| Returning to Advance.. |
[Jun. 4th, 2009|09:39 am] |
|
In one of the boxes today I found some writing including a short story titled "Returning to Advance" The protagonist was returning to Advance, IN to deal with past issues in order to move forward. I didn't reread the story. I remember enough of it to know there's not really much worth reading other than the title. I am, as a friend of mine said, going through more than physical boxes. I'm sort of going through the boxes of my mind as well. When I was in Bali Richard told me that he could see that I was ready to move on with my life finally. It actually really annoyed me that he said that because I've felt that I was ready to move on with my life for a long time, but I guess what I was not ready to do, or at least postponed doing was to face what I am doing now. I am facing the magnets from my fridge, postcards, letters, photographs, my own personal thoughts from a long time ago. And I am realizing that I was that person. As strange as it is to me, that person was me; that was my life. So as much as I've wanted to distance myself from that experience, it was my experience. That all amounts to years of my life, and it's crazy to think that can be wiped away. I made it past idealizing what would have been and covering up the truth about those years. I have to recognize now though that my twenties were not really 'wasted' and that it's okay that I was who I was, because I am the person I am today due to all these experiences. And I'm not doing so badly. I'm really not. So what I'm doing now, I think, is working on this huge disconnect I've had and coming to terms with how things really were so that I can let go of it in a healthier way. I just don't want all this darkness seeping into my present/future. Maybe it's not all as simple as sorting and tossing out things.. I don't really know, but I have too much good going for me now and I will fight as hard as I can to keep it. |
|
|
| i hate life |
[Apr. 20th, 2009|12:50 pm] |
fyi i almost typed i hate live which would have been ironic and beautiful.
i'm not sure how, but somehow. |
|
|
| i wish i had my own lily pad.. |
[Apr. 4th, 2009|12:09 pm] |
After a bottle of wine, drunk alone (from the bottle), a long day of mini-meltdowns and hypervenilation, finally i was about to sleep but i started talking to my roommate about school and all the things i hate. I'm obviously a really horrible person BUT, one thing that pisses me off extremely is when people try to guess at some shit that you said. So in classes that would be like segmenting a word down c-a-t (kuuuh-aaah-tuuuh) and the kid says 'porcupine' or some other ridiculous response, so i say 'cat' and then go on to someone else and another word, then i go back to the same kid and i say 'kuuuh - aaahh --tuuh' and kid says 'vampire' and im like DONT YOU FUCKING GET IT I JUST SAID IT WAS CAT YOU RETARD.(only that Seriously, I know, I'm a bad person. I get it. I should have boundless amounts of patience, but the fact is I DO NOT. asfjksdfjo!!! I JUST DON'T. I think sometimes they are intentionally trying to make my life difficult. My mom does this to me to. I was telling Debbie about it. I'll be like "I love spaghetti." and my mom is like "What? Did you just say I behoove a destiny" Does that make any fucking sense!?!? Why would I say that shit!? "I want some ice cream" So, I'm venting all this shit to my roommate about how people shouldnt guess at my words and make up some stupid ridiculous shit that makes no sense...
I then roll over on my side and I say, "I wish I had my own Lily Pad". |
|
|
| Whatever happened, happened |
[Mar. 30th, 2009|09:13 am] |
I chose poorly this time. I am mismatched with Singapore. And so I will set off for some other place. I will leave behind my home away from home at Dhoby Ghaut interchange and my tasty little shrimp dumplings.
One time this guru dude gave me this advice at a meditation retreat "Whatever happened, happened" and it's so true really. How can we argue with that? I'm sitting here examining Daddy Powell quotes from the night of the Hunter, and I have to say even though my whole life is up in the air, isn't it always a trick to think that it's not? There is always this chance that something small or huge could happen that will forever alter life's course. So whatever, I don't know what I'm doing, but whatever I do, I'll be doing it? Whatever will happen, will happen.
And Singapore, be damn sure that whatever shit i did, i did that shit.. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 23rd, 2009|12:01 pm] |
I tried to explain to Vanessa today how everything that changes just sorta eats me up.
I'm almost crippled by nostalgia sometimes. I don't want to go back to a place that has changed. I want to remember it how I always did. It's not that I definitely won't. At the moment, I'm saddened by the thought of going back to Bali knowing that Laurie won't be there and feeling uncertain about everyone else, and my ibu and my children? What if ibu is no longer alive.. Sometimes, I think I'm better walking away from that. It's like an ex. I am still in love with Bali, but we can't work it out. We can't be together anymore, but it kills me, just a little. So, can I go face this? I'm quite certain that I will. I think it will be both wonderful and painful. At the moment I feel a bit unsettled and annoyed with myself. Why can't I just be a normal person? (Although I'm not sure what that is exactly) Still, I'm certain that the intensity of my feelings is just.. It's more than normal? Isn't it?
Something inside me still, refusing to grow up. I think. I'm done throwing my tantrum, but I haven't budged yet. I'm still sprawled out face down on the ground clutching fistfuls of grass. Hanging on for dear life. Cause the earth is really the only thing to hang onto. Everything else just sort of slips out of your fingers. It felt so good today, walking to the bus stop. I felt like it was okay. That moment, everything was okay. I wish I could have more moments like that. I need more time alone. I mean, really alone. I'm always missing someone or something, but what I miss now is myself. I miss the kind of lost that feels good. I need it. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Mar. 17th, 2009|08:54 am] |
I have this disease and it's called mental retardation. It is systematic. It causes me to lose my keys and drink spoilt milk. I think it also causes my spine to be 'mildly degenerated'in L4 and L5. Not to mention L7. It It is also associated with such secondary conditions as turn-everything-to-shititus. It seems go hand in hand with that one actually.
It's almost magical how I have the ability to do that. I'm not really sure why the US military doesn't know about my special skills. I mean, they could totally ship my ass off to some remote region of Afghanistan where special forces can't get to.. I could just like go chill with the people.
I can see it clearly. Me and the Alquaedas.. I was like a grown up baby Moses. I even showed up in a basket, only a much larger basket. At first they were suspicious of me, but the unexplainable, that's allah's territory. My mysterious arrival started rumors and myths about me being a special hadiahAllah (gift from allah) I walked among men with no covering. They took me in as one of their own. But this turn-everything-toshititus that the US government was counting on kicked in..And one night while toasting goat legs over an open flame drinking, sharing some sort of fermented yogurt drink from the same cup and suddenly I grew suspicious. I'd be all, "Hey Fatush, Tariq, Uhh why'd you wipe the cup off after I drank from it!?" "What ain't I good enough for you guys?!" The alqaedas would be all "what the fuck bitch'.. And they would toss me out of the inner sanctum. No more goat legs. No more sitting around the fire unveiled. One of the gang- no more. But I mean the Alquaedas really had grown fond of me. I'd taken over making the stews and doing the laundry and even removed bullets from some of their legs with my bare hands. The tasks I had taken over were many, but most important of all was the goat milking. I had taken over the milking of the goat, and the Alquaedas had forgotten that goats don't just milk themselves... So the poor goat bleated for days. Her eyes searched everywhere for me, but I was nowhere to be found. I was at least 10 miles away by this time. I couldn't even hear her cries. And eventually, the pressure was just too great, and she passed.
That's when they sent for me. Nothing brings people together again like the death of a goat. They brought me back, and we buried her together. The only thing is, we were all so depressed we decided that we wouldn't send the shipment of Opium to Mynamar. We just sort of smoked it all instead. And that is how the west destroyed the Alquaedas..
But we are happy, and we have a new goat. |
|
|
| Unremarkable facet joints. |
[Mar. 10th, 2009|08:39 am] |
My neurotic mind has been doing overtime. I've had these pin and needle sensations going on for awhile now off and on. I was freaking out a bit over it because of being diagnosed with some sort of gay condition 10 years ago which is often misdiagnosed. So anyway, I hadn't been thinking about it too much until my left leg started to feel extremely numb and after I did a yoga class it seemed even worse. So I have been thinking that it could be MS mostly, but the internet also provided some other possible causes like SPINAL TUMORS. I really haven't worried about that too much but MS and fibromyalgia have some similarities and can both be misdiagnosed..When it comes to nerves and the thought of permanent nerve damage, tumors, nerve diseases etc, yeah, it sorta induces me into near-panic attacks. I'm not even sure about the 'near'. Wait, I should actually say it's not just about nerves, and nerve diseases.. I really just have a problem with the human body in general, specifically mine,and the fluids inside it and all the soft and crunchy parts. I don't like thinking about them. I have to confess that I fainted in school during a scoliosis video. I fainted again during the film about menstruation. I almost fainted a few years ago when I was working in a factory and had to watch an OSHO safety film in which a dude sawed off his finger. I don't like that shit. bodies seeping fluids and contorted spines. (i am typing this with my head between my legs! not really but.. ) My brother started all this shit when I had a cut once and he told me all the blood was going to run out of my body. I fainted. What a jerk!!!!!
So I went to Raffles Hospital today on several recommendations. I was in with the GP within 20 minutes of showing up. He asked a few questions, did some poking and prodding and then sent me upstairs for X-Rays. Up in Radiology I was told to remove everything but my underwear and change into one of the robes.. I was like "and uhh my bra" -- "you may only keep the underwear' So, I walk back out into the waiting room of clothed people and people that have on robes and pants, and I'm like what the fuck, why do they get pants and I get no pants. It was funny because in this Sedaris book I'm reading there was an essay about him walking out into a waiting room in just his boxers. I felt pretty uncomfortable and envious of those that were just getting their arms and chests x-rayed... Pantswearers.
The results of the X-ray read:
Lumbar Spine:
The vertebral alignment and disc space are normal. (Excellent news!)
There are very mild marginal degenerative osteophytic lipping present at L4 and L5. (If I
'm gonna be marginal I'm quite happy to be marginal in degeneratin')
The facet joints appear unremarkable (to add insult to injury)
Thank you Dr Yeong.
So I went back to the GP with my X-rays and he explained that this doesn't mean much of anything but the bit of degenerative could mean a slipped disc, but doesn't mean it necessarily and he wants to send me to a specialist tomorrow who will order an MRI. The MRI will really be the telling thing. The X-ray just shows that something is fucked up, but nothing super crunchy is all that fucked up. Non crunchy parts don't show up on x-rays. (In case you were unaware of this). So all this for 116 Sing dollars doesn't seem too terrible. I was sort of thinking that I will be relieved if it's just a slipped disc but I don't know that you can do anything for a slipped disc so I'll feel like I've just dined in a very fancy Chinese restaurant with super crappy food, then slipped a bill for 600 bucks with a fortune cookie laid on top, which once cracked open reveals the message "sucks to be you" |
|
|
| movin on up.. |
[Mar. 1st, 2009|10:49 pm] |
I've heard there's a show where people live in a house together and all they do is live and bitch and moan etc and other people watch it. There are a few of those kinds of shows, arent there? Imagine if you will... Two white girls, one 24, the other 32, living in a master bedroom together. Inside an apartment with a Chinese family of four, a Chinese boarder, and a maid of undisclosed ethnicity(I'm hoping she's Indonesian since lots of maids are!!). Would you pay to watch this show??! If so, I could invest in a webcam and, I don't know, clean up or something.. So, it is. We got a room. We're sharing a room like a couple of illegal migrant workers. Oh yeah, I SORT OF AM.
Anyhow, it's a really wise move financially. We split the 800 a month and get such amenities as HOT WATER and A PRIVATE BATHROOM and INTERNETS. 400 dollars a month is really amazing. It sucks to not have much privacy, but I can deal with that for a few months (up to 5 more MAYBE) I don't know. It would be nice to have a few thousand to come home with at minimum but it'd be really nice if I could have like 6k and not have to stress supporting myself for a little while and just get whatever kinda temp job I could do and look for something better. I don't really know though. This job really does suck for a variety of reasons..
Oh, so I'm still in Little India and I have a whole new reason to hate Sundays. Fucking Indian men.It's like what I imagine India is like. Fucking packed, but it's like 99 percent men. And they fucking run into you and shit. It's super annoying. Fucking moustached, swarthy, staring indian dudes. goddamn them!!!!! Actually, it's not bad at all except on Sundays. Really mostly they are fairly polite. It's just the swarms of them on Sundays and they get particularly pushy. But today is Monday. Tomorrow is Tuesday and Tuesday is Friday and on Wednesday (which is Saturday) I am moving on up to the HDB flat on the 12th floor with a magnificent view of steel beams. Supposedly construction doesnt start until around 8:30 every morning. I feel like a particular intolerance and violence growing within me and if I find out that I was lied to and awake at 5 am. I might just.. I don't know DO SOME SHIT..
Yeah.. |
|
|
| hujan datang... |
[Feb. 28th, 2009|07:10 am] |
The rain has come. As I left the office I stood under the awning watching the downpour, deliberating buying another umbrella or taking a taxi to Newton to catch the MRT. In the end my cheapness won. I ran for a good five minutes toward the bus stop. It was a useless exercise. I was drenched in like 2 minutes. But it made me happy! I don't know there's something about the ridiculousness of it. Something about the rain that just makes me happy. I guess I sort of feel like a little kid again. A wet little scamp running in the rain. So I did my best to keep my sandals on my feet and trudged onwards to the bus stop. I felt that momentary happiness. It's the same momentary happiness I felt this morning as I walked to the bus stop with the feel of the morning sun and the smells of the market. The market smells are actually extremely unpleasant, but I don't know it's the whole package, and the fact that I am part of it. I'm part of this perfect picture. I am the weird white girl smiling at the mosque over my shoulder in the morning sun, as I'm about to trip over a crack in the sidewalk. That happiness is sort of an indicator of sadness being aroudn the corner for me because it's the kind of happiness which leads to nostalgia which leads to crying and smashing myself over the head with a hammer. Well, I mean, I think about doing it, but the idea of my skull splintering sorta creeps me out. I swear. I mean, except for skull splintering I'd probably hammer my head regularly.
I can and enjoy and appreciate things about my daily life. Even on this bizarre little island of order and uniformity there are some strange and beautiful things. I just feel once I lose that wave that sweeps me over into a momentary bliss, I am left feeling alone and confused. Most of all, I feel that I do not belong. I do not belong here. But I do not feel that I belong anywhere. Maybe belonging is something you have to build or maybe I'm looking for a feeling that doesn't exist. I'm the kind of lonely that wine won't warm and so I drink peppermint tea and think about how tequila might make me jump into the sea but I can picture that beautiful plunge and the trail of bubbles floating to the surface. And, I have yet to see the sea... This is my answer to feeling unwanted, removed, tired of myself and everything. This is my answer. I write about it. If it's too bad I can delete it... |
|
|
| My Monday is my Thursday and my Thursday is my Sunday. |
[Feb. 23rd, 2009|04:23 am] |
And I'm wearing a black shirt and a black sweater and a black skirt. It has nothing to do with mourning. It has everything to do with what Debbie said, "You're gothic and you're emo" I said that I was a g-mo. Truthfully, in spite of liking the cure I'm not the slightest bit gothic... We all know I'm a big emo though. A big whiny ultra sensitive crybaby!
THAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 22nd, 2009|07:01 am] |
I just got an email today that my friend Laurie died yesterday, or early this morning. I just really can't believe she's gone. She was like 45 or 47 or something, below 50. I was just thinking about her a few days ago and how I couldn't wait to go to Bali and stop in the library and surprise her and then spend all night talking and drinking way too many bintangs.
In a panic, I was trying to remember if I said goodbye to her when I left in such a hurry. Then I remembered, she had left to go visit family in the states a month or so before I left. So, my goodbye was more like 'see you in a few months" which, I guess is ok.. God, there was a time when I felt closer to her than anyone in Bali. I would spend hours and hours talking and drinking. I couldn't match the old pro though. I always ended up way drunker and way more hungover than her. The first time we went out together was in August 2005. I had just gotten back from Korea and she was taking over as Director of VIBE. I went back after my month of making money in Korea to help run the VIBE program. I knew Laurie before that but I didn't really know her well. So we met up for dinner, drank some beer, drank some more beer, moved on to another place and had even more beer. We brainstormed about the program, chatted, and even moved onto some pretty personal conversations. And it was like that from then on, I always had Laurie to go to the rest of the time I was in Bali. When i was low, or when I just wanted to hangout and chat, I could always drop int he library and have an afternoon or evening beer. Sometimes, I'd even persuade her to leave the library. Often, we'd just hangout there until 1am and maybe she'd beg her son to go get us Padang food.
I'm still in shock, and I know about grief. I know how it works, but each loss is its own. Each is unlike any other. This is only the second one that meant much to me to be honest. I guess, I didn't really care that much about my grandparents dying. I was sorta like "I'll kinda miss you guys but you're super old" That sounds pretty cold I guess, but it's true. I don't even know what happened with Laurie. I guess I'll find out in a few more days. I knew she'd been in the hospital a few months ago. I figured it was something kind of serious but the kind of serious you get better from. I did text and email her a few times from the US but she was always crap at staying in touch. I never held it against her. I knew how she was, and I can't say I'm particularly awesome at it either.
I went through a lot with her the few months before she left and I left. We had the whole Tony's trial to deal with and she was doing a lot of opening up about things that had gone on the past year. She had 2 brothers die within months of each other. 2006 was a really horrible year for her... I feel so awful for her boys. I've been thinking about her littlest one. I guess he's 7 now? He was such a little mama's boy. That poor little boy. Her oldest was really close to her as well. God, this is just really awful. I can't believe it. I really can't. I wish I could go to her Ngaben. Maybe they'll just bury her first and then do the cremation later. If they do it months from now or something I could go.
I really just want out of here. It's so hard to deal with being here. I also think I hate my job. I am really lucky though that the manager (not really my boss but the business manager of the center) is really cool. I got that email at work today and Chih (the manager) and David (the teacher I am taking over for) were both so awesome. They told me I could leave and they wouldn't tell the boss. I made myself stay though. I got through it okay, but I think I will hate the job. I feel like a four year old. I just want to stomp my feet and smash the windows out in this place cause life isn't fair. Obviously life isn't fair. I feel so utterly alone in this journey at the moment. Which is probably a bit right and a bit wrong.
I don't know. <3 you pals. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 19th, 2009|01:58 am] |
Sitting at Starbucks. I just went into the mall to use the toilet and I was thinking about how I just really need people around me that can appreciate me for being a bit manic absurd. Actually, what brought it on was riding up the escalator thinking about how little I am sleeping and thinking "I'm sleeping in snatches" and then laughing about SNATCHES (aloud) and then thinking about the old quote of some ircer (valgy maybe) "i want to haunt your snatch like a dead injun" and then I laughed more and I thought about how all these teachers I have met that seem okay wouldn't find any of that funny and how I miss my mom, even though she tells me all the time that i'm over the top and taking things too far, she wouldn't have me any other way. But Debbie is cool. I mean, I'm not sure she always 'gets me' but is that even possible? I think my mom has given up on 'getting me' most of the time and just sees me like a mixed up bag of jelly bellies that she's only allowed to eat with a blindfold. Hopefully there's not very many of those black licorice ones in my mix!!! I hope I'm mainly pleasant fruity ones. I can't really maintain happiness without people that I can laugh with about silly things and that I can be my big retarded self with. I don't think I'm in the right place now. I still stand by what I have said originally though. I got myself into this and I will get myself out. It's important for me to do things for myself. It's like when I got kicked out of Indonesia I was able to handle that myself and I only had a few days with the threat of expulsion from a country and possible JAIL TIME. I have conquered some pretty major shit before and I can do it alone. THe fact is though, I think I would be happier around people I care about and people who care about me. These people are scattered which is a bit of a problem, but I guess there is one in particular I'm thinking I would really like to be around!
Please, could someone do a bit of research and find out if there is a gang of deaf white people that come to Asia to hock keychains. This is the second time in the past 2 days that I have been approached by someone. They lay the keychain on the table with a card that says "I am deaf ... and the price". I wonder if I am not the first one to fake deafness in Asia. If they are faking it they are worse people than me. I didn't fake it for money. I did it for the social sciences and to escape a weird monkey-man. My karma is cool.
I think I'm gonna go see Slum Dog Millionaire today. I've got this sort of lingering anxiety and unhappiness but it's not going to stop me from trying to have a decent time on my day off. I don't think it will go away entirely. I guess that's ok. I'm also going to check out gyms... I think I will be somewhat more stable by the end of the week, but if not.. I guess I'll deal with that as well. (The end of next week. My weeks are weird now. I see Friday as Monday) |
|
|
| This is the way the world ends/ Not with a bang but a whimper. |
[Feb. 16th, 2009|09:34 pm] |
Walking from the bus stop to work and I couldn't get this line out of my head. It was like a mantra only I wasn't doing it intentionally. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. My metaphors bring tears. Tears from laughing at how ridiculous they are. Like I've said, My inner monologue goes on far beyond this blog. I walk down the street and think "I am the Loch ness deep inside me unseen by all is a twisted monster. every now and then someone might catch a glimpse" The thing that is so ridiculous about that is that obviously nessie is totally fucking adorable. Also, like where do all these random thoughts come from. Throw them all away. I sort of see my mind like this enormous garbage dump in Brazil or El Salvador and I wonder if plowing through it and sorting it out is even an option or if I should just set it ON FIRE AND BURN EVERYTHING. Wait, how would I even do that. I don't make trash I burn it.
I remember being bullied by this girl Julie in the bathroom when I was in 3rd grade. God, I hated that fucking dykie little bitch. Even then I had this weird scent of vulnerability or something. Like a wounded animal. Only, it was a strange type of vulnerability as it was crossed with a determined sort of toughness that didn't allow anything to really stop me. Anyhow, determined not to be bullied I met all of her namecalling and harassment with one of my favorite phrasal verbs "shut up" (It's still a favorite to be honest)Of course the standard reply was "Make me" and I very quickly and cleverly came back with "I don't burn trash I make it"...
I guess it's a good thing I learned to laugh at myself and realize that the real winner in that situation was me. I'm pretty sure that this Julie is sitting on the bleachers of some shitty middle school gym shouting at her brood of medicre children"HUSTLE, HUSTLE" She then goes home, belittles her husband, slides under the sheets and knocks one out to fantasies of the girl's volleball coach in polyester shorts and men's tube socks.
Or who knows maybe she's a really awesome person who runs a community garden and hosts foreign exchange students. Maybe if she met me today she'd tell me how sorry she is for having been such an asshole. I seriously doubt it though. I kind of hope not, cause I'd really rather punch her in the throat than have to be like "NO WORRIES MATE" which I'd never say anyway because I'm not some kind of genetically mutated descendent of crocodiles and bread thieves. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 15th, 2009|12:56 am] |
Lately I pass the time walking by coming up with possible epitaphs for myself. I mean, it’s a bit morbid but it’s kind of amusing.
“Pathetic but endearing” was the winner of the day.
I also kind of like “Beloved retard”
I find it really easy to talk to people. Yet the things that come out of my mouth sometimes are just so inappropriate. I mean, not always. I don't know. Too much too fast. I don't even find it that easy to talk to people. Why did I type that? Sometimes...
Sometimes, I find it easy to talk to SOME people. Yet, i dump all kinds of myself on these people. It's as if I'm saying "Look at the fuckedupedness of me." Do you like it? I DON'T but you should, and if you do not, then we OBVIOUSLY can't be pals. It's as if I want the worst to be seen first. Perhaps it's not even the WORST. It's just that some people reveal themselves slowly over time and I feel like I should have a case-study of myself and a list of my flaws and hand them to a person, and then that person should have a few hours to study up and decide if he or she would like to continue talking to me.
It could also be that I'm trying to view myself through the eyes of others in order to learn who I really am. It's not such a good method I suppose. I think my new method is going to be writing like crazy. I've been writing in notebooks, on LJ, on MS word. I have this constant inner dialogue going on anyway. I may as well write it down. Examine it. Try and make something of it. I'm finding that I am ok with some of my neuroses, because they are just so ridiculous that I can laugh at them. And I think something that is helping me is reading this book "Magical Thinking" and finding Augusten Burroughs to be so honest, and hilarious and so, so fucked up. It's really okay to be fucked up. It's often interesting. I just have to find a way to make it work for me without all the crocodile tears and self loathing. I also need to find where I belong. |
|
|
| crazy eyes.. |
[Feb. 13th, 2009|11:36 pm] |
On that scale of crazy, let's say that normal is someone like Katie Couric, I'm not sure why I picked her. I could have easily said Ben Matlock or Angela Lansberry but they are old and/or dead and one of them isn't a real person. Anyway, I can't think of a good person to represent the standard of NORMAL, but someone emotionally stable, not just repressing severe problems but fairly free of them. Let's just say that person is Katie Couric. She seems like a good mother or something.. I guess at the top of the scale we have people like son of sam, Charles Manson etc. Well, just below would fall Crazy eyes Eli. So we have on a scale of 1 - 10. Katie is a 1, Son of Sam a 10, Then Crazy Eyes Eli would be an 8. (I'm figuring myself as a floating 4 to 6)
Crazy eyes is this old Israeli/American dude who is staying at the hostel right now. His favorite topics of conversation are 1. Israel is a communist state, because Isreal is a socialist state and socialism = communism. It's just a new word because nobody likes the word communism. 2. The new world order 3. Masons
My favorite story told by crazy eyes involves him doing his military service in Isreal (Where all citizens have to do national service) So crazy eyes, was an artist (And I believe a homo as well) misunderstood (of course) an outcast. They sent him to some sort of tank unit."I was non violent, a pacifist, I couldn't shoot a gun," as Crazy told me, "They wanted to kill me".
So apparently, they were about to kill him when somehow he made the news because the press had been around his unit awhile back(this was in the 70s) "They saw me on the screen," he told me. "and they couldn't figure out how I could be right before them and on the TV screen. To them I was two places at one time. They couldn't figure it out. So they let me go." I was at a loss for words for a moment.. Wow. "Did they think you were magical?" I asked him.
"They just couldnt understand the concept," he said.
Yeah, 1970s...
In appearance Crazy eyes looks like an R Crum drawing of himself only skinnier, with longer legs, knobbier knees and of course CRAZIER EYES. So, this dude has a penchant for running around without pants. The other day I was outside on the curb (the best place to get wifi signal) So out wonders crazy eyes onto the sidewalk wearing a dress shirt and no pants..
I guess, it's comforting to know that as crazy as I might be there is far crazier..
I gotta get back to work soon!
happy vday pals <3 |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 12th, 2009|03:40 am] |
I have a very mechanical feeling. I am drifting along on moving walkways. Up and down escalators. Is it possible to become even more lost in the process of trying to find "the way" or "a way"?? This huge disconnect exists between me and the world. I feel stiff and untouchable and I pretend that I am not trying to reach someone. I pretend that I am actually having a conversation with the guy I am walking by. He's on the phone now. I imagine our conversation. "Hey," I say, "Why are you wearing those faggy shorts and orange shirt" He gives me a long sigh and then asks me if I want to go out for Cosmopolitans. Of course I do. I vow to never ever puke in the sink of a club with the facade of a boat. I am best pals with orange shirt and he understands that I need the comforts of shallow conversation about how my toenail polish looks perfect with my pepto-pink sandals.
I don't know how to be a grown up. I refuse to wear my hair in pigtails now. I have a collection of artsy earrings and scarves and I think that I'm doing my best attempt at faking it. I have neurotic grown woman problems, but where is my friend in the orange shirt? As we sip cosmopolitans I would tell him about the top 5 foolish things I did/said for the day. It would become a kind of routine. My catharsis, his entertainment. How many times have I fallen down? How many stupid cultural faux pas did i make? Did I actually nod and smile when the old lady said "Im gonna die soon" (hey she mixes chinese with malay I can't understand exactly" He would laugh about how ridiculous and retarded I am. I wouldn't mind. Then at some point I would tell him about how much of a wreck I am in the nonfunny ways. I would tell him about guilt, self-pity, self loathing, paranoia, laziness and everything else that has managed to stand between me and happiness.. I would tell him these things and we would cry together, then we'd make a joke about it all and just keep drinking our faggy cocktails. Somehow in the morning I wouldn't wake up feeling like that spell had been broken and I'd give him a call and bitch about how shitty the coffee was at my hostel.
I just kind of realized that this orange shirt guy is actually a lot like my friend Richard. Only orange shirt guy is just a tiny bit nicer to me. Not much though.
Maybe if I see him tomorrow I'll ask him if he likes Cosmpolitans. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 10th, 2009|11:10 pm] |
|
I am in a dark place. I know that I will somehow get out of this place and I had a really nice day yesterday. This is not the life that I want. I really think this job is pretty lame. THe management seem to be assholish racist expats (As far as the franchise management). Yet, I am connecting with some amazing people who have such beautiful hearts and stories. Like my friend Priya. She just arrived in Singapore from India 8 months ago or something. She has a 5 month old son. She was telling me about her husband and how they had a love affair for 10 years and just got married last year. She's 29. So, his family is from a different ethnic group (She's Punjab) and they didn't approve of the marriage. "We have a love marriage" were the first words she said to me to describe it. She seemed so proud of this. I thought it was beautiful. And here she is in Singapore and stressed out about having to accept this shitty job just like me. If she doesnt find a job she has to go back to India and leave her husband, mother, brother & sisterinlaw and niece. I really hope this job works out for her because after 10 years of not getting to be with the one she loves it would be so awful to have to part. Yesterday she invited me over to use the internet and we had tea and chatted. I've always felt a kind of barrier with having deep and meaningful relationships and even conversations with non westerners. I mean, I have before, but it really is difficult. Yet, I feel already a connection with Priya. I said goodbye to her mother and she asked Priya to have me lean my head down so she could bless me. It seems sometimes that when you are so desperately alone and lost that what you need will come to you. I miss someone in America terribly and I guess I feel that he is lost to me. I feel him drifting further and further away, but I don't really see any easy answers to this. I have to be okay with my aloneness, but I do have friends and if I try to do the right thing I guess everything will turn out okay. I might be a new age hippie but I have faith that the Universe will take care of me if I do my very best to live the right way. I am a lucky person. My tragic flaw is that I am not always able to see this through my little dark cloud.. |
|
|
| (no subject) |
[Feb. 6th, 2009|11:46 pm] |
|
I woke up early again and the first thought I remember forming was "I want to kill myself". I actually was thinking about that on the way here. (here being Orchard road.) and I started laughing about it. It's sad and pathetic and kind of hilarious. What kind of person wakes up and first thing thinks that. And here I am sitting with my giant sunglasses on crying. I was reading this meditation book this morning and I'm trying to think of this pain that plagues me as this sort of flowing force that isn't part of me. It's just something that comes and goes. If I can think about it in that way I don't feel quite so crazy. But god I feel so spoiled and self-indulgent or something. Like I see these people working so hard and I know they must have incredibly difficult lives. Yet, here I am sipping on a frozen green tea, typing on my laptop and crying. It really makes me hate myself. I think that's the key. I really hate myself for not being tough enough. I know that I am lucky and born into privilege and if I could stop being in my own way I could really do anything I wanted..How to make these feelings go away. Walking up and down the escalators, trying to be mindful of my surroundings, in and out of airconditioned malls. I have to not take myself too seriously and sometimes that means getting drunk. I don't know what the answer is. This Singapore is really something.. Neither here nor there. I have faith that I will grow up and I will somehow figure out a way not to be so disgustingly self-obsessed. I love a lot of people. I know I'm decent deep down. I think we all are. |
|
|
| doggie daycare.. |
[Feb. 3rd, 2009|06:37 am] |
So, I'm finding myself immersed in a world of bizarre shit once again. I'm staying at this weird "rodeo style' hotel next to a racetrack which on the map reads "racetrack (former)" and behind it during the day there are all these dogs, big dogs, small dogs, dozens of dogs, groomed and fancy looking. So, of course I was like "uhh what the fuck are those dogs doing and those people with the dogs doing" It seriously looked like the Westminster dog show or some shit. Anyhow, I found out it's DOGGIE DAYCARE. I ate nasi padang for lunch today!! It was good but it wasn't really as good as nasi padang usually is.
Tomorrow I gotta go find a place to live, even if it's a short term place. The school will only pay for this room for a few more nights. I'm really tired and about to consume a large can of Tiger beer.. I'm overloaded with emotions and sensory stimulation.. Also, I miss someone very much. |
|
|
| why i hate to clean and some random thoughts before throwing out these notebooks |
[Jan. 26th, 2009|01:56 pm] |
i fucking hate organizing my shit and finding painful reminders of the past. it's not that i don't carry around a little bit of it everyday. It's not that I can't handle it. It's just that why.. Why do I have all this shit that makes me feel uncomfortable and like this former self that I have no desire to be is still lurking inside threatening. That I was once.. something. Something, I am not even sure why this stuff bothers me. It really does though. I think I am just so ready to not be burdened by shit and to really blaze on forward into the future. There are some random thoughts I wanted to pull from these notebooks before I SET THEM ON FIRE. Well, I think I'll just throw them away..
These are from 05 - 06
(possibly written from kuala lumpur)bring the fucking check bring the fucking check i am really pissed off i askedy from my check goddammn fuxors i am so pissed off this looks CRAZy
like the guy shza made famous for his lists
'one microwave oven 12 cases of pabst blue ribbon, 30 tony's frozen pizzas
***
i find it hard to believe the meek shall inherit the earth when i see them conastantly crushed underfoot. i find injustice to be the only cause worth living for.
***
i try to find who i am the less i find, it disturbs me to feel so little.
pages and pages of survivor's guilt. i don't even want to go there.
***
why does that woman pull her swimsuit up her ass (padang bai a quick note to maria)
*
i am glad to let all of these thoughts go and all of the abusive self talk. that period was a huge time of change and i don't regret any of it but i am glad that it is over as beautiful as much of it was like living in tajen.. i found one more thing and this will not be thrown out with the rest. it's a note from a little girl named ria
'misel you no are giving a gift to widya 'karena widya sedih kl tidak lulus' (she's sad because she didnt pass (6th grade)) you are giving a gift to widya ok.. (and i did)
i remember crying when i read this and how much i love those kids and widya is always always in my thoughts. she was one of the special ones. she wanted so much to do well and she came to see me and walked me home. i hope i can find her and check up on her.
ok, time to get rid of this shit and find some more to get rid of..
I have some very exciting times ahead of me!!
xo |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
yourpal's journal