I have a new idea. I'm going to list off all the things that are making me depressed lately, and, one by one, i am going to remove them from my life. I will probably elaborate too much on some of them. Here goes nothing.
1. I am almost always convinced that Evan no longer loves me.
For whatever reason, Evan being in college is like having seventeen tiny people hacking away at my insides with rusty knives and spoons. He doesn't like to talk on the phone - because of the dropped calls and inability to hear each other all of the time, he says - so whenever I call or have him call, I feel super guilty and think that he sounds quite monotone and apathetic toward me. I have to talk nonstop or face the silence - he doesn't talk, no matter what - and the constant jabbering makes me feel even more selfish. I've told him more than once that if he doesn't at least try to communicate with me, things aren't going to work. He doesn't understand what I mean. I mean that communicating is more than just picking up the phone, saying "hello" and then sitting in silence while I talk. He should listen, he should respond, and I should do the same for him. It's not supposed to be so one-sided. Is that so fucking hard to understand?
I guess my problem is that I love him. I love him too much. He has admitted more than once that he does not love me the same way that I love him, and while it's incredibly painful to hear and even more painful to endure, day after day, month after month - and as of this next Sunday, our two-year mark - year after year, I'm not going to leave. Maybe I'm too hopeful. Maybe I hope that someday, somehow, he'll change his mind. Maybe he'll stop saying, "I love you, but I'm not in love with you," and maybe he'll stop telling me that he doesn't think that our relationship will go anywhere.
Or maybe I'm just setting myself up to get my heart broken.
Whatever. It's a good lesson.
I should probably break this down into sub levels.
1. I am almost always convinced that Evan no longer loves me.
a. I believe that calling me is the worst part of his day.
b. I believe that he is not making an attempt to communicate with me and thus trying to end our relationship.
c. He has said, more than once, that he does not feel for me what I feel for him, so why is he still with me?
d. He moved on super fast after moving to college. He has never missed me, still does not feel any sort of need to talk to me, and only seems happy to be with me when he's actually, physically with me.
Onto the next point.
2. I'm honestly nearly friendless.
Bethany has become the only person that I can definitely call my friend. I love how close we are - or at least how close we feel to me - but she has other friends, and she has responsibilities and hobbies and she can't always dote on me. I had three consecutive nightmares involving Evan last night, and Bethany appeared in each of them, there to hug me or impatiently listen to me whine. She's my one and only friend, but is that okay? Is it healthy to only have one person to talk to?
Maybe I should explain why she is now my only friend. Somewhere along the way - I think right before Evan went to basic training - I started becoming really, horribly intolerant of everyone. I used to find the good in everybody - even the crappiest people - but I've found that that can bring lots of bad things into my life. There was that one boy who verbally and emotionally abused me for several years before I finally went, "You know what? FUCK OFF," but of course telling him that only caused him to lash out, spread rumors, threaten to report me (for what, I don't know), etc. It was good for me, kind of, to start standing up for myself. But this intolerance that I've gained is different from that. I can't stand anyone. Everyone has some major flaw that I can't stand - maybe they talk too much about themselves (but so do I), or maybe they bring up their sex life too often (but so do I), or maybe they're crude, loud, obsessive, and lack self-respect (but so am I).
I lost Ashley at some point. She got a beau, Ramses, which I was fine with and had been supporting for quite some time (I was almost always the third wheel before they finally got the courage to be alone together). Well, long story short, she's a hypocrite but won't apologize for it, she's getting some sort of unstoppable superiority complex ("Oh, look at my hideous painting that I know isn't hideous at all. Look at it. Isn't it hideous? Oh, I know. I don't know why I'm painting it and carrying it around the school for everyone to see"), and she blew off Bethany and Shannon.
Also, Ramses turned out to be a total prick! I thought he was a super sweetheart and had a bit of a platonic crush on him over the summer, but holy shit, being in a relationship sure can change people. Being with Ashley got him several more friends, and he dropped his cute, awkward personality for a straight-backed, constantly sneering, holier-than-thou personality that I just can't stand.
I'm sure I'm exaggerating. I'm positive I am. But hey, I'm due to have my period any day now and goddamn it, I need a fucking outlet right now.
SO.
2. I'm honestly nearly friendless.
a. Bethany is my only true friend, but she's not (and will never be) my girlfriend. I can't always have her around.
b. I cannot tolerate anyone ever.
c. I lost Ashley and Ramses to some strange black hole.
And, finally:
3. Derp, what's a future?
Now that I'm a senior in my second semester, I'm flipping shit. I'm not allowed to go to the University of Iowa, apparently. I have to go to Indian Hills. But because of my stupid, masochistic, obsessive personality, I want to go to U of I. I want to get a fucking apartment with my fucking apathetic beau and lead a stupid, naggy, insecure life.
(Now that I'm trying to explain this, I realize just how much of a moron I am.)
Fuck that. I'm never going to live with Evan. He promised me this. GAH.
Well, regardless, I want to go to U of I, and I have since before I started dating Evan. I've heard it's really great for artists and writers. I might have wanted to be both at one point, so I figure I'd better pretend that I'm still interested in all of that shit and go for it.
God, I don't even know what I'm interested in. I'm interested in Evan, but only believe that he's interested in me when he's near me. I'm interested in doing meaningless projects in 2-D art (we're currently practicing layering with paint, and I'm painting a floppy, plastic flower that makes me feel like Van Gogh). I'm interested in people, usually, but am too depressed currently to be interested in anyone but myself. I'm interested in... fantasy. Um, stars. Deities. Grass and clouds and tree bark. Jazz and orchestras. Mr. Miklo and Mr. Cukierski (oh, I'm very interested).
I don't know yet. I'll have to figure it out. If I have to drive back and forth from Indian Hills every day for the next two years, well, fine. If that's my only option. Otherwise, I'm going to do whatever the fuck I feel like doing and I'm going to be happy for once.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Excessive Worrying: Evan's a Killing Machine!
This summer hasn't been so bad. It is going by both quickly and incredibly slowly. I would say that the days are long, but the weeks are short (is that a song lyric?). I usually get one or two letters from Evan a week. He has only been able to call me twice in... five weeks? Or is it four?
He called me today. When I picked up the phone, I expected a, "Hello, is Yo-say Haynes available?" or, "Is Lily Haynes there?" I expected to snap, "No, and it's Josie/Lyle HAN-NES." I pick up every strange number that calls my house now, in hopes of getting Evan, and they're usually telemarketers. But this time, an uncertain, familiar voice asked for Dani, and my heart skipped a beat! Evaaan!
It was hard to talk to him, since we kept accidentally interrupting each other and I kept stumbling over my words. The phone he was using wasn't very good, either, so I had trouble hearing him. But it was him, and that was enough to get my eyes a-waterin' (the sniffling didn't help to make our conversation any easier). In response to a letter I sent him, he assured me that I can still wear the pants in our relationship when he comes home, and that I can still take care of him. It still seems strange to me, though. He knows how to shoot guns. He's a killing machine now! Won't it be weird to hold the head of a killing machine on my lap? I can't imagine running my fingers through the hair of a man that has thrown grenades. Do I want to make dinner for a man that could easily blow my brains all over the kitchen walls?
Evan has assured me, over and over again, that he will still be my nerdy Evan when he comes back. He still likes Totoro, even if he is a fluffy bunny thing. To motivate himself to run during PT, he thinks a remixed version of the Lucky Star theme. He hasn't changed yet, but what if he does? He's going to be all muscled and sexy and confident when he comes home. What if he gets an ego? What if he dumps me because I've got a double chin? Oh, god!
I just need to stay confident. Show him who's boss, Dani! Send him letters exclaiming that I can beat him at Thumb War (I can't) and that I will always win during bouts of impromptu wrestling (I've never). I bet most people would like my mac and cheese more than they like his mac and cheese soup. He's a wimp when it comes to getting wet, whereas I'm willing to jump into a pool while still fully-clothed.
It just occurred to me: will he get freckles from running around in the sun so much? He was starting to get them around his eyes before he left... Mmmf, Evan with freckles. I'll melt all over. And those big, dorky glasses he has to wear? I have a nerd fetish. Oh, man. I wish I could see him now. I would gobble him right up.
This brings me to another worry of mine: will I forget how to interact with him? Will I forget how to kiss, how to snuggle, etc.? Will we fall back into our old habit of never meeting eye contact, awkwardly looking away from each other all the time? Will holding hands become a terrifying experience? What were these last sixteen months for if we're just going to act like a new couple all over again?
What if our reunion is awful? We've both been dreamin' up different scenarios where we meet each other and the most romantic scene ensues. I walk into my house, only to find him standing in my family room. The sun is somehow glistening off our hair, even though we're inside. I gasp and run toward him in slow-mo, tears streaming from my face, and we exchange the sweetest, gentlest of kisses.
What will probably happen: I see his car in my driveway while on my way back from work. He has been there for too long, not knowing where I was or if I would return home before marching band. I park my car, and sit in it for several minutes of unadulterated panic before finally crawling out to greet him. He's standing awkwardly by his car. This is where I either stand several feet away from him, not sure what he wants, or I rush toward him and end up smacking my forehead into his, knocking him unconscious. Or I try to kiss him and end up biting his lip something awful, like I did when I was first learning how to kiss. Or maybe he'll have the saddest look on his face and say, "Dani, I should have done this earlier, but... I think we should see other people." I will drop to the ground and sob while he casually drives away.
What I'm trying to say is: I love that bitch. Whore better stay how he is, and stay with me for a little while longer.
He called me today. When I picked up the phone, I expected a, "Hello, is Yo-say Haynes available?" or, "Is Lily Haynes there?" I expected to snap, "No, and it's Josie/Lyle HAN-NES." I pick up every strange number that calls my house now, in hopes of getting Evan, and they're usually telemarketers. But this time, an uncertain, familiar voice asked for Dani, and my heart skipped a beat! Evaaan!
It was hard to talk to him, since we kept accidentally interrupting each other and I kept stumbling over my words. The phone he was using wasn't very good, either, so I had trouble hearing him. But it was him, and that was enough to get my eyes a-waterin' (the sniffling didn't help to make our conversation any easier). In response to a letter I sent him, he assured me that I can still wear the pants in our relationship when he comes home, and that I can still take care of him. It still seems strange to me, though. He knows how to shoot guns. He's a killing machine now! Won't it be weird to hold the head of a killing machine on my lap? I can't imagine running my fingers through the hair of a man that has thrown grenades. Do I want to make dinner for a man that could easily blow my brains all over the kitchen walls?
Evan has assured me, over and over again, that he will still be my nerdy Evan when he comes back. He still likes Totoro, even if he is a fluffy bunny thing. To motivate himself to run during PT, he thinks a remixed version of the Lucky Star theme. He hasn't changed yet, but what if he does? He's going to be all muscled and sexy and confident when he comes home. What if he gets an ego? What if he dumps me because I've got a double chin? Oh, god!
I just need to stay confident. Show him who's boss, Dani! Send him letters exclaiming that I can beat him at Thumb War (I can't) and that I will always win during bouts of impromptu wrestling (I've never). I bet most people would like my mac and cheese more than they like his mac and cheese soup. He's a wimp when it comes to getting wet, whereas I'm willing to jump into a pool while still fully-clothed.
It just occurred to me: will he get freckles from running around in the sun so much? He was starting to get them around his eyes before he left... Mmmf, Evan with freckles. I'll melt all over. And those big, dorky glasses he has to wear? I have a nerd fetish. Oh, man. I wish I could see him now. I would gobble him right up.
This brings me to another worry of mine: will I forget how to interact with him? Will I forget how to kiss, how to snuggle, etc.? Will we fall back into our old habit of never meeting eye contact, awkwardly looking away from each other all the time? Will holding hands become a terrifying experience? What were these last sixteen months for if we're just going to act like a new couple all over again?
What if our reunion is awful? We've both been dreamin' up different scenarios where we meet each other and the most romantic scene ensues. I walk into my house, only to find him standing in my family room. The sun is somehow glistening off our hair, even though we're inside. I gasp and run toward him in slow-mo, tears streaming from my face, and we exchange the sweetest, gentlest of kisses.
What will probably happen: I see his car in my driveway while on my way back from work. He has been there for too long, not knowing where I was or if I would return home before marching band. I park my car, and sit in it for several minutes of unadulterated panic before finally crawling out to greet him. He's standing awkwardly by his car. This is where I either stand several feet away from him, not sure what he wants, or I rush toward him and end up smacking my forehead into his, knocking him unconscious. Or I try to kiss him and end up biting his lip something awful, like I did when I was first learning how to kiss. Or maybe he'll have the saddest look on his face and say, "Dani, I should have done this earlier, but... I think we should see other people." I will drop to the ground and sob while he casually drives away.
What I'm trying to say is: I love that bitch. Whore better stay how he is, and stay with me for a little while longer.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Green Grass! Lilacs! Swine Flu!
oh, how i love my silly adolescent body and mind. everything's so critical and explosive. oh, no! my friend got mad at me. it's the end of the world! but everything works out just fine. it always does. friends don't stay mad because they're friends, and they're not there to be angry with you. they're there to love you, and that's just what they'll do. and i love them, and i don't mean to make them angry, but it happens. i'm sorry that i upset you at times, friends. you upset me sometimes, too. mostly you just make me sad on occasion, but i don't mind. that's just how i know that i love you: even if you punched me in the face, i would still go back to you afterward.
there's something about spring that just makes me want to do everything. i want to go have that midnight picnic with bethany and ashley, i want to buy streamers with those two and whoever else and run around town with the streamers flying behind us, i want to have rubber ducky races, i want to go fishing, i want to enjoy myself!
i was grounded for a while because i was failing weight training, but now i'm not! unfortunately, i broke the rules the day before i was ungrounded. if i could have waited just one more day before deciding to have evan over, i would be free to go to the art walk tomorrow night with bethany, ashley, and (SECRET FRIEND), who is usually working during art walks. and my grandpa's band, Van and The Movers, is playing on the gazebo in the square! i've waited an eternity for him to play again, and now i'm going to miss it? i suppose there is the slightest chance that my parents will let me go, but i'm thinking that i'll have to agree to do a shit ton of chores before they even consider it.
school and i are fighting currently. he (school is a he because it is an asshole) decided to slam a bunch of projects on me at one time - history, biology, and spanish - and i just won't have it. he can kiss my ass. oh, well. it's not like i'm the only person doing projects. and i wasn't the only person who ran the mile, either, and i even wasn't the only person who ran it in a terrible time. i wasn't the only person to finish last in their class. granted, i was the only person to finish last in my class, but that's a given. i don't care about weight training in the least. the mile left me kind of comfortably in pain, and i even felt like i got to do it again after school, when i had to get to the radio station as quickly as possible to galen and evan's show (Midweek Songstreak - wednesdays at 4-5 on 100.1 KRUULP, Fairfield, IA) after i found out that i was ungrounded. everything's awesome.
everything is so awesomely awesome.
there's something about spring that just makes me want to do everything. i want to go have that midnight picnic with bethany and ashley, i want to buy streamers with those two and whoever else and run around town with the streamers flying behind us, i want to have rubber ducky races, i want to go fishing, i want to enjoy myself!
i was grounded for a while because i was failing weight training, but now i'm not! unfortunately, i broke the rules the day before i was ungrounded. if i could have waited just one more day before deciding to have evan over, i would be free to go to the art walk tomorrow night with bethany, ashley, and (SECRET FRIEND), who is usually working during art walks. and my grandpa's band, Van and The Movers, is playing on the gazebo in the square! i've waited an eternity for him to play again, and now i'm going to miss it? i suppose there is the slightest chance that my parents will let me go, but i'm thinking that i'll have to agree to do a shit ton of chores before they even consider it.
school and i are fighting currently. he (school is a he because it is an asshole) decided to slam a bunch of projects on me at one time - history, biology, and spanish - and i just won't have it. he can kiss my ass. oh, well. it's not like i'm the only person doing projects. and i wasn't the only person who ran the mile, either, and i even wasn't the only person who ran it in a terrible time. i wasn't the only person to finish last in their class. granted, i was the only person to finish last in my class, but that's a given. i don't care about weight training in the least. the mile left me kind of comfortably in pain, and i even felt like i got to do it again after school, when i had to get to the radio station as quickly as possible to galen and evan's show (Midweek Songstreak - wednesdays at 4-5 on 100.1 KRUULP, Fairfield, IA) after i found out that i was ungrounded. everything's awesome.
everything is so awesomely awesome.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
I Hope You Have a TERRIBLE FUCKING DAY.
happy valentine's day, everyone! i'm working on getting into my bitterest of moods for my bitter party. don't worry: all my bitterness is completely sarcastic. so... i'm just sitting at home, waiting for ashley to get her ass over here, and if we want to invite more bitter people who refuse to date, we will. i'm going to practice bitterness now.
bah, valentine's day! who would waste twenty dollars on a stuffed gorilla holding a heart? and, pfft, like anyone would want a stuffed gorilla, anyway! i mean, they're only absolutely adorable and soft and cuddly. pfft, i don't need it. i don't even need someone to want to get me a stuffed gorilla. men are chauvinist pigs! to give a girl a valentine is to beg for sex. men have ulterior motives for every kind gesture! "here, let me open the door for you!" really means "PLEASE LET ME FUCK YOU." "you have such a pretty smile" means "i've been staring at your mouth and i want to stick my tongue down your throat." y'know, if someone showed up on my porch with roses or chocolates (INTENTIONS OF SEXING ME), i might just hit them over the head with the lamp by the door and stomp on their groin when they fall over in pain. and then, as they're puking from the gut-twisting pain, i'll grab a piece of wood from the piles on the porch and whack 'em in the head again. by this point they'll be out cold, so i'll drag 'em inside, strap 'em down, and castrate the bastard. he will scream in pain, beg for forgiveness, beg to keep his balls, but it will be too late. and then, because i am not a surgeon, they will die from blood loss. oh, well!
it's sickening to hear all these gooey stories about how "oooh, my boyfriend just got me a diamond necklace! we're so much in love, we're going to get married, nurr." and then there are the people like me, who really would like something but would rather act all bitter about it. however, i'm being bitter for fun. i believe that there has got to be at least one terribly negative bitch on valentine's day, and i don't know who else will do it! but i really am one of those mopey girls who sit around the house daydreaming about opening the door to find a boy holding just the right valentine's gift, smiling shyly with a twinkle in his eye, ready to grab you and kiss you deeply, totally unlike him and totally awesome. but of course there's that other part of me that is all, "EW BOYS ARE GRODY, HE HAS ULTERIOR MOTIVES; HE WANTS TO RAPE YOU ON YOUR OWN PORCH," and that's the main part of me, the part i rely on for every day decisions. "oh, great conscience, should i invite over so-and-so?" "NO, CHILD. HE WILL RAPE YOU, YOU WILL GET PREGNANT, AND YOU WILL DIE DURING CHILDBIRTH." "oh, conscience, should i say something romantic?" "NO, YOU SHOULD PROBABLY SAY SOMETHING HORRIBLY CYNICAL AND THROW HIM OFF. HE CAN'T RAPE YOU IF YOU CONFUSE HIS PENIS." things like that.
so, yeah! i like the idea of romanticism, but it terrifies me. i love me some cute guys, but they're awful, chauvinist pigs who will rape me at any given moment.
bah, valentine's day! who would waste twenty dollars on a stuffed gorilla holding a heart? and, pfft, like anyone would want a stuffed gorilla, anyway! i mean, they're only absolutely adorable and soft and cuddly. pfft, i don't need it. i don't even need someone to want to get me a stuffed gorilla. men are chauvinist pigs! to give a girl a valentine is to beg for sex. men have ulterior motives for every kind gesture! "here, let me open the door for you!" really means "PLEASE LET ME FUCK YOU." "you have such a pretty smile" means "i've been staring at your mouth and i want to stick my tongue down your throat." y'know, if someone showed up on my porch with roses or chocolates (INTENTIONS OF SEXING ME), i might just hit them over the head with the lamp by the door and stomp on their groin when they fall over in pain. and then, as they're puking from the gut-twisting pain, i'll grab a piece of wood from the piles on the porch and whack 'em in the head again. by this point they'll be out cold, so i'll drag 'em inside, strap 'em down, and castrate the bastard. he will scream in pain, beg for forgiveness, beg to keep his balls, but it will be too late. and then, because i am not a surgeon, they will die from blood loss. oh, well!
it's sickening to hear all these gooey stories about how "oooh, my boyfriend just got me a diamond necklace! we're so much in love, we're going to get married, nurr." and then there are the people like me, who really would like something but would rather act all bitter about it. however, i'm being bitter for fun. i believe that there has got to be at least one terribly negative bitch on valentine's day, and i don't know who else will do it! but i really am one of those mopey girls who sit around the house daydreaming about opening the door to find a boy holding just the right valentine's gift, smiling shyly with a twinkle in his eye, ready to grab you and kiss you deeply, totally unlike him and totally awesome. but of course there's that other part of me that is all, "EW BOYS ARE GRODY, HE HAS ULTERIOR MOTIVES; HE WANTS TO RAPE YOU ON YOUR OWN PORCH," and that's the main part of me, the part i rely on for every day decisions. "oh, great conscience, should i invite over so-and-so?" "NO, CHILD. HE WILL RAPE YOU, YOU WILL GET PREGNANT, AND YOU WILL DIE DURING CHILDBIRTH." "oh, conscience, should i say something romantic?" "NO, YOU SHOULD PROBABLY SAY SOMETHING HORRIBLY CYNICAL AND THROW HIM OFF. HE CAN'T RAPE YOU IF YOU CONFUSE HIS PENIS." things like that.
so, yeah! i like the idea of romanticism, but it terrifies me. i love me some cute guys, but they're awful, chauvinist pigs who will rape me at any given moment.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Don't Take Me Too Seriously.
i've spent the night, and am still spending the night, keeping an eye on my kid brothers, jace (who is four) and teague (one). it wasn't so bad. sure, i nearly puked when i had to change a diaper, but when do i not nearly puke? i mean, even when i'm just sitting in class, i constantly get stomach aches. they're mostly from nerves, so i don't think i could actually be sick from it, but i always want to ask the teacher if i can be excused so that i may go be sick, or i just sit there, planning my escape route for when i begin to hurl. anyway, we're talking about babysitting my kid brothers. i had fun. i spent the first hour or two watching a movie with them and then we had a DANCE PARTY!! at first, i was just singing "there's a hole in the bottom of the sea" or whatever, but of course i started jumping around like a maniac, so teague wanted up. i swept him up and jumped around with him, singing all the while, and then i turned on pandora.com and proceeded to dance. i spun in circles, i turned teague upside down, we danced. it kind of sucked because jace wanted me to dance around like that with him, but he's getting too big, and i can't hold him and teague at the same time. i tried my best to alternate between the two of them, but like i said, jace is too big and i got worn out after a while. i crashed on the couch and jace immediately started jumping all over me and whacking me with anything he could get his hands on. oh, and he seems to really like stomping all over the painful spots on every human being. dad's always crying out in pain as jace steps on his crotch, and i don't appreciate it much when he decides to jump on my chest. ow.
i had a great time, really. i imagined what it would be like if they were my kids, and... i decided... that it wouldn't be so bad to have kids. gasp! really, dani! you've never wanted kids! ever since you were a little girl, you said you wouldn't have kids! but, then again, i also said i wouldn't get married and i'm sure i don't still believe that (yes i do). but really, if i could just hang out with my kids all the time, it wouldn't be so bad. i guess it's the growing up part that's hard on a parent. teague is a sweetie, and jace is just a little bit misguided, but he's still awesome. sadly, they will soon be in school, where they will be corrupted by terrible kids raised by terrible adults who live in terrible homes and smoke weeeeeed for dinner or something. they'll get a negative outlook on life, they'll learn to hate their family, and they'll probably get some girl pregnant eventually. augh, teenagers! who knows teenagers better than a teenager, right? i know what we're like. it's terrible, really. we're so impressionable, so terribly desperate to be accepted by worthless people who are trying just as hard to be liked. we lose our identities, lose our minds. every little thing is full of implications of horror and drama with irreversible consequences. we take out our frustration on our poor parents, who don't know where their babies went. what happened? parents pray for their atheist daughter, their satanic son, what happened, what happened? where did we go wrong? help us, God, help us, we can't do this alone.
geez, i always change my mind when i write blog posts. i got into this thinking, "gee, it would be cool to be a single mother, if i could bring in enough dough," because single parents are always really close to their kids, and kids with one parent are kind of soft, troubled beings that need all the love you can give them, and oh, i've got a lot of love. it's easy to imagine coming home to this gangly kid who has been waiting for me, sitting on the couch and slinging an arm over them to watch afternoon cartoons. who needs a man? i would just get jealous when they spent time with our baby. all it would take is a little trip: "dad took me fishing!" and i would go off on some rant about how i could have done that, i'm better at fishing anyway, i wanted to teach you, your father is stealing you away from me, you love him more, yada yada. but of course i would end up messing up the kid in some way. he got too much attention from his mother, doesn't need a woman, turns gay, mother doesn't like that, gets angry, abandons son. or i would have the kid and give him up right when he was born. the hours of excruciating pain of childbirth would help me to decide that it's really not worth it, that i can't handle it, anyway. i especially wouldn't be able to handle the first few years alone. waking up at all hours of the night to stumble over to baby Cain's cradle, change diapers, fill bottles, freakin' breastfeed! my boobs would get all saggy, augh! i would be some terrible, ugly woman with bags under her eyes and a baby attached to her tit at all hours of the day, like in the grocery store and just about anywhere. do you see how i change my mind in these posts?! i realize things that i don't consider in actual, plain old thought. how would i be a stupid whoreslutskanktrollopbitchtease if i was hideous? and why would my baby ever accept love from an ugly troll woman? he would be embarrassed by me by the time he was five.
anyway, yeah. babysitting jace and teague was fun.
i had a great time, really. i imagined what it would be like if they were my kids, and... i decided... that it wouldn't be so bad to have kids. gasp! really, dani! you've never wanted kids! ever since you were a little girl, you said you wouldn't have kids! but, then again, i also said i wouldn't get married and i'm sure i don't still believe that (yes i do). but really, if i could just hang out with my kids all the time, it wouldn't be so bad. i guess it's the growing up part that's hard on a parent. teague is a sweetie, and jace is just a little bit misguided, but he's still awesome. sadly, they will soon be in school, where they will be corrupted by terrible kids raised by terrible adults who live in terrible homes and smoke weeeeeed for dinner or something. they'll get a negative outlook on life, they'll learn to hate their family, and they'll probably get some girl pregnant eventually. augh, teenagers! who knows teenagers better than a teenager, right? i know what we're like. it's terrible, really. we're so impressionable, so terribly desperate to be accepted by worthless people who are trying just as hard to be liked. we lose our identities, lose our minds. every little thing is full of implications of horror and drama with irreversible consequences. we take out our frustration on our poor parents, who don't know where their babies went. what happened? parents pray for their atheist daughter, their satanic son, what happened, what happened? where did we go wrong? help us, God, help us, we can't do this alone.
geez, i always change my mind when i write blog posts. i got into this thinking, "gee, it would be cool to be a single mother, if i could bring in enough dough," because single parents are always really close to their kids, and kids with one parent are kind of soft, troubled beings that need all the love you can give them, and oh, i've got a lot of love. it's easy to imagine coming home to this gangly kid who has been waiting for me, sitting on the couch and slinging an arm over them to watch afternoon cartoons. who needs a man? i would just get jealous when they spent time with our baby. all it would take is a little trip: "dad took me fishing!" and i would go off on some rant about how i could have done that, i'm better at fishing anyway, i wanted to teach you, your father is stealing you away from me, you love him more, yada yada. but of course i would end up messing up the kid in some way. he got too much attention from his mother, doesn't need a woman, turns gay, mother doesn't like that, gets angry, abandons son. or i would have the kid and give him up right when he was born. the hours of excruciating pain of childbirth would help me to decide that it's really not worth it, that i can't handle it, anyway. i especially wouldn't be able to handle the first few years alone. waking up at all hours of the night to stumble over to baby Cain's cradle, change diapers, fill bottles, freakin' breastfeed! my boobs would get all saggy, augh! i would be some terrible, ugly woman with bags under her eyes and a baby attached to her tit at all hours of the day, like in the grocery store and just about anywhere. do you see how i change my mind in these posts?! i realize things that i don't consider in actual, plain old thought. how would i be a stupid whoreslutskanktrollopbitchtease if i was hideous? and why would my baby ever accept love from an ugly troll woman? he would be embarrassed by me by the time he was five.
anyway, yeah. babysitting jace and teague was fun.
Friday, January 16, 2009
My Heart Has No Say In The Matter
today has been quite troublesome, actually. well, this whole week has been rather troublesome, and not just for me. first off, i would like to inform the public of the missing iPod, George, who was lost at the library by bethany, who misses him dearly. bring George home!
now, for me, i've been having my usual troubles. for one, i was asked to the prom by a friend, who is just that. a friend. i said no, of course, and he expected as much, but he's just so moody... he's a total chick. more so than me, i believe. i recently asked him to tell me off, and he did. he didn't understand why i wanted him to tell me off... i told him that i needed it. i needed someone to get me down off my high horse, whatever. well, that... and the fact that if he tells me off, it gives me the right to tell him off. fantastic, right? he's always saying "i can't be just friends with you." so, today i told him, "you can't be just friends with me. so don't be." and - get this - i walked away! i actually walked away. i'm so proud of myself... i never have the heart to go away, to leave them behind, and i finally did it.
so on the walk home, i was telling myself how men always have an ulterior motive - no, it's not secret, women just refuse to acknowledge it - to get into a chick's pants. i was telling myself how every little thing a guy does is all so that they can get laid. every time they compliment you, they laugh with you, they flirt, they smile, they wink... it's all for sex. but then i came home, and i watched a movie. well, hey. who knew movies could actually help people learn a lesson?
the movie i watched was "My Best Friend's Girl." well, i won't spoil the movie for you - it's a good 'un - but the chick in it is in a relationship, and the guy is suddenly all "I LOVE YOU" and the chick's like, "woah," and dumps him, and starts fooling around with another dude and trying things out and just having fun, being just friends with the dude who's madly in love with her. he's amazingly desperate, and instead of going, "aw, how cute," i kept thinking, "ew, gross. he's terrible." and i had this awful feeling that i was kind of like her. granted, i'm not having sex with random dudes or anything, but i feel like i'm hurting my suitors who claim to have strong feelings about me. the movie shows the side of guys that supposedly exists but no guy ever wants to show: the sweet side. the desperate, lovestruck mess inside of every guy, y'know? so i felt really terrible about myself, like i am just crushing the hopes and dreams of the lovestruck puppy inside my suitor(s?).
so i've got these two conflicting ideas: all men are in it for the sex, and men are all secretly desperate for love. and then this other thought comes to mind... what if i'm the one with the ulterior motive? what if, secretly - so secretly i don't even know about it - i'm a total nymphomaniac? or what if my motive is to emotionally destroy every guy i can get my hands onto? i don't think i'm capable of that one, though, so just what if i'm secretly a nympho? yeah, i doubt it, too. i'll be sixteen next month, and i've never been kissed. what's even better is that i've had the opportunity, and when the moment of truth came along, every muscle in my body tensed and screamed, "NO!" i freakin' told the guy he could kiss me (yes, i know, friends... how disgusting), but my body had other plans. my brain says, "why, sure, ole' chap, why not?" (my mind has a british accent, obviously) and then my body goes, "OHMYFUCKINGGODWHATISGOINGONHERESTOPITRUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!" and i listen to my body. that's what i think goes down.
but then i get all realistic and think, "dani, your brain controls everything that your body does. it's not possible for your body to fight it. it does not have a mind separate from the one in your skull. therefore, you're lying to yourself (which is oh so common), and you don't actually want to be kissed by anyone at any time." which, in turn, probably proves that i am not a nymphomaniac.
i know everything i have been saying in this post is pretty much worthless, because i haven't decided on what i believe to be true, i haven't given you must juicy gossip to share with your busybody friends, and i haven't inspired you to do anything life-changing. but hey, do i ever? i do these posts to help me. these rants help me get out all my thoughts, to see the concrete forms of what's going on up in the ole' attic. then i can compare them, argue with myself, and figure out which idea makes the most sense. understand? good. just thought i would get that out there before i went on.
i should mention that, after my suitor asked me to prom, i went to my bestest guy friend for a little bit of sympathy. you know what he did?
he asked me to prom.
now, most chickies would find this fantastic for me, because i've so obviously had a thing for the guy for a very long time, and he knows it so what do i care if he ever decides to read my blog, but there are a few issues. firstly, i would like to say that i just can't take him seriously. he asked me on teh interwebs, so i don't know if he was making a huge joke of it... at first, i thought he was, but then he said some fairly serious stuff, so i guess he really was asking me, but here's my second point: i'm his back-up plan. we've dated before, and it just doesn't work. we both know this, i think, but the fact that we get along now seems to make him believe that i'll go out with him on a whim, whether his or mine. he's got a whole list of chicas he would like to go out with, and i'm at the very, very bottom. i imagine that their names all have their fancy, swirly fonts, in gold, and i'm... black verdana (which is, by the way, the very font i use for all of my posts, my e-mails, and maybe my instant messenger). thirdly, he says that me going to prom with him would prevent me from having to go with my nutjob suitor, as if he only wants me to go with him to get me out of a tight spot. and when i said that my nutjob suitor wasn't just unhappy about prom, but my whole "no-dating" scene in general, my bestest guy friend proposed that maybe i should just go out with him, to get my suitor off my back. so it's all just a plan to save my skin, which is sweet, sure, but for some reason, i'm not sure if it's genuine. i sincerely doubt it, in fact. i don't get why guys have to be so mysterious, lock up all their goddamn feelings and leave us girls guessing. tell me, bestest guy friend, do you really just want to help a friend out?
what really bugs me is that i spent all this time sitting around doing nothing, isolating myself from the world, walking, talking to myself, etcetera, etcetera, claiming to be finding myself, when really all i was doing was avoiding conflict with humanity, enjoying nature, and talking to drown out any thoughts that may have occurred. i got to the point where i didn't do much thinking; i just acted, without thought. i've been thinking a lot in the past few days, and i resent that. now, i do believe that i found out a lot about myself in my time of seclusion, but i won't pretend that i started out trying to. i just started doing nothing, and pretty soon i realized that i was becoming more acquainted with myself, and i was absolutely euphoric. (if mom read this, i guarantee she would be saying, "god, you're such a meditator," right about now.)
i'll let you know what i decide, alright, blog of one to four viewers? if you even read this massive post of contradictions and nonsense, i appreciate that you're obviously a creep that is trying to learn all about my world's current events.
now, for me, i've been having my usual troubles. for one, i was asked to the prom by a friend, who is just that. a friend. i said no, of course, and he expected as much, but he's just so moody... he's a total chick. more so than me, i believe. i recently asked him to tell me off, and he did. he didn't understand why i wanted him to tell me off... i told him that i needed it. i needed someone to get me down off my high horse, whatever. well, that... and the fact that if he tells me off, it gives me the right to tell him off. fantastic, right? he's always saying "i can't be just friends with you." so, today i told him, "you can't be just friends with me. so don't be." and - get this - i walked away! i actually walked away. i'm so proud of myself... i never have the heart to go away, to leave them behind, and i finally did it.
so on the walk home, i was telling myself how men always have an ulterior motive - no, it's not secret, women just refuse to acknowledge it - to get into a chick's pants. i was telling myself how every little thing a guy does is all so that they can get laid. every time they compliment you, they laugh with you, they flirt, they smile, they wink... it's all for sex. but then i came home, and i watched a movie. well, hey. who knew movies could actually help people learn a lesson?
the movie i watched was "My Best Friend's Girl." well, i won't spoil the movie for you - it's a good 'un - but the chick in it is in a relationship, and the guy is suddenly all "I LOVE YOU" and the chick's like, "woah," and dumps him, and starts fooling around with another dude and trying things out and just having fun, being just friends with the dude who's madly in love with her. he's amazingly desperate, and instead of going, "aw, how cute," i kept thinking, "ew, gross. he's terrible." and i had this awful feeling that i was kind of like her. granted, i'm not having sex with random dudes or anything, but i feel like i'm hurting my suitors who claim to have strong feelings about me. the movie shows the side of guys that supposedly exists but no guy ever wants to show: the sweet side. the desperate, lovestruck mess inside of every guy, y'know? so i felt really terrible about myself, like i am just crushing the hopes and dreams of the lovestruck puppy inside my suitor(s?).
so i've got these two conflicting ideas: all men are in it for the sex, and men are all secretly desperate for love. and then this other thought comes to mind... what if i'm the one with the ulterior motive? what if, secretly - so secretly i don't even know about it - i'm a total nymphomaniac? or what if my motive is to emotionally destroy every guy i can get my hands onto? i don't think i'm capable of that one, though, so just what if i'm secretly a nympho? yeah, i doubt it, too. i'll be sixteen next month, and i've never been kissed. what's even better is that i've had the opportunity, and when the moment of truth came along, every muscle in my body tensed and screamed, "NO!" i freakin' told the guy he could kiss me (yes, i know, friends... how disgusting), but my body had other plans. my brain says, "why, sure, ole' chap, why not?" (my mind has a british accent, obviously) and then my body goes, "OHMYFUCKINGGODWHATISGOINGONHERESTOPITRUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!" and i listen to my body. that's what i think goes down.
but then i get all realistic and think, "dani, your brain controls everything that your body does. it's not possible for your body to fight it. it does not have a mind separate from the one in your skull. therefore, you're lying to yourself (which is oh so common), and you don't actually want to be kissed by anyone at any time." which, in turn, probably proves that i am not a nymphomaniac.
i know everything i have been saying in this post is pretty much worthless, because i haven't decided on what i believe to be true, i haven't given you must juicy gossip to share with your busybody friends, and i haven't inspired you to do anything life-changing. but hey, do i ever? i do these posts to help me. these rants help me get out all my thoughts, to see the concrete forms of what's going on up in the ole' attic. then i can compare them, argue with myself, and figure out which idea makes the most sense. understand? good. just thought i would get that out there before i went on.
i should mention that, after my suitor asked me to prom, i went to my bestest guy friend for a little bit of sympathy. you know what he did?
he asked me to prom.
now, most chickies would find this fantastic for me, because i've so obviously had a thing for the guy for a very long time, and he knows it so what do i care if he ever decides to read my blog, but there are a few issues. firstly, i would like to say that i just can't take him seriously. he asked me on teh interwebs, so i don't know if he was making a huge joke of it... at first, i thought he was, but then he said some fairly serious stuff, so i guess he really was asking me, but here's my second point: i'm his back-up plan. we've dated before, and it just doesn't work. we both know this, i think, but the fact that we get along now seems to make him believe that i'll go out with him on a whim, whether his or mine. he's got a whole list of chicas he would like to go out with, and i'm at the very, very bottom. i imagine that their names all have their fancy, swirly fonts, in gold, and i'm... black verdana (which is, by the way, the very font i use for all of my posts, my e-mails, and maybe my instant messenger). thirdly, he says that me going to prom with him would prevent me from having to go with my nutjob suitor, as if he only wants me to go with him to get me out of a tight spot. and when i said that my nutjob suitor wasn't just unhappy about prom, but my whole "no-dating" scene in general, my bestest guy friend proposed that maybe i should just go out with him, to get my suitor off my back. so it's all just a plan to save my skin, which is sweet, sure, but for some reason, i'm not sure if it's genuine. i sincerely doubt it, in fact. i don't get why guys have to be so mysterious, lock up all their goddamn feelings and leave us girls guessing. tell me, bestest guy friend, do you really just want to help a friend out?
what really bugs me is that i spent all this time sitting around doing nothing, isolating myself from the world, walking, talking to myself, etcetera, etcetera, claiming to be finding myself, when really all i was doing was avoiding conflict with humanity, enjoying nature, and talking to drown out any thoughts that may have occurred. i got to the point where i didn't do much thinking; i just acted, without thought. i've been thinking a lot in the past few days, and i resent that. now, i do believe that i found out a lot about myself in my time of seclusion, but i won't pretend that i started out trying to. i just started doing nothing, and pretty soon i realized that i was becoming more acquainted with myself, and i was absolutely euphoric. (if mom read this, i guarantee she would be saying, "god, you're such a meditator," right about now.)
i'll let you know what i decide, alright, blog of one to four viewers? if you even read this massive post of contradictions and nonsense, i appreciate that you're obviously a creep that is trying to learn all about my world's current events.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I Hate Poetry. Here You Go.
the love in your heart
is only the need
to be touched.
the love in his
is only the need
to get fucked.
is only the need
to be touched.
the love in his
is only the need
to get fucked.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Letters to Santa: #1
dear santa,
i'm glad you appreciated my rendition of "santa baby" across the street from your little hut on the square. i wasn't expecting you to wave and give me a thumbs-up, but you know, that just makes me love you all the more. you don't need mrs. claus; i saw the sculpture of her near your hut, and she's not good enough for you. what an old hag. i, however, am young and curvy, and i wouldn't mind if i woke up on christmas morning to find you next to me in bed. is that weird, santa claus? hah! weird is you watching children every day and every night. that, santa, is just about the weirdest thing ever. if we get together, i hope you'll stop doing that.
yours truly,
dan the WOman.
i'm glad you appreciated my rendition of "santa baby" across the street from your little hut on the square. i wasn't expecting you to wave and give me a thumbs-up, but you know, that just makes me love you all the more. you don't need mrs. claus; i saw the sculpture of her near your hut, and she's not good enough for you. what an old hag. i, however, am young and curvy, and i wouldn't mind if i woke up on christmas morning to find you next to me in bed. is that weird, santa claus? hah! weird is you watching children every day and every night. that, santa, is just about the weirdest thing ever. if we get together, i hope you'll stop doing that.
yours truly,
dan the WOman.
Friday, November 21, 2008
My Love is Greasy, Fattening Murder on a Bun.
a dragon-sized cheeseburger for my dragon-sized love for you. if you're even reading this blog, i must love you lots.
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