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Music: Patty Griffin: Living with Ghosts

Reading: if i ever get around to it, the program for Image&Nation, lesbigay film fest in Montreal

Hold on to what is good even if it is a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do even if it is a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when I have gone away from you.
- Pueblo Blessing

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Tuesday, Sept. 23, 2003 - 2:07 a.m.

Cost of the War in Iraq
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Living with Ghosts and Old Emails Printed Out and Canadian Counterfeit

a bad night.

So so so so sad. Finding writings/emails that ob wrote to me and that i printed out... going through stacks of papers.

So much hope and trust and believing. So many beautiful beautiful memories. Someone I thought i knew, felt i knew, was told by her i knew her.... that i "got" her... who the hell knows.

I am just in pain. I am so tired of pain inside. So so so so tired of pain inside. Breathe and cry breathe and cry. Stay with the feeling says my therapist. you have got to be kidding. This is like telling someone who has been swimming and swimming to keep swimming. um yeah. Swimming in the sea. You can swim til you die. How to get out of the water is what i want to know.

Or at least how to build a raft or a boat..

aaagh... that story's already been done, by Yann Martel. Even with a boat, if you dont hit land you are screwed. And even if you hit land you may be screwed more.

Last night reading diaries by women who are foster moms, and moms of children with mental illness and controlling husbands... maybe there is a god smiling down on me by not giving me depressive children who will die before me after years of problems, or by not giving me a relationship that lasts longer than 11 months.... be careful what you ask for they say.

I dont know what i want and need anymore. Other than a clean dog and a hair-free carpet in the front hall.

Sometimes i wish i were more selfdestructive. I wish i could write my pain all over my body, cut into it... but i dont want to cut myself, hurt myself. I just want the pain to show. Someone on the radio who had chronic fatigue because of constant phantom limb pain said they wish they had a broken leg cuz it was visible. Or that they had cancer because then people would understand how horrid it was.

When i write things like that i feel like a hypochondriac though. I am healthy, look 12 years younger than i am, have a career that uses my talents, a beautiful easygoing dog, two nice kitties, a big house, own property, have intelligence and strength, my eyesight, ability to sing and dance, ability to overcome my shyness. A good credit rating, lack of chemical addictions, too many books, too many clothes, a garden.

On the other hand, my only blood brother is dead at 24, i have nothing in common, really, with the other...depression runs in my family, my relationship with my mother is bad now, she has chronic fatigue and depression, i am infertile, i work at home alone in a big house meant to have a family in, i have no best friend, no buddies i hang with, no lover, no partner, not even any neighbors i do anything more than comment on their garden as i walk by. Tendency to have joint problems that block me doing things i love such as climbing, cycling any distance, and now i worry about the flamenco. I have tendency to slide into depression, cannot trust myself to be non verbally abusive, and emotionally overreactive. I have no family within 2000 miles of me. I dont have enough money to properly care for my building, and not enough time to take care of everything.

all in all, better off than most of humanity and still whining. But sometimes i would still like to have friends to get on my nerves cuz they are over too much, a lover who argues with me, children who have temper tantrums, relatives to roll my eyes about, workmates to get drunk with, a kid for my dog to be harrassed by, a best friend to come over bitching about her life's woes.

Let me find no more old emails telling how much i am loved, desired, how much committment she has to me, how much she wants me to be hers, how much i am a priority.

Or at least let it be something i can puke out of my body and feel better.

til later...

me.

ps, here is a counterfeit Canadian $20 bill i got from the bank machine, next to a real one... imagine getting counterfeit money from the bank machine... aagh. Just goes to show you have to look real close to differentiate the fake, and even then reputable sources will try to pawn worthless goods off on you...

Click here to see a closeup of the REAL and the FAKE bills to compare them... wow huh.

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previous meanderings - future past

Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Taking Care of Your Cows - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
Saint Joseph robs the cradle and eats spaghetti - Sunday, Jun. 14, 2009
sticky notes and broken irises - Friday, Jun. 12, 2009
The FOODCOMMANDER - Monday, Jun. 08, 2009

 

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