02.25.07 - 11:58 p.m.

Maybe if i do this stoned it will make me feel better. Number 14 on my To Do List reads: Medicate before bed.

I meant to write Meditate before bed.

I mean, is there a difference anyway?

Here we go:

bladder infection
complaining to friends...when will their compassion run out?
money
money
money
money
money
dans housewarming party
my weight
the tapeworm
my hair
the fat roll
not smoking
mom visiting
not smoking
my health
my stress
my body is falling apart and i dont have the money to do a damn thing about it. I cant afford the copay to go in anyway. I need antibiotics for my bladder infection and i need birth control because im doing that now and i need a dose of medicine they dont even make anymore for the worm in my stomach thats changing the look of my body so that im unfamiliar with it and maybe thats the worst part. I cant tell how i feel in my heart and i cant tell how i feel in my body because its not mine. And i just WANT to go in there and say: I feel awful. I feel, much of the time, so exhausted that i cant lift my arms. I have diahrrea 8 times out of 10. I pooped out part of a tapeworm. I get bladder and yeast infections like theyre going out of style. And the cramps that go with it. And could this be my birth control and why do the pills do me harm and others not and this constant goddamned sinus infection that i wake up with every morning.

and why cant my boyfriend EVER text me back. And why is all the validity taken out of a phrase when you have to say "text me". Text me? what a pussy.

theres a lot of self hatred going on right now. i think thats why im so unsuccesful at this point in my life.

and the weird scene at the bar. This man telling me how beautiful i was in front of dan. And how it started off like, "oh yeah, this is what flirting feels like" and then it becomes he wants to push me against the wall and rub his body against mine. And i go away. I cant act. And how dan cant understand me not wanting to tell him what he said. To fill in the gaps. And i dont want to tell him because isnt it romantic when a woman keeps such indiscretions to herself. Their hers to keep without his influence. And i dont want to tell him and then i think about my brother and how its what i did. Not talking about it. Keeping it all to myself. Why am i drawn to that? It makes me beautiful if someone hits on me like that? And i can understand his concern. Im letting some guy touch my leg and im not telling him? And he kept saying. Im not trying to blame the victim. And thats what my therapist said and that i dont know how to create boundries that "everyone has access to this body." And shes trying to tell me its because my brother sexually abused me and no one said anything about it, so i never learned how to say no--when to say it.

the money
i go back to it and back to it over and over again. I cant move forward. Oh man--i know all the cards have tumbeled againm i suddenly see them all on the floor. Each one its own color. And theyre the big ones. This money thing is making me crazy. Or one of the other cards are making me crazy.

And i keep having this one second flashes of chattanooga. Flinches. just one scene--a flash for no reason. driving over a bridge, on one certain street. standing at the museum on my birthday.

god. what would i fucking do without writing. i feel so pressed to be producing fiction, but all i want to do is maniacally record every part of my life. Which is very much not fiction. Probably the responsible thing for me to do would be go into all this crap and see what tangible things i can pull together and it turns it into something else which is not altogether bad, but you miss the old thing. I cant believe god made a plant that could do this to you.

sunday nights have been wonderful. Ive come home from work and i know im not gonna see dan its one of the days we mutually agree on. And i come home, stress about the lack of money i made for a bit, get real stoned, and then i do different things: get in the bath and talk to God, Get in the shower in a frenzy for bed, Come here. But each time i feel connected to my self again and each time it makes me wish i were single so i could feel like this more often.

and the fact that he doesnt text me back which means he didnt look at his phone to see if id called or to wonder about calling me. I tell him to call me when he gets home and he doesnt even check to see if ive called. And he just thought i had to work late, and thats all. He knows hell talk to me tomorrow. But it feels so selfish to me. Come to the goddamned table. But, maybe, "come to the table that i want you at" I dont think its fair to say that you cant end your sentences in a preposition. Aw man, that saying by that british guy--all i can think of is oscar wilde and also that guy who made that movie about Rosebud.

i guess thats it

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