Thursday, July 09, 2009
I have ridiculous days where I don't want to get out of bed, when I just stay curled up in a little ball and want to drift back to sleep, where events can be adjusted and recolored into something brighter. But it's not every day.
I have nights that I lie in bed wide awake until 4am, remembering every little fork in the road I took that led to this. It can really freak me out, or put sarcastically, leave me "glowing with enlightenment." But it's not every night.
There are times when memories and reality will suddenly hit me from the side... sometimes it's a breeze, sometimes it's a truck. Sometimes it makes me cry, sometimes I just need to sit down. Sometimes I feel like I'm breaking and want to collapse, or scream, or hurl dishes at the wall, or throw a pitcher of water in someone's face. But for the most part I stay pretty well composed.
Random days bring nausea, anxiety, restlessness, lethargy, overcontemplation.
But other days it's just normal.
I still laugh at a decent joke, still go to work, still giggle at XKCD every other day.
But all of that's not really new.
Here's the new idea I had for this morning:
Time off.
There are few things I would love more than just kicking off for a semester or two and doing mindless things, like working a slightly-higher than minimum wage job and spending my free time playing with pictures and writing and most importantly, not having to worry about messing up anything terribly important/expensive, like classes, should the lethargy persist or should my sanity come crashing the rest of the way down.
Left-brain is waving its arms frantically and screaming something about losing scholarships and never going back. "Skydiving, okay. A motorcycle, we can handle. BUT YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR NOW." and my right-brain giggles.
There are days I think I've dropped too many marbles because I know I sound odd as hell to anyone listening to me but if my thoughts weren't in hyperdrive I'd never think twice about it.
Ahh, day off.
I have nights that I lie in bed wide awake until 4am, remembering every little fork in the road I took that led to this. It can really freak me out, or put sarcastically, leave me "glowing with enlightenment." But it's not every night.
There are times when memories and reality will suddenly hit me from the side... sometimes it's a breeze, sometimes it's a truck. Sometimes it makes me cry, sometimes I just need to sit down. Sometimes I feel like I'm breaking and want to collapse, or scream, or hurl dishes at the wall, or throw a pitcher of water in someone's face. But for the most part I stay pretty well composed.
Random days bring nausea, anxiety, restlessness, lethargy, overcontemplation.
But other days it's just normal.
I still laugh at a decent joke, still go to work, still giggle at XKCD every other day.
But all of that's not really new.
Here's the new idea I had for this morning:
Time off.
There are few things I would love more than just kicking off for a semester or two and doing mindless things, like working a slightly-higher than minimum wage job and spending my free time playing with pictures and writing and most importantly, not having to worry about messing up anything terribly important/expensive, like classes, should the lethargy persist or should my sanity come crashing the rest of the way down.
Left-brain is waving its arms frantically and screaming something about losing scholarships and never going back. "Skydiving, okay. A motorcycle, we can handle. BUT YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR NOW." and my right-brain giggles.
There are days I think I've dropped too many marbles because I know I sound odd as hell to anyone listening to me but if my thoughts weren't in hyperdrive I'd never think twice about it.
Ahh, day off.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
something different
alternately titled,
ANYTHING Sounds Better Than Finishing My Instrumental Class from Last Semester
I was doing a quick scrolling of the blogroll to see what was going on. I saw that a certain photography blog, linked to the immediate right, was selling home-made textures to use in Adobe Photoshop. I must admit, they're pretty sweet. I was very tempted to buy them.
But being the cheapskate I am, I thought to myself, "Surely I can come up with something myself that I'd be just as happy using... fo' free!"
For those entirely unfamiliar, this thing is basically like a photographic overlay. You apply it to a digital image and it gives it, as the name implies, texture. Shadows, scratches, lighting effects, and so on.
I've been playing around with Photoshop since my freshman year of high school, and I must admit, I never really got past the "basics"... adjusting colors and contrasts, lighting effects, artistic filters.
I now reveal to you, my faithful readers, the Before & Afters
Still has a bit to go before I should give up the Chemisty major, but it's something. :-)
ANYTHING Sounds Better Than Finishing My Instrumental Class from Last Semester
I was doing a quick scrolling of the blogroll to see what was going on. I saw that a certain photography blog, linked to the immediate right, was selling home-made textures to use in Adobe Photoshop. I must admit, they're pretty sweet. I was very tempted to buy them.
But being the cheapskate I am, I thought to myself, "Surely I can come up with something myself that I'd be just as happy using... fo' free!"
For those entirely unfamiliar, this thing is basically like a photographic overlay. You apply it to a digital image and it gives it, as the name implies, texture. Shadows, scratches, lighting effects, and so on.
I've been playing around with Photoshop since my freshman year of high school, and I must admit, I never really got past the "basics"... adjusting colors and contrasts, lighting effects, artistic filters.
I now reveal to you, my faithful readers, the Before & Afters
Still has a bit to go before I should give up the Chemisty major, but it's something. :-)
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Friday, July 03, 2009
ugly.
Writing is good but as per my style I get out what I'm thinking and I decide not to show anyone because it doesn't mean a whole lot of anything. Fleeting moments, fleeting chemical interactions. I know that the fantastic thing about blogging is that readers read of their own free will, but after I get done writing something I'll self-critique it and decide that I need to stop sounding like I'm moping around, so I'll come up with something silly and irrelevant instead.
I haven't been okay the last few days but what is there to do about it? It happens. I hate sounding dramatic, which I feel I am anytime someone asks how I am and everything's not peachy. I hate pretending but I hate being a drag; and I don't know of a single word, or even a small group of words, that accurately conveys feeling miserable, lonely, hopeless, about to explode, lost, unforgivable... directionless. Yet able to slip into the second skin of looking okay in a few moments' notice. I'm finally wading into the shallow end of the pool that is what's *really* going on in there but it's so easy to distract myself out of it. Can't get through it without going through it, though not going through it would make everything a lot nicer for the present. But what happens when I suppress it all too far?
So here's the ugly side I've been un-posting, for everything it's not worth.
. . . .
Sometime last fall when I was feeling anxious and panicky for no apparent reason, someone gave me a small sample of a certain anti-anxiety medication they had. I took it to see what would happen, and the results were not pleasant.
It didn't calm me down or make me blissfully loopy. The opposite, in fact. I remember skipping lab and going over to this person's house in the middle of the afternoon, basically saying "Stay with me for the next few hours because all I can think of right now is how badly I want to kill myself." I didn't trust me to be alone with myself. But I know it's not "me" thinking, so keep me company a little while until it passes because there's a reasonable, logical voice recognizing that I'm having a strong desire to do something that I don't actually want to do.
Don't look so frightened, this is just a passing phase, one of my bad days.
In the name of science I tried it again a few weeks later to make sure it wasn't just a fluke--same thing. We concluded that at the time, my mind was working so hard and fast to deal with things "behind the scenes" that when I took the medicine, which is a very mild tranquilizer, it slowed things down enough that the mental dam I had been putting up opened and all of the ugly stuff came rushing out. Everything with the relationship that had just ended, all of the he-said-she-said going on at the old work, the catty girls at the new job, not exactly knowing what was going on in my classes, having NO IDEA whether anything I was doing was the right thing.
Like a truth serum for the inside of my head. I'd like to knock that wall down again and see what's really going on, because all I know is that I'm not really feeling anything. I can only hold on to a train of thought for a few minutes before it turns a corner and carries along out of sight. I've trained myself not to let painful feelings happen. Neat party trick, sure, but I'm on the verge of bursting and I can't even see what's swelling underneath.
When I have to say it I sound detached. "Well, this is what happened." Another day, another dollar. I can't describe our relationship in ten words or less, so I start with "friend" and add in "that I dated off and on for the better half of six years." Because throwing around words like "soulmate" makes it seem silly and "best friend" makes it seem platonic. But it seems a lie to pretend everything was just peachy. Oh, how I was constantly fucking things up. But by now the attention span is gone and no one needs to hear about this so... how 'bout this heat?
About a week ago I started really looking into the things he'd been on and stopped after the second page. Right there. Right there on fucking WIKIPEDIA even.
Jar back to Rolla just after I'd gotten back from Tennessee last March, sitting out on the sidewalk by my car talking on the phone, he'd gotten up that morning and gone to the doctor and now he was on this, this, this and he had a good feeling about it. I wrote it down to look it up later. Never did, because he always did that anyways so if anything shouldn't be interacting, he'd know about it.
Unlike two other popular SSRI antidepressants fluoxetine and sertraline, paroxetine is associated with a clinically significant weight gain and statistically significant increase in the risk of suicidality in adults. Stopping paroxetine is associated with a high risk of discontinuation or withdrawal syndrome.
Withdrawal syndrome, oh?
In fact, withdrawal symptoms such as bad dreams, paraesthesia, and dizziness occur in up to 7% of patients, according to the new product information. The warning also mentions anecdotal reports of agitation, sweating, and nausea...
Prickling skin? Dizziness? Agitation? From withdrawal... Sounds like the episode he had that Friday night at work. Now compound that dizziness with high blood pressure, rising and falling, that was complicated by alcoholism, and compound that agitation with severe insomnia and a predisposition to split-second rages caused by high testosterone mixed in with a lifetime of emotional problems, let's not even mention the back and forth I threw him through a few months ago with my moody insistence on independence aaaand OH MY GOD WHAT WAS WRONG WITH US WHY WEREN'T WE TYING HIM DOWN it makes me want to SCREAM WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING--
and that's about where my thoughts shut off. Okay, too much for you. Close the curtain, nothing to see here, nothing to see here. What's this, JD has a new girlfriend? Ahh, Scrubs. Classic.
I spent so long away from him before, it feels like that's what I'm doing again. Something fucked up so just let everything calm down and settle, then we'll get back at it again.
I don't know. I have the thoughts but the feelings aren't matching. Sometimes for a moment I feel like yelling ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW but that's silly and pointless and it isn't true. This is what I do, I push things off too long and hope they'll hold out but I'm pushing them until they break.
For better or worse I'm inextricably intertwined with what happened and what he did. People make their own choices in life, sure, but this wasn't a choice so much as a ... crime of passion.
And what was his passion, but an insecure girl who lied to him and hurt him, wouldn't let her guard down because she was too fucking afraid of getting her feelings hurt again?
I'm not saying it was me, but I'm saying I could have been one less thing.
The ridiculous thing about this is, if he'd just HELD ON FOR THREE FUCKING HOURS it would have been morning, he would have had a new day, a lower dose of the bp medicine which would've calmed him down without crazy antidepressants, he would have had three days off, time to spend with Aaron and I would have had free time again. We would have had free summer days the week after, his birthday the week after that... different job, different schedule, different plans. I know exactly where our plans would have gone--one of my closest friends just got married, I'd just spent a weekend at the bridal shower of another, and a third was proposing to his girlfriend that week. We both had it on the brain, though we danced around it with our silly little "not for another five years" but yeah, whatever. He wanted to ask. Beginning of the rest of our lives, we were RIGHT THERE. There were some things that sucked, but it was the last blackout before things started looking up again. And... that was that.
My body has been going through strange sensations that I feel silly talking about. Sometimes my arms ache in places... restless fingers, restless muscles missing the feeling of him pressing up against me, hugging, as we did.
At first I'd click on his facebook page every so often because it was like it was still his. Now I don't, because I know that it should have changed by now.
I cry at random but most days I feel like a child that hurled a toy against the wall and now cries because it's broken on the floor.
I love you and I miss you.
But how dare I claim to have loved you?
Can you see what I did?
I don't ever want to forget, or to find myself believing and reasoning that somehow I'm better off this way, because that is how I have dealt with things before. Convince myself it was nothing and move along. This wasn't nothing. I'm a quiet mess, the frequent mood swings are becoming normal, I wonder if it will ever come out. Of course this is not self-destruction.
Grief, it is messy, and I hate that word now because of the ridiculous number of times I blankly tried to explain that I needed time to do it, to people who said "of course" but meant "so long as you act and speak and think like you're not." Speed recovery because I'm detached enough to see myself and it's such a drag to be around this.
Leave me alone but oh please, don't leave me.
Some days I can't talk to Aaron because he'll say things like "He knows I never did anything to hurt him," and I know he's probably just speaking to reassure himself but I always, always think in response "But I did." Or he'll say "have you been as sleepless as we have?" and I have thoughts that will keep me awake all night like---"But you know you can't dwell on this. You know he'd have wanted you to be happy." and cuts me off before it even gets out.
Perhaps, but I think a better question is, do I want myself to be happy?
Because I'm pretty disgusted with myself and happiness seems selfish, a cop-out to facing things I've done.
It seems pointless trying to bring any notion of God into this, as I'm not willing to accept a "forgive and forget" offer--you would not BELIEVE the number of places I've been seeing that lately, on church signs and whatnot--but there's nothing tangible for me to do. The first ideas I had, about actions and changes in behavior that would help me forgive myself, atonement in a way, have already been broken and so ... now what? It leaves me directionless. I think myself into ruts and I can't get anywhere with it. I don't want to let go it. It hasn't even been two months and what the hell do I think I'm doing? I don't want to accept the peace until I've really felt the terror.
Bits and pieces come back and calm me, bits and pieces come back and horrify me.
. . .
I saw Up! when I got back from the wedding and I cried most of the way through it.
. . .
What makes me hate myself a lot is all of the things I did the last 6 months THINKING AT THE TIME that it might be one of those things that fucks everything up badly. But nah, that wouldn't really happen, would it?
. . .
This is all so silly; run and run but for what end? it all goes to nothing. everything is forgotten.
Here's symbolism: 20 roses for 20 years. I took 6 of those roses, for the 6 years I had.
I dried them to keep. They've been drying for nearly a month. I sealed them in a plastic bag, airtight, had them pressed between a pile of books.
I went to check on them today. Apparently they started growing mold, and it kept growing. Nothing was left in the bag but a black liquid. Decayed flowers. Rotten memento.
Cruel joke, to think I heard it would all be okay.
I can't stop fucking up, and this will be my everlasting thought.
My mind runs through every situation, where I might have done differently to avoid this. I can't even begin to think how things would have changed had I had the ... virtue? I threw it away. And then I kept doing it. I couldn't make up my mind and I was so fucking insistent on needing some independence. How long? Too long. But keep going back further, through the wasted time in between. Levi the snake. Lying about Dan. Anything else I didn't think would come back around. I did this to myself.
Everything I thought I was working towards, useless. A small window of hope, those last few days, but instead, close the curtain.
Sometimes trying to picture a different future makes me feel worthless, but I'm stuck now between loneliness and dread. Can't go back and all of this is my way of saying that I'm afraid to move forward.
Don't blame yourself. My head has always been torn and it's just an overload of circumstances. It isn't the worst thing.
. . .
There's a memory of a window, looking through I see you
Searching for something I could never give you
And there's someone who understands you more than I do
A sadness I can't erase, all alone on your face.
. . .
You know it's no one's fault if I drive myself crazy.
want to call Aaron stay awake all night but this is just the clarity I was seeking
dead usually means nothing but a word but I'm washing off the mud and there's a stabbing awaiting this enlightenment.
The plans I make still have you in them
Cause you come swimming into view
And I'm hanging on your words
Like I always used to do
The words they use so lightly
I only feel for you
I only know because I carry you around
In the background
Why, again, did I ever decide to convince myself you didn't love me?
. . .
it's an everyday thing
these emotions are mixed together like a disgusting lunchtime leftover soup, ketchup and mustard and coleslaw and little bits of corndog all mushed together into a brown revolting mess.
Brain aching tired but sleep does not come to this tired body bound. Don't talk to me, don't come near my curled up psyche. I wonder now what I'll do if the plans fall through and the only things I'm holding on to now come crashing down, I become another story like the ones I'm told now. Where else is there for me to go?
Alone, alone, in check and very nearly mate. Kyle's keeping me hanging by a thread. I envision myself moving forward but is it still all a deceit, like before, where really I'm just throwing it all away in this game I have trouble seeing the rules to? Always this way. Can't tell sarcasm. Can't tell lies. Can't tell what's worthless from what's true.
It flashes through my head so fast I'm not even thinking about it
I see these pictures and it's another face and a body like the billions and billions of other faces and bodies. Why does this one have to mean something?
I have no soul. A conglomeration of everyone I've ever known. I am nothing but a reflection of the people around me. Feeling fades in and out so fast. What's it like for colors to define themselves and remain the same?
. . .
I stop writing because I think I have nothing to say but look what seeps out of the cracks.
I haven't been okay the last few days but what is there to do about it? It happens. I hate sounding dramatic, which I feel I am anytime someone asks how I am and everything's not peachy. I hate pretending but I hate being a drag; and I don't know of a single word, or even a small group of words, that accurately conveys feeling miserable, lonely, hopeless, about to explode, lost, unforgivable... directionless. Yet able to slip into the second skin of looking okay in a few moments' notice. I'm finally wading into the shallow end of the pool that is what's *really* going on in there but it's so easy to distract myself out of it. Can't get through it without going through it, though not going through it would make everything a lot nicer for the present. But what happens when I suppress it all too far?
So here's the ugly side I've been un-posting, for everything it's not worth.
. . . .
Sometime last fall when I was feeling anxious and panicky for no apparent reason, someone gave me a small sample of a certain anti-anxiety medication they had. I took it to see what would happen, and the results were not pleasant.
It didn't calm me down or make me blissfully loopy. The opposite, in fact. I remember skipping lab and going over to this person's house in the middle of the afternoon, basically saying "Stay with me for the next few hours because all I can think of right now is how badly I want to kill myself." I didn't trust me to be alone with myself. But I know it's not "me" thinking, so keep me company a little while until it passes because there's a reasonable, logical voice recognizing that I'm having a strong desire to do something that I don't actually want to do.
Don't look so frightened, this is just a passing phase, one of my bad days.
In the name of science I tried it again a few weeks later to make sure it wasn't just a fluke--same thing. We concluded that at the time, my mind was working so hard and fast to deal with things "behind the scenes" that when I took the medicine, which is a very mild tranquilizer, it slowed things down enough that the mental dam I had been putting up opened and all of the ugly stuff came rushing out. Everything with the relationship that had just ended, all of the he-said-she-said going on at the old work, the catty girls at the new job, not exactly knowing what was going on in my classes, having NO IDEA whether anything I was doing was the right thing.
Like a truth serum for the inside of my head. I'd like to knock that wall down again and see what's really going on, because all I know is that I'm not really feeling anything. I can only hold on to a train of thought for a few minutes before it turns a corner and carries along out of sight. I've trained myself not to let painful feelings happen. Neat party trick, sure, but I'm on the verge of bursting and I can't even see what's swelling underneath.
When I have to say it I sound detached. "Well, this is what happened." Another day, another dollar. I can't describe our relationship in ten words or less, so I start with "friend" and add in "that I dated off and on for the better half of six years." Because throwing around words like "soulmate" makes it seem silly and "best friend" makes it seem platonic. But it seems a lie to pretend everything was just peachy. Oh, how I was constantly fucking things up. But by now the attention span is gone and no one needs to hear about this so... how 'bout this heat?
About a week ago I started really looking into the things he'd been on and stopped after the second page. Right there. Right there on fucking WIKIPEDIA even.
Jar back to Rolla just after I'd gotten back from Tennessee last March, sitting out on the sidewalk by my car talking on the phone, he'd gotten up that morning and gone to the doctor and now he was on this, this, this and he had a good feeling about it. I wrote it down to look it up later. Never did, because he always did that anyways so if anything shouldn't be interacting, he'd know about it.
Unlike two other popular SSRI antidepressants fluoxetine and sertraline, paroxetine is associated with a clinically significant weight gain and statistically significant increase in the risk of suicidality in adults. Stopping paroxetine is associated with a high risk of discontinuation or withdrawal syndrome.
Withdrawal syndrome, oh?
In fact, withdrawal symptoms such as bad dreams, paraesthesia, and dizziness occur in up to 7% of patients, according to the new product information. The warning also mentions anecdotal reports of agitation, sweating, and nausea...
Prickling skin? Dizziness? Agitation? From withdrawal... Sounds like the episode he had that Friday night at work. Now compound that dizziness with high blood pressure, rising and falling, that was complicated by alcoholism, and compound that agitation with severe insomnia and a predisposition to split-second rages caused by high testosterone mixed in with a lifetime of emotional problems, let's not even mention the back and forth I threw him through a few months ago with my moody insistence on independence aaaand OH MY GOD WHAT WAS WRONG WITH US WHY WEREN'T WE TYING HIM DOWN it makes me want to SCREAM WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING--
and that's about where my thoughts shut off. Okay, too much for you. Close the curtain, nothing to see here, nothing to see here. What's this, JD has a new girlfriend? Ahh, Scrubs. Classic.
I spent so long away from him before, it feels like that's what I'm doing again. Something fucked up so just let everything calm down and settle, then we'll get back at it again.
I don't know. I have the thoughts but the feelings aren't matching. Sometimes for a moment I feel like yelling ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW but that's silly and pointless and it isn't true. This is what I do, I push things off too long and hope they'll hold out but I'm pushing them until they break.
For better or worse I'm inextricably intertwined with what happened and what he did. People make their own choices in life, sure, but this wasn't a choice so much as a ... crime of passion.
And what was his passion, but an insecure girl who lied to him and hurt him, wouldn't let her guard down because she was too fucking afraid of getting her feelings hurt again?
I'm not saying it was me, but I'm saying I could have been one less thing.
The ridiculous thing about this is, if he'd just HELD ON FOR THREE FUCKING HOURS it would have been morning, he would have had a new day, a lower dose of the bp medicine which would've calmed him down without crazy antidepressants, he would have had three days off, time to spend with Aaron and I would have had free time again. We would have had free summer days the week after, his birthday the week after that... different job, different schedule, different plans. I know exactly where our plans would have gone--one of my closest friends just got married, I'd just spent a weekend at the bridal shower of another, and a third was proposing to his girlfriend that week. We both had it on the brain, though we danced around it with our silly little "not for another five years" but yeah, whatever. He wanted to ask. Beginning of the rest of our lives, we were RIGHT THERE. There were some things that sucked, but it was the last blackout before things started looking up again. And... that was that.
My body has been going through strange sensations that I feel silly talking about. Sometimes my arms ache in places... restless fingers, restless muscles missing the feeling of him pressing up against me, hugging, as we did.
At first I'd click on his facebook page every so often because it was like it was still his. Now I don't, because I know that it should have changed by now.
I cry at random but most days I feel like a child that hurled a toy against the wall and now cries because it's broken on the floor.
I love you and I miss you.
But how dare I claim to have loved you?
Can you see what I did?
I don't ever want to forget, or to find myself believing and reasoning that somehow I'm better off this way, because that is how I have dealt with things before. Convince myself it was nothing and move along. This wasn't nothing. I'm a quiet mess, the frequent mood swings are becoming normal, I wonder if it will ever come out. Of course this is not self-destruction.
Grief, it is messy, and I hate that word now because of the ridiculous number of times I blankly tried to explain that I needed time to do it, to people who said "of course" but meant "so long as you act and speak and think like you're not." Speed recovery because I'm detached enough to see myself and it's such a drag to be around this.
Leave me alone but oh please, don't leave me.
Some days I can't talk to Aaron because he'll say things like "He knows I never did anything to hurt him," and I know he's probably just speaking to reassure himself but I always, always think in response "But I did." Or he'll say "have you been as sleepless as we have?" and I have thoughts that will keep me awake all night like---"But you know you can't dwell on this. You know he'd have wanted you to be happy." and cuts me off before it even gets out.
Perhaps, but I think a better question is, do I want myself to be happy?
Because I'm pretty disgusted with myself and happiness seems selfish, a cop-out to facing things I've done.
It seems pointless trying to bring any notion of God into this, as I'm not willing to accept a "forgive and forget" offer--you would not BELIEVE the number of places I've been seeing that lately, on church signs and whatnot--but there's nothing tangible for me to do. The first ideas I had, about actions and changes in behavior that would help me forgive myself, atonement in a way, have already been broken and so ... now what? It leaves me directionless. I think myself into ruts and I can't get anywhere with it. I don't want to let go it. It hasn't even been two months and what the hell do I think I'm doing? I don't want to accept the peace until I've really felt the terror.
Bits and pieces come back and calm me, bits and pieces come back and horrify me.
. . .
I saw Up! when I got back from the wedding and I cried most of the way through it.
. . .
What makes me hate myself a lot is all of the things I did the last 6 months THINKING AT THE TIME that it might be one of those things that fucks everything up badly. But nah, that wouldn't really happen, would it?
. . .
This is all so silly; run and run but for what end? it all goes to nothing. everything is forgotten.
Here's symbolism: 20 roses for 20 years. I took 6 of those roses, for the 6 years I had.
I dried them to keep. They've been drying for nearly a month. I sealed them in a plastic bag, airtight, had them pressed between a pile of books.
I went to check on them today. Apparently they started growing mold, and it kept growing. Nothing was left in the bag but a black liquid. Decayed flowers. Rotten memento.
Cruel joke, to think I heard it would all be okay.
I can't stop fucking up, and this will be my everlasting thought.
My mind runs through every situation, where I might have done differently to avoid this. I can't even begin to think how things would have changed had I had the ... virtue? I threw it away. And then I kept doing it. I couldn't make up my mind and I was so fucking insistent on needing some independence. How long? Too long. But keep going back further, through the wasted time in between. Levi the snake. Lying about Dan. Anything else I didn't think would come back around. I did this to myself.
Everything I thought I was working towards, useless. A small window of hope, those last few days, but instead, close the curtain.
Sometimes trying to picture a different future makes me feel worthless, but I'm stuck now between loneliness and dread. Can't go back and all of this is my way of saying that I'm afraid to move forward.
Don't blame yourself. My head has always been torn and it's just an overload of circumstances. It isn't the worst thing.
. . .
There's a memory of a window, looking through I see you
Searching for something I could never give you
And there's someone who understands you more than I do
A sadness I can't erase, all alone on your face.
. . .
You know it's no one's fault if I drive myself crazy.
want to call Aaron stay awake all night but this is just the clarity I was seeking
dead usually means nothing but a word but I'm washing off the mud and there's a stabbing awaiting this enlightenment.
The plans I make still have you in them
Cause you come swimming into view
And I'm hanging on your words
Like I always used to do
The words they use so lightly
I only feel for you
I only know because I carry you around
In the background
Why, again, did I ever decide to convince myself you didn't love me?
. . .
it's an everyday thing
these emotions are mixed together like a disgusting lunchtime leftover soup, ketchup and mustard and coleslaw and little bits of corndog all mushed together into a brown revolting mess.
Brain aching tired but sleep does not come to this tired body bound. Don't talk to me, don't come near my curled up psyche. I wonder now what I'll do if the plans fall through and the only things I'm holding on to now come crashing down, I become another story like the ones I'm told now. Where else is there for me to go?
Alone, alone, in check and very nearly mate. Kyle's keeping me hanging by a thread. I envision myself moving forward but is it still all a deceit, like before, where really I'm just throwing it all away in this game I have trouble seeing the rules to? Always this way. Can't tell sarcasm. Can't tell lies. Can't tell what's worthless from what's true.
It flashes through my head so fast I'm not even thinking about it
I see these pictures and it's another face and a body like the billions and billions of other faces and bodies. Why does this one have to mean something?
I have no soul. A conglomeration of everyone I've ever known. I am nothing but a reflection of the people around me. Feeling fades in and out so fast. What's it like for colors to define themselves and remain the same?
. . .
I stop writing because I think I have nothing to say but look what seeps out of the cracks.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
because the alternative post wasn't very fun
.ck. says:
I have a serious question for you
lexyk says:
i have a serious answer.
and then possibly a smartass remark
.ck. says:
I was contemplating this on my way home
remember the conversation Vick and I had, about girl riders looking like lesbians?
[insert: this was the conversation at work--
me: "My profile picture on myspace was a photo of my bike, and some guy added me as a friend. He wrote me a message and was like 'hey baby you're hot I love your bike want to go riding sometime?'... this thing is totally a dick magnet. Get it? Like a chick magnet? Only for guys?"
Vick: "Honey, I hate to tell you this, but most guys probably see a girl on a bike and think 'Wow, she's a lesbian.' Since motorcycle riding is a predominantly male activity and all."
me: "What? How do you figure? Because anytime I see a girl riding a motorcycle, especially if she takes off her helmet and does the hair-shake thing, I'm like Damn! That's sexy! If I swung that way, I would definitely 'tap that.'"
Vick: *laughing as he walks away* "My point exactly..." ]
lexyk says:
yeah
.ck. says:
okay
so
does it perpetuate the stereotype if I think of and refer to my bike as a "She" ?
I tried calling it "he" but it just doesn't seem right
lexyk says:
that is an interesting question.
.ck. says:
because if it's a boy, then it's kind of a sissy.
lexyk says:
i don't think it would.
i mean i really think you'll just seem more comfortable with your sexuality.
.ck. says:
lol
lexyk says:
not comfortable in an experimental way
comfortable in the same way guys who have to take showers with other guys are.
they acknowledge that it's extremely odd to be that intimate with someone they're not attracted to, but they do it because they're all part of a team, usually
you and your bike are a team
and you're both female
and your bike probably acknowledges that it feels very good to you to have her between your legs
and that this is a very odd thing for one heterosexual female to do to another
but you both accept it because it's a part of doing what you teamed together to do
which is to look very sexy
.ck. says:
hahaha
lexyk says:
which is, oddly enough, why many heterosexual females do things to other heterosexual females.
so remember, when you're about to ride, to reassure your bike that it doesn't mean anything.
and that you're not /really/ into that sort of thing, you just want to turn all the guys on.
... thank God for messenger logs
'cause that was epic
I have a serious question for you
lexyk says:
i have a serious answer.
and then possibly a smartass remark
.ck. says:
I was contemplating this on my way home
remember the conversation Vick and I had, about girl riders looking like lesbians?
[insert: this was the conversation at work--
me: "My profile picture on myspace was a photo of my bike, and some guy added me as a friend. He wrote me a message and was like 'hey baby you're hot I love your bike want to go riding sometime?'... this thing is totally a dick magnet. Get it? Like a chick magnet? Only for guys?"
Vick: "Honey, I hate to tell you this, but most guys probably see a girl on a bike and think 'Wow, she's a lesbian.' Since motorcycle riding is a predominantly male activity and all."
me: "What? How do you figure? Because anytime I see a girl riding a motorcycle, especially if she takes off her helmet and does the hair-shake thing, I'm like Damn! That's sexy! If I swung that way, I would definitely 'tap that.'"
Vick: *laughing as he walks away* "My point exactly..." ]
lexyk says:
yeah
.ck. says:
okay
so
does it perpetuate the stereotype if I think of and refer to my bike as a "She" ?
I tried calling it "he" but it just doesn't seem right
lexyk says:
that is an interesting question.
.ck. says:
because if it's a boy, then it's kind of a sissy.
lexyk says:
i don't think it would.
i mean i really think you'll just seem more comfortable with your sexuality.
.ck. says:
lol
lexyk says:
not comfortable in an experimental way
comfortable in the same way guys who have to take showers with other guys are.
they acknowledge that it's extremely odd to be that intimate with someone they're not attracted to, but they do it because they're all part of a team, usually
you and your bike are a team
and you're both female
and your bike probably acknowledges that it feels very good to you to have her between your legs
and that this is a very odd thing for one heterosexual female to do to another
but you both accept it because it's a part of doing what you teamed together to do
which is to look very sexy
.ck. says:
hahaha
lexyk says:
which is, oddly enough, why many heterosexual females do things to other heterosexual females.
so remember, when you're about to ride, to reassure your bike that it doesn't mean anything.
and that you're not /really/ into that sort of thing, you just want to turn all the guys on.
... thank God for messenger logs
'cause that was epic
snippets of what's been happening
Some days I get a lot of things done, other days I'm otherwise useless. The week in Tennessee really helped with that, though--running around, doing 300 million things in the day and not really just "relaxing." It made me get tired at night and go to sleep, rather than sitting up thinking, not sleeping, or like I've been doing, deciding to go see Aaron and Tonya and stay awake all night.
. . . .
I am currently not on speaking terms with my car, which shall heretofore no longer be referred to affectionately as "The Tank." This is twice in a month I have had to have it towed out of a parking lot because it's decided to persistently NOT START. And it's not something nice and jumpable, like the battery. It's stuff like the starter and the alternator and the starter cables inside the steering column that are complicated and expensiver than hell to fix. Ugh.
. . . .
My two river cooters are about to be relocated out of the aquarium. If anyone has a wild desire to become guardian to a pair of year-old water turtles, let me know. They're healthy, active, and I'm 95% certain a male-female pair. They're both about hand-sized, and mildly sociable. Hobbies include swimming into the glass, pushing each other off the basking dock, and attempting to hoist themselves into the heat lamp.
Otherwise they're just going to be released back into the wild. They've grown up enough that they won't be eaten by a fish, but big enough that it's getting crowded in the aquarium and they need "real food" to keep growing. I haven't decided where to let them go, though. We have a few ponds on our property, and I kind of like the idea of keeping them close by, but there isn't much by way of fish in them since they're cattle ponds. My second choice is a certain local national monument that has a large pond, where there are lots of fish and other turtles.
. . . .
Anyone who even skims my ramblings knows my dreams are very obvious and directly related to the day's events. But lately I keep having wild--and by wild I mean silly and ridiculous--dreams. For instance:
- Christopher Walken is high up in a tree, doing parts of this dance and orating in Jim Morrison fashion the lyrics to "The Soft Parade." He then jumps down from the tree, Dr. Pepper in hand, and begins a lecture on ways to kill oneself.
- I was in this strange high school with lots of stairs, and there was a polar bear in the walls. It would randomly smash through, grab the nearest living being, maul and devour it, and then go back into the wall. Complete with cheesy horror movie music right before it struck. That's how I knew to get away from the wall.
-I went through this super fast time lapse dream. Oh shit I'm pregnant! Oh wow, I'm really fat. Oh hey, now I'm in the hospital and apparently it's about to be born. What's this? Drugs? Yay, I feel nothing. Then everything got really spinny. I woke up in the dream, and I wandered off and left the kid, then a few days later was like "oh no! what happened?" and remembered that I'd been all drugged up but wait, yes, there was actually a baby that had been born. So I went back and found it sitting in this little bathtub because the nurses had *also* gone off and forgotten about it. It was a cute little boy, but it was really slippery because it was all wet from the bathtub and I'm pretty sure I dropped it. So I wrap it in a towel and start carrying it--er, him--around. I go over to my grandma's house and I'm sitting on her couch, underneath the ever-shrinking wall of grandkids, next to several people I don't know. I pull the towel off the baby to show them and...
He had turned from a little bitty pale white thing into a three-year old sized black kid with cornrows and green highlights. I was like Hmm... this is not my baby.
I think my subconcious is mocking me for saying it wasn't creative.
. . . .
I rode nearly 50 miles the day before yesterday, down dead backroads. I've actually gotten it up to a respectable speed and kept it there without freaking out. I went half-way into town today, and I'm going to try to ride into work tomorrow. Woo! The baby steps are getting bigger.
. . . .
I am currently not on speaking terms with my car, which shall heretofore no longer be referred to affectionately as "The Tank." This is twice in a month I have had to have it towed out of a parking lot because it's decided to persistently NOT START. And it's not something nice and jumpable, like the battery. It's stuff like the starter and the alternator and the starter cables inside the steering column that are complicated and expensiver than hell to fix. Ugh.
. . . .
My two river cooters are about to be relocated out of the aquarium. If anyone has a wild desire to become guardian to a pair of year-old water turtles, let me know. They're healthy, active, and I'm 95% certain a male-female pair. They're both about hand-sized, and mildly sociable. Hobbies include swimming into the glass, pushing each other off the basking dock, and attempting to hoist themselves into the heat lamp.
Otherwise they're just going to be released back into the wild. They've grown up enough that they won't be eaten by a fish, but big enough that it's getting crowded in the aquarium and they need "real food" to keep growing. I haven't decided where to let them go, though. We have a few ponds on our property, and I kind of like the idea of keeping them close by, but there isn't much by way of fish in them since they're cattle ponds. My second choice is a certain local national monument that has a large pond, where there are lots of fish and other turtles.
. . . .
Anyone who even skims my ramblings knows my dreams are very obvious and directly related to the day's events. But lately I keep having wild--and by wild I mean silly and ridiculous--dreams. For instance:
- Christopher Walken is high up in a tree, doing parts of this dance and orating in Jim Morrison fashion the lyrics to "The Soft Parade." He then jumps down from the tree, Dr. Pepper in hand, and begins a lecture on ways to kill oneself.
- I was in this strange high school with lots of stairs, and there was a polar bear in the walls. It would randomly smash through, grab the nearest living being, maul and devour it, and then go back into the wall. Complete with cheesy horror movie music right before it struck. That's how I knew to get away from the wall.
-I went through this super fast time lapse dream. Oh shit I'm pregnant! Oh wow, I'm really fat. Oh hey, now I'm in the hospital and apparently it's about to be born. What's this? Drugs? Yay, I feel nothing. Then everything got really spinny. I woke up in the dream, and I wandered off and left the kid, then a few days later was like "oh no! what happened?" and remembered that I'd been all drugged up but wait, yes, there was actually a baby that had been born. So I went back and found it sitting in this little bathtub because the nurses had *also* gone off and forgotten about it. It was a cute little boy, but it was really slippery because it was all wet from the bathtub and I'm pretty sure I dropped it. So I wrap it in a towel and start carrying it--er, him--around. I go over to my grandma's house and I'm sitting on her couch, underneath the ever-shrinking wall of grandkids, next to several people I don't know. I pull the towel off the baby to show them and...
He had turned from a little bitty pale white thing into a three-year old sized black kid with cornrows and green highlights. I was like Hmm... this is not my baby.
I think my subconcious is mocking me for saying it wasn't creative.
. . . .
I rode nearly 50 miles the day before yesterday, down dead backroads. I've actually gotten it up to a respectable speed and kept it there without freaking out. I went half-way into town today, and I'm going to try to ride into work tomorrow. Woo! The baby steps are getting bigger.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Earlier tonight I made it past the 100-mile mark on my bike's odometer... woo!
Not bad, considering I spent the first week rolling it back and forth in the driveway figuring out the clutch, the second week it was raining in torrents and just recently I spent a week and a half in Tennessee.
I also took it onto a highway last night for the first time, as opposed to back roads. That'll take a little getting used to, but there weren't many cars around, being 10:45 in the evening, so that helped.
I was getting it up to around 50mph last night and maintaining it for awhile, but I'm being ridiculously cautious--like tonight, I kept feeling unbalanced when I was riding so I didn't go much over 40.
I do not do not do NOT want to run it into a ditch or skid and go sliding down over something silly like gravel or a possum or overcorrecting. Please. If I'm going to wipe out on it, I want it to be something like another car swerved into my lane and I couldn't avoid it so I had to ramp it, crashed through the wall of a semi-trailer and made something explode.
Yeah. That will be my story.
Not bad, considering I spent the first week rolling it back and forth in the driveway figuring out the clutch, the second week it was raining in torrents and just recently I spent a week and a half in Tennessee.
I also took it onto a highway last night for the first time, as opposed to back roads. That'll take a little getting used to, but there weren't many cars around, being 10:45 in the evening, so that helped.
I was getting it up to around 50mph last night and maintaining it for awhile, but I'm being ridiculously cautious--like tonight, I kept feeling unbalanced when I was riding so I didn't go much over 40.
I do not do not do NOT want to run it into a ditch or skid and go sliding down over something silly like gravel or a possum or overcorrecting. Please. If I'm going to wipe out on it, I want it to be something like another car swerved into my lane and I couldn't avoid it so I had to ramp it, crashed through the wall of a semi-trailer and made something explode.
Yeah. That will be my story.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Game Theory: The rollover caption got me.
Wait, no, that one also loses. How about a nice game of chess?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
So many things aren't going as planned, it's almost comical.
I mean, it's nothing that can't be re-arranged. Alex is keeping such a cool head about it all. She is like anti-Bridezilla. Bride-saint?
Seriously. Just one of many examples: She ordered 14 dozen red roses, 7 dozen white, and 7 batches of mums from a store an hour and a half away from here. She spoke to the lady three times on the phone and made sure she knew we were coming on Wednesday at 2, and that it was quite a long drive for us.
We get there Wednesday at 2.
1. The lady is not there. We call her phone, page her, and ask the manager. We were there for an hour and never saw her.
2. After 30 minutes, someone else tries to go find her order. They can't find it, anywhere.
3. Someone *else* goes to find it. They find the invoice, and eventually the flowers.
4. Slight discrepancy.
Here's what she ordered: 14 dozen red, 7 dozen white, 7 mums
Here's what they ordered: 7 dozen red, 2 dozen white, 2 mums
Here's what they had: 5 dozen red, 2 dozen white, 0 mums.
5. They had known for several weeks they wouldn't be able to get the full order in (of the already-shortened order from what she requested), yet did not call to tell her.
6. We go up to pay and are informed that only "members" can special-order flowers. Membership fee? $50.
Things like that. We got through it all just fine--we picked up a few extra bouquets and it turned out to be enough, got a little bit of a discount on what we did have, and ran into her aunt and uncle, who did have a membership card--but still. That alone would be enough to make me pull my hair out, and multiply that by dresses--which were ordered incorrectly FIVE TIMES--and a recent break-up in between her brother and a bridesmaid making everything awkward and an antisocial groomsman and being sick from nerves on top of it all...
If I ever decide to do this, I have one word: Eloping.
I mean, it's nothing that can't be re-arranged. Alex is keeping such a cool head about it all. She is like anti-Bridezilla. Bride-saint?
Seriously. Just one of many examples: She ordered 14 dozen red roses, 7 dozen white, and 7 batches of mums from a store an hour and a half away from here. She spoke to the lady three times on the phone and made sure she knew we were coming on Wednesday at 2, and that it was quite a long drive for us.
We get there Wednesday at 2.
1. The lady is not there. We call her phone, page her, and ask the manager. We were there for an hour and never saw her.
2. After 30 minutes, someone else tries to go find her order. They can't find it, anywhere.
3. Someone *else* goes to find it. They find the invoice, and eventually the flowers.
4. Slight discrepancy.
Here's what she ordered: 14 dozen red, 7 dozen white, 7 mums
Here's what they ordered: 7 dozen red, 2 dozen white, 2 mums
Here's what they had: 5 dozen red, 2 dozen white, 0 mums.
5. They had known for several weeks they wouldn't be able to get the full order in (of the already-shortened order from what she requested), yet did not call to tell her.
6. We go up to pay and are informed that only "members" can special-order flowers. Membership fee? $50.
Things like that. We got through it all just fine--we picked up a few extra bouquets and it turned out to be enough, got a little bit of a discount on what we did have, and ran into her aunt and uncle, who did have a membership card--but still. That alone would be enough to make me pull my hair out, and multiply that by dresses--which were ordered incorrectly FIVE TIMES--and a recent break-up in between her brother and a bridesmaid making everything awkward and an antisocial groomsman and being sick from nerves on top of it all...
If I ever decide to do this, I have one word: Eloping.
Flowers and dresses and decorations, oh my.
There are 24,354 details going into this that I would never have thought of on my own, or remember even if I did think of them.
Tablecloths?
A nice pen for the guestbook?
The ribbons that hold the flowers together?
Not to mention all the people. Rather, their opinions.
Carnations are bad luck.
No they're not, no one believes that.
Don't wear any black.
Who cares if you wear black?
WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU THINKING TRASHING YOUR DRESS AFTERWORDS?
Well hell, when are you ever going to wear it again?
I definitely admire Alex for keeping such a cool head through all of this.
I have had virtually no time to spare, so expect photos sometime next week or possibly next... never, because I know how I am about things.
Tablecloths?
A nice pen for the guestbook?
The ribbons that hold the flowers together?
Not to mention all the people. Rather, their opinions.
Carnations are bad luck.
No they're not, no one believes that.
Don't wear any black.
Who cares if you wear black?
WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU THINKING TRASHING YOUR DRESS AFTERWORDS?
Well hell, when are you ever going to wear it again?
I definitely admire Alex for keeping such a cool head through all of this.
I have had virtually no time to spare, so expect photos sometime next week or possibly next... never, because I know how I am about things.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
I haven't been writing much because everything that happens, there are two different versions of the story to tell and if I read one while I'm in the mood of the other, it just annoys me.
Made it to Tennessee and been super busy helping Alex with all the last-minute wedding planning!
is rapidly alternating with
I love Alex but it's hard to go through all of this because everything, everything is a reminder of what's never going to be.
I've been not talking today because every time I open my mouth the most awkward things come spilling out of it. I kept telling myself not to say anything about Ryan but it comes sneaking out when even I don't expect it.
Like standing in Walmart looking at cake toppers and there's a silly one with the bride actually dragging the groom by the collar and I could just imagine Ryan laughing with me at that.
I feel that I sound ridiculously cliched when I say this, but since I was 15 I knew it was going to be him. Even in the next years, when we were fighting or even dating someone else, I knew we'd wind up together. It was just supposed to be. If I pictured getting married, living with someone, going places, having kids--it was with him. Anything I saw without him, I was mentally listing it.
Driving back home last time--hours before all this happened--I was trying to figure out how to get him off work to come with me to the wedding, so that he could see the mountains and the scenery here. We talked about it that Friday as I was driving up, I was describing it to him, and he was talking about how much he wanted to see it.
I have so many conflicting thoughts at once the gears just grind to a halt.
Stop whining about the things that happened that can't change now.
Easy to say but that was half my life ripped out from under me.
Well, shit happens, and it happens to everyone.
But something like this doesn't happen to everyone.
It's been more than a month no one wants to hear about it.
It's only been a month--how can you expect me to just get over it in such little time?
Don't get over it just stop annoying everyone else with the one-track rambling.
I go through so many emotions in a day. Angry, annoyed, calm, empowered, jaded, jealous, panicked, quiet, regretful, tired, weak. My brain spits out adjectives alphabetically. I can sleep for the entire day or go days without sleeping and it all feels the same. I spend time with Aaron and Tonya and it feels like he's just in the other room. I dig in to pull the mess out in the open. I listen to strangers talking and I wonder what it's like to *not* feel complex emotions. I go to work because I fake myself into a high. And other times I'm genuinely feeling fine.
Made it to Tennessee and been super busy helping Alex with all the last-minute wedding planning!
is rapidly alternating with
I love Alex but it's hard to go through all of this because everything, everything is a reminder of what's never going to be.
I've been not talking today because every time I open my mouth the most awkward things come spilling out of it. I kept telling myself not to say anything about Ryan but it comes sneaking out when even I don't expect it.
Like standing in Walmart looking at cake toppers and there's a silly one with the bride actually dragging the groom by the collar and I could just imagine Ryan laughing with me at that.
I feel that I sound ridiculously cliched when I say this, but since I was 15 I knew it was going to be him. Even in the next years, when we were fighting or even dating someone else, I knew we'd wind up together. It was just supposed to be. If I pictured getting married, living with someone, going places, having kids--it was with him. Anything I saw without him, I was mentally listing it.
Driving back home last time--hours before all this happened--I was trying to figure out how to get him off work to come with me to the wedding, so that he could see the mountains and the scenery here. We talked about it that Friday as I was driving up, I was describing it to him, and he was talking about how much he wanted to see it.
I have so many conflicting thoughts at once the gears just grind to a halt.
Easy to say but that was half my life ripped out from under me.
Well, shit happens, and it happens to everyone.
But something like this doesn't happen to everyone.
It's been more than a month no one wants to hear about it.
It's only been a month--how can you expect me to just get over it in such little time?
Don't get over it just stop annoying everyone else with the one-track rambling.
I go through so many emotions in a day. Angry, annoyed, calm, empowered, jaded, jealous, panicked, quiet, regretful, tired, weak. My brain spits out adjectives alphabetically. I can sleep for the entire day or go days without sleeping and it all feels the same. I spend time with Aaron and Tonya and it feels like he's just in the other room. I dig in to pull the mess out in the open. I listen to strangers talking and I wonder what it's like to *not* feel complex emotions. I go to work because I fake myself into a high. And other times I'm genuinely feeling fine.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
I went to get my tags for my bike today. The DMV is clear on the other side of town, and I'm already nearly 10 miles from the close side, so it's a 20-minute drive. I brought all of my paperwork--ALL of it, even stuff I didn't need, just to be sure I wasn't missing anything. I do the whole stand-in-line-for-hours several minutes gig before I get to speak to a real live person.
She goes through the standard "I need this and this and this and this" --ALL of which I had-- "oh yes, and your personal property tax receipts."
Oh, hey, I haven't actually owned anything before, so we get to skip that step, right?
Nope. We don't.
I had to have a waiver saying I didn't pay taxes, easily available at the county courthouse. Which is all well and good, except that the county courthouse is in another town 30 minutes away. Forty-five when you account for me having NO IDEA where I was going and drove the length of the town twice trying to figure it out.
After a 3-hour ordeal I finally got my tags (which were WAY LESS than I thought they'd be, compensating for the fact that my insurance was WAY MORE). Yay! I brought them home and got them on the bike, just in time for the rain to start pouring in torrents.
So instead I'm going to spend the evening cleaning and watching movies. Wristcutters (by recommendation of Michelle) and Rocket Science. As per usual, it's crossed my mind about 200 times today how much I miss Ryan. Also, I love days off.
MLIA
She goes through the standard "I need this and this and this and this" --ALL of which I had-- "oh yes, and your personal property tax receipts."
Oh, hey, I haven't actually owned anything before, so we get to skip that step, right?
Nope. We don't.
I had to have a waiver saying I didn't pay taxes, easily available at the county courthouse. Which is all well and good, except that the county courthouse is in another town 30 minutes away. Forty-five when you account for me having NO IDEA where I was going and drove the length of the town twice trying to figure it out.
After a 3-hour ordeal I finally got my tags (which were WAY LESS than I thought they'd be, compensating for the fact that my insurance was WAY MORE). Yay! I brought them home and got them on the bike, just in time for the rain to start pouring in torrents.
So instead I'm going to spend the evening cleaning and watching movies. Wristcutters (by recommendation of Michelle) and Rocket Science. As per usual, it's crossed my mind about 200 times today how much I miss Ryan. Also, I love days off.
MLIA
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
