it all starts at the beginning

02:42 pm - 3:05pm - Options: Sit, Heel, Stand

I write this deliciously stoned out of my head out of chocolate weed that my old wonderful roommate personally made for me, out of a chocolate Jesus cross easter candy. (That made it a tiny bit funnier). I miss living with him.

*Weed is so rare for me. And the funny thing with the easter thing is because I was raised Jewish, (I don't follow the religion, just like the old traditions - yeah yeah I believe in God.)

My new roommate slams the kitchen around upstairs, obiously unhappy about our new lazy cleaning skills. There are times when I clean a lot. Dave doesn't clean. But I get to it, always. I'll talk to him eventually about it. Calm down man. All you it is Lean Cuisines...

My boyfriend is in New Jersey, taking a two week "half assed" class (as he says) because he's going from Sgt. to Staff Sgt. We're dealing with the "being apart makes your heart grow fonder dealy."
We argued so bad on the move-in day, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.
Anger problem-non-responsible military boyfriend. But we had really good sex, and i'm miss him so much... it's weird not hearing him snore at night. I think he's going to get to call me tonite tonite.

Today is my second fuck-up with a really good agency I work with, and now I'm taken off of two gigs. I feel like a ledgendary failure, and scared that i'm going to be blackmailed after my last booked gig.

I'm starting to think about where i'm at in life - i'm settled in doing what i'm doing. But, what am I inspiring to do? My parents always taught me to inspire to something, and continue... that is what i'm never satisfied with where i'm at. When in life are you supposed to sit back and go, "Ahhh this is the good life. I'm gonna sit back for a good 25 years or so. I'm gonna just drop all this."

I'm at this point where i've lost where I want to be at, I've forgotten what my degree in school was for. No one is hiring, and when they look at my qualifications they ask for a definition of my degree and my experiences don't match. I actually applied to be a police officer, but if I put myself back in my "inspire to do something and continue" mode - police officer isn't a part of it. It would be getting a job as a secretary and going back to school.

Half the time I just want to pick up my bag and go back to Crete. But i'm in this place where i'm settled. I have someone who cares for me. He gives me the things that I personally need in life to keep me a functioning happy human being. Even with the negative, that's a part of it too. Everyone needs drama.

So my delema is -

1) drop everything I have (after I save up enought money) and go to Crete
2) move out - either back to parents (OMG NO!), or with roommates, and break up
3) join police force
4) try to join police force but fails drug test because of the chocolate weed she just ate
5) gets secretary job and goes back to school...

ok a multituple combination of those options.

I just had to get that out.
 

01:21 pm - Moving.

We've named all the ants in the apartment
Edwin, Edward,
Godard, Derrick,
Daryll, Frederick,
and Frank.
They keep coming,
so many damn Darylls and Edwards.

We're moving within the next two weeks
to the new townhouse,
so i've stopped giving a damn
about the twenty million Franks,
and we threw the loudest party in the world
till 4am to keep the crazy boy above up awake.
He plays his video games and makes music
at max volume from 8am-3am everyday
and runs back and forth,
and screams along with music.
His dog howls,
he plays guitar at 7am,
hammers at 8am -
There's more, but i'm done caring.

Still job hunting and doing gigs,
Stella eats the carpet
as well as the security deposit,
and i'm watching everything go by.

10:42 pm - Happy Anniversary Baby.

When I think about it really hard,
it feels strange to say that I grew up with a mother.
---

You get defensive over a simple subject,
I want to move on with that.
It's just stupid.
We look up the definition,
and we both feel we're right.
It gets so out of hand,
you drag it on.
I'm crying and I lock you out of the room.
You break in,
you're telling me to get the fuck out,
and I'm throwing pillows at you.
"Sleep on the couch!"
but you say it's your house,
but it's my bed,
and you're lifting the bed up,
going to put it outside,
I'm not moving, put it down.
I want to slap you so hard.
- what wait but I'm on the lease, it's my house too -
I'm not moving.
I'm not budging.
Go sleep on the couch.
Do not be near me.
Come back, put the bed back.
No? It's my bed I should put it back?
See what happens...
What will happen?
We're done.
Happy Anniversary Baby.

Go to dinner with you?
Well... give me a day...
Ok...
You got me.
As long as you ask me back out.

04:20 pm - Slowly But Surely-"The Skanky Model/Housewifey Who Can't Get A Real Job B/c Of The F'ing Economy!"

I'm working more,
more photoshoots
and more promo's
now an official
"Jameson Girl"
I feel skanky in that outfit.

When I arrive at the next bar
before the other models
in that outfit,
no one has any idea what's going on
and they just stare,
and sometimes I get a small hiss of -
Slut.

I buy fashion magazines
to sit at home and work on poses for shoots.
I have to remember to take my adderall
so I won't scarf down the entire kitchen
to fit into my tiny work outfit.

(Very short black pleated skirt,
tight green short sleeved shirt
that shows the cleavage,
and very tall knee high black stilletos)

My feet hurt from those damned shoes
and I really, really, hate drunk people
who can't take directions and interrupt.

I feel pathetic most of the time
because I have a degree
and a few certifications
and no one is hiring anyone.
I can't get a job,
and no one is nice enough to send back
that lovely letter that says
Sorry dear, you aren't good enough to work at this facility! Have a fantastic day bitch.
Apparently it's the worst time
to be searching for a job.
In two months I won't have health care.

I really am the housewife,
and we bought a bunny
to keep me amused.
She doesn't like me much
and she eats carpet.
I do laundry and dishes,
clean and cook.
Look pretty and make pancakes naked.
I hardly see him, but we're working on it.
Nights together, more weekends...
I miss when we first met.

We're looking into getting a townhouse
with two other guys that I don't know.
I really don't have much of a say,
It's going to save a lot of money.
We're doing better,
and learning how to confront and communicate.

I'm working on myself,
trying to lose those 5 lbs,
trying to deal,
trying to get a job,
trying to get a tan,
trying to eventually dye my roots,
and pulling myself out of a deep, deep depression-
Slowly but surely.

I always say it has to get worse before it gets better.

02:58 am - When you're never here.

When I never see you
and you're never here.

When sleeping next to each other
counts as quality time.

When six months
makes us too comfortable.

When I'm pulling away
and all the comfort rests in you.

When you tell me that we can work it out
you love me, and it will get better.

When we get a rabbit
and you're not here for it.

When you call your cousin
to ask her to hang out with me.

When I try to talk to you about this
and all you can do is yell at me about socks and my resume - and how I never listen.

When I try to tell you my feelings
and all you do is argue and tell me how to fix it.

When I want to see you - it's our night,
and you ignore me and play video games.

When I cry myself to sleep.
When I am so miserable.
When all I can do is think about is something horrible.

When I can't find a job.
When we can't afford this apartment.

When I just want to leave you.
When I want to get out of America.

When I just feel like crying all the time.
When you're never here,
and nothing's right,
it's not how we used to be,
and you're not here.

... and you wonder why i'm upset.

11:49 pm - The worst thing EVER - getting my tonsils out.

Even before, I had heard people say the comforting phrase, "The older you get, the more it hurts." And then the other comforting words of, "Oh people get them out all the time. Especially children."

My doctor told me that it was going to hurt like hell, literally. He said he was going to give me perkaset, and automatically I freaked. I have a high tolerance because I basically take it every day for another condition I have. It's like a basic pain killer to me. And apparently if perkaset is supposed to kill "pain that hurts like hell," he was telling me that I was going to be in hell. And he gave me the liquid kind too.

The day before the surgery, I'm in a depressed mood, nervous as fuck and apparently no one has the perscription in stock. I'm scared. The hospital tells me that it doesn't exist?

That night I go out to a birthday party at a bar, and I eat and drink all I can until midnight. I'm not going to be able to for weeks.

The morning of, my boyfriend drives me to the hospital. I'm freaking out inside, and pre-op was 3 hours. It was supposed to be two. It was horrible having to take off my bracelet from Europe that I swore I would never take off. It was also horrible to get into that stupid hospital gown and headshit, when all they were dealing with was my mouth.

Well, at least the operating table was heated - the room was cold as hell. I fought the asnesthesia as hard as I could, trying to keep a clear mind and answer the Doctors stupid small talk questions. The last thing I remember was them telling me they were giving me some oxygen and me breathing in from that mask - but I believe it wasn't just oxygen because then I woke up.

I didn't really wake up, because I don't remember it. I remember grabbing things. I remember seeing blury things, and the woman in the bed across from me looked so so scary. But I was told that right when they woke me up, I started to yell and moan, "No... no.... no!" and pull at my oxygen mask and IV. I was in a frenzy, screaming, and they couldn't calm me down. I don't remember any of this. They had to hold me down and eventually gave me three shots of something that starts with a D (Diladin, Demoral?), and then wheeled me out of the room back into mine because I was scaring patients, lol. They then gave me a shot of Perkaset, and I went in and out of unconcious... for like 3 hours.

(Don't remember) My boyfriend says that during that time they tried to have my sign a paper with post-op instructions, which I couldn't because of my state, and on the paper it clearly says not to sign any legal or business documents! He helped me get dressed, and I made a big deal of getting my jeans into the boots just right. The surgeon came in and talked to us (mainly him) about care... and I can't remember what else they told me what happened. He told me that when they wheeled me into the room I was wailing and I sounded angry and pitiful.

That first day I wasn't in much pain, which was nice. The first two days my boyfriend was there for me, I just don't remember it much. The third day, apparently I was at my parents house and slept a lot. I found out that almost everything hurts to swallow. It even hurts to swallow nothing. It creates a shudder of pain, and only pain killers take away that. Otherwise I was reluctant to swallow.

Only water and any sort of ice cream that is non acidic doesn't hurt to eat and drink. At first pudding was ok. I hate jello. So it was pudding, ice cream, water. Pudding, ice cream, water.
I found out the hard way that gatorade hurts like hell and makes me cry. I wanted protein. Lunch meat = BAD IDEA.

The pain started to get a bit worse, and the perkaset wasn't really doing it's job. My friend came over one day, and we watched movies. She made me some amazing mac n cheese, I tried to eat it. Didn't work. I eventually ate it when the pain killers kicked in, and let it burn. I wanted real food. It hurt so bad. I called my docter he put in a perscription for Demoral. I found out that it does absolutely nothing.

You shoud see my freezer, there is so much ice cream in there. My boyfriend made the mistake of buying fruity popsicles and weird orange sorbet things... I would eat them if I could. If I did I'd probably burn a hole through my neck.
I'm so sick of sweet things right now.

I had almost run out of pain killers by day 5, and by that day I was actually convinced I was going to get better. When the pain killers kick in, the feirce burning blinding pain goes away a tiny, small, miniscule bit. Just enough to swallow without a shudder of pain going through my whole body, and enough to get something into my stomach. By this day I was craving meat. My dad cooked up some ground beef, and I ate a litle bit despite the pain.

The 6th day, I woke up hurting like hell. I felt like knives were in my ears, and if I breathed hard enough I could spout some fire. I followed the directions and doped myself up every 4 hours. My friend came over, and I went with her to see a movie. I randomly decided that Taco Bell would amazing - and then started to die during the movie. The movie, My Bloody Valentine 3D, was not worth this trouble... or them making the movie, btw. I went home early, feeling even worse.

The 7th day, was the worst day i've ever felt in my life. More knives in the ears, pain well into my neck and jaw, my head hurt and I could barely talk. My tongue was was swollen, and I could barely drink or get anything down. Every time I swallowed I was get the pain shudder and water would go up my nose. I tried getting a hold of the doctor, as well as my dad.
Around 6pm some random asshole doctor calls me, telling me this is normal, take the pain, feel better, i'm doctor.
It was then when I just broke down, started to cry hysterically .... and then I felt something dripping down my throat. I asked my boyfriend if he could get some napkins... and then I started spitting up blood.

He took me to the ER and they said that around a couple days after the surgery the wounds start to heal, and sometimes they can break and bleed - aka, post operative bleeding or hemorraging. Most of the time caused by not drinking enough, which I need to do, and keeping the wounds wet. Gross.
I told them, well I can't drink or swallow because i'm so much pain. They gave me more perkaset. Joy.

And the nurse was like, "Oh the tonsils... most painful surgery. The older you get-"
"The more fucking painful it is," I interupted her.
Why do they ALWAYS say that? It's not comforting.

Yesterday hurt like hell. Today hurt like hell. Tomorrow will hurt like hell. When will this end?

My boyfriend won't do the dishes, icepacks never stay cold long enough, I hate food, I hate all liquid, painkillers suck, and why does every friend of my boyfriends feel the need to come over here every night and drink then crash? I hope I don't get an infection. (Other thing on post-op directions, don't go around people as to avoid infections).

To sum it up: this sucks, SO, so bad.





 

08:40 pm - kisses and jaun

He threw me down on the bed
And kissed me all over.
My head, neck
slowly, both arms,
chest,
working his way down,
my legs, feet,
worshiping me-
not sexually, but just
letting me know that he
loves every inch.

He forgot a spot
and kissed it too.

He held me
and told me
that we need designated cuddle time
every day.

No argument.

In bed he told me that he
Doesn't know how to express
How much he loves me,
Because it's more that love.

I joked,
"Crazy stalker obsessed love?"
He laughed, "Well, I know where you live."
"Hmmm. Right. Well, I know you where you sleep!"
He looked at me and started laughing,
"I know. It's because you can't sleep!"

08:28 pm - Advice to a Girl - by Sarah Teasdale

Sarah, born in 1884 to a wealthy family, had a love for poetry. Her first volume was published in 1907.
She fell in love with with Vachel Lindsay, the father of lyrical poetry, in 1913, and wrote him daily love letters. It was not to be. Lindsay was broke and Sarah was a product of conservative upbringing. In 1914 she was married to a businessman, Ernst Filsinger, while remaining lifelong friends with Lindsey.
Lindsay committed suicide in 1931, and Teasdale followed him in 1933.
She won the Pulitzer in 1918 for this poem, about Lindsey.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I love this poem, because it's true.
I love it, because it makes sense, and it's advice every woman should have.
(This is for my friend V.S.S.)
Advice to a Girl

No one worth possessing,
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My angry young dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long, and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing,
Can be quite possessed.

02:06 pm - moving, food, housewifes.

We're moving in together.
All that's left is my bed,
dresser, couch, bookshelf,
table, clothes and some random things.
One more month of rent
and half a Comcast bill.

I auditioned for my first show,
didn't get it.
But I have no work.
Soon the checks will stop coming for a bit.
There is no work for the holiday season,
and it's slowly starting again,
but only 2 gigs for January,
ouch.

I'm the perfect housewife.
I clean, cook, organize,
know where everything is,
do laundry, make the bed,
decorate and am naked all the time.
We went to Boston for a wedding.
We looked like a prom picture.

I bought my first gun, it's tiny, cute.
He started working again.
I started losing again.
My dad is in Las Vegas.
I may have a commercial.

We went out to eat at a nice place,
barely said much.
His steak was 1 kilo and bland,
and the pear salad was amazing.
My noodles were too rich and cheesy,
my wine was overly sweet.
His scotch was on the house and so good.
I found plastic in the Nico,
the tiramisu was so-so.
I held down maybe half.
I gained 2lbs.

My friends are in self-drama,
and I am feeling a bit worthless today,
sore, displaced, and uncertain.

03:12 pm - Death, love, and fat.

A. calls me telling me she's going to be late,
because V's mom died, and she's in denial and avoiding.
What the fuck would someone ever do if their mom died?

__________________________________________

He and I got into our first fight, 5-6 months down the road.
I think that's pretty good.
We're talking about moving in together,
because i'm basically living there
and paying for my apt that i'm never at.

He's gotten fat, and i've gained weight,
but apparently that's a sign of
love and happiness.
I just don't want to lose my job.
I'm hanging at strings, gently.

04:18 am - "No no, you're the best. I love you."

He wakes me up
when he leaves for work
with - "You're the best."

He holds me
and tells me that "You're perfect...
just the way you are."

He kisses my fingers,
my everything
and tells me, "You're so awesome."

He runs his fingers over me
and tells me, "I'm surprised... we spend so much time
together, and not once since the beginning
have I been annoyed or sick of you."
Same.

He'll grab me and cuddle,
or randomly kiss me,
and say, "I am so heels over head in love with you."

I am so fallen for him.
Positive reinforcement everyday -
and the best sex of my life.

I no longer question what's between us,
or what's going on.
I just... know that they are.
Oh boy.



(us in NYC)

11:04 pm - it's starting.

again.
when is my worry ever at rest?
apparently I love this game.
like that bubble in my throat
and ache in my chest.
the time spent hurting myself.

I don't know what to say.
To him, to me.
It's so perfect.
I am such a woman.
Tending to him, manliness.
He is pockets deep,
being everything I wanted.
Why fuck it up?

Why do I flirt
with the hot guys at work?
Why do I never express
my upset feelings?
Why do I never tell him
anything,
without fear, worry, etc.
Peter killed my communication
years ago,
with telling me to deal with it.

I get looked at by every man.
And he tells me,
"You're so out of my league."
But when will anyone find
a man with a good heart/head?


I have nothing else to say.

05:42 pm - new york, new york.

He got a hotel room
at Hotel Bellaclaire -
New York City,
beautiful and modern.
Short stroll to Times Square.

He bought everything.
We told each other
so many deep things,
and I finally confessed to him
my deep dark secret
which he already knew.

Me drunk as nuts,
he cuddles me close
to tell me
that he is falling heels over head
in love with me.
Because head over heels isn't right.

I couldn't say it back,
until morning,
but I wrote it.
Now I say it.

02:25 am - gay for him, there can only be one.

I am so gay for him.

------------------------------

I tell him my shirt is snug,
the fitted one from promotions,
and that I need to eat healthy.

He says, "ohhhh noes,"
and tells me
i'm so beautiful.

Words from him
i've never heard from any man,
made me cry.

We can walk through the woods
at night, completely dark.
Holding hands, blind,
we find light and he says,
"Stand this way, so I can
see how beautiful you are."

I stammer and don't know.
The 'idunnos' come up,
those blank looks and denials-
but we grab hands and
keep walking back.

I tell him he's so awesome,
and he says, "No you're awesom-er,
there can only be one."
I tell him he's the best,
and he said, "No, there can only be one."

I the 'idunnos' fade.
There can only be one.

02:22 pm - Success, boyfriend, and chest worthy things.

I feel like as I become more successful, I lose more friends.
Back on tour tomorrow, long nights.
Photoshoot today,
and I wish I just stayed in his bed all day till he came home from work.

I make his bed when I leave,
like a little "Thank you for letting me sleep in, and sleep here."
He said, "I find it so cute you make my bed... you're so nice, you know you don't have to."
So I contemplated not making the bed this morning.
But I still wanted to say thank you, so I did.

My chest is still hurting,
blood work, EKGs, and CT scans,
one drug to the next,
I'm getting used to going to the Dr's every week.
I just wish that something would fix it instead of
making my body forget about it.
But painkillers are nice.
I hate that no one can hug me hard,
I can't use my right arm much,
and I can't exercise.
I hate that I can't get excited,
but I won't refuse good sex.

01:43 pm

hello 5-6lbs.
hello white pants.
hello Dave.

My life is filled with work = motorcycles and drunk men,
and it is a toxic combination.

My mother says, "Eat light, eat light."

I travel between two places,
and it's good to be in one.

I fell in love with junk food.

12:56 am - Pleurisy and Goodbyes.

I gave you up, my forever cuddle buddy.
All my strength and courage

my waiting for you
my love

finally

no more jealous
anger

no more nights
no more cuddles

no more using me as a fuck toy

no more pretending that it's more.
no more pretending that you care.
pretend friends,
that our kisses are forever something special.
you care for me,
and there aren't 10 other girls.
pretend lovers.

I said goodbye,
and we aren't just friends-
and I lost a part of my heart
because I tried to wait for you to come around.
-------------------------------------------------------------

my chest hurts again,
after a week of being better.
pleurisy keeps me in bed
on the couch
with books and movies
barely moving and talking
it ruins and depresses.
paxil makes me perfect.
vicoden makes me numb.
mobic doesn't do anything.
i want to be better.

04:12 pm - problems with my cuddle buddy and crazy women.

The moment I saw her I knew.
Her face-
stern, cold, like she was trying.
She purposely tried to piss me off.
Public affection - hanging on to you.

Doesn't she know we fuck?
You say she does,
and that this was how she reacts in defense.

She treated you like a
show off accessory -
and my chest ached.
It looked like a real relationship,
on a date-
yet forced by her -

putting her phone in your pocket, you wearing her grandfathers shirt you had to promise never to stain, her talking about meeting your parents that I never have, her putting main profile pictures up of you two on facebook...

I threw a well warranted
yet hypocritical hissy fit
outside the bar.
We told each other how it
was.
He's going to talk with her.
All I could really say was,
"During sex, less kissing."
He gets what I mean.

12:59 am

I think I want to join the peacecorps.

05:26 pm - chesty.

It's a pain in the chest.

It's a gnawing.

It's a burning.

It's a uncomfortable feeling.

Like I won't be comfortable if I stay in one place, or more to another.

I convince myself to stay put.

Eventually, I leave, and feel comfortable.

Yet my chest still hurts.