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 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.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this.
lykomancer: (Default)
Ok, so yesterday didn't go exactly as I planned.

I'm getting really frustrated at everyone. I'm the one in the house who is having the least amount of problems with Derek-- the day after Christmas fight aside-- and yet I'm really getting the message that I should be the one to handle him and the problems he's causing everyone else.

Ok, on one hand, yeah, as the calmest, most rationally sane person in the house and as a good friend who cares compassionate for my other housemates, I probably should be the one to deal with the mess.
On the other hand, I'm not the one having the majority of the problems, and my housemates are (supposedly) adults. They should take care of their own problems. It is not responsibility to look after them.

Wendy won't say much to Derek's face, and when she does, she seems to do it with the deliberately childish impetus to annoy him as much as he's annoying her-- whining, snapping, muttering.

Tom's run away from the whole situation, and called me yesterday with what seemed like the sole intent of asking me if I'd thrown Derek out yet. Tom will not confront Derek, makes absolutely no effort to do anything besides freak out, break down, and hide other places, and throws the entire burden on me and Wendy-- which, in reality, means me.
And I can't do anything because I have no idea what Tom's real problem is. Tom's freaking out even when Derek isn't doing anything and is leaving him entirely alone. I've never seen anyone so completely cowed by someone else for what seems like no apparent reason, and I don't know what to do about it. Everytime I ask Tom, he's just like, "I can't live with him! I can't stand being in the same house as him! I just can't do it!" which leaves me with no clear answers as to what the real problem is and suggests that Tom isn't even willing to try, which annoys the hell out of me. Tom's also said things about Derek reminding him of his mother, and about the problems of two bipolars living in the same house together, and I can understand all that when Derek is acting up...but not when Tom's breaking down and Derek isn't even there.
To be honest... *sigh* ...and this sounds harsh, it's seems like Tom's completely losing his mind. Literally.
I can't get anything out of him except fear and anxiety. He won't-- can't--- listen to anything besides his own terror, and I don't know what he's even really afraid of. The worst Derek can do is scream at us, maybe try to beat us up, but there's three of us in the house, there's three phones in the house (and it's easy enough to dial 911), and honestly, I don't think it would even go that far provided Derek was sober. And if he did start screaming at us or getting violent again, his ass would be grass in no time flat and then Tom wouldn't have to worry anymore.
And I understand that the mechanics of fear are such that reason itself isn't reasonable, and that it's easy to get trapped into a cycle of victimization because even the prospect of getting screamed at is terrifying...but I don't know what else to tell him or do for him. Again, it's harsh, but I wish Tom would make more of an attempt to be strong. He can't keep breaking down every time he runs into an obstacle; he can't keep running away from people like his mother and Derek-- if there's a cosmic lesson here, it's that he needs to learn how to deal with this kind of stuff and free himself from this cycle.

I really don't like being the most not-crazy person I'm living with.

Annie, Marybeth, Angela, et al. call me if you still have my number. I'm anxious to talk to other (relatively sane) people.
(Oh, and Marybeth, I did get your Christmas present, love! In all the lunacy I've been forgetting to mention that and give you a big thankies hug and kiss! Thank you!)
lykomancer: (angry)
*twitch, twitch*



Tom's therapist gave him two options:
He could check himself into the mental ward for a week,
or, he could get out of the house and live somewhere else for a week.
Hence, Tom is currently staying with Judith.

Derek is feeling "threatened" that he's going to be out on his ear.
He should be feeling thusly.
'Cause he's gonna be.

When Wendy, Wendy's boyfriend Ryan, and I got home last night, I pled a headache and locked myself in my room with a cup of Tension Tamers, Gackt music, lavender essential oil, and a book on the nature of evil. I didn't even want to talk to anyone, 'cause so help me God, if I had, I'd have lost it.
I isolated myself.

I pretty much got up and came here (the library).
I'm feeling calmer now... Or, probably more to the point, I am so past enraged that I feel calm.
Wendy's called into work today. No doubt this is related to the fact that I told her last night that I was throwing him out one way or another today, and when she asked me not to confront him alone, I pointed out that now that he's lost his job (yeah, the idiot lost his job-- ALREADY) and I don't have one, it's inevitable that we are going to be alone a lot.
But I'm thinking that I'm going to get him someplace out in public like a Starbuck's, and calmly and rationally say something to the effect of:

"Please don't interrupt me until I'm finished even though you're really going to want to. I really want you to hear everything I have to say.
You cannot stay with us. I know you were thinking about moving out on your own, and I think that's a good idea if you can still do it. But it comes down to the simple fact that you cannot live with us. Your mere presence is driving Tom literally insane.
You were able to even consider moving out here because of Tom's compassion and willingness to try to give people a fresh start, and clearly, it is not working out. The man who invited you out is having a mental breakdown just because you are in the apartment.
I feel an obligation toward Tom, because he has helped me out of the pit of despair more times than I care to count. Now Tom is in that dark place, and I feel that we both have an obligation to help him out.
If you are really serious about moving out and finding your own place-- as I said before-- I highly encourage this, and if you say that you are still serious about it, you will have no problem with my getting an eviction notice to back your claim up and have something to show Tom to reassure him."

You will note that it is waaaaayyyy nice.
Too fuckin' nice.
I am calm enough to be nice, and be it forcefully, and so I will take advantage of that calmness.

If I have to, I will point out that I am willing to forgo the two hundred dollars he owns me for rent in exchange for him buying a bus, train, or-- better yet-- plane ticket back to PA.

One way or another, it's going down today.
I'm tired of dragging this out.
I'm sick of the fuckin' psycho-drama.
And if I'm the only one with the cojones to square off with him, so be it. We all have our crosses to bear.
lykomancer: (Default)
This morning, taking Derek to work-- who, even though he's been going to the same place for three weeks, did not know the way there... This is at the two hour mark (to a place that is twenty minutes from home):
Wendy, on the phone with a woman at Derek's work: Yeah, well that's part of our problem. We don't know which direction east is.
The Lady on the Phone: Follow the sun.
Wendy, repeating: Oh...follow the sun!
Me and Derek: *fall over laughing*

Two nights ago while having an extremely pleasant time with Jenny, Owen, David, and their friends Mike and EJ-- Ok, so Jenny wasn't having a good time, but dammit, I sure was-- I called home to see if Jenny would be able to get in and get some files off her computer.
Heard Wendy and Derek screaming at one another.
Went home.
Owen wanted/s to moderate so that 911 doesn't have to be called and work it out so that Derek comes up with the idea "on his own" to move out. By the time we got that established and got back home, Derek was in bed, so we let it slide.
Tom, of course, heard about this, and the next day had an anxiety attack bad enough that he spent most of the day in the hospital. They sent him home saying, "maybe you should trying eating and sleeping." No shit, you dumb bastards; I didn't realize you needed a medical degree, millions of dollars of equipment, hundreds of dollars in payment, and six hours to figure that out! I thought that might be self-evident.

Yesterday was a complete wash.
Didn't get internet. Don't have a new working computer. Didn't get to check my email (which is ok, because what I'm waiting for wasn't there anyway).

The only up-side is that Derek came home only minutes after Tom (who began shaking the minute he saw Derek), and so went I was escorting Tom into his room and making sure that he ate and got situated, Jenny was executing Owen's plan, and by the time I got out to the living room, Derek was proudly announcing his plans to find his own apartment. He went out with Jenny, and they already got some apartment guides.
(Really, I want him back in PA... as far away from me and mine as I can manage...but at this point, I'll take what I can get.)
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," 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: (hurt)
Oh, my fucking God.

My raging bipolar lunatic roommate )

I should cheer myself up by emailing Teresa-san, but...the last thing I need right now is something else that would make me nauseous, even if it's in a good way.
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: (hurt)
I am currently enjoying the the feeling of my brain trying to forcefully escape through my eyes. I'm tired, sleepy, hungry, and I have two hours to go until my three hour long class.

I was scheduled to work this week forty hours-- yep, full time-- including working Thursday (which I requested off so that I had one guaranteed homework day), plus had a two-page paper to write and about four hundred pages of reading to do. I talked to my boss about Thursday, and all she was giving me was a "well, we'll have to work something out."
I worked from one until 8 yesterday, and that means I needed Tom to pick me up, as the bus doesn't run after 7. I also found out that Sheri left me a note asking if I could come in at 8:30 today instead of 10 like I was scheduled. Now, I already knew Tom was going to be late, but he ended up running later than he expected and didn't show up until ten after nine. So, I was sitting outside, freezing cold, thinking about all my homework, and knowing that I had to be back at work in twelve hours for roughly forty-five minutes.
I yelled at Tom in the car, and when we got home it was pretty quiet until I got out of the shower and threw myself on my couch and Tom tried to explain why he was late.
And I started fucking crying.
No, not frustrated crying, not I'm upset stuff, but real barking, gasping sobs. And I start in on Tom. About how the garbage needs to be taken out and he won't goddamm do it, and that he works so much less than me and he's only taking one more class that me (and yes, I know that one class means driving up to Ashland and everything that goes along with teaching), and how tired I am, and how I don't feel that it's fair that he sleeps in half-way through my work day and plays solitaire on the computer all night when I'm doing reading for class, and so on and so forth.

I don't think that got us anywhere.

First, he declared that he understood that "it's just the depression speaking," which would have pissed me off more if I hadn't been sobbing uncontrollably at that point. Second, he just kind of shrugged it off saying that he worked all during college, only ever failed one class, and that I just sat around and played then and that now he's decided to take it easy on himself and I've decided to go into overdrive. (This resulted in me shrieking at him that I don't want to have to push so hard, but I don't see any other way to make ends meet, and that I wanted a better job.)

I dunno, I'm still frustrated. I'm pretty sure this is a whopper of a tension headache, and as soon as I disengage myself from the internet I'm hunting down some water and pills.

God, this fuckin' sucks.

Tommorrow, I have off. Tomorrow, I am GETTING SHIT DONE.
Tomorrow, I am taking back the twenty-three library books I have out, hitting up Nicolet Ave for Jenny (I have a few things to send up with Tom, too... not sure it they are anything you want in particular, but I figure you can figure out something to do with 'em), maybe getting a badly needed haircut, doing all my reading for Thursday's class.

I feel terrible. Doesn't it ever stop?
lykomancer: (Default)
I went home yesterday and proceeded to write until I couldn't think of anything else to say. Here's the results.

Ranting, raving, and foaming at the mouth )

She works hard for the money... )

Blurb )

On the beast within )

And yeah, I feel better today and the weather is gorgeous, I get paid tomorrow and we can go grocery shopping, and for now, once more, the world seems an ok place. My demons have be appeased by the offering of words and tears, and have quietly retreated. That's good enough for now, although I am already thinking about how to shut them up for good.
Right. I'm off to go online rat shopping.
lykomancer: (Default)
I don't know how I feel.
(+)Day off
(-)Reading other's journals
(+ & -) It's raining (+) and I have to walk to my bus stop (-)

I dunno... *sigh* The weather seems to be reflecting my mood.
I've got nothing to do today, and while that is, indeed, a good thing, it's also kind of limiting. So I'll lay around and daydream and read The Catholic Myth, which is the top on my stack of library books.

Think about all the things I think but never say or write down...

Tell myself I'm going to write another five pages of my story, a complaint to my government, a letter to Stephen King, some bad poetry, some smut...and sit down only to play solitaire for three hours.

Do the dishes and fantasize about what I can't have for supper.

And all the while think that there should be something better I should be doing with my life, feeling like I missed the boat and am standing on the shore desolate and alone, feeling like I would cry and scream if only I knew what was wrong with me/my life. It's like the antiChrist of deja vu, sinking serrated teeth into my soul.

I fail to see the point of this doomed experiment known as "life"; would someone like to enlighten me?
lykomancer: (Default)
Heartsick. Homesick.

I hate this. I almost think now that I should have stayed in the Cities, slept in, played solitaire, watched the same damn movies over and over, and sulked about not getting to go up to Ashland...instead of actually coming here.

It's not that I didn't have a good time. It's exactly the opposite.

I stand outside and listen to the wind in the maple leaves, feeling the cool air, admiring the orangey gold early evening light, and I feel violently ill at the idea of getting in the car and going back to the apartment. If I were a little kid, I'd kick and scream and flat-out refuse... I feel like someone's squeezing my throat, or like there's a wad of dry terry cloth crammed into my vocal chords.

I don't want to go.
I don't want to go.

I want to swim in the lake and roll around on the newly laid sod of the Mall, get a tan, go out drinking with Daysha.

I walked back from the Deep Water last night and wandered up to campus, reassuring myself that this is still my place, my territory, that it hasn't forgotten me yet. I canvassed the whole place, feeling like an old dog pissing in the corners to reaffirm his claim on something. God, it's so weird, disappointing to know that I will not be there this fall.

I don't know why I feel this way. Tom has already begun forgetting things about Ashland and Northland, already within a year. I feel like there will never be a time when I don't crave being here... never will I be able to leave without feeling like my heart is breaking.

This is my place. My family's here. Love is here. Mother Superior is here. This is where I learned who I was/am and how to love and lose and laugh and cry.

Angela's moving out of her house, and I wandered through it thinking about how much fun we had there-- her and me and Jenny-- with our Sunday dinners and anime and goofing off and sake and cool cakes.

I always want what's gone, what I can't have.

It makes me want to cry, but I don't want to freak other people out. That's probably a bad sign, but then, so is feeling claustrophobic about going "home" to my stuff and my couch and my job.

lykomancer: (upset)
Wow, I actually have time to write a real entry and a working keyboard. All that praying is starting to pay off.

So frustrated.
So fucking frustrated.

I'm tired of this crap. I'm tired of being jobless and spending my days laying around reading books I've already read and watching movies I've already seen and playing solitaire on Tom's computer. I'm tired of searching through the newspapers, hating the grit of newsprint and the smudges of ink on my fingers, circling ads for jobs I'll never get. I'm tired of "applicants must have 3 or more years experience in marketing, communications, or related field."

I'm bored and I want to get out and do stuff, but I can't. I would have something to do if I had a job, but I don't. I canceled two interviews last week because I was so sure of getting the job with Caribou, and now it's been a week and I'm still unemployed.

I want to have something to do. I want to have some reason to get off the couch in the morning. I want to interact, maybe make a friend or two, meet people. I want money so that the budget won't be so tight and so that I can buy a cup of coffee if I want to, or a new pair of headphones, or donate to the Green Party.

And it's so damned easy for me to be irrationally, angrily envious of Tom when he speaks so blithely of the future-- his future and what he wants to do with it.
I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I survive day to day. I breathe, I blink, I eat, I sleep. Instinctive animal rhythms of life that sustain my existence... but there's nothing more. I don't have any goals to strive toward achieving. I have no hopes, no dreams, no desires, no ambitions.
God, I can't even write or draw, though I have plenty of free time in which to do so. All of my projects lie languishing, and I just stare at them, fiddle with the keyboard, and go back to playing solitaire.

How can I hope to attract people-- potential employers, friends, possible mates-- if I lack that divine creative spark, the spiritus of vitality? How beautiful can one possibly be without a future, filled with only avoidance of reality, fear, and despair?

I have only a few ideas of what I don't want to do: I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a high-school graduate dead-end job pushing food in disposable paper packaging across the counter with one hand while the other dances across the keys of the cash register.

I am loss as to where to even begin. I have little money, no local bank account, poor credit, no car, no license, not enough job experience, not enough resume and interview experience. I have my goddamn resume on a disk and I can't get it off; the only way that it appears that I can get the experience I need is through unpaid internship or volunteer work-- and that still leaves me needing a job that pays.

*smashes head into something hard*

Why is this so fucking hard?

So, lacking anything else better to do, I followed Tom's suggestion and went to Pride on Saturday.
(Yeah, as in GAY Pride... it's the third largest Pride festival in the nation, apparently.)

It was neat; I'm glad that I went, though I did spend most of the day thinking, "Oh wow! I bet Daysha would love that!" Or, "Heh, I wish Angela could have seen that... she'd have had something nice to say." Or, "Oh, I wish I could buy that for Annie!" It's kind of like being haunted.

(That reminds me though: Annie, you should come down here for Pagan Pride on September 11th!)

I was just about to leave when I ran into Alicia and Lindsey, Sara Lee and Connie.
I glomped poor Alicia...I don't think she was expecting quite that enthusiastic of a greeting...and spent about another two hours hanging out with them. Yeah, I felt like a bit of a fifth wheel, being the only individual in a group of two couples, but I didn't care, it was just so good to be with people.
I found out that Channy lives down here too, and that she occasionally does drag at the Gay 90's. Maybe I'll stop in there some night and see if she's preforming.


I don't know. I mean, it's hard to explain when I run into people-- like Alicia-- why I'm so desperately happy to see them. Yeah, I guess that I am lonely. I'm also bored. I am also stressed. My joblessness, which can be summed up with, "And I still don't have a job!", is grating on me-- the pressure to get one, the tight budget, the overwhelming sense that I'm fucking up and being a leech and that I'm letting Tom down and all I do is sit around and read and listen to music and why aren't I trying HARDER WHY DON'T I GODDAMN HAVE A JOB YET WHAT ARE YOU SOME KIND OF WELFARE LOSER!?
Thinking about it makes me feel a little psychotic. I'm contemplating more and more of scheduling an appointment with Tom's shrink, who charges on a sliding scale according to income...not that it would do me any good; I can't afford the drugs he'd probably prescribe.

Yeah, Jess's screws aren't as in as tight as they could be.

It's problematic, but at least I'm aware of it. That's half the fight right there. Maybe it's time to start using what little I have left of my St. John's Wort tincture again, or talk to Deborah-- a very nice friend of Tom's-- who I believe is an herbalist.

It's not that bad-- not as bad as it sounds. I'm just frustrated and upset and tired of having to scratch for everything. A lot of this will go away once I start working-- are you listening, God?-- and don't have to deal with these feelings of inadequacy. I just need something to do with my time and distract me, and then I'll be OK.

God, I don't want to end it on this kind of note. I don't want anyone worrying about me. I just needed to vent a bit, purge the abcess. It looks ugly now, but it's not as bad as it appears.

lykomancer: (hurt)

I need to write an eight page paper tomorrow that's due tomorrow. And talk to the Career Services lady about my resume, and schedule a check-out time with that bitch of an RHD. I should swing by Heather and Akia's to see if Akia picked up any boxes for me, and visit with them before they leave for her sister's graduation in Texas.

...I lost my graduation day schedule paper. How will I know to follow Michele Small around now? What will I do with myself?

I really wish i could have seen the suckers run this spring.
I really wish that the lilac bushes would have bloomed before I left.

I was really hoping that by the time the end came, everything would be ok and it would feel right to go...that everyone would be settling into their boring summer routines and being their normal boring selves and that I wouldn't feel like I was going to be missing out on anything and that everything would be fine, just fine and it'd be cool... I'd be all smiles and hugs and "see ya sometime-- yeah, I'll try to visit in July; there better be a place for me to stay, and no, I won't forget to keep in touch" and that I'd walk away without thinking about it. And by the time I realized what I'd done it'd be too late.

(and it wouldn't hurt so much)
(and I wouldn't be crying)

It's not just the fact that I am leaving the Northland "bubble" with it's subculture and rhythm and idiosyncratic quirks that I have learned and learned to love. I can deal with that.
It's not just the loss of casual acquaintances or the distance put as a barrier between close, deep friendships. That's terrible, but not the worst.
It's the loss of identity. Who am I now? What am I? I have to redefine myself in a strange place with few people I know who can help me. What am I going to do with myself?
Will it matter what I do? Will it matter if I slip into working class apathy and just fall asleep standing up behind a counter or sitting at the keyboard?
Who will care anyway? Those whose opinions I value most are not going with me, and the longer that we are apart, the less understanding there will be. Communication will break down until it is simply the ritual mouthing of words, with no care no empathy no understanding.

The color of my tassel is white-- the color of death.

My, I'm cheerful and optimistic, ne?

There must be something wrong with my eyes. I can't stop crying.
lykomancer: (upset)
My room is a pit; there are books, clothes, cups, wrappers, and miscellaneous other things strewn haphazardly everywhere. It's Tuesday night of the week of graduation, and I haven't packed anything up since Wednesday of last week-- I haven't even picked up more boxes yet. I have an eight-to-ten page research paper due on Friday for my last class at Northland, and I have only conducted one and a half (if I can even count that half) out of the six or so interviews that I need in order to write it... And that's saying that even if I do the interviews I'll write the damned thing. I've done nothing except write fanfiction and sleep in the last week-- a hardcore program of absolute avoidance.

A walk to buy ice cream in the campus center took over 45 minutes-- I flopped on the sidewalk, watched the storm clouds, got the ice cream, wandered around campus until I got the the fire ring, I saw a deer and decided to see how close I could get before it ran... Some sewing that should have taken two hours was started at noon and is still unfinished. I really don't even want to be around other people-- and that's bad, 'cause I'll miss them a great deal in another week, and I know that they want to hang out with me while they can-- just hang out in the swirling maelstrom of my disaster area, communing with my computer.

It's Tuesday night of the week of graduation, and the lilacs aren't blooming yet. I'll probably have to wear a sweater to my graduation; it's been raining almost nonstop for three weeks, and it's not predicted to stop until after I've left. No sunbathing on what's left of the Mall for me. Too cold, too wet.

I'm bored and don't want to do anything. I skip class to sleep in until the afternoon and I'm still tired. If the seminary doesn't accept me, I have no long-term plans.

What in the hell am I doing?
lykomancer: (hurt)
...gone in the wink of a young girl's eye / Glory days / just seem to pass ya by...

Feeling a bit odd after Jenny left... melancholy, I guess. A little off-kilter. Still kinda wound up about leaving Northland-- although I'm sure all of you reading this are wishing I'd just freakin' graduate already and stop whining about being afraid. (I'm kidding. I don't think you guys are actually thinking that... or at least I hope not. ^_~)

I guess I'm a little tripped out because I realized-- making a connection with David Saetre's sermon for the UU's about three months ago-- that I'm afraid because, in a sense, I'm dying. Change is a small death... and we're not taught very well how to cope with the death of a way of living and understanding the world.

I need to make a list of crap I need to do in the next two weeks. (Loan exit interview, check up on cap and gown, reservations for stupid lunch thing, get boxes, start packing, wash items before they get packed, make sure at least unoffical transcripts get mailed to seminary, pay Jenny for bike and floppy drive, talk to Angela's David about meeting up with him in the Cities, talk to other David and misc other professors...)


I just looked at my calender and nearly threw up on it. That's not a good sign. Maybe I'll talk to David Saetre sooner.
God, make me brave for life: oh, braver than this!
Let me straighten after pain, as a tree straightens after the rain,
Shining and lovely again.
God, make me brave for life; much braver than this.
As the blown grass lifts, let me rise
From sorrow with quiet eyes,
Knowing Thy way is wise.
God, make me brave, life brings
Such blinding things.
Help me to keep my sight;
Help me to see aright
That out of dark comes light.

- Author Unknown

And now for something completely different. )
lykomancer: (Default)

I feel like writing something profound and meaningful and interesting, and I can't think of anything to actually write about. It's some weird mutant form of writer's block.

I guess I'm having one of those small mid-mid-life crises again. Still afraid of graduating.

Afraid isn't a good enough word anymore. Maybe terrified is better. It's hard to tell. I don't let myself think about it often because it's so...consuming. Once I start, I can't stop. Like Lay's potato chips, but not as fattening and more likely to cause insomnia.

When I left high school, it wasn't a problem. I had a place to go, and, at that point, I was still a kid in a lot of ways; if I fell I knew someone would catch me.
But I'm not a kid anymore, and I'm afraid of falling.

I wrote once that I'm not the adult I wanted to be, and dammit, I'm still not. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I such a jerk? Why am I so damned lazy? Childish? Easily distracted? Unmotivated?

I should be writing my paper for History, but I can't think of anything to write about. Usually typing the header jumps-starts something, but not tonight. I'm just staring at my name. The cursor blinks rhythmically.

I don't know what to do with myself. I'm bored, but not doing the work that I should because I can't focus long enough to even figure out how to begin.

Tomorrow's Easter, and I'm half-assed contemplating Auschwitz.

Stupid fuckin' universe. I hate the stars sometimes.

PISCES (Feb 19–Mar 19): You Fish are now swimming in deep waters -- so deep that light doesn't easily reach and the bright colors have faded into shades of gray. Don't get distracted by the depressing nature of the depths; it comes along with the territory. You have some powerful work to do down here. Face your fears. Shine your inner light into the darkness. And slowly return to the surface when you feel ready. Your friends will, reliably, be waiting for you.


lykomancer: (Default)

May 2017

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