notesinblue: (Default)
all these years later it is worth noting that i am okay. i'm not sunshine and roses all the time, but i've finally overcome my Depression and Anxiety. therapy and lots of hard work. i've come such a long way. reading back through some of this reminds me of just how very far it has been.

the Hanged Man and i are still together, and far better and stronger than we were last i wrote. a year apart brought us back together strong as iron. all of the old issues are ancient history. now our only issue is not having the cash to get an apartment together.

the prince of swords is no longer my best friend. in fact, he's not even a friend. once i grew some self-esteem we fell apart. the princess of disks, however, has never been more true and wonderful.

today was the first time i have thought about the prince of wands in a long time. in fact, it was the reason i ended up over here. wandering through the old wounds. in many ways his betrayal was the worst, and still hurts the most. thankfully i rarely think of him.

after six years of legal BS, i finally freed myself from the emperor. to the best of my knowledge he moved out of state. i'm not afraid anymore. it's amazing.

my mom, however, (the queen of disks as i tag her) is still a right pain in my ass. but some things never change.

last straw

Jun. 3rd, 2009 03:10 pm
notesinblue: (rage)
i know i'm not the first, nor will i be the last, but i can't stand my fucking mother.

this morning was the proverbial straw. it's not a huge thing. it's by no means the worst thing she's done, not even this week. but it was the breaking point. at this point i don't give a shit what she thinks of me, what she says to my father, or how i'm painted in front of my grandmother who arrives this evening. i don't care. because i just can't take it anymore.

i am the sickest i've been in a long time with tonsilitis. i haven't been able to get out of bed for the past five days. walking to the bathroom is taxing. the skin on my face is peeling off from the extreme temperatures of my ongoing fever. and i need my goddamn rest! and what does she do? she decides to clean the bathroom and guest room at eleven in the god damn morning.

i could hear her shuffling past my stairs and not-door over and over. every once in a while she would pause and listen, then proceed to be even noisier. i tried to ignore it and fall back asleep for an hour and a half, and then, and i still cannot believe this shit, she actually walks upstairs to my room and proceeds to put shit in my closet and move shit around.

i sat up and said, "what are you doing?"
her response, "i'm cleaning grandma's room."
my retort, "no. what are you doing?"
her reply, "i told you. i'm cleaning." then she flounced off back down the stairs. i threw my blankets over my head and seethed. then, i shit you not, she came back upstairs with my cello.

there is not a square inch of this room that isn't full. the guest room is empty and has a door to keep the dogs out, which is why my cello lives in there. she then proceeds to lean it precariously in front of my dresser. i sit up and glare at her.

"you can't put that there. i won't be able to get to my clothes."
"it's just while grandma is here."
"seriously, you can't put that there. there is no where to put that up here. i don't have a spot for it."
she moves it to block my closet door, which flings open at random when we get wind due to a bad latch.
"no. you can't put that there." i reassert.
"it's just while grandma is here. you can move it when you get up."
"there is no place to move it to. there is no room for it in here."
"you can move it when you get up."
and then she fucking walks off, leaving the damn thing leaning precariously against my closet and bookshelf. then she began vacuuming under my stairs.

i fucking freaked out.

i got up, threw on clothes, and proceeded to grab my laundry. i went to her side of the house. the kitchen was a wreck. the living room, wreck. her room, wreck. i threw in some laundry, used her bathroom, then rubbed snot all over her mouse and keyboard. childish, i know, but i don't plan on being close enough to her to sneeze in her face. then i went back to my room, dug around until i found some tacks and a sheet, then covered my damn non-door with a cloth barrier. STAY THE FUCK OUT!

and the best part. when she was done vacuuming she made her morning frozen fruit blender lunch and retreated to her studio. silence for the next two hours. dead fucking silence. she did not vacuum the rest of the house or clean up anything else. she could have waited until i was awake to do all that and hung out in her studio all morning and let me sleep. but no. housework before lunch. and i guess she was just too damn taxed from invading my fucking space to continue on and do the rest.

i just went and put another load of laundry in (yep, rest of the house still a pit) and i refused to acknowledge her. she knows i'm mad. she's probably mad too. she's probably already called pop and told him what an awful little shit i am. told all sorts of fucking lies like she always does. fuck her. i fucking can't stand her. i can hear her rustling around in the kitchen now. guess she's decided to clean up a bit now that she's finished her afternoon tea time. bitch. i am so done. i hope she does catch my tonsilitis so i can run a fucking vacuum through her room at one in the fucking morning.

i'm not sure what's worse: being sick as hell or being stuck here with her.

gripe #113

Feb. 17th, 2008 08:23 pm
notesinblue: (facepalm)
been watching the history channel with the folks for almost three hours now, and i'm going nuts with boredom. my mom is so opposed to going and taking a few classes on campus, yet she insists on watching educational tv, reading non-fic, and just generally soaking up info whenever possible. which is great and all but it frustrates me. she's bored and trapped in a nowhere job, yet she has it in her head that she can't go back to school. she thinks she's too old. but she would love it. i on the other hand get enough of all of this during my weekdays. *sigh*


Jan. 7th, 2008 01:51 am
notesinblue: (blue mind)
a thousand generations
the soil on which we walk
a mountain of mistakes
for us to climb for pleasure

a hundred clocks are ticking
the line becomes a circle
spin the wheel of fortune
or learn to navigate

living with my parents again, now that i'm a thirty-something, is very different than when i lived with them as a teenager. on about a million levels. one of them is that i notice their flaws more. we fought a lot when i was younger, and barely ever now, but i can see their neurotic tendencies and shortcomings clear as day now whereas they were invisible before. maybe that's *why* we don't fight - i see why they act the way they do even when it's unreasonable.

i've noticed how immature and stubborn my father can be. and that he drinks more than i ever remembered, which makes me sad. i know he does it because he's tired. i hope he can finally get out of his job this winter because it's killing him. more than anything though i notice my mother's unhealthy attitudes.

she worries. all the time. about everything. and when there is nothing to worry about, she invents something. she's terribly negative, but she cites everyone else as being the negative ones. she's condescending and bossy when she's tired, which seems to be much more often than in the past. she nags and criticizes, but rarely does much herself. and i loath how she speaks to my father sometimes. i know she has no idea how she sounds. if she knew she'd feel awful. it's just awful though. and i'm terrified that's how i might be.

the nervous tendencies didn't manifest in me until a steady stream of abuse had been poured up me over the years, but they did manifest. and now they won't leave. and the rest, well, i don't think i'm like that, but i'm sure she doesn't either. the emperor said i was like that, but he said a lot of awful and untrue things about me. he projected his own ugliness onto me, and he shares many qualities with my mother - perhaps it was him not me. still, i worry i may be an awful bitch to those that care about me (read as: those that let me get away with it, and i know will let me get away with it). i worry. heh. and there it is again.

i used to say that i wouldn't mind turning into my parents too much, because as far as folks go they're pretty awesome. and they are. but they're no longer flawless and in their faults i see some of myself. i wouldn't mind retaining their finer qualities, but i'll be damned if i'll end up so critical and negative without a fight. i don't want to be that way. the past decade has beaten me down, but i refuse to be tainted by it. i refuse to see the glass as half empty rather than half full. or too big.
notesinblue: (relaxed)
this past year i can't shake the feeling that my life, my situation, is a work in progress.

moved in more of my things and my loft is in disarray. i want to organize, nest, but there are papers to write.

mom is painting the guest room. i joked about painting mine. she said i could. it stopped me. possibility. now i'm strongly considering it. i was never allowed to paint the walls in my own house. the emperor preferred clean white walls. i wanted to paint vivid colors. but he liked everything cold and sterile. so white it stayed. maybe i'll paint their walls instead. maybe that makes this place more of a home than my own house ever was. maybe that's what family means. maybe family means paint chips, fumes, and that sticky sound of rollers across walls.
notesinblue: (walk alone)
i had a good birthday today. well, technically yesterday. 7-7-07. lucky me - i turned thirty on the luckiest day of the millennium. let's hope that bodes well for my thirties.

pop made me pancakes before leaving for work, and mom was awesome for my mini-party. the prince of swords, princess of disks, and the hermit all came up, and we partook in much lasagna, cake, and card games. we played Munchkin (Fu & Bites) and Unexploded Cow (a new game from the princess). everyone got along great, and we laughed and had much fun. it really was a good day, better than my last several birthdays honestly. my grandfather even called to wish me happy birthday, something he hasn't done since i was a child. the whole day felt like the grande finale for a truly good week. i'm happy. mostly.

the emperor made no contact, and for that i am both glad/relieved, while also being foolishly disappointed. i suppose he really meant his good-bye. i wasn't wounded by it until now. even now the wound isn't deep, but it is there and i acknowledge it. his silence cuts just as his words do. what's worse is that the prince of wands didn't contact me either. not a peep. now that does cut deep, and it makes me angry too. last year all i wanted for my birthday was to kiss him. now i want to punch him. hell hath no fury...

i find myself deciding to cut him from my life. it may seem petty, "oh, cut him out just because he didn't call you on your birthday...grow up", but it's not that simple. the last time i saw him he really wounded me with the things he said. he unloaded a bunch of bs on me then vanished. i was disappointed when he didn't call for weeks, and i was hurt when he didn't call on the fourth. now i'm fed up. all i wanted was the tiniest consideration. the fuckin' heirophant called for shit's sake. and my grandfather, whom i haven't spoken to in the better part of a decade. but the prince can't pick up the phone? screw him. i don't need him. and what's even more distressing is i don't think i even want him anymore either. this time last year i was very much in love with both him and the emperor. now i find my heart broken and empty.

it's funny, the emperor refused to relinquish the PS2 in a settlement. i heard it broke two weeks ago. now, today, i got one from my parents for my birthday. it feels like karma. i got a PS1 when i turned 19, right after i moved out, and in with the emperor. all this year i've been saying i felt like i had gone back to being 18. now i feel 19 all over again. except this time i'll make different choices.

it felt strange hooking up the PS2, and my little tv, and having a complete living space here in my loft. it feels like i've made a home of my own, and there's no one else in it, so to speak. i've moved on, and even though i'm still here on the ridge with my folks, i feel like i'm alone for the first time. i'm single. i'm really single. i share my space and my heart with no one. all of that from hooking up my own damn tv. strange how the mind can work. strange how much this post has wandered, even though i think this is really what i set out to say even though i didn't really know it. strange how life spins.

for the records, my lootz:
grandma - $50
queen of disks & king of cups - PS2, White Knight by Jim Butcher, & $50 gift card to B&N
princess of disks - Buffy season 2 (so i don't have to get it back from the queen of wands since the emperor gave her my copy), Unexploded Cow, & three scratch tickets (i won $1!)
the hermit - a stack of burned music (should be fun to root through)
michael f - a paid Flickr account (weird that someone i hardly know got me something...)
notesinblue: (virgin state)
i ran into the hanged man last tuesday. he apologized for dropping out of my life without a word. said he just needed to get the hell away from the princess of cups. i can relate. i took her off my friendlist a couple days ago. she has yet to respond - she's pretending not to notice, although i'm certain she has. with every passing day my curiosity wanes. i no longer miss her anymore. nor do i miss the prince of wands. he posted to say that he may be home in a matter of weeks. i felt nothing aside from a twinge of annoyance. my how far we have come. i haven't even spoken with the emperor in nearly a week. it would seem that my letting go has stuck this time. it's about damn time.

in other news: i love the rain and i love miami vice. the last two days have been full of both. i read today by the woodstove and listened to the rain. can't remember the last time homework was so pleasant. then this evening the queen of disks and i rocked the vice into season 2. tomorrow is dresden files, boardgames, and pork roast. i'm happy as a clam.
notesinblue: (smoke)
i wrote a cryptic entry in my public journal. saved here, lest i forget, is the translation.

A flash. The sting of a palm across my cheek. Spit in my eye. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows... Whether 'tis nobler... Nobler... Noble. Nobility. Another royal in my crowded house.
i discovered the princess of cups' slander.

Papers written. Papers mid-progress. Papers looming. All but one pushed out through tired fingers. It can wait until morning. It can always wait until morning. So says the weary to the morning sunrise.
i wrote some, but not all, of my papers, hindered by depression and exhaustion.

Restless night. I tell the mouse in my wall everything. He chitters something about Dickinson and leaves birdseed in my laundry. I don't like Dickinson. Or birdseed. I evict him.
i discover a mouse has built a nest in my dirty laundry. Dickinson is also the poet the princess revers the most, and i dislike. we argued about it during our last lunch together.

Dusty orange juice morning. A paper written in haste. And then flying. Muddy road. Squeaky gate. Twisty pavement. Engine roaring above speakers. Foot flat to the floor. Hands looser than they have been in years. A long held sigh released.
i hurry down the mountain to class and the drive centers me. i realize the anxiety i acquired after my car accident has finally dissipated.

A walk through sunlight. Choices weighed. Invisible smoke rising from the depths of imagination. Nocturnes echoing in my ears. Always Nocturnes. My other name means turning point. And I turn. A flat. E major. F sharp. Always F sharp.
i walk to class and consider what to do about the princess as i listen to Chopin. my 'other name' refers to my old journal name, which translates as turning point in German.

A sunspot. A flare. Scales tip. To take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them... Take arms... Oppose... End. A decision is made. Swords must be blocked or parried. Everything I have learned, I have learned through either love, literature, or war.
i run into the princess in Eddy Hall. she avoids me and is cold. i get so angry i shake through the rest of my class. i decide i'm not willing to put up with her anymore, even though it means giving up what was once a dear friendship.

A workshop. The first I've ever been apathetic too. The only. An emptiness. A hollowness. A silence. Words withering on the vine. Overripe or too green? So many words written and still a drought. Such a drought. A dustbowl.
i sit through a workshop in CO301a, but don't absorb anything because i'm still so angry. i feel creatively sabotaged because the princess used to be my main support as a writer but she attacked my words when she became angry. also, even though i've been writing tons of papers my own works have been neglected since the semester began.

Substitution brings rain to end the drought. A Romanian from Jersey. Words reborn. Notes taken. Lecture ignored. I only hear the diction, the colloquialisms. You know? See. Look, look, see. I don't know. Whatever, right?
a substitute teacher in logic reminds me of the main character in my second novel. i take notes on his speaking style and get re-energized to work on revisions.

The creak of leather as arms encircle me. So many I'm sorrys. Always I'm sorrys. From both of us. But this time they are not his to give, nor mine. But they are welcome. They are the only ones I will get. I keep them close. I will stop apologizing.
the emperor stops by to cheer me up. he tells me he's sorry about the princess. i decide i need to apologize less, both to him and her.

Another hug, this one so soft I'm surprised by the feel of it beneath my fingers. Laughter. Seriousness. Talk of the past, the present, and even more of the future. All before the soup is even gone.
i have dinner with the king of disks. we commiserate since our situations are so similar. it feels good.

A proposal. Worded in neutral terms. Yet there is something in it. The veiled question. Are you different? Are you bluffing? Do you want to run? Do you want to run with me? And I'm unsure of my answer.
the king asks me if i want to drive to Boston with him. he seems to be testing me somehow, gaging my response carefully.

A return to the past to see a face of the present. The devil on my shoulder. One of the better ones. One of the true. As opposed to so many of the others. All the angels were liars. The devil speaks the truth. And I leave laughing.
i visit the prince of disks at my former workplace. he suggests i do what makes me happy, even if that means driving to Boston with the king when we are both in no state to be in a relationship. i tell him he's a devil on my shoulder. he has been a good friend since my split with the emperor.

More roads, these dark. The turns hidden but well traveled. I drive from memory. Like playing a now forgotten melody. Brandenburg played through wheels and combustion. My fingers itch for strings and keys. I decide to recover the first and acquire the second.
going home i drive fast and by instinct. Brandenburg concerto was the first piece i really nailed on my cello and could play without the sheet music. i decide to pick my cello up from the house and to finally get off my ass and get a piano.

A place to call home. Better, perhaps, than the last. I whisper French to the glowing city lights, even though I don't know a word of it. Except for cest la vie. Such is life. Such is life my childe. Such is life.
i'm more loved in my current home. i watch a show with the queen of disks about Paris homes. it makes me adopt an accent as we talk. i decide i'm finally getting comfortable, both here and with myself again.
notesinblue: (sitting alone)
i'm trying to focus on what i have, rather than what i don't. but it's hard. especially when i feel so consumed by loss. i feel like a brat. a spoiled ungrateful child. but i can't help feeling disappointed. when my parents said the snow tires they got me for my car last november were my christmas present i thought they were joking. i mean, the only reason i had to get the damn tires in the first place is because they live in BFE. and they were the ones that insisted i get them. i would have made due. so surely they were kidding, right? wrong.

i bought them car stereos, video games, and board games. i spent more than usual, and far more than i had. and in return i got a puzzle, a cheap throw blanket i suspect they got somewhere for free, and a DVD i was going to buy myself anyway. i didn't get any gift cards like i always do. and i certainly didn't get the digital camera i was hoping for. i can't recall ever having such a barren holiday. it only worsened my feelings of loss, and i'll admit it made me feel a little bitter. i don't regret spending the money on them, but it does make me a little grumpy to know that i spent my camera money on them and got a $5 blanket in return.

and then there is the matter of the prince of wands. i wrote him a month ago and he never wrote back. i wrote him again for the holiday, and still no response. i've been checking my email and LJ at least twice a day - nothing. until just now. he posted in his LJ. he's having a fantastic christmas in australia. and i hate him for it. i hate him for not writing me back, for not caring enough to even return my holiday well wishes. i hate that he is happy while i am not. most of all i hate that he doesn't miss me. i saw the effort and glee he put into his post and decided i wasn't writing him again, not even a comment, unless he writes me back first. childish or wise? probably some of both.

and the emperor didn't call me either. our first holiday apart, and he doesn't appear to miss me either. and it fills me with heartbreak and rage.

then the weather report came on. more snow. i've been up here for weeks, so lonely, and with the plow broken and more snow on the way it looks like it will be a couple more. i wanted to have a good new years, but now it looks like i'll spend it alone. and the thought of that makes me sadder than i can express. i need this new years to be good. i need it like i've needed so many other things i haven't gotten, and this looks to be no exception. and i can't stop crying. i can't stop feeling so utterly disappointed, lonely, frustrated, and depressed. i'm holding my head, crying, and the words "it's not fair" just floated through my mind. yeah, i know, since when is life fair. it's such a stupid thing to think. but i can't help but feel it anyway.

i'm so full of tears and bile. i'm angry at everyone who is happy, including my loved ones, and that makes me disgusted with myself. i just hate that it's christmas night and i'm sitting alone in a cold room weeping. i hate that i can't stop. i hate that it's these things that i can't stop thinking about when there are so many other happier things. like sledding, and games of dragonology, and a nice steak dinner. like the utter delight my father had when he opened his gift, or the group hug in front of the tree. why are these things overshadowed by what i didn't get? i suppose i needed to feel pampered, missed, loved. and i'm not. i'm on my own, and it's never felt clearer. i'm an adult, all alone in the world. and that's the one thing i've never wanted to be.
notesinblue: (really?)
i'm standing in Target with my mother and grandmother as they discuss hair dye. my mom turns to me, chiding, and comments that she's surprised i didn't say anything about her new hair color, after all, it's much lighter now. (i still don't really notice a difference.) i stare at her a moment, appraising, and say that i suppose it is indeed lighter and that i really don't notice things like that. she laughs and says, 'you're just like a man'. i respond, 'why thank you'. and she turns beet red. i think she actually forgot. again. my grandmother, for her part, failed to even register the conversation at all. as we were walking out my grandma asked me what i was getting my degree in. same thing i've been getting it in for the past five years, grandma.

i hope i take after my father as i age, and can actually remember important shit about the people i care about. the idea of being so stuck in my own head i can't remember basic shit about the ones i love makes my stomach do a little flip. does that make me more of a guy or just a better person? i tend to think it's the latter, but in my family i have to wonder if it's the former. the M women love to portray an exterior of deep caring while remaining, in actuality, comfortably oblivious and detached. the S men don't pretend to care when they don't. and when they seem interested they are. i blame social expectations and upbringing. i send out a tiny prayer to remain honest both about my detachment and my interest.

and because this quiz goes so well with my entry:
Which Gender Are You? )

why am i not surprised...
notesinblue: (prose)
in the tradition of a lovely, yet inscrutable, girl i once knew, i shall now pen a few letters i have no intention of sending. the irony here is that i don't write letters, nor do i ever send them. perhaps if i write enough unsent ones i'll actually work up to writing a real one to my grandmother.

* * *
dear Charlie,

thank you so much for your advice and understanding (now and always). i've been thinking about the things you said and you're right: another name will never feel quite right. i can't be dishonest with myself. not now. not after i have been so many times in the past. i'm trying to be true to myself, and choosing another name because of someone else, even if it is my mother, will set me back on the path of trying to be what other people want me to be instead of who i really am. i know that's not exactly what you said, but it was your words that pointed the way. i'm lucky to have such a patient and insightful friend.

love, Jack

* * *
dear queen of disks,

i'm sorry this is hard on you. i'm even sorrier that it's about to get a lot harder. i just hope that you love me enough to see how important this is to me. i didn't chose the name to upset you, and i'd pick another one if i could. but i can't. please try and understand that. please try and understand me.

love, your child

* * *
dear prince of wands,

wtf? no really. be straight with me here - what. the. fuck? quit screwing around with me unless you actually want to do just that. it's exhausting, frustrating, and headache inducing. that said, don't lie on top of me when you give me a hug, especially when i'm sitting indian style. it's indecent. and when i say so, and tell you to knock it off, that's not an invitation to be even more obnoxious about it. do it again and i'll either break your face or chew it off. no promises on which it will be. also, don't compare me with your girlfriend. just don't. i don't like her, and it makes my head explode. thanks.

sincerely, Jack
notesinblue: (optimistic)
i'm sorry it makes you cry, and that you're bewildered beyond compare. i know it must be very difficult. you've known me my entire life. i figured it was hard, and now i'm certain. i know this not just because i heard your tears on the other end of the phone, but because it took you the better part of a year to process it. a year. lord, it really has been that long since i sat in your pick-up truck and told you. it was me that was crying then, quietly, with my face turned away in embarrassment. i was the bewildered one that day. so alone and uncertain. so tentative and uneducated. but that has changed. and it took you until this friday to see it. i meant what i had told you. it's not a phase. it's who i am. and now you see it, and it's hurting you. so i'm sorry it's upsetting, but really, honestly, i'm happy. because maybe now we can work past this together. and maybe now you can start seeing me, really seeing me, for all of who i am instead of just who you imagine me to be. i love you, and it will be alright.
notesinblue: (sitting alone)
"Yesterday I cleaned out more boxes from the attic. I went through your baby clothes and just saved a few really special things that I remember you in. I also found a tooth and lots of special homemade cards from you. It seemed like it was only yesterday that you wore those tiny things and made those cards.

The love I feel for you is so pure, so special. The love never tarnishes or fades but burns bright from the first moment you look into the depths of your baby's eyes right into their soul. So Kid, even though you're now grown up I love you just as much as ever. It's for the experience of such pure innocent love that I'd like you to someday (when you are ready) have your own child. So don't think I'm pressuring you. That's not what this is about. It would just be something I'd love for you to experience for yourself when you're ready."

it might have been a nice letter if i hadn't told her the day before that my separation is final and my marriage of ten years is really and truly over. or that i didn't want to have children because of numerous personal reasons, all of which i've told her. or if she listened, really listened, to a single word i ever said.

and now, today, i'm sitting next to the emperor, talking about his class on sexuality and he mentions that it makes him think about his would be girlfriend, S, but not me. why? because "it's not like we were ever going to have sex again, or have children". he seems to think the first part was all my call. he seems to think a lot of stupid things. he also said what happened with him and S was his fault, the implication being that what happened between he and i was mine. the real kick in the pants though is he has always said he never wanted to have children. but now what i think he really meant was he didn't want to have them with me.
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