Wednesday, October 28


Today has been bizarre, to say the least. I'm emotionally and physically drained and I'm not really sure if I can handle anything else being thrown at me.

Family and friends are a rotten mess right now, and I think I'd be happier if I either didn't exist anymore or if I went off into the woods and lived out my life as Big Foot's mistress. I sure hope he's romantic...

Last night, I dreamt that I was married, with kids, in white suburbia. If that wasn't strange in and of itself, my husband was ardent about breast feeding our children. Himself. As in: 'I'm going to inject myself with hormone enhancers in order to lactate.'

I'm sure you're sitting here, pretty creeped out. I know I was. But then I actually started thinking about it.

That's some intense shit. That's a man so comfortable with his identity, with his sexuality, that he's willing to do something deemed effeminate in order to have a deeper connection with his baby (everyone knows that breast feeding promotes a healthy attachment to one's mother---except for Freud; the bitch, who saw it as cause for our oral fixation).

This act would turn about all preconceived notions of motherhood and fatherhood---can you even imagine? It questions the very foundations of our nuclear family. It's anarchy.

Maybe I do want to marry a man who's willing to breast feed our children, if only to make a point. Maybe it'd be kind of sexy. Who knows?

Eh. Let it sit for a while. Think about it. Then react. I know the gag reflex is strong, but you'll have to control yourself, friend.

Anyway, I've got a paper to write.


P.S. This is a really interesting dream which I may turn into a short story fiction piece for my creative final. We'll see.
P.P.S. Though, I am working on a feminist game board/play with Adriana.
P.P.P.S. Maybe I'll do both?

Monday, October 26

“Either make up with him, or kidnap his dog and hold it for ransom until you get the apology you deserve.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little…psycho?”

“Nah. Slashing his tires would be psycho.”

“Okay. Ummm…I don’t think any of that is a good idea. So, I’m going to say pass on this one.”

“Suit yourself. You’re both being stubborn dicks right now.”

“But I kind of think things are pretty good. It’s only very little that I miss him.”



“Narcissistic, egocentric, emotional masochist who wants to eat her way to death because she’s too much of a pussy to kill herself.”


“Too mean?”

“Yeah…a little.”

“Sorry, love.”

“Anyway, like I said. Things are good. It doesn’t even seem to matter anymore.”

“Then why are you having an internalized monologue about the rotten bugger?”

“It’s just what I do. I needed something to write about. That was a funny starting line. So I went with it.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Yupp. And now the well of inspiration has dried up. Cheers!”

“The fog is rising!”

“Jeremy, get a fucking life.”

“I can’t unless you do.”


P.S. I'm cute and clever. Hahaha. ;)

Friday, October 23

Clear Eyes of Optimism, All The Better To See You Dear...

I've begun to look at everything in retrospection---the sort of things that my friends have already told me about, that I didn't listen to, are finally starting to make sense.

You were a jerk to me because you wanted to make sure that I was aware of the fact that you did not like me like me. I guess that would make sense. Except, there was a fatal flaw in your little plan of action. You were so mean sometimes, I thought you hated me. So I was mean back. And pushy. And bitchy. And needy. And everything else to try and get you to not hate me somehow. I wanted to prove to you that I was a good friend, that I loved you deeply, that you were a brother to me. Your meaness only encouraged me to try harder.

The truth is that I feel very sorry for you now. You don't have the ability to open up to someone about how you feel. You have no one to talk to. I tried to help you. I tried to let you know that I could be trusted, that I would listen, that I would care. But you didn't want that. You didn't think you needed it. You probably still don't.

I, on the other hand, have the support and love of so many wonderful people. I am not alone. I will never be alone.

I'm sorry that you are, or that you think you are. Most of all, I'm sorry that you think you need to be.

You're annoyed, I know. You're angry too. You think I'm creating unnecessary drama, and you're just relieved to be rid of me. You think this'll all be over soon, that I'll come back and apologize and we'll start over again in this sick cycle of ours. That's not going to happen. For the sake of my sanity, that can't happen.

I don't think it has sunk in yet that I'm not there anymore. I'll never be there anymore. When I think about how we'll never be friends again, there's a sharp pain in my chest. You haven't felt that yet, but you will. Because I know that truly, you did/do care.

You're too proud to admit that you hurt me. You're too proud to apologize. You're too proud to admit that you need me in your life.

I'm too proud too. You won't win this time. Neither of us will, really.


This has been cathartic. I think that now, I'm truly ready to just get over this whole thing. I may miss him, but I'm not going to do anything about it. If he feels the need to try and work things out, he'll initiate it. Otherwise, it's not going to happen.

For some reason, that doesn't scare me anymore.


Thursday, October 22

I'm Underlined in Envy Green & Pencil Red...

I can't believe that they remixed Imogean Heap's song. BULL FUCKING SHIT! Ugh.

I played 'Somebody More Like You' with Eric just a few minutes ago. It felt good. Music makes me feel good, regardless of how bad I am. But my movement isn't as smooth as it use to be. My joints give way and my fingers begin to cramp---which just means I need to work on fingering exercises. Ah, if only I had time...

Apparently, we're buying a cello. I pretty much just want to go bitch crazy at this point. A CELLO! :) It's so exciting!

Granted, it's for Asima, but c'mon. A cello. I'd name him Robert. Or Martha.

Talking to Adriana on the phone and I've begun to wonder when I stopped being a phone person. I dunno. I can remember spending hours on the phone all through out my middle school and high school days. Now I can't seem to be bothered to return calls.

I hope my appetite picks up because I want everyone to stop teasing me. It's getting old. I can't help the fact that I don't feel like eating. Or that I can't sleep. I don't really know what's wrong. It's stressing me out more that I'd need, though.

Sometimes, I wonder if the past really was as great as I remember it being. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe I'm just terrified at the thought of imagining a different kind of future for myself, so I just cling onto these ideas of how amazing everything and everyone was before it all changed. To give me comfort? To give me a reason to wallow in misery? Perhaps what's to come will be ten thousand times better. I'm just going to allow myself to let go and let in. We can't go back in time. The fact that we've changed is a good thing. I might not be able to see it immediately, but it really is a good thing.

I was telling Anam today how I'm scared that things will never get better. But that's not true. How can I, the ultimate idealist, believe that things will never get better?

They will. Someday I'll get out of here. Someday I'll stand up for myself and not allow people to exploit me. Someday I'll find new friendships and appreciate old ones even more. Someday will have to come eventually.

All I can say to is this: if you don't like the answer, simply change the question.


Tuesday, October 20

I work the nine to five job at a twelve to twelve pace,
Waiting tables at a busy intersection in the prime of my life.
I was doing the juggling act the other day
And that‘s when I saw you, the little boy that would change the world.
Boy to be Superman, Batman and Spiderman
Rolled into one cape crusader hidden under your blues clues t-shirt.

There you were, just sitting with your feet crossed over the chair;
Curly black hair and copper eyes to see the world,
Cheeks kissed red by the vitality of sunshine.
You are a little son of God,
The savior of mankind.
No resurrection necessary, just add a pinch miracle grow and a dash of destiny.
I just knew that you, you would change the world from the moment I saw you.

I wanted so badly to see in your face where you would go,
What choices you would make, how many lips you would kiss, the hearts would break.
How many times would sneak out of your parents house?
How many days would you skip of your senior year of high school?

Who would you become, little one?

A demi-god among men, champion of the marginalized,
Hero of the damned, the forgotten?
Golden child of chosen sun, would you spin magic with your mind
And mark the moon with a sling shot, guiding back starlight from the milky way?

Would you become a man?
The man we read in story books,
The man of principle.
The man of honor
Whose mouth speak good intentions,
Whose arms open wide.

What would you choose?

It occurred to me that you could grow into just another man, no?
Silver tongued with slippery hands,
Trying to weasel your way into iron clad panties that aren’t as strong as they should be,
Even though your mother taught you to respect your women.
Close yourself off and bury your heart deep into the ground where no one can find it
Because emotional connections are irrelevant to being a man, right?
Maybe she just wants you to hold her and tell her she’s beautiful.

Who would you become?
Just another father who neglects his kids,
Just another husband who raises his fists
Just another authoritarian who manipulates the system and
Fucks Corruption while Justice pretends we're all going to be just fine?

Dear little one, stay little longer. Just stay little longer.
Because growing into that man, is apparently, irreversible.

Sunday, October 18

I Take It Back

No. I read it again. I take it back. I take it all back. I don't miss him at all. I don't love him at all.

"I don't even mind, or blame her. It gives us more peace of mind, so I don't care."

Awesome. I don't care either. And every time I have the misguided notion that I do, I'll just read those words over again so that everything goes cold inside.

Yeah, people sure do suck.


The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore...

I'm such a liar.

People don't just wake up one morning and stop caring about someone they love. I've been lying to myself, trying to convince everyone (including my subconscious) that I'm just fine. I'm not, okay? It hurts like hell and nobody really understands.

But I'd rather severe my limbs than let him know that I miss him. No. I will not let him win. I will not let him know that he still means something to me---and probably always will--- when I mean absolutely nothing to him. I can't lose any more of my pride to this boy. I'm still picking up the shattered pieces of my self-esteem; my ego can hardly accommodate another gory defeat.

All I can hope for is that things get a little easier. Please God, let it get easier.

Part of my likes to think that maybe he misses me too, that maybe he does care and that he's hurting just as much as I am. You know, despite what his actual words and actions say about the situation...

You know, despite the fact that he has blatantly said that he doesn't care.

What can I say? I'm just stupid like that. I still believe that he's a good person, a good friend for some reason; even though he wasn't neither of those things to me. At least, I can't remember the last time he was.

I'm still trying to process how this time last year, things were so good and at the present moment we've fallen apart. What changed? Did I? Did you? Why does everything suck so much now?

I dunno.

I'm just going to try. I deserve to be able to move on as easily as he has. I deserve to be happy, too.

It's now a battle of wills, I think. I have to prove that I don't need him, that I'm better off without him, that I'm happier even though my heart hurts so much sometimes, I just randomly burst into tears.

I have to convince him that he doesn't matter to me. That he never did, not really anyway.

Things will never go back to how they were. It just can't. But it's okay.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I have my wonderful friends---the ones who don't make me cry. I have my family (ish). I have my dreams and words and goals and love for life. I can do this. It's okay.

I am a strong woman. You can not hurt me. I will not allow you to continue hurting me.

I'm going to be okay.


Thursday, October 15


It's starting to get quiet in the house now, and I hear those sleeping bodies and want to do something drastic. Like escape.

But that's looking like a pipe dream from the get-go. I'm not strong enough to escape this place. My sense of duty ties me here. The fact that my happiness is linked to your acceptance, will always keep me here. Even if---by some miracle---I get the hell out of here, I'd still be here.

So instead of thinking about all of this, instead of worrying about how there really is no hope for me ever finding true, unadulterated happiness, I choose to just listen to some music and relax. And talk to a nice boy who makes me laugh.

I do miss Fayard sometimes and that's hard for me to admit because I hate missing people. I think that we've changed so much that it's almost impossible to understand the other, yet when I need him, he's there. No questions asked. No time frame needed. He's just there for me. And he loves me as though I was still that awkward twelve year old girl. Maybe we haven't changed at all.

I think I'm happier right now. Granted, my home life is in the shitter, but I try not to think of that at all. I kind of wish that all my problems could be solved with a simple: 'I love you.' If I could just say that, maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

Mom, I love you.
Dad, I love you.
Asima, I love you.
Bobby, I wish you'd die.

Ooops. Well, I tried.

I'm going to pick up more hours next week (Universe, save me...) 'cos I need to buy my new sister-in-law a wedding gold set. Which I'm very excited about. I adore that pretty lady and she's great for my pampered, arrogant brother. However, Bhaiya just makes me feel terrible every time he calls and says, 'Mutti! You're suppose to be here! YOU SWORE ON THE SHAMELESS GAME!'

Well, Niaz Bhai, you can't hold me accountable for promises I made...say, TEN years ago?? I was nine. Geez. Cut me some freakin' slack! Time, space, and rationality never once crossed my mind at that age. It hardly does now.

Sometimes practicality sucks and I wish I could be part of White Supremacist Capitalism Patriarchy rather than the yellow girl on the outside. HA! NOT.

I'm getting sleepy. I wish I could blame my idiotic behavior on mental illness. But that's not really possible. Or it could be. My mother is insane, after all...


If you're reading this, it means that I love you. I promise I do. I don't have the energy to hold onto hate (believe me, I've tried. It only works with Bobby. That shit is deep seeded, man).

G'night, world. I sleep so I can rise to fight again.

bell hooks is right, then. Constant struggle, dissension, conflict---that's what life is about. It's not suppose to be pretty. Things don't get fixed when you walk away.

Dear life, I am not scared of you. I will not walk away.


P.S. I think my life is glorious. I think that I have unlimited potential. So, I might not be able to get the sort of happiness or satisfaction that I think I need, but there's bound to be something else---if that makes any sense...?

Look, all I'm saying is that even though nothing is working out in my favor at the moment, universal equilibrium is going to kick in soon and everything will be okay.

P.P.S. Yes, I've meant all those words I've ever said or written about/to you. Even the good ones. It's funny how you never remember the good ones. Oh, well.

Tuesday, October 13

I Found God In Your Fingertips

I’ve met the creator and she’s beautiful. She has daughter tattooed on her right bicep, and son on her left. I think that she loves you.

Tuesday, October 6

Blue Ridge Mountain

You need to find time to write.
You need to find time to write.
You need to find time to write.

I found these words in my inbox today. I feel obligated to act upon them. They were written in love and to deny love is to deny existence (and we are not strolling back down existentialist lane ever again---erm, metaphorically and transcendentally speaking, of course).

The monotony of the working world kind of puts a dapper on my happy little ways as it’s the weight of responsibilities I haven’t quite grown into curled beneath the tips of my fingers.

Okay, maybe it’s nothing that dramatic.

It’s a little more than the average part-time work, but I’m so emotionally drained after nightly productions of Waitress that I can’t participate in human activity anymore. So, I shun my family and neglect my friends and vegetate until morning, when I have to do it all over again. What is then left of me is given to either school work or to the boy who doesn’t love me. So there goes writing…

When I write, all pretense is gone. I’ve exposed myself as being vulnerable, and that takes energy. It also takes courage to throw fragments of this metaphysical Athia into the cosmic happenings in hopes that you, dear friend, will receive pieces of me with open hearts. This is a fearlessness that I haven’t been able to find, so I leave my words to their own devices, one kiss poems that never leave the shelter of my highly protected word processor.

I just can’t figure out what I’m so damn afraid of, really. Aside from public bathroom serial killers and bugs crawling into my ears at night, laying eggs in my brain. But that’s legitimate. It happens. It really does. It also happens to be unrelated, but we’ll just overlook that.

Anyway, what this whole rant is about is getting my ass to work. Not the pizza tray carrying kind, mind you. I will make genuine attempts to write. I promise. And this isn’t the sort of empty promise you say to shut someone up (whoever can quiet their subconscious is either a mage or sociopath…). Promises should never be empty, especially those to yourself. C’mon. You’re better than that, kid.

I’ve been letting irrelevant things distract me from learning to love better and that has just got to stop.


P.S. People, please stop having babies. Seriously. I don’t want to see another baby birthed until I’m 95. Let the Earth catch up to us, dammit!
P.P.S. Fleet Foxes make me happy.
P.P.P.S. I slurped my linner smoothie too quickly and now my throat hurts. :/

Thursday, October 1

You're The Paint In My Picture of a Most Unusual World...

I was thinking that the Shins are really a staple in any music diet---no empty calories there. They're kind of like an Asian kid's rice, except, you know, not only are they comforting and tasty and necessary, but they're good for you too. Maybe they're considered brown rice, then...?

I dunno.

If you couldn't tell, I'm pretty hungry at the moment. I had enough food to tie me down for a few hours which was physically filling but mentally unsatisfying. And how can this be, you ask, when I work in a pizzeria? Well, friend, I don't like Italian food. Or sushi. I realize the two don't correlate, but I just wanted to make sure everyone was aware of my dislike of sushi. Ew.

My spirits are up, mostly because I read J. Mraz's blog and I could weep with joy. His words fill my head and heart with a sense of self, somehow. No, this isn't the fangirl in me talking. This has nothing to do with his boyish good looks or seductive voice that is so buttery smooth you could melt it on morning toast after a good night's fuck (erm, actually, it'd never be a 'fuck' with him. He'd call it 'love making', just because he's that kind of guy).

I digress. It has nothing to do with that, honest. It's the power in which he commands language that is so attractive to me, that it in turn inspires me to write. He stirs in me a desire to be better because the world is greater than myself, and I am integral in ensuring its beauty lasts. My little insignificant self can do good.

If I could ever say anything to that man, it's that he has forever altered me through the mystics of telepathy, 'cos I know we'll never be near in body. That's doesn't even matter. I hope to do the same someday, when I stop fighting with the voices in my head and embrace the crazy awesome that is me. I'll give a little sunshine to those hopelessly lost and show them that there's no such thing as hopeless---that it's just an arbitrary word stuck in binary opposition. Let it go, and it'll never have to exist again.

P.S. I'm trying out the whole 'provocative writing' thing. How does it sit with you?
P.P.S. Not really sure how I personally feel about it, aside from thinking it's kinda funny...
P.P.P.S. I'm ruined!
P.P.P.P.S. I've been waiting all week to use the word 'arbitrary'. :)