Bird with no legs

I think I have to hold off on Mike.

A lot's been going on and I'm not ready to put it down yet.

The other night I made a fortune teller out of one of the pieces of paper we had set aside for making origami cranes last Wednesday.  I quickly thought of some questions and challenges we could easily do together.  In a flash this one came to me: "Have the person to your right name your baby and tell us about his/her life."  That proved problematic, though I really enjoyed what Mike said about my hypothetical son George.

I suppose I thought it would be a sweet and fun exercise that revealed what people thought about one another.  What they'd be like as parents.  What they deserve and can handle and what other people wish for them.  Later on in the night I named a baby for James, but that's another story.  Another time.

After George, Rebecca Jr., and Mike's firstborn Victor were welcomed into the world, Andrei asked us to name a baby for him. He was near tears.  I really just recited the plot from One Tree Hill, and I'm sure he knew it.  As soon as the story was done I went upstairs, and Andrei proceeded to emotionally spill about his last girlfriend.  The idea that he'd be married and have a daughter who kept secrets from him and fell in love with the "wrong" guy stirred something up in him, I guess.

*                                                           *                                                              *

When I first met Andrei at orientation he had a pretty thick Russian accent.  

This is something I forgot about completely until he reminded me of it about 

a month into us living in Minneapolis.  

"No you didn't," I remember saying in disbelief.  

"I always do that when I meet a new group of people," he said. "It's a test."

How does anyone know whether they've passed?  I wonder.

I think in Chicago I thought Andrei was odd, and I mostly felt annoyed by him.  

The other JVs seemed to understand that he was someone hard to be around.  

There was a general feeling of weariness whenever people spoke about him.

Somehow in the first few weeks I changed my mind.  Poof.  

Andrei became interesting and wow, how fun is this craziness?

I said something to James then that he never quite lets me forget.  

I won't say exactly what it is now since I don't think I believe it any longer, 

but the general sentiment was that I hate to be bored. 

At that time I created a narrative that painted Andrei as anything but boring.  

He told us that a couple of years ago his biological mother had been in a car accident and died a few days later. I immediately got this image of Yuddy from Days of Being Wild walking away from his birth mother's estate in the Phillipines.  Rejected.  Fiercely burning through the palm trees and stubbornly headed toward his early end.

Great story.  

But that story is only a distraction from the truth.  

Wong Kar-Wai gives Yuddy two love interests (if you don't count his mother[s both adopted and biological], which you should): the slight and sincere Su Li-zhen, and the loud and irreverent Leung Fung-ying.  They're both beautiful.

Two mothers.

Two lovers.

My sister.

My daughter.

My sister.

Yuddy talks about a bird that exists somewhere between reality and imagination.  A bird with no legs that sleeps in the wind and only lands once at the end of its brief and fast-moving life.  

If Yuddy didn't die young, he would eventually end up an aging, bitter, repulsive drunk who gambles and no longer incites lust in the women who sleep with him. We would eventually see all his sad insecurities become his daily skin.  He would become too difficult to look at.  Soon he would bore us.

Still.  He is self-aware enough to self-destruct.  He knows he can't go on forever.  He chooses the girl who can drown out the deafening silence.  He chooses a best friend who won't get in the way of his mistakes.

Where Yuddy is unwilling to accept a loss, Andrei is unwilling to forget it.

Yuddy doesn't want pity, doesn't want anyone to think of him as lacking.  Andrei cannot be satiated with endless amounts of people feeling sorry for the difficult things that happened in his life.  

The idea that he was a darkhorse wandering without a resting place made Andrei palatable to me.  It created someone I could like, respect, or at the very least be curious about.  The person he actually is is harder to live with.  His hurt and the damage it's done is obvious, heavy, and exhausting.

Late in the film Yuddy concludes that the bird with no legs didn't land at the end of its life, it was never alive to begin with.  He realizes life is hard for him because he lacks the ability to be alive.  He cannot grasp what it is to live.  

Before we left for Cleveland, Andrei and I had a talk in his room about the nature of our interactions. I asked why I trigger him the most.  What about me over anyone else in the house provokes such anger in him?

He said, "You have potential." Then he told me he only gets angry when he sees potential in someone.  He also shared that he was actively manipulating things in order to "edit" out certain aspects he decided were undesirable about me.  He was hoping he could change me to the point that I would become worthy of seeking a deeper relationship with.  He also said it was a big deal that he was telling me this.  That someone who wants to manipulate someone else doesn't usually show his cards.  

I wish I had anger for him now.  I don't have much of anything.

I want Andrei to be able to live.  I want him to see he can be happy without bringing others into misery.  Is there some socially-constructed ideal pushing me to want these things?  Is it true wisdom to cut your losses and move on?

Probably.
Maybe there's something I can't see yet. 

I have not yet learned how to joke that way

The night we slept on Lily's floor in Cleveland James said to me,
"You constantly narrate everything.  That's not normal."  Maybe. But thanks for the meta-op, babe.

We (everyone in the house) cooked an entire meal together yesterday while dancing.

Who says multitasking is impossible?

Well whoever it is was right, but how much attention is really necessary to make cheese and potato soup?

Mike gets so smiley when James and I dance to spanish music.

I admit everything blurs when a spanish song I love begins to play.  

Like in West Side Story.  

I am Maria. The music is Tony.  

No one is racist or in brown face.

Last night I told James everyone in this house matters.

Thinking about why warrants an update, because how I felt about each of them a few months ago has changed.

I'll start with Beks.

The Fall Day of Reflection I was grouped with her and Andrei to do a more intimate talk.

With the schedule the way it was we only got about 7 minutes apiece to say the most important and meaningful things.  Not ideal.

I told her that I felt judged when we first met, and that I was certain I was projecting my own feelings onto her.  She nodded knowingly and smiled.  

Her sense of humor has come out a lot more in the past month or so.  

I don't feel judged any more and that makes it so much easier to be myself around her.

She cares so much about doing what's right all the time.  I think that's part of what she feels close to Mike about.  Though Mike manifests this in a different way.  

A rub still exists between us on certain topics -mainly gender dynamics, I think.  

She has a strong inclination to defer to men.  I find that way of thinking so foreign because my dad never treated me like a "girl."  If the TV was on the fritz, he'd enlist me to help.  If a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie was on, he'd ask me what kind of sandwiches we should make. Even when I was a kid he took my opinion seriously, and I take that understanding with me into every conversation I have.  

Still, I know there is so much to her and I've only seen a small part so far.  

She's more open-minded than I originally gave her credit for, and more accepting of people's decisions and views.  I can tell when she doesn't agree or approve because she will nod and be very quiet, yet she doesn't make an extra effort to let me know she thinks whatever I'm doing or thinking is wrong.  I like to think she's still sussing out what she feels about life and doesn't want to give a final ruling on anything yet. We should all be more like that.

The other night we tried watching The Sound of Music.  I made extra room for her to cuddle up to me.  Eventually as she fell asleep her head made her way to my shoulder.  At some point I admired the Baroness's hair, "Her hair is so beautiful."  Beks answered from her sleep, "Thank you."  I laughed quietly and my heart jumped a little with what I think must be love.

I suppose I should point out the fact that I've been calling her Beks.  A while ago I asked if I could call her that, and she didn't seem keen on nicknames.  "I like Rebecca," she said.  Then one night Mike called her "Rebes."  I lost my shit.  "Nope. Nope. Nope," I protested.  Amidst our laughter she agreed to let me call her Beks.  My desire to do so came from a long wish to know someone called Beks, everyone knew this.  So I dropped it for a while, ruling that it wasn't fair or even fitting since it had nothing to do with her as a person.  

Eventually James and Mike called her Beks.  And so it was decided for us.

Mike, you're next.

Motor City tea ... I sip that.

Detroit. Detroit. Detroit.

How to start?

Someone once told me his answer to that question: "You start at A."

A is for Anna (sp?).

Uh, let's not start there.  You were wrong, person who told me to start at A.  

We were trying to get to the Junction House as soon as humanly possible, it seemed like.

Mike's leg of the trip was like a racing video game.  I would've been scared if I cared.

We arrived at around 3 in the morning.  No one was awake!

Jason finally came to the door and let us in, bleary eyed.

Looking around the house for a place for us to sleep, he finally said, 

"Ok we're gonna do an extraction to the other Detroit house."  I laughed.

"I'm not getting in the car again."

He sweetly let me have his couch.  I ended up sharing the bigger one with James instead.  

Beks took his couch.  Mike slept in a sad pull-out taco.

Eau Claire!

9 years later Peter came down and let us have the upstairs for sleeping.

James and I took Peter's bed which was very comfy actually.

Mike and Beks went into some other rooms we didn't see.  Anna and Greg?

Yes.  Because Fred's was not fit for human living, I think.

After a little sleep James wanted food.

Feed me, he said.  No.  I said.

Now.

Ok.

We went downstairs and made a DOZEN eggs for five people.  

They were nothing special.

The Detroit people then made a breakfast feast complete with venison bacon. 

BeeTeeDubs that was so not venison, bro.  

Things were starting off with good vibes and the St. Louis crew was there.

I remember Kaitlyn from orientation (she's chill unless she talks about her placement and then I gotta go to another room).  Raquel is quiet and super nice.  Paul is very talkative and a hip-hop prodigy.  I'm sure he'd roll his eyes at that categorization.  Whatever Paul.  

Fred and some guy named Tom (aka the dude giving me G Hastings vibes, see below) were talking it up in the living room mapping out a plan for the day.  

Tom you drove so far all by yourself.  You cray.

"I don't know if you guys feel this but we can go see the Giant Fist of Joe Louis."

I was QUITE intrigued by that.  It sounded like something Lincoln Hawk would take his son to go look at in Over the Top. 

No one else bit.

We ended up splitting off.

Five of us went to Astro Coffee, and the exclusive society now known as JVCecrets began.

First rule of JVCecrets: Have Brian start a Snapchat group. 

Greg said we should meet up with the rest at the Eastern Market.

We kept missing/crossing each other from Shed 5 to Shed 3.

Eventually we saw Fred and the others walking across the way and they talked about picking up the keg and going home.  Ok sounds like an opportunity to nap.  Heh, you thought.

BTW: I never saw/heard/felt/drank from/knew of this keg. It existed in a space and time completely separate from my own.  

Hmm... I forgot about Cleveland.  Yeah Cleveland came around this time.  Cue the vibe getting extra whack for a while.  I will say one thing for them: why?

Though there was a nice time when everyone in the house was quiet and you could only hear the sweet sounds of Trap blaring from the speaker in the kitchen and the low buzz of the shears as Fred was shaving Paul's head.  

Later in life there will be time to worry about sweeping, but for now the romance of freshly trimmed hair floating down to the ground and landing anywhere, decorating the back and seat of an upholstered dining chair, is real and immediate.

Beer Mile reared her ugly face again and someone who shall not be named obnoxiously led the group in a rendition of We Will Rock You for the grillionth time in Frat Guy history.

Ok let's not be bitter.  We knew there would be little to no sleep this weekend!

Some of us were feeling a way.

We talked and hung out until dinnertime.  

At some point I went looking for the restroom and Fred gave me a preview of his costume.

Whoa.  Too much too soon, boo.

Let's fast forward with a few words:

Locked bedroom

Wrong sized response to locked bedroom

Pasta

Super short car ride

Jamo&La Croix

Changing in the bathroom

Great advice from James too close to the mirror

Party now.

Fred is fully Jesus question mark?

I am wearing essentially the same thing I arrived in, only in black and no one comments or thinks I'm in costume.  No big.

James is making an effort to get drunk.  Go team!

Beks and Mike are pretty recognizable in their costumes.  Snaps!

The playlist needs help.  Needs to be another playlist TBH.

As soon as Beer pong starts I beg Paul to take over.  He uncomfortably obliges.

At some point someone brought 8 Mile down to play in the background.  Lol.  Paul kept apologizing for what he termed, "white boy shit."  Don't worry Paul. Used to it. 

The rest of the party should probably be censored, or at least the names should be changed to protect those involved.  

I will say that James spearheaded the stealing of the waffle iron.  When I say spearheaded I mean he straight stole that bitch out the kitchen and put it in the car while at the height of his drunkenness.  He said, "I'm going to steal the waffle iron now. Wanna come?"  I said, "Wut?  Ok."  Then he left for what felt like an hour.  He returned and said, "The waffle iron is inside Jessie."  I could NOT have been prouder or have laughed more loudly.

Cut to next morning.

Those awake argue with Jason about whether a black and white photo of a french child running down a street with a baguette is the most loved and valuable possession in the Detroit House.  "There's no freaking way anyone cares about that," I say.  

"If you guys steal that it will break this house apart," he says.

Nice try Jason.  Do better next time.

We steal the poster of Barack Obama doing this:

Actually it's just a close up of his face giving a speech.  But this would've been tight.

The ride home was long and lovely.

Lots to unpack, but I look forward to it.

Oh and one more thing.

$5.25 for ham, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and 3 eggs.  

Who are you Detroit?

For a minute I thought I discovered some new amazing food when I put chili on the hash browns.  

Then I remembered  - chili fries.

Later.

You've got a face with a view

Friday I called Angel from the CVS across the street from the Novitiate.  

I needed a word.

"My horoscope is trash."  

Bish. She feel me.

"I got caught up in that over the summer," she said.
"You're at CVS? Let me tell you about this moisturizer that changed my life ..."

*                                       *                                             *

Mike lost it for a few days.  It was pretty concerning.

It felt like he was Humpty Dumpty and we had to try to put him back together.
Things went so far that he slept in our room one night.  Out of fear and anger, I think.

Beks felt so deeply for Mike.  

I felt deeply for myself.  

I felt like I lost this way of dealing with something and couldn't get it back.

James seemed to be like, "Uh, yeah. Been done feelin it, hoes."

Tonight will be my one-on-one with Andrei.

I'm a little anxious about it.  We've had lots of talks.  Long ones even.

But in all those talks there was very little communication; I usually had a goal I was aiming for and as long as I hit that, I deemed it a successful talk.  Tell him not to say that disgusting word he said the other day.  Make him feel validated and secure in his manhood.  Make him feel like someone is listening to his inflammatory political views.  Tell him to care about what other people say.  

The other night James and I had our one-on-one. 

I mentioned this song:

I called it the best song written on the subject of falling in love.

All the hipsters in the universe agree with that, which should be enough to put me off of it.  

It's all those groutfits.  Undeniable flex.

Being that I haven't heard every song ever written on the subject, I have to admit this was a hasty thing to say.  

Despite that.

It speaks to letting things happen. Non-action as Aaron would say.

Leave the DTR to the misguided.  

A friend once told me that love is inherently upsetting because the moment you figure out how strongly you feel, how much you want to be around that person, how much you rely on that presence, you feel your own mortality and the reality that all things are finite sets in.  

Bummer.  

A more recent friend told me that the fact that life ends is the best thing about it.  

I couldn't stop smiling when he said that.  It's really the missing piece of perspective.  

I realize these are all disparate ideas.

Maybe they'll come together soon.

No Matter What

On the way back from Cleveland it started to snow.

Andrei said it looked like driving through stars.

It did.

The experience of frozen water particles sprinkled on our windshield was so novel.  So emotional.  It was like having a truth proven to me after years of believing it in theory.  It was like finally seeing a painting in person.  

The trip was pretty ok, though I'm sure everyone else in my house would disagree based solely on the fact that I never had to ride in the back seat.  The most uncomfortable part of the drive for me was sitting next to Andrei for about 4 hours on the way back from South Bend to Minneapolis.  And just in case you were wondering, Notre Dame is just as pretty in person as it is in movies.  More maybe.

Flashing back to Cleveland:

The people there had obviously stayed up all night drinking, and were ready to keep that shit going by running a "beer mile" in the morning.  Too basic to explain, but use your imagination. 

We were dead on arrival and tried to sleep.

It was pretty impossible, but there was a fun moment when we took over Julia's tiny ass room and cracked each other up about how cray Andrei is currently acting.  

We eventually got up and got dressed.

He was sick again that morning.  Before the party.

We took it in stride and we talked and walked around.

In reference to me reaching out and being with him he said, 

"I think it's helping.  It's just taking a while."

Sweet James.  Sweet eyes.  Sweet face.  Sweet bae.

You're more than that of course.  The more than that is all he wants, I think.

We're so different.  I'm trying to figure it out.

Mike was in his element.  

I looked over numerous times and saw a glimpse of what he must've been like in college or with his friends from home.  And although I could see how much he was enjoying himself, he was so concerned about leaving us alone and mingling.  

I went over to him at some point and whispered, 

"You know you don't have to take care of me.  I'm fine."  

He told me he knew.  His face stayed worried.

All this worry can't be good.

I don't think I've really shared thoughts on Mike.

Maybe I haven't developed them fully enough yet.

But here goes.

Early on I think I designated him the "head" of the house.

The guardian.  The keeper. 

Around the time of my birthday I discovered that James had a big problem with the assumption Mike is the default one in charge; he seemed hurt that I charged Mike with birthday plans when James had wanted to plan something. That moment made me think that what I thought was an organic dynamic was unbalanced.  I hate imbalance.  

I'm thinking back now to Chicago.  

Our last night there James and I went out to explore the city a bit.

It was late and balmy.  We took the L and walked for a while, not really looking for anything in particular.  We were still feeling us out.  Finding our way back to the train was a little trickier than anticipated.  There was a strange Bermuda Triangle-esque part of the street we kept circling where the entrance should've been.  Eventually I asked someone.  That led us so far.  We asked someone else.  We made it back.  

James asked me how to choose who to ask.  I said that you just take a look and choose the person you think would know.  Probably not a tourist.  Not a drunk person.  Not a snooty looking person since they might keep walking or become annoyed.  Someone who looks like they walk around here all the time.  Someone easy.

That's how Mike became the default.  He's easy.

He looks like he knows what he's doing and what he wants.

It does weigh heavily on him, though.  I see how hard he is on himself.

More later.

Mary Mary

So the other night some Jesuit novices came over the house and took us out.

You grew up Episcopalian so I don't know if you've ever heard the term "novice" in this context.

They're just dudes who are starting out on their journey of becoming priests.

Because we're Jesuit volunteers we're all hooked up like that.

Eneeways...

It was fun.  Very fun.

We pregamed at the house and showed them around.

There was a ghost and lots of laughing.  

Two of them call the guys they live with "kid." 

I thought that was sweet.  Sounds like someone in a Terrence Malick flick.

This is fucked up to say (do I only say these kinds of things?), 

but I'm sorry we didn't meet before you started AA.

There was that time you kept talking about doing E at night.  

"It's the best time to do it," said you.  

"It's feels like the night is awake," said me putting words in your mouth.

The night did feel awake Saturday.

The first place was divey but not dirty.  

Cocktails were $4.

I was already chillin and I asked the bartender for a GT.  Just like that.  

He looked at me highly unimpressed, "A what?"  

Did I back down?  "A G.T." fuck no.
Who knew a stare could be so close to an eye roll.  

We spent some time there and I learned that Alex 

is impressively knowledgeable about hockey.

We moved on to a tiki bar called Psycho Suzi's.

We sat around a long table, and everyone looked good in the dim golden light.

To be honest, most of the conversations for the rest of the night are blurry, but 

I do remember poking fun at Mike and Andrei for their rafter hanging, 

and going so far as to show the photo of them doing it to at least three people.

Shit.  I realize I haven't mentioned this before now.

Rafter Hanging - 

A phenomenon in which Mike and Andrei grab onto the wooden archway that divides the dining room from the living room.  They lift their legs up to meet their arms most of the time to show how extremely strong and controlled this ability to lift themselves is.  This is an occurrence that may or may not result from an external trigger.  ie. emasculation; embarrassment; desire to impress (most often this one alone)  

I'm sure I perpetuated it by saying, 

"Wow.  I'm so ridiculously impressed by this," the first time they did it.  

There was an insane drink with Bacardi 451 in a tiny bowl sitting above a large bowl of rum
and citrus and Mai Tai-esque liquid.  Mai Tai was my first go-to drink.  

Gets you fucked up while tasting like a tropical paradise.
I kept encouraging James and Fish to sip from the top.
Tasted foul but you have to, right? 

"We have an abusive relationship, rum and I," said Alex right before 

exclaiming that he's only ever kissed a lesbian and is therefore gayer than Fish.

"He's had actual experiences with girls!" he continued on the walk back to the cars.

I grabbed him by the arm and said, "You're just one bad decision away from being on his level."

We laugh.

We get home and are DRUNK.

I go to James's room and we talk talk talk.

He mentioned wanting me to recount the convo, so I will here:

Jk. Jk.  But serious.  Who gets to be Rosario?  Who gets to be Chloe?
Let's not fuck around.  I'm definitely Rosario.

He said Fish asked if there was anything going on between me and Mike.

James told him that I wasn't attracted to Mike.

Then he said he always thought he and Rebecca were more of a possibility.

Fish said, no never her.  Then he used some name to refer to a girl like her.

Something akin to "Virgin Mary." 

I said, then what am I?  James said, "You're Mary Magdalene."

He asked why he likes Mike.

I said, "Is it because he's a little bit dumb?"

He laughed as we recalled the conversation at Little Ceasars.  

"What kind of animal is the Pink Panther?"  Lolz.

I then talked about Andrei throwing me against the wall.

I told him I missed him and shared some secrets.  Drunken nighttime secrets.  Little ones.

Then we fell asleep.  I woke up dizzy and wanting some Ibuprofen.
So when I came back upstairs I went back to my bed,
and when I woke up again my first thought was, "PIZZA!"

And you know what?

Those hoes ate our goddamn pizza.

Yes, those hoes.

Mike and Rebecca.  

I was disproportionately shook.  

I went so far as to drive to Little Ceasars for more.
Of course it was closed bitch it was morning.

Y colorín colorado, este cuento se ha acabado.

You know what though?

I believe.

It's worth it, boo.

Even you.

Love you.

Come back inside

"I was wrong about the being homeless."

That's how I was going to start this message last week.  

I guess I've been having some block preventing me from saying anything lately.

It must be because I've been saying it out loud.

Before I left for Chicago Cynthia asked me to do that poems for strangers thing with her in Griffith Park.

Halfway through the night someone yelled, "Jonathan Gold just died!" 

Just to give you a time reference.

There was a woman who asked for a poem to be what it wants to be. 

Naturally I took the opportunity to pour myself out.

The last few lines are:

your lids the closed doors to the house I live in

I will find somewhere to sleep

I will live outside

After that I got on a plane.  

Last Saturday he called.  It was fucked.

I told James I needed to do something fun so 

the day wouldn't just be about this bullshit.

He said sure whatever you want.

It wasn't the worst thing that happened that day.  

Somehow James fixed that.

That night he ran out of the house.  

I was so fucking scared with him being out there at night in a neighborhood like this.

My best friend in high school was mugged in broad daylight.  He came to my house sobbing.  Ashamed.

It's not fair to put that shit on James.  But I love him, you know?

It feels sometimes like I'm taking something away from him by giving him my friendship.
Other times it feels like he wants to know how to receive it.

This week was pretty hard at work.

Five panic attacks.  So much sadness.

One girl came in crying about her dad not answering her phone calls.

She was so hurt she wouldn't be able to go to FAFSA night -she needed his 

tax info to complete the financial aid apps.  Her mom was deported when she was four.

"I just wanna go to college," she said as I awkwardly tried to console her.

It would have been great if James would notice me feeling fucked up.

It would be dope if he looked over and saw my face and said, "You ok?  Wanna talk? Wanna hug?"

And you.  

Major shit was happening this year.

You disappeared when my dad died.

Now you're scrolling through depop and sitting in that back room at 

Silverlake Presbyterian wondering if anyone thinks your pants look good.

You're broken, aren't you?

Must feel like shit.

Mac, you go ahead and preach.

This shit has to end here, I'm afraid.

Any more and I'll make myself throw up.

Peace be with you,

It's me

Osceola, WI

Hey son.

I'm tired and freezing, and one is definitely feeding off the other.

Try not to take anything I say in this state to heart, cause my mind is doing weird shit.

It's a full 18 degrees warmer where you are at this very moment.

That's good enough to wanna spend the night.

Tonight Mike asked if I was good.

He seems to sense when I'm feeling some kinda way.

I told him the truth, "I can't put my finger on what it is, but when I do I'll let you know."

*                                               *                                             *

Fear is the stupidest thing, huh?

At some point evolution gifted us with this bullshit to keep us from
stroking the inside of a jaguar's mouth or whatever.
Fuck it, though.  I wanna stroke what I wanna stroke.

What do I wanna stroke?

Everything.

pacific daylight time

Bitch.  

You don't deserve these letters.

Last night I spent hours in James's room.

I almost feel guilty when we sneak away and talk
because there's no room to include anyone else.

He would say they don't care we're gone.  He's wrong.

He told me about all the little parts he doesn't like on his body. 

I wanted to touch each one and say, "It's beautiful."  

He'll see it one day.

Chicken and potatoes

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.  

Fucking shit fuck!

My mom's been calling and calling and I've been using the fact 

that I didn't have a phone as a justification for not making an effort to call her back.  

Truth.  I didn't want to.

She's so fucking sad, you know?  She sounds sick all the time. 

Her life is this insane string of hard thing after hard thing.

It's always killed me to have to listen to her talk about 

all the shit that goes on with her.

When I was with Max it was a constant source of 

stress and tension for me that he'd try to help with.

At some point I suggested we live with her.

He was like fuck no.  Then after a while he was like fine if you want.

Guilty guilty guilty.  

I spoke to her on my actual birthday and I was pissed the whole time.

Finally I had to say, "I'm hanging up now, I can't do this now."

And all I wanted to do was cry.  

My body just collapsed onto my bed and I sobbed but no tears came.

Andrei was outside the door doing some insane OCD cleaning 

and I knew I couldn't scream without him hearing me.

Goddamn.

How can I be there for her when I'm trying to figure out how to be there for me?

She doesn't ask for anything in return, she just cries.

That's worse.

This is the point in our conversation when you would be staring blankly into space 

and I would realize that you had long reached your 'I'm here for you' limit.

For someone in AA you have a surprisingly low tolerance for heavy talk.

But that's on you, boo.

I'm a little sick of me right now.

Wah wah wah, right?

Late again

So much shit has happened, yet it seems like nothing has happened at all.

Every day I ride the bus to work, I look out the window and at the people around me and I think, "I'm in a new fucking life.  I'm here." 

It's not completely true, of course.  My hands and face and legs are still the same.

My skin still remembers all the things it touched and the things that ran goosebumps across it.

My heart is still the same one.  

But shit.  This is all new.

*                                                 *                                                     *                                                      *    

This week I did "spirituality night."  Each one of us gets a turn to put together a spiritual activity or exercise for us to do together.  Keep us grounded inside.  

I had everyone write poetry.  

Here's the one I wrote for James:

After reading it out loud in front of everybody, I thought 'Fuck.  Is that about someone?'

Nah.

I really wish Rebecca didn't irritate me so fucking much.

She's not a bad person.  

Ha.  Why do we always say that to justify talking shit about someone?

"_____'s not a bad person.  But I can't fucking stand _____"

Say what you really wanna say, dick.

What I really wanna say is that she's someone who I can't seem to find a common resting place with.  The moments we have that are quiet and friendly and nice come from me not really being me.  I have to get super basically "nice" to have things be chill between us.  Like, "Yeah, the rain is so nice.  It is hard to get rained on, though.  That's true."  Or, "Yeah he's so funny.  Yeah he's always got jokes."  

Fuck.

Trust me I'm getting tired of myself feeling this way.  

Wendy used to say that when you don't like someone it's because they remind you of something you don't like about yourself.  

I keep looking for that thing in myself that she reminds me of, but I can't find it.

Maybe it's the judginess.  Maybe it's the holier than thou attitude.  Maybe it's some other shit.

Maybe there's nothing and I just have to fucking grow up and deal with a person who I disagree with on almost everything.

Bad note to leave this off on, but I gotta go for now.

See ya homes,

Your babe