diary Archive: January, 2009.



january 31, 2009
he + she = ?

He: "The prospects of this journey are hard to understand."
She: "I haven't had time to wash my hair in days."
He: "I've kept my eyes shut. Maybe I was wrong."
She: "If this is about money I'll be very unhappy."
He: "I've never denied anything. I have never lied."
She: "I lie about a lot of things."
He turns away.
She says nothing.
He coughs.
She looks at her reflection in the mirror with disgust.
He looks out the window with despair.
She: "Do you...?
He: "What?"
She: "Never mind"
He: "Dont you want to be on this journey?"
She: "I don't know."
He: "Are you lying?"
She: "I'm... I don't know."



january 28, 2009
what did she just say?

As I passed through the entrance of a building today I heard just a snippet of a conversation between two women... one of them said, "I told her that I had a breast removed even though I hadn't." What?!? Why would you ever tell someone that if it wasn't true? The mind boggles. Unfortunately my taxi was waiting and I couldn't stop to "overhear" more.



january 25, 2009
ride 'em cowboy

I feel like a futuristic cowboy with light blue eyes, high on some futuristic drug and reciting strange poetry in Urdu.



january 22, 2009
crazy is in the brain of the beholder

The most frustrating thing about mental illness is the inability to translate your experience to others in a way that is truly representative of what is actually happening. There are so many thoughts and feelings that have no name that you're left saturated in frustration and despair. This also impedes a completely accurate diagnosis and treatment. I wonder if that is why so many people struggling with mental illness are artists in one way or another. Where traditional language fails, an artistic expression succeeds. It's like - I want to be able to tell you exactly what is happening, but what is happening has no name that I can give it... all I can tell you is that it feels bad. Really bad.



january 20, 2009
the truth is always sleepier than fiction

I gave J____ a notepad that says "Damn right, I'm good in bed - I could sleep for days!" on the cover. Truer words about J____ were never written. M___ and I thought it was hilarious and J____, who has an excellent sense of humor about herself, did too.



january 19, 2009
editing the zillions

I'm finding it harder and harder to maintain enthusiasm for the "JS/I" project as the response to it has been mysteriously yet resoundingly underwhelming. I can't quite figure it out. But... there are a zillion things I need to be doing and I guess I just have to edit this one out for now. Disappointed. Really disappointed, come to think of it.



january 16, 2009
my father the cube

My father.
He's been making appearances in my dreams lately... but, then, what else is new? His role in my dreams changes from time to time. What this is a function of, I'm not really sure. In my most recent dreams that he appears in, he is being helpful and generous. Which certainly is a reflection of how he could be in life. Last night you could even say he was overly helpful. This is a nice change from my dreams that he's so angry in.
After Dad died (thirteen years ago) I dreamed about him every night and in most of the dreams he was really unwell and painfully thin. It was so distressing. Alternately I would dream that he was alive and, I guess well, but that he had changed dramatically in terms of his personality. He would even be living separately from the rest of the family. I think these dreams were as unsettling as the ones where he appeared so physically unwell.
Sometimes I look at pictures of my father and try to find some clues... I just don't know what exactly I'm looking for.
Does all of this mean that I didn't really know my father?
Or do I know him very well and that it's just the enormity of his death - his absence in my life - that is playing tricks in my head... making me doubt what I already know?
Why is he such a puzzle? I roll him over and over in my subconscious like a Rubik's Cube, trying to align the sides and colours until there is some kind of sense... some kind of order. Some kind of answer.



january 15, 2009
ta-da!

I think I have turned self-consciousness into an art form.



january 14, 2009
gennifer wax under the influence

Oh sweet Jesus, Gennifer Wax thought, Why am I crying? Why can't I stop crying? She'd been down this road before - mugshot, fingerprints, phone call. Why was she falling apart now? She was embarrassed but noticed a couple of men being processed were crying as well. It all struck her as so tiring. She was so tired. So tired that she couldn't think about what a second DUI would mean. Jail? Fuck it, she thought, I'll think about it tomorrow. Then she laughed out loud at her Scarlet O'Hara resolve. The cop processing her looked up, startled at this about-face. "I'm not crazy," she told him but as soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew it was a lie. Regardless of this she pressed on and told him, "I'm not crazy, just drunk." Then the tears started again. Crazy, drunk and under arrest. Wonderful, she thought and cried some more. The tears not for herself, but for the image of him running away from her into the dark desert night.



january 13, 2009
cryptic.... who, me?

I've been craving truth lately... so I was going to write about "the elevator thing" But I just don't have the words yet - strange. Funny how something I experience so often is something that I can't quite articulate. Told M____ but that's completely different. Eeeep - this entry sounds cryptic... like I'm deliberately trying to be mysterious, but, I swear I'm not. Would I lie to you? Okay, yes, you're right... I would. But I promise that I'll tell you about "the elevator thing" another day.



january 10, 2009
voyage, story, colours

I am singing from this cryptic.
I am waltzing on the Indiana.
Somebody said something about the sand.
I see that levitating woman in the distance.
I hear the arguing over snakes.
Still.
See her... hear them.
I am lying on the Arizona now.
A voyage and a story soon to converge.
I want to see what colours they'll be.



january 9, 2009
fuckin' gross

Happened upon (ahem) the cover art of two (heterosexual) porn DVD's. One was an "asian fetish" flick called.... wait for it.... "Slant Eyed Sluts" and another called "Fuckin' Drunk" Good lord. People never cease to amaze me... in good ways, in bad ways and in trickier, dubious ways. All I can think is that you would never get away with the racism of a title like "Slant Eyed Sluts" anywhere other than in the realm of pornography. As for "Fuckin' Drunk" that's just a product of our fuckin' times. The whole "Girls Gone Wild" syndrome. Cover your boobs, hon... put down that beer and tell the camera man to go fuck himself. Sheesh! What a world, what a world.



january 8, 2009
?????????

Bursting roses, flaming geese in flight, a gigantic cat and the number seven... it all means something... but what?



january 7, 2009
blinded me with science

Dr. A___ not necessarily in agreement with my thoughts about possible issue. I felt like he was a little too quick to dismiss the idea. Further discussion brought him around somewhat. I trust him and his opinions implicitly. But.... maybe I just wasn't explaining myself clearly enough. I really don't want to think that he would rather be right than admit that he was possibly wrong. Right - wrong - idea - possibly - opinion. I admit that I don't have a sound understanding of science per se... but shouldn't science of all things be more definite? Eeeep! Maybe I shouldn't have cut so many science classes to go smoke in the parking lot. Spilled milk, spilled milk.



january 4, 2009
todays diary entry is brought to you by the number 5

1...Tracey Ullman is fuckin' funny.
2... I love that my mother has become this almost militant environmentalist. If there is anyone who knows more about the ins and outs of recycling in the home, I've yet to meet them. With a very self-righteous tone she tells me, "I care about the environment." As though the rest of us who aren't quite as dedicated can go straight to hell.
3... Today I cracked a DVD. I was popping a disc out of the case and it cracked - an inch long crack from the center. In all the years I've been buying CD's and DVD'S (thousands of the them) I have never had one break. Of course - it happened to a relatively new DVD priced at $39.99 that I cant return. Goddamn it.
4... Roseanne Barr once said that a "clean house is the devils playground." I like that. But... I have to admit it may be time to make a little bit of room for the devil and his swing set.
5... PS - I just got a few bags of recyclables together. I can be just as self-righteous as my mother is.   Perhaps more so. Then again I don't really have the energy to be militant about recycling... not when there are so many other things to be militant about that are a lot more fun.



january 4, 2009
who knew? not me.

I often say that there are some things about yourself that you will never really know for sure and you have to be satisfied with not knowing. But today a million mini-mysterious about myself started to slowly be explained. The mystery cloak being slowly pulled back by unseen hands.... no, not unseen hands.... they're my hands.



january 4, 2009
family values

In my dream it's night time and I'm in our summer house. From upstairs I hear my grandfather (dead for 18 years now) yell downstairs to tell me he wants me out - is kicking me out- because I go out too much. I'm shocked. I go to my aunt to tell her what is going on expecting her to be as outraged as I am.... but no. She says she wants me out too. Why? Because I apparently didn't rewind a video tape in the VCR. I think, "They're both fucking nuts." Then I woke up.



january 3, 2009
channel 7?

My vision (as opposed to a dream - they're very different things, believe me) features this huge cat - 10 or 20 feet high, beige and white. Despite its size it isn't a scary cat. The cat speaks... says, "You must stop thinking seven." Not "thinking *about* seven" or "thinking *of* seven" I have no idea what this means. Seven? Is Seven really a lucky number? Seven of what? Channel 7? I'm stumped. I should also point out that the giant cat in the vision looks suspiciously like a plush toy cat given to me at Christmas.



january 1, 2009
a new year... but for who?

Happy fucking New Year... or so I think. The holidays were good to me. Peace, great gifts, great food. M___ had a great birthday which made me very happy. So why then, did I wake up feeling so fucking bummed-out? And uncertain. And kind of wary. Uncertain about what? Wary about what? I have no idea. Probably just a little blip on the mood radar... but not how I wanted to start 2009. Then again - why do we place so much importance on a single date? It's a date no different than the rest. Besides, people follow many different calendars in this world... it isn't global. Just shows how arrogant we are.... that if in our culture it's the New Year, then it surely must be for the whole fucking planet, right? It's so stupid. I don't wanna be bummed-out, I don't wanna be uncertain, I don't wanna be wary and I definitely don't wanna be stupid. So I won't be... just steel myself and say 2009 can be whatever the fuck you want it to be. Yeah - that sounds much better. That sounds right.


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