I want to say/write a thousand things that would fill at least two megabytes of raw text, but I\’m just too beat. And I smell like a goddamn ashtray, and I hate that.
In summary: I am really, really afraid that I am going to be subservient/passive/beholden to/financially dependent upon a relationship/lover/whatever for the rest of my life. I despise that with every glia in every cell in my body, and I want out. Out, out, out–out of my body and out of my life.
Finally went out on my own for the first time in… I don\’t even remember. Over a year? I used to do it all the time; can\’t say I loved it but I was used to it and enjoyed it. Now, I\’m so damn lonely that it\’s like having my balls in a vice: torture. All day, unless I see a doctor, I don\’t talk to anyone. Dr Maude comes home and he bitches and swears and is foul because he has just one week left before his grant is due; I hide from him; we haven\’t had an actual conversation in well over a month. Since getting back into town six weeks ago I\’ve seen Mario once, Les three times, MW twice, Dan and Kristina once, Bird and Kirstin once, P-funk once, and that\’s it. (Actually, that sounds like a lot, but taking into consideration that those have literally been the ENTIRETY of my social contacts outside of a non-civilly communicative Maude, my doctors, and my occasionally responsive family, it\’s kind of… it\’s breaking my heart.) I was out for four hours tonight, at a gas station, and two different bars/clubs. The only people I spoke with were a guy at the gas station, who was kind of odd (trying to get me to come by his apartment and take some of his stuff off his hands as he said he was moving to Richmond, though he seemed lucid and sober), and a guy at the second bar who asked me to get out of his seat.
I get angry a lot–a hell of a lot–and frustrated and resentful and all those other things, but it\’s been a long time since I actually felt sorry for myself. Well, tonight I do. And it\’s really disgusting and it makes me want to puke. It makes me want to hurt myself and throw things and scream, except I know none of those are productive solutions, so I\’m not doing any of them.
The past two nights I had amazing dreams about being incredibly happy and in love with someone (someone vague; a dream person), and each \”morning\” I have been incredibly disappointed when I have woken up because those dreams are so far from my current reality. I remember what it is to feel those things in my waking life, and I miss them so very much. Conversations, personal connections with people, anticipating someone\’s every word or movement, excitement about tomorrow, joy at seeing someone\’s face, tenderness.
Tonight just wasn\’t what I needed. Listening to \”How much for ten dollahs\” and a bunch of priveledged girls yelling back \”Anything you want!\” just about did my head in. Going down the street didn\’t make things any better.
I don\’t fit in anywhere. (But no one does, and isn\’t that really the secret to things?) Sometimes it doesn\’t bother me, but right now it does. It really does. When P-funk spoke this weekend about how he hasn\’t built himself up a community in NY yet, \”not like in DC or Pitt,\” I wanted to bash his face in. A community, a group of friends you can just hang with at any time; he literally said \”a place I can go where people know me\” (and I wanted to say, great, you\’ve found the 20-something over-educated equivalent of \’Cheers\’) — what the fuck are these things? Not just one person you can call and meet up with and go hang out and talk to, but a whole group of them? I hear that sort of thing is normal, but jesus, what the hell is that like? Honestly? What is it like? because I don\’t know. I haven\’t had an actual group of friends since I was 12 or 13. I haven\’t felt comfortable calling up anybody other than fuck-puppet-of-the-moment to talk, hang out, or whatever–spur of the moment or in advance–since prolly 12.
I\’m not scared of people as individuals. I\’m not an asshole to people in general (in fact, most people say I\’m really nice). But I have absolutely no faith in myself as a friend because of my health; because I so sporadically feel like going out; because it\’s so hard for me to follow through on \’going-out\’ plans; because I\’m not physically capable of even a tiny percent of what most people like to do for fun. I feel less-than, and unworthy. And fucking bored. And fucking lonely. And tired of myself, tired of being like this. Its pathetic. I want to 1) grow-up, 2) have an actual life, 3) have real friends in the real physical world, 4) have a future, 5) have the possibility of and be headed toward a career, 4) not be reliant on someone else\’s wallet. Note: I did not even ask for good health or even marginal health–I will make do with even shitty health, just so long as I can figure out how to have a goddamn adult life. PLEASE. Who am I asking this of? God? I don\’t believe in god. Fate? Don\’t believe in that. Universal justice? Karma? Ha! I guess I\’m just begging myself; girl, spark that fire under your ass and figure it out, \’cos ain\’t no one else gonna do it for you, that much is clear.
As is often the case when I think my life is arse and yet incredibly and irritatingly (intruiging? no. amusing? kind of. fable-ish. that of stories.) \”memoir-worthy\” (for lack of a better term at the moment), I am reminded of the time my cabbie deposited me in the North Side (the \’wrong side of town\’) in Pittsburgh so that he could score some crack. I was manic, wearing a neon pink mini-skirt, carrying a $2,000 laptop, and it was around 1-2am on a Friday/Saturday morning. I was hanging out front of a bar, trying to get a jitney, another cab, an ambulance, a cop car–anything–that would take me back to Collegetown. Two very astute women came up to me and said \”Baby girl, you shouldn\’t be here. This is a bad place for you.\” Then their pimp came out of the bar and started assaulting one of the women for short-changing him. Me, out of place? This place, bad for me? Well where, exactly, would be better? The thing is, tomorrow I\’m going to wake up, and I won\’t be on the North Side anymore. Hell, I won\’t even be in Squ\’ill anymore. But I\’ll still be misplaced. I think I went the way of my lost virginity and my marbles: boldly gone where no sane person has ever gone before, never to be heard from again.
But tomorrow is another day, thank god. I still haven\’t said a quarter of what\’s on my mind, but forty-five minutes is long enough at this damn machine.
