awake but cannot open my eyes

It’s been a ridiculously stressful weekend so far.  I’m making a point for that not to happen today.  I woke up a lot later than I intended to, but I’m not too concerned about it.  I will make up the time.  Now I’m waiting for my suitemate to get out of the shower (she kind of cockblocked me from cleanliness) so that I can get in, then head over to one of the local coffeeshops to get some homework done.  Then later I’m off to Donovan’s.  I have a plan.

I’m having a hard time handling things right now.  I don’t know what’s up with that, but I’m really sick of it.  Any time that wants to go away would be super.  I’m just saying.

She took thirty minutes showering.  What is that like?  Goodness.  Gonna go get naked.


and then he was a she

Best thing I have heard today, spoken by my RA just now: ‘You’re not supposed to suck on the bag, Jojo!’

I’m almost through two weeks of school, which is both a thrilling and terrifying state of being.  Thrilling because it means that I only have a month left until Raisin is over and I can actually turn in assignment on time, and terrifying because it puts me ever closer to graduation and this frustrating, frightening thing I keep hearing about called ‘Adulthood’.  I’ll be 21 in August.  That seems kind of strange today for some reason.

A couple nights ago I went to Wal-Mart (it was late and I needed feminine necessities) and I invested in moisturizer for the first time in my life.  It really was an investment, too; that shit is crazy expensive.  It wasn’t something I really wanted to do: I have this odd fear of things like tampons and conditioner and other girly items that I’m forcing myself to become accommodated with, but the weather’s been so awful to my skin this winter and I really wasn’t keen on my face looking and feeling like my hands do.  So I bought moisturizer.  And I thought, ‘Wow.  I’m a girl.’

I don’t really think of myself as female.  I never have.  And I don’t think of myself as male, either, I just kind of think of myself in some sort of genderless, amorphic state that I usually just refer to as ‘me’.  I’ve never really enjoyed things that I hear girls are supposed to enjoy.  I don’t like to go out dancing or shopping for clothes and I don’t have manicures or facials or a whole closet full of shoes.  I’m not always comfortable with my body and when/if I’m having sex with a male person, I’m well aware of what is going on and how I’m involved in this.  So, yeah, I know, I have a vagina and could probably carry a child in my womb if you paid me enough.  I get that.  I’m not delusional.  That doesn’t mean I’m going to be completely comfortable with buying tampons and picking out prom dresses.

For the record, I asked my mum to make my prom dress specifically because I didn’t feel comfortable going shopping for one.  Take that, Von Maur.

I don’t really know where this is going.  I’m just shooting the shit right now.

I just wonder if this sort of thing happens to other people.  If one day you’re in the shop, buying food or clothes or soap or something, and all the sudden you become intensely aware of your gender and your age and your status in life and you have no idea how to feel about that.  I don’t know how I feel about being a ‘young woman’.  Or, more specifically, a ‘woman’.  I’ve never been a ‘woman’.  I never really wanted to be a ‘woman’.  It seemed like a kind of shoddy deal.  Maybe it’s because girls can’t make their genitals wave at people.

Of course, regardless of my gender, I still have to go to rehearsal today.

don’t go so fast, but i go pretty far

Today begins my last week in BTown.  I hung out with two toddlers this morning, playing hide-and-go-seek and witnessing some pretty epic battles with imaginary alligators.  I also taught a four-year-old to say ‘throw down’, which brought me a lot more joy than his parents are going to feel later today.

Last night was kind of rough.  You might have noticed that.  I’m feeling better today and am pushing for that positive outlook I keep talking about.  I’m going to be happy this year.  I will I will I will.

Currently, I am attempting to learn to drive a 5-speed.  This is proving to be a rather difficult venture.  When I was first learning to drive a car, my folks were of the opinion that it was the responsibility of my Driver’s Ed instructor to teach me how to drive.  This resulted in me having several panic attacks and flunking Behind the Wheel.  The reason?  Ms. Smith, my instructor (whom we all called ‘Mr. Smith’ due to her questionable gender identity), was unable to have a conversation with a person at a decibel lower than your average Metallica concert.  Now in a classroom, this wasn’t much of a problem (especially if you were like me and hid in the very back of the room), but in a Toyota Camry this tendency resulted in quite a bit of physical pain and an even greater amount of psychological distress.  And when I am psychologically distressed, Toyota Camrys (Camries?) are in a rather precarious position.

I feel that this lesson was not fully learned by my parents.  My arrival home brought with it a sudden need to clean the house.  This was swiftly followed by an entire week of up-chucking and questionable bowels.  Last week was a complete waste of time for reasons I don’t even recall, though my mother claims I spent half of the week in Chicago.  My mother, it seems, has problems with fractions (1/7 = 1/2.  Apparently.).  So now it is Sunday and I am leaving town on Thursday and the Kia’s tendency to go into third gear when you really would rather be in first gear is causing her considerable distress, and when my mother has considerable distress about the Kia, she starts bitching about my da.

And that is why I’m writing on WordPress.

I’m pretty sure that once I have neither one of my parents in the car with me and having an apoplexy, I will be perfectly fine, and I will arrive in Centralia with nought a scratch on my personage.  It’s just getting to that point that’s the issue right now.

In other news, Sam Shepard got arrested for driving while intoxicated in downtown BTown yesterday. I cannot wait to tell my playwrighting instructor.

i ain’t looking to fight with you

I was screwing around on my old blog, adding a piece I found to my poetry blog, and I discovered that Blogger has this function where people can ‘follow’ your blog. And I had a ‘follower’. And that follower was my ex-girlfriend.

I don’t know why, but I always get kind of freaked out when I find out that she’s keeping tabs on me.  It’s not like I never think about her or our relationship or shit like that, it’s just that I always feel very detached from the whole experience when I do.  After we broke up, I literally took damn-near everything I had of hers and put it in a box that I hid in the closet.  There are some things (CDs she gave me, a clock, and the hippie skirt) that are still hanging out in my room, but all of the notes and any original hard copies I have of shit I wrote for/with her are tucked away and collecting dust.

A few months after we had broken up (and right after I had sex for the first time with another person), we got together to discuss what had happened and What We Were Going To Do Now.  She’d been trying to re-establish contact in ways that I wasn’t comfortable with nor interested in and I thought, at the time, that we were being adults about the whole situation and it was a good thing.  She ended up giving me everything I ever gave her in a garbage bag and more or less told me that I had completely fucked up her life and I was never to talk to her again.

I went home after that and broke down crying in my mum’s arms.  Nothing had ever hurt like that before.  Nothing hurt like that again until last October when I spent the entire night crying hysterically on Matt P’s couch and wondering if I would ever be happy again.  That’s the kind of shit you never recover from, I think.  I definitely don’t think I’ve yet recovered from that awful April morning, and that was ages ago.

I had this really incredible moment this week.  I went up to Chicago Thursday night.  Randy picked me up from the train station and we went back to his apartment and watched Back to School in his room.  And we were just laying on his bed, laughing at Rodney Dangerfield and Robert Downey Jr., and everything felt right, you know?  Everything was just as it was.  And I knew that we, Randy and I, were going to be okay.  We were going to be together for the rest of our lives because that’s just kind of how G-d intended it to be.  And all of the bullshit that’s happened over the past year or so — the breaking up and the confusion and the fighting and the fucking around and the finding someone new — all of that put Randy and me right where we should be.  And now I have this person who is one of my very, very best friends, who I can tell anything to and who can do the same to me.  And it’s perfect.

And I was so relieved.  And so happy.  And for one of those very brief moments that happen to me once every ten years or so, I felt like maybe I was doing something right after all.  That maybe I wasn’t as big of a fuck-up as I feel like I am most days.  All of the worry and the clutter and the frustrated tears just sort of fell away and I just laughed at Rodney Dangerfield and poked Randy in the belly and it was okay.  Everything was okay.

I wish moments like that happened more often.  But I’m thankful for the ones that do.