it’s that late night phone call that you weren’t expecting.
and you know you should sleep. work in the morning, and all.
but her voice sends you over the edge and you find yourself across town at 2 in the morning. because you can’t help it.
that’s why.
sometimes, despite everything being wrong,
it’s right.
and i’m not sure why i’m happy but i am.
it’s kind of like an allergic reaction.
there’s something wrong. and so you medicate. and perhaps superficially the symptoms disappear… only to be replaced by a whole menagerie of nasty side effects worse than the original condition.
and then it’s too late. the damage is done. no turning back?
i read this really interesting book yesterday, mexican high. it was a light read, but it hit me really hard. my situation doesn’t match mila’s exactly, but as i devoured the book in the course of a couple hours, i kept seeing parallel after parallel. the people, the culture, the downward spiral (or is it full circle?), etc. there’s this german word from my childhood that i can’t quite remember… somethingspeigel. that basically means something that acts as a mirror for introspection. and that’s definitely what this book was. i was basically reading the past year or so of my life. i couldn’t sleep last night.
and then on top of everything else, wow. she makes it more clear on a daily basis.
why do we both want what we can’t have?
(yes. intentionally vague and pretty much only written as something to look back on later by myself.)
i don’t learn.
No solo de pan vive el hombre
Y no de excusas vivo yo.
… for real this time?
The past six months I’ve really come to understand the inherent omnipresence of contrast and conjunction.
Nothing that’s glamorous is pristine under the surface. Glamour and success are always in some way fueled by equal amounts of shady, deceptive practices.
I don’t think I truly understood this until this past weekend. Logically, sure. But for some reason it clicks more when the Cadillacs and the stacks of cash flying around the room and the drugs and whatever’s in the trunk and the police all collide at once.February is a mess and I’m done with it. Things that have gone wrong:
Fb gbqnl, V jrag gb G-Zbovyr gb cnl zl ovyy naq gura gb gur obbxfgber. Naq nf V jnf ba gur uvtujnl, evtug ng gur ba-enzc gung tbrf sebz V-135 gb Xryybtt, V ernyvfrq fbzrguvat.
V qba’g yvxr zra.
Lbh xabj gung “ovfrkhny” tvey jub vfa’g ernyyl vagrerfgrq va n eryngvbafuvc jvgu jbzra, ohg trgf qehax ng cnegvrf naq znxrf bhg jvgu ure sevraqf? Gung’f zr, bayl gur bccbfvgr.
V’ir orra va eryngvbafuvcf jvgu thlf. Ohg V’ir nyjnlf bcrayl nqzvggrq gung V qba’g svaq nal zra culfvpnyyl nggenpgvir — gur eryngvbafuvcf unir nyjnlf orra onfrq ba vagryyrpghny snpgbef. V yvxr gur nggragvba V trg sebz zra, ohg hygvzngryl, vg’f abg jung V jnag be arrq bhg bs n eryngvbafuvc.
Naq V’ir unq frk jvgu n ybg bs thlf. Zber guna V pner gb nqzvg, ernyyl. Ohg gur ahzore bs gvzrf V’ir unq frk jvgu n thl va gur cnfg fvk zbaguf juvyfg abg qehax naq/be ba fbzrguvat? 1. Naq gur jubyr gvzr V jnf cerggl zhpu whfg yvxr “Hu… lrnu, abg ernyyl vagb guvf…” V’ir orra hfvat frk jvgu zra nf n jnl gb inyvqngr zlfrys, gb svyy gur ibvq, ohg vg’f abg urnygul.
Fb lrnu. Gung’f gung, V thrff.
And I know you still read this. Whatever :)
howtf is this happening again?
yeah, so i have no money. no id. i can’t park within half a mile of my house and walking home at 5am in the freezing rain is already old. i feel like i’m on the run.
i really hope she’s enjoying her wig and new clothes compliments of my visa.
Amazingly, it’s the first time I’ve been sick this winter! Pretty much a record for me and my weak immune system.
As of last night, I’d slept maybe 7-8 hours… since Saturday :| I finally collapsed on my bed around 10 or so, and woke up this morning to a phone call that USD 259 is closed due to snow and I don’t have to work :) This entry is going to be a jumble of disconnected ideas that don’t warrant their own individual entries. So yeah.
I happened to be reading this morning and stumbled across the phrase “sanguis Christi, inebria me” from the Anima Christi, a Catholic prayer. Notice how closely the word for “blood” (sanguis) is connected to wine (sangría is obviously derived), and how the devotion is a plea for it to inebriate. Blood of Christ, inebriate me?
The whole blood/wine thing that the Church has going on is so bizarre. I’m sure by now everyone’s heard about sang real / san greal = holy blood / holy grail… thank you, Dan Brown, for singlehandedly making any discussion about this topic look like nutty conspiracy trendwhorishness! And certainly, it’s temptingly easy to dismiss the connection as metaphorical (perhaps Fergie’s using Catholic devotions as inspiration for her songs ;p). But that doesn’t dismiss the fact that of all the synonymous verbs meaning “overwhelmed” or “ravished” or even “full” that they could have picked, they consciously chose “inebriare”, directly derived from “ebrius” meaning drunk. I’m kind of suspicious that maybe back in the day, there were a few priests sitting around feeling really… inebriated, who thought that transubstantiation would be a really good concept to incorporate into their theology ;)
That ended up being a longer musing than intended, hah.
Tuesday night, I happened to be browsing around the bookstore and stumbled upon this book, written by the same woman responsible for Juno. An excerpt:
“That’s one of the Russians,” a passing stripper whispered fearfully, noticing my intense interest in the blonde. “The Russians always bank. They’re unstoppable.”
My informant was correct; there was a tight-knit cabal of older Russian women working at Deja Vu, and they were all indestructable flesh-bots. They never accepted “no” from a customer, and they weren’t afraid to be pushy or stern. I’d majored in Russian in college and I could speak the language with some fluency. But I couldn’t work up the nerve to address the Russian girls in their native tongue. They were so baldly aggressive that one of them routinely shoved me from behind when she felt I wasn’t moving quickly enough across the floor. I wanted to turn around and snarl, “Go back to Kislovodsk, you mail-order cunt!” but I didn’t want my cheekbones shattered by Slavic fists of fury. So I kept quiet and pretended not to understand the Russians when they spoke amongst themselves, mumbling stuff like, “Let’s pretend to be sick and leave,” or “I dislike the new girl with the brown hair. Did you see her large thighs? It is certain that she feels ashamed of their heft.”
I’m getting kind of bored of the ridiculous selfishness and materialism/superficiality of a particular person who’s been on the phone all morning scheduling her plastic surgeries, but at the same time it’s a constant source of (painful) amusement. Quote of the morning: “I wouldn’t recommend Royal Caribbean to anyone. The towel animals on Carnival were better! We only got three on Royal Caribbean and we should have gotten four; the customer service just isn’t up to par.”
What I spent this morning doing:
It looks like nothing there, but taking out 150+ tightly-wrapped tiny rubber bands and beads is an unbelievably time-consuming task.
day one/two - miami:
day three - getting onboard:
day four - nassau!
day five - cococay:
day six - key west:
day seven - getting off the boat + miami:
day eight - going home:
