Friday, April 11th, 2008
First outfit of the day. It was simply gorgeous outside (about 90 degrees, I think) & I was in no mood to fuss over something to wear. Hence, this rather sporadic outfit. The only thing that was planned was the necklace. Everything else was just spur-of-the-moment. I took Sofie for a walk in this, so naturally, I wanted to be comfortable but stylish (doesn’t everyone?)
The t-shirt is from a Hanes 3-pack (men’s); black shorts from Ross ages ago; jean vest from such a long time ago, I don’t remember were I purchased it; the necklace was my mother’s, but is now mine! I still let her borrow it if she needs it. :] & of course, the same old flip flops.
This morning, Lover was surprised to find post-it notes all around the house from me to him. Some of them were not G rated, thus stopping me from uploading them here. I left this one in particular on the refrigerator door with these instructions:
Good morning, handsome! I just wanted to remind you that you should take that pizza to work with you today. Also, the cantaloupe, too. I love you, honey. I can’t wait to spend the weekend with you. Have a great day, Baby! xoxo
Love,
Your Wife.
Another post-it on the door, on his way out in case he forgot. :]
I have to admit that it is so hard to take a decent photo of yourself while still trying to manage to get a good shot. I end up looking like an amputee in every picture! Sigh. Regardless, I had a wardrobe change upon finding out that Lover was getting off of work early today. That, & it was incredibly hot outside. This was the closest to wearing nothing I could get without being nude (which was tempting; very, very tempting). Furthermore, I wanted to look foxy for my husband; I hadn’t dolled myself up for the sake of dolling myself up (good perfume, eyeliner, the works) for quite some time.
After an hour or so, I decided to add to the dress the droopy “vest” thing that I was wearing yesterday. I am so glad I did. It dressed down the dress much more, which I prefer.
The dress is from Target; the vest from Angl; the shoes (which are not shown, but are darling little gladiator-esque sandals) are from Ross; the heart necklace from forever21 & the Om necklace was a gift.
the necklaces.
Although it seemed, at first, that my dressing up was in vain, (we ended up just going grocery shopping & then straight home) I was delighted to hear “you look so beautiful today; I am the luckiest man alive” escape from my Lover’s mouth. So, I suppose… being all dressed up & having no real reason to go anywhere isn’t all bad every once in a while. As long as I decide not to make a habit out of it. God forbid I waste my best perfume.
& so the night ends with Lover being intensely glued to the television while playing Donkey Kong 2 on old-school Nintendo.
Look at how serious he is! A few moments ago, he was shouting obscenities at Diddy & his girlfriend, Dixie, screaming: “What the fuck?! I totally hit that guy!!! Are you serious? What the hell was that?! Fuck! Okay, he’s going down now… he better recognize.” I am trying to not laugh at his Nintendo rage, because I know that it will send him further into his madness, thus pushing me to open my mouth & say “Babe… it’s just a game! Calm down.” & then he’ll begin to argue “Just answer me this: why is it that when I jump on top of them they don’t die but they can attack me? Just answer me that!” Yeah. Do not come between a man & his Game; whether it be chess, WoW (thankfully, I have never had to deal with this acute form of obsessional computer-gaming) or Yahoo Towers, just stay out of the way. Every other man could back me up on this, I’m sure.
& Sofie? She has been an angel all day, enduring her father’s outbursts of anger & occasionally licking me on the leg; she has a thing for tasting my lotion. Sofie has so many toys that I don’t think she knows what to do with them. She looks bewildered in this picture, as though she is overwhelmed — with joy or confusion — & doesn’t know which toy to pick or to give attention to. Again I have to say that being a dog must be nice!
THE END.
Friday, April 11th, 2008
Today would have been the 5 year anniversary between me & an ex-lover. I don’t know why I still ponder over these “anniversaries” or why I still think about him. It truly is habitual thinking, even after all of these years. & it’s embarrassing, to say the least. It’s obvious that we have both moved on: I am married & I believe he is also en route to that destination. If I’m not correct, he may even have a baby on the way. Weird to think that it could have been me. I often wonder how differently my life would have turned out, had we had never broken up & kept our promises between each other. We were young & stupid; crazy in love over the idea of love itself. I was head over fucking heels for this boy; he was my sun up & sun down. Had we would have stayed together, we would have been the picture-perfect, high school sweetheart romance. We endured a lot of things together; the most brutal of them being growing up together. Ultimately, that was what separated us. I can’t say whether it was me that grew up faster, leaving him to catch up… or the other way around. To this day, I don’t really know what happened between us. The only conclusion I can come up with is that we just grew apart, which is something I still don’t quite understand. I don’t understand how people can grow apart. I mean, I’ve heard of stories where people were married for years & suddenly, they woke up as complete & total strangers. Coincidentally, right as I was experiencing my own confusing tale of this myth called Growing Apart, my parents were in the middle of doing the same, thus making me feel hopeless about love. All of this happened almost 2 years ago. There was nothing good about those times. I cannot speak anything good about them.
Being 15 & dangerously in love with someone not much older than yourself is… dangerous. Putting so much effort into a relationship that wasn’t destined to last, making believe that we are more than what we are (we were so young, but had the thought-processes & intentions of oblivious adults), stating promises & vows to each other, making sacrifices that were heartbreaking & life-changing; was it worth it? Saying that I regret it would be very harsh; those years with ex-lover taught me many things about love & life & relationships that I could never read in any book or hear from the mouths of my parents. But… saying that I am grateful for the pain that was brought upon me would be stupid. It’s obvious that my inarticulateness about this subject really speaks for itself: I am still clueless, still cautious, still healing after all of these years. That is really all I can say about it anymore. I truly try to keep my “thinking out loud” about all of this to myself. There have been many times were I have asked Lover to explain it all to me, because I still don’t understand. The breakup, the falling out of love, the “out of nowhere” separation. I know that it isn’t fair to Lover to bring up my past that has nothing to do with him or our love for one another in the present moment. Again, it’s a healing process for me. Not that I am still in love with my ex; I couldn’t even say that I was in love with him at all. It was more obsession & infatuation & make believe than it was anything else. We were kids! We didn’t know what love was or what sacrifice meant. We had no idea what it meant to be committed to each other. We thought we did… & our efforts in keeping it together at such a young age, only getting inspiration & influence from our own chaotic families, were noble.
It’s so silly how I think about this still. How I look at every 11th day of the month & I have at least 2 thoughts that day about how this would have been a certain number of months, years we would have been together. Why do I do that? My heart has let him go; I gave my heart to Lover, after all. It’s as though my brain is still stuck on stupid. Literally. My therapist & I had talked about this a few sessions ago. I had mentioned, rather out of the context, that I had heard it through the grapevine of my ex-lover’s engagement & his expecting a child. She must have sensed some kind of emotion trying to come out of me, for she asked me to further express myself. I told her it didn’t matter & that I was embarrassed enough to still be affected by the news; there was no point, I concluded. She wouldn’t let me go that easy & we proceeded to spend most of the session talking about this. There was really no direction in this conversation because I was still trying to figure out why I was still hung up on all of it… but she told me that I was trying too hard to forget him & that I needed to remember that the end of a relationship is much like a death & I haven’t allowed myself the privilege of mourning. This goes not only for my failed relationship, but my parent’s divorce. Beating myself up about this isn’t necessary, I suppose. I am only human, after all. That said, I have to say:
This is the anniversary of a death for me. The death of something that was seemingly endless & filled with truth & love 2 years ago. I will always remember those moments. I will always hold a high regard to the memories we obtained together. I truthfully miss the innocence we shared together, while growing up with each other, trying to understand life & commitment & sanity. It was so dysfunctional… but we carried each other in our own unique ways. For a while, the world stood still for us, while we carried on like a married couple, making plans for our indefinite future. It was so dysfunctional. I think God knew what he was doing; we would make ourselves miserable if we stayed together. God gave ex-lover the courage to end something that was no longer relevant in our lives. I’d like to think that ex-lover is still a bit confused like I am now; that he is trying to make sense of the love that was lost. Why it is that love — proclaimed as the conquerer of all things — could just stop so suddenly like that. More than likely, he has already figured it out & I am the one that is making it so difficult.
In the midst of all of this seriousness & patheticism (I made up that word to fit the moment) I decided to do something constructive [for heaven's sake!]. I painted my toenails hot orange to switch up the monotony of my poor, boring little toes a bit. It’s like they are screaming “yeah! how do you like them apples?! Or oranges?! Huh??” loudly & proudly. & iEscape has to be playing the most saddest songs today. Sigh.
Thursday, April 10th, 2008
I wrote this terribly melodramatic post about how nonsensical it is that I am forcing myself to be stuck at home, rather than lollygagging about in this oh-so-interesting city I live in. All of this is old news. I already know this, so why keep harping on it? It just rubs it in for me, really. Either way, I mentally slapped myself out of it, took a shower, shaved & lathered with LUSH body wash called Flying Fox (which smells like if jasmine & honey were trying to seduce you into their bedroom so they can have their way with you in a tangled threesome) & put on an outfit that fits my mood for today, before I picking up Lover from work.
Flowery shirt & Levi jeans from Ross; built-in-bra undershirt from so long ago I can’t even remember when I bought it; killer beige vest (could pass as a dress, too) from Angl; same heart necklace from yesterday; other necklace was a present from Lover, which has the Sanskrit symbol for the word “Om” on it. There is a word for this, but I don’t remember it now. Oh! & flip-flops from Payless.
I am starting to see a pattern in these “what I’m wearing today” kind of posts. I quite like it. It gives me something to do. & it just stopped me from whining about being an unemployed Loser.
Other than this useless ensemble of clothing, the day was rather restless. I spent some time editing an interview that needs to go to press on Monday. The editor (my aunt) requires that the interview be no more than 350 words, which is about 3 paragraphs, roughly. This is going to be such a pain in my side, for I have well over 1600 words for this extensive interview. I haven’t a clue how I am going to dwindle it down to 350 words, which includes the introduction. This sort of writing is not really my forte; I haven’t had to really use my brain in writing in quite some time. Hopefully it’ll turn out alright, in spite of this ridiculous word count.
Sigh.
Wednesday, April 9th, 2008
I am trying a new method in writing this entry & if it works, I shall do this often. I quite enjoyed switching it up a bit.
This morning, I woke up at 9:00am (on the dot!) with a stiff neck. Sofie was crying for me at the bottom of the stairs as usual so I stumbled out of bed & proceeded to turn on our oven, which just so happens to be a wonderful heater in our studio! Our apartment never came with a heating unit, so I came up with the brilliant idea during the beginning of fall to use our oven as a heater. It works like a charm for our small space! (Thankfully, our apartment does have an air conditioner, which will be of much use for those 110+ degree temperatures to be expected this & every summer.) I turned on the television, cuddled up to Sofie on the couch, trying to wake up slowly. The oven was heating up just right & I then it dawned on me: I was hungry. I reluctantly got out of my comfortable blankets & crept toward the refrigerator. In the freezer I found the best thing to be found in a freezer: monkey bread.
I started to do a happy dance in my kitchen upon finding this delectable treasure that I had almost forgotten about! & perfect timing too, because the oven was set & ready to heat these tasty cinnamon treats up. I opened the package & pulled the carton out. They look awfully boring when they haven’t been cooked; I tried not to get discouraged.
Very boring, indeed. But after a just few minutes in the oven, they transformed into gooey bits of sticky cinnamon bread & I was just dying to get my hands on them.
Oh & it was absolutely heavenly; simply delicious. Tasty Goody!, as I like to say. I enjoyed several bits of these sugary excuses for a breakfast & decided to work on my writing. I received a letter from the editor I have been working with about an article I was doing for her. She didn’t like it. Truthfully, if an article was written about ponytails, I’m not quite sure if I could enjoy it either; I’m just not much into “missy, sissy, prissy” magazines. I tried to switch the article up a bit & come from a mature view point of the infamous ponytail. All of my efforts were useless because the editor was disappointed that “someone of my age” couldn’t deliver something youthful & flirty for a women’s magazine. She asked that I re-write it completely, returning it to her on Monday. I wrote a letter back to her, telling her that I was sorry she didn’t like it, but I had other articles that I was wrapping up (which I do) & couldn’t re-write an entire article at the moment. I truly tried not to be insulted by her critique but it is obvious that I may not be the right fit for this magazine, since I write so differently from girls “my age.” I will not conform! I want to be a privileged writer, not a tutti-fruity teenage essayist. Needless to say, I was quite bummed. So I put on a killer, yet simple outfit & headed to Target to pick up a few things.
There I am, driving with my mean face. & I truly did manage to pick up just a FEW things at Target. Lightbulbs for our upstairs light & a pack of Men’s t-shirts for myself, which I have been dying to have. & they were only about $7.00 for a pack of 3! A steal, if I should say so myself, for all of the endless possibilities that can conspire with a plain white tee! Lover would be so proud — or maybe he won’t, since I didn’t actually need those shirts. He would be proud to know, though, that I was about to buy many, many other things (this darling little V-necked t-shirt with a rustic tree on it; a bottle of Smart Water since they didn’t have my Aquafina; this tranquility soy candle that smelled like Heaven but was an astonishing $10.00!; so on & so forth) but… I put them down saying, You don’t need it, Ev’Yan. I’m very proud of myself. I only spent ten dollars at Target. I was walking with a skip in my step at my accomplishment & decided that I needed to wash my terribly unattractively dirty car. So I went to the Car Wash.
wash.
rinse.
repeat.
Done! & squeaky clean… except for this one spot by my mirrors, but I can’t hate the machine who is cleaning my car, when I have 2 perfectly good arms to do it myself. Truthfully, I get such a thrill out of going through a car wash. I always have since I was little, but was deprived the pleasure. So I am making up for it in my adulthood. I still squeal & laugh like it’s this roller coaster ride. Naturally, I was in a euphoric mood after my outstanding self-control in Target & my freshly cleaned car (not to mention the monkey bread, which was till tying me over at 1 o’clock).
I am smiling much more than I was earlier. & I’m having a good hair day as well! & it’s Wednesday! All of this excitement! This calls for a celebration! I took just a few pictures of the California mountains while driving toward home; unfortunately it was a smoggy mess. But the pictures don’t really portray that, which is both good & kind of sneaky.
The clouds are beautiful today & the breeze is perfect. I arrived home to a very excited Sofie Aiko, who grabbed several toys upon greeting me. She was wagging her tail with such might that it made my heart fill with love. I decided to take her for a walk (no pictures of this; I don’t trust myself walking around with this three hundred dollar camera in my pocket.) She sprinted the whole walk as usual, kissing people’s toes & legs that happened to cross our path. People are either delighted at her forward affection or disgusted. Sofie never cares about other’s opinions, though. She just struts her stuff, regardless of the barking dogs or the noise around her. & that is when I started thinking how simple it must be to be a dog, especially Sofie, who is pampered by her mommy & daddy.
We came home shortly after the brisk walk around the block & I made lunch. Sofie fell right asleep & so it has been for the remainder of the afternoon. Now I am patiently waiting for the time to pass to where I can drive to Lover & pick him up from work; which reminds me that I need to answer my own dreaded question of “what are we having for dinner tonight?” Lover never likes this question so it’s pointless & rather rhetorical for me to ask him. Better that I figure it out for myself.
Oh & here is my super smashing outfit today:
(I forgot to mention “tag” this photo! those teeny little feet belong to Sofie Aiko. & that red thing just so happens to be Sofie’s infamous “foot”from her Spider. She chewed off all the legs, & this is all that’s left.)
A “thrifted” jean overall jumper, an organic cotton tee from Target, a heart shaped necklace & a men’s cardigan both from forever21 (since the women’s cardigans aren’t saggy enough for me), & these super-cute shoes I bought from DSW several months ago on sale. Simple but still making some kind of a fashion statement. Unfortunately the shoes are ripping at the seams & I’m not sure if it is because I go trekking about in these shoes so often or because they’re cheaply made; nevertheless, I will wear these shoes until my toes are poking out of its holes. Maybe.
That was my day; my wonderful hump day. It would be even more wonderful if the “hump” could possibly make its way into my & Lover’s evening tonight. That would send me over the edge of Delight.
Monday, April 7th, 2008
I have tried to stay away from that word “diary” because I feel it is so ancient & past its time. Furthermore, no one ever uses that word. I think that is why so many people have strayed from diaryland.com because of the image it creates in your mind. That was certainly my reason for leaving. After so many years of devoting time into expressing myself, I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere & that I wasn’t getting understood. I felt like I was going around in circles; that nothing was changing or evolving inside of me. (Or, that could have just been the consequences of the current relationship I was in, which was provoking me to keep going around in circles; maybe.)
Today, I have experienced a dramatic & deep shift in my thinking in regards to my “blog.” Sincere thanks to chasing twilight who, with genuine words said only to describe her current situation, reminded me of why I call myself a writer. She made me think about this word “blog” & what that means to me, in my life, in my writing, in comparison to the antique & underused word “diary,” the word I have been dying not to say. (I have to agree with her that the reason why the concept of a “blog” is much more appealing to ear is because it is… unisex. How many men would be caught dead saying, “Please read my diary about my life.” It just won’t happen & is borderline unheard of. Blog is much more… serious. More professional.) “Blog” has nothing to do with me. I have always been a diarist; always. I would even consider myself a journalist of sorts. Although… I cannot down that word “blog” completely (& I’m not), because it is used accurately to identify business-like writings & to build community-style relationships that happen to be very successful & very enlightening. I just don’t happen to fit the term “blogger.”
In the midst of reading other’s blogs, in the midst of receiving plenty of heartfelt comments & thousands of page views, as well as meeting incredible new people, I think I have gotten lost in what all of this really means to me, in my life, in my growing experience. I feel as though I have been trying to be something that I am not. Maybe that I am dumbing down my skills of self expression a little to fit the standard of what a writer, a “blogger” in this day & age really is. It’s so old-fashioned, really, for me to expect that people would write in any other way. The world is constantly changing; roles & rules are morphing into things that I am having trouble understanding & I am just twenty years old! I am in the middle of so many different kinds of movements… people are expressing themselves in other ways that seem so foreign to me. Thus, the reason I posted this entry. Is it wrong that I feel more compelled to stay behind while others have their fun changing? (That question goes with other things happening in my life, not just in writing.) I would feel much better being a diarist than a blogger. I would feel much better to be vintage in that way. Someone once compared me to Jane Austen, which was meant to be an insult, but I smiled & said, “wonderful!” because that is what I want to hear. I do find uplifting inspiration in old literature, like Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, The Great Gatsby & other deep, thought-provoking books. Of course, there are other amazing modern books out there that have given me the same reaction, but they are far & few.
As wonderful as it is to correspond with people who “blog” in a community-like manner, people who are candid & sometimes anonymous in their writings are perceived in my eyes as unique & delicate creatures. There is something intimate & courageous about them. Something unscripted & genuine about a stranger’s attempt to express himself in a deep & genuine way. If a reader feels guilty while paging through the truthfulness of your diary, I think you have have managed to be successful in your honesty. I have always hoped that I could be that kind of writer.
I suppose what I am trying to say — & all of this means more to me than anyone else reading these words right now — is that I just learned a valuable lesson. It is better to stick out like a black sheep comfortably, than to blend in with the crowd, packed & crammed because there are far too many of them. I think that is what I’m trying to say. My perception of what this “blog” is has changed to a more fitting understanding of who I personally am. Not what my readers want, not what my word count is, not how many views I’m getting per day or comments or subscriptions. In turn, this subtle change will provoke me to be a better writer. It’s much more honest this way.
Sunday, April 6th, 2008
I am trying to hold myself back from writing so often. I don’t want to seem desperate, by any means. But… I can’t help it right now, for Lover is tunnel-visioned to the television & I have no alternative to do anything else. This is one of the major downfalls of having our studio apartment. It fits us (Lover, Sofie & myself) just perfectly, but any more than that & it can feel a little… crowded. There are really no places to sit, simply because the only places are our super comfortable couch (only seats 3) & this rickety dining chair that we’re using as a computer chair (Lover found it when we were really hard up for furniture. People were throwing out perfectly good furniture & we managed to obtain this horrible chair & this broken down coffee table, which we got rid of long ago. I hate the chair but… it’s a chair & I can sit in it, so that is all that matters). Another downfall to our tiny apartment is that the only room where there is a door to close is the bathroom. Otherwise, we are completely out in the open all the time. When there’s no need to want to have some privacy away from the blaring television or Lover’s computer games, this suits us just fine. But when there IS a need for privacy, we’re simply out of luck. I think that between the 2 of us, I am the one that craves privacy most. Lover is content with being right next to me, every second of every day, cuddling, kissing & holding each other. I adore affection from him, of course, but I will be the first one to try to go off on my own somehow & have a little thinking time. Even now, in the midst of the television being right next to the computer, I am clad iPod headphones blasting itunes, which is drowning out the sounds of battle cries from The Lord of the Rings perfectly. My sometimes isolation isn’t something new; even when I lived with my parents & had my own bedroom, that wasn’t enough seclusion for me, so I would often go for long drives around my little town. There is only a small part of me that misses my hometown. The rest of me is content with making & having a life here with Lover.
It’s not that my town was horrible, but it definitely wasn’t the pick of the bunch. There wasn’t anything to do, really, unless you really wanted to go miniature golfing (yawn) or… you could go to the bowling alley to bowl with the senior citizens & serious bowling champions (yawn). That was about it for assembled activities. Our mall — the size of a few Macy’s put together — didn’t count. Needless to say, I was always bored when I was growing up. Well… actually, when I hit 13 I was terribly bored of my town, but every age before that I was content with rolling around in dirt with my sister & making believe that we were racing our horses [bikes] against each other. That’s why being an adult is sometimes so annoying. I know that if I were 10, I would find all kinds of things to do with my time. You would never hear “I’m bored” escape my mouth because there are adventures to be had, & treasure to be found, & dollies to play with. My dearest companion & partner in crime was (& still is) my sister.
I remember there was this one time where we, my sister & I, were digging a hole in our backyard (we lived on a 1/2 acre, which being the age I am now doesn’t seem so big, but when you’re 7, 8 or 9, that is HUGE!). I don’t know why we were so fascinated with digging holes & we would often get into trouble by my dad because he hated us digging these atrocious holes in his immaculately clean backyard. We did it anyway. So once, we began to dig this hole & it was terribly hot outside. In the desert, it would easily get up to 115 degrees Fahrenheit in the summertime & we never had a pool, so we often had to improvise. So, I came up with this brilliant idea: dig the hole so that it is really, really, really deep & fill it with water & we’ll have our very own swimming pool! Jarani (my sister) was always eager at any idea I came up with, partially because I was the oldest & because we usually had the same kind of thoughts & creativity. So… we started digging in the dirt. It took us a few hours, but we finally managed to dig this hole to about 6 feet deep. It was amazing! & for a few twiggy, knobby-kneed girls, we didn’t do so bad! Then came the water. We brought the hose up to the hole & began to fill it. Instantly, the water turned this murky brown color. There were sticks & rocks & bugs in the water but we didn’t care.
Now… where my mother was in all of this I don’t know. Probably inside cooking some scrumptious dinner. My mom usually let me & my sister roam free in our backyard, without much questions asked, because we often reminded her of the adventures that she & her twin-sibling would get into when they were our age. She never minded the mud-pies & the sand castles & the dandelion weeds we would pick for her. She wouldn’t mind us coming inside after a long day of playing & climbing trees, our hair filled with dirt & our clothes stained with grass. She was such a good sport.
As the water was filling, I had Jarani (or maybe it was me, I don’t remember) go inside & ask our mother’s permission if we could please swim in our pool. She explained what we had done & my mom was fascinated & gave us the go. So, we put on our grubbiest clothes (we weren’t going to muck around in this dirty water in our bathing suits! We were brave adventurers but we were still girls, after all!) & stepped inside. The water was surprisingly warm; the earth had absorbed all the heat from the summer sun, making the water naturally comfortable to sit in. We didn’t go underneath the nasty water (our mom told us not to; even if she did, I don’t think we would have) but we just sat in our hole, basking in the glory of our ingenuity & talking about how amazing it was to be in this swimming pool. We spent about an hour in that thing… & as it grew dark, we had to leave it behind. We were filthy, by the way. We ended up throwing our clothes away because they got so muddy & stained. The next day, the water was still inside of the hole, but creepy little bugs found our swimming pool to be neat, too, & we hated the idea of sharing our space with spiders & ants & moths. So, we let the earth take the water (which took a few weeks), but kept the hole around in case we wanted to swim again.
A month later, my father bought us a wooden shed so that we could have our own playhouse. It was huge & custom built. People actually came to our house & built it from scratch. I think that maybe my dad started to realize how hard-up me & my sister were in having some fun so he let us indulge in this awesome house. He let us do whatever we wanted with it. It became our sanctuary. We made our own curtains using an old white sheet my mom gave us. We put our bean bags in there & our sleeping bags & my dad gave us a rug so that we wouldn’t be sitting on the hardwood floor. It was our little house. Even in the exhausting sun, we would lock ourself up in it, playing all day, listening to music. We grew completely attached to that shed, which is now a graveyard of boxes, memories, dolls & toys from our childhood. It’s so cluttered that we can barely enter without stepping on something. It’s a bit sad. It’s a constant reminder to me of what was lost in the middle of our growing up & becoming little ladies.
Those memories are so alive in my mind. Actually, they were once in a lifetime activities. Because Lord knows you will not find me sitting in a deep, dark hole, filled with ucky water & using it as a swimming pool. Not now, not ever again. I mean, that would just be unheard of!
But back then, it was perfect.
& now I’m back to missing my family.
Saturday, April 5th, 2008
Just to prove to myself that this day didn’t completely go to shit, here is a list of the good & sometimes shocking moments of my day:
- It was a perfect day outdoors; just the temperature for me to wear my striped sweater.
- I took Sofie for a walk & halfway through, I was stopped by a car on the road. The passengers in the back seat rolled their windows down & right when I was expecting some obscene or rude remark, a boy (or maybe it was a girl) yelled: “Excuse me… excuse me… were you on Top Model??” [America's Next Top Model, he/she meant.] I laughed & said, “No… I was not. But thank you.” & everyone in the car — there were at least 5 passengers — exclaimed “Ooooh, wow!” in unison. I’m guessing they were disappointed or shocked or something. I continued laughing as they made a u-turn to go the opposite direction. Had they had changed their destination, or did they come my way on purpose, only to strike up a conversation with me? Hmm.
- I have finally had a good hair day! It seems like it has been ions since the last one & I was flaunting my good hair all day around my apartment, around my neighborhood, walking to my mailbox, taking out the trash, etc.
- I went to my [wretched] doctor’s appointment & managed to only be 10 minutes late, despite navigating side streets on my own for the first time. Traffic was terrible! The visit with my Doctor went well, but that was to be expected. We really had nothing to talk about so we talked about Jonathan instead. He had asked; I suppose he was curious. So, I started bragging about him, telling him what Lover does, with this huge goofy grin on my face. I was trying to suppress my giddiness, but it was impossible. All the while, he just nodded, listening & saying “Ahhh” from time to time. He was impressed, I think. Upon bragging about him, it made me miss Lover a bit, in spite of our tiff this morning. (Which reminds me… I haven’t seen him all day & it is nearing 9pm.)
- Lover went to his friends house after work today, which worked perfectly for me. I drove to Target & refrained just enough that I only bought what we really needed. (Bravo, Ev’Yan. Bravo.) I did splurge & bought a Milky Way for myself & decided to butter Lover up with some peanut butter flavored Dibs. While driving to Target, I passed by California Pizza Kitchen & decided that I was going to have one of their pizzas for dinner. So I bought a CPK frozen pizza at Target & scored the last package of bottled root beer in the whole store. I was beaming by then.
- Checking out at Target, a girl approached me & said, “Excuse me Miss, but are you that girl that played on Friday?” Little question marks were probably obviously seen forming on the top of my head. I’ve never seen this movie. Was this a compliment or an insult? & man… I’m sure getting this a lot today! I laughed, flattered & told her that no, I was not & I have never seen the movie. Again, this person seemed disappointed because she let out a huge sigh while exclaiming “Mannn.” I asked the checker if he knew what she was talking about & he said he didn’t. So I moseyed on home with my groceries, a little hitch in my step, happy that I was complimented & happy that I had my dark chocolate Milky Way home.
- I came home & enjoyed a quiet dinner alone, dining on my pizza while sipping my root beer.
Lover just notified me that he’ll be arriving soon. I have to admit… I’m a little bummed. Because now this means we’ll have to talk & I don’t feel like talking about anything. I want this day to finish in a good way. No hard feelings to Lover, of course.
Friday, April 4th, 2008
This is not going to be a happy-go-lucky, “apricot tea in love” kind of post. I am just as disappointed as you are; I wish life could be like a bowl of cherries, but alas… it isn’t.
I don’t enjoy fighting with Jonathan; it’s not my cup of tea, but today I really don’t care. This coldness is mainly coming from the harsh disappointment of this: for the sake of assuming & jumping to conclusions I am going to announce to myself & whomever is listening that Lover did not get that job. If he would have gotten the job, he would have heard something by this week at least. But… he didn’t & I am the only one who is upset about this. Lover seems to be relieved, which is disheartening & maddening to me. I almost feel silly — no, I do feel silly — for getting so wrapped up in the thoughts of him actually getting the tremendous opportunity. (My gleeful presumptuousness can be found here.) To say that I am disappointed would be only half of what I am feeling. I am kind of mad & feeling a bit let down. Kind of like, “now what?” That sort of thing. Hence, the reason I have picked this unnecessary fight with him. I am not proud of that, by the way. I could say a lot of things right now, but I’m going to hold myself back because they’re truly not fair, in spite of them being right. I am frustrated at this letdown & the fact that Lover seems to not understand just why I am upset. This why I am the practical one in the relationship (in instances like these) & he is whimsical. Sometimes it can be the opposite, especially when it comes to vivid dreams & “what if?” questions. But when it comes to obvious realities, I am the practical one.
The fight was started over something silly; then again I don’t even think Lover realized that we were fighting. We were typing to each other via instant messenger. But I certainly was fighting with him, hitting the keys at a rapid & firm rate, frowning & sighing & getting flustered with every sentence I had to form. I just so happened to mention to him, just for the sake of mentioning, that I was upset about him not getting the job. I didn’t want this to be hanging over our heads without being identified. I figured I should warn him, after all. He suggested that we talk about this; & I said, “no.” Why would I choose to talk about my feelings to him through the internet? While he is at work? When I have already been irritated enough? Maybe it wasn’t a fight, for I wasn’t saying anything I didn’t mean. He asked & I told him my feelings about a friend coming over tonight. I don’t want anyone to come over; that would more confuse this whole day & the feelings I have when it comes to Lover at the moment. I feel as though we should talk about this; inviting a friend over would be stalling this process, making light of the situation. Maybe it’s because I am mad at how nonchalant he is about the fact that he more than likely didn’t get the job. That he would so willingly invite someone over for pizza & a good conversation when a wonderful opportunity for us, for our lives has just slipped through his fingers. Maybe I am upset because he didn’t seem to care about the job really; that I was one who wanted this for us more than he did. Maybe I am upset because he isn’t upset like I am! No sweat off of his back; he’ll solve it with pizza & a good friend. I am not expecting him to read my mind… I am expecting him to handle this in the way it should be handled. & he’s not. So I’m frustrated & I don’t want to talk to him about it. There is no use anyway.
I don’t even know what I am saying right now. I am a muddled mess of emotions. More than likely, I will spend the rest of the day in isolation, trying to figure out these damned thoughts swarming my head, regarding this lost job, Lover’s unwillingness to want it & the fight that I started in my effort to express my feelings. Then I will go to my psychiatrist appointment today to get yet another prescription filled. I hate going to these wretched appointments. It’s a waste of money & my psychiatrist reminds me of a cartoon character. Usually, this would amuse me, but I am no mood to be amused. As for the rest of the evening… it is up in the air.
At the moment, I am holding back from fleeing these feelings. I do this with the best intentions, but end up going to Target… which winds up in me buying things that we really don’t need. My god, have I turned into one of those people? Those impulsive emotional shoppers? No, I should stay home & try to do something with this mess I’ve put myself in. This proves that high expectations & hopes don’t get you anywhere but high… & then comes that horrible fall back to the ground, back to reality. Fuck. I am so annoyed I could spit. I want to scream profanities. I want to punch a wall or something. I want to kick something… hard. Most importantly, I want to be left alone for a little while.
