Monday, September 17, 2001
Carson's car wouldn't start after he parked it the night he went out. He walked a long way home and didn't get in until about 3am. We were discouraged by this, because we thought the ignition cylinder being replaced was all that was needed. We thought maybe the alternator wasn't charging the battery enough, so we borrowed Ken's jumper cables. Started up with one jump. I was so relieved. He had parked it in a metered spot and we needed to move it regardless. So it would seem that he will be able to make up his drill right before he flies out for his Egypt tour for 3 weeks. I will miss him, as I did when he left for Wisconsin, but as I hope to FINALLY get into my apartment, I will appreciate the time to myself to enjoy my new home. As usual, I overspend myself because I treated myself to things. Where once I had the $150 put aside for my CCCS (Consumer Credit Counseling Services) for this month, now I will have to dip into that if my refund check doesn't come this week. The usual. Regardless, though, Ken will get $100 to start. That's a priority.
Mike made it home ok, finally, after many delays coming back into the US from his vacation with his folks. Today is the first day back on my regimen of jogging and overall exercise. I am gaining weight, and among the usual frustrations, this is equally depressing. Also, I didn't get to submit that story I'd been putting off for months. Serves me right, though, as I didn't have a suitable writing space no matter how helpful Carson was. I just couldn't get back into it.
I met up with Sheri on Saturday for a few hours and talked about the last week's events. Being French and in a family of missionaries, she has a different take on the politics on what has happened. This is, she said, the first time that France and other countries flew American flags and commemorated something that happened here. I have my reservations about why this is, and what the motives are for many involved in this besides peace from future attacks. Aside from that, it was good to see her. I miss her being just across the hall.
Saturday night, I made dinner for Ken and I, a dish called Basil Chicken in a Curry Coconut Sauce. It WAS delicious. Even Carson, who doesn't like the taste of coconuts, liked the dish. We tried to get Suzy and Bryan to come, but they were worn out from working or had to work. I'd like to do that more frequently, just get together and share a meal. This is one of the reasons I am excited to get into my place, so I can actually cook.
-- 11:02 AM
Saturday, September 15, 2001
I bought myself a new pair of running shoes and treated myself to a fill at a real nail salon. It was a little more expensive but it was really worth it. The lady was so nice and I got a really neat paint job, two shades of sparkley red, like the ruby red slippers. I overspent myself of course, but as usual I run my life on a shoestring. Carson went out tonight so that I could, if I tried, write tonight. Didn't happen. Sat up talking instead. Talked to Rosie about beliefs and Facty about dreams. It was alll really neat, actually. I knew that story wasn't going to come out of me, but I think it will, someday.
Carson's friend Max may come for a visit tomorrow. It will be good for him to see his friend. I think we all need to see our friends this week.
I am tired. There will be more, later.
-- 2:09 AM
Wednesday, September 12, 2001
We watched it all on TV yesterday, still in shock as both World Trade Center towers collapsed. For the first time, a national crisis occured and I knew people who were affected. Evonne works a block away from the Capitol building, and was evacuated within an hour of talking to her online. Since her old number is, well, old, I can't tell if she's ok. I know of about six people in NYC that I worried for until they were accounted. One of my friends in Florida waits to see if his best friend, who works at the Trade Center has come out alive. Two things that upset me the most were the movie/media references in hype by those who were reeling in the aftermath and the incredible heartlessness from the reporters on the scene. The reporters were, despite the tragedy, were once again more concerned about the blood and guts than about documenting an event well and then leaving it alone. Numerous times I saw a microphone being pushed into faces of people who had just survived the collapse of two of the tallest buildings in the world. "Did you see bloody and damaged people? What were the reactions of those around you? Was there a panic. How were people getting out?" One woman, who had survived through the other World Trade Center bombing, responded to reporters as she walked, barefoot, through a blizzard of ash. "You want blood?" she asked, holding up her skirt to revel her cut knee. Yes, ma'am, they indeed want blood. The tragedy of this is not enough. We need the carnage, because the people will watch it. I don't know who is more sick and deranged, the news teams for trying to see how long they can keep up glued to the screen with repetitious and looping statistics, or the cows we are for wasting an entire day watching it from the safety of other cities, spouting factoids and percentages like these weren't other humans jumping from a 110 story building to their death right before it collapse on top of them.
And then there were the people calling this World War III, calling this the end scene in Fight Club. This is grief turned quickly to anger. As much as this is a sad and cruel event, I am pretty sure that our president is lapping this up. He always seemed ready to fight anyone, and this is more than giving him oppurtunity to look good, because, you see, they struck us first. Not that we motivated them or anything, not like we're not going to be attacked by terrorists. We are seeing in our own country what is going on in countries all over the world, all the time. Usually, though, they do not have 110 story buildings. They are not world powers with a knack for getting into everyone else's business.
I am not saying I am grieved. I am. This is, on our soil, the greatest modern tragedy I have seen in my lifetime. However, I do not think that every reaction to the situation is right, just, or permissable. And it does not mean that justice will prevail. Nothing is guaranteed as much as it is valuable in the public eye.
-- 8:12 AM
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
Adam Purcell is dead today. Lasted four more days. Dead. I can't even begin to tell you.-- 12:36 AM
Saturday, September 08, 2001
I have the mint julep mask on again. I am writing about the ownership of time. I am beginning all the endings for everyone else. Went out for breakfast. A brief storm and I had to put the headlights on. We went to the library. Carson got about 5 books to my one. Hours later, after I had taken a spot of time at the coffee shop catching up on Proverbs and learning for the first time that in house refills are free, I tried to head over to Sheri's to get my office chair because Carson's chairs are weak and spindly. No juice. Left the lights on. Waited for kind Ken to come and give me a jump. We only left again to get Taco Bell, then to return and read more. Each weekend alone with Carson, while we're both broke and I am not working weekends, is like a little honeymoon, a small island consisting of a bed, a rumple of clothes on one side and a stack of CDs on the other. We are floating on an unstable raft above our issues.
On my way back from Sheri's, I swung by what will someday be my apartment. The boards were still over the doors and windows, but now panes of glass and doors peeked from behind them. I called the landlord on Friday, but thankfully she did not return my call. All I have to do is just stretch it out until I get paid next Friday, provided I can get the utilities on and all. If that happens, I will be moving in next weekend. It's about damn time.
-- 9:10 PM
I am full of single lines and unfinished stories. I am incomplete and never ending. I feel like a failure but people keep urging me to hope. What if I told you that I am thinking maybe God is telling me, through all my recent trials, to be a writer? Yeah, that's what I'd think too.Carson can read my mind. He offered to go out with Ken for the night and leave me to the computer. I can't bear to tell him that his chair is too hard, that the monitor is too far away, that I got little done. I began something, but do not like how it will turn out.
Again Richard tells me I cannot work; his wife just got back from surgery. I may be able to work Sunday. I feel like grabbing him and screaming, "Don't you get it? I need a second job! I can't eat, you fat bastard!" But I don't. Carson can help me get through one more day. Everything seems one more day further away than I can reach.
Thank you, Bruce, for your email. You are one of the people that gives me hope, reminds me that I'm not just spraying my guts on the wall, that it's not just an echo in my head.
-- 1:39 AM
Thursday, September 06, 2001
I have told you for over year that I am tired, that I am broke, that I am worn out. I guess I've realized how long that can go on, being tired, broke and worn down, and never really thinking of stopping. That it can just, become who you are. I mean, if people can stay in abusive relationships or live for years in depression, then I can stay the same too. Adam made me think of all the things that are weighing on me right now, and I guess I wanted to just mention them.I phoned in my 3rd forbearance today. Now I will be loan payment free for the rest of this year into next year. I know how quickly that time will pass. I have a $179 ticket for running a red light that I still haven't paid yet, and when I get my refund, I need to give most of it to Ken, to whom I owe $400, but I have all these needs. I need to buy my flight home for Christmas, way ahead of time. I need to pay that ticket. Being between apartments right now is not helping. While Carson's being really cool about the whole thing, it is hard for me to not have my own space. I want to scream and break things. I haven't been running in two weeks. I can feel myself gaining weight. I am eating horrible foods. I have no money. Carson's car won't start. He has no money. I am tired of being so broke, worn out, and tired of trying to make all this shit work.
And yet, I know most of this is reversible. With some effort, I can clean up my life. I just don't feel like it today, and that's the beginning of the depression.
-- 3:14 PM
Today, my friend Adam intended to end his life. I had just spoken to him on the phone yesterday. I thought that my contact with him today would be some of his last contact before he did it. He called me to state that he was unable to do it, that he couldn't go through with it. The sad thing was, at the time, I had no real suggestions that would help at all. I have so little hope myself these days. I cannot pull someone out of a depression. I can only be one person, not the world. Once I tried to do this. My ex, when we were young and stupid college students, was at this stage briefly. I asked him, "If I am here every morning when you wake up, will you not kill yourself?" He nodded. I said, "Well, then I'll be here every morning."Now, that was dumb, and pompous, but for that moment, it worked. It got him to back away from the ledge, so to speak. Now he's married to someone else and happy, from what I've been told. I don't attiribute anything I did or said to his life now, but all I can say is that I was willing to do maybe more than was suggested at the time.
There are all these things I want to tell Adam, suggestions mostly, because I think I can solve problems. I also want to tell him how much it means that he stay alive, for any other reasons than selfish ones: because I'm not killing myself, because I have to stick it out too, dammit, and because I need my friends.
-- 12:06 PM
Sunday, September 02, 2001
You know what heaven is on earth for me? Being able to pay my bills and have money left over. I again didn't have to work this weekend, and so I ran errands on Saturday morning. I woke up at 6:30 for some reason and couldn't get back to sleep. I paid my electric bill and hung around in front of the nail salon I go to for it to open. I bought a Rolling Stone magazine and some coffee. Went out to pick up a perscription and got a duplicate key made for Carson's car. It wouldn't start again Friday and it was still parked at the lot at work. While in Metairie, I treated myself to a meal at Denny's. It was the most relaxing time of the day. I for once had time to myself that no one was asking me to do anything. The food took a long time, but I didn't care. I was contently reading, smoking and having coffee. I sat at the bar and watched the waitresses scuttle back and forth in their new style, brightly colored uniform shirts that nowadays resemble bowling shirts. I remember that pace, that waiting at the expeditor's counter for the food to come up, the complaining when it was wrong. I sat back and smiled to myself. As usual, everyone was out on Veterans Blvd, driving to this weekend activity or anothe. I drove away happy and thinking how easy it is to be happy in moments like that, how simple and yet how difficult it is. Just....calm. When I am allowed some time to myself, I am able to stop thinking about myself and my own problems and about things more important, more interesting, than my own obsessions. I thought about bands and the burden fame often puts on them (the issue of Rolling Stone I had talked about Nirvana's ten year anniversairy of Nevermind) and how flawed the system of fame is, but that we are too powerless against it. I also read an interview of Rivers Cuomo and how he seems to be the center of his own universe. The guy who interviewed Rivers depicted him as a child in a candy store, and I thought, well no wonder. He doesn't approve of his band mates doing side projects, he writes all the songs, acts as the band's manager, and pretty much seem to have sole control over the band, creatively. I may be way off, but if that is the case, I can see WHY he would be happy. I mean, who wouldn't? I know it's a lot of work, but there is that satisfaction that everything is as you want it. The cheesiest part of the interview was when Rivers goes to two different clubs in the course of a night and says to both doorpersons: "Um, I'm in Weezer." I just thought that was so lame. He's still a hotty though.
I managed to get Carson's car started and drove it back to his place so he could take me back to get my car. We believe the lock cylinder just needs to be replaced, but it was a relief that I was able to get it back to his place, at least. We goofed at his place for the rest of the day. I made mix tapes for noders and he worked on his computer. We rented movies, got a 12 pack of Dixie, and stopped by Subway on the way home. Very relaxing and lazy. For once, it was nice not to worry about money, to actually have some spare cash to do something fun. It's unreal how alien I feel in moments like that.
I have officially advertised for a noder gathering on E2 for the weekend of the Voodoo Music Festival, and I've gotten a really good response so far. While I am excited, I'm nervous, because I want everyone to have a good time and I want to have room for everyone. I am such the nervy host. I guess it's also because I've never been popular and seldom ever had people over to my place that while it's flattering and exciting, it's terrifying too. I doubt myself so much in this area. I'm sure it the end, it will be ok.
-- 11:47 AM
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This site is devoted to my manic writings. My daily thoughts finally have a home that others can view, so it is my closest thing to a visible stage on which to strut my subconscious stuff in my world of limited funds and time.
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