<|> 1/8 <|> 5/25 <|> 5/31 <|> 6/22 <|> 6/23 <|>
<|> 7/13 <|> 7/17 <|> 7/22 <|>
(Letter to a long lost friend)
Welcome to my vacation. Seems strange that I have time to write a letter. But there were no postcards available. I have been discovering over the last few months that it is very trying to live with someone you love. I have been discovering over the past week that it is even more trying to vacation with said loved person. Douchebag and I have been staying with his parents I the beautiful suburbs of Philadelphia for the last two weeks. The first week was great fun. We flitted about doing all the things that we could think of to do. Then his best friend came home five days ago. Now I sit at a really nice computer while they flit about. Do I look excited? Actually, I think I'm having an anxiety attack. Of all the days to be stranded here alone, Douchebag chose the day when the maids visit. So anytime now I will get to play dodge the fat lady with a vacuum.
I don't clearly remember my high school years, but something tells me I wasn't as neurotic about strangers as I am now. Douchebag's best friend, we'll call him GI Joe, for that is his name, is getting married tomorrow. GI Joe is 19. His lovely (said through clenched teeth) wife to be is approximately the same age. I'm not sure how old the creature is because quite frankly I haven't cared enough to ask. GI Joe is in the Air Force, stationed in Texas. The wife to be, Jappy lives here in the beautiful suburbs of Philadelphia. The first night I met her, she told me that if they got to see each other more than twice a year, there is no way they'd be getting married. At their wedding tomorrow, I am sitting in the second row (since I am the best man's fuck-puppy), and am expected to keep a straight face. Even though the bride likely will not. Last night was the rehearsal. Little bitch laughed her way through it and GI Joe spent his time being lectured by Douchebag on the disadvantages of killing your fiance two days before the wedding. Then we went to the post rehearsal dinner at the groom's parent's house -- where upon Douchebag wasted no time stranding me in the middle of thirty people I had never seen before. I spent the better part of the first hour standing on the front porch shivering. The cold was much better than all of those people. I seem to get claustrophobic when I am surrounded by people. It's worse when I don't know any of them. Oh, and Douchebag volunteered me to sing some Led Zeppelin song at the wedding. I have never chirped in public before and I let he and his buddy that I did not plan to start at a wedding. I got about fifteen minutes of guilt from Douchebag, and then it was left alone. Even now the thought terrifies me beyond description.
I can't wait to get back to Pittsburgh. I love Douchebag's parents, and this house is fabulous, but I want to get away from all of these outside influences. Douchebag is a different person since rob returned. I'm glad he's going back to Texas. I am madder than hell at Douchebag for picking up and going out with GI Joe today after discussing with me what I wanted to do. I can honestly say that waiting for the maids was not among the ideas I had come up with. I just want this wedding bullshit to be done with. I can't wait to get back to my apartment, which will be trashed, and my cat who will be dicked. All I want is a nice peaceful life with Douchebag. The whole problem is he is too old for his age. It's great for me. If he acted the 20 years that he is, I would have killed him by now. But his friends all seem to be quite true to their age and when I am with them I feel like I am babysitting. They also rub off on him. All they talk about is getting drunk; all they do is crawl all over each other and chain-smoke. I remember that phase; it was five years ago. I could care less about getting drunk. I do it all of twice a year. I have all but quit smoking; I'm bored with it. Douchebag and I are quitting when we get home. I want to quit and his dad has offered him a supply of nicotine patches and 2 grand if he quits. Douchebag found inspiration to quit. As far as crawling all over each other . . . pass.
I redid my resume yesterday while Douchebag was out getting his tux fitted. It looks all spiffy now (the resume, I haven't seen the tux so I don't know what it looks like). I am looking for an office job with a steady salary, steady hours, and possibly some type of insurance. I am so tired of pissing around with part time minimum wage shit jobs. I want some real money. I have student loans to pay off and I want a credit card. I want to buy a car (in the next couple of years), or lease one, which seems the smarter way to go. Douchebag and I are renting a house next year with my best buddy snow white and some possible other schmucks, and I want to have it furnished and reasonably decorated. I am tired of buying my sofas at thrift stores. I'd rather buy one at a garage sale and reupholster it with fabric from thrift stores. I'm not a complete yuppie scum, but I do have a burning desire to own a couch that hasn't been pissed on by strangers. Am I wrong for this? I don't think so. I don't necessarily need a Picasso in the living room, but I may have outgrown my black velvet bullfighter paintings with gold glitter on the pantaloons. I think I am emotionally ready to replace my orange bunch of Lucite grapes with some dried flowers. I fantasize about having a real chest of drawers instead of the duct taped together milk crates I've been carting around. And finally, I think it's time to replace the punk show flyers with some real wallpaper. I'm growing up. Argh. And all it took was a two-week visit to Yuppieville, where American Express is always welcome. Douchebag and I are also toying with the idea of investing in an African grey parrot. I hated birds until I got here. Then I realized that they actually have personalities, and they can be really cool. So now I want one. One that talks. One that says, "who the fuck are you?" when people come over. One that yells, "shut up, you putz!" when someone sneezes. That's the kind of bird I want. I want a bird that knows a lot of Yiddish. A bird who knows how to guilt.
But right now, what I really want is to go downstairs and watch a laserdisk. I can't decide if I'm pissed enough to watch "wild at heart" without Douchebag. I also don't know if I should eat lunch. He mentioned picking some up, but that was before he left with air force boy. I should eat. Real men don't get lunch for angry girlfriends. They say "starve, that's what you get for finding fault with me!" Did I mention that I couldn't wait until this vacation is over? Write soon. Thank you for the xmas card. I may frame the photo. Yours will be late. We forgot to buy stamps, so you'll get it around valentine's day. Possibly with a picture or two, depending on whether or not I can get Douchebag in front of a camera. Take care.
I don't understand why I can't be 'okay' with the people who are my friends. I feel like the are looking at me weird like I am a freak or a loon. Douchebag and I went to his parent's house this weekend because it is memorial day (so I have a three-day weekend) and because I decided I need to get out of here. The day we left Douchebag didn't want to go out to lunch so I freaked out and walked home and told him to get out or I would never come home again. He took me back to work and I calmed down again but when he picked me up after work to leave for Philly he brought me the wrong shirt to change into and I freaked out again and got out of the car on Forbes avenue and walked to the bank and took out $200 - enough to get on a bus or something - but then I called Douchebag, I don't know why and I was crying and I felt so lost and confused and he came and got me and we went to Philly.
We had a great weekend and I felt really relaxed and really good when we got home. We had great sex at his parents house, I felt so much better. When we got home tonight we put in a xxx movie we stole from Douchebag's brother and had really good sex again. Then we took a shower and decided to go downstairs and spend time with the people we live with, I gave Dave my old box of crayons because Douchebag bought me new ones this week. After Dave said thank you, I sat down to talk to everyone but no one really paid any attention or acknowledged me. Even Rachel. Rupert and duke just looked at me like a freak. I hate this. When I took off Friday, Douchebag sent Rachel out to look for me. She and Aaron drove right by me outside the cathedral. I know Rachel saw me but they didn't stop. Why is this happening? Why am I so out of control? Why am I so paranoid? Why why why why why why why why why? Douchebag says if I hurt myself I have to go to a hospital. I don't want to go. I will be honest here, because a book can't put me away, I want to die. If I did I wouldn't care. I love Douchebag and I want to be with him but if I'm making him miserable, what's the point? But I am not actively looking for a way to do myself in. I don't think about killing myself but when I see a situation on TV where people's lives are being threatened and they're scared and whining, I think what's the big deal? If you're dead you're dead. Your pain is over because you're not breathing or thinking or anything. And if I wasn't thinking I wouldn't be so confused and I wouldn't be in pain. I couldn't bring myself to an end. But if someone else did it for me, I don't think I' would whine too much. Depending on my mood I might thank them. I don't want to go to a hospital. I would be so scared and I'd lose my job and Douchebag and my house and my cats and everything I care about. If I got put in, I think I'd just lose it altogether. Just the thought of going to a hospital scares me so much I just want to run away. But I don't know where I'd run to -- but I can't go into a hospital. Please just let me keep it together so I don't have to go. Please. I'm so scared.
After weeks of rumors, conflict, pent up feeling and general adolescent bullshit; Douchebag, our roommate Aaron, out soon to be roommate Danielle, and I have decided to sit down with Dave and the Cooze and work out our differences. I hope to have an open forum where everyone airs their feelings and we all try to logically, calmly, and reasonably settle out problems by mutual compromises. I don't want this to become a screaming match or end with everyone storming out or moving out. I want to keep everyone together and happy at least 75% of the time. Differences of opinion are to be expected in a house full of people, but the non-stop tension has to come to an end. I will try to record the things that are brought to my attention during the discussion that add to the conflicts. In having them written down I can go over them from time to time and check my behavior patterns to see if I'm creating conflict.
The meeting ran long (3 hours) but went well. Only 2 violent outbursts by Dave, not bad for three hours of mutual bitching. No one had, or rather, voiced, any gripes aimed at me, but we all managed to come up with compromises to help get along and avoid the soap opera life style. From what I remember, they are as follows:
I feel much better about the living arrangements now. I feel like I can relax here in Philly with Douchebag and the family. I don't feel as if I've fled. I anticipate that when I return home this weekend it will be without the dread I have been experiencing for the last couple of months. I feel also that I can continue on with my life without keeping one eye open for an outside attack.
The last time I met with dr. wendy, I told her about the irrational, unprovoked rages that I find myself in from time to time (incidentally, they occur much more often as I smoke less and less pot) that are destructive both to myself and everyone in my way; and that also end in mind-blowing bouts of depression. She suggested a psychiatric evaluation be done by one of her colleagues as soon as possible to see if a medication would be appropriate to help keep things under control. I told her how I felt that there are two halves of me. But I guess there have been for a while, for instance, Cydniey. Each is aware of what the other is doing, but if Cyd (the bad one) takes over, Weezy cannot regain control until Cyd is finished making a mess. Then Cyd leaves Weezy to clean up the mess and take whatever consequences there may be. I used to think that Cyd was Weezy's protector, but all Cyd seems to be doing now is giving Weezy more and more reasons to just give up.
I've been off work for almost three weeks now. I'm enjoying being home and spending time with Douchebag. Our sex life is perking up. I'm feeling more comfortable more often with him. I'm also smoking pot and drinking a lot. Our bills are all paid. Douchebag and I put out about $800 to get the rent and bills paid on time. We're supposed to get the money back from everyone, but only the Cooze has paid up so far. She has left for the remainder of the summer. Just about everyone is happy about it. I guess I am too. It was getting to be like being at my parent's house. I couldn't handle the fighting and bitching and just shit all the time.
I've finally come up with color schemes that I'm happy with for our bedroom, workroom, kitchen, the hallways and bathroom. The wood in the kitchen will be the color of the bedroom walls, as will the wood in the workroom. I just can't wait to paint. I was talking to Danielle the other day and decided that I was uncomfortable with the white walls because they suggest temporary-ness. All of the houses and apartments I've ever been in that were rented all had white walls. The places we bought we painted. I want to paint here because I want to stay here for a while.
a dream
I was running in a weird foot race. Up stairs and
around platforms and I won. It was dark. When I won,
no one really seemed to notice so I didn't think
I really had won, but I was very happy that I finished the race at all. Then a
thin artsy liberal looking woman approached me with
a trophy. But before she gave it to me she told me I was disqualified
because I was obviously (from my appearance)
a social "miscreant" and fraternized with socialists
and the like. Suddenly my parents were there trying to defend
me, saying I was from a good Mormon home, lots of
siblings, etc. So, crying hysterically, I left in Rachel's car to go home. I had
to drive through north park/valley forge. As I was driving
I suddenly found myself in the middle of what seemed like construction
work. As I started to realize this, I barely missed hitting one of the
workers with the car. I then realized that the whole area around the road was
flooded and even though I was moving to higher ground,
I must back up and go another way. When I was backing
up, I accidentally drove off the road and the car started to fill
with dark muddy water. At this point, hoping it was a dream, I tried to
wake myself up. Thank gods it worked.
I finally got fired. I knew it would happen if I didn't go back. I still don't have any clue what is wrong with my hands. I probably won't know until I'm 50 and they up and fall off. After many hours of debate, Douchebag and I have decided not to break up. We've been going back and forth on it all week. I haven't talked to Kelli for days. Douchebag and I agreed to compromise and try and work things out. I love him, but I feel more distanced from him as each day passes. I don't really know him. I don't even understand him any more. I think he's questioning what we have going, but he's not getting any answers. I can't put my finger on the actual problem (other than different sexual needs). We constantly misunderstand each other. He doesn't tell me if I upset him. He says he's scared I'll go off. I understand his fear, but this is no way to live.
I have a job interview at a retail store on Monday. I would really like to get it. My plan is to work there for a while then apply to Pitt and see if I can't get this school thing happening. The important thing now, though is the job itself, then the money and getting me out of the house. I am so damn bored. Douchebag seems content to lay about and watch TV all day, all week. But I cannot do it, I'm losing my mind and developing an obnoxious case of insomnia.
Douchebag and I are slowly trying to make thing work between us. I think that one of my problems is I don't always realize Douchebag's true intentions. Granted, he is quite hard to read . . . but maybe I should try paying more attention. After all, I am the closest person to him and the one who should know him best. The fact that I don't, I believe is an oversight on my part, and quite a selfish one at that. We both have changes to make and things to learn. I think maybe I've been trying to cheat . . . trying to get all of the answers at once. I have never been very good with patience. I think it's time I tried to improve that. After all, if I learn everything now, what am I going to do for the rest of my life? And if I know all about Douchebag without taking the time to learn the truths of his actions, or intents or purposes, the knowledge I have is essentially useless anyway. I think I've wasted a lot of time. About 24 years.
|
|
|
now available to design your site
