No fireworks to show

Ok, I can't take pictures of fireworks worth shit. I had the idea of displaying them on my blog from the view outside of my apartment. I don't know what the big deal is, or why I wanted to take pictures of it anyway. We all know what fireworks look like. The best part of the evening was talking to some random older guy who wished he could have taken his 11 year old daughter along to see the fireworks. Sad and lonely, he goes by himself. I can't befriend anyone for very long...It only lasts a moment, then it's over. I willingly let it go. If I didn't I'd be clinging for dear life to something that barely exists, and later regretting the sad spectacle I made of myself. I know what that's like already. I think I'll just skip it this time.

Robin and Isabelle

Not everything is about Merlin.

Things I've been thinking lately

Other than posting pictures of my new cat, I've been at a loss about what to blog about. I was without a keyboard for a few days, and although I was working on some poetry in my notebook, it never really went anywhere. Now I'm back. I'm online. I'm blogging, and I feel creatively dead. I need to get rolling again. I have no prose or poetry to share, but I thought maybe I could make a list. An honest list of things I've been thinking about lately. Some of the thoughts may be stupid, or absurd and most definatley self absorbed, but my goal is just to be honest. I have to be honest if I'm ever going to be a real writer, and the thought of that terrifies me.

1.My thighs are fat.
2.I can't relate to women (other than my friend Jen).
3.I'm always afraid people are going to judge me.
4.I'm jealous of my friends' girlfriends even though I'm married.
5.I never want to have children, and I felt really left out of the rest of the world because of that.
6.I fear I will never become much of anything.
7.I never have people over because I'm ashamed of my housekeeping (or lack of it)
8.Sometimes I think I'm gay.
9.Sometimes I'm sure I'm completely straight.
10.I fear that I will never have anyone get really close to me other than my husband because the process of becoming comfortable around another human being takes too long.
11.I treat people as if they are disposable, and then get nostalgic about them later.
12.I'm afraid to talk about sex (other than with my husband).
13.I'm not as smart as I like to seem.
14.If I had any real courage or discipline, I'd be a musician.
15.Drug addicts and people who have committed suicide fascinate me.
16.I know suicide isn't the answer. Nothing is the answer.
17.The answer is to stop looking for the answer.
18.I'm not really that depressed.

Dead to the World

This is Merlin sleeping. He's a total nut.

More Merlin

My mom gave me $100 for taking care of things around the house while they were away, so we decided to buy a digital camera. It's nothing fancy, but it suits us just fine. Now I can post more Merlin pictures, as promised. I didn't use a flash on this one due to the mirror in the background. You can see my reflection on the right.

I can't type

Sometimes this thing happens to me where it feels like I am completely removed from my body. I call it "fuzzing out" because everything looks fuzzy when it happens. It's really difficult to shop for groceries while fuzzing out. I couldn't even focus on the list.

They say depression is an illness. A chemical imbalance in the brain. I wish I could believe this. If I could I might not feel so bad about having depression, but as it is, part of me has always believed that depression is just an excuse. I think that's what people like my father believe. People who get up and go to work each day no matter what. No excuses. No sick days.

The truth is, most of the time I think depression is a form of clarity. A glimpse of the true nature of things. There's nothing chemically wrong with people who are depressed; We are simply able to recognize the pointlessness of our own lives. We are overwhelmed with the insignificance of it all.

I know there are things that make it seem worthwhile. People I love, writing, singing, my cats, beautiful summer days.

What I can't stand is the daily grind of life. I can't get up each day and go to work, only to come home again, relieved that work is done for the day, only to return again tomorrow, and the next day, until the weekend comes and goes and the whole thing starts all over again. What's the point? To pay the bills, of course. We exist to work and pay bills to keep ourselves from drowning in debt. What fun.

I think I admire my Dad more than anyone else in the world. He has a traditional staunch German work ethic. If you're feeling grim about your life, you pick yourself up by your bootstraps and carry on. Is it a disease that this attitude was not instilled in me? Will taking a pill provide me with a work ethic? Every anti-depressant I've taken has made me want to throw myself off of a bridge (even more so than before). I'd rather feel my life as it is. I'd rather just feel my life.

It's ironic, if I didn't have depression I'm sure I would have finished college by now, and maybe I'd be doing something that I really enjoyed and I wouldn't be depressed anymore. It's like the question could only be answered if it didn't exist.

Not a gardener

My parents are in Oregon for the week. I dropped them off at the airport shortly after dawn yesterday morning. While they're gone, my mom has left me in charge of watering her plants. She has quite a lot of plants. Tending to her gardens has led me to discover something very important about myself; I don't like garden hoses. They don't cooperate. I think it would be easier to fill a pitcher with water and run back and forth from the hose to the plants than to attempt dragging that hose around the yard again. I know using a hose sounds simple enough, but if there's anyone who isn't a gardener, it's me.

I still have to water the indoor plants.

Don't worry, I'll leave the hose outside.

Kickball

When we were kids we played kickball
in my parents' back yard
with those cheap plastic balls
you see in bins at grocery stores.

First base was a pine tree
(or a branch that it held)
We were both overcome
with some odd allergy.

And second was a spot
on the side of the pool
that always seemed to move
(and change all the rules)

Third base was usually
something unknown,
like a chair, or a stone,
or a red-headed gnome.

And home was between
the old apple tree,
and the bushes that always
flowered in spring.

This yard is still our kickball field.

Only now there's a garden
on the pitcher's mound,
and first base is a monster
taking over the town.

(Yes, even our ghost men have grown.)

The pool is now rusting
its way to extinct,
And that old apple tree,
that once marked home for me,
was cut down a long time ago.

(fat) bastard Haiku

A circle of fat surrounds me
And everyone says I’m thin.
I’m not sure what to believe.

Pizza

Tonight was the testing party at Fresche, the new pizza restaurant that my bosses are opening. Quite overwhelming. I knew about a fourth of the people there, if even. The food was good. I stopped in the kitchen and said hi to Vasyl. His garlic pizza is a new favorite of mine.

Next week Tuesday I get to open and run the place I work at while my manager is away. Just when I thought everything was getting mundane at work, I have new things to learn. How perfect.

music

Nik just introduced me to a new band called the Bravery. I like them. It's kind of like the Zutons combined with the Cure, but still unique. Very high energy.

Jealousy

Angered by the sight
of my white visitor
you are grey in your rage
and I can't say I blame you.

Well, Duh

Autopsy reports have confirmed that Terry Shiavo really was irreversibly brain dead. Gee, what a surprise.

Apparently, she was also blind. It's a good thing she couldn't see what a spectacle everyone made of her, and even if she could have, she wouldn't have been able to comprehended it.

"Pardon Me" Revision

I found this poem on my old site when I googled myself with my maiden name. I always thought that this poem really sucked, I think I was about 19 when I wrote it, so if it seems juvenile, it's because it is (not that my current poetry isn't). Here is the original poem. I've been tampering with it to try to make it into something good.

Pardon me for being depressed,
underdressed and unimpressed.
I must confess I'm not your dream girl.
I don't live in that world.

Pardon me for not doing my best,
And for drinking myself to death.
It's so much fun though - can't you tell?
Can't you smell my happiness?

Pardon me for causing you stress,
For making a mess and not cleaning it up,
For passing out on the bathroom floor,
Pardon me for wanting more.

The beginning of the week

It's late and I should be in bed. My work week begins tomorrow. I may suffer. I've spent the whole weekend feeling exhausted. Last night was the only time I felt I got any real rest. I'm not really complaining, I've been kind of digging the half asleep reality of my world, but I think full consciousness may be required to get through the week.

All Applied

I finally applied to UW Milwaukee yesterday. The whole process took a really long time. I'm dying to go back to school. I thought Alverno would be different than it is. I don't have any unrealistic expectations about UWM. I'm just going to get out of it what I can. Right now my chosen major is English with a focus on creative writing. Will it change again? Probably. I can't abandon Philosphy.

quote

"I couldn't stop to buy you water - I had to poop."

I'm changing my mind again

I don't think I want to be a journalist anymore. I think I want to study creative writing, however impractical. Perhaps I'll double major in Creative Writing and Philosophy, that way I could be twice as impractical.

Dread

I am scared of winter
my own private noose
the bleak blank reality
of a season's abuse.
Each year I get lost
in the white excuse.

I am scared of winter
and it's only June.

Bored Ukrainian

I know in this moment
I should have something to say,
something clever
or obvious
or descriptive
or sensitive...

something pointless
or honest
or fun.

"What do you like to do for fun?" he asks.

And I really don't know.

He makes fun of the way
Americans say "really?"
As if we somehow disbelieve
what we've just been told.

Sometimes I think being with him is fun.

"Really?" he wonders.

And I know this whole time
I've actually been lying,
I'm just not quite sure to whom.

Socially Alive

It seems as though declaring myself socially dead has somehow led to a dramatic increase in social activity. People are calling, things are happening, and I'm just going with it.

For a minute there I felt like a freak who didn't deserve to have any friends, but I'm starting to realize my friends still like me, freak and all. Where do my ridiculous abandonment issues come from? I suppose it doesn't really matter. What matters is that they are indeed ridiculous.

Hi Mark!

This is a picture of my friend Mark that I cropped out from a larger photo taken at my wedding. Much to Mark's confusion, all of my previous references to "Mark" on this blog have not been about him, but someone else named Mark.

I'd tell you about Danny but Mark is blocking him out of the picture.

On the other hand, the girl in the background with the cell phone is a bitch and had no business at my wedding. She sulked the whole time and picked apart one of my flowers as if it existed only for her amusement.

Why must innocent daisies suffer needlessly?

In case you forgot Mark, and to completely revert back to 11 years ago, You're awesome.

Impromptu Haiku

Nik and I went to the green space by our house last night and wrote some impromptu haiku while sitting on the grass. I've included most of them here, but I did change the order in which they were written.

Darkness is coming
many people are outside
we are among them

It's just a warning
in case you didn't notice
that big fucking curve

I feel like smoking
the thought of it makes me sick
but I still want to

They chirp in the trees
annoying little buggers
soon they will be dead

The clouds are pink
under a sliver of moon
and nothing matters

A World Full of Davids and Nates

We've been watching season 3 of Six Feet Under lately. It came out on video not too long ago, and since we can't afford to buy it yet, we rented it from Bucky's. I find this show very addictive, but the thing about being immersed in something addictive is that it makes the rest of my life seem really empty. Life isn't a TV series. Events are not compartmentalized in neat little hour long segments. It's just life. This is almost like the disappointed feeling I get after I've finished a good book.

I only first started watching Six Feet Under last October, when we checked out season one from the Library. My fragile mind was instantly caught up in the characters of the show. I remember going to a Halloween party with Jeremy, and thinking that everyone I met that night was named David or Nate. I'm sure it couldn't have been an entire party full of Davids and Nates, but at the time they seemed to be everywhere. Obviously, it was my brain trying to go wrong on me. I do not like admitting that I am susceptible to suggestion. I am determined not to be susceptible to suggestion, but sometimes my subconscious has other ideas.

More about dreams

I had another dream last night that I forgot about until Nik reminded me today. I was in a room full of computers, like a computer lab or something, and everyone was writing really personal things about their lives. For some reason, my mom was there, and she started lingering behind me and reading what I had written to the rest of the room. I was so angry at her for invading my privacy. When I woke up in the middle of the night Nik informed me that I had been screaming "I can't belive you would read that, especially out loud!".

It looks so trite
in black and white
whenever I write
about my life...

Even this poem is trite.

Do I have to?

I don't want to go to work today, but I have to. My job really isn't that bad. Most of the time I like it. There is a califlower soup today that I've been looking forward to.

There. I've put a positive spin on things.

I feel socially dead, and I think I mostly want to keep it that way. I just want to go to work and come home. When Nik isn't working, I can be with him, and when he is working, I can be alone. I actually really like being alone. The only social outlet I'm planning to keep is the Plato Reading Group that I go to. Right now we're reading the Republic. It's been a long time since I read that. I'm also thinking of joining a choir. The Methodist Chruch in my neighborhood has one that meets on Wednesday nights. I've been meaning to check that out for quite a while now. Whether I actually ever will or not, I haven't decided yet.

Ok, now I really do have to go to work.

Dream

I had a dream last night that my brothers and I were trying to drive a limousine down a really steep hill. After conquering the hill, we wanted to turn onto a busy street, but the traffic was relentless. The funny thing was, the traffic was grouped in large numbers of identical cars all going by at the same time, 40 Blue Mustangs followed by 50 Red Volkswagen Beetles, and so on.

I know there was more to the dream than that, but I've forgotten the rest.

Ok, where was I?

I'm viewing this weekend's events as a minor setback. I just need to pick up where I left off...work, poetry, taking care of myself. All is not lost.

What the hell am I doing awake? I'm going back to bed.

"You can't be Mark, and Mark can't be me."

It just happened...

I farted.

I thought I should tell you.

You may notice a smell soon.

I can't believe I'm posting this.

Scrabble results

I won, as predicted. 311 to 219.

We're going to play scrabble. I'm going to win.

And now I'm going to bed.

I'm going to take a bath now. I just thought everyone should know.

Smoking equals fun and excitement

Sometimes when I look through pictures of myself when I used to smoke I think about all the good times I had back then and it makes me want to start smoking again. Isn't that absurd? As if smoking will somehow recreate good times. The pictures don't show me constantly clearing my throat or the smell of my hair and my clothes back then. I never even cared at the time. I guess that's really what I miss...not caring. I know too much to go back to that now, and although I love learning, I always morn the loss of my ignorance. The main thing that keeps me from smoking again is having the freedom of not having to smoke. I never get frazzled from going too long without a cigarette. I never have to take smoke breaks at work. I never have to stop everything so that I can step outside for a minute. I never have to scrounge up change to see if I have enough for a pack.

Why is it that I miss smoking again?

I think I've been mistaking nostalgia for addiction.

This template is temporary under consideration. What do you think?

quote

"If you're not going to predict my future, I say you have no business in my cookie."

from mindless drivel

Reverse Haiku

My stomach cramps as I walk,
but I keep walking.
I'm hooked on potato chips.