Wednesday, June 29, 2011

the most useless thing... that which is behind us. unless you're a lacanian or a freudian and then it is the only thing that matters.

a couple of weeks ago, my therapist suggested (i almost used the word 'accused' here...isn't THAT something) that i haven't told him very much about my past. the truth is, i hardly remember my past. i've blocked a lot. maybe on purpose. maybe because it was a long time ago. but i can't remember it as a continuous narrative. i remember only feelings or smells or things i hear or how the weather was on a given day and that makes me think of people or things.

i live in this web of my own significance that i spun myself and is held together by some sort of never ending free association matrix.

i've been particularly nostalgic lately.

i thought about a friend i knew when i was living in memphis. and i want to call and ask him does he remember the time we went to the blue monkey because you could smoke there and it poured rain. like a monsoon. and i drank raspberry vodka and orangejuice and he drank diet coke (because he didn't drink) and we smoked cigarette after cigarette and talked about philosophy while we watched the streets flood.

it was the night before thanksgiving. the thanksgiving that i worked all day and then ended by eating french toast with southern pecan syrup at ihop.

or something strikes me and i think about a guy i met on a train in paris over a decade ago, when i was just 18. he asked me for the time and i didn't understand what he said because the french classes i took in high school woefully underprepared me for actually HEARING people speak french. and he smiled and asked me in english and i said i didn't know. i didn't have a watch. and this was way before everyone had a cell phone. we rode on the train, looking at each other for three stops before i reached my destination. i still remember his eyes. the way he smiled. and how i wished that i wasn't with my family so that i could talk to him.

he was an artist. he had a portfolio of some sort under his arm. it's strange. i don't remember this morning, but i remember his eyes.

but mostly, and i'm sure you see already where this is going, when i walk into the blinding sunlight i think of the other. and i want to say 'do you remember?' do you remember how you were walking to meet me that day and i came out of the lingerie store and i saw you first. you were walking down the street and i don't think that you could see me yet were the only person i saw on that busy street in that vaguely european city. the only one. we walked through chinatown, looking at the strange produce and wondering what the fruits tasted like.

and then we went into a bakery and i had cake for breakfast. sponge cake.

and how i wanted to reach for you, but i couldn't bring myself to do it. i sit here now wondering if i had, would things have turned out different? instead of me sitting here alone thinking of you, we could laugh together about that day. and you would tease me about something i did or said. and we would laugh some more.

maybe we would laugh about i said that the only thing that would make my sponge cake breakfast better would be champagne.

i love champagne for breakfast.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

just tell me i'm pretty

it's been a while, but i'm back.

i came across this article the other day, entitled (most obnoxiously) "how to talk to little girls." but it gets better. it was written, it seems, by lisa bloom who is none other than gloria allreds's daughter. if you're rolling your eyes and losing interest, then you're not alone.

i forced myself to read read this piece to the end.

essentially, it's about how you should avoid focusing on girls' appearances and talk to them about books or...something.

i realize that right now i'm kind of pissing on feminism. but that's because this sort of mackinnon-dworkin-steinem interpretation of women's empowerment is both antiquated and unproductive. not to mention completely alienating. to fellow women. not men. their discomfort with sexuality bled all over their work, shaping the women's movement into one that never developed an appropriate conceptualization of the enjoyment of sex in all forms.

if you want to read something interesting and helpful to this end, read carol queen.

but...i digress. that's not what the article was about. i'm just providing the intellectual history, that, yes, i am interjecting into my interpretation of the piece.

which is that, according to this line of thought (however implicit it is), is that women are automatically objectified. in every case. in every situation. end of story.

i want to be told i'm pretty. every day. all the time.

because i am pretty. beautiful, even.

in fact, i'm fucking hot.

seriously. i look better than i ever have. hair done, nails done, nice clothes. the whole package. i do it for me. so that when i look in the mirror (or at my reflection in store windows as i walk down the street), i like what i see.

and when i have a daughter, i will tell her every day how pretty she is. and also how smart. and how in this world, you have to use both.

now, i know that some people will read this and think 'wow. the person that wrote this in in denial. total false consciousness.'

not exactly. i'm just amazingly superficial.

Monday, June 6, 2011


i'm hurting for caffeine. i want coffee, but i don't want to go too the coffee shop and get it. and i don't have a coffee maker here. i do have really good tea and an electric kettle that i keep filled with bottled water because i want to limit my exposure to chromium-6. but i don't have any cream because when i was sick with that sinus thing i got rid of all the cream because it's not good for your throat. and then, in a surge of empowerment, i decided that i didn't need cream in my life at all anymore because the calories are ridiculous. so i didn't buy more.

i could drink the tea without cream like i've been doing every morning, but for some reason that seems to be not what i want.

i'm just out of energy and tired of writing.

i've laid on the floor for the past three hours working on this paper. which is taking for fucking ever. i know, right? the floor. i spent all of that money on the imac and a desk, but i would rather lay on the floor in front of the imac and work on my laptop. don't get me wrong, i LOVE the imac and i do a lot of work on it, but today i can't even be bothered to sit erect. that's how tired i am.

FUCK. i need some encouragement.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

but sleep won't come

i can't sleep.

which is no good, because i was working on a paper and i couldn't stay awake. my eyes were literally closing. i couldn't keep them open.

i am bothered by so many small things right now. such as...what i am going to do with my plants when i go home. i have to find somebody to care for them or they will die. and while they aren't expensive, this would upset me greatly. and i don't know how to explain to someone that there is a small spider living in an an intricate but hard to see web in the thai basil. so you have to be careful when you water it, but you should drip water drops onto the web, so that the spider won't dry up in the heat. i'm fairly certain that no one will understand that.

the orchid, however, will probably live. it won't bloom, but it won't die. that is its way. it is even growing a new shoot. but no flower. it simply wants to entwine itself with the herbs. it doesn't matter how i turn it or if i impose some measure of distance in between the two pots. it stretches out, reaching for the thyme rather than the sunlight.

and all the writing i still have to do. i don't have the energy to do it. but i don't feel any discernable stress about that. other than the stress of wanting to get it done.

and then there is the stack of books that i have been compiling in preparation of my impending exams that i will take in november. books that i will have to read. i was excited when i ordered them, because i like buying things. i was excited when they arrived, because i like getting packages. i was excited when i opened them, because i wasn't sure which one i was getting and the surprise was exciting. but now the are simply one more thing i have to do that i don't have the energy for.

and i thought about the other today. and i cried. i keep waiting for the day when the thought of them won't make me have that reaction. or any reaction. i want to have no reaction at all. i want to forget them and i don't understand why, thus far, i cannot seem to do so. in my mind their life is perfect without me, while mine is miserable without them. i keep hoping for the day when i don't hope to hear from them.

and i know that i what i really hope for is not to forget them or feel nothing for them, but only to have them back in my life.

and that is the one thing i have no control over. and that is the reason i can't sleep.
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