Monday, Jun. 07, 2004 - 4:14 a.m.
Cost of the War in Iraq
WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.
Ranting and Taking Things Personally Late at Night
A better entry with no self-pity or crying here... just reaching my garage sale goals. I'm having an "what's wrong with me" moment. I don't know. I feel so spoiled. I complain about being so exhausted with the garage sale, shit I have so much stuff. I am just spoiled and have enough stuff to feed and clothe a bloody village I tell ya. I was looking at all the stuff for sale in the front yard, and other than underwear, there was enough clothes from every season to completely outfit one person for a whole year, bathingsuit, winter coat, shoes, boots, tshirts, nightgown, sweaters, dressup tops and pretty skirts and dresses, everything. And that is what is the dregs of my closets that I don't wear.
On top of it, some people would be having a garage sale, AND dealing with the kids, AND making a meal for hubby etc. On the other hand, perhaps then I'd remember to eat.
I am accomplished and I don't even feel it anymore. I was putting back books in the shelves and thinking how ten years ago I would be boggled if I could see me in a 5-plex that I own, putting away BOXES.. yes TWO BOXES of different titles that I have illustrated my name in print, picture of me on the cover. And comic books I could afford to print myself.
And my biggest worry paying to take care of my dog. Yeah, my DOG. I read about how in some country (Afghanistan?) that someone saw dog food for sale. And that was an indication that people were starting to have dogs as pets instead of eating dogs for food. That cultural change of having more than enough to fill your own belly.
I have so much and I am such a miserable bitch. I don't know. Why do I complain about ANYTHING?? What is wrong with my personality that I can have whole wonderful days and then someone saying something stupid like "$15 for THIS?? This is a GARAGE SALE! You'll never sell anything with prices like that, Wench", and then I get all defensive and go off on one, and the person who said that, who was the idiot to start with, cuz if that particular item I really wanted to get rid of I wouldve said $5 or $1 or 50 cents, ends up being fed up with me, cuz I was justifying why, and then saying it was stupid to say (and saying what I just said (between "cuz that particular item", and "cents") and she is like fed up with me, and goes, leave it for god's sake, and you can see she thinks "this is what the wench is like, this is no fun" and my friend who was here dropping by at the same time, I was ashamed to be like this in front of.
And i am even afraid to write this in my diary here, cuz of ob reading and then writing "your voice is so grating" and saying my mom is right I need medications, and I sometimes just feel like I can be the most loving person and the most generous person and up and friendly the whole day, and giving and caring and supporting and then like someone who has built up dominoes for days, it is bumped down with me getting defensive about one thing, or whining, at the exact moment when I feel it is going fine and friends have dropped by, and it goes down like all the dominoes, and everyone is just darn glad they got rid of me at that moment cuz of course no matter how fun it is with the wench, she will always end up ruining the party by bitching about something, and hey, let's go someplace and have a drink and leave her to be complaining cuz we 've all got friends and family and things to do with people who we actually love who are not going to turn annoying like her.
That is stupid I suppose, and probably the whole source of the problem of me getting defensive, or when I complain about someone telling me off that I come back to it later and justify why I was ok.. if I just let it go, and didnt worry about it, I wouldn't go on and on. And it is a viscious circle.
I don't know. Perhaps I am just stressing for nothing. But it makes me want to isolate. It makes me paranoid and taking personally things. It makes me afraid, and that is why of course people like ob and her Mmme and everyone can find that achilles heel when they themselves are being fucking horrible mean stupid nasty shits, and come back and pick on me. And though they were and are shits, they can all go for a fucking beer together.
I don't know. Dangerspouse says I am too hard on myself. But it is true that if I brushed things off easier. If I didn't react. If I just laughed it off when people are mean or stupid or whatever, I'd have more fun.
I don't know, perhaps that is not true. Jesus why am I writing this. You will all just think i am an idiot. I am sure I am just as ok as other people.
And haha if I were so sure, then why would I be stressing about it?? Why would I feel that when I am alone I am being isolating myself. And when I am going and talking to people I am intruding on them and imposing even when I am friendly.
Damn I shouldn't write this here anymore. I used to like that ob read my diary. I used to think that she would see that even though I am more mature than she is (not a surprise since I am years older and have a gadzooks more experience with relationships) I am not perfect and she could relate to me and see that we have points in common on depressing and stressing about ourselves etc, that she is not alone in that.
And now I think she just reads to find out what I know and to find things so that she can chop me down and put me down and look down on me anyway possible in order to make it ok how horridly she treated me. It is NOT OK. It is not ok.
Egads, maybe I should just be writing in a paper diary somewhere. If I were her or many other people I know, I wouldnt express this anywhere, let alone in a sort of public forum. I'd hide it like a shameful secret that I even thought or felt it and I would drink and do drugs and just wipe it away, and then tomorrow I could just laugh with my other drinking doing drugs friends and go "hehe, have such a hangover last night I got shitfaced" and we'd all nod and grin and go , yeah, yeah, been there.
But I don't do that. I am a stupid shit who blabs instead. Supposedly I am more expressive. I am not fucked up or not unfucked enough to drown my fears in drugs.
I don' t know anymore.
I think I am ok
And I think I am not ok. In that I really really don't think that anyone will ever put up with me. I think that people love me but that is not the same thing as wanting me. I can't be trusted not to complain about something, or talk about that time five years ago I was angry in a voice as though I am angry at the person I am talking to so that they feel put upon and want to disappear and be anywhere else. I just hate myself sometimes.
I guess I am in good company. Is there a creative person in the world who actually loves themselves? Who hasn't been in detox, or had a nervous breakdown, who hasn't got failed marriages or children who don't speak to them. I don't know.
Humans are just one fucked up mess of a bunch.
But then why don't I deserve love and friendship? I see people, and they are miserable mean fucks or fucked up or stressed out, or whatever. My aunt who everyone hated cuz she "preached" at people had a husband and five kids. My uncle who was an abusive drunk who went out hunting instead of earning a living had a loving wife and 6 kids.
Why me, I don' t know. You know, maybe if I write and write and write, it will be like the night that I wrote about 5 long long entries blabbling and Dangerspouse wrote damn damn you write so much it doesn't stop, and then there will be so many words that no one will read them.
I don't know which is worse. When people listen, or when people don't listen.
Ob used to love it when she felt people knew here. She's say "you know me!!" when I could see who she was and her dreams and loves and hopes and how she saw herself, and you know that is a precious thing and she knew it. I guess maybe we just want people to know us. But at the same time we are afraid that if people know us they won't want to know us. Isn't it Concrete Blonde who says it is impossible to go back to the place where love was blind.
Well, yes, ob, I am annoying when I go off at the grocery store. And it was annoying not to have your license, not to mention probably not legal. And it was annoying that the fucking lady wouldn't let me buy the drinks just because I was in line with you. So we all three were annoying. And so I guess not a single one of us should have love or friends, and we should have people who tell us how horrid we are.
Why do I have this fear. It is cuz of my mom? I don't know.
I have to stop crying and just work. After I am dead, people will find an out of print book I illustrated years ago, at a garage sale, and it will never be their favorite book , but they will say, oh I liked those drawings, and no one will care anymore if I was a miserable bitch. Or insecure like Charles Schultz who was apparently that way, like Charlie Brown, to the very end though everyone loved the Peanuts and he was like a billionnaire, but he didn't think that he was a great person. And if he was an amazing genius and felt like that, then I guess I am just normal, or rather not normal, but naturally like this. I don't know.
But he at least had a wife. And kids I believe.
And I have a dog I spoil to death. I could be worse. I could be one of those people walking in the streets and talking loudly and angrily to objects, who kicked her dog and let her plants die.
At least I feel virtuous if I make the bed and do the dishes.
Do you think that will get me into heaven if such a farfetched thing exists???????
BTW Can you tell I still miss ob. Not the one who is mean and who just wants me to hang around while she gets her kicks and kudos from "important" people, but the one who was my friend, who I had fun and adventures with. This whole garage sale I kept thinking about how I wanted to be there to have a garage sale for her to make $$ to move, so she wouldn't be stressed about $$ for her move, and all the things she gave away and couldve sold and how good I would be at that.
But it doesn't matter. I'm no good to anyone but myself.
Here is my stupid horoscope for Sunday:
Here is your horoscope for Sunday, June 6: It will be quite easy to bring together your friends and the dearest of your dear ones right now -- so why hesitate? A barbecue, maybe? At your place?Who the hell are they kidding? Quite easy to bring together my friends and the dearest of my dear ones???? Well, maybe it is my friend Hotsauce's horoscope... we all went to his birthday party. I guess I was invited, I had people pick me up, I had other people happy to see me there. So what am I bitching about? See, I DO complain. But the only time there was a barbecue at my house, it was when my friend Kelly stayed here, and before she moved out we invited everyone we knew to a barbecue (she bought the barbecue and took it with her when she moved out). I try not to invite people to things cuz I still fear no one will come. It is silly, cuz people came to my booklaunch. But I cannot really imagine more than 8 people coming to a barbecue or party I had. Damn I shouldn't write this stuff anymore. I just keep hearing ob say "reading your diary is like watching a car accident" and how no one likes me. You know what, if she reads this and then uses it against me, it is her being nasty. It is like knowing my weak spots and then kicking them. Everyone has weak spots. Her picking on me by poking the scabs would be like me knowing my dog has arthritis and then hurting her joints, just to feel powerful. You hurt someone intentionally you are a shit. I don't need to pretend to be invulnerable in order to be not a target. Fuck nasty people who screw you around to start with and then stalk your diary and then use it to hurt you. Sorry, that is me thinking in advance of what could happen now.
The funny thing though is that now when I write alot, as in not "writing a lot" but writing "alot" I write it with glee. Like nite nite. Alot alot. hehe.
I read Radiogurl's 101 things tonight, and in many ways I feel like her... in that I think I just chose not so well who to go out with. Or else it is just the saddest thing in the world that my bestest friend turns out to be my worst enemy. goddamn.
Please god if there is one in the sky (hehe, now you know why a god has to be omnipresent, now that we know that "up" in the "heavens" is a different direction from everypoint on earth) please send me someone at least somewhat caring and respectful of me to love and have fun with. Thankyou. Now I will get off of Santa's knee. nite nite.
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Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
*inspired by Chaosdaily