Monday, December 29, 2008

island life

I am in Singapore and everything is good. I am on the patch, surrounded by more family than I have seen in many years, and I am managing some pretty decent behavior thanks to (a) The Patch (b) the Singaporean lifestyle of eating every 20 minutes and (c) my mantra of this trip, and maybe of 2009 is AA: not Al-Anon, but Acceptance and Affirmation.

Little Brother and I had a long chat the night before I left on this trip. I was freaking out because he's not here with us yet--joining us in a few days--and I wasn't sure I would be able to handle it without him. I have big issues with my parents because I feel like they can't accept me as a person, that they only see who they want to see, and are upset at all the things I'm not. I told him how I wished we could have the kind of relationship I see that so many of my friends have with their parents, and he pointed out that Mom and Pop just aren't like that, and that I'm guilty of the same kind of thinking--being upset at them for not being who I want them to be, and that I have to accept them for who they are.

Like, whoa, Little Brother. How did you get to be so damn smart?

So that's what I'm doing on this trip with my folks, and it's actually a perfect time, because I'm seeing them in their natural element, and realizing how weird it is that they live in Illinois, after growing up in such a lush little island filled with people who look and talk just like them, where it is 80 degrees and there are delicious things to eat all the time. I mean, what the hell were they thinking moving to Chicago? Whenever we come here, I can't help but wonder what a different person I would be if I had grown up here. I wouldn't wander around feeling so out of place all the time. I probably wouldn't have this perpetual fire under my ass, running around looking for that perfect place where everything would feel comfortable and fine. I would probably be one of those people who've never left Singapore my entire life. I would speak this language that everyone else in my family speaks. I'm just beginning to realize how out of place I've always felt, even in my own family.

Neither of my grandmothers recognized me. It's been nine and three years since I saw either of them. The other one was unexpected.

I greeted her, hugged her, and had the following exchange:

She said, "Seriously? Is this Seriously? I don't recognize you!"

"What? Really?" I said. "But I called you Ah Mah (grandma)!" (and she has only one granddaughter)

"I just guessed!"

I had to laugh.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

home again

I'm back in the Chi, and it is even colder and snowier than the NY. I was stranded at home without snow tires, so I was thwarted from my hotly-anticipated day of hanging out with New Crush, which was a big letdown, but I went took the train downtown to wander around in the slush and see E, which was marvelous.

I was so charged to get out of the house today that I embarked on a three-mile walk to get to the train station. Let me tell you that this is no small order of business in my town, but being at home makes me crazy. The bickering with Mom & Pop has been steadily escalating since sobriety happened, and I'm crazy anxious about the massive amount of time we're going to spending together. We haven't spent this much consecutive time together in about a decade (yep, that's right). It makes me want to gnaw through my wrist bone. Somehow I will get through this, and somehow I am going to do it without (a) drinking (b) smoking and hopefully (c) a murder-suicide. It's a lot harder for me to handle my parents dead sober.

WonderWoman told me that I've lost at least one blog reader because I've gotten too depressing. She also asked me one night if I was bored, because I seemed bored, thus pandering to two of my worst fears about sobriety, that I would become boring and depressing. I know she didn't mean to do this, but hey, there it is. I don't know what to say to that. I hate the idea that my adventures in booze are so much more entertaining than my repetitive battles with reality.

I've been distracting myself by thinking of how I'm going to de-stress following two weeks of vacation with M&P. I've become totally obsessed with the idea of going to Big Bend National Park in southwest Texas. I really want to go to the desert, and have some kind of near-death-by- dehydration experience. I know this is totally specific, but I envision this as being a kind of natural high, and remember that I'm totally fucken sober, and I could really go for some kind of out-of-body experience. I imagine that almost dying of thirst in the desert would get me very close to the kind of high that I need lately. Maybe I would have some kind of epiphany. I am a big fan of epiphanies. I would be like "Oh my god, everything is going to be okay. No wait, everything is okay." That is the kind of epiphany I want. That is what, I think, my adventures in booze gave to me most nights.

M&P do not think it is a good idea for me to spend a week camping by myself in the desert. This is understandable, because I've only been camping a handful of times in my life, and always in the company of some burly dudes. But this lack of faith, of course, makes me hate them. This is why I hate coming home. Instead of having a dick and flying a plane, I am like a eunuch without a driver's license. Everything I've done in the past fifteen years evaporates and all I want to do is run away from home, or smoke cigarettes in the bathroom and read comic books.

But, back to Big Bend. I talked to Ex the other day, as I waited for my flight home, and he was interested in coming camping with me. Camping with Ex is fun. In fact, most of my camping experiences have been with Ex. He's been to Big Bend before. He would be a great sherpa. He would probably make sure that my near-death wish doesn't accidentally go 100 percent.

Or maybe I should come home to the NY. I miss it already. Funny when you realize a place has truly become home. Even when you don't really want it to, because it's so cold. Then you go someplace even colder.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

newest crush: life

After a twacky morning with Detox Doc numero uno, I spent the day with Joe, the human tranquilizer, and for the first time in ages, felt...relaxed. Joe and I are in this weird place of dating-land that I have never been in before. It is nice. It is totally no pressure since we have been doing this for so long. We hung out all day at his house while I worked on secret plan 437b, and I took portraits of his roommate's dog. I'd almost forgotten how soothing animals are. I think my anxiety levels dropped 90 percent. Then I came home and slept seven glorious hours.

Today, awaiting the arrival of WonderWoman, I decided to throw an impromptu dinner party so I can spend the day indoors, cooking my favorite foods. In a bummer turn of events, some of my favoritest people cannot make it, so I invited a slew of random inviduals, including New Crush. Let's talk about this for a moment. Yes, New Crush broke my heart several weeks ago when he dropped the g-bomb, but I won't let that stop me from admiring him, because he is so fucken cute! Every time I see him I can't help but...stop breathing. I kind of love it. Anyhow, last week he made a pointed issue of asking when I'd be in the Chi, and getting my number so we could hang out there next week. I'm so excited for our dedicated day of hangout in the Chi! I'm convinced that I misconstrued the g-bomb situation. I haven't heard back from him, but that's okay. Gap model and Curly are coming, which will be nice. I haven't seen them since Red's going away party. I was thinking that I probably wouldn't see them anymore because Red was a crucial organizer in that crew, but this makes me happy.

Speaking of romantic intrigue that has nothing to do with Joe, I almost had a heart attack Tuesday after leaving the Guggenheim (the Catherine Opie exhibit is great) because Love Affair called me and we are meeting up tomorrow for coffee. I haven't seen him since my golden birthday. It's very exciting. It will be nice to see him.

Sobriety has been good to me this week, despite the sleeping problems. Yesterday when I was working on secret plan 437b, I had a not-so-minor flash of understanding about what life was all about, and it had to do with the tiny slivers of reality that can be brutal and painful, but the more we deal with them, the more we can appreciate this struggle between love and freedom and the desire for a Viking funeral.

Monday, December 15, 2008

subway catharsis

I've made it through finals, a month of travels through Soberland, and was blessed by a weekend visit from two of my guardian angels, Girlfriend and Sharp. I don't know how, but somehow I have collected some of the most loving, devoted people on this whirling ball of carbon. I had been hotly anticipating them coming, but kind of not believing that two people unrelated to me by blood would love me enough to fly across the goddamned country for the weekend just to lay eyes on me and make sure I was doing okay. It kind of freaked me out when I got home Friday morning from my yoga class and there they were. The confusion almost made my head explode.

The takeaway messages from the weekend were that (a) I am abnormally harsh on myself, (b) Undoing this is a long and arduous process (b.1: but I AM GODDAMN WORTH IT!!!!!!!!!), and (c) I absolutely cannot do this without my friends.

I spent about an hour and a half crying on the subway yesterday, 45 minutes with Girlfriend as I rode with her halfway to JFK, and then another 45 minutes on my way home from yoga class. There is something deeply satisfying about crying on the subway. You are in public, you are moving, and you are crying. It's like you get to disperse your emotions through the crowd, leave them somewhere else, and get off somewhere else, refreshed.

When I got off the train at 181, this dreadful station on the 1 line where you are forced to take an elevator to exit the station. This is the stuff that my worst nightmares are made of, because if you are a control freak like me, you like to have stairs that you can run up and down in case of emergency. Like I was telling Doll the other day, I grew up not being allowed to wear flip-flops on airplanes in case the need to run should arise. Well, as I finished crying and neared my destination, the nightmare came true. The doors opened at 181st and we walked off into a haze of smoke because the fucken station was on fire. At first everyone just calmly covered their faces with their hoodies and scarves and walked toward the elevators, but then someone screamed "FUEGO!!!! AIIIEEE!!!" Then, of course, people started to run and scream and push.

There was a part of me that wanted to self-preserve, that wanted so much to make it out of the smoke and up and out and onto the street, to live and to breathe and to be okay. When Sharp asked me one night how I've suddenly gone from Detox Doctor's estimate of 56 drinks a week to zero, I shrugged and almost cried in front of Duff's. As I nimbly made my way through the smoke I suddenly recognized what was keeping me going, because it was kicking into especially high gear at that very moment: a desperate, adrenaline-filled part of my body that I suddenly recognized as what has been what has been keeping me alive during the past few weeks, in the absence of booze and drugs, in tandem with pharmies, and it is also what is making it difficult for me to sleep at night. It is hard to turn off. Survival instinct! So strange, so natural, so unconnected to brain, just body.

But as we choked on smoke as a motley crew of men and women and children the color of the rainbow, my brain mostly thought "I am going to die down here and at last I will be at peace."

Detox doctor says: we will work on this.

Monday, December 8, 2008

happy distractions from stress

I have been so damn good this week, nay, this MONTH. Tomorrow is my one-month anniversary of being drug-and-alcohol free.

How does one celebrate without drugs and alcohol? God, what a conundrum. I can't even think about it. Tomorrow I just hope that at the end of the day I will somehow end up passed out like this corgi:

So what if he looks stiff like a board, at least he's unconscious. And smiling. And fuzzy. And--unless that's his paw, I think he's got a hard-on.

I'm going to be done with $chool in about 52 hours. I can't believe it! I've been charging through everything so hard. It's kind of crazy. I've been writing-bullshitting-researching pretty hard for the last week. This is what finals week is like. Thank god I'm on this marvelous drug cocktail or I think I would have lost my mind.

There are other things that are making me happy right now. In the absence of the extreme releases of stress caused by boozing, I am experiencing this structural shift in my brain to contenting myself with prolonged contentment instead of instant gratification. It's pretty stressful because instant gratification is so fucken great, right? I've kind of gotten grossly addicted to bikram yoga recently, which isn't gross in and of itself, but gross because it's kind of expensive to do it, and kind of a pain in the ass, with mats and towels, and they'll charge you for everything, even water. But I've become addicted to the high, because...that's all I have left in life. (bwahahaha.)

I am also super addicted to Joe lately, which is a really crazy prolonged high that I will have to explain sometime, because after all these months I've suddenly realized how great he is and it is both awesome and disconcerting. Let's just stick with awesome for the time being. I got to see him for a minute this weekend and he made me go "aw..." inside because of something so simple. When he saw me he said something like, "Hey, that's the shirt you were wearing when I first met you."

I'm excited to see him in about 52 hours, when all of this $chool shit is over.

K lucho, feed me. I'm starved.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

the lighting of the candles

I am so stressed that: (a) I went to the driving range to hit golf balls with my dad yesterday even though it was snowing, (b) my period is so late that I'm beginning to think I'm pregnant and (c) I searched "stress" and when this link came up, this photo to the left came up with a caption that said something along the lines of, "A severely stressed person will find many differences between these dolphins jumping out of the water when in fact they are identical," and it took me several moments of severe inner reflection before realizing that some people out there think it's funny to toy with people who are on the brink of losing their minds.

I have embarked on my 8 days of serious business. It is that time of year when I want to give up on things like (a) the five classes that compose $chool, (b) attempts at self-reformation, and (c) geniality. I become generally unpleasant. I don't know how I got through this last year...and last year I had quit smoking at this time. I have lost a lot of faith in myself I guess. When I looked at that cow and that dolphin and really doubted myself, I knew I was in trouble. It's funny when you go through big life changes and instead of feeling proud and strong, all you can think of is that you sure weren't as smart as you thought you were. It makes me wonder if I know anything at all.

I have been thinking a lot about Joe lately, but I can't call him or anything. Of course not. This is part of the lack of self-trust that's happening lately. In the absence of any high for my mind to latch onto, it seems to want to glom onto Joe really fucken badly. When I think about him, it kind of has the same effect on my brain as the fond recollection of a seventh beverage. I'm starting to really miss the love-inducing feeling of The Booze. Without it, I guess I get like this. All self-doubty and dolphin-and-cow-y. I'm getting all weird about everything now. Everything feels strange. Dolphin. Cow. Dolphin. Cow. Dolphincowdolphincowdolphincow.

I have decided not to go to Miami with ACLU lawyer. The dates turned out to be a weekend off kilter, and I want to try out being good to Joe now. I know I said that I thought I was going to marry the lawyer, but like I said, dolphincow.

Or, like this dude said to me on the plane last night, "I'm trying to be honest in my relationships now, and part of that is giving relationships an honest chance."

Saturday, November 29, 2008

high school reunion

So last night I walk up to the bar were my 1o-year high school reunion is taking place and the first person I see of the night is RS, basically my bus stop bully. He asked me for a cigarette. I don't know what I really expected last night, but it was a lot of hollering people's names, just to prove we remembered each others' names after all these years, and having very little to say to each other. I think I was one of less than a dozen sober people in the place, with five other people being the two valets, the coat check girl, and the bouncers.

Detox counselor was concerned about me going to this "high-trigger situation" but I told him it would be okay. When I got there, I was kind of glad I wasn't drinking because I'd prepaid $60 to go to this tequila bar, and I could have easily put down $150 worth of premium tequila and made an ass out of myself proclaiming eternal love.

I'd say that about 45 percent of my reason for going was to seek out "Calvin," this guy who always reminded me of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes. He was a goofy kid, kind of a troublemaker with the longest eyelashes known to mankind and a perpetual smirk on his face. We never had common friends or hung out but we lived close to each other and rode the bus to school together. I always had a soft spot for Calvin, but after we both got our drivers' licenses, our interactions were pretty much limited to waving to one another when we drove past the other on the road. I never really thought about him much until this past year when I read something I'd written about this weird day when I found him standing outside in the rain at school, kind of frozen and unable to speak, and I brought him inside to the warmest spot I could think of, the pool, and sat with him for a while, not talking. I have always had a severely soft spot for troubled souls.

Someone told me he was there last night. I spent about a half hour looking for him. I pushed my way through the tight-packed bar, avoiding the same people, looking at the faces over and over again, wondering if I was seeing him without seeing him. Finally I gave up and decided to go home. I felt like an old crotchety lady. The bar was loud, everyone was drunk, and I was sick of yelling the same thing over and over again, losing my voice, and so I'd begun to just give nonsensical answers and decided to leave. I was retrieving my coat when I looked up and there he was, sitting at a booth by the door with some blonde and some assholes I vaguely recognized. He wasn't the cute, sweet, slightly vulnerable looking boy that I'd remembered--surprisingly, a lot of guys still looked exactly that way--he'd gotten a lot bigger and meaner looking, but I approached them unafraid and he graciously rose to talk to me, to give me his full attention for the first time we'd laid eyes on each other in ten years.

The little exchange we had, the hugs we shared, made my night. Just by being there, by getting up and being there, Calvin made my night.

I couldn't live up to my expectations last night, which was tough on me. My current drug cocktail is making me a little spacier than usual. Combine that with PMS, stress, sobriety, and home-induced nicotine reduction and you've got Serious...Something.

The funniest moment of the evening was when this guy stopped me and called me the name of one of the four other Asian girls who were in my class. "Emily Lee," he said. "I got your message on facebook and..." I just smiled pleasantly and corrected him: "I'm Seriously." He went on. "Emily, I didn't expect to see you here." And I said again, louder, "I'm not Emily. I'm Seriously." And he slapped himself in the face and said, "Oh man, I'm so sorry! Seriously Serious! I'm so embarrassed! That's awful! And you were one of the people I actually respected and liked! I remember the last time I smoked pot with you and Chuck Smith. That sucks! Man! I'm so sorry. That's awful. I'm so sorry. I'm so embarrassed."

I said, "If it makes you feel any better, I have no idea who you are at all."

Monday, November 24, 2008

iPodic (extremely long post)

When things start to get really crazy in my life, I find it intensely comforting that no matter what happens, the songs in my iPod pretty much stay the same. That's not because I've been listening to the same music for years or anything, it just means that I'm too busy/lazy/distracted to swap out any of the songs on the limited space on this 4GB machine. So in times of extreme duress, when the world goes for a continuous assault on my cranium, I listen to the same 777 songs over and over again. It reminds me that oh yeah, yesterday when I listened to this same exact song, my life was like "this" and four days ago, it was like "this," and seven days ago, it was like "this." So they help to form some kind of stable backdrop to the WHA!...WHA!..WHA! that the world keeps pouring in.

Ah. Please note that I am blogging from Teacher's College, sitting across from one of the finest specimen's of male existence I have seen in several days. So if I seem a bit more distracted than's because I'm ovulating and there's an extremely hot man wearing a grey thermal shirt and a bandana pheremone-sniffing distance away from me.

Y'all got my email about Neighbor's accident, which meant that I spent eight wondrous hours in the "step-down" floor, which means "a step down from intensive care," but not yet in a regular room. Hospitals don't freak me out as much as a lot of people because my parents work in them and I spent some time in them as a kid wandering the halls, and lived in one for a week. I'm just intensely grateful that she is going to be okay and I'm glad that I can be here for her in whatever capacity possible. I can't help myself from making the cliche mention of how fragile life is, particularly when enclosed in a metal box zipping around at obviously unmanageable speeds. Have I mentioned how terrified I am of cars?

I love you, my friends. I cannot do anything without you, and the thought of losing any one of you makes me sick with anxiety. Sometimes I get so scared about things happening to people I love that I want to vomit or booze it away, and I was in a cold-sweaty state of paralysis for the ride out to the farthest fucken hospital in the five boroughs to find Neighbor. Of course I had to run from the main lobby to the emergency department, back to the main lobby, to the recovery floor, to the "step-down" intensive care unit until I actually laid eyes on her, and I attribute my two-week mark of sobriety to being strong enough not to cry and to deal with her family. Poor thing was doing a remarkable job of doing that herself with a goddamn neck brace and breathing tube on. She is so fucken strong.

I felt sad and vulnerable that day and I wanted to be coddled by a man, so I texted Joe. I felt a little sheepish about it because I thought I'd broken up with him that cuntly Friday two weeks ago that marked the end of some serious boozeness an the beginning of sobriety. I was a little surprised that he was down to see me again, but happy nonetheless. I promised myself to be good to him as his reward for coming to see me.

After eight hours in the 90-degree hospital, I went from Flushing, Queens to the Flushing G stop for Red's good-bye party, which was in his unheated warehouse loft space. It was difficult for about twenty minutes to not stare longingly at all the beer, which did not even need to be refrigerated. But then I had a good time. I kept an eye out for Joe, and did not even have to be anxious that he would show up because he is Joe, and Joe is dependable and sweet and he likes me. We had a good time dancing and that night I think we reached some kind of understanding, both independently and together.

These are the big realizations I've made about my feelings toward Joe:

1. I completely trust him. This should say it all. I've never felt this way about a boy since Prince, my very first boyfriend in high school.

2. I don't find him exciting at all. Or particularly funny. This is also the way I felt about Prince. Obviously I am drawn to guys I find exciting or funny, guys that provoke me in some way. With Prince I was just always excited to see him because I was in love with him. This definitely has something to do with the fact that I'm not intensely physically attracted to him, though I know for me that can change over time so I'm not particularly concerned about it.

3. I'm incredibly attracted to his stability and positivity. I particularly want to see him when I'm in bad mood or when I'm stressed out. When I'm feeling hyperactive or really good about life, I don't really think about him as much. I have no idea what this means.

4. I only want to have sex with him like once a week. I don't know what this means, because he's great in bed and I love it when we do have sex.

5. I complicate everything and he simplifies everything. If I were to send him this post, he would probably laugh and say, "Don't worry about it, dude. Things are good, right? Let's go for a walk and look at the river."

Joe makes everything okay. And he sings this kind of silly song that is so beautiful and comforting and hopeful and I want to listen to it all the time. If you go here and click on song #5 (There's a Place), maybe you'll agree with me. (oh boy distracting me with mannish sighing...bwahaha) It is nice to think about love today, because it has gotten cold and I am stressed about $chool and Neighbor and sober Thanksgiving but I feel good about things with Joe because when I left his place yesterday I didn't flee, as I am usually wont to do.

I think now that I am sober, I am actually ready to fall in love. And I got Joe to give me an mp3 file of his song that I'm obsessed with, so now I can put it on my iPod and incorporate it into my mental loop, so I think this will work out quite nicely.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

New Crush(ed)


Hardly slept last night, cried to my detox counselor, totally stressed because of school and sobriety and the crushing crushing abyss of sobriety is TWEAKING me out lately. 

Yesterday New Crush made my day by coming to the weekly lecture and sitting next to me, and I got to steal glances at him for an hour and a half, and then we had a nice smoke break together. Then not five minutes ago I ran into him outside and we talked about hanging out in suburban Chicago--where his folks live, be still my heart!--over the winter vacation, and then he dropped the g-bomb:


That horrible noise in my head: is that my teeth grinding, my soul crumbling, my heart breaking, or some wrenching combination of all three, made all the more poignant and unbearable by FUCKING SOBRIETY?!!!!

Focus, focus, focus, on unsurmountable amount of work I have to accomplish, and the light feeling that I had up until five minutes ago, before the explosion of the g-bomb. Let's harken back to December 31, 2006, close encounters with spastic crush-turned-My New Best Friend, when I decided to embark upon 2007: Love without Fear or Expectation, and recapture that kind of gusto, that is more about FUCK THE ALTERNATIVE than embracing reality.

Thank you. 

Sunday, November 16, 2008

more on sex and love

Friday night I kind of went on autopilot and decided to go out with B, even though I am thick into Soberland and I think it's been three years since I had sex sober, with possibly the exception of Love Affair. I met up with B and was intensely bored. We went to two bars in the West Village that provided good fodder for some serious crowd-bashing, which was only mildly entertaining for a little while. I was frustrated at not being intoxicated. Then we took a long, awkward subway ride back to my apartment to have sex, which I desperately needed. In the absence of drugs and alcohol, I thought at least sex would fill some kind of void. But the void I wanted filled had more to do with feeling loved, I think, and B did a very bad job of feigning interest in me. I tried to recapture the drunken feeling of being infatuated with just about everyone, but it wasn't working, and I just felt bored. Secretly I think I just wanted him to fawn over me, but I think he was feeling self-conscious because I was so sober and antagonistic. I accused him several times in the evening of having no soul, and I wasn't really kidding. It came to a hilt when he told me he wasn't really into music.

I've never heard anyone say that before.

Flash back to earlier that evening, about an hour before B texted me, and you'll find me outside a cafe on the Lower East Side, answering a phone call from the Ex, who just broke up with the girl he's been dating ever since we broke up, almost three years ago. I'd called him last week just to see how he was doing, and wasn't planning on discussing anything farther, but then I found myself plunged deep into a conversation with him about how I felt I had failed him as a girlfriend, and how my inability to have a relationship since him is just emblematic of my fear that I can't be trusted with anyone's heart anymore. I told him that all of the short-lived relationships I've engaged in over the past few years only remind me of how mistrustful I've become of my own judgment, but also that I truly feel like I don't deserve love anymore because I had it once, and I just let it go. The other part is that it's a bad feeling to chase love all your life, only to find out that it's just not enough.

It was a great conversation. It's not like we've never talked about our breakup before, but I guess I just felt it was more permissible to speak frankly with him now that he's single. He told me that he felt the same way, that now after two failed three-year relationships, he's really certain that he's totally fucked up, and questioning when to compromise, when to accept, when to commit, when to quit. We both had the same questions but no answers.

Actually, my answer to all of this confusion was to go out and get laid, and I think his response was probably the same. And that's why the sex was so unsatifsying--not because of the sobriety, but because of the lack of love. But...I think they are related.

Thursday, November 13, 2008


In honor of my five-day sojourn into Soberland, I got a haircut at Arrojo Studio. It was fun. Student haircuts rule! It was $20. Check out

Soberland is a weird place to be. It's kind of like this world, but with more headaches, more sleep, and more deep sighing. At times I feel very optimistic and other times I think that I must be seriously masochistic. Another weird thing that has happened is that cigarettes don't taste as good, and I haven't been able to consume anything but white bread and water since Sunday. Oh and coffee. My new detox psychiatrist is really expen$ive and I kind of hate her. But maybe it's just because she took my booze away from me.

I have followed through with my plan to have an email affair with ACLU lawyer. It's so fun! I'm going to marry this guy. Or else just sleep with him in random locations across the world. Either option seems good to me. So does the email affair. If I have to give up everything else in life, I can still have this, can't I? Today he casualy invited me to meet him in Miami in January. Coincidentally, Miami--like Charleston-- is also a part of secret plan 437b...

I can give up everything except cigarettes and boys.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

serious sobriety

I'm on Dry Day 3, only this time I'm being sponsored by Ativan and I'm not feeling as panicky as I was on that horrible week in Sober September.

Doctor $400 (how much she charges for an hour) says that maybe the low-grade fever (101) I was running last night was a result of withdrawal. So now I'm on Ativan, which is a benzodiazepine drug, meaning it's like a muscle relaxer/anti-anxiety medication. I'm feeling quite a bit funny, which is better than FREAKING OUT by a long shot. Last week Doctor 4 said to me that maybe I should think about going sober as an adventure, to not be afraid. He said, "Can you think about it the same way you thought about going to Charleston? Like, 'I'm going to Sober-land!'" It made me laugh so hard. But now I'm enlisting the help of DJE to turn "Funkytown" into "Soberland" so I can listen to it in the mornings. Rad!

Ysterday I was shocked to get a voicemail from John, whom I spurned pretty hard several weeks ago. To try and excise all men from my life, I wrote both John and Joe a message and posted it on Missed Connections.

My MC to Joe and John

I usually think that my intense conversations with people are enough, but then they call me later, so hopefully this will be okay.

But you know me, I go crazy without boy drama in my life, so I've decided to have a long-distance email love affair with ACLU, who emailed me this week. It was such a charming email, and I wonder how I am going to respond to it. I think it'll be fun.

I'm not sure about sober-land, but Ativan-land is so far, so good.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

serious cuntliness

In anticipation of more serious sobriety ahead, I kind of went balls-out last night, in a mildly boozey evening bookended by coke and pot and filled with serious cuntliness. I slept through the entire rainy day and got out of bed at 6 p.m.

I finally returned Joe's phone call Thursday night and so he met up with me and Dolly and came with us to the party. I was feeling super amped and decided to call Curly and Red because I haven't seen them in so long and I thought that maybe having them around while Joe was there would put me on better behavior and pave the way for friendship.

Enter B, whom keets warned me away from about two months earlier, which landed me instead with John. I think B is cute, if not a little strange, and around 4 a.m. I ended up pulling him aside and telling him I wanted to make out with him, but I was there with Joe. We ended up making out in the hallway and I gave him my phone number and told him to call me next week.

I didn't go home with Joe. I honestly planned on doing it, but then I didn't feel like it. He got upset. We went outside and he basically told me that he didn't understand what was going on. I told him that we had talked about this before and that I'm not exactly relationship material right now, and that I just wanted things to be exactly the way they have been: casual, sporadic, and completely under my control. He was like, Yeah, I know. I thought I could do that too. But I don't think I can.

Joe and I have been nothing but honest with each other. I know exactly how he feels about me, and he knows that I cannot be as reliable as he needs me to be. He is the sweetest, most understanding guy ever, and I keep jerking him around like a little bitch and he doesn't deserve it. We were hugging our goodbyes on Grand Street when Strong popped her head out the window and took a photo of us.

I really wish I had a transcript of what was said last night.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

serious fiending

I am at the branch of the New York Public Library by my apartment, attempting to do work. Unfortunately, I left my cigarettes at home and I refuse to go to the store and shell out $8.fucking.50 for a whole new pack, so right now it is a question of how much longer I can continue to be effective on a deficiency of nicotine.

It's an experiment. I'm going to aim for two more hours before I accidentally gnaw through my tongue. If I were working on something other than $chool, I think I'd be okay. But it's been so rough lately...wah wah wah. This is why I cannot be in therapy! Once I start thinking about problems and whining about them, I cannot stop. It's like someone has given me license to be a whiny little bitch.

hope and change, and it's not about obama

...though I am so anxious about tomorrow's election that I don't know what to do!!

BTW, free Starbucks on election day, heads up...

On the advice of my new CMC doc, I'm "sobriety sampling" this week. I promised to try and do three drinks per day. I'll actually be happy with six. Gotta start somewhere. But, in an effort to do due diligence, I've switched to wine, so I can indulge my oral fixation for longer periods of time and not feel like I'm depriving myself.

I've been secretly obsessing over the nice man I met last weekend in Chahlston, and thinking that I really should marry an older man, and possibly even someone who lives all the way across the country. That would get rid of so many Y-chromosome-related challenges in my life, at least for the moment. I've never dated someone significantly older than me and I think the stability would be such a good thing for me. Maybe he would find my fear and loathing somehow charming. Or he would just put up with it because I'm twenty years younger than him.

So I haven't called Joe in two weeks, since that night I called him up and he came over to calm me down. He very sweetly offered to make me dinner when I got back, but I have been in such a wretched mood that the only people I can bear to speak to, much less be around, are people whom I've known for at least three years. He called me tonight and something tells me I'm not going to call him back. Suddenly all I can think is, "What the fuck would I say?" This is the problem when I ease off the drink. My body has some kind of liquid quota, and it just fills in the gaps with piss and vinegar.

But I'm trying. I have to keep telling myself that it's just like quitting smoking, that the moodiness will pass. I just wish it was May and not November, and that I was pulling out my sandals and pretty dresses and not putting them away. I have *such* a hard time with the cold.

Anyhow, Big Brother thinks I should stop hanging out with everyone I know who tolerates my misbehavior. Hence my third night at home in a row, though to be fair we did cook a massive dinner last night, and Saturday night Entourage kept me company. Trimming the fat to me means Joe, even though he has expressed interest in going sober with me. I guess I just don't believe him. John said the same thing about the coke, but that lasted all of one day. I guess more than belief in someone, I just don't think that anyone can take care of me except for me. That's not being cynical, I don't think, just realistic.

I just don't want sobriety to be lonely. But today Doc hit a nerve when he got me to reveal just how insecure I am when I am sober, how I allow my thoughts to torture me, how at times I feel like it's about to happen...that the destructo part of my psyche will finally win this war of attrition, and I will just SNAP violently or silently disintegrate...and that it will surprise people even more than it surprises me, because lately it's been harder and harder to engage in self-deception.

This blog is really on its way out. I feel like it's started to replace real human interactions. I assume that the ten or so of you read it and that I don't have to explain myself to you anymore, and I think this is a bad thing.

November be damned. We will win, I will win, we will get through this.

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

mania in motion

I am writing this post at 9 pm, somewhere outside of Richmond, Virginia. I’m almost in my eleventh hour on the train, and we are running horrendously late, so we’ve got almost seven more to go. I stupidly got on the train with a small bag of snacks and zero cash or booze, so it’s going to be a long ride that feels even longer.

Can I tell you what transpired in my last night in Charleston? After having a homemade lasagna dinner with the parents of my CS host at his childhood home, we zoned out and watched television while I pounded vitamins because I wasn’t feeling well. But I didn’t want to deal with more rejection, so I briskly hugged him goodbye and walked out into the night. Charleston is not a big place, and I ran into several people I’d met during the weekend. That was kind of nice. A little before midnight, I decided it was time for my second dinner and a game of pool, so I paid my tab and went to migrate to another bar, when this old fortune cookie fortune fell out of my wallet: Everything is coming together.

At the bar I met a sweet guy who works as a lawyer for the ACLU and we bonded while waiting almost an hour for the food he ended up paying for, and talking to a big white guy who doesn’t believe that mankind has any impact on climate change. I thought ACLU was charming and intelligent—everyone knows I have a weakness for Southern boys—though he was not a boy at all, probably a good fifteen years on me. When we left the bar and he invited me back for a nightcap at his place. This led to an hour of the following inner monologue on repeat:

I shouldn’t do this. Stranger. Rental car. Hotel. Not my city. Makings of a disaster film. But that’s not reality! This is reality. This is a nice, sweet man who works for the ACLU. I’m not afraid of him at all. I actually really like him. I trust my instincts. Or are they really my instincts? Am I just drunk? I don’t think I’m drunk. I’ve only had seven drinks over as many hours. See, that complex sentence structure shows just how lucid I am. But what if I regret it? What would I regret? Am I just being paranoid? I hate not trusting someone who seems totally trustworthy. It makes me feel like a paranoid, crazy freak. Seriously, you should just go home. But where’s the fun in that?

He was staying at a fancy hotel downtown, and hadn’t even checked in yet. It was two a.m. and I looked like hell, and when the concierge asked us if we needed one key or two, I suddenly felt like a prostitute. Hotels do that to me. We went upstairs, had a brandy, and I started to leave because you know how I feel about hotel sex…

So I am thinking about dissolving this blog because I think it’s gotten way too personal and I feel like it’s apt to cause more problems than it solves, mostly because it doesn’t really solve any problem other than the satisfaction of my gratuitous, self-obsessive impulses.

After a few hours of sleep, I suddenly woke up and realized I had to leave right then if I were to get done what I had to get done—buy cartons of cigarettes, get back to my host’s apartment to pick up my stuff, and get to a café to download some work files—if I wanted to make my train. When I got to the lobby, I was greeted by three staff members, and for the second time in several hours, I felt like a whore and was so flustered that I ran out the wrong exit, cornered myself in the hotel garden, and had to pass them all again on the real way out.

I thought about him in the back of my mind all day, and regretted only one thing: running out on him this morning. He looked so confused. I don’t know where this flight syndrome comes from, but I find it very hard to fight. Then I convince myself that I was in love with them, and I feel tragic and infantile and pathetic. It’s one thing to want what you cannot have, it’s another thing to prevent yourself from ever having what you want.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

dispatch from chucktown

So much has been going on that I don't know where to start, so let's just say that I'm in Charleston, South Carolina, and that I kind of never want to come back to New York. Cigarettes are cheap, booze is cheap, I'm not wearing a jacket, and all the boys have that sexy, slow, southern air about them. Well, not all of them.

This is my first time truly traveling alone and I love it. I made the mistake of sleeping with my host here the first night (okay and the next day too), and he has been clingy and I've had to be alternatively diplomatic, aloof and selfish in order to get away from him to do what I intended to do here in town: see fucking everything. I also just had to get out of The NY for a minute and away from all the talk about boys and school and therapists who think I need more therapy and more drugs. In this latter respect it's been very successful and I feel good. I think that you can only really know who you are when you remove yourself from any defining context--the place you live, the people you love, the things you do. When all of those things fall away, who are you? It's too easy to define yourself by these things, and these are things that may say things about you, they're just hints at the real thing.

Of course I lost my phone Friday night, as I'm wont to do about every three months now. When I realized it was gone I was pretty excited because it meant I could wander about town without relation to anything, and it would be difficult for my host to catch up with me. He [oh Love Affair just IMd me. My heart always freaks out when he does that] got arrested Friday night and was in a bad mood. I felt sorry for him.

I was so liberated to be without phone, without contacts, and without a plan that I went a good two hours without food or coffee or nicotine. I think that being alone is good for me.

Oh god, Love Affair, why do you torture me? All right, now I'm totally distracted and can't concentrate on what I was thinking, where I was going with this. I guess this proves my point completely. I need to move to the woods.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

sex on the brain

I ran into New Crush again on my way out Friday and we had another non-exchange that was even better than the first. I let it fuck with me all the way out to Brooklyn on my way to see Joe.

I am trying to fall in love with him. He sang my favorite song and I was happy. I don't know why I wake up feeling anxious when I'm around him. Sometimes I want to blame it on the booze, because it's more like the sobriety that makes me anxious. I suppose that's normal but I've been seeing him off and on for several months now. Something won't let me relax completely--not just around him, but in general.

I can't even relax when we're having sex. And I'm very happy to be having sex with him again. Of the past ten guys I've slept with, he's the best by a long shot, and still I can't fully get lost in it. First I thought I was over sex by and large, and then I have sex with him and it's all I can think about for days. In the morning whenever I wake up at his place I feel like I'm wasting my life. Is that fucked up?

Last night I went to see Keith Jarrett, Jack Dejohnette, and Gary Peacock at Carnegie Hall. After some craigslist failures, I just went and bought a ticket from a guy on the sidewalk. It ended up being a super sweet box seat on the far left, first row. I chatted with the guy sitting next to me in the box and he offered me a drink during the set break. He was probably in his late forties, and was in from upstate just to see the show. He was sitting between me and the stage and I couldnt help but stare at him for most of the show, and kept thinking about having sex with him. I was somehow sure that he would be great in bed and that it would be fun. After the show I went to get a few drinks with him anyhow, and he ended up being a great resource for my thesis. People have so much surprising information inside them. I kept thinking about having sex with him, but then when he mentioned the Marriott, I remembered the last time that I had sex at the Marriott it was not a good time. And it is horrible to wake up in Times Square.

The couchsurfers should be gone by now and I can't wait to go home and smoke a spliff in the bathtub and watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force DVDs on my laptop, which I put on the toilet when I'm in the tub. It's bliss.

Friday, October 17, 2008

dicks, planes, marbles and love

At $chool trying to do work, mostly drifting in and out of consciousness.

Today I started to think of my hangover as a precious feeling that I carry around in my head. It's like a symbol that I drank too much tequila last night, smoked some shitty pot that I allowed some guy to sell me in the Lower East Side, and sleeping five hours last night, if you count the hour I fell asleep on the train and rode all the way to 211 Street. I've kicked myself out of my apartment to make room for couchsurfers and have been crashing at Neighbor's place while she is out of town. Her futon is basically rock hard and it's unbelievable how well I sleep on it. Like I'm dead.

I got up to meet a visiting friend from San Francisco whom I haven't seen or spoken to since January. It was nice to see him, and I ate the most delicious eggs florentine with spinach and tomatoes and potatoes and smoked salmon and drank about four cups of coffee.

I am wearing a ridiculously short skirt today in the hopes that I would run into New Crush at school. I love having a new crush at school, because it makes my comings and goings so much more multifaceted. I don't know anything really about New Crush, except that I fell in love with him last week. Let me tell you about it.

I went outside to smoke a cigarette and he was outside doing the same. I sat down and babbled in hopes of distracting him with my speech away from how shitty I looked. While I was babbling, I interrupted myself because I was distracted by a shiny object on the ground that looked like a luminous little bubble. When I pointed it out to him, he reached over and picked it up--it wasn't a bubble after all, but a glass marble. Then he placed the marble in my hand.

At that moment I fell in love with him. I've been thinking about it for days, what it meant. What I've managed to understand is that in that moment, so many things crystallized--all my vague feelings about the delicacy of existence and sanity and how I find it all so beautiful and terrifyingly fragile, and how at that moment he turned all that I fear into something concrete and unbreakable, a source of strength rather than weakness, and put it, literally, in the palm of my hand.

Ever since then, I've been obsessively seeking him out at school, and glimmering whenever he alights across my path. Today I saw him and I was so happy and said hi but didn't stop to talk to him. I am feeling fuzzy. I want to go home and sleep and I know I should but I also think I'm going to end up in Brooklyn tonight because Joe is playing a show and I know he will sing me my favorite song and I will feel all happy and blissed out when he does and then I will sleep with him and all will be well and good in the world and I will forget how tweaked out I feel until tomorrow morning when I wake up naked and confused and zone out on the ride back, wondering why I always feel like this.

Last night at the bar an old dude was looking at this astrology chart he had, and he said to me that things will calm down and simplify soon: am I ready? He said that there are many men right now, but that I am the one in control. He said I have to be mean: in a pointed way, and not drag things out. Then he said, "You have the dick. You're the one flying the plane. You know? You're in control." He repeated it about four times: You have the dick. You're the one flying the plane.

I have the dick. I'm flying the plane.

I just don't know where I'm going or how I'm going to land.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

abuse of all things

I have spent the week largely hungover. I don't know how it happens; it just does. Friday night I canceled all my plans and nursed myself with pot and the excellent film Manhattan. It's kind of nice to be a pothead because halfway into the movie I realized I'd seen it before, so it was vaguely familiar, but still awesome. I get to rediscover the things I like, all the time.

I have decided to stop dating everyone simultaneously. Friday was a healing day. I woke up because John was biting me and I had a headache. He was whining that he hadn't seen me in so long, even though I'd seen him last week. When I left he said in a snarky way, "So, I'll probably see you in what, three weeks?" I said, "If you're lucky." As soon as I got out of his apartment, I knew I'd never go out with him again. I went to lunch with my friend and tried to text break up with a boy I've only gone out with once but somehow he's convinced he's in love with me. I was hoping to just let it slide away, but his text messages were getting increasingly impatient, so I told him to leave me alone. This put me in a bad mood regarding all things male-related, so I canceled my date with Joe for that night. Then his messages got really dramatic and desperate, culminating in a four-page text sent at 6 a.m. that read:

Hi its me again. Yes i know, i am bothering you again. Sorry for that, i cannot seem to get you out of my mind. For the first time in my life, i want something so bad. Dont mean to scare or put any pressure on u. I know u have so much on u right now with school and everything. All i am asking is that u give me the chance to get to know u better. It dont have to be right now when ever things slow down with school. Like u a whole lot for that short time i know u. Just want that opportunity. Its up to u anything u decide i will respect it. So text me your thoughts, want to know what you think.

I'm not kidding! I thought I'd made it clear by saying I was too busy, which everyone knows is clearly just a gentle no, because no matter how busy a person is, if they really like you, they will make time for you. I was actually awake at 6 a.m., having gone to sleep at 9:30 Friday night, and I answered him immediately: This is ridiclous. Please stop sending me messages.

It made me hate everything, myself the most. I feel like every girl in my life this week has said the same thing that I've been saying to myself all my life: how can this person possibly like me?

I titled this post "abuse of all things" because I was going to detail this week's adventures in booze, but now I don't feel like it. It's the same story, over and over again, of ritual self-abuse that is slowly killing me but I honestly don't know any other way. And it can actually be quite entertaining in the meanwhile.

"C'est l'histoire d'un mec qui tombe d'un immeuble de cinquante étages au fur et à mesure de sa chute il se répète sans cesse pour se rassurer: jusqu'ici tout va bien, jusqu'ici tout va bien, jusqu'ici tout va bien... mais l'important, c'est pas la chute, c'est l'atterrissage." (La Haine)

"It's the story of a guy who falls from the fiftieth story of a building and while he's falling, he says to himself over and over again to reassure himself: so far so good, so far so good, so far so good...but what's important isn't the's the landing."

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

motivation and change, institutionalised

Yesterday a counselor at $chool referred me to the Center for Motivation and Change, what she described as a "skills center" for wealthy, functional people. I think she said something like, "Oh, you know, it's full of like, stockbrokers and lawyers who know that they party too much." It kind of cracked me up. It is totally expensive and the home page is littered with stock photos of Buddha and bamboo, but apparently $chool will cover parts of it, which I find both hilarious and exciting. I am motivated to change, thank you very much. I just don't really believe it is possible, when poisoning myself slowly has proved itself so effective and accessible.

Last night I smoked a spliff, watched Ciao, Professore! and went to sleep at 8:30. It was so needed. I was so bitchy and exhausted Sunday night that I almost didn't go out when Curly called me over to Red's for what has become a weekly Sunday night cookout, followed by dancing at Black Betty. But of course I did go, and didn't get home until almost 4 a.m., and so I was a sad sight yesterday, trying to talk to the counselor and conduct a phone interview with an ICT policy wonk in DC. He was interesting though. Functional and wealthy! Hah! That makes me laugh in my most sad, deeply cynical way.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

serious questions

Things have been quite serious lately, because Mom was in town last weekend, and Little Brother just left about an hour ago. Serious Family Time. I've also kicked it into high gear lately with $chool, and using $chool as a distraction from the boys who are driving me insane. My brain has been chugging, tweaking, exploding, and twisting itself into uncomfortable knots that make me think that it's working, that I'm learning, which is both exciting and overwhelming.

My three dates in three nights a week ago was a little intense-o, and the exchange I wanted to have with John didn't work out Tuesday. It did, however, work out that way with Joe, who ended up spending the night Wednesday, and in the midst of our heart-to-heart/reunion, I sent a text out to three friends saying that I couldn't tell if I was in love or just drunk. Their three responses were: (1)Drunk! (2) Different! and (3) I think they are somehow related.

All three of these responses were true, which leads me to some serious questions. When I drink, I am flooded with intense feelings of love, particularly for other drunk people. Although when I drank with Moms and Little Brother these past two weekends, I definitely loved them too. But why is it that lately my level of love/engagement seems directly related to my BAC?

Thursday night I had a couple birthday drinks and bumps with John before going to meet up with Little Brother. John in my mind is intertwined with cocaine, and this is somewhat troubling and begs more questions. Like why does he do so much coke? And why do I love coke so much too? And why is it such a bad thing? Are all of us who (ab)use substances just inherently unhappy people who just don't know any other way to make ourselves feel better? Because that's why I think I do drugs. (This kind of endears John to me in a way. I know that's fucked up, but I never claimed to be anything else.) Or maybe inherently unhappy isn't wholly accurate. We desperately want to feel a certain way, and we know that drugs will allow us to feel this way. I've realized that when I talk about stability, I'm not talking about a form of life, I'm talking about a form of feeling. Some people do things with their lives to effect certain structural and interpersonal changes with careers, locations, and relationships. Other people take a more chemist-like approach to their happiness through a combination of drugs, complex carbohydrates, and fried cheeses. I know that I definitely fall into this latter category, and whenever something feels amiss, I have several tried-and-true ingestives to which I can turn without many negative consequences. In moments of extreme sobriety, however, I can't escape the thought that I am slowly killing myself, but I don't know any other way to live. Attempts at self-preservation seem so fruitless and misguided.

Friends, lovers, and strangers, please tell me something: Why do we do drugs? Is drug use indicative of unhappiness and immaturity, a lack of a developed manner of handling all the rough spots in life?

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

radical upswing

There is a reason why people seek professional help, and I think it's to avoid posting horribly depressing things like the post I put up yesterday! I don't know what compelled me to do that. Wait, yes I do. I was picturing people's reactions when they'd heard I'd gone completely fucken insane and thinking, "She did what? I didn't know she was feeling like that." I just didn't want there to be any surprises. You've been warned. And thank you for your love anyhow. I love that you love me, even if I'm a finicky little bitch. I'm sorry to worry people. Sometimes I want people to worry about me, and sometimes I don't. But don't worry. If I need you, I will call. Just pick up the damn phone!

I'm feeling a lot better today. I woke up and still couldn't really breathe, but I did sleep, and in my mind I told myself that I would not die, that even though mental instability does not feel good, it will not kill me, at least not directly. I am working through things. I just need tranquilizers in the meanwhile, or to wait until the pendulum swings in the opposite direction and I can think about more serious things, like why the Wall Street bailout makes me so angry and why I can't concentrate on school and why I want to be in a relationship if I can't seem to commit to anything at all. I read a piece of iFluff today about OCD dating. Bwahaha! That's totally me. Anyhow all the little pieces of ecstasy flooding my brain feel good today instead of bad, and this is good news. I have to take advantage of my good moods and try to get things done.

Tonight I am going to try a radical experiment in my NYC dating spree, which is to basically tell John that I have no idea what is going on, but that he can't expect anything of me, really. I don't know what I mean by that because the whole creation of any kind of relationship is managing expectations. Maybe it's saying that I don't want to be in a relationship at all? But I don't want to just continue having casual sex. What if I go celibate for a year? Now I'm just talking crazy. Okay, so I haven't figured out what I'm going to say to him at all. I'm just going to wing it. This is how it's probably going to start, though:

Me: So....
J: So...
Me: I want to say something but I'm not sure what.
J: Okay...
Me: Hm, maybe I should have another drink.
(20 minutes later)
Me: Let's fuck!

Just kidding. Jesus Christ, I'm just kidding. FYI, I haven't had more than six drinks in one night in a week! It's this new thing they call "moderation."

Me: So....
J: So...
Me: I want to say something but I'm not sure what.
J: Okay...
Me: Look, I don't want to dwell on the intense exchange we had last weekend, but it's got me thinking that maybe I've led you to believe certain things that aren't true. I've been accused of leading people on before, and if that's the case, I'm sorry that my actions are misleading. So let's just clear shit up right now. I am not looking to dive headfirst into anything serious right now. I know we had sex within a few hours of meeting each other, which doesn't typically equate to anything serious, so let's just stick with that for now. Maybe in a couple months after seeing each other weekly, I'll ask you what your last name is. If that is going to cause more scenes like the one we had the other night, though, we better have a couple of cocktails and call it a night.

Monday, September 22, 2008

up to no good

So...shit has been crazy lately, and not in a good way. Went to the CP and read to her. I read to my doctors when I feel like I am just going to go in a blather on unproductively because there's so much on my mind that I want to explode...

This is what I read to her:

I feel fucking terrible, tweaky, horrible, and I am just sitting here waiting to leave to go speak to the CP and tell her yes, I want to see a psychiatrist, I want drugs drugs drugs drugs drugs! I want Xanax; I want tranquilizers; I want to beat my head against the wall so I can pass out and dream about unicorns and oceans and clouds. It is bizarre. I have been on the verge of tears since I woke up this morning. There was a moment when I swore I could feel all these tiny pieces of ecstasy flooding my skull and soaking my brain tissue, and then I got the chills and felt very cold. I couldn’t believe it, but I wanted coffee and cigarettes despite feeling so tweaky tweaky tweaky and I had both and felt a little better. Maybe it’s just the force of habit that I find calming.

Yesterday I was a tweakfest. I could hardly sleep and when I woke up I felt like I was so awake that I could hardly breathe. Neighbor popped in and I think I scared her but I cooked her food and ranted about my borough tour the previous night where I somehow went from Williamsburg to Hell’s Kitchen to Park Slope and then to the East Village and still made it home by five. I was so tired and all I wanted to do was sleep but I woke up at nine. I tried to read boring things to sleep, but I was so tweaky that I had to go outside and run up the hills in Fort Tryon to try and burn it out of my system. Thank god Friend appeared on the scene and we talked about all our issues and lay on the floor of the Elifur Oliasson exhibit at PS1 and giggled at the mirror on the ceiling spinning around and around. Friend asked me what my deepest dark fear was and I thought about it for a long time and said that I fear that my mind will turn against me and destroy me. He said the same thing. Then we lay and laughed so hard that I cried. I felt so high and beautiful and happy.

It’s funny because if you ask me about my weekend I’d say it was great fun. I got some shit done at Strong and Whisper’s and I felt calm, good. Strong has a calming effect on me. I feel like my thoughts are in order when she is around, maybe it’s because she thinks she’s crazy and out of control. It’s when I’m alone that I feel the worst and most desperate. This morning I had the old feeling of wanting to jump into traffic and that’s when I thought I must see a psychiatrist and he must give me drugs and I must take them. I can’t shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen. I know that it’s coming. Once again I think of K and that infamous line of his as he comes out of meth hell and probation: "It’s okay. I knew it was going to happen.”

The boys are driving me crazy, and I am letting them. John texted me Saturday and we are going out on Tuesday. Fucking JOE called me last night and I was drunk and didn’t know who it was and we are going out on Wednesday. Today Sohji, the beautiful Caribbean boy I met Saturday night texted me and left me a voicemail which I am scared to pick up, because I told him he could take me out on Thursday and I know I’m going to go and I hate myself for it and I don’t know why. Last night I found myself at Black Betty dancing with Model and Red and Red’s Brother and Curly, who makes me delirious with desire. I went outside and sat on the curb, all drunk and stoned and wondered what the fuck I was doing there, if Friend was right, and if I’m about to start hurting people, hurting boys by playing with them too hard. John has already been hurt by me. But it’s not my fault. As I was leaving, Model grabbed me and asked me what my deal was, why I don’t call him. I don’t understand why we are like this, why these boys think they can claim me, and they get angry when I tell them they can’t, and they still want me and I still hang out with them. It’s bad for everyone. I think this is what Friend was talking about. I feel like I’m about to destroy someone, and they are going to destroy me right back and I will have deserved it.

My mother is coming on Friday for the weekend. I am terrified for her to see me like this. The thing is, she doesn’t have to. I can spend all weekend with her walking and reading and eating and telling her about cute boys and parties and my thesis and my novel and take her out with friends and never talk about anything. I don’t want her to worry about me. But more than that, I don’t want her to see that I’ve failed to recover from what worried her so much so long ago. I don’t want her to know, but I do. I don’t know if I should tell her what’s going on. I think she would want to know, but what would that accomplish? If she could have done something, she would have.

Monday, September 8, 2008

S.A.D. x2

This afternoon I went to Counseling and Psychological Services. I made the appointment last week when I started freaking out about my adventures in sobriety. My nerves felt really shot; they still kind of do even though I have been drinking for the last three nights. I have also been largely unable to sleep. I popped awake this morning at seven and went for a jog even though (a) I don't have class today and (b) I didn't get to sleep until around 3 a.m.

My Clinical Psychologist is young. I almost think she is younger than me, but is that possible? Can you be a CP by the age of twenty-eight? I wonder.

Anyhow I laid out my whole history for her, which I actually read to her from a document I'd written last night at 2 a.m. because I was losing my voice to the extent that I thought I'd be unable to speak when I got to the appointment. I could speak, but I figured I might as well read what had taken me almost an hour to write.

CP told me some interesting things that I'd never really considered. She said my withdrawal symptoms were normal but that it wasn't a good idea for me to quit drinking cold turkey due to the amount that I drink. She said I could have had a seizure! and that it would probably be in my best interests to continue to drink, but to try and moderate it down a bit. Instead of twelve drinks, she said, try to have eight.

After some time she said I would "definitely qualify" for Substance Abuse Disorder by the standards of the DSM. And I thought Seasonal Affective Disorder was enough! Now I'm twice as SAD! (that was a crazy joke! laugh!) Apparently people with Substance Abuse Disorder can get some bomb free treatment here in New York. She doesn't know why, but people who are this SAD are taken very seriously. I'm not quite clear how this SAD is different than, say, alcoholism, or what have you, but there it is. Next week we will try to talk about Abuse versus Dependence. This is why I hate this kind of shit. What you call it doesn't really matter. All I know is that when I don't drink continuously I feel fucked up. Isn't it so weird that you can have withdrawal from The Booze? You can have heart failure and shit. She also said it's normal that I got sick. But not good. It's kind of funny because I don't think I can have a drinking problem, it's just that I drink so much that my body wants it now. I was mentally okay without drinking, it's just that my body felt like shit. That's what happens when you spend 4-10 hours a night drinking for a many many years at a time.

I'm glad I can go back to drinking. I didn't think my nerves were going to last. 

Saturday, September 6, 2008

Soaking It

Being dry at muffin and papa's boozefest was actually okay. I was just sick of thinking/talking about sobriety, so when I met up with John and he suggested getting a drink, I just went along with it. I didn't feel like explaining again why the hell I find it necessary to extend a few days of detox into a month-long test of my sanity. So we boozed.

He took me to a bunch of sweet spots in the Lower East Side, including Home Sweet Home at Delancey and Chrystie, and Black and White, where I actually ran into someone I used to work with in San Francisco. The other two bars I'd been to before.

John insisted on paying for everything, which threw me off. We ended the night with a bottle of nice champagne and tequila shots at the same bar where my accidental date had ended badly with papa the day after his birthday. It was kind of funny. John also happens to work in the same office as Boy, the young'un I dated for a hot minute last year.

I felt like absolute shit this morning, but my sore throat/swollen lymph nodes were completely cleared up. I don't understand why not drinking makes me sick. Honest to god, I'd been downing ibuprofen since Monday because my throat was killing me. This morning I had a horrible dream after John and I had sex; I dreamt that he had to get up to go to a beer festival and he put his fictitious roommate in bed with me in his underwear and I thought to myself, "oh god, I'm too hungover to fuck this guy too." I think I have a really messed up relationship with sex. When I checked my messages I had a text from Curly timestamped at a quarter past two in the morning.

What the shit? He is driving me crazy! How can I take a guy seriously when he only texts me late night? I hope he gets a firm grasp of his balls soon and fucken calls me sometime. Then again he might be trying to post me up for another bait-and-switch with Red, whom apparently EVERYONE hates. I just never got that vibe of evil and insecurity that everyone else picked up on. These Williamsburg boys! Maybe I should embrace the NYC dating protocol of only dating guys who live within a seven-block radius of me. However, the last time that happened, I couldn't even vomit the next day. But I would really love to go out with Curly sometime. Boy juggling is a necessary distraction right now.

John and I are going out again Wednesday, and I am climbing my boozed ass back on the wagon today.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Sober September

I am not a happy camper this week. Sobriety has left me in a cold, unstable place, and this morning when I woke up, I coughed up blood. It's not like I'm mentally fiending for alcohol, it's just that I don't understand why I feel so much better when I'm allowed to drink 3-15 drinks each evening.

Oh wait, yes I do understand why I feel so much better. I guess what I don't understand is why it's so bad for me.

The day before yesterday I received an email from a friend who disappeared six years ago from San Francisco. I'd heard he'd rejoined the world and was looking for me, so the email wasn't a total-total surprise, but let's just say that there was a lot in that three-paragraph email. It was the kind of email you can write when you hit rock bottom and completely lose: any sense of shame, any desire to embellish/entertain with your stories, the ability to restrain yourself from telling every single person how much you love them.

Aside from the bare facts and indicators of having crawled out of hell but still being on all fours, one of his last sentences really got to me. He said, "It's okay--I knew it was going to happen." The first "it" referring to life, oneself, the general state of affairs, and the second "it" referring to all the bleak allusions to hell. This simple statement really got to me. It makes perfect sense that we should drive ourselves through shit like this, knowing full well where it will take us. It doesn't make any sense, but we do it.

And, I suppose, this is what drove me back to seek some psych services this week for the first time in more than eight years. I don't want to say this statement to myself, that it is okay, that I knew it was going to happen. I don't want that to resonate with me the way it did. I know where things are going. They have been going there for the past few years, and they are progressing in a way that seems manageable and socially acceptable. I also know that I'm really good at (a) coping via self-medication, (b)going through extreme work-reward cycles, (c) spacing out my social engagements so that few people see how hard I'm hitting it every single night. I'm one of those girls that thinks to herself, "What was I wearing the last time I saw this person?" Only these days I think in terms of how fucked up I was the last time.

It's my September regression, and it scares me. I am too old for this shit.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Blur of Brooklyn

A work session at Strong and Whispers's place Friday afternoon turned into an incredible writing retreat. We worked and partied with determination and vengeance; it was an amazing time. I love working with people. It felt great to be surrounded by really stellar individuals working and supporting in each other in our endeavors, and we all got a lot done. I'm hoping that we can do it again next weekend, though maybe not to such an extreme. My clock is totally fucked now.

We got up late yesterday after an evening of serious boozeness, had a gigantic meal around three, and worked until we had to go back out for dinner at 11 p.m., which is when things got a little weird. At dinner we were all loopy on productivity and I got a text from Curly, one of the two boys I'd met at keets' party a few weeks ago. Since I was in the burg already, he said he'd come meet up with us for drinks. I was pretty surprised to hear from him, and I could not finish my dinner out of excitement. I was so excited that I almost forgot that I hadn't showered in a while and I was smelling pretty rank.

Per my usual m.o., I swallowed two drinks before Curly showed up--yes, with the other boy, Red. This confused the hell out of me, seeing as Curly and Red were the two guys whose numbers I had gotten and then gotten confused. This shouldn't have been so confusing, because it's not like I was trying to specifically get with either of them, but it definitely threw me for a loop. I was even more confused when Curly disappeared, and Red ended up hanging out at S&W's until about six a.m.

Suddenly we found ourselves in a convertible hurtling on the BQE. It was sunny, beautiful, warm, and we wound up in Astoria, then in East Flatbush drinking rum at 8 a.m. with a former Gap model from the Ivory Coast. He tried to pressure me into a drinking contest, not even kidding, and for some reason I got all salty about this. It was a while before I remembered that I could Just Say No.

I finally made it back to my place at 1 p.m. and slept for a few hours, waking up to a text from Red inviting me to hang out before what I'm sure will be another night of The Booze. I go dry on Tuesday, so I'm succumbing to all of my alcoholic urges to do as much liver damage as possible before then.

What should I wear tonight?


(20 hours later)

I'm having one of those days where I alternately feel like a pretty princess and a crack whore. Such extremes! Such dualism! So much confusion. I want to talk to Girlfriend so badly that I can't call her. I just want to lie here and wait for it to go away.

Red's party was fun. I stopped by to get Lucho to be my escort, but he was sidelined by cute new neighbors. It was nice to see My Friend, whom I've missed and haven't seen all summer. As soon as I saw him I realized I'm still secretly in love with him, this after not having spoken to him since the night I peed on a car in Park Slope at the end of May.

Because I was so tired I decided to aim for a tequila-based BAC of around 2.3. Curly showed up with a girl. I'm so attracted to him it's ridiculous, but with his girl there, it was easy to be distracted by other nice people. I felt pretty princessy because boys were being sweet to me and crack whorey because I haven't added up to a night's full sleep in a few days.

I made the following note to myself on my cell phone: Some line of desperation carried me back to Brooklyn after little sleep. Commuting soothed me like sleep--purposeful, undisturbed. Something like work in respite and observation, the marriage of necessity and dreams.

What is this craze in my blood, this craze that needs to be tempered with booze and constant motion? It's a buzzing that I have to follow or it will tell me I'm sad, in both the pathetic and miserable ways. I follow it; since I have no choice, I try to enjoy it.

Keets advised me to stay away from a certain boy who was uber-focused on me, so I turned my attention to the sweet boy who kept sticking cocaine up my nose. I followed him home around 6 a.m. and let him love on me. He was amazingly endearing and softspoken for a boy with so much blow in his pocket. This morning we talked about the DSM over coffee, and I remembered that Gap model too had a strong interest in clinical psychology; it was the second time the DSM had come up in conversation in 24 hours.

I suddenly remembered the flurry of text messages Gap model had sent me while I was maintaining my target BAC on Red's roof. I hadn't said yes or no to him, and at that moment I told him no. I thought of the last time I'd boy-hopped with such intensity and a sick feeling of regret and desire filled me. This happens any time I say no.

I don't understand why the things I do sometimes feel so right and other times so wrong.

Tomorrow I go back to $chool.

Sunday, August 17, 2008


I am sick of being single, I am leering at babies, and I am not happy about either of these things. I don't know what to do about it, because I am basically attracted to EVERYONE and their best friends, brothers, roommates, cousins. It's kind of gross. I don't know when I turned into such a drunken floozy, but the transition has been kind of a good time.

This week I've been especially faced with the gross realization that I am a shameless flirt, which could explain a lot: why I'm single, why I love to drink so much, and why I always attract the wrong sort of guys. Above all, it explains why I confuse people so much. For most people, flirting is the precursor to serious business like sex and relationships, and for me it's more like an end in and of itself. Flirting is about all the interpersonal engagement I can handle these days.

I got some phone numbers last night (great party, keets!) and someone has been texting me today. With some help, I am trying to figure out if it is this guy who I thought was so so cute or this other guy with whom I had a crazy connection and would probably be someone I could marry. (what did I just say? what?) But that is the way I am feeling about EVERYONE lately. I could love you forever! Stay away.

The farewell to The Ex may have something to do with my rage against singledom this week. My friend and I were talking yesterday about how it hurts to be around exes when you're single, because that person has a piece of your heart, and your heart wants to reclaim it, make itself whole again, whenever it gets near that piece. Kind of like magnets I guess. This made a lot of sense to me. At the same time, you don't want the piece back, because you gave it to them, and you want them to have it. But the ache is still there. It's not as bad when you're attached, because someone has given you a piece of their heart, and it helps to fill that void.

You know what else helps? Escalating quantities of booze. Except then the next day you get to hang out with your hangover all day, and think about why you are single.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

bits o' blab

In my few minutes of working Internet, let me just holla from the rooftops that


Just got back from a lovely weekend in The Cape. Bet you didn't know I was so glamorous did ya? Well I'm not. I just happen to have glamorous friends who are okay with me showing up looking like vomit. The weekend involved many seafoods dipped in butter, cheering from the sidelines, feeling like an outsider, feeling beloved, and boating with the yellyfish. How did I find this life?

The better my life gets, the more afraid I get of losing it. And by "it," I mean both my mind and this awesome life. I know it's coming--this awesome life, not my mind--because summer is drawing to a close, and I am already thinking to myself "ohmygodnextyearihavetogetajobohgodihateworking!!!!" But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Right now I gotta concentrate on fixing the things I promised I'd fix when I got to The NY.

Some of this came up when I was in The Chi last week for my little brother's birthday. Moms likes to ask me what I'm doing with my life, which makes me sad because I don't know. Then I decided to unburden myself by telling her My Dirtiest Secret, that I'm still a smoker, to which she just sighed and said, "I know."

Talk about anticlimax. I told her partially because I was fiending and sick of lying about it, and then I was able to go and enjoy the company of my most cancerous friend. But then the rest of the time I smoked significantly less. I think I'm on the road to recovery.

My friend Knockout, who is swapping coasts this week, also has similar boozeness issues to mine, and we have decided to do a month of sobriety, starting the day after Labor Day. Oh hell! It makes me feel like an alcoholic because just the idea of it terrifies me.

I'm just chattering while I await my afternoon at the beach with The Ex, who is visiting this week around a job thingy of his. We hung out last week and it was...nice. And by nice, I mean it was wonderful to see him but also soul-crushing, which evens out to...nice. When I'm around him I just want to climb on top of him and lick his face. This was always a point of contention between us, because he's not into my clingy tendencies. I honestly have to fold my hands on my lap sometimes to avoid grabbing him. Either that, or I chain smoke to keep myself out of his hair, another habit of mine which he hates. All in all, it is good that we are separated by three time zones, because it keeps the sadness at bay. At the end of our relationship, my biggest take-away from it is that I promised him I would always be there for him, and I am trying not to make our breakup the end of that promise.

Friday, August 1, 2008

that buzzing sound: is that my soul fighting with itself? or a vibrating cock ring?

The Boys are pissing me off this week, and even more irritating is my Handling of Them. I went to a farrrbulous wedding this past weekend: yes, I did just say a fab wedding. It was actually twenty-four hours of fun, so take note, people: it is possible.

At said wedding, however, I got roped into a seemingly endless conversation where he trapped me into giving him my phone number. He was a nice enough guy, but totally self-absorbed. I was into him at all, but I was sober and I can’t lie when I’m sober, so I gave him my number.

Homeboy has called me EVERY FUCKEN DAY since Sunday. When will this stop? I have yet to pick up or return a single call. The messages were kind of rude. One of them was like, “SERIOUSLY. Call me and tell me when the best time is to reach you.” Right, dude, the only reason why I haven’t returned your calls is because we haven’t found the right time yet. Then this morning—I kid you not—he calls me at ten to seven in the morning, and left me another message about maybe I was a morning person? Please stop fucking calling me. Isn’t there a rule about the number of unanswered phone messages a person can leave before entering the legal realm of stalkerdom?

Then last night was the worst. I went on a date with this guy who I didn’t know at all. This guy chased me out of a bodega in the neighborhood and last night we went out to dinner. I should have known there were going to be problems from the beginning because when I said I was free Wednesday, he asked me, “Do you go spinning?”

I said, “Spinning? Like at a gym?” Color me disgusted as he invites me to a spinning class. La-a-a-a-me.

No, we did not go spinning together. But we did go have a night of serious boozeness. Okay, here’s how the night went wrong. Literally on our first drink, he kissed me, on the lips, without warning or asking. I couldn’t even get out of the way. I…think that’s wrong. I didn’t like that one bet. Throughout the night he kept kissing me and I could not make it stop. Seriously, dude? What’s up with that?

He was a nice enough guy, though. He brought me a rose. We had a nice dinner. He was holding my hand, too! On a first fucken date? Really? I didn’t know how to be like, “Please don’t touch me” without being too much of a bitch, so I just went along with it.

Then, fast forward a few hours and much boozeness later, he’s trying to come into my apartment with me. I said, “NonoNO you’re not coming up. I’m not sleeping with you.” But he was really fucken insistent that he see me upstairs, and of course we end up having sex and while it’s not bad, I didn’t want to have sex with him, and shit just happened. The weirdest part about it was that homeboy had a VIBRATING COCK RING with him. Who the hell carries a vibrating cock ring around with them? Man, that was a shocker.

This morning he pulled the “I’m going to fuck you awake” tactic, and I was like “Get the hell off of me, dude.” Then he practically begged for sex. God, what is more pathetic than that? The bed was a bloody mess; I was pissy; there was a dude in bed with me who I was hating more and more with each passing moment.

All of this shadiness made me miss Joe, who always asked me if he could even put his arm around me, let alone kiss me. Why did I put up with this behavior last night? Is booze really to blame? Why do I let guys just have their way with me, only to feel like crap about it later? Thoughts, anyone?

And now, another person whose calls I’m going to have to dodge. Thank you Jesus for caller ID.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

interconnectivity biting me in the ass

The Internet is freaking me out tonight, which is unfortunate because (a) I've been missing it while my free connection has been acting up and (b) I was just beginning to trust it with all of my mental vomit.

This past year or so, I've jumped from the usual use the internets to find jobs and email people, and have started two blogs, joined Facebook, hosted a number of couchsurfers, and went on a wild internet dating spree that ended with that horrible horrible horrible crazyblinddate date. Tonight I got one of those random emails from one of the many dating sites I logged into ONCE, and instead of ignoring the email, I decided to go check in on what I actually disclosed about myself on the site. Then I ended up spending a few hours on it taking tests and uploading a photo. Haha! I guess I was somewhat inspired by an evening spent with two of my favorite people in the world, both of whom have are currently in committed relationships with online roots.

While my internet connection dawdled me in and out of okcupid, I got a message from a couchsurfer I hosted a few months ago, telling me he found my blog because I'd mentioned his comic in it by name. He wasn't offended though, and wondered when we could hang out again.

Horror of fucking horrors! I was appalled. This is my anonymous blog and even though I write about everything from period sex to puking on subways, I felt extremely exposed. Then he went on to explain himself in defense of a comment I'd made about him. BAD internets, BAD! This made me want to puke all over my laptop (and then write about it, of course). Is it normal that I am okay posting all this shit online, and then feeling cheated when someone connects the dots? But this is how I felt when Boy started keeping up with my Myspace blog...hence my new blog, unconnected to anything...anything except a semi-detailed account of my existence, I suppose.

And how do I tell couchsurfer that I just don't have time for anyone new in my life with whom I'm not specifically obsessed? With any luck he'll just read this blog while I am systematically going through all my defunct dating profiles and removing them all. But I don't even know which ones I've joined, it turns out.

Saturday, July 19, 2008


I'm back from two glorious weeks in Nicaragua and back to my old tricks. Sleepwalker is visiting, and she is currently passed out on the futon, trying to purge a hangover following a night that involved drinking in three boroughs. Poor thing! We be gettin' old; it's true.

Nicaragua was an amazing time. One of my favorite things about traveling is putting to use skills that I don't normally use in my day-to-day existence. In Morocco last summer, I surprised myself one day by figuring out we were going the wrong way by looking at the sun. And in Nicaragua last week, I exercised some surprising skills in speaking Spanish, group sex, purchasing of narcotics, and staring down paralysis while bicycling down a treacherous road in search of a halfway decent cup of coffee. My loathing of bicycles is totally illogical and a little disconcerting, and this last experience did nothing to help the cause. Another thing that made me proud was how lightly I traveled this trip. I'm a pretty light traveler to begin with, and this was my lightest trip yet. It makes me feel ridiculous to come home to my overcrowded apartment.

It is strange to be back in New York in other ways too, and this insomnia just gives me a lot of time to remember all the things we did in two short weeks, and how relaxed and peaceful I felt. I hardly ever feel like that in New York, but I'm hoping that can be my takeaway from the trip, that feeling of "all is right with the world." Nicaragua is a beautiful land with beautiful people and beautiful food. I ate so much fried chicken, beans and rice, plantains, god this is making me hungry just thinking about it!

Monday, June 30, 2008

yes, keetens, i really am busy

My week has pretty much been a swift return to the boozeness, peaking Friday night with My Friend's brilliant idea to get me to drink six shots of whiskey on the roof of his building before I needed to go out to Brooklyn. Needless to say, I peed on someone's German automobile and woke up at 4:30 in the morning, confused, hungover, and in Park Slope.

That day was a rough day. I made my way out to Little Neck for an epic BBQ involving at least a dozen chickens, a duck, a turkey, lamb gyros, a repeat of the amazing Brazilian picanha (expertly prepared by my current obsession, Tyler), and several thousand dollars worth of beer. Tyler is driving me fucken crazy. I don't know why I have to want someone who is clearly emotionally inaccessible, but that's just the way it is, I guess. The boy just won't give me a damn inch. I hate hate hate love love him. I spent the evening wondering how to connect with him, aside from showing him my many bruises and scrapes from the past few days. Incidentally, this is also how I connect with eight-year-olds.

On a happy note, I finally grew the makings of a spine--albeit a flexible, cartilage-based one--and broke it off with Joe. I had failed on making the transition earlier this week, and I am horrible at ending things with nice boys whose only mistake was to show me how truly interested they were in pursuing a meaningful relationship with me.

I had kind of thought/hoped/feared that I had "broken up" with him via drunk voicemail on the night of my whiskey greyout, but then I kept getting more messages from him. I just want to share this with you, because this was a good one. It worked for me, and maybe it can work for you, too!

Ending a 6-week affair via text message, in less than 100 words:
Joe: Hi! Hang out tonight?
S: Sorry i cannot
Joe: Pssh, I give up. (this was the third night in a row)
S: Sorry it's nothing personal--i am really busy this week. To be honest i didn't really expect to see you anymore because of our travels. (it took me a half hour to decide between saying 'didn't' and 'don't')
Joe: Ah no hard feelings. Its a bummer, I'd squeeze in time for it (by it I think he meant fucking, what do you think?) but we can call it even.
(Ten minutes later)
Joe: Ah heck with it, if I dont see you - good luck out there!
(Awww! What a sweetheart!)

S: Thanks doll, say hello to the cali for me.

Done and done. Now, back to my secret plans.

Monday, June 16, 2008

eternal sunshine in The Last Frontier

Just got back last night from a weekend excursion up to Denali. I think it's the farthest north I've ever been. We spent one night on the Big Su River in Talkeetna, setting up camp next to a bunch of boys who were drinking away the money they'd made playing banjo and fiddle on the little tourist strip in town. We posted up next to their fire until the rain drove us into the tent with the dog.

The next morning we drove into Denali to meet up with our friend, and camped on Dragonfly Creek, precariously stumbling down to the river with a liter of whiskey poured into three cups. In the morning we got up and hiked Mt. Healy, a good five-hour hike, legs burning, and the farther up we got, the more mountains we could see. We went up so far that I made snowballs! I only fell once during the descent, and then we bumbled into the lodge where our friend had gotten us a room, and took much-needed showers before heading into town with a gorgeous 19-year-old boy and having crab legs and such at The Perch. At this point, stuffed and full of wine and beer and booze, I was ready to pass out. Instead we went to the bar, swallowed a bunch of ecstasy, and boozed until the bar closed at 4 a.m. Yes, the sun was still shining at this time. It is insane here! But that makes camping so much easier: you don't need to bring a flashlight.

It's been wild meeting all these kids who just come up to Denali to work for the summer, many of whom work the ski resorts in the winter time. This is not something that I have ever done, or had ever even thought of doing, but it makes so much sense. You meet a lot of people from all over, make some money, and get out of town. And everyone is so chill, I love it. Almost makes me want to move up here, only there's this period of nine months known as winter.

Oh, Alaska. What peace, what space, what a life. Being up here in all these adventures really makes me miss my Ex. This is my first time camping without him. He would love it up here.