this frustration makes me glassy eyed.
there is anger in these parts of mine.

Everything was so green today. Heavy clouds created heavy light scattered over the leaves and the long grass. I flip through the stations on my radio, deciding eventually on slow folk with a banjo and a drawl. These are happy times, but this radio and I are feeling low.

The future comes on strong. I am so comfortable in this bed that is not mine, in the arms of a man I'm not sure I know. I dream of marriage and childbirth and I wake up wide eyed and out of breath. I am starting to pay attention to commercials for kitchen appliances and eye creams. I am looking for the perfect white dress.

Sometimes I think about leaving. About cities with tall buildings and streets I do not know. I think about this town and how I will still be here in ten years, with a family and a mortgage, a fenced-in back yard for the dog. I am caught up between the two, in the space where I am convinced that happiness is not where you are, but who you're with. In the city with tall buildings, I'm all alone.

I worry about the good, because I've eliminated the bad. And oh, there's just so much good.

you're waking up to the smell of burning and summer. something in your mind tells you to stay unconscious. someone in the other room tells you your apartment in on fire. you'd give your left arm for another hour.

insurance companies come and go.
your landlord looks you up and down and questions the need for the stack of books near the radiator. they're for reading, you explain. he doesn't listen and moves the stack to the table.
fire hazard, he'll say right before he trips on a charred bit of carpet. you've always found it hard not to laugh.

finally, a tired fireman will trudge upstairs and whisper the cause to your landlord in hushed tones. his eyes raise slightly and his face flushes. you can make out the words "curling iron" and "1A".
your landlord lives alone in 1A. normally you'd laugh about the curling iron. normally your apartment hasn't gone up in smoke. you're surprised the books on the radiator survived.

outside, you light a cigarette and perch yourself on a window ledge. the family across the street is burying something in a shoebox and the small girl is crying loudly. no one on church street is having a good day. after a morning of smoke inhalation, your cigarette seems unnecessary.

its going to be difficult to find a new place on such short notice. you know tony is leaving his place in a week or two, but you've never gotten along with his neighbor. margot was looking for a roommate not too long ago, but you're pretty sure she moved in with that pseudo-vampire boy. whats his name? ___ the vampire. he's saving up to have his teeth modified. poor margot.

across the street, the old man pats the earth with his shovel as the small girl wails. perhaps you'll offer her your goldfish.
(you do not yet know your goldfish has perished in the fire.)

its nearing tenAM and you really should be getting ready for work. perhaps they'll understand if you're a bit late. your work shirt smells like a toxic campfire. this will never do. the firemen are still checking things out in the living room. throwing the workshirt to the floor, you climb into bed and pull the covers to your chin. if you breathe through your mouth, the smell isn't as bad.

work calls twice and you don't answer. right before you drift off, you remember that the margot's vampire's name is patrick.

goodnight.

some day soon i will begin to update this again.
read the past for now.
you must know where you've been to know where you're going.

He wrote the letter and placed it in a business-sized envelope. In his best writing, he wrote her name, her address on the front.

It was hard to tell where they were going. The sun had long since set, and all the land, farms, and sky blended together to form a dull, nondescript scenery. Off in the distance, a tower's red light blinked on, off, on, off. It reminded him of being lonely. But then, everything did.

She closed her eyes and thought hard. It was summer; the hot sun shone through the trees, making shadows on the lawn. There was a lake, too. She could feel the cool air rise off the water. She could hear the gulls and the light waves and the flapping sails of a near-by sailboat. It had been beautiful. She could feel it.

And there she sat, in the darkened living room. Some band she didn't really care for played over the speakers. She held the keyboard on her lap, typing away furiously. She knew that nothing she was saying meant anything. She knew that it was all sentimental crap she had dredged up from the furthest corners of her cluttered mind.
She didn't care. She kept writing.

Five hours ago, and I was just sitting down at my computer. Switch on, press button, wait...wait...wait...

Phone.

Crying on the other end, and my attention is now completely pulled away from my computer, which is doing strange things.

"....he....he....he....we got into a fight...."

These words are barely audible over the racking sobs. It's Rose...i'd know that cry anywhere.

"What? What did he do? What did who do? Rose, calm down and tell me whats going on."

More crying, and then "Nate...he...he...we got into a fight...i spilled wine on his shirt....I didn't mean to..."

And now i'm upset too, because I know she wouldn't call me like this over a stained shirt and a petty argument with her boyfriend.

"Rose, please calm down. Tell me what happened."

"He...he...he hit me"

More weeping, and I tell her I'll be right there. I grab my coat and forget the keys. She's three blocks away, and it will be faster to run. I'm out of breath after the first block, but I'm running faster to keep up with the thoughts racing through my head; nothing rings louder than "I told her so..."

Two minutes later, and I'm there. She's waiting in the doorway, black mascara running down her bruised face. My heart stops, but the thoughts speed up.

i should have been there to prevent this
i knew this was going to happen
i should have protected her

But now she's hugging me, holding on to me tighter than she ever has before. I can't help but cry with her. She lifts up her face and looks at me, the blue green spreading down her cheekbone. I wipe away her tears and mascara, and she hugs me again.

And then, footsteps. Up the front walk, and I turn around to see who's coming.

The only thing I remember about what happened next is being pulled off his unconcious body by Rose's neighbor. I didn't want to go...I wasn't finished. He wasn't broken enough yet. He lay there unconcious and bleeding as someone called an ambulance. I wish they hadn't. I'd have just left him there.

Rose walks me into her house and helps me clean the blood off my hands. For the rest of the night, she only says one thing, and that is to ask if she can stay at my place tonight. Right now, she's sound asleep in the other room. As of when I kissed her goodnight, the entire right half of her face is badly bruised.

As for the strange things my computer was doing, it was only a non-system disk error. Thank God it wasn't anything serious...

I went out for a walk tonight, mainly to clear my head and get some fresh air. I had just passed the Starbucks on Fourth Street when I heard someone call my name. Twice, then three times, till I turned around. Through the swirling mass of people around me, I saw her bright green hair and felt absolutely sick to my stomach.

"You never call"
"Were you looking at her?"
"I kissed Adam last night. I hope you don't mind."
"God...you're so ignorant/controlling/dumb/mean/etc."
"Can't you ever get anything right?"
"Adam asked me to break up with you. I told him I'd think about it."
"I needed money today, so I sold your stereo. Thats okay, right?"
"I've decided that I love Adam more than I love you. Goodbye."

Samantha. Most abusive and emotionally trying relationship I've ever been in. Every day, with a new hair color came a new personality. One day, she'd call me her one and only. The next, she'd be off making out with her ex because she 'just felt it was the right thing to do.'

She ran up to me and gave me a big hug. I stood there, my arms pinned to my sides, not knowing how to react. Be polite and speak when spoken to, or tear off her arms and legs in fit of pent-up emotional tension.

"It's so good to see you," she said, flipping back her hair and smiling at me, her brown eyes more gorgeous than ever. "I thought you had moved after Adam and I got back together."

"No. Didn't see the need to replant myself after a doomed to fail relationship finally ended." All this through clentched teeth, a forced half smile on my face. She stopped looking so eager to talk to me and flipped her hair again.

"Fine. If thats the way you're going to be. I WAS going to invite you to the wedding." She stopped, but not because she was done with her sentence. Upon hearing this, I had disolved into a fit of laughter. Me? Attend her wedding? I'd rather lie down on a bed of scorpions than celebrate her union with the man that she ditched me for. Anyway, for some reason, this proposal was so absolutely ridiculous that at the time seemed to be the funniest thing I had heard all year. She tapped her foot and looked annoyed as I gasped for air and clutched my sides. I didn't bother stick around for what she had to say. After a good minute of her waiting for me to quiet down, I simply turned back around and started walking away.

She stood there, watching me leave. After shouting "Fuck you, Asshole," I turned around to see her dissapearing into the crowd.

"Good luck with your marriage," I called, still laughing. I don't think she heard me.

finally, a new computer. the old one just didn't seem to want to quit sparking.

I was walking with Rose tonight out on the commons. She talked a lot about her new boyfriend and why he's an asshole. I fumed quietly, trying to appreciate the fact that at least she and I are still friends.

"Like the other day...he showed up all drunk and expected to...well, you know. I just don't know how to deal with this sort of thing. I mean, he's a good guy..."

At this point, my quiet fuming turned slightly less quiet.

"No, Rose. He's not a good guy if he's using you. He's not a good guy if he just...expects things like that from you. Hell, Rose, the way you make him sound, I don't think he's a good guy in any way, shape, or form."

At this point, she stopped walking. She stared at me for several seconds, then turned her eyes upwards towards the sky.

"Nice night," she said, gazing at the orange and pink clouds. "You can almost see heaven from here." She started walking again, and I followed. The sad smile she wore told me I had said enough.

my computer is broken.
it started sparking and making loud noises.
all it lets me do is turn it on. and then turn it off. no uses there.

so, i'm on a friend's. but, her machine has problems, too.
oh well.
i'll write in a week, when the darn thing is fixed.

Work work work. Work work work. Break. Work work work work. Sneak Break! Get caught! Work work work.

Today was uneventful and full of you know what (see: above).

The only reason I'm on this damn thing is because I just saw an add that made me laugh.

The caption read "Blonds have more fun!" and there were three pictures. One of Christina Agulera (sp?), one of Faith Hill, and one of Sting. For some reason, a mental image of Sting having fun with blond hair was just soooo hilarious.

Now that I think about it, I REALLY need some sleep.

In my current apartment, I have two neighbors. Maria is a twenty-something stripper at De-lite, a club downtown. She rents out the place two doors down from me, next to the guy to my left. She's a nice girl and brings me baked goods every now and then. Jeff thinks I've 'scored bigtime' by having a stipper as a neighbor. I'd agree...the cookies and muffins are very good indeed.

Dylan is the neighbor directly to the left of me. He's probably just over twenty, works at a clothing store downtown, and is gay. I wouldn't mention him or his sexual orientation, except for the fact that a very strange thing happened the other night. It was around 2am when I heard a knock at my door. I opened it, expecting it to be Jeff or Rose or at least someone I was familiar with. Instead, it was Dylan.
"Can I come in?" He walked in as he asked, really leaving me with no other option than to say, "Yeah, sure."
He circled my living room once or twice before sitting in the recliner and putting his feet up. I sat on the couch across from him and asked him what was up. He didn't say anything at first, but just stared at painting I have on my wall.
Finally, he spoke up. "Greg and I have been seeing each other for a fucking year, man. Why the hell did you have to fuck him? Couldn't you find your own man?" He continued to stare at the wall as I stared at him in jaw-dropped confusion. I stammered out my reply, attepting to make it very clear to him that not only did I not having anything to do with this Greg character, but that I'm not even gay.
I had to explain this to him several different ways before he even looked in my direction. After I had cleared myself of all guilt at least ten times, he put his feet down and got up. "Well, if it wasn't you..."

As it turns out, Dylan had gotten a note from Greg confessing to an infedelitous romp with "dylan's neighbor." Dylan assumed that since Greg was gay, I was the neighbor he had slept with. After I had cleared my name, Dylan went to his other neighbor, Maria. Maria confessed to everything, not knowing Greg was gay or was Dylan's boyfriend.

Thats about all I know, except for the fact that early this evening, there was a whole bunch of yelling coming from the apartment to my left.
Isn't love grand...

My parents divorced a long time ago, when I was 7. In our button down, white collar neighborhood, divorce was almost as bad as saying you didn't believe in God. My mother, an athiest, was shunned by others on our street when they found out Dad was leaving for good. One night, long after he had gone, she packed us all up and left. We moved to my grandmother's, and I never saw that house again.

My father moved to LA with a woman named Theresa and had two kids, Christine and Brian. Brian was born when I was eight, Christine when I was ten. I only met them once. For Christmas a couple years ago, Dad sent me and invitation to spend the holiday with him and his family. Reluctantly, I accepted, hoping to make peace with these estranged relatives.

Seeing Dad for the first time in God knows how long was hard; many horrible memories of him had to be suppressed in order to enjoy/tolerate his company. His wife stayed out of the way, making only small talk when she was forced. Christine was twelve and very shy; for most of my visit, she sat in the corner of her room and read.

Brian was the most interesting member of the family (please note the use of 'interesting' with a negative connotation.) He was 14 and very into the newly developing internet. On Christmas Eve, he invited me into his room to show me his favorite site: Lesbian Online.
"I like to come here and make fun of the dykes," he said, as if it was a very normal pastime. I asked him if his father knew what he was doing, and he said no.
"Dad would kill me if he knew I was on a site that had to do with Gays. He fucking hates them."
Brian entered a chat room designed to support women in their decision to come out of the closet and proceded to post the most grotesque, hateful messages I had ever seen. I sat in horror for a few minutes before reaching beside him and pulling the plug on his internet connection.
"What the fuck did you do that for? We were having fun!"
I left his room in silence and regarded Brian with a quiet disgust for the rest of my visit. Upon my departure, my father asked if I'd like to visit again some time. I told him probably not.

Dad called me today, crying. Brian was driving with some friends last night when they went off the road and plowed into the side of a house. No one in the house was injured, but the three boys in the car were pronounced DOA. I consoled my father the best I could but eventually had to hang up and go to work.
And all day long, I was plauged by pleasure stemming from this boy's death.

I feel like a bad person. Hopefully, a good night's rest will bring relief.

I almost crashed tonight.
Driving down Front Street, I noticed my back interior lights were on. I reached back to turn them off, taking my eyes momentarily off the road. Apparently, I also nudged the wheel a bit too; when I had succesfully turned off the lights, I was directly in the path of an oncoming SUV. Without any thought of remaining calm, I jerked the wheel back in the opposite direction, hoping to quell my fears of death. I managed to aviod the SUV (the driver honked and made lewd gestures as he drove past), but ended up on the lawn of a dentist office. I got back the road and back home as fast as possible, keeping my eyes unblinking and on the pavement.

What If I had done real damage? Suppose a mother and a young child were in the car and my unintentional carelessness had killed them both. Maybe it's best if I never set foot near any sort of automobile again, as to aviod possible carnage inflicted by my own stupidity. Oh well. I guess I should be grateful; car tracks in a dentist's well-landscaped lawn are preferable to the mom/child scenario.

I awoke with dried blood underneith my fingernails and caked on my left leg. Standing in the mirror, I could have easily passed as some addled victim of a war-torn country; i mussed up my hair to add effect. I quickly got over the wonder of my new apperance, and began pondering why the blood was there in the first place. Huge scratches ran up and down my thigh that had not been there last night. The window was open, but unless mesquitos had significantly grown in size/power, they weren't the problem. The door was bolted shut, so no psychopaths could have taken their knives to me.

And then, I remembered the dream.

Wil was standing at the edge of a cliff, remarking on the beautiful scenery below him. As per usual, I hated his guts, so I decided to kill him. I went up right behind him and pushed as hard as I could, so that he fell right off the cliff. Somehow I had miscalculated how this was going to work because, all of a sudden, all he had hold of was my leg. He was clawing at it desperatly, begging me to let him up. Feeling no remorse, I stood there until I woke up, enjoying his screams of terror.

In the dream, Wil had scratched up my leg. In real life, it was me. Somehow, my subconcious decided that I'm not in enough pain, physical or otherwise. So, I create flesh wounds while I sleep. Hurrah.

Rosemary called. The tone in her voice was cheery, but I could tell she was still upset over last Thursday. Her philosophy is to put things behind her and worry only about the future. Unfortunatly, this leads to the suppression of many an important occurance.

"Dad died. But I do have a date tomorrow. I wonder what I'll wear."

It's okay. Rose is, for the most part, an alright girl. She's just got some shit to figure out. I suppose the best of us do.

As for the apartment situation, I'm about ready to sign the damn lease and pay what I have to; anything is going to be better than living in this rat trap. Plus, I doubt the place on Thurman Avenue will have upstairs neighbors who insist on sharing their intimate activities with the rest of the building.