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Fri, May. 20th, 2005, 03:24 am
"Still, the first and last rule of life is Transformation. Nobody history cares about stood still."
-a certain brilliant professor I have knownHey, look, it's about time for a change, I think. Follow me to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) hey_valentine? I promise, it's all better from here on out.
There just isn’t enough time. Because we didn’t get to watch Love, Actually again, after all, & we only got through two of Xtina’s Xmas songs, & we didn’t even get to watch Xena getting crucified, so now I’ll have to suffer through that emotional trauma alone. I could have cried when Ali called me from the road; I should have cried when I said goodbye to Robert this morning, but it was 6:30 AM & I assumed our farewell was just a dream I’d wake from, eventually. Several of my friends left before I could say goodbye; Courtney & Sarah took off before it could register; Jordanna’s parents now think that I’m a slut, & she’s not even here to giggle about it with, to read Hancest aloud to. Ondra’s the only fucking one on this hall now, & even she’s gone to bed. I’ve got one day to pack, to see how few boxes I can fit my life into, & then I’m going back to a place that I wasn’t ever even sure that I’d get out of.
I just wrote (& deleted) a long list of things I should have done differently; secrets I should have spilled (& a few I should have guarded more closely), silences I let stretch out for too long, times I could have been better. But really, it’s been an incredible year, & I suspect that even my mistakes were ultimately for the better—in fact, I already know that several of them were. & in spite of all I didn't do, never said, this year was every bit as necessary as it was fucking amazing.
Because I learned to do laundry & fell hard for professors & managed A’s on twelve-page papers I’d written on things I knew very little about. I built a bazaar & had a pedophilia/incest movie marathon & watched the Hanson video with my roommate an ungodly number of times. I became closer with passing acquaintances here than I ever got with most of my friends from the past twelve years. I made lots of lists & discovered what I really need from life, & stopped purging, & wrote dozens of letters, & fell into autumn leaves & met lots of brilliant inspiring activists. I learned to use mix CDs as a strange sort of comfort for a crying suitemate or a wistful mother, & I received letters from five prison inmates (one of whom killed his grandparents for insurance money, um), & I got used to waking up next to my girl far too easily. I spent all but six showers singing Indigo Girls (even when I had laryngitis), & I became, like, the best secret admirer ever, & wrote more love letters than I could ever hope to deliver. I took a lot of photographs & somehow inspired certain people & met a kid who read me slash as a bedtime story (& even did accents!!) & realized how necessary grand gestures are to a fulfilling life. I made a kind of kickass zine, & I read aloud a whole lot, & I repaired my relationship with pretty much my entire family. I learned that I was capable of things that I’d completely written off beforehand, & I surprised myself almost daily, & when I climbed into bed every night, I was exhausted from living so very hard.
& really, even the worst summer of my life, complete with social isolation & drama & working at West again, couldn’t ruin this record of, um, best year ever. Until next year, anyway.
Sat, May. 7th, 2005, 12:06 am
So, Sarah made a mix of songs that give her goosebumps, & because she kept running in here all excited-like to tell us about it, & because I’m still not up for actually cleaning & getting ready to move back to Erie, I’ve followed suit.
( songs that make me shiver. )
I tried to make it not a completely depressing mix, but given the theme, that didn’t work out so well, so. I’ll counter it with a sunny springtime mix soon, since it’ll give me an excuse to procrastinate on packing.
Speaking of which, I am not ready to leave Asheville. Too many loose ends, too many fears about what I’m coming home to. I’m kind of hiding out, the past few days—worried about failing people, fucking up. If I pretend that certain tensions don't exist, if I forget that my extended family is falling apart, if I pretend I've something waiting for me in Erie, then I can still sing Indigo Girls in the shower, still function. Ro_bert & I made up, & cemented our reunion by watching Dashboard Confessional’s MTV Unplugged performance, yessssssss. And my mom keeps sending me inspirational e-mails, & I still kick ass at Oregon Trail, & we’re going to watch Velvet Goldmine very soon, & the friends I haven’t pushed away are the greatest people in the world, & so, in spite of the recent melancholy, I remain a lucky, lucky girl. Who is listening to Rockapella without a trace of shame, oh my god, hahaha. Too bad ELJAY SUCKS & FUCKED UP MY TEXT FORMATTING. But Jose is back (!!!) & so is my voice (damn laryngitis) & tomorrow has to be better; it has to.
I love you all, okay? I know I don't say it enough, but I do.
Thu, May. 5th, 2005, 12:44 am
(Hey, if you guys could just, like, pray or send out good vibes or think positive thoughts or do good things or whatever you do when you're sick of people hurting & want to make it stop? It seems like everyone could use it right now. Thanks.)
Am having a ridiculously emo night. This could be due to any one of a number of things; I'm going to blame that tent scene in The Royal Tenenbaums because it's easier than accepting that things just aren't the same, lately. I can't cry anymore, I haven't laughed so hard that it hurt in a long time; everything is muted, dimmed. Two panic attacks tonight, the first in months. It's like being on Prozac again, only there's no easy way off. Or at least, none I'm willing to try tonight; I'm not so far gone yet as to disregard consequences. But I worry that I'll wake up tomorrow, too-early, and this melancholy won't have lifted yet. Another day of this, and I'll start to get desperate, I think.
Everyone's gone someplace and I don't want to leave my bed. If I could find my voice in time to ask, maybe I'd wonder where you've gone to; instead, I'll watch the ending credits and convince myself of some cause-effect conspiracy. It all hangs in the balance of this next night, the morning after, but I am even afraid of sleep. Three nights of nightmares, of waking up in a cold sweat, tangled in sheets; during the day, my mind returns to visions of slit throats and cold dead eyes and brutal crimes of passion, these things that keep me up at night when all I ask is for escape. I want to be tucked in; I want to be left alone.
( [ an attempt at cheering up. ] )
And still, there's no joy in waking up, these days. A whole long list of things I love, and all of them seem worlds away. Someday soon, I'll have to resurface, right?
Tue, Mar. 29th, 2005, 01:10 am
Just wanted to say: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JORDANNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!You are the most amazing roommate ever and one of my all-time favorite people and here is why:
You don’t yell at me for playing the same Hanson song five times in a row, or laugh at me in a mean way when I sing along incessantly. You are so so beautiful, like some sort of faerie queen, especially that time you got autumn leaves stuck in your hair and left them there for hours afterward and we were finding them in corners of our room for weeks after. You get ridiculously giddy over seemingly small things, like the fact that chickens lay such white eggs. You ask questions when most people just kind of nod along and pretend to know everything, and usually meet each answer with another question. I love when you tell stories and go off on tangents. I love it a whole whole lot when you play foreign-language versions of Disney songs. I adore the way you say, “What are they doing?!” and “How do they do that?!” and the way you get bitchy when that stupid girl eats all the green beans (okay, so that was just once, but). I like that you hear certain words and think of Prem, and we both laugh at the same exact time. I like that you separated your screenname so that it was “t homo nafri day”, which Ali read aloud just like that. I am really really happy you don’t come out of the shower at night with your hair brushed over your face like Samara from The Ring, OH SHIT!! I love that you love Rainy the Highsmith Dictator as much as I do. I love the way you jump when you’re not expecting someone to say your name, oops. It made me really happy when you used to talk encouragingly to your Tamagotchi. You told me the story of Ganymede and Zeus one time, and that was cool, too (I just remembered that because I saw this, hahaha). You wear very pretty dresses; I really like that green one, aww. I like when you grab a hard-boiled egg at the caf even though you don’t eat eggs, because you just like to de-shell them. You put up with a lot of my shit and are not afraid of spending next year living with me, still. You are some crazy kind of language fiend, and this makes me happy. Sometimes you laugh so hard that you fall down, like when I’m reading really bad Hansoncest out loud. You’re like a little kid in the absolute best ways ever, like, how many people make it to nineteen with their sense of wonder still intact? But you have, so. Here’s to a nineteenth year full of Hanson hotness and warm love and more speculation about Rainy and bright sunny days and children’s books and all things lovely!!
I love you!!
(& so do they!!)
Wed, Mar. 23rd, 2005, 01:56 am
You know, I always liked the thought of continuity,
but there are ending scenes I wish that I could write.
Wed, Mar. 2nd, 2005, 03:00 am
My great-grandmother died today. Aside from being in her nineties and a “difficult woman”, she was my favorite living relative. What kills me even now is how little I remember about her. Her dancing to “Bailamos” with my grandfather one Christmas; the huge buttons on her telephone; the fanatic attention she paid to CNN; the way she used to hold my chin between her thumb and forefinger and shake her head, saying, “That’s just wonderful, dear!” That was her word; I swear, I remember this. They say she was a hellion, stubborn and willful, but when I hear her voice in my head, she’s always saying “wonderful”, and so that’s the way I’m determined to remember her.
We’re completely estranged from that side of the family, and so there’s all sorts of tension erupting. My uncles won’t attend the funeral; my mother’s caught trying to play diplomat and ease tensions between the two sides when she knows that both are wrong. For the first time, I wish I could be there for her; I feel ineffectual here, unable to focus.
It’s selfish, I know, but I hope it’s not an open-casket service. Last time I saw her, she was barely alive: unresponsive and in a nursing home where she stole men’s wallets for sheer excitement. I don’t want to see her laid out in clothes she never chose, smaller and paler than she was in life (is that even possible?).
She always called my grandfather “cherub” and he claimed to hate it; I wish I could remember what she called me. I’m no good at this.
You guys are just so fucking beautiful; I don't say it enough.
No real updates—nothing resolved since my last string of angsty posts—but here I am, feeling heady and hopeful over the somewhat-late start of a new day. All I know is, something shifted somewhere close to Sunday night, like I've upgraded to some better version of myself. Not different so much as more. The sudden rush of self-esteem still overwhelms me, but I think I could get used to this.
Someone taped a dead crawdad to our door, and I'm so blissed-out that I'm willing to look at it as a sign of good luck, because I haven't truly stopped smiling since I found it there. Maybe yesterday is to blame for my good mood, maybe it's this new rush of weightlessness, and maybe it's the fact that I'm surrounded by so many incredible people that it takes actual effort to stay down, sometimes.
So really, this is my rambling way of saying thank you, that you'll never have to worry about me. As long as I have fabulous friends and Hanson singalongs and blurry blue mornings to wake into, I'm going to be just fine; can't help but. ♥
Sun, Feb. 6th, 2005, 01:19 am
A mix CD, a mess, a collage, a valentine of sorts: things I make when I can’t make sense of the most obvious circumstances. I make myself cry, sometimes, when reflecting on how little I’ve made of myself. It’s a control thing, she explains earnestly, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as I catch myself staring for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. Makes me wish I had less control over my impulses, or maybe more. Makes me wish I’d woken up by noon today; makes me wish I’d never gotten out of bed.
When I don’t know what to want, I want it all. When all of my waking thoughts revolve around simply being touched, being recognized, it’s easier to curl up in bed watching reruns of Degrassi and immersing myself in the lives of those who will never exist, who will never disappoint me. I spend all my time and my restraint keeping myself from situations that could bring me any relief from this solitude. I won’t dial your number (not past the fifth digit, anyhow), and I won’t walk down to your room, and I won’t reach out for you even when you’re close enough for me to count your eyelashes if you’d just keep still (you won’t). And then, what, I have the indulgence to write about how utterly alone I feel? There’s no excuse, none at all, but watch me go on in this way.
I want to cry the way I haven’t since that night weeks ago, cold tiles on the floor and warm skin against mine and nothing left to say. I want pancakes with blueberry syrup and movie-theater popcorn. I want to be able to listen to this song without wondering what you’d hear in it. I want to race my little brother up the stairs until he trips me on the last step and we fall with such force that my father can hear us from the garage. I want to be tucked in and sung to sleep. I want to break something beautiful. I want to know what you want. I want letters and sodas. I want, more than anything, to stop wanting so damn much.
Pathetic lists, sad attempts at reaching out, less sense than before: things I make when I’m all out of ideas. Goodnight.
Wed, Feb. 2nd, 2005, 01:32 pm
So this is February, sleeping with socks on and shivering still, late nights of lonely and bad dreams each time I blink. My mother calls: “Just had a weird feeling about you. A bad dream. I thought something might be wrong but I couldn’t tell what.” And I sigh into the receiver, unable to tell her that maybe I’ve been having the same dream, because something isn’t right and it’s impossible to place.
I could use more sleep; I could stand to eat more. But both of these sound frightening and I doubt it would do any good; it would mean less hours in my day and a more fervent avoidance of mirrors. No, what I want is a no-consequence coma; I want to hibernate for a little while until I’m ready to wake up alone. He said, “Well, at least there’s more space for you now,” but that’s the last thing I want right now. I never get a moment alone in which to think, but there are certain faces that act as anchors for me, certain voices that spur me to realize that I’m more than just molecules. Certain people who push me into more long days of sleepwalking through lectures and embarrassing epiphanies and late-night indecision. Of course, most of them don't know it, and I'd rather wither than come off as so needy.
The lights in the mountains seem to be stars at night and Henry must be wondering why I don’t sing anymore and this pillow pressed against my back upon waking is a shoddy substitute for you.
This is not my month.
Mon, Jan. 31st, 2005, 05:47 pm
Wed, Jan. 26th, 2005, 02:55 am
Tell me a secret.
Something you've never told anyone before, your grandest hopes, your most terrifying fears, that thing that you've been dying to tell someone about but just can't because the situation demands secrecy. An admission, a denial, something that's been on your mind lately.
Make your comments anonymous; I'm screening them, too, and will keep them that way if you ask me to.
This is because I'm sick of holding back. It's because I genuinely love you all and want to know more than you're saying, always. But really, it's because the most I can offer sometimes is a safe place to speak, and because I think of you all, really. And because, fuck it, I'm curious.
So, come on. Indulge me?
[EDIT: After reading some, I have decided that all-anonymous is the way to go, so no worries there.]
Sat, Jan. 22nd, 2005, 09:08 pm
Okay, because I'm procrastinating and up for jumping on bandwagons, here's my very own movie marathon. I'm guessing that none of you guys will get some of these, but I'm up for being surprised. ( All I want is for someone to get number seventeen. . . )Uh-oh, only one left!! (You guys are killing me. . .)
I’m completely prepared to sleep through this entire year, honestly. Through the next nine days, at least. I give up, is what I really want to say. I give up, because I’m a fool for ever thinking I could stretch myself and make it all enough, somehow.
If this is what passes for progress, then let me stagnate. At least then, I wouldn’t have so far to fall back.
Sat, Dec. 25th, 2004, 11:06 pm
Just wanted to wish everyone who celebrates it a happy Christmas. (And if you don't, I hope you managed to have a fabulous day anyhow, even though the entire world shuts down for Christian holidays.) I spent my holiday hiding from my family, making mix CDs, and stalking this model I found on Getty Images. Look:   She's totally the kind of girl who would make up excuses to wrestle her girlfriend down, and she'd never, ever let her win. And she laughs really loudly and talks with her hands and dances in the kitchen when there's no one around, I can tell. And she gets really fierce during arguments and storms out of the room, but after ten minutes, she's tugging on her sleeves and squinching up her face in silent apology. Oh man, why do I fascinate on strangers like this? Seriously, I've missed being around other story-people; we should go out some night this week and watch strangers and tell their life stories. Who's up for it? I'm totally serious. Okay, there's obviously no point to this post. To reiterate: happy holidays, random model is way cute, and I need to get out, stat. Goodnight, all!!
So, in the spirit of Thanksgiving (or that one meal before the motherfucking Pilgrims fucked the American Indians over), and because I had a long and lonely night and could use some reminders for my own sake, as well, I present A partial list of things I’m thankful for, today:Warm sweaters on cold mornings. Unexpected voicemails from good friends. An incredible girlfriend who writes the most amazing love letters and will spend thirty-something hours on a bus just so that we can spend days being lazy in bed together, staying up into the night laughing and fighting off sleep and loving so much that it threatens to overwhelm. Long, fuzzy scarves. The fact that my friends are already full of holiday cheer. Burt’s Bees lip balm. My roommate, who listens to bad pop Christmas songs with me and laughs over my drama and looks like a fairy queen when she has leaves caught in her long hair. Hanson. Long venting sessions with Ashley over hot chocolate and good cookies. Howard Dean. My Tamagotchi & Easy Bake Oven. My suitemates, who come in at all hours and understand the value of comfort food and make every day seem brighter. Queer As Folk. Madonna’s “Justify My Love” music video, and Ali for coming by to watch it eight times a day. Secret admirer notes. Ro_bert, who stays with me through crises and airport layovers and reads me and Kara bedtime stories and knows practically everything about me. This song, because it's just perfect. Really great required reading. My little brother who is completely off-the-wall but still so sweet. Finding books I loved in my childhood and rereading them. Having the hottest professor alive who says things like “Jolly good!!” and maybe loves me and writes comments like “Bang on!” on my papers. Hedwig & the Angry Inch. Jana, who harmonizes with me on Hanson songs and has the greatest laugh ever and will act ridiculous just to make me smile. My kitty, who keeps butting his head against my arm as a sign of affection. Lyle, for running his fingers through my hair and telling me that the world would stop spinning without my beautiful smile. Seeing Ellen for the first time in five months and feeling like no time has passed at all; staying in my parked car just to finish singing “Mr. Jones” before facing everyone again. Lazy mornings spent waking up next to my love. All of my other friends who make Asheville feel like home to me, already. Christian, who is making me feel less alone this very second by talking to me about growing up and bad porn and who can capture perfectly any moment with that handy camera of his. Really thin t-shirts. Young-adult lesbian love stories checked out from the library. "Augusta" by Pamela Means, because I want you to hear it, to know what you must know already. Conversations about God. My vision for a short film about boylove with an all-Hanson soundtrack. Camille, because I want to be just like her when I grow up, even though she’s four years younger than I am. Storypeople cards. Banana-scented lip balm. Stars in skies so clear that I can find constellations. Spare copies of Lolita to lend to friends. All of you. Happy Thanksgiving, you guys. [EDIT: So, I've spent the past two hours crying, and I suppose that makes me greedy and terrible, but fuck, I hate the holidays. And am maybe lonelier than I've ever been. And still want to go home. But really, I just wanted to add to my list: I'm thankful for Ro_bert, calling me something like eight times because his phone kept dying, listening to me whine and bitch as if he doesn't get enough of that when we're both in the same city. That's it.] [ANOTHER EDIT: I have the most incredible girlfriend in the entire universe. And she's so, so much braver than I've ever given her credit for, really. Even if she made her mother's Thanksgiving a little more memorable than I'm sure she would have liked. <3 Goodnight.]
Last night, I was procrastinating on a rough draft for Sophie, giggling with Courtney, watching Hedwig & the Angry Inch with Jana and Jordanna and Ro_bert and singing along, moaning with Ali over the “Justify My Love” video for the ninth time that day, saying goodnight to Jordanna as bad Christmas music kept playing in the background. Christ, less than twenty four hours, and I’m already homesick. Because Asheville is home now, isn’t it? Maybe things will be better in the morning. Because tomorrow, I’ll see Ellen again, and my girlfriend, and Ashley and Christian and everyone else I left. And I’m sure that it will be a beautiful day, but all the same, I don’t feel like leaving this room until my flight on Sunday. I want to hole up here with old journals and my kitty, hiding out until it’s time to go back, because I’m really not up for any of this right now. After that stupid depression survey and all-nighters, I just want to crash for a while, to be in a space that’s actually mine. Because I was already afraid of reverting back to eleventh grade, and being in this city again isn’t helping. This isn’t a break. So, on another note, and because I’m still hopeful for the holidays this year, I stole this from my darling Kara: Step One:
- Make a post (public, friends-locked, filtered, whatever you're comfortable with) to your LJ. The post should contain your list of ten holiday wishes. The wishes can be anything at all, from simple to medium ("I wish for _____ on DVD") to really big ("All I want for Christmas is a new car/computer/house/TV.") The important thing is, make sure these wishes are things you really, truly want.
- If you wish for real life things, make sure you include some sort of contact info in your post, whether it's your address or just your email address where Santa (or one of his elves) could get in touch with you.
- Also, make sure you post some version of these guidelines in your LJ so that the holiday joy will spread.
Step Two:
- Surf around your friendslist (or friendsfriends, or just random journals) to see who has posted their list. And now here's the important part:
- If you see a wish you can grant, and it's in your heart to do so, make someone's wish come true. Sometimes someone's trash is another's treasure, and if you have a leather jacket you don't want or a gift certificate you won't use - or even know where you could get someone's dream purebred Basset Hound for free - do it.
You needn't spend money on these wishes unless you want to. The point isn't to put people out, it's to provide everyone a chance to be someone else's holiday elf - to spread the joy. Gifts can be made anonymously or not - it's your call. There are no rules with this project, no guarantees, and no strings attached. Just . . . wish, and it might come true. Give, and you might receive. And you'll have the joy of knowing you made someone's holiday special.So, um, because I’m feeling demanding, ten things I want madly for the holidays (or anytime, for that matter):1. Mix CDs, of course. Theme mixes, songs you think I’d like (or abhor, even), the first nineteen tracks that come up when you hit ‘random’ on WinAmp—I listen to some far-out shit, so go wild. 2. Your photographs. (I have a feeling this is creepy, but then, I suppose I’m a bit sketchy, myself, so.) Old prints you have lying around (maybe with stories scribbled on the back), photos you snapped to finish a roll of film, snapshots of people you can’t even remember the names of, whatever. I just fascinate on photographs. 3. Your artwork—and I use that term loosely. Notebook-paper doodles from a boring lecture, a picture torn from a coloring book, a zany collage, traced hand-turkeys (kindergarten style, yeah!!)—I’ll hang it on my wall and love it, I promise. 4. A copy of one of your favorite books. Preferably underlined or marked-up, somehow, because books should be loved, damnit. 5. Lyle. Haha, um. Yeah, I didn’t say that. 6. Tacky postcards, ohmigod. 7. A [probably-abridged] list of things you love. Because Cam sent me one and I still re-read it and grin every time. Lists of anything, really—songs that make you want to dance, people you want to make babies with, fictional characters whose lives you want to live. . . 8. Really cute stickers. Because I’m reliving my childhood and I miss glamourbombing, so stickers could come in handy. 9. Ridiculous jewelry (or other gaudy accessories)!! Friendship bracelets, stuff from quarter machines at the grocery store, whatever. I mean, look, I wore one of THESE (97 cents at Wal-Mart, ahh!) until Ali broke it, and now I’m lacking. . .  10. Look, I’m just being ridiculous. Surprise me. I’ll love whatever you have to send, honestly, because just getting mail will be beyond exciting. Bottom line: start making your lists, bitches, because I could stand for some holiday cheer, these days. Oh, and my address (I’m there til December 10th, I think, but I’d love to come back to mail in January, so): JEN HILBERT FOUNDERS HALL 624A UNC-ASHEVILLE ONE UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS ASHEVILLE, NC 28804 <3 [EDIT: Oh em gee, Jordanna, guess what song just came on? "Oh, Lo-lita; you make it so hot, it's like I got a fev-ah!!" Holy shit.] |
hopeful
worried
lonely
sleepy
i've missed this.