Looking back, I realize my blog gives the impression that I’m carefree, unphased, unphasable, but it isn’t true. Today I will document some of my more tormented thoughts and extraordinary days from pages scattered on the desk of a home I share with no one.
My pages fit within this timeframe. I used to be in love with Griffin. He turned cold. I cried, smoked cigarettes, shat piss and didn’t eat for a week… I quit my job, moved out of my apartment, dropped out of school, booked a flight to Alabama, got a job in NY, booked a flight to NY, then spent 3 weeks with family that proved to be the most tender weeks of my life. I didn’t realize before just how big their love was.
I worked at Frost Valley all summer as the village chief of Lakota. Some time around August I realized I was happy with Griffin but that I was also happy without him (just as I was sometimes sad with him and also sad without him). I spent a lot of time reading about emotions. I had several other romantic encounters.
I took a job working with the environmental education program at Frost Valley in the fall. I moved into cabin B. I learned about nature. I made lasting friendships. I went to Ireland. In December I decided not to get involved in a relationship until I turn 30. In Januaty I decided I would never marry. In February I changed my mind.
My rants and murmurs are usually about love.
It’s beautiful here in the mountains. Fall is partly here so it’s windy and cool but sunny. All of our kids are happy, even the awkward ones and nostalgia has already softened the staff.
I got that year-round position so I’ll be living in a private cabin in front of Hussey Field. I can’t wait for the trees to turn and to hear a marching band at least once. I honestly feel like I’m exactly where I should be at this moment.
I hope you are well. I can imagine you’re patiently awaiting your Spanish bride’s return and listening to jazz, typing and drinking. Send Lena my love.
I’m excited for Joe. I hope everything works out between him and his wife. He has a great heart so I’m sure whatever happens will be for the best.
Since I am now a New York resident, I won’t see you soon but I will see you at some point. Thanks again for your generosity and wisdom. I wish you the best-
A letter I never sent because I have no way of ever getting in touch with Andrew again. I met him at a bar on Amsterdam one night in late July. I had a butterfly tattoo on my forehead from summer camp. He had the deepest voice I’ve ever heard. We spent the whole night drinking wine, listening to music and philosophizing. The next morning we went to the roof of the Mett and drank wine all day next to a Richard Serra sculpture.
I know now that xxxxxx xxxxx x xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. And I know now that it’s ok and sensicle to say that I was happy with you and I’m happy now. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx x xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx.
I am working on an honest letter…
I WANT CIGARETTES AND SEX
I don’t want fucking TaLK! I want Griffin to hold me and I want it to be yesterday
And I want Yorkshire and THE NEW HOUSE
I don’t want to worry!!!!
I’M SO ANGRY
I’M SO FUCKING ANGR&%(&*%(&%
I don’t want to keep starting over and OVER AND OvER!
I don’t even REALLY love anyone- disposable- still a muse- just older. The real world is fast approaching. Can’t hide for much longer
Dad just called- guess he somehow knows I need to be home in some way- to be real because I’m not real- not today.
I knew this painting would be tough when I began with a sketch. Since I’ve abandoned the oils in conversation, who will I ask if I have a question? The paint’s like, “What Bitch? Figure it out Miss-Know-It-All!” And I’m like, I dunno. I dunno… and that’s where we are now. Do I abandon my original idea in order to discuss with the already offended paint? It looks as though I have no choice. I’ll consult the journals and give paint some time to cool off.
I ripped off cigarette’s pants. Paint seems pleased. We’ll see what we can do from here.
I was working at a restaurant in a house in a neighborhood when I tried to kill a camper- Sam, a heavyset kidney camper from 4th session. I was trying to suffocate her with a bandana in a panic because I had already let her know my intentions and I had already hurt her too much not to kill her. I failed but I didn’t get in any trouble.
I was getting married as part of my college graduation ceremony. All the graduates were paired up. I had to marry Jay. It was understood that this marriage wasn’t for keeps- a man came around to put jewelry on all the girls. He pierced my tongue which pinched but made me feel beautiful at first, then he put a necklace on me.
I started to not want to be married- I was on my way down the isle when I started to cry. My tongue felt heavy, my dress was hot and I was tripping over it. I stumbled into the bathroom where I saw myself. I took out the tongue ring- my tounge swelled up the size of a golfball but hung from my mouth like a single testicle. I spit blood until I woke up.
A long black velvet dress, short black hair.
My dad had a lot of fine art- outdoor sculpture mostly- at my mom’s house at 348 Senate Drive. Golden maniquins, other things, stormy out. A salt and pepper vineager ceramic thing in the kitchen with restaurant prices on it. Great craftsmanship, not at all practical. The neighbors said this is the second time they’ve heard me trying to kill that little girl.
Someone hit my rearview mirror with their car-door. I documented it on my camera phone.
Excerpts 1-7 from my first journal since Griffin:
1. I went for a run tonight and it felt so good I think I might do it again tomorrow. Earlier today, right before my shower, I felt so ugly. I just stared at my skinny little body in the mirror and thought, No wonder-
My hair was frizzy because I don’t have my proper shower equipment, conditioner, shampoo, curl control crème, Lambsey’s hairbrush. My private areas were sprouting dark, coarse regrowth, I smelled like Jim’s Seafood and Cheapside. I looked cheap with mascara smudged beneath my eyes. My skintone, uneven and yellow drew attention to my small breasts, thin waist and stretch marks.
Then I took a shower, not my usual shower; the water pressure was more intense, I didn’t have my poof, nothing to wash with but a bar of soap. The kind of beauty I own is learned and requires many products. Even after washing and shaving I wasn’t the clean I’m comfortable with- usually. But this time, I was comfortable, so comfortable that I didn’t even put on my makeup afterward.
2. Tonight I babysat Marcus. We spent a lot of time outside because I couldn’t manage getting us inside. We had dinner at Miguel’s with Memaw and Papaw. We listened to Echos, had some milk and crackers- only one diaper changing experience then off to bed for the baby!
I missed Griffin when I thought about how pretty I looked in my white dress. I picture us having dinner in Midway and him trying to kiss me. I hold his hand and we promise to love each other always. I look so pretty with sparkly hair and glowing skin. I don’t picture him much. Whenever I try I just envision his unruly tuft of white hair and coarse orange mustaches.
I didn’t run today but I ate more than usual Tomorrow evening I’d like to run again. It felt so good yesterday and tonight my body feels that sweet soar and toned-ness.
These days run together- these days of Memaw’s house, as though I probably won’t be seeing her again.
I didn’t have any toothpaste up here so I brushed my teeth without tonight. I sat here writing for awhile then realized it makes sense to wash my face even though my teeth can’t be very clean.
While preparing to was my face, I realized Memaw had cleaned the sink for me. The knobs were shiny and there weren’t splotches everywhere like there had been the night before, and the bleach was out on the counter- still is.
I can tell she loves me because the sink is clean and I worry that Griffin couldn’t tell I loved him because our home wasn’t clean. I swear I’m just messy. I’m messy. I suck.
I used one of those Olay things to clean my face tonight- I used those same things when I stayed with Griffin at the Reverend’s, when he made me tomato soup and a munster grilled cheese on raisin cinnamon bread because I was sick and he loved me.
3. Today I hugged Griffin for several minutes and found out he has asthma. I never knew that before and I wonder why he would have kept that from me for so many weeks. I worry that it will kill him.
4. I still haven’t been able to run my whole loop. I thought surely I’d be able to tonight but I didn’t. Tomorrow I’ll be better. It would feel really good to do it before I leave Saturday.
I hope Memaw feels better in the morning. When she told me she felt ready to die, I told her to quit taking vitamins. Surely she knew I was kidding. It’s amazing how young she looks for her age. A lot younger than any of those old farts down at Jim’s Seafood. I have to get so far away from that place. I have to. It makes me feel dead inside when it comes up in conversation. To be there is no problem, it’s imagining it and what it’s done to my family that’s difficult.
5. I used my anger as momentum. I was like Fuck that mutherfuckin cocksucker and the loop was cleared before I knew it. I hate driving to Lexington now like I used to hate driving to Frankfort. I feel cheated, overextended, exposed, belittled, ill-advised, conceited, smug and wary.
6. This is the first time I’ve seen my dad in close to 3 years. I saw the silver welcome home banner before anything else. I immediately knew who was holding it in an airport crowded with hundreds.
I never realized how much Kathy talks before. I’ve always wanted to be a bigger talker but now I see that that just isn’t who I am. I just talk how I talk.
It’s so funny that I’m trying to take myself so seriously right now and Kathy keeps chatting or sniffing the inside of her book or asking me questions. I can’t be serious now- I don’t need to be- I wish I could be this un-serious- or probably, definitely more, always.
“To live is to be aware.” SARK
7. He’ll be texting me soon to let me know when I can work out my end of things with the phone company. I want to text back-
Thanks, PS, I hate you
Or Great, thanks. And thanks for always paying my phone bill but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate you today.
Or great, now go fuck yourself.
Or how’s herpes treating you?
How’s that asthma coming fatass?
Great, now die
Thanks, thank god I’m that much closer to breaking all ties
Thanks, I hope you die on your birthday- alone- with crabs.
Thanks, you suck.
But probably, I will just not text anything back because I don’t want to hurt him ever.
(I think I’m a bit TenSE- way to tense for that fucking pencil
And these tiny fucking margins!)
Last night I dreamt I stole a bunch of junk from a megastore and this old woman was really wasting my time trying to help me ring in the few things I was actually buying. She kept having to start over- and every time she’d start over, I’d have to remember and differentiate between the things I was buying and the things I was stealing.
A couple of nights ago I dreamed Griffin was walking out on me or else kicking me out but then the whole scenario would just rework itself again and again. It’s like he was David or something. So indecisive and mello-dramatic. I woke up pissed at myself for not even imagining (especially in my dreams!!!) that I should just leave him- say, “fuck it” and be done. I was such a loser.
Beginning of a Short Story:
Before the collecting, before the potted trees and the gun, Magil enjoyed macaroni necklaces and making films about her life in the forest. Macaroni was such a delicious word and so ownable and lovely. Fresh reds were best, like when the newtles were squishy and soft and pulsing. Then she would dye them blue and careen as they eased into an earthen purple.
Lay them out and name them. “You are my friends and I love you and you and you and you in your yellows.” Fascinated by the detail she would watch them dry with splotches until an evenness in pigment declared them ready for adornment.
“Red, blue, yellow, green, magenta, teal and oh the browns. I’ll name you each Magil.” So she did. Magil licked the end of a rotting thread and shove him through each macaroni, tied him together, doubled him around her neck and looked into a foggy mirror.
So much ugliness in that mirror, “ But not you my loveys. You sing. You have so much heart and glory.” Magil magil magil magil Again and again until they just read pasta pasta pasta pasta. Some one said pasta. “Oh, I love your pasta necklace, or what pretty pasta” or something and things changed somehow.
“Pasta, pasta, macaroni, Magil, so stupid. So fucking stupid. Stupid!” Magil shoveled the necklaces into 3 jars- one pickle, one jam and one peanut butter and plastic, and lidded them and left them to die.
Magil looked into the mirror, pulled off her dark green sweater and cried. She touched her neck carefully noting where each color had been before. Her body was dirty there and when she rubbed, mushy tan skin rolled onto her fingers. Rubbing long enough, the red appeared where it once was, then a purple, then an even deeper red.