and Akia got married. Crystal Brown got married. Angela and David are engaged.

Heather had a baby. Wendy wants a baby. Annie now suddenly spouted that she is starting to want to eventually reproduce. Tom too.

Tom has a worthwhile job and dreams for the future. He knows what he's doing. Wendy plans on going back to school. Jenny could do damn near anything she bloody well wants.

And I'm sitting on my ass, half-heartedly studying a dead language that I'll never use while dying my hair an inprobable, unrespectable, and decidedly unnatural color; my ability to plan for the future has a range of a few hours (ok, maybe a day or two, but certainly not years); I'm going to seminary because I felt like it but have no other real reason; I'm not working, not using any of my abilities or talents (and when I do I get little to no recognition for it), and I can't even meet new people. I can't imagine living my entire life with one person. I can't imagine living in a house, not an apartment. I laugh at the idea of me being responsible for anything other than a pet and myself...not because I can't handle it, but because I don't want to.

I don't want to grow up, and so...I'm not.
And I feel sad because everyone else is, and when I comment on it, they reply that they are glad I'm staying the way that I am...but it's selfish of them, because I remind them of who they used to be.

*sigh*
Maybe I'm reading too much into this.

Blech.

Jan. 20th, 2005 01:12 pm
lykomancer: (Pissed at myself)
Life sucks:

Everyone's bouncy and happy and relatively successful...except me. I serve no higher purpose. I have no job. I don't know what in the hell I am doing at seminary besides having fun (most of the time). Teresa-san obviously isn't interested. It's not as cold, but is now snowing instead of being frigid. I tried to dye my hair and failed. Spending money I don't have on stuff I don't need.

...I need something. Any suggestions?
lykomancer: (angry)
Excuse my bad Latin.

Well, Wendy did more or less try to provoke him...and believe it or not she mostly failed. He kept his rage on a pretty tight leash, all things considered, and after two hours of listening to her snipe and bitch and hit below the belt to see what he would do, I came out of my room and asked her to stop. He actually did remarkably well, and yes, I told him that. If that's the worst his temper gets now, I can live with that.

Wendy's still pissed at him, and I don't blame her. She's not a happy camper. She also talked to his mother, grandmother, and his parole officer, who knows that I filed a police report. Wendy wants him out, but understands that this might take some time.

Tom's actually the worst off in the house. He's tied into knots and I don't know how to get him to unwind a bit. I mean, it's callous and unreasonable for me to say, "Tom, you need to just calm down and find some way to live with this right now," but...it is pretty much how I'm feeling.

I still want him out of my house, but I am willing to wait until I don't feel like a complete villain for asking him to leave/throwing him out/calling the cops. Right now my biggest concern is wondering what to tell Judith, who was very insistent that we throw him out on his ass-- one way or another-- Monday night.
(Judith did give me a helluva compliment though. She told me that I had the "biggest don't-fuck-with-me attitude" she'd ever seen. ^_^)

Things are settling into some kind of rhythm again. I just want things to be semi-normal (as normal as they get around here, anyway) again.

Emailed Teresa-san. No response yet. Patience is a virtue. :)
lykomancer: (Default)
So.

Last Thursday morning I met with the psychiatrist, who seemed to not believe that I have depression but gave me a trial packet of Zoloft anyway and told me to come back in three weeks. Cool. I was a third of the way home when I got a call from Wendy saying that they would be arriving in about an hour and a half, and then I had to worry about whether or not I would be able to beat them home.
I did. Barely. I was walking out the outside stairs, and I took one last glance at the street, and a dark blue car rolled by and I grinned 'cause I knew it was them.
Wendy had driven straight out-- no stops for sleep-- so she crashed out on my couch and Derrick and I sat around and talk for a bit, then walked to a liquor store, got a bottle of vodka, and went home, all the while talking.

(~Stories of mine should stop involving vodka, ne?~)

Tom came home late from Ashland and he went to bed, and a fairly drunken Derrick asked me to "cuddle" up with him on the floor. So I did. I suppose I should have known better, but I really wasn't thinking about being groped. o.O!
("What in the hell are you doing? Stop that, stop... What? No, I will not have sex with you! ...why? Um, lessee: we just met, Wendy's sleeping less than a foot away from us, I'm not on birth control, and oh yeah, housemates shouldn't fuck!)
O.O;;;;

This kind of stuff needs to stop happening to me.

Right. So after I convince him that trying to have sex with me is not in his best interest, I manage to get to bed. It was about 4 am.

The next day we get up, and thinking about the night before was kind of embarrassing, but whatever. At least nothing much actually happened. We went for drives around the city; we talked; we made plans to move shit.
Really, I don't remember most of what we did on Friday...

On Saturday, we rented a Uhaul and moved all the heavy big stuff. A friend from seminary gave us tons-- I think literally-- of furniture, so first that went in, and then all our old stuff. In the process of moving one of the dressers, my pinkie finger got crushed between the dresser and the edge of a stair, and I heard it go "crunch." I don't think it's broken-- I wouldn't be able to move it if it was-- but it's been completely numb since Saturday so I think I squished some nerves pretty damned bad.

I hurt myself a LOT that day. I crushed my finger, twisted my ankle, bruised and scraped up one shin, whacked my knee... I look like I went ten rounds with Mohammad Ali.

We're still moving some odds and ends over, but almost everything is done. (OK, except Wendy's room, but that's completely understandable. Wendy-- along with Derrick-- did most of the heavy lifting; I mean, she worked like a mule moving stuff in, and then she began work at Wal*Mart already yesterday. She hasn't really had much of a chance to get her crap together.)

As for Derrick, who I describe before as excessively heterosexual stereotypically male... well, I can see why Wendy has a hard time dealing with him sometimes. Sexist pig? Oh, yeah, and what really clinches it is the fact that he doesn't think he's being sexist.
("Me and Tom will handle the big stuff, and you girls can take care of the littler things...Short hair is a boy's haircut; women should have long hair...you could be beautiful if you just tried, Jess..."
Now is that a helluva backhanded compliment, or what?
Crap like that. All the time. Depending on how he say it and what it's about I have handled these kind of statements with out and out violent protests ("Oh hell no, you ain't stickin' me on bitch detail! I can carry heavy things; who do you think helped Tom get all the furniture into this place?!") to placid shrugging off ("That's your opinion. I disagree.") to good-humored sarcasm ("I 'could be beautiful'? Oh my, thank you ever so much; I feel like putting on a pink dress and high heels and make-up and groveling for you!")
He really hates my sarcasm. ^_^ I don't give a flying fuck what he hates. He's going to have to learn how to deal with it.

Yeah, and he's a Crispie. Believes in the literal truth of the Bible. Went to the Unitarian church with me and Tom though, and he was ok with that, but he doesn't really get how UUism is a "real" religion.

(I think I've decided to become a minister, btw. I ain't got nothing else better to do, right?)

...
Tom's waiting for me to go, so I guess I'll continue this tomorrow or something. We gotta go move more crap.
lykomancer: (upset)
About thirty pages of unedited eschatological/fantasy/horror slop (AKA: Blessed Be) 'cause Jenna-chan asked. Most of you have read parts of this. I'm posting it again 'cause I can.

My therapist has diagnosed me with reoccurring major depressive episodes. Isn't that nice? It means I'm going to get some really kick-ass drugs prescribed to me on Thursday when I go to see the head-shrinker.

My two new roommates still aren't here.

Life fuckin' sucks and I don't want to go to class. I want to curl up in a little ball and smash my head against something hard until I pass out. I feel like a real waste of space tonight.

Trying to get published. Sending off a short story that I wrote for Michele's class off to Flesh and Blood, a fantasy/horror mag. Seems like the place to start, anyway.

...I think that's all I've really got to say. Anything else would just be smacking an equine carcass around. Mmmm...dogfood.
lykomancer: (Default)
...I feel so shallow.

I was trying to explain it today to my colleagues in my IS151 small group, and became so much more aware of it. Compared to the other people around me, I feel shallow.
I don't have a job; I don't have a mate or a potential mate; I don't have children; I don't have my family nearby; I don't have any friends down here; I don't do anything...besides survival-type living stuff such as shopping and cooking, schoolwork, and lying around reading. I have nothing to converse with people about; I have nothing--right now--really, at all.

I have no more effect on this world than a vagrant breeze does on the ocean... I don't even make a ripple. There is me, and that's all there is in my life. There is no one else. There is nothing else. Just me, and the things I do to amuse myself or provide for myself. If that's not shallow, then I don't know what is.

*sigh* I guess it's not that I'm shallow, just that my life is. Right now, it has all the depth and richness of a mudpuddle. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel motivated when I cannot do anything because of money or time or whatever, and when the constraints are removed I sit and stare at the fucking ceiling, feeling insincere, feeling like a hypocrite. I could be doing volunteer work, instead I'm lying around rereading books I've read a thousand times and fantasizing about dating people when I don't have the courage to even get off my couch.

Lazy, pathetic, cowardly, apathetic, boring, daydreaming, delusional...
Beating myself up? Yeah, I am, you got a fucking problem with it? 'Cause I don't.

How can I attempt to deal with other people when I have such a problem dealing with myself? How can I force myself to get up and get going when it doesn't seem to matter to anyone besides myself that I'm not? No one cares what I do or do not do here... How can I speak to a beautiful woman when I look down at myself and see poorly-dressed, out-of-shape, foul-mouthed, rough-tongued trailor trash? And how do I begin to "correct" my views of myself and of this piss-poor world when my loneliness only seems to enforce them?

...
Julia, one of the members of my small group, invited me over for Thanksgiving. Really, it makes me want to cry, so I'm not thinking too much about it; it's too kind. Still, it's nice to be thought of.
It's funny too, 'cause when Julia and I "met" on the class's online discussion forum, Blackboard, I didn't think there was any way in hell that we'd be able to get along, but...I guess I don't know everything. *laugh*

God, I hate my life. I think I've hated it since I graduated. I hope moving into a new space and getting new roommates will help fix that.


___
Oh, yeah, unrelated. Paul-sensei quote:
"The Catholics could find one good thing to say about the Protestants: they burned Micheal Servetus at the stake."
(Micheal Servetus was a Unitarian Protestant that was martyred in Calvinist Geneva in the 1500's. Look him up; it's interesting.)
lykomancer: (Default)
Went to the Y. Spent fifteen minutes on a stationary bike, three or so on this weird strider machine, did 48 reps on the rowing machine, and thirty or forty minutes of laps in the pool...and I'm dead. Didn't realize how out of shape I am. Guess I know now!

Got new glasses. They cost lots of money, but at least I don't have to worry about them falling apart like my last pair was doing.

I took the crazies test my therapist recommended. I get to find out on Monday how nuts I truely am... I'm so thrilled.

...
Man, life sucks. I'm bored but don't want to do what I have to-- like reading and homework for class. (I have a pretty big project due on the 2nd, and I don't even remember what my topic is. I should really start on that now so that it's done when the other yahoos show up and we start moving.) I'm lonely, but the idea of meeting people is exhasting. I want the apartment to be clean, but I don't want to bother doing it. Really, all I want to do is sleep, read books that aren't for class, and eat sandwiches while fantasizing about a better, fuller, more active life.
This, dear children, is the weight of depression. And this is why, hopefully, I will put on a nice dose of something...inspiring, motivating. Like Zoloft.
...I should go look for books while I'm here at the library...
lykomancer: (Default)
So...

I was feeling reflective last night, talking with Tom about how I feel that, while my personality was great and helpful and useful at Northland, I don't feel that I'm the right kind of person to function in the Real World. I just feel...wrong...somehow, like an incorrectly-sized cog in a machine, grinding down into powder. My persona is too... well, too something (real, maybe)... to mesh well with common society, and I'm not interested in changing to suite the world; I don't feel that I should have to.

Tom kinda followed me, but I lost him again when I said that I thought maybe the problem lies in the fact that I have no "feminine mystery." He really didn't get that, so stumbled around for a while trying to explain.
I said, "You know that commercial that's been playing on the radio, like, every five minutes, about the 60 mile breast cancer run? It starts out with a guy saying that his wife is the most beautiful person in the world, right? ...I can't imagine anyone saying that about me (and not just because I doubt I'll ever get married). I'm not-- as the standards of the world would have it-- a beautiful person, especially once you get to know me. I'm not kind, gentle, or sensitive; I speak my mind, sometimes sarcastically, sometimes causticly; I cuss; I'm aggressive and confrontational; I snap and shout and rave and get so angry I cry and kick things. I nag and bitch, and my-oh-my, no one likes a nagging bitchy woman. I want things to be my way."
He still didn't get it.
So I tried the word "charming."
As in, "You know, women (and by this I mean "nice date-worthy girls" as opposed to " taken-em-home-and-screw-em sluts") are expected to be charming and gracious. It's an old-fashioned concept, but in some ways it's still in effect. Women are supposed to look nice and be nice and defer to others, care about when everyone else thinks and says, be reluctant to speak of themselves, and refuse to speak forcefully at all. And I just don't honor that."
Tom still doesn't get it, but I moved on.

And asked him what constituted a successful life.
Tom feels that if you find your vocation, what you are meant to do, and through that, if you manage to change even one other person's life for the better, you have lived successfully.
Fabulous.
I'm not sure what I am meant to be doing; by Tom's standard, my life is unsuccessful thus far.

And for the sake of curiosity, I'm throwing the question out to y'all:
What do you think constitutes a a successful life?
Because I realize that I myself have no idea how to define success.

Moon Tears

Nov. 5th, 2004 11:26 am
lykomancer: (Default)
They say that the Coyote
howls because
he is crying for
his long-
lost lover.
I have to
wonder
sometimes,
when I tip my head back to
look at the stars and
wail,
what it is that
I am crying for.

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