randomnesses.
07/02/04|10:35 a.m.

godd, the magnetic fields are amazing. aiyuh! :swoons: ...they played here the other night. the same night as my brother's latest gig. and the really sick thing? I didn't see *either* show. damn the interfering factors; damn them!

so last night, I wrote in a (gasp) actual notebook. very disturbing. mostly because it contains notes on Frankenstein that are absolutely indecipherable and some journal entries on Beloved. and here I thought I'd destroyed all the evidence that I once attended high school... much to talk to the doctor about. girls, mainly. the fact that I'm once again going into a "if I love them like that it will be bad for everyone" state. and for once I have "evidence." that this is necessary to discuss because I've had three days inside this week (the first time since I started 5/7 that I won't reach my goal) ... and yesterday I called Jenna with absolutely no plan about how to take care of myself, even though I knew it could very well explode in my face. ear. heart. explode *somewhere.* anyway, she wasn't home. I left a message... and the fact that I had needs when I was seven or twelve (etc) that weren't met, and now I still feel them, and still want them to be met, but I'm 19, and I don't think I can keep waiting for that. I think we need to talk about fantasies. because I hate that word - because it has a connotation in the sexuality realm, and I roped all those words off wrong ago. because I think my private thoughts and feelings have a bad effect not only on me but on the people I think and feel about and definitely on my relationships with them. and also because... when I think about things before I go to sleep, which I do every so often, when I let my mind wander into the fantasy realm, I still imagine someone saving me. Me, incapacitated. Me, needing. And someone swooping down and saving me. Healing me and taking me home with them. the dreams I have almost always have a part of that in them. in my migraine nightmares, I'm partly compelled to return to sleep because there's someone in the dream who's trying to help me, and I want to get to the point where they will, even if I have to endure more of the nightmare brutality. 's'creepy.

anyway. and he better not cancel on me as he did on my mom because he already cancelled my Monday appointment on account of it being the fifth of July. wtf? I don't understand why we're celebrating the *fourth* of July, considering America - at the moment - is substantially fucked up... with absent freedoms so far as the eye can see. (not to mention, I think it's messed up to celebrate any holiday that isn't obviously approaching when you walk into a store. and there are red-white-and-blue decorations and patriotic t-shirts all year round for nearly three years now... so... I'd really like to take the day off from nationalism, thanks.) but anyway. the FIFTH of July? he's taking the FIFTH of July? why can't he take the sixth? I didn't have an appointment on the sixth. :pouts and doesn't like the compassion that says the doctor should be allowed holidays, too:

oh, and they're doing some scary-ass experiment on us in the waiting room. (on the clients, I mean.) for years, we have suffered through this music that is literally bad kareoke (because there's another kind of kareoke...I dinno...there's definitely another spelling) turned into elevator music. it's evil. and then - three weeks ago? - voila! it's classical. blessed classical, with its fifteen-minute long movements and introverted djs and lacking commercials... and it's cellos. no one says anything. it's as if we have not been complaining and begging on bended knee for a music change for years. no one celebrates. we're all too afraid. we're in therapy after all; we're paranoid! "if we mention it, it'll change back! don't draw attention to the music!"

it lasts a week. and then...? my mom tells me it's returned to the Evil EarTorture. but she's wrong. she doesn't have a sense of subtlety, as Snape says. (I finished rereading the OotP yesterday... which is not to encourage anyone's hope that I'll stop babbling about Harry Potter, but that's mainly contained to Heather's comments section... so, you're sort of safe.) it has actually changed to a third station. "music with class" the tagline says. this means it plays my dad's music, almost without exception. it's Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Ella Fitzgerald, Rosemary Clooney. it's Nat King Cole central. (and my dad is internationally recongized - I'm afraid I'm not kidding - as one of the two most dedicated NKC fans on the planet.) a little bit of crap thrown in. Frank Sinatra, Jr. (creepy) and Harry Connick and covers of standards by people who aren't as good as the original. and then there's the occasional Norah Jones or Brian Seitzer or someone else who, although more modern, is acceptable to these people. so ok. Rosemary Clooney versus the EarTorture? not a difficult choice. except. in case we've forgotten? it's a year now since my parents filed for divorce. it's a couple of weeks since it was finalized. sitting in a waiting room listening to the songs my dad played while I was growing up is in the running for being as torturous as the SonicStrychynine I've been fighting for 3 1/2 years. (wow, that's weird. it's been a long, long time. I'm used to it being awhile since I got sick... but it's getting to be *awhile* since I started getting help - and that's weird to me. over 3 1/2 years... wow.) I do ok, except with the Nat Cole. especially when it's something like "When I Fall in Love." that's perhaps the hardest one for me to hear... not for any childhood association... just that lyric...

the only person I think must suffer more is my mom. she told me they were playing Nat Cole at her work the other day. over an hour of nothing but Nat. granted, in our old log house... we had occasional weeks of nothing but Nat. it's just... that was only torturous because everyone but my dad needs a break. (I understand this, though. we've talked more than once about how I am to Tori as he is to Nat.) I honestly wonder if this will be less tolerable for her than the other stuff. I foresee her waiting in a room down the hall. mainly because I considered it myself, before my last session. what can I say? I endure a thousand more unbelievable pains... but... the skyhigh divorce rate does nothing when it's actually your parents, your family. your mom not knowing that your dad's going blind. your dad showing you her picture with the words "my bride." your mom telling you she needs her door closed when "your dad" comes over, even though he isn't coming in... and your dad having her photo and her artwork up in his apartment.

ok, I got a smile just then. "it's a good thing I don't have any feelings..." was a very lovely irony to play just that moment. how can I not think everything is animate? (to enter a completely random sidenote. but you know, that was a topic in a session not so long back, and I have a session not so far off.) I've finally realized that's why I have such a problem getting rid of my books. my mom has this loose rule with herself that whenever she buys something, she gives something away. or maybe it's two things away - I don't remember. I try, especially with books, to do the same. because I pretty much have every book I've owned since my first one. but it's much harder than one would expect. I can't get rid of the crappy Apple paperbacks that have been on my shelf since my memory begins. I honestly have a difficult time adding books to the shelf because I unconsciously recognize the color pattern of the spines, and breaking it up with something new is jarring. but yeah. my books are similar to my stuffed animals.

I'm getting better with the books, though. (I refuse to even 'try' with the stuffed animals. sorry, but I will have the family/menagerie until a year or two after Armageddon. or rather, always.)

oh, and, I'm working on my Rogers blanket again. the one I spent the most time on while I was there, which is a very interesting shape, and therefore requires me to slowly rip it out (slowly because it's fuzzy and the fuzz binds the yarn... "the fuzz that binds..."), ball the yarn, and work on a new one. this was my present to myself - when? my first anniversary? second? right. this is the first time I've worked on it since whichever anniversary. and I'm sure the act of undoing the stitches I did at Rogers (which I tell myself I'm not to yet - I worked on it on the way to KC the Thanksgiving after I discharged) and reworking them into a new piece has a lot of metaphor in it... but I have enough reasons to cry and enough reasons to rejoice. or rather I have enough reasons to rejoice that I'm not interested in risking looking into this and learning whether it's a reason to cry.

right.

so, that's random. in other randomness, I talked to (Rogers-) Brittany yesterday. she sounds tired and a little beaten-down... (22-year-old mom engaged in a custody battle, fighting an eating disorder, and preparing to return to school? yeah, I'd be a little tired, too.) she talked about getting together next week. I'm a little nervous because spontaneity ain't my thing. I'll figure it out. I want to see her; I just wish I'd made a plan with her, instead of having to worry that she's just going to call and be like, "how's now?"

erm... I'm sure there's a more interesting entry somewhere. check my friends' list. if nothing else, you can miss Beth with me. I called her! but I didn't get her. and she called me! but she didn't get me either. *sigh* her computer is once again pretending it can't access the Internet. we might have to knock some sense into Beth's computer. mrah! (how was that? was that intimidating? ...I swear...practice is not progress this time.)

grrramah!

no? ...oh, well, then. maybe someone else can be intimidating. maybe if my punching bag wasn't *under my bed*, I'd stand a chance.

~me

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