It must be a full moon...

I don't exactly know how I ended up the Bezonia State Facility. It just...happened. I was 24. One year away from being 98% out of danger for mental illness. 365 days.

Evidently, I told one too many people of my conversations with Jane. Jane & I used to have tea together. I always took mine white with two lumps of sugar. I loved that Jane took hers staight. We'd chat about things, but only important things. Jane was not a woman to be trifled with. I wanted to be just like her. Strong, stimulating, and British. The Lakes? Why yes! She was from the the lakes! She abhorred London. I was quite diverted when she scolded me for admitting my fascination with it.

Once we had this little chat about what right & wrong really meant and how we learned it.

"What if you lived for one day believing the exact opposite of what peopletell you is right? Or, what if you do the exact opposite of what you do now. Don't read...write. Believe?...Don't believe. Don't love...feel indiffernce. Don't wake up...stay in bed."

Yes, Jane was the reason I am at BSF. Little, lovely Jane with her crazy ideas and compelling rants.

So, I stayed in bed. I took four sleeping tablets. I slept for 16 hours together. I woke to 10 messages on my phone. Boss-where are you? Friend-are you ok? Mother-still coming to dinner tonight? etc. "Answer your call...don't answer your calls". I watched the phone float down the bayou. Beautiful.

That night I went to dinner alone. I choose to reject the "Eat?...don't eat" part of Jane's conversation. I ordered a $100 bottle of wine and a $50 steak. I drank and ate the whole thing. I pretended I was going to the restroom but skipped out on my tab through an employee door used mostly for smoke breaks.

Tonight I'll take five tablets and see what that does. Wait, they give me medicine here. Medicine that makes it impossible to think. One of the younger attendents still asks me about Jane. I tell him she comes and visits sometimes, but you know the rules, she can't stay too long. He says, "funny, I checked the visitor list...no one seems to visit you." That's impossible. She and I sit in that room once a month and chat. He injects more fluid into the raw spot on my neck. "I don't belong here.....I don't...."


"Wake up...wake up!"
"J-Jane! What, how'd you..."
"Shhhh...why are you telling people about me?"
"Well..."
"We're not friends."
"We're not?"
"No."
"But you and I ... we ..."
"I know. There is no more 'we'. And now it's time to go."
"Go where"
"Just go"

She covered my face with one of the scratchy pillows from the bed next to mine. She tore out my I.V. and began tearing open my wrist. I screamed. Then I thought. Flashes of pain from before this place. Boyfriends...no boyfriends. Friends...no friends. Listening...no listening. Love...No Love.

A flash of my mom. Oh, I'd miss her.
My old friends. That was a great party!
My cat. He was the best.
None of it was enough though.
None of it was enough.

My Pod

My iPod has become a staple in everyday living. It's kinda like the internet or cell phones...can't really remember how you lived without them. Like, how did people find places without MapQuest? Weird. So, I've oficially become that girl that listens to her iPod while shopping. Target...iPod...Kroger...iPod...Galleria...iPod. I kind of think those people are typically tools. And as much as I bitch on this thing about isolation in life, one would think I'd refrain from removing myself even further from human contact. Truth is, when you're walking down the condiment aisle at the local Kroger, nothing sounds more appetizing than spicing up your humdrum life with a soundtrack. Ya know? I become Maggie Gyllenhaal in this months latest indie flick now playing at the River Oaks Theatre. I get that insecure, yet strong look in my eyes while the Strokes are jamming "Is This It?" in the backkground. I'm a reality escaper...BIG TIME. You power down the Pod for a minute and I return to my little place on the earth...the slighty plump chick who can't resist the Cadbury Egg. The girl who selfishly longs for something better, but does hardly anything to bring that about. The girl who if she died today wouldn't have much to say to God at the Pearly Gates, "Hey...I've got that one song about you downloaded on my iPod!" "I'm a huge Matisyahu fan...does that count?". Let's be honest here. What have I to show for this humdrum life? What? I don't even have riches to fall back on. Ahhhhhhh...well. I feel inspired talking about it...but won't that feeling soon pass? Won't I revert back to selfish Susan who blocks out the pain of reality with MP3s and cigarettes? Probably. Anyone want to move to Africa and take up a clean water project? I kind of do. But I'm too afraid. So, I'll remain with a my little white headphones drowning out the pain of ideas and convictions. Thinking Sucks.

"My name is Domino Harvey"

" 'k' 59 turns into 84 east? to LA 5 to 171 north? Hummmm" Funny I didn't see ANY signs that said Shreveport. Three people told me to 'follow the signs'. I finally made it to his house. The neighborhood is quaint & quirky, just like mine. It's what I like to refer to as a mish mash of people and ideas, morality and immortality, appearance vs reality. The paint in his bedroom matches mine in the dining & living room. "Do you still believe in coincidences?" Well, yes...yes I do.

Imagine you've just walked into a creative space. Creativity without pretension without obstruction without overwhelmedness. I sat on the bed and realized the pain in my shoulder was gone; my back didn't hurt anymore. I'd only had one glass of wine and one cigarette...nothing to an Irish girl. We sat together on the porch and smoked again...me in his bathrobe and he in his jeans. The rain is just a trickle, but it feels so good tickling your cheeks. Even your senses can be deceitful in times such as these. Did you think it was only emotions that are deceitful? Oh no...OH NO! I don't feel things...well, I try not to. And what was this? Contaminated rain water was calming my frayed nerves. Those deceitful, DECEITFUL senses. Sight. Smell. Sound. Taste. Touch...especially touch. They are evil...the whole lot of them.

We flip on a DVD. "Fucking 90210" "That's Choco, he's always fancied me." I fell into a diphenhydramine HCl induced sleep. It was beautiful.
No sun at 10:30 the next morning. More contaminated rain. The diet coke and Mexican food tasted so good. That calm cautious feeling was present sitting at one of the tall tables in the covered patio. Not much conversation, but that's the way I like it. I'm only chatty when I drink too much. He's too cool to be chatty. I felt comfort. Was it the sight of the boy next to me? The familiar smell of the food? The typical sound in the restaraunt? The terrible touch of his hand?

"It's ok, Jesus drank wine." The spoon-fed intelligence of a young girl is validating my warm sake consumption. She was...cute. She called me ma'am. It was all horrorfyingly sweet. A friend of the family, from their church came up to them, hand out stretched like any political church goer. I leaned over to make it known my biggest fear in life is turning into that. The perfect family, the perfect faith, the perfect facade.

It was inevitable I suppose. If not then, definitely down the line. The talk. The "I like you but not enough to commit" talk. Let's be fair. He lives far from me. He works weekends. It would be difficult. It's fine, really. But, damn the sex was good. The understated connection was nice too. Oh well. I don't fight for boys. Shouldn't boys be doing the fighting? One day there will be one to fight for me...or maybe there won't. It's fine. Really.

Breakfast at 1:00pm CST. I asked if he thought I was negative. "No more than I am" was his perfect response. "A little cynical maybe, but people who aren't don't get it." It's awfully unfortunate we had to end on that note, because, I never heard something more true. Of course I was smitten when I drove four hours to see the boy, but that threw me over. That one statement made me want to come back for more and never leave.

The world is full of statements. Mine is "Cynical : People who aren't don't get it". Oh, and "It's ok, Jesus drank wine". www.matisyahu.org

Tired

I'm tired of meeting people and it not working out.
I'm tired of getting txt msgs from peoples signifigant others in the middle of the night informing to stop talking about them after I've lied at least 5x's to cover their ass.
I'm tired of being that girl that is really fun for the weekend...but that's about it.
I'm tired of every time I'm feeling really low, stupid Pinot Nior has to leave a message on my phone.
I'm just tired of this lame ass life.
I am, however, taking suggestions on how to change that. So, email me....I like suggestions.

Cousin is a beautiful word...

and I don't just mean for those fortunate enough to live in Kentucky.
Send me your cousins...
And they will come
I would take dozens...
Then narrow it to one
That's it...a little Monday morning rhyme. I do like cousins..

Moved Envy

I had forgotten how good college music really is. I'm not talking Rice Radio crap. I mean music majors and the like. Last night made me miss one of my favorite parts of college, band. I'm the hugest geek ever, but I don't even care. Sisero's chior sang at my families church last night. They were so good. Sis conducted one song & I'll be honest here...I teared up a little bit bc I'm so freaking proud of her. She has more talent in one little pinky than I could ever muster. I watched her boyfriend as she was conducting & her as he was singing his solo. It was so sweet. I was also crying, bc it's quite possible that she and I will never live in the same state again. Just when we really started to understand each other. I hate it when crap like that happens. But that's life, huh? Anywho, I walked away thinking this was just one of those perfect moments in time even though I'm a little sad and a little envious. You know, we always say that we love each other, me & Sisero, but this time I really knew it was true. I most heartfeltedly hope she feels the same way too.

"Will I loose my dignity? Will someone care?"

So, last night at Pub Fiction, I almost got in my very first bar fight. There are these two older-ish guys sitting next to us. The Oscars are roling on a couple giant screens in front of us. Lord, Jake Gyllenhaal is dreamy. The Brokeback Mountain conversation is inevitable. I say something about how I loved the film. I was trying to explain the archetypal gist of the plot...which no one was really listening to. Apparently, you aren't allowed to talk about books or anything that matters at all in bars. In fact, you probably should steer away from talking about things like that period. If your conversation is solely based on what position the Rockets are in for the playoffs or who's playing at the Rodeo this week, you're fine. Try to explain the Emerging Conversation to someone in a bar & you get ostersized. Fuck life. Will someone ever fucking care? Well, the answer is no. The problem is me. I'm weird...I care...and I can't help it. Anyways, this dude told me that all gay people are pedophiles. Well, gay men are pedophiles...gay women aren't. So, I got pissed. I suppose I'm a little emotional when it comes to utter ignorance. I told him I was going to punch his teeth out of his head if he didn't get the fuck out of MY G-- D--- bar. He he...Oops. Probably a little over the top. Then I told him I didn't like him. Then he had to talk bad about the Penguin movie. He HAD to talk bad about the Penguin movie. I told him that was it. I couldn't stand him...and he continued to ask me out...over & over like I was teasing about not liking him. He told me about some famous couple that were complete opposites & they had a great relationship. I turned to him and said, "what part of I don't like you did you not hear?" He said, "Ok...I'm sorry" and left. Moral of the story...you can have your our opinions as long as they aren't ignorant. Bye.