Problematic

Does anyone remember that show? Ryan Murphy has done better but it wasn't the worst. Although, it could be a little offensive. I am quite tired but I have a ton of work to do today. I should also shower. Saturday should be reserved for studying. Sunday an old friend will be visiting. I need to clean my apartment. I had been doing quite well at looking like a human being and I want to show that off. He's only ever seen me living in squalor. His acceptance of that natural state of being is what has kept our friendship alive. We met in middle school and he is now one of two good friends that I have known that long. Even so, we'll never be as close because I live in a completely different city. He's also an actual adult. With plans for investment properties and the capital to make those investments. i have no capital. I feel tingling around body pretty often. I wonder if this is something I should be concerned by. I have taken my medication for two days in a row. I wa

I spent a lot of the morning listening to musicals. I am trying to keep up with writing one, you see. My goal is to finish writing it within a year. I don't know if I could manage by the end of the year. I am not sure how long a musical should be at this point. As far as script length anyway. My philosophy of science class is in a Philosophy Seminar room. It's quite cozy. An absence is noticeable. The class has gotten steadily smaller over the last few weeks, but I think the attendees have plateaued. I can't imagine anyone else falling off. Although no one is particularly engaged. There is this one boy, that I watch out of the corner of my eye. He's attractive and he nods along as the professor is speaking, as though he is having a private conversation that warrants a response. I imagine the professor appreciates it because of the glazed expressions and lack of eye-contact he receives otherwise. I am currently in a crowded coffee shop. It's called Bennu, and it

It's cooling down a bit. I enjoy the livid sky. It must have rained before I woke up because the ground is still dappled with puddles. There are a few things I have wanted to write about- the first being my "new" living space. As you know, it was recently christened by a housewarming party. It has now been identified as my space. There are mood boards on the walls. I clean it regularly. I own things. The palate is grey, blue and turquoise. When I moved in there was already a blue grey accent wall, which seemed perfect because I quite enjoy that shade. I don't know if it was the housewarming, exactly, but I am starting to feel more at home here. I am even beginning to like spending so much time alone, watching things, listening to music while I study, painting, enjoying time with The Kitten. It's becoming it's own reality. Any previous moment now feels like a dream. It has been almost a month since Isis passed, and I don't know if it's a weird copi

Is the song currently playing. I have come to quite enjoy Ben Folds. I know these seem unrelated, but they both play on my Elliott Smith Pandora station. I like Ben Folds and Elliott Smith considerably more than the Pixies because they both have this kind of upbeat sound that masks the melancholy and darkness of their lyrics. I was up until 6am. I woke up at 10:40am. I finished Looking for Alaska. I now own two copies of a book I utterly detest. Je beaucoup deteste la chercher d'Alaska. Absolument. I foolishly left my physical copy at work the day my discussion board post on it was due so I had no way of citing my grievances. I am batting a 100 in that class so I determined it was worth it to shell out the 10 dollars for a Kindle copy; the bummer being that I can now never return that copy. It's truly terrible- but perhaps the most realistic depiction of life as a juvenile male that I have ever read? I am uncertain having never been one, but it's what I would assu

As I listen to the soft sparkling crackle of my diet root beer I consider that I need to work on my storytelling ability. Less so than my homework, but I am in a malaise and do not feel inclined to study. So whatever distractions I can conjure up are welcome. I think the language I use has its flourishes, but I probably don't elaborate enough. I have been in the world of business too long. In an office people are quite annoyed when you drawl on. The inability to clearly and concisely explain a problem or what you want in an encounter makes you seem foolish and weak. I often seem foolish and weak, but I try to be direct in my own bumbling way. It is a poorly formed skill that only seems to detract from my creative life more than it assists my professional one. The last guy I drunkenly hooked up with was a pretty decent storyteller. Although, I think I had a gin and tonic and a bottle of champagne before he showed up. I might have been an easy audience. He did not really look lik

I have been watching way too many KDramas lately. I'm like hitting peak usage. I'm bound to overdose. It's a surrogate for personal romance. I downloaded the Bumble app again a week or so ago, but I have not brought myself to actually speak to anyone. I can still see the people that already liked me, and I think a few of them are attractive, but I can't force myself to be interesting. Or mysterious. Or unique. I don't know what method will bring me love. The romance in front of me is a sure thing. It will be intense. It will be sweetened by a personal history of suffering on both sides. It will be honest and deep. I cannot assume the same of any relationship I enter into. I hit another milestone, though! This morning I put air in my own tires. It was a great accomplishment for me- it wasn't something I was taught when I started driving. When I got my own car there was a very nice guy I worked with who helped me air up my tires a few times. He was lovely, and

My housewarming party was a success. Unrivaled and unwarranted. The Kitten scratched me, but that was the furthest extent of failures for the evening. She has since calmed down and feels secure, nuzzled in the newest, and softest, addition to our blanket collection. Have I mentioned that Dig is the single most thoughtful and amazing human being I know? He is. He brought three house warming gifts- two of which were puns. A candle, a blanket, and a wine holder. I feel like the wine holder is a pun as well, but I'm too stupid to get it. He's a literary genius. And the singular best guest in the world. You would be lucky to have him show up at one of your parties. I'm a little surprised he made time for mine. But enough of fan-girling Dig. Lies and Coll were also in attendance and they were looking fierce. Lies reminded me that I need to thrift/second-hand shop a little more often because the flared skirt she had on was killer and definitely not bought full price. Fast f

Maybe. People at work are getting sick and I tend to fall ill around weather changes. And rain. So I have been borderline unwell for a few weeks because there has been rain due to the cooler weather that should be arriving soon. It feels like it's coming some days, but I suspect all seasons will be slightly off from here forward as Texas starts to experience the effects of global warming. That aside, I am trying harder this year to keep myself from getting very sick. In part because I am limited on PTO for the rest of the year and I want to use it on fun things. The other reason would be that I dislike when I seem to be getting into the habit of working out regularly and then I fall ill and it throws me off for a few weeks. When I feel bad I tend to just sad-snack, so it doesn't really help what I'm going for. So I made myself chicken soup. From scratch! It came out quite well, although not as spicy as I was hoping for. I added peppers but maybe I picked the wrong kind. I

The house is a mess. But I have been productive and creative, so I don't feel so bad about it being this way. It is not such a mess that I couldn't easily replace things where they "belong" again. I finished some of my mood boards and they are hanging on the walls along with photos of Isis (some that include My Ex). I have a picture of him and his daughter that someone must have taken a few years ago. They look very happy, and I think I should give it back, but they were the closest thing I had to a family of my own for a little while, and though it's not something I really want anymore I wanted it once and it's hard to let go of that missed opportunity. I probably wouldn't be a good mom, though. It's probably better that things worked out this way. For all her madness, clinginess, and uncunning machinations Stassney might be a great mom. Perhaps if only because her obsession might mean that she loves more and is more forgiving. I shouldn't hate

I just want you to choose me. Love me more. The Kitten has been talking more lately. I think she feels as unsettled by the quiet of our new home as I do. The ones who chattered at us are gone. She was probably getting quite used to the noise of having a child in the house. My storage ottoman has arrived. Next Tuesday I will have a housewarming party and it will feel that much more official that this is my home. I am already concerned with the rising cost of rent- but if the rent doesn't increase by over 100 dollars I might renew anyway. It's cozy. There are things on the walls now. Art, I suppose. I have a television, a bed, and storage ottomans. This is the first time in 8 years that I have owned things and decorated an apartment on my own and I am quite pleased. There's a security to owning things that I hadn't experienced before. A feeling of being rooted. Of being capable. Only people who can afford to own things own things- so I must be someone who can afford

Tonight I met someone new. His name is Cesar and he is awkwardly silent. He speaks with purpose. Steady and deep. The pacing of his sentences seems to emphasize the silence in between the words, giving them an artificial weight, that I must assume is a manifestation of his anxiety. There are fireflies out. NPR has been educating me this summer on the reason fireflies had gone away since my childhood (Texas was very dry for a while) and how deeply disturbing their blinking truly is.  I love NPR now much more than I thought I ever would. There was a time I really despised the idea of listening to someone talk for extended periods of time. I think I had too many people talking to me at the time about things I didn't care about. Now I listen to the news and know what Aleppo is off-hand, which is slightly better than some. I feel like the re-emergence of fireflies is just another way the world seems to be moving back to a time I remember better and slightly more fondly. My childhood w

The cast of characters in my life is fairly small at the moment. There is my nuclear family: my mother, my father, my sister and my nephew. We have our problems, but that I will dive into later. My friend circle centers on my best friend from college, her best friend from high school, her best friend's gay brother and her husband. There's also my ex-boyfriend. His social circle consists primarily of people he has had sex with and people he wants to have sex with. And his daughter. There are people who I miss in Houston- and for the most part can pin-point the moment when we became distant. When what seemed like mostly solid land gave way to a canyon. I can feel two instances approaching where this may happen again. The first, and most obvious, is my ex-boyfriend. I have had many ex-boyfriends but this is My Ex. The others have names and established identities and I do not keep up with them but I hope they are not doing well: Gilbert, Julio, Rogelio...others? I cam

I am trying to get into the habit of going to sleep at 10pm. This feels very early, but I want to get into the habit of waking up at 5:30am. That sounds disgustingly early. It's how early I would need to be up, though, to drink water, have breakfast, and go for a run. I want to be a more productive person. Productive people are supposed to have healthy productive person habits. In part, this theory doesn't ring true, because there are people like Van Gogh. But, we can't all be prolific geniuses who cut our ears off, so- I suppose it's better to try to procure productive people habits rather than hope that I will leave in the remnants of my destruction a body of work that astounds. As part of these healthier habits I want to set aside more time to write. This, I tell you, because earlier today a boy that I had a crush on from elementary school through middle school suggested that blogging will not make me efamous. I got called out. By my third great love. My thir

Sometimes. I mentioned recently that I am taking a YA Literature course. I am also taking a French course and a Philosophy of Science course. French is a little bit aggravating because I have to film video chats with my class mates, occasionally, and part of what I look for in online courses is the ability to avoid human interaction. So far the Philosophy of Science class has been the most accommodating in that regard, and it's the one class I am actually taking on campus. But my YA Lit class is so far the best, because I am having to read YA again. And when I say the best, I mean it's incredibly easy (so far) and incredibly obnoxious- because YA literature is inherently obnoxious...because teenagers are inherently obnoxious. I am mortified by the things I did when I was young. I will probably be forever mortified by the ridiculousness of my past self, as it is often the human condition, but I think the inane ramblings of my teen years are the worst. In some aspects I was

I'm becoming too familiar with the feeling of returning to a space you once inhabited, but clearly no longer belong. I see traces of myself there among the new foreign connections. This place was home. There were years of familiarity, a sense of self ingrained in the city, in the walls, in the faces of the people I shared this time with. We survived the war zone of my teenage angst together. We were all family. We always would be. Now each interaction just seems to widen the crater between us. My friends and I have always been inherently selfish. We are a loving group, but our greatest connection lies typically in being the outcasts- the introverted, sometimes over-emotional, awkwardly flamboyant, weirdos. It's not that we don't want to be there for each other. It's that we don't have a lot of experience with support networks. There wasn't a lot of positive feedback. The people who loved us did not do so kindly, and in turn we were often unkind to each other

There are events you prepare for that color the day. Every moment is tinted, awash, with sadness. A murky, smothering color that catches in your breath. You shouldn't breathe color. I like blue and gray, so I don't think I would associate either color with this feeling. It's more surreal. A cloudy sepia tone. Hot and abrasive. It's been overwhelming. We picked her up at 4:15. I had already had a few sobbing fits and when the young lady handed her little brown box to me I startled her with my emotion. This in turn startled me. How could this not be normal? How could someone find the strength in little more than a week to keep themselves composed in this moment? How could I be expected to hold back my tears when I recognize her name on the small wooden box? I clutch it as I clutched her body when I found her and feel this new texture. This new body. So delicately carved with flowers. No perceivable way to open it. A shining black placard on the front- engraved with a

Isis is ready to come home. It's such a simple and innocuous statement, I would never have thought it would weigh so heavily on my heart. I would never have considered that this thought would cause me so much pain. I'm still not sure to what degree and for how long this is supposed to hurt- but I think tomorrow will be my last sequential post on the subject. Tomorrow I go get her. And I am not ready. I still hadn't completely adjusted to her being gone. Although the photos I have of her on my phone have become somewhat cathartic. As has writing about this. I think people are a little disinterested in the fact that I am in mourning for a creature so small, whose life was so short. This is likely a projection. I think I judge myself and the way I spend my energy quite harshly and I assume others are just as unkind. People are probably quite sad for me as well, and understanding that it has been little more than a week since a very prominent presence in my life left abru

I am starting to take comfort again in the similarity of The Kitten and Isis. The Kitten doesn't look as small now that she's on her own. Sometimes she makes the same little grumbles because she learned to speak from Isis. Her meow is distinctly her own, a little chirpier than Isis' call for attention. Isis was in-your-face. She was a banshee. Her screech was the empowered cry of a riot grrrl goddess. That may be going a bit too far. I don't think Isis had much care for gender politics- but her voice meant so much to me. Sometimes at the right angle The Kitten has her face. That is bittersweet. I get a little confused and wonder if it was The Kitten that I gave away. I wonder if they were so close that they have now just become one, because the spirituality of cats is so much greater than ours. They are so much kinder and have learned to share their bodies so that their loved ones may never die. This is why The Kitten never seemed as grief-stricken. There was no rea