Journal: Home

I just feel drained. I know every one else has tests and projects and stuff right now, i know, and i know they know exactly how I feel. But just in case some do not, I shall verbalize what we are all feeling in my own words.

Im doing more things than I ever have this year. Im working in the costume shop, but I also work in the scene shop for class, 2 hours a week, which is not a lot, but its physical labor, which though it makes me sound like a pussy, I'm admitting I'm not use to it. It felt like I was ran over by a truck last week, and Wednesday is here again. I should be glad my day ends at 5 but damn its tough, for me. Most people can do this, but like I said, Im not use to it.

I just got off of the opera, which while was very fun, also took a lot of time. Like I said, work till 5, but last week I had theatre at 6 so it was high tail it back to eat then right back to where I was. Then finish at 9 and work frantically on shit for school.

Im in this costume craft class, which I must say i love, but its tough. We can only use recycled materials, or things bought from a second hand shop. This is anything that is in its second life stage. I dont mean you can buy things that are recycled, you have to find them. Or hope the thrift stores have them. I am on wonderful terms with the man at the best thrift store here (the only one here, I should think). Hes very nice. Anyways, my first project was to make a hat out of toys. I did a King Arthur themed top hat with legos, a draw bridge, a round table, moat,awesome bricks all around it, and the sword in the stone (play-doh stone!). I loved it, and more importantly, so did my teacher/advisor/boss.

This next project is killing me though. We have to make a suit of cyber armor. You can use duct tape, card board, and anything electronic. Most have opted to gut any and all electronics. I took apart my room phone, i never used it, only telemarketers called. And got a bunch of free stuff from the nice man at the thrift store. Im using an old catchers protective thingy, it goes over his chest and tummy. Its red and gross, but now covered in tape. I think I have done a good job on it. One shoulder pad has every screw I've taken from all the appliances inserted in it at all different heights. I tried to make it articulated, just the shoulder pads, and I'm going for Italian 16th or so century armor, but I also have duct tape scales.

The other shoulder pad has car chargers sticking up on it, there are 4 plates that make up each shoulder pad, so 4 chargers, along with a slew of resistors and odds from circuit boards. I've got the top part of the breast plate covered in black scales then the bottom has different shaped circuit boards on it, connected with colored wire. The middle has a cool futuristic shield a friend gave me and I used an old speaker from my phone I beleive and a bunch of little LEDs in the middle of the shield so I look a bit like Iron Man.

Good god, I've spent at least 2 hours a night on this thing for 3 weeks! Its due thursday and I am still very much not done. Im trying to make a coif/gorget type thing out of phone cords but thats not going well... Krylon spray paint for plastic is bull shit, do not get it.

Im exhausted. Spring break could not come at a better time. Im making tons of new friends and having the time of my life, but I swear its killing me faster than sitting at home and drinking coke all day, watching TV. I just dont want to have dead lines for like 3 days, would be amazing. Even on weekends I have shit to do, theatre, projects, work, bah. I know, everyone has shit to do, I dont have it nearly as bad as others, but im dying here. The problem, for lack of a better word, its so much fun.

~~Del

Life is a c*cksucker and I don't have one.

us drunk kids
them catholics
we're all about the same
just waiting
for something
hoping to be saved


Right. Here we are, Doctor Bullshit and I. Again. (And even if we're just some asshole's dream, we're still just as real as anything else.) I've been trying reallyreally hard this last year to see myself in the mirror, which is difficult to do while at the same time being in an objective world. Now I have a pretty decent sense of where I am, and an OK idea about what time really is. The trick to solve this completely seems to be getting to where I'm OK with sleeping both sober and alone.

So. First step is kicking Doctor Bullshit out of my bed. I'm a little bit afraid of leaving him here in Norway, 'cause he might just be waiting for me when I return. Wherever I belong, I belong there without him. And then there's the Sobering Up, because a functioning alcoholic is still an alcoholic; and an alcoholic has problems with peripheral vision. The last pages of the first chapter in the book about my Real Life have no room for anything but unwavering lucidity.

Portugal, huh? Well. Why not? Leave the liberty in that broken bell. Tomorrow there's a flight, and then I'm going walking. No booze, no books, no internet; no Doctor Bullshit and no Captain Bumout.


. . .

Sweet Jesus Batman. This is gonna be like totally kickass.



/////


Haha. Hahaha! Of all my missed-the-flight incidents, this particular fuck-up is by far the least fixable with ice cream. Ah. Yes. The universe has spoken. I had an agenda. Universe doesn't like agendas. Least not mine. But! This kind of shit always precedes magic. Like totally kickass will still arrive, even if I have to drag it kicking & screaming.

So. What's next? Let's just turn this page, damnit; I'm up for whatever!

I'm at my parents' house for the weekend, and since they're renovating the upstairs rooms, they wanted me to go through all my old things. Talk about nostalgia and mixed emotions. There are the clothes, ranging from child's size 10 to women's size 18 - and bear in mind that I pitched ALL of my clothes at age 16 and started over. Some of the shirts look as though they would fit baby dolls. I finally threw certain things away, accepting that I don't really ever want to weigh 85 pounds again. Saved the nicer Smalls though. I'm getting there, if slowly.

Also went through all my old stuffed toys, which is another wave of memories... several of them were from my now-boyfriend, who was then-friend, but wanted to date me. The toys themselves tend to be funny-looking and endearing. They are overwhelmingly reminiscent of him.

Then, finally, the journals and sketchbooks. I'm always amazed by the things I wrote when I was 12, 13, 14 - not that they're of great literary quality or so, but they do tend to embody thoughts and feelings that don't seem quite appropriate for that age. One poem is actually a love letter from a pistol to its owner, who also happens to be a murderer.

Here's a milder example. It's about the three stages of a (probably lesbian) relationship:

sunlight falls between my hair
i'm thinking of you
i cut a sprig from the apple tree
white petals look purer on you
it's like cutting a piece of myself
i bring it to you

holding hands in a darkened room
surrounded by them
the farce proceeds and i draw you in
unconscious of them
you laugh like a sun and all eyes turn
our heat unsettles them

the violets shudder beneath my touch
fragile as us
i don't know who called them blue
but he was wiser than us
we've forgotten the warmth beneath the love
your eyes are cold when you think of us
- 2002

I mean, okay, most of the hundred-and-some pink and white lines on my arms date from that period, so I'm pretty sure I wasn't exactly happy. But I was so creative! There are at least a hundred-and-some poems as well, and many more drawings.

I do not know what happened, only that it coincided with my first year of college. It wasn't like I suddenly got happy and couldn't channel the dark dreamy self anymore. Instead, the depression got worse, but... different. More tinged with anxiety and inertia.

Maybe it's also that (my) creativity can't exist in a vacuum, and I did become much more isolated, both socially and intellectually. The exact opposite of what's supposed to happen at university.

Anyway, I really want to start reading, writing, and dreaming more.

I'm in my new place. My kitties get to live here with me. It's not that expensive, but there is plenty of space. And my roommate owns Serenity.

The job situation is also sorted out. Even if it hadn't been, I've already had an offer from another company.

I'm pretty content, at the moment. I was still pretty skittled until I got the internet hooked up though. How lame is that?

Being positive helps, apparently. I got a long email response today. He still thinks I'm crazy for being upset about having my stuff moved (and has plenty of personal rationalization for why he's right), but he apologized for cursing at me and for not having the time/lack of stress to have responded well.

Almost all the stressful problems might be dealt with, since I may not have to worry about anything other than the new place to live.

Also, whether people believe in God or not, I'm pretty sure he gave me my niece, Emily. She is so adorable, lovable and snuggly- keeps wanting to do everything with me, smiling up at me and telling me she loves me. I don't know how I could stay pissy with that around.

Andre Myhrer, who won the bronze medal in slalom in Vancouver (with a margin of 0.03s, after being 0.04s behind it in 4 years ago), is from the same town as my cousins. So yesterday he showed up at the downhill skiing practice for the smallest kids and hung out. Apparently they also got quite a few new kids this week. Pretty cool

Part of me is positively dreading tonight, I have the unusual pleasure of being invited to go see a Journey tribute band. Of All the bands, in all the world, some group of guys picks Journey.... The Other part is happy, Fran is Funny as hell, and we always seem to find ways to cause trouble...mischief really. She's a good friend. I'm glad I know her.

Right?

Have the cats sorted out temporarily. Two options with good homes (friends) until I can work myself out.

Have a place to stay for the next few days, and a truck/trailer to use for moving. Also, boxes.

Have a plan, as wimpy as it currently is.

Still don't know whether I have a job, but at least my appetite is completely gone. I don't need food.

Going to have free fun at the Children's Museum tonight. *good sigh* Feels like I'm getting some of myself back.

Since I just now, once again, returned home and drank half a bottle of Captain: here's my collection of bullshit "returning home"-notes for the last year in chronological order:

Goddamnit, people!, you gotta
return to square one, regress
to the state of childhood, or else
you'll never even get a fucken LOOK
at the Kingdom, let alone GET IN.

at the kinddom - Jesus (paraphrased)
at the kinddom - Matthew 18:2-5

the monday monkey lives for the weekend, sir
Some mornings the Monday Monkey wakes up feeling like this is the day. This is the day it all happens. This is when she takes control of it all and starts doing all the awesome things she always meant to do, except life always got in the way. But most mornings the Monday Monkey just wakes up feeling like a scrap of sociology blown into its designated corner of the world.

if that's the way that you feel, honey, then -- -
The voices in her head say, "you gotta get the fuck out of here!" but she can hear the Fantastic coming. Summer was always meant to be misinterpreted, and she's got the sun, the music, the birds shitting on her new sweater and she decides she's in love with the first girl who throws a smile her way even though she can read your dirty thoughts about her.

. . . but even children get older
Short days, long nights, cold iron railings and badly lit alleys; we lean against concrete walls and spit out some drunken bullshit about capturing colours that describe god - or was it about strangers who aren't strangers 'til the second time they meet? Yeahwell, it was something, and I'm sure it was on the verge of being important, but when I'm sitting there alone on the sidewalk in the early morning, beyond drunk and too stoned to move, I watch the sun come up with no conclusion and confess to a stray dog that it probably shouldn't hold its breath while waiting for me to say anything of consequence. It stops. It looks up at me. Tilts its head to the right. Approaches. Sniffs at my hair. Turns around, pisses on the wall behind me.

diazepam
What?
Five days?
Really?!

Another freak in the Freak Kingdom (%Gonzo) and the safety of obscurity is just behind the corner, after a ten euro flight.

who needs freedom when we've got law & order?
They will say we refused everything to make a beautiful but utopian negation. They will say that, like generations of nihilists before us, we uttered our grandiose denial and then were driven by it into the wilds of oblivion. They will praise the product - product being their specialty - and deny the evidence. They will imply that we could not have lived. But we do live - WE LIVE!, if only to spit in their faces, and whisper in their ears as they sleep.

A F# D E
in the blue part of an evening
she thinks it's too hot
and she hears you coming but
she's stuck against a wall

she wants what she wants and
she'll do what she'll do
but now when she looks at you
she covers on eye
'cause she can see into your mind
and she no longer wants to

- the kills

Med stuff is still interesting, though. My mum is saying she doesn't want to pay for a scope/biopsies unless she knows what's wrong with me, ie, what she'd be paying for. But the whole point of those things is to find out... I've seen the GP again since my last journal, and all she's got is, "It still looks like Crohn's to me. You need a scope to diagnose it."

I will feel SO STUPID if I do it and it turns out that there's nothing.

I really don't think I'm just dreaming up an illness... for one thing, Crohn's Disease (or similar) would be one of the last I'd ever choose to have. But sometimes they just don't find the problem, and then you're out $400. *shrug*

It could just be the beer talking....but I feel a lot better about everything right now.

Tonight was one of those nights that was just what the doctor ordered.

Edit: Not just the beer talking. Last night really was everything I needed to bring me out of the dumps.

This afternoon, a long battle with lung cancer and an unexpected and short battle with brain cancer finally took its toll and the fines have been paid. This afternoon, my grandmother slipped from this world and into whatever awaits. Peace, grandmother. Your trials are over. We will miss you.

Timeline of events for my fiancee:

January 2009 - laid off from work as a pastry chef

February 2009 - apply to Blue Cross/Blue Shield for health insurance

May 2009 - denied coverage at BC/BS

June 2009 - apply to the state's health insurance program, MinnesotaCare

January 31, 2010 - fall on icy stairs, break ankle. Landlord's insurance says "it's winter, there is ice, we're not liable"; briefly talking with a lawyer who doesn't feel we have a case to appeal the insurance's decision. Because she can't look for work, she can't claim uninsurance and is now left without any income at all.

Month of February, 2010 - recieve treatment totaling $18,000 so far

February 24, 2010 - receive paperwork for MinnesotaCare to chose a provider network

February 25, 2010 - are told that MinnesotaCare will not cover pre-existing conditions (despite the hospital person telling us that MinnesotaCare would cover anything that occured since they first received their initial application)

March 1, 2010 - MN state legislature is 4 votes short of overturning a governor veto for General Assistance Medical Care. He vetoed the program and wants to enroll everyone in MinnesotaCare, but people on GAMC can't afford or qualify to remain on MinnesotaCare or they would already be on it. Note that funding for MinnesotaCare is not increased, so it's bankruptcy will be hastened.

End result: If her "letter of intent to file a claim" with GAMC doesn't get her through the rapidly-narrowing window of opportunity, she'll be left with the whole bill of $18,000 (and growing, with future followup visits and physical therapy) and will have to file personal bankruptcy.

Her story is not unique; things like this are happening across the country. So why is socialized medicine so demonized in this country, when people already suffering are forced to further and unnecessary suffering and hardship? How a society treats its lesser-priviledged members speaks volumes about that society.

If I ever invite anyone for dinner it's probably a good idea to stay home.

So yesterday I invited a bunch of friends over for Welsh dinner, and had decided that for once I'd cook for people without any of them having to do anything practical around the apartment. It feels like a very mature and socially kind thing to do, in diffence to my usual: while you are coming over, couldnt you bring your powertools and put up this and that for me?

Well. That didnt work out like that all. When the two first people arrived, I arrived as well while I was late from work, so Niclas had to take the trash out and Anisa hoover, while I started on the food. And second blow with the knife, I accidentally take of two millimetres of a fingertip, and have to put on a bandaid without noticing the actual amount of blood. I give up cooking for a while and run around doing other things, until Anisa notices that the floor is sprinkled with jam or oilcolour or something. That actually turns out to be blood, and I end up sitting with my finger wrapped, while pooor Anisa has to wash two floors, the freezer, a closet, one wall and the frames of two doorways and Niclas has to make the food instead, while I'm not quite able to make it vegetarian anymore.

Well, the rest of the evening was awesome! And I still have leftovers in the fridge so I can lure someone over to help me with the dishes, while I'm not quite capable of doing them today.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fuck the planet

,,,,,fuck the front line

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fuck Afganistan

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fuck these phone calls

,,,,,,,,,fuck New York and

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fuck Alaska! it's so pretty there your heart would melt.

fuck my mother, fuck the laws here it's perverse to be in love here, buy our tickets I'll pack lunch, bring fake passports and the cats, come on,
come on!
Australia beckons!
We only live once!

Dear Fuckwad that lives below me:

I talked to the rental management today, and they told me how you consistently deny to them that you listen to loud music and or play your guitar at 3 or later in the morning during the week and smoke marijuana 3-7 times a week profusely enough to fill my apartment with an unhealthy, rancid smog of stink. Apparently it is the smell of incense that smells like a run over skunk wafting out of my heating events now, and several other times previously this week, instead of the stench of marijuana. Regardless of what it is (and we both know what is really is, you lying sack of shit) please cease lighting/smoking enough of it multiple times a week to make my apartment akin to a Vietnamese rainforest that has been napalmed. I don't give a fuck if you smoke it, just don't do it in the house, as it is impacting everyone whom lives here, not just you. They've told me to call the cops the next time it happens, which was about 5 minutes ago, because it is the only way they can evict you; and I, even though you think I am an asshole already, because I've reported you, am too nice to report you to the cops, because I don't want you to have to go through the ramifications of your actions. I hope you realize how much I want you out, and how much of an inconvenience it is for me to deal with this bull shit, because I am too nice to call the cops.

Fuck you, ever so kindly,
Best,
James

On what should otherwise be a rather nice day (get to see family and friends after two months abroad), I return to my home wanting only to jet-laggedly fall into bed. Good thing I didn't try- I would have fallen flat-faced onto a bare floor. It turns out that while I was gone, my roommate decided that he wanted to use my bedroom for a sitting room, and that he would move all my shit into the bedroom opposite his. A bedroom I very much did NOT want to be in, seeing as how it's only about two rather unprivate feet away from his room.

Oh. And, cat litter that used to be conveniently on the concrete floor of the garage, with a (n also convenient) cat door to my room, will now have to be on carpet somewhere along the back hall.

I swore I would not be moving again after the last time, so now I am double pissed that I'm thinking about reneging.

Greek Salad (a proper one. tomato, cucumber, olive, feta tossed in olive oil and lemon juice with some thyme and oregano)

Chicken Souvlaki

Tzatziki

Pita

Beetroot

Dolmathes (not a conventional sort. have dried fig, goat cheese and pecan)

Oh yah...so good.