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September 1st, 2013


02:54 pm - 6 Months
Today would have been our six month-iversary. It doesn't seem like much, especially considering we spent about half that time not together; however, I have noticed that the 6 month mark is usually the point when I know a relationship is doomed. Why, why, why not in this case?! I'm still just as crazy about him as ever. I still think about him excessively ever ynight before I fall asleep, and he's still usually the first thing to pop into my head when I wake up in the morning. It's not fair. Why can't he just feel the same way about me? I'm not so bad, I know I'm not. I might be a little crazy, but I'm harmless, and mostly nice! I keep feeling like there's something I can do, or something I could say, to change his mind. Is that really all it would take? Do I just have to perform the correct actions, or argue the right logic that convinces him? Oh I wish it were only that easy. And I wish I knew what the magic performance/argument was! I would do it without hesitation.
Current Mood: crazycrazy
Current Music: Pride and Prejudice soundtrack

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August 5th, 2012


06:34 am - F A I L U R E
  That's what I am and have become, a humongous, epic, walking failure. At work. In love. Every. Single. Aspect. of Life.
  I have no choice now but to give up, or give in as the case may be, and concede to move back to Ohio to start my life over. A fresh beginning, that's what I need. At least I don't have the urge to take my own life anymore. That's gotta be some kind of sign of maturity, or growth, or...something.
  All I want to do, all I feel like doing, the only thing I close my eyes and picture myself doing with any semblance of a sense of contentment, is play the piano. At first I would simply relearn all the songs I knew before. Then, I would add to my repetoire via new sheet music for songs that I'd like to know. Finally, perhaps I would begin to compose the thoughts on my mind and feelings in my soul.
  Most of my sentences thusfar have begun with the letter 'A'. I wonder if that's a subconscious appeal to "Allah" for help? I've become far too enchanted with religious doctrines lately...
  Anyhoo, I suppose I should use this time/space/opportunity to explore the reasons for my pessimistic conclusion at this epiphany? I really don't want to delve into the details for fear of confrontation with difficult emotions, but I am awake and deeply troubled, so maybe it would be (read: I know in fact that it definitely is) therapeutic for me. Alright, here it goes:
  The most obvious recent negative occurrence in my life would be the sudden, tragic death of my client Kalyn R. (Ratcliff? Raycliff? I was never sure...) on Wednesday morning of August 1st. At first I was shocked. I mean completely, jaw-droppingly, couldn't believe it, never-even-considered-it-a-possibility-of-happening type shock. Then I was overwhelmed by thoughts and especially memories of her. Most prominent were what I now know to be my "last" memories of her -- the last thing she ever said to me ("Bye Princess"); the last time I ever saw her (running with Diah in the hallway, particularly when he "pinned" her in the corner and she artfully escaped by crawling between his legs); the last "new skill" she ever demonstrated (singing the song "Bingo" at Patricia's prompt: "B - I - N - G - O"...that girl was always singing something!). Finally, I just felt anger and frustration at the futility of all my work with her. It's nobody's fault, of course. No one could have seen this coming; thus no one could have anticipated -- let alone prevented -- it. And  yet I feel...somewhat like a failure, I guess. All that planning for her improvement, all the effort and the patience each session, all the progress I had seen from her in just six short months, all wasted. All for naught. Now she's gone, and none of the successes matter. I realize that's probably selfish. After all, if that's my sentiment regarding the matter, just imagine how her parents must feel! Those poor, wonderful beings.
  Compounding this particular problem for myself, however, are the other complications that I've been struggling with on the job. Next on the list would definitely have to be the difficulties with Danny, which begin and end, in my opinion, with his inexplicable detachment from me. Was I doing something wrong? Was I (the only one) doing something right? I feel like I've been hanging out on the sidelines, basically, for the last month or two, essentially keeping warm without really ever playing. Was the family going to stay with BAI Inc.? What was finally going to tip the scale one way or the other? It seemed like the only reason they were staying was because I was Danny's therapist, but -- Was that fair to Danny if he doesn't really care for me as his therapist?
  (One saving grace, at least, with Danny is that I do feel like I have given him a solid foundation in ABA therapy. Even if, or when, I leave, he will be well-groomed and well-prepared for another therapist to step in and take over the process. If nothing else, I can be proud to say that. Or his parents might decide to forego the therapy altogether. While I wouldn't consider that wise, at least I could rest easy knowing that he is at least cured enough that they feel confident enough to go that route. And that would be thanks to my work with him. I do sincerely believe that, of any kid that I've ever known or worked with that had Autism, that Danny was the most likely to be "cured" in the sense that I truly believe it to be a realistic possibility with him.)
  As it works out, my only other client at the moment, besides the two aforementioned, is a temporary case. It pre-determined before I even started working with him that soon I would no longer be working with him. Somehow that seems like a (serendipitous?) sign that I was not to remain at this center in my current capacity for much longer. As it stands, my only real obligation at this juncture after informing Danny's mom of my pending departure is/would be to consult Eliana the center Director about how/when to leave David's case. Would they need me to train a replacement?, or would I simply stay until their planned course of action transpires? "Easy Peezy Lemon Squeezy!" compared to all the other complications that have arisen.
  It's interesting, the way everything has come together -- or fallen apart, kind of like the glass half-full/half-empty debate (Hey, I guess this has been therapeutic: I chose "come together" over "fallen apart"!) -- I get the image in my mind of a field, where each individual blade of grass represents some tragedy that has developed, and each blade of grass is bent fully over such that the blades converge in the shape of an arrow imprint, all pointing in one shared direction. Again, that seems like some serendipitous indication. Before it felt like all the blades were swirling wildly in a furious gust of wind hell-bent on tearing up each blade by the root!
  Anyhow...I referred to Kalyn's death as "the most OBVIOUS recent negative occurrence in my life", though in fact it is not the most RECENT occurrence. No no, the most recent is my blunderous birthday celebration for Eddie. With each item I had some other inclination, yet decided to follow a different path despite active awareness that I was choosing poorly. The volume of Sherlock Holmes or Arabian Nights? Naturally I chose Arabian Nights for its asthetic appeal alone over Sherlock Holmes, whose content I knew he would prefer. I could try to blame it on him -- didn't he have, after all, a much more open mind when his ex gifted the Twilight series, or that random married chick from the bus recommended Hermann Hesse?! -- but deep down I know that's a pitiful excuse at a futile escape. Hell, I didn't even know for sure what the book was about well enough to pitch its worth to him, let alone justify it as a present except to say "I thought it was pretty and it would look good on your book shelf (that you don't have)." (Why do all my books end up stored in a closet when I'm in a relationship?)
  Then there is the chocolate cake, which you would think would have been at least sufficient, if not a hit. But no, first in my search for chocolate cake I passed a package of chocolate glazed donuts. I even though, instantly, 'Oh he would love those!' Stupid stupid stupid. The card, I think, was a minor success; but if so, it was the only success, and even then only minor.
  Honestly, I could dwell for a very long time about all the problems, great and small, between Eddie and me right now, but that is a vast topic best covered some other sleepless night in a separate essay-style journal entry. Besides, he summed it up best after his dejected thanks when he decided to retire to the floor of our bedroom. Upon asking him why he wouldn't come to bed, he responded: "I am alone. I feel like you don't know me at all."
  And there was absolutely northing I could say to rebut that. I could have asserted that he was 100% correct and that it was true. But I decided that it wouldn't be helpful just then to admit it. Instead I opted to sit there in silence with him, patting his shoulder in the dark while contemplating all the obvious mistakes.
  Certainly I can correct at least one "mistake" by returning Arabian Nights to exchange it for the complete works of Sherlock Holmes -- which I intend to do as soon as morning brings the opening hour of Barnes & Noble -- but that wouldn't fix the true problem that this eggregious error brings to light: we're just not meshing. For whatever reason(s), this relationship just is not working. Fortunately, for the first time, at least I feel like when we have "the talk" tomorrow where I say "it's just not working out" and "I think it would be in my best interest to move back to Ohio and start over", he will agree and accept it peacefully.
  Now I just have to hope that my parents will be equally agreeable about y return to their nest for care. Only time will tell if that turns out to be the case...
Current Mood: crushedcrushed
Current Music: Silence

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July 2nd, 2012


08:28 pm - "The Drunkard's Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives" 's take on success
"Suppose four publishers have rejected the manuscript for your thriller about love, war, and global warming. Your intuition and the bad feeling in the pit of your stomach might say that the rejections by all those publishing experts mean your manuscript is no good. But is your intuition correct? Is your novel unsellable? We all know from experience that if several tosses of a coin come up heads, it doesn't mean we are tossing a two-headed coin. Could it be that publishing success is so unpredictable that even if our novel is destined for the best-seller list, numerous publishers could miss the point and send those letters that say thanks but no thanks? One book in the 1950s was rejected by publishers, who responded with such comments as 'very dull,' 'a dreary record of typical family bickering, petty annoyances and adolescent emotions,' and 'even if the work had come to light five years ago, when the subject [World War II] was timely, I don't see that there would have been a chance for it.' That book, The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, has sold 30 million copies, making it one of the best-selling books in history. Rejections letters were also sent to Sylvia Plath because 'there certainly isn't enough genuine talent for us to take notice,' to George Orwell for Animal Farm because 'it is impossible to sell animal stories in the U.S.,' and to Isaac Bashevis Singer because 'it's Poland and the rich Jews again.' Before he hit big, Tony Hillerman's agent dumped him, advising that he should 'get rid of all that Indian stuff.'
  "Those were not isolated misjudgments. In fact, many books destined for great success had to survive not just rejection, but repeated rejection. For example, few books today are considered to  have more obvious and nearly universal appeal than the works of John Grisham, Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss), and J.K. Rowling. Yet the manuscripts they wrote before they became famous--all eventually hugely successful--were all repeatedly rejected. John Grisham's manuscripts for A Time to Kill was rejected by twenty-six publishers; his second manuscript, for The Firm, drew interest from publishers only after a bootleg copy circulating in Hollywood drew a $600,000 offer for the movie rights. Dr. Seuss's first children's book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, was rejected by twenty-seven publishers. And J.K. Rowling's first Harry Potter manuscript was rejected by nine. Then there is the other side of the coin--the side anyone in the business knows all too well: many authors who had great potential but never made it, John Grishams who quit after the first twenty rejections or J.K. Rowlings who gave up after the first five. After his many rejections, one such writer, John Kennedy Toole, lost his hope of ever getting his novel published and committed suicide. His mother persevered, however, and eleven years later A Confederacy of Dunces was published; it won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and has sold nearly 2 million copies."
  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"A few years ago The Sunday Times of London conducted an experiment. Its editors submitted typewritten manuscripts of the opening chapters of two novels that had won the Book Prize--one of the world's most prestigious and most influential awards for contemporary fiction--to twenty major publishers and agents. One of the novels was In a Free State by V. S. Naipaul, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature; the other was Holiday by Stanley Middleton. One can safely assume that each of the recipients of the manuscripts would have heaped praise on the highly lauded novels had they known what they were reading. But the submissions were made as if they were the work of aspiring authors, and none of the publishers or agents appeared to recognize them. How did the highly successful works fare? All but one of the replies were rejections. The exception was an expression of interest in Middleton's novel by a London literary agent. The same agent wrote of Naipaul's book, 'We...thought it was quite original. In the end though I'm afraid we just weren't quite enthusiastic enough to be able to offer to take things further.'
  "The author Stephen King unwittingly conducted a similar experiment when, worried that the public would not accept his books as quickly as he could churn them out, he wrote a series of novels under the pseudonym Richard Bachman. Sales figures indicated that even Stephen King, without the name, is no Stephen King. (Sales picked up considerably after word of the author's true identity finally got out.) Sadly, one experiment King did not perform was the opposite: to swathe wonderful unpublished manuscripts by struggling writers in covers naming him as the author. But even if Stephen King, without the name, is no Stephen King, then the rest of us, when our creative work receives a less-than-Kingly reception, might take comfort in knowing that the differences in quality might not be as great as some people would have us believe."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"It is no tragedy to think of the most successful people in any field as superheroes. But it is a tragedy when a belief in the judgment of experts or the marketplace rather than a belief in ourselves causes us to give up, as John Kennedy Toole did when he committed suicide after publishers repeatedly rejected his manuscript for the posthumously best-selling Confederacy of Dunces. And so when tempted to judge someone by his or her degree of success, I like to remind myself that were they to start over, Stephen King might be only a Richard Bachman and V. S. Naipaul just another struggling author...What I've learned, above all, is to keep marching forward because the best news is that since chance does play a role, one important factor in success is under our control: the number of at bats, the number of chances taken, the number of opportunities seized. For even a coin weighted toward failure will sometimes land on success."
Current Mood: optimisticoptimistic
Current Music: Goncho: "Si te Digo la Verdad"

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January 1st, 2012


02:18 pm - I don't regret what I did
If I never had done with I did, you never would have realized your true feelings for me. Now I wish -- I think we both wish -- you would have realized those feelings a lot sooner.

You see, I was in love with you at one point. Actually, I think I was in love with you from the very beginning. Recently I found an old hand-written journal type entry in a notebook from that time period, and it went on and on about you in glowing terms. I thought about giving you these pages to read before giving this speech, but after reviewing them in detail I decided it would be better to summarize the main points. I'm ashamed now to look back on how naive I was then, and embarrassed at how confidently I declared to understand things that I never truly understood at all. Not fully anyhow. At this time I do not possess the courage to share those particular thoughts with you.

Most notably I wanted to share what initially attracted me to you so powerfully. Obviously I consider you to be a very physically attractive individual, but your most astounding characteristic for me was never the stereotypically desired great hair/eyes/body/etc. What caught my attention was this radiant light that seemed to beam from you when you smiled. That's why I constantly sought you out to tell you jokes or make fun of somebody. I just thought the life that exuded out of you was so amazing. I couldn't get enough. In this earlier journal that I wrote, I pondered if that was love - I hypothesized that one person's happiness shone like light at a certain frequency, which only one other person was "tuned" to receive, or interpret.

At the time I recall that I felt brilliant for coming up with such an analogy. Now, of course, I feel stupid. Duped. Deceived. Almost betrayed. For you see, then you came to live with me. I saw you every day, and came to know you better probably than you know yourself. I found out that the phenomenon that I had mistaken as your "light" beaming out from within you was never really you at all. Instead you were this moody, sulky, depressed, mostly angry individual. "Because I was unemployed!" you may retort, but I know that wasn't the case because you were always angry at me. Me. It didn't matter that it was in no way my fault that you were unemployed. Quite the opposite; I was sheltering and feeding you so that unemployment wouldn't hinder you. Oh sure, I can imagine that is still nowhere near the lifestyle you would have lived had you been bringing in your own money. Thus it would seem that unemployment WAS a factor, and you were morose and mean to me because I could not provide for you what you wanted.

But I know this was still not the case.

I want to make it clear, I never let you come live with me out of compassion for your situation, and I didn't continue to support you out of sympathy. I know I said that once when we were in the course of breaking up -- something about you moving in for a month and then never leaving -- but I should mention here that I only said that because I was angry. It was merely the fight talking, not me.

Obviously I could have asked you politely to leave when the 1 month ran out, or at least hinted that I wanted you to go by inquiring about progress with alternative living arrangements. Obviously I didn't tell you to leave or ask about other arrangements because I actively wanted you there, I wanted you to remain living with me. Honestly I didn't care that you were unemployed. Perhaps that was stupid of me. Definitely unrealistic, but I have always been an idealist when pursuing emotional interests. I really just enjoyed having you around all the time. I knew that if you worked, we wouldn't see each other as much. In the early stages, spending time in your presence was more important to me than any other luxury that the income of you working could have provided. I may have even assumed that your lack of desire to work indicated that you preferred to spend time with me in poverty than to enjoy a comfortable life without me.

To be totally honest, if you had continued to be that person that I fell in love with -- the man with the radiant light beaming from his inner being -- then I may never have asked you leave. What ruined everything was not the continued need to care for you, but rather the slow realization that you were not that person, that you never were that person except when you were stoned. How many times I suffered at your short-temper that I knew I never deserved, only to watch you smoke weed and transform into this person that I wished you could be always. How stupid I started to feel as I realized that you were not this person; this person was simply an effect of getting high.

I suppose I could have settled for that. I mean, at least you had the potential to be that person, even if it only was some of the time.   There were so many times I wanted to tell you that I loved you. Especially at night when we were laying together in bed, on the verge of sleep, the words "I love you" were right there, on my mind at the gate of my lips. I never could utter them, however. I imagined telling you my feelings and being rebuked by you in anger at the stupidity of feeling or expressing sentiment. I guess one too many nights of holding in those emotions, they finally just dissipated inside of me. One day I swallowed them back down, and they never resurfaced.

It was painful to love you without reciprocation. But it was more painful that you decided to start loving me when I ended the relationship. Even though all the words were the ones I had always wanted to hear, I just couldn't conjure the same feelings to want that anymore.

Now it's painful every day, wondering. What if you had developed these feelings for me sooner? COULD you have developed these feelings for me sooner, while we were still together? Is there anything else different that I could have done to have created them? Anything better I could have done, or been? If I took you back now, would things be different? Better?

I have to emphasize that I really don't believe in second chances. I don't believe that people "change". I guess it's just happened to me too many times in previous relationships. Things become unbearable, so I end it. He always apologizes, so I cave. We fall into old patterns.

I'd really like to believe that you are sincere about your "change". I really think we could have an amazing life together if you truly have transformed into this person...

But who knows? I guess only time will tell

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June 9th, 2010


06:08 pm - Killing time at Work
Welp, it's a slow one here today for my double. AWESOME!! * le sighhh * ...

 I've been having this nagging feeling lately that I should be doing something more meaningful with my life. I wish I didn't have such a fear and/or aversion to blood/needles/medication/IVs/other bodily fluids, otherwise I might pursue an occupation in some sort of medical position. I did take a step in that direction, however, by looking at grad schools around and comparing Speech Pathology programs. I think the program at Florida International University (FIU) seems the most promising given that it specifically promises to gear their pupils towards a career serving the bilingual population. I should pick a decent back-up choice too, though. I haven't decided yet what that will be. I need to contact some former professors about their recommendation letters, and some potentially-future advisors about pre-requisite classes that I may have to take or may be able to substitute.

I've found myself contemplating more and more the point of my existence. I suppose this is an off-shoot of the previous question, but I can't help wonder at the futility of struggling to try and make a difference if it's really not going to matter at all in the end. I've been pondering religious viewpoints more often, particularly the existence of God. I continue to maintain that the God that I'M willing to believe in will understand my reasoning(s) for doubting his existence. Hopefully...hopefully...

I've taken up smoking, again. I'm not proud of that, but it does help stave off the loneliness. That and writing. I think once I get the rest of my effects from Ohio, I will begin to make a genuine effort at putting together my memoirs from Ecuador. What other projects will spring forth from in the procrastination as a result of those efforts is yet to be determined, lol. I can't believe I just typed "lol" into my journal. Hopefully someone will read this in a thousand years and know the existence of "lol" and how it was used based on the context of this entry. Lmao !!!!
Current Location: Work
Current Mood: hopefulbored/hopeful
Current Music: Elton John--"Can You Feel the Love Tonight"

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December 7th, 2009


09:08 am - If I gave birth to a daughter this time of year, I would name her Noel. Only I would spell it: N-O-E
Get it??? I think I'm going to use this entry for jokes that I think of that I want to get written down. I can't remember any others at the moment off the top of my head, but I figure I can come back and edit this entry to include them as they occur to me! Enjoy :)

My birthday is January 8th, though I was meant to be born on the 1st. By my math that makes me an April Fool's baby. Perhaps that's why I'm so funny! Perhaps at the end of things that fateful April Fool's day my father proudly proclaimed "APRIL FOOL'S--I actually didn't put on a condom!!!" The joke was on them nine months later, when I arrived...

I would like to begin with a very serious topic. We've all heard about racism, and sexism, and the plagues that they continue to affect upon humanity. Today I'd like to talk to you about another eggregious form of discrimination that I believe is infecting society: Heightism. I'm sick of tall people looking down on me. Just because they think they're so much bigger than me! They need to get down off their high horse, see me eye-to-eye and realize that they are not necessarily better than me because they're bigger than me. Aside (in a deeper audience-membered voice): "Heh heh, I like her, she's PUNNY."

Good morning/afternoon/evening, how's it going?!? Are you all/guys ready to LAUGH? (uproarous drunken applause from the audience) Wonderful! Because I'm hear today to talk to you all about suicide!!! Seriously though, why is it you go to see a doctor, you tell him or her that you've tried taking your life by consuming an entire bo"ttle of pills, and the first response uttered from their mouth is "Well I'm going to prescribe you an entire bottle of pills..." I mean, what (wild hand gesturing)??! "Did you not hear what I just told you?!?!??"

This may just be the weasel describing the rabbit as a "shady-looking rodent" but, ...

You have to learn to treat crap like gold before you can ever have gold.

I was listening to the radio the other day. Anyone like the radio? Can I just say--thank goodness for cheating hoe's and drugs, am I right ?!?? Otherwise...what would rock and roll stars write songs ABOUT ?!??!??! *imitates playing a guitar while singing* "Yeahh, I have a steady girlfriend she's the best. We don't smoke or drink or do drugs because that's sinful. Instead we like to get ice cream and take long walks in the park and watch reruns of Lost on DVD, remember that show?? That show was GREATTTT"
Current Mood: sillysilly
Current Music: Linkin Park: "In the End"

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December 1st, 2009


09:58 pm - It is the complete opposite of true, yet I felt inspired by the notion...
"Prairie City was a good-hearted place, not so much in the sense that moral aberrations never occurred, but more in that when something did go wrong--a paleontology professor got caught downloading child pornography from the Web, an elected official was discovered freebasing coke in the public restroom behind the band shell--community head shaking took the form of bemusement rather than scorn. Everyone understood that everyone screwed up once in a while. What mattered was that you showed some class about it. What mattered was that you still helped your neighbor build his back deck. You still sat on the symphony board or at least volunteered to pick up trash off the median of Highway 36 once a year. You accepted both your co-worker's gender reassignment surgery and the possibility that, during any given summer, golf-ball--sized hail could give your dog a concussion."

A woman storms into an otherwise calm room, disturbing the peaceful silence with slams and thumps that seem to rattle, though not break, the soothing aura of the room. A man is sitting there, quietly reading in a comfortable chair. He takes a moment to finish reading his sentence before looking up at his visitor with curious eyes devoid of any negative reaction to her violent appearance. His face is unperturbed, as if the calm nature of the atmosphere were a product of his mood, generating outwards from his serene inner core. A genuine smile crosses his lips, even as he observes this absurd behavior. He is happy to see this woman.

Man: (Pleasantly, velvetly) Hey sweetie!

Woman: (The woman screams her retort, unaware of the disturbance her behavior is causing) Don't you 'Hey sweetie' ME!!! What are you doing up?? Waiting for me?!? Spying on me???

Man: (Still quite calm, still pleasant and loving) No. (He holds up the book in his hand, shaking it slightly; she barely notices as she tries to storm out of the room. He rises to follow her, arms slightly outstretched, reaching for her, as if for a loving embrace.) How was the game? (She continues to retreat, and he continues to pursue, oblivious) Did you win?

Woman: Did I win?!? What, are you checking the facts to make sure that's what I was really doing??? Yes of course I won some hands, and lost others!! I told you I was going to play cards with the gang, you knew where I was! What I was doing!!! (Her arms flail wildly out of control as she screams this with fury, the display nearly knocking her off balance. This gives him a chance to catch her, his hands gently grabbing around her waist. Another smile crosses his face, a bigger one, mixed with amusement, patience, and adoration)

Man: You're right. I knew you would win. (He bows his head in as if for a kiss, but she pressed hard off his chest and whirls out of the embrace. He follows, confusion finally touching his face as he listens to her rant.)

Woman: Nothing HAPPENED, alright!!?! We played a few hands, had a few drinks, and then I drove Tommy home. Practically kicked him out of the car while it was still moving, you have to believe me!!!" (She stops for a minute, whirling suddenly so that it catches him off-guard, to study his expression. His eyebrows are pinched, but immediately they smooth out into another easy grin. He reaches for her again, sweetly, as he responds)

Man: Of course I believe you--

Woman: Oh my God, how can you not TRUST me!?!?! (She throws up her arms, twirls, and begins stomping away again, this time towards the door. For the first time an expression of confusion begins to overcome his face)

Man: Of course I trust you baby--

Woman: I mean, if you can't trust me at all, Eric, then what's the point of us even continuing this relationship!?! (The man's mouth drops open, too shocked to repond in time. Meanwhile the woman has thrown on her coat and struggles to secure her scarf as she storms back out the door, slamming it in his stunned fact so hard that a few decorations rattle dangerously as the screen fades to black.)



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


The beep of an answering machine, or voicemail, precludes a strained female voice that raspes not without emotion, but without energy. The pain--both physical and emotional--and the dark-circles under her eyes are audible in the way her voice wavers as she leaves the disjointed message.

Elizabeth: Hi, it's me...(her voice cracks) Umm, (deep breath in) I lied to you, before. Last night, when I said that nothing happened between Tom and I. When we got to his place, I stopped, and we kissed. I can't remember if he started it or not, but I wanted him to. The moment I knew it was happening, I knew I wanted him to do it. (She takes another sharp breath in that converts to a sob. The following dialogue continues through tears that she's obviously fighting to hold back, and not succeeding). I'm so sorry Eric but I just, I couldn't tell you last night, I was so mad at myself for letting it happen and I just--(Another sharp intake followed by a deep, calming breath outwards, followed by an audible swallow) I couldn't keep it from you any longer. I'm sorry but I think I'm in love with him and--(Another sob, her voice begins to crackle again with impending tears)--I know that's not fair to you so I think it would be best--(a west sniffle)--if we didn't see each other anymore. (The voice cries for a few seconds, softly, but audibly, followed by some garbled whispers through trembling lips) I'm so sorry! I...wa--(The call ends with a definitive click, followed by monotonous dial tone).

Meanwhile: the screen fades in to focus on a close-up of the answering machine, or the cell phone, then slowly pans out to show Eric, sitting still but erect, clearly stiff with tension, as he listens to the message. As the voice starts to break down his body collapses into a profound hunch, and he covers his own eyes with his thumb and index finger, clearly in pain yet unable to cry. When the message ends, he remains still for the first 2-3 seconds of dial tone. Then he reaches to hit the button or sequence of buttons that allow the message to begin replaying again.)

Current Location: My apartment, at the kitchen table
Current Mood: creativecreative
Current Music: The hum of two computers running...

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November 28th, 2009


01:17 pm - An after-thought
There is another topic I've been meaning to put down, which I now have the time and the outlet to do. This concerns Nick.

Though I cannot, even now, really confront all the memories and conflicting emotions I have towards Nick head-on (I still lack the strength to withstand their effects), I also cannot completely prevent them from floating within range of my mental periphery from time to time. I see them, and try my best to consider them only fleetingly, with as little depth and distance as I can muster without trying. I'm not very successful.

Some day I might be able to tackle that gnarled web more directly, with as much force as I can possibly afford, but for the purpose of this entry I would like to keep it a light summary as much as humanly possible. Plus for time's sake, I can't dwell for very long. I still must work!

Nick was a terrible boyfriend. He was angry, and constantly drunk. We never spent any quality time together, and he had violent tendencies that scared me. There was a monster inside of him that had taken over entirely, so that the kind gentleman I once fell in love with no longer existed, as I saw it.

But he was also abused himself: physically, emotionally, verbally, even sexually. There are so many atrocities of his life that I could go into here if I hadn't just finished promising not to go into any major detail. When I consider them myself, I feel pity for him.

And that's when it hits, the emotional compromise that I have made for myself that removes my emotions from the scenario entirely by turning it into a rhetorical question for intellectual debates:

How much is a given person the product of society's influence? To what degree can we hold anyone responsible for that individual's actions?

And here I pause briefly before running off to a new subject to contemplate, as I have no answer. Not for Nick, and not for anyone. It's a question I think best posted to society in order for it to speak on it's behalf. I am sure there are other people to whom this query could apply, and it's highly possible that their story could affect the response one way or another.
Current Mood: contemplativeHmmmm...

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November 25th, 2009


08:38 am - Inspiration
So, I finally saw New Moon this week!!! It was awesome, but not the inspiration for this update. The previews featured a series of chick-flicks, two of which proclaimed an immediate love bond: one within a week, the other in two weeks. Despite all the devastating affairs in my love life that should have led me to believe that love isn't possible in the slightest, let alone feasible a mere matter of weeks, I still found myself wondering. Could it be? Is there really such a thing as love so instant?

Surely it's conceiveable that one could get to KNOW another person quite well in a matter of weeks, and perhaps that's what they mean. That the heroes of these movies find someone so completely compatible, so entirely to their liking, and that's what they mean by "love". In other words, the movies suggest that love is simply a strong form of like, and once attained cannot be reversed.

But what about the happily ever-after? When it comes time to actually live with the one they love, will it survive? How does love so transcendent transfer to day-to-day functions? How does love factor into an equation that also involves rent, extended families, children, and unforseen misfortunes in the uncertain future? There is no plausible answer that I can surmise from the brief clips of these movies that I watched, but it seems based on what I've witnessed in past films that we are expected to believe (or assume?) that love--true love--is like a shield that surrounds the bless-ed couple and protects them from all malice that could threaten their bliss.

And yet, I don't believe. Oh it's true, at one point I most certainly did have faith that such a miraclous phenomenon not only existed, but could happen to ME. But now I know better. Obviously what has occurred to myself in my own life has not deterred the faith, but seeing no other exception outside the realm of fiction certainly has.

Hopefully the irony that an entry titled "Inspiration" has yielded a product so utterly full of despair has become clear by now. It wasn't my intent when I started out, but I revel in it now as I realize, just the same.

The inspiration comes from the simple fact that I'm writing, again. All my life the urge has been there, insatiable, yet school and life became so time-consuming that I had to push pause on my passion. I kept telling myself, and sometimes others, that I was waiting for boredom to hit, a boredom so profound that the only solution would be to start writing again, as I once used to exhibit. Yesterday morning, that boredom came.

I've been stuck in a rut lately, but not the usual kind of rut. It wasn't the rut where I feel desolate, without hope and full of fear, with only the desire for death to cure it all. No, this was a different sort of despair, one that brought not pain but an overwhelming numbness. Lack of focus, but lack of hurt; lack of joy but lack of anger; lack of motivation for any deed benefitial or harmful. That's when it hit me.

The time had come.

This was the feeling I had been waiting for! How ironic! The moment when I felt less compelled to do anything whatsoever was the moment that I felt most inspired to begin the work that I had been neglecting for so long!

And so I put it off, until today. Heh. The irony never ceases...

Nevertheless, I write now to commemorate this occasion, to make a promise to myself and declare it outwards, even if nobody but myself will ever read this, to begin writing again. The intent is to start small, with journal entries like this one and perhaps some other meager writing exercises; but eventually I plan to get at the heart of my intentions--the Ecuadorian memoirs, the screenplay, the stand-up comedy that I probably won't (more like probably shouldn't) ever perform, but would like to get in writing anyway!!!

That is all for the time being. I depart now in order to prepare myself for the day of work ahead of me, followed by a fervent reading of "Eclipse" (third book in the 'Twilight' saga/series) so as to have it finished by the time I have to return it to my brother tomorrow at Thanksgiving.

On that note, however, I would like to remain for just a brief moment as I give thanks for all that I have in this life: the people (my family especially, the ones who will never desert me, my husband, friends, coworkers, and acquaintances), the animals (Lucy wherever she may be, bless her soul, and Tin-tin who has filled the void of her absence exceptionally, Buck and Teddy), my health, my education, the experiences that have shaped my life, and anything else that doesn't fit squarely into any of the aforementioned categories.

Thanks again, and God bless.
Current Mood: artisticartistic

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August 17th, 2009


10:55 pm - What a Wonderful Day! :)
It didn't start off too well though. I went to the doctors and get a shot to test me for tuberculosis :-/ Buuuuuuuut it's free! So I don't need to pay to get it done at Kroger now! Hooraaaaaaay

My car is FINALLY going to be done, and I got a lot sorted out with payment for ABA. That will be nice, once I get some regular cash flow in!!

Then I had a session with one of the kids. I was really nervous going into it after the lengthy warnings I received from everyone about what hell it was going to be at first. Then, he came walking into the door sobbing, and I could feel the dread of what a terrible day it was going to be! But it turned out really well! He was focused and attentive, compliant, happy-go-lucky. He was making all kinds of great decisions, so I let him have a little more flexibility. He was just so wonderful--it was the best session I've seen him have to date! Period.

Afterwards I asked him to hug me goodbye, and he wanted to KISS me also !!! I offered him my cheek, latino style, which wasn't awkward at all for the obvious reasons. I was just so blown away by that!! He was in SUCH a great mood, and I totally didn't (and still don't!) understand why. I hope it continues, which would be nice!! TOTALLY not expecting it to be that way every time, though.

Next I came home and had a beautiful evening with my husband. We watched several episodes of his favorite spy tv show, which I just absolutely love too! That got us excited for some passionate love-making, boy let me tell you what!!! All in all, a wonderful day so far! :) Now I'm just waiting for him to come home from the gym and the grocery store, sipping on my cocktail at 11 o'clock on a Monday night.

I think--and I'm quite sure if this is because I'm convincing myself that it's the reason or if it actually is--that I'm having such a great day today because of meditation yesterday. Excercising one's spirit is every bit as vital as excercising one's body or one's mind, and for me meditation is to the soul what kickboxing and french are to the body and mind, respectively. Hopefully I can get a chance to do that more often, because it really helps me feel better about myself and my life around me in general. It probably helped, though, that the rest of the day yesterday was pretty awesome also. I got a new phone for relatively cheap, a FREE cup of delicious coffee from Lindsey accompanied by some excellent companionship and even better conversation, followed by a FREE dinner meal that consisted of Steak, macaroni&cheese, corn on the cob, fruit salad, regular salad, my hummus/tzatziki/pita bread, and ice cream in addition to the lovely time had with each and every one of my invaluable family members.

It was kind of sad to realize this, but at one point the realization hit me how much the dynamics of our gatherings have changed since Grandpa's passing. Before, he tended to dominate conversation, and it was very sports-oriented according to his tastes. While I still do and will always continue to miss him dearly, a tiny part of me was pleasantly satisfied with the knowledge that his absence has opened the floor up for other personalities to take center stage, such as my own for example. I feel and felt last night like a very active, dynamic player in the conversation and general happenings of the family affair(s), which I feel glad for and grateful to my grandfather for leaving to me. All that I enjoy in life, whenever I start to feel teary-eyed that my grandpa couldn't be there to witness it (graduation, for example, and the wedding/my marriage and husband), I feel comforted by thinking how his spirit lives on, and he probably has more intimate knowledge of what's happening in my life, and know that he would be so proud, beaming in that way that I always remember him, to see what a succes my life has become and all the wonderful things I'm doing now.

MY time with the boys was wonderful as well. I had this terrible dream last night where, essentially, Sam got in this car and started driving it by the intersection of Hard and Sawmill right in front of the Max&Erma's restaurant. He tried to pull out into the road and became obviously scared, which caused him to redirect immediately back towards the parking lot. There Luke was and for the most heart-wretching moment of the dream I thought Sam was going to hit him with the car. Fortunately he veered off and ended up colliding more or less with a patch of grass just as I finally reached the scene. I rushed immediately into the car where Sam was huddled in a ball in the backseat, crying of course in fear from what had occurred. I comforted him as best I could before waking up with a jolt of lingering terror still clutcing my heart. But then I simply had to catch a glimpse of my husband, Manuel, sleeping peacefully in the other side of the bed to feel instantly relieved by the notion that it was only a dream, and that no such danger had actually befallen my precious little ones.

There are so many other tiny details I could include that have made this day and yesterday two of the most wonderful days of my life, but I prefer now to keep them in my brain for myself to enjoy and salivate over again and again.

:) Chao chao, for now!

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