b a n g

Ahhhh! My allergies are going to be the death of me. Pollens suck.

Went to the doctor's for a physical on Friday, and *surprise* they have to do some more tests because one of them came out funny. I won't get into details, but I suspect diabetes or hypoglycemia or something along those lines. I'm hoping that they'll be able to tell me when I go back in on Wednesday morning, or, at the very least, when I have the next appointment on Friday. None of this is a huge deal, at least not until they tell me the whole deal, mostly because there's so much that runs in my family that nothing would surprise me at this point.

((sigh)) I hate these allergies! Die!!!

I'm surprised that the soaps are on this afternoon. I've watched 5 in the last 2-1/2 hours. I flip back and forth because they move so damn slowly.

I get to move on Saturday, woo hoo! This is the epitome of excitement. Now all I need to do is find a non-temporary job that has health benefits, and get a car. Shouldn't be too hard, no?

Went to the Memorial Day parade in Romulus this morning, where we met up with Ave and his four-weeks-to-go pregnant wife Tina, and son Nathaniel. He's so freakin adorable, that kid! Then we had a chicken dinner and then we went home. Great day, this is.

Unmotivated, Unawake

These past couple of days have been incredibly tiring. Yesterday, Jenna and I woke up a little after 3 a.m. to take Rachel to the airport in Rochester, to go back home to New Orleans. We went in with her and watched the funny men go through all--and I do mean all--of her belongings, being a *randomly selected passenger*. Rubber gloves and all of that. Then Jenna and I went to Denny's, where I ate too much food and my stomach exploded. Then a nap, then off to get my fingerprints done for my new job, then off to work.

Today is Marian's birthday (my supervisor), so we're doing cake and stuff at work. Pain in the ass finding out her birthday in the first place because she was so damn secretive about it, but we managed to get our hands on the old driver's liscense.

Don't really know what to write.... Saw "Ocean's Eleven" last night. Good flick. Jenna made some really yummy bean/cheese concoction for dinner, too.

Wow. I must really be bored.

It's all good.

Isn't it utterly amazing how, when you think that someone couldn't be any farther on the spectrum from you, there they are, suddenly, on the same exact wavelength?

Take my last blog, for example, and yesterday's conversation that ensued. Actually, she hadn't even read the blog yet, which I suspect is the most unusual circumstance about the whole thing. I was writing about how I wanted my friend back and all of that. So we were talking yesterday, and she brought it up that we had lost this connection that we used to have, disregarding the romantic context. I didn't even bring it up--it was all her. And that surprised me. These past couple of weeks, she's been super busy. Couple that with the tension that's been between us for the past umpteen months, and we haven't really had a chance--or a reason--to talk about any of it.

We talked, we cried, we talked some more, cried some more. And it was really just a good conversation. Long overdue, of course, but good, nonetheless. This helps me a lot, especially in light of us sharing a house together come June 1st. I don't think we've had a worthwhile conversation since I left Chicago, and that was starting to upset me a lot.

(((sigh))) Thank goodness, is all I can really say at this point.

Tell me a story.

What is it about relationships that makes us come back for more? Someone could go through the trials of a horrible romance--abuse, cheating, intolerance, what have you--and still, after it's over and done, somehow, it's all put on the backburner. Like magic.

After the break up sex comes a time when all you can do is hurt, and you're convinced that this person is the bane of your existence, or, at the very least, the only one who can hurt you. They've moved on far too quickly; you're still reeling. So you cut them out. Or, if you don't, well, that's when it has the potential to become much more complicated. To make a complete 180 and screw with your head.

I should probably pause to say that I am not referring to my own life, here. Rather, I make vague references to a friend of a friend, and that's all I'll give away.

And suddenly, after months of healing in another country, you see this person and you think, hey, they aren't so bad. And you remember the good times, barely giving the most fleeting thought to whatever it was that went wrong. No matter what your friends say--near or far--you are in this immediate defensive state, combatting the attacks made on said loved one, the very attacks that you so very needed in those earlier trying times.

Even if only in generalities, it really makes me think: what the hell. Why is everything so complicated? Or, more accurately put, why is our vision only 20/20 when we can be objective? Right and wrong, beginning and end, together and apart. Don't know where I was going with that. Whatever it was, forgiveness is a part of it. I realize I'm not making a whole lot of sense, here.

I just want my friend back. You know, the way we were the first couple of months we knew each other. When we'd talk on the phone about whatever, or study for our classes together. When I wouldn't get judged because there was an unspoken bond and barrier in one, that couldn't be broken. When I--

Now, I feel taken for granted. We don't even hang out anymore, ever. And the five minutes we ever get, there's this tension that permeates my every pore.

I just want my friend back.

Now, I 'm beginning to feel withdrawn. My stomach is in knots, my heart swims in it.

I just want my friend back.

Now....

Maybe I am writing a little bit about myself.

"It's still good! It's still good!"

According to the Keirsey Temperament Sorter, I am an Idealist--more specifically, an ENFP (Extrovert iNtuition Feeling Perceiving). This should be no big surprise, as it was my personality back in high school as well. Technically, I am an ENXP, since my T (Thinking) and F were tied--a 10/10 split--but I rationalize that my T has risen after five additional years of education since I last took the test. That, and the ENTP profile doesn't quite fit me. Didn't you really just need to know that? You know you did....

Man, I'm tired. Went driving with Renée today; that went fairly well. Hey, the word fairly looks like the word fairy. Tee hee.

I don't know why I felt it necessary to write about that whole mess re: Beth last night. Once in a while, I randomly remember something of days past, and my stomach starts to boil, and I need to vent.

Last night Alex and I got some coffee before going to see "Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones." Here's what I thought of it. Sorry to disappoint. I liked it, sort of, and it's not as if I hadn't seen the others before it came out. I'm not a cultist, and I do like the general storyline of the six episodes as a whole, but this time around, there were no gaps filled in for me. I think it was Alex who said, shooting the episodes out of order served two purposes. One: get the audience hooked so they want more. Two: shoot the boring episodes later on, when the technology will surely be better, casting a smokescreen over the utilitarian dialogue and bare-bones storyline. I am in no way saying that I hated it; I just wasn't terribly impressed by it.

Anyway, back to where I was initially going with that...we got coffee. I haven't drunk coffee since I was in Chicago, because I needed it to get through some of the boring days when I was slowly coming to the realization that public relations is boring. Drinking coffee reminds me of smoking, which I haven't done since the summer. And smoking cigarettes reminds me of alcohol, which I haven't drunk in months, as well. I think I'm losing my taste for a lot of things. Lately, the new thing to lose interest in, for me, is meat. Although, that's not really fair of me to say, since I did eat that meatloaf at Waffle Works for lunch. But it was so good! Anyway. Mostly, though, I'm not liking the meat thing--not even chicken anymore. I trust that this will probably go on for a few months, and then I will be eating the stuff as if it were a choice between that and dirt. That's how my vegetarian phases would be during the high school years, at least.

Maybe I need therapy. Again.

"When I get on my knees, it isn't to pray...."

Quote of the day, ripped from a random blogger.

Can't sleep can't breath can't concentrate. Can't eat. Ergh. What's wrong with me? I'm moving in two weeks. I'm mostly done packing. I've never been this far ahead of schedule, before. But then, I've never had fewer possessions. I've still got books in storage at Tom's. Papers, too. Last time I was there in December, I found not only my prom picture (framed), but also my senior picture with Charlotte and Beth. I haven't spoken to Beth on friendly terms in five years; Charlotte just got married last weekend; I wasn't invited. Funny thing is, I got all of these personal email updates about whose mother was fighting with whose uncle about the flower arrangements and cake delivery. That would be the kicker, if it weren't for the real kicker, which is to say that we all thought Char would be a lesbian.

Which reminds me of why I stopped being friends with Beth in the first place: essentially because she outed me to all of my friends before I could even open my mouth. The wonder of it all is that she herself was using me as this sort of shield, this mechanism to test people's reactions to my news, when really it was she who was afraid. She who was in love with another woman...online...but that's another pathetic story for another time. Or not at all. She really was fond of the online world. In fact, she trashed our entire friendship in one big online ditch-a-thon. Petty. Honestly.

Tell me: why is it that some people are so afraid of themselves? I ask this cloaked in a shroud of hypocrisy, but the question still stands, unaltered. Most are afraid of the unknown, the unrevealed, the undefined; I'm afraid of what lies before me in the mirror each morning. What I know exists, functions, eats me up. When my stomach lurches and I call my mother, and something bad indeed has transpired. When my body springs up in the middle of the night, and I can't fall asleep, and I just know. Know what, is always the question, but it rarely takes long to filter through. I write in vagueries, cyclical, abstract--but the prose flows so well. Most would not believe me if I clarified--put her in the looney bin, they'd say. And so it remains a mystery.

:::dum dum DUM:::

Know what would be the coolest super hero(ine) power EVER? Most people say the power to heal, but dammit, I wanna fly! Except maybe in the winter...okay...rethinking that plan.... hmph. Nah, forget it, I wanna be the Pretender. You know--learn crafty skills in under 30 seconds. I'm flipping through a book and in no time BAM I'm a doctor. Yeah, that would be cool.

Mmm...sleepy time.

bleh

Oh, the wonders of feeling hung over when, really, it's just that I haven't gotten enough sleep.

fake plastic trees

Have you ever noticed how much so many speeches totally suck?

"We are on an incredible journey to places unknown, and I am so grateful to have found my niche in a place that inspired so much fear at first. I am in awe of the accomplishments of my fellow classmates, and this alone has granted me the confidence to succeed on my path into the FUTURE."

Gag! Can we be any more vague?! I wretch at the clichés that spew forth from the podium at any speech made to celebrate any anniversary, commencement, service, or termination of any individual, organization, partnership, or commercial industry. It's all a bunch of crap.

Buzz words. Too many people are hesitant to break the mold, even if through a simple speech that will never be made or referred to again. They are so stuck on themselves, yet they won't even use whatever respect they've gained to evoke genuine laughs. So we all sit there with these pastey little meaningless smiles, murmuring chuckles at the appropriate moments, even though we've been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last three quarters of the speech. It makes me cringe.

Confession: I've made those very speeches.

And you know what else makes me ill? Schmoozing, company Christmas parties, culture snobs, American all-stars, public relations, induction ceremonies, VIP lists, dining etiquette, dress codes, summer houses, the head table, and secret handshakes.

Absolute pretention.

The cynic is back.

I can't believe I just wrote public relations.

And yet. I've worked at the Office of Communications, I frequented a summer house before the fam went poor, I've sat at the head table on a number of occassions, I've been on my share of VIP lists, I've been inducted.... I'm not saying that I'm a hypocrite or schizophrenic, here. But I am a different person--am becoming a different woman--and, if I could make every last decision one that made me happy, one that didn't for a second make me question my self-worth or values.... I would be more than satisfied.

However. Yes, however. If you want to make any money, if you want any connections, you go to those meetings to get the business cards that may lead to those better paying jobs. You make that guest appearance at that unrequired lecture so that your supervisor will notice you and grant that promotion later on down the line. You schmooze at that party to avoid looking like a loser later on when you find out that you were the only one not in attendance. It's all about garnering grace and saving face.

Honest question, here: What is it worth?

Maybe I'm this insatiable romantic--and I'm not just talking about love, though that would still be the case if that were the topic here, which it's not, so we can save that one for later. More specifically, perhaps, I am a romantic idealist, which causes me problems every which way I turn. Job searches, term papers, reports to the higher-ups--you name it--it seems that I've got a moral dilemma on my hands just in deciding which sweater to wear for the interview. Red is confrontational; black is aloof. Yet, these are the very colors that make me feel at ease when I wear them.

Skip a beat, and I'm looking for a job--la la la, I'm looking--when BAM, there's this job with a killer paycheck and out-of-this-world benefits, and all I've got to do is bilk people out of their hard earned money by selling them magazines they don't need, all in the name of raising funds for a fictional cancer society. And so I weigh my options in the balance: be honest or sell my soul...be honest or sell my soul....And finally I decide, dammit, I'm gonna hold out for something better, something meaningful, and oh well if I can barely make rent for a few months.

I really could go on about this, but it's got to end some time soon, lest your attention span wane.

swimming

I have no lung capacity what so ever.

And then there was Chaos.

According to the powers that be, I am Hestia.

See which Greek goddess you are.

Indeed....

Oh dear. What a week. Over-reactions, quick conclusions and the like. Everything hurts. I've been convinced for the past week that I must be getting my period--anything to explain why I'm so damn emotional lately. But so far, nothing.

I must admit, though, it feels pretty good each day to wake up, and not have my first task be hopping on the Internet classifieds, looking for houses to rent and jobs. Pretty good indeed. We just went to sign the lease yesterday afternoon, and are now in a dilemma of which rooms go to whom. Well, actually, that dilemma goes more so to Renée and Jenna, since they have all the furniture.

Hello, inflatable bed. Nice to see you again.

I want to throw up.

I want to curl up and never wake up. My stomach is tortured by agony, anxiety, depression. I'm tired of people trying to protect me because they don't want me to get hurt. I'm a big girl. Very big. Huge, in fact. It hurts too much.

May Day, May Day: Send back up.

So I was asking myself yesterday, why do people say, "Happy May Day"? I mean, I sort of knew that it was a day to celebrate spring blah-dee-blah-blah-blah, but then I was thinking that maybe it was also the anniversary of something bad, since the phrase "May Day" itself is an international call of distress. Alas, as I peruse the bountiful information that the online world has to offer, I can only find good, good things.

This just in, ripped from the Internet: "Mayday used to be a period of great sexual license. People would go off into the woods to collect their trees and green boughs, but once there, would enter into all sorts of temporary sexual liaisons which society did not normally accept." Victorian era, perhaps? Who knows. The Puritans must've loved it. Hehe.

So anyway, I'm starting this Spanish chat hour at work, which some of the kids seem to be interested in. Not really an hour--more like 20 minutes a week--but I'm really looking forward to it. It feels like there was never anything fun to do when I was in high school, and I grew up right outside of Boston. My class had no spirit whatsoever. Now these kids in Romulus have things to do, and they're in a more rural area. Pause, reflect.

My summer job should be sorta fun. I'll be helping out with a program for school aged children; they mostly like me for my bilingual ability. We'll see how that works out.