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If you can store anxiety in your body without really knowing you've done it, I wonder if you can do that same with sadness. I know I get these big knots in my shoulders all the time, and I know they're from stress. There are things I can do to relieve it: take epsom salt baths, rub on Tiger Balm, stretch. It comes back from time to time, but at least I know what causes it. This helps me deal with it and get through all the things I need to do in any given day.

So this is what I've done so far to help me deal with my sadness, the loneliness brought on by having broken up with my boyfriend last night. A good friend.

Last night when I got home from exchanging keys and whatnot, I called Mike but he was out for the night. Then I called Ken. He came over and we went for a walk to the Quarter because, well, I had to get out of the apartment. We walked over to where Suzy and Bryan work and we talked for a bit. Like many, they were very sorry about the news but offered their support as friends. Ken and I went to Popey's and he helped me finish the fries that came with a very good hot dog. Sadness, it seemed, had shaken my body; I felt like I was in shock or something. My stomach was fluttery and my heart kept jumping like all of a sudden I'm some scared animal. It made it hard to eat, but I had to. I wanted to know if it was just low blood sugar.

We stopped by Reverend Zombie's (which is right next door to Popey's) in hopes of meeting a noder we were hoping to meet at the gathering a few weeks before, shannonhubbell. He was working and we talked a bit, ogling all the Voodoo wares strung up in the ceiling. I was getting tired, finally, and Ken walked me home. Mike had called while I was out to check on me, so I returned his call, catching him on his cell while on his way back home. He convinced me to keep talking to him until he got home, as he had slipped into the mode where he just wanted to keep driving around. I could barely stay awake for the end of the conversation. Mike is my friend. He knew this would work.

I awoke at 5am, then again at 6. I made breakfast, watched some morning news, and waited for Ken to show up around 9. He went with me to the office of the man who owns The Quilt Shop, Richard, to help him get started on making changes to the store's website, while I caught up on a month's work of bookeeping. We were there until 3 or so, and then Ken wanted to show me this Vietnamese bakery way out in New Orleans East. On our way there, we had to cross a drawbridge. The boat had passed and the bridge was down again, but they hadn't raised the barricades. The boat seemed to be stuck between leaving from under our bridge and passing under the next bridge over, I-10, which at the time was blocked because of a passing train underneath. 20 minutes passed. People started getting out of their cars, hoping their impatience would motivate those in the tower. Still the barricades stayed down. They would rise, one, then down, then the second, then down, until some people behind us, coming up a ramp, began orchestrating their cars to go back down the one way ramp. Some car in front of us got brave and went under the barricade and successfully crossed. Then a black man on a cell phone went over to the striped bar and lifted it with one hand, slowly raising it so the rest of us could pass. Ken screamed at the people on the other side who were also impatiently waiting, "Blast through the barricades!" I was laughing, and the twittering in my heart and stomach went away. Laughter, I am discovering, helps in moments of this kind of sadness, the helpless kind.

This bakery was way out in the sticks. Before we got there, Ken showed me the place where he was first hired when he moved here, Royce Instruments. I don't know what they make; all I know is that their funding has run out and everyone is laid off by now. I learned that the Royce buildings were near the NASA facility and a Folger's coffee plant. Ken rolled down the windows while asking himself, "I wonder if they're roasting now." Indeed they were and the steam outside smelled delicious. He told me one of the warehouses at Royce was owned by Folgers and Royce employees had access to it by way of their ID badge. He said it looked like the last scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, only with Folgers cans.

The bakery had lots of green things, green like cheap jade green, and made of something called mung beans. I bought some coconut macaroons and an Orange Crush, and Ken bought a few custard dumplings and some of these pastries made with mung. He tried to get me to taste one, but one smell of it reminded me precisely of vitamins. I nibbled very small piece and was promptly revolted. It had sucked all the moisture from my mouth. From there we headed back to Richard's where my car was parked, Ken pointing out all the restaurants he went to for lunch while he worked at Royce.

I came home to a few messages. Mike and jethro_bodine both called to check in on me, which made me smile. I had made plans with Mike and Terri (different Mike) to rent a movie tonight, and they in addition invited me over for dinner. Mike and I walked to Tower Records. I bought a new pack of smokes and Mike smoked his pipe; we talked about this table he's made to put on commission in a store in the Quarter. I wanted to rent Something Wicked This Way Comes, but they didn't have it, so we rented Shrek instead. Something funny. I learned that while I thought it was hilarious, that it is likely just as hard for a fasting person to deal with the outside world and its constant association with food as it is to watch any Disney or otherwise animated film without romance. I borrowed Aladdin and The Addams Family from them anyway.

On the drive back to my place, again I was overcome with shaking, as though my silence had brought on hypoglycemia. My teeth were chattering. Suzy called and left a message for me, and again I smiled. I am now looking around the apartment and see no traces of my ex, no sign that he was ever here in my life. Just all my things and the rest of my life to get on with.

This is just one evening and one full day of coping with sadness. So far, I guess, things are going pretty well. Of course, it may just be that all I need to do to dispel the butterflies inside me is to cry. I sobbed uncontrollably on the way to and from his house last night, and I am not ready to cry again just yet.

I wanted to thank all of you who have reached out to me to comfort me. The gathering I had here couldn't have been better planned, as it is the most current memory of one of my happier moments. This is where making friends pays me back with double kindness, for in my pride it is so hard to reach out in need, but I can't do it alone, completely.

A thought occured to me tonight, sitting at home, with some friends around.

A lack of drugs has killed many of the conversations I used to have.

Let me explain this. It's been a few years since I gave up smoking pot. I was never a heavy drug user, giving up was surprisingly easy in fact. One day, I just decided that I'd had enough, and stopped. I've not really been tempted since. Most of my friends also were drug smokers. None of them really use anything harder than pot, every now and then one or two will give up too, with varying degrees of success, and lengths of time. But there have been periods when just about everyone I associated with, was a drug smoker.

So, we'd sit around, passing the bong from person to person, and have the most incredible conversations. 'Yes', I can hear you say, 'but did any of them make any sense? Or was it just the drug fucked ramblings of a room of fools.' I can understand why you might think this - particularly if you've never been exposed to this type of thing. It's sickening really, you watch a movie with some people smoking drugs, and almost instantly they're giggling madly, spinning out over the most ridiculous of things. Making no sense whatsoever. That wasn't the way things were with my group of friends. I learned so much in this time...I learned about geology, astronomy, ancient history, music, philosophy....and so much more. We'd talk about anything, and everything. I'm not going to claim that all our conversations were deep and meaningful - far from it. Yes, sometimes they were silly, or totally irrational. It didn't matter though...

Because they were conversations with friends

A short while ago, I quit smoking cigarettes. And recently, I've realised that yet again, I've lost an opportunity for great conversation. My two flatmates and myself would go out under the pergola out the back, have a cigarette, and a good chat. We'd talk about anything, work, computer games, music...whatever. Now, come the weekend, my friends go out the back, for a smoke, whether a joint or a cigarette, and I stay inside. I could go out with them, but it's always more difficult to enter the conversation, when you're already standing apart. And I've lost the opportunity for conversation with my friends. As they sit outside in the sun, talking and laughing, feeding their minds, I'm somewhere else, preserving my health.

It's a real shame, that we can't just sit, friends together, and have these conversations without a substance acting as a focus. It's disappointing, because I miss these talks. And I sometimes feel myself growing further away from some of the people I love most in the world. I hope, one of these days, I'll be able to have talks like that again...drug free, and not caring. All of us knowing that the each other's mere presence is enough to stimulate, that none of us need to be on anything before we can open our hearts, and minds. One day....



Nothing here is supposed to be a judgement on those who choose to use drugs....it's just a thought that occured to me, that I thought was interesting, and wanted to put down in words.
I finally get to do an "It's my birthday!" daylog!

It is my 18th birthday today.

I'm scared. Im an adult. I can be held fully accountable for all of my actions. I can now go to jail for some of the same stuff I got away with previously. I want to be a kid forever. Screw being responsible, making my own decisions, as a mature adult. Ahhhhhhh! I seriously can't even deal with the thoughts that come to mind when I say that.

Why can't I just run up and down the street with the neighborhood kids at twilight forever? Wear pigtails everyday,and be justified in dressing like a princess everyday because Im a little girl and thats what little girls do. I want to be the smartest math kid in school again, instead of stuggling to be average. I want my mommy to be here to make me soup and stawberry milk when I'm sick, instead of being 600 miles away. I want to go back to the day when I first got my license, and drove around just for fun blaring Ace of Base because I could. I want to go back and appreciate all the things my childhood gave me, because I honestly didn't at the time.

I tend to do this. I love swooning over the past. I live in the past. But now its time to live in the present. I can get whatever I want pierced. I can get into some clubs. I can buy porn, if I want. I am no longer "jailbait". I am finally old enough to be out on my own, even though I already have been for months. I can vote. I'm probably forgetting some things. But Im tired of looking at the positive side of things, not my job, and I have math to do.

Even on my birthday, duty calls. Oh, the vices of being a mathematician.....

I think I'm becoming into a very bad person. I haven't noded on E2 for an extremely long time, Damn school work and evil six courses of hell.

For the past week I've been intensely stalking a person and finding out where that person exactly lives and stuff, even rode in the elevator with the person. It's horrible, I've never stalked someone like this before. Mind you I wasn't alone when I was doing this. Someone else was with me and they were stopping me at all. I think I may be a little bit obsessed... Lalala. Yes I can't do any of my work because I'm constantly going crazy. I think I'm burning out already. I should really stop all this stalking but I did for like a whole month. Sigh I think I hate people, if I didn't have to go to school or go out at all I wouldn't see new people and then get obsessed with them over some trivial thing like... "Nice hair" or "Stylish clothes!"

Work was exciting today, a group of six people came in and ordered a dinner worth $137.98 and gave us a $4.50 tip. I felt hm... what's the term... Angry? And they were so fussy and we were serving them like every second and we asked them many times if everything was okay and they would say "yes" everything is perfect... so what was wrong?

Oh well it's like 2:37am now and I think I'm finished looking stuff up for projects for now and just finished reading Crime and Punishment so I can start Anna Karenina for Russian class before Nov 30 which is the end of the term. This is great! Lalala.

Dancing and twirling screaming Bloody Murder!

It's the second-month anniversary of the attrocities in New York and D.C.

Two months have passed and life has finally seemed to settle back to a sense of normalcy. Friends are dealing with personal woes, family members are celebrating their kids' birthdays, people are going to church, employees are clocking in, governments are still working in ways unseen...

Two months ago this nation was united in anticipation of what the next day might bring. Collectively, we were all holding our breaths, not sure what to expect minute to minute. Now, things seem normal again. Our sense of cultural, national, personal, familial, religious and societal identity was shaken to its core, but now it's standing firm again.

This nation is so young, comparatively speaking. The US has been around only 225 years, which isn't that long as the age of nations goes. We are still adolescent in many ways, as a nation. And, like any teenager, we are finding that we are more resilient than others would expect us to be in times of hardship.

We have been rocked to our very foundation and still we stand.

Question: Is it good to feel so safe so soon?

On the first-month anniversary, October 11, 2001, the place I work at was fairly empty. Tonight it was hopping with business. Sports was airing on TV, sitcoms were being rerun, food was being ordered, drinks were being consumed... as if nothing could be wrong or ever was wrong before. Have our memories grown so short, a holdover of the MTV Generation, or is America's citizenry purposely trying to forget that there is a carpet beneath our feet that can be pulled out from under us at any moment?

The world is a dangerous place. I still wonder what tomorrow will bring. When people tell me, "Hey, I'll see you tomorrow" I wonder if they truly expect that. My faith in tomorrow is as firm as it ever was... I just don't know if I'll be around to see it or if anyone will.

We can never forget. We lose a little bit of ourselves when we do.

Well, this morning was almost enough to make me change my ways. First a little history though... not history from really far back though, just from last night. I've always loved cats and kittens, and have long said that it's my goal in life to become that crazy old man with 90 cats. Anyway, on a trip to various local barns to search for someplace to board her horses, my SO calls me and says "do you mind if I bring home a kitten?" Not one to do more than sit on the fence I said "Whatever you think." Well, needless to say she brought home a gorgeous little grey kitten home in a box (she looks very much like the Russian blue that was in the movie Cats and Dogs).

I woke up early this morning to find the little fleabag nestled beside me. Yes, it was quite adorable. She roamed around, scared my other two big *cough* tough cats a bit (they're not used to something new and small... the big one routinely beats up dogs, but is not sure what to do with something smaller than he is). Anyway, she sits on my SO in bed and pees! I didn't realize this of course until she sits up and sputters "she peed on me!" So much for sleeping in... 8am and I'm up and putting laundry in the washing machine and then heading into town.

We figured that because the litter box was pretty dirty and not filled with the sand that this as-yet-unnamed kitten is used to (we were using clear crystal things). So who gets to go and get more litter? You guessed it. Yours truly. The thing is, it didn't suck! I normally hate going into town... too busy, too many people, long line ups, and all sorts of things specifically designed to piss me off. At 8:30am on a Sunday morning though (especially in a town in the bible belt) there's no one around! I slowed down for maybe three lights, had one person in the line in front of me in the store, and all in all had a plesant experience. I ought to get up early more often.

There are two interesing numeric properties to todays date, 11/11/01.

  • It will be the last day that you can pretend is a binary number (61) that will occur for nearly a decade.
  • Since the month and the date are the same, it is an excelent day for transatlantic correspondance, as both Europeans and Americans can agree on what the date.
Neither of these observations are really all that enlightening or significicant, I guess you should try to find something to make every day a little special.

I had a moment when I felt like a person, I had emotion and I could be wanted. This moment lasted about 10 optimisic minutes, and then reality hit me. Still it was nice to be on the receiving end for once. Over the last few years I have consciously attempted to help as many of my friends as possible. I listen, I care and I want to help them through their problems (God knows i've had enough of my own). I have tried to be the friend that I always seeked, although whether this has been achieved is another matter. I try my hardest to make other people happy, to make up for my lack of happiness. Over the past few years I have developed a vague philosophy by which I try to live. It is (in simple terms) that other peoples happiness is more important than my own, so as long as what I do doesn't hurt anyone, and I try and help people, I can be myself. It seems to work in a strange kind of way, even though nobody seems to understand.

When you get to a point of feeling so numb and robotic that you have to cut and burn yourself just to feel something, you know this definately isn't normal (but thats a good thing, right?). I have felt like this for close to 4 years, on and off (which I must add is much more annoying than just feeling one thing), and i'm reaching a point of either total confusion or complete understanding. Either way it's not fun, however at least it's progress.

One of my main problems (academically) is that my thought process is completely unstructured. I just needed to express my thoughts, so I apologise for the randomness.


As a final note, if you're in a relationship, please value what you have. It isn't something to take for granted, I have been searching for intimacy and belonging for years and I continue to do so. I know sometimes relationships suck, but the fact you're in this position in the first place is valuable enough (yes I do know it sounds stupid). Would you rather be in a relationship with its ups and downs or alone? I know which I'd choose.

The Fathers' Day.

I was seeing my parents after quite a while. (It has nothing to do with the Fathers' Day because I remembered it only few days ago when my friend who grew up in Uusikaupunki too mentioned it. But I did made a small card for him: I drew a manga-like chick wishing luck for dad.) I've just been so busy with Uni and all. Actually there wasn't that much talk with them as I expected but. They basically know how I'm doing and I think it was more a symbolic question of being present after a long time.

I met also an old good friend who had some kinda serious problems with depression about a year ago and those problems triggered him to make couple of kinda radical changes in his life. He was doing better now and after hour and half our discussion slided into bigger questions of life. He didn't want to say a lot on this but he was anxious to hear what I was thinking. (I have to say I felt good that he appreciates my opinion.) Well, here's approximately and very briefly what I told him:

Life is a bitch and then you die. In my case this worn-out phrase has a bit different meaning because I just cannot run from climax to climax. Usually this means life fulfilled by heavy alcohol consumption and sex; sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. Work 8 hours a day, drink whole weekends. Choose a career. Choose a fucking big television...
It just doesn't work for me. I try to fight back being nothing but a desiring machine. It's just build in my personality that I need some long term plans and dreams. The tragi-comical part of this is that I've realized it doesn't matter that much if those plans are fulfilled or not - it's the plans themselves, the very existence of those plans is my air hole. I just need to deny that in the final analysis they are of no importance.

I don't know if it helped him at all. I also told him that this is only my perception of my life (at the moment) and someone else may have completely different things that make em happy and they may found the meaning from different things. I'm also dissatisfied with myself that I haven't properly worked through this idea yet (as you can see above) but on the other hand I'm also bit afraid that it will make me remember all too well that on a certain level the question of long term plans and dreams is the exact equivalent for the escapism of reality offered by telly, alcohol and drugs. Why can't we people live with the reality? How's the Paris Commune?

But.. It has been magnificient, brilliant, (other words of praise) to find love!
(see Moulin Rouge for further information)

63 kilometers run this week - not too much yet but becoming better.

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