I'm going to do NaNoWriMo this year, for the first time, except it's not going to be a novel.
Nothing I write could top Fran's frantastic pirate story anyhow. No, partially as penance, I'm going to write a 50,000-word EMAIL. Or, alternatively, two 25,000-word emails to two people, or (no more than) five 10,000-word emails, you get the picture, you fuckers know your math. Parts of them will be love letters, parts of them will be me relating every childhood memory I possess, parts will be porn. I will write like the recipients are dying and this is the last chance I have to relate how much I love them and Johnny Depp.
I don't know who yet, or how many folks, but someone at least is going to get a huge-ass Word file in two months. Maybe I'll just write Robert Palmer.
(3)Monday, September 29, 2003
The weather is really swell today. I found out impatiens don't like direct sunlight, which is probably why the one I placed on our full-sizzling-deathray-sun-getting apartment windowsill was not exactly thriving. I tapdanced in the garage, then sat in the car and read a letter from English. Then I wore the dangly skull-and-crossbones earrings she sent. (They were a big family hit.)
You don't understand how swell the weather is right now. I can breathe the air.
I'm finishing Dark Tower and reading about the history of murder in America. Let me just say I'm not surprised that the largest official mass execution in U.S. history is white folk hanging themselves a bunch of Sioux Indians. The book so far, though, is just this side of motherfucking fantastic. This reading thing, it's pretty rad.
I dreamt I was on Jeopardy and then had to kill the other final contestant.
(0)Home is not where the heart is, rather, where the computer housing your gay hobbit porn is.
(0)Sunday, September 28, 2003
I already have names for the first two girl-children I may or may not bear, but God willing, if there's a third, I'm naming her after a female pirate, and if the husband objects, I think it should be grounds for divorce from my side.
(2)Saturday, September 27, 2003
I watched a special about Christina Aguilera today that seemed to take up half of my life--like it seemed even longer than than two-hour Family Feud special I watched back in the apartment last year, longer even than Manos and the Hands of Fate--but like my other inexplicable loves, I watched because Christina lives in a tiny room in my cold dead heart forever, hidden there along with fruit roll-ups, sequins and Rob Lowe (for company).
(2)Friday, September 26, 2003
I like to prop my legs up on a chair during the day and turn them slowly in the sunlight, watching the scars appear and disappear, the silver ones and the newer bruised-pink ones. I love my scars. Never trust someone who isn't clearly marked by battle.
Today I am admiring the polish on my toes, because today my feet look almost human and less hobbity, less like monsters.
(0)Thought I was going to choke to death on my own vomit last night. This turned out not to be the case, obviously.
When I'm sick, I'm always mad as hell about it.
(1)Wednesday, September 24, 2003
One should say before sleeping, 'I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knees and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.'
W. B. Yeats
(0)Fran tells me that she is banned from pedx due to its illicit content, according to her university internet. I am both amused and alarmed. If sukebind.org were cut off from me, I would riot, and the sound of shattering glass would fill the night (the best riots, naturally, are in the dark, as to make the flaming torches more vibrant).
Never fear, English, because you will get pedx even if I have to send the posts written invisibly on white paper with lemon juice. Where's our resident geek at? Travis, fix it. Fix it!
(2)Tuesday, September 23, 2003
No longer do I lust exclusively after the 1991 burgundy Buick Le Sabre. I saw an unpainted '71 Dart for sale, and my heart was won completely. Oh my lord, it was instant love, and I do not lie. I covet.
(3)Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Which do I like better, ham or gay smut? WHICH?
(2)How Do I Feel? Stressed out, chaotic. My father has been in the hospital lately, but I've been too tired to feel like talking about it or calling or emailing, so this is the first time anyone is hearing about it, but do not be offended or alarmed--it is not a reflection on you as to how much I love you. Some things you just get tired of discussing. Things are okay, though.
The kitten has been crazy and naughty and behaving in ways extremely dangerous to her personal well-being lately. All I need is more constant worry and stress. Pile it high and deep, please.
Ah, don't listen to me. I'm doing fine. I sent some mail out, I got some undeserved presents from Nic and this morning I had my first Coke in a month.
(2)I need to base a new mixed tape off of Ani DiFranco and "You Had Time." I should probably call it "PAIN PAIN PAIN ETCETERA ETCETERA."
Man, has stuff ever been going on lately.
(0)Monday, September 15, 2003
from "The Waste Land," T.S. Eliot
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
for Esther and also for the last gunslingers
(1)What I don't understand is why I cannot hear my cell phone when it's sitting out on a bureau a room away from me, but I can clearly hear the single solitary beep that indicates voicemail when I'm across the house, next to a fan, and the phone is in my purse, under a bed.
(2)Laura said to me at dinner on Saturday that she thought I was kidding about the tapdancing. No, Laura, no! I am a tapdancing fool!
Speaking of which, when I was thinking about how lately life has fucked me in the ass as far as proximity to my friends is concerned, I realized that if I hadn't been an academic failure and slacked around, I would've been out of university way earlier, and wouldn't have had the chance to get to know Esther and Laura at all. See, then, my inability to complete simple tasks on time impacted more than just my GPA and my lack of a minor or double major!
Dinner at Chopstix, which I was missing like a junkie, and when I perused the menu and said aloud something about "I wonder if that's the soup she ... never mind," Nicole knew instantly exactly what I meant, which is OBVIOUSLY a reference to the soup Genevieve took inspiration from for one of her rooms on Trading Spaces.
Later I ruined the intuitive best friend connection by continually holding up terrible shirts at Old Navy and insisting she would love them.
I MISS YOU ESTHER & LAURA! I MISS YOOOOUUU! TELL DADDY HOW YOU WANT IT!
"Some of them were beasts, man."
(2)Friday, September 12, 2003
Johnny Cash is dead, yes, but I'm more upset about John Ritter than anything else. John Ritter! With us no longer!
I have to check the Day Calendar and see what it says about this, because not only are there deaths, but me and Nic are getting fucked over again, inexplicably but not unexpectedly.
At least the weather is getting better. I wore shirt-sleeves the other day for about five hours.
(2)In tap class, the little girls keep latching onto me, talking to me all the time, telling me she doesn't like the way her mother dyes her hair blond because she's Puerto Rican and shouldn't have blond hair, or that her teacher told her to smile when she feels bad because then she won't feel bad anymore. Listen, kids, I ain't nobody's fucking friend! I'm trying to learn the charleston here! I'm trying to spring shuffle spring toe as fast as I can to the left! I'm not your conversation partner! I'm not here for social reasons! Talk to the nine-year-old on your other side!
(1)I'm not still Jenny from the block.
(1)I have a lot to say when the computer is occupied, or I am bathing children. Otherwise, I draw a blank.
Last night my father asked me, "Is there anything you want to do? Besides visit your friend?" Let me just say the answer is NO.
My mother wanted to watch TTT on Tuesday night, and at the end of the film I realized she was under the mistaken impression that this was it, that there were only two films and they were going to get the ring to Mount Doom at the end of it. Every half-hour or so, during a snack or cigarette break, I had to fill in all the back-history and most of the events that happen during ROTK. Aragorn's story, why Frodo is so pissy lately, Elrond's motivation. She was very concerned thinking that the trip to Valinor was a one-time thing and Legolas was going to miss it, and I got tears in my eyes thinking of him and Gimli later on. Oh them!
She was absolutely disgusted by Haldir's death, and too depressed to continue after Aragorn's fake untimely end. Mostly I just waited for Gandalf on the fifth day and cried. Watching these movies with my parents or little brother and sister requires fast, clear exposition during the gaps between dialogue or important action. All work and no play.
(1)Monday, September 8, 2003
At seven-thirty this morning, I decided to get out of bed, feeling a little ill and bored and aggravated by the cats who wouldn't stop making a racket (for the first time ever, my father did not feed them before work), and for no real reason at all -- inexplicably! -- the first thing I did was walk into the laundry room to turn off the light, and lo and beHOLD! A palmetto bug the size of a fucking New York borough is climbing up the side of the dryer as I stare in sheer horror, and settles itself on my clean and only pair of shorts, clinging there. This is a monster-sized insect, nothing particularly special, and the kind where smashing it would only leave a dent in the appliance and guts and exoskeleton dribbling, not to mention the shudders I would get as I felt the bug crunch beneath a shoe (weapon of choice, always, as bricks are not readily available). Instead I ran for the broom and the bug spray, dreading this bullshit, this half-awake ill-feeling lack-of-sleep hungry thirsty bullshit, and I stand back and swipe a few times at the nasty fucker, but they're not really good swipes, they're half-assed and they miss each time by about three inches because I don't really want to knock this thing on the ground and have to deal with it, have to chase it with spray that I try not to get into the litter box or all over our clothes and what if it runs under the washer and dryer?, I can't step foot in there for a week if that happens, these things are attracted me to like like flies on shit, and then -- INEXPLICABLY -- my father comes home again! Because my sister forgot her lunch in the garage! And he kills it for me! And also gives me the rest of a bag of ice that wouldn't fit in his cooler!
It's Christmas in September.
(2)Sunday, September 7, 2003
Stuff, and then other stuff. Words go here!
Who's down with O.P.P.?
(3)Saturday, September 6, 2003
Dinner conversation at my house runs like this. Brother: "I had a dream a tarantula bit me and it was poisonous and I was supposed to die." Sister: "I had a dream my eyes fell out but the doctors only thought I had a cold." Me: "Last night someone tried to kill me with a pair of hedge clippers." Ten minute description of what the hedge clippers looked like. The kids are enthralled.
And apparently, someone died at Disneyland, someone robbed a bank and got blown up by a bomb in the town I hope to move to, and there are hurricanes wrecking havoc in my state? The shit I learn logging in to Yahoo to read my gay smut.
(0)Sometimes I think I need to calm my irritation at others, like maybe I'm overreacting and should cool the hatred, but then it's made very clear, very plain that no, everyone else is a complete asshole, and I'm not wrong to hate their bullshit and subsequently wish a slow poisonous death upon them, an agony that lingers, sort of like the kind they leave in my heart and soul by existing.
This has only been exacerbated by my frequent driving as of late. I don't know how you other 22-year-old folk out there have been putting up with this crap for the past six motherfucking years.
(3)You know why I didn't see the least season of Buffy? Because I missed the finale the season before, and could not start the new season not having seen the previous conclusion. I would rather go without seeing my favorite show for the last year of its run instead, and wait for the DVD.
Something similar happened with X-Files, around the end of season 5, but that was a blessing in disguise at the time. I wasn't around for the last 239 years and was spared its terrible decline.
I miss the Buffy, though, like a relative gone lost in the woods whose body has yet to be found.
(1)Wednesday, September 3, 2003
1. With my online time so shortened and monopolized, I spend the days composing entries in my head that no one gets to see. There are nine spiralbound notebooks in my room. I haven't written down a single mental narrative as of yet, perhaps because 84% of the time my mental narratives are smutty fantasy not fit to see print.
2. Tap class tonight! I have been practicing. Tap makes me tingly inside. Also my ankles to burn.
I named my tapshoes Elladan and Elrohir.
3. The cats are mewling like perhaps the Apocalypse is upon us, and I should maybe unveil Christopher Walken as the new member of my Council of Elders, finally replacing Mel Gibson as my wondrous leader.
4. My cell phone don't do me no good if I keep it in my purse UNDER MY BED and then am only alerted the voicemail beep when I am crawling into bed at four a.m., although the thought did cross my mind to call Dakota back anyways, just to wake him up.
5. I cannot remember any dreams lately, which is unusual but perhaps merciful.
(1)