circe

Is anyone else unable to get to the two latest entries on my wordpress site? Does it go straight to the one about the cat and not show anything past that?

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Update: With the help of the wonderful Miss Syl, I got it fixed.

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You mean all this time... no one could see any of the entries? My bad. My dumb.

Phone service shut down while the Verizon guy allegedly works on it. I'm writing on Word, my Word for Mac thing, and it's unfamiliar to me. (Tangent: I keep wanting to get my thesis paper thing from where I saved it as a file to my gmail, so I can edit out names et cetera and send it to Dan so he can put it up on his site with my PowerPoints and I can bore you-all further and hopefully get in an argument with Mike, but although I am able to get the file downloaded from my gmail, I am unable to get the thing any further than my desktop. And I can't edit from my desktop. And it makes me crazy that I can't figure out how to get the thing to open up in my Mac Word program, why I can get it merely to "Read Only," and the whole thing is making me mad blah blah blah.)

Anyway, I've been here five years and the phone lines have been effed up the whole time. Is it me? Is it Verizon? Id-effing-k!

My nearly two year-old modem still works, even though it shuts itself off every quarter hour or so, or loses its connection or, I don't know, just decides that it hates me. I bought a new modem, it wouldn't hold its dsl connection, the Verizon guy said it was a defective modem and so I sent it back. They sent me a second modem; same issue. The guy just told me that they must have sent me a SECOND defective modem and I find this very hard to believe.

Eh. Boring, right? But my classes start on the 25th and I need freaking Internet.
 
In other news, my stomach hurts.

In further news, I am glum. I don't know why. Without the outlet of classes, I'm just thinking too much. And not, you understand, GOOD thoughts.

See, I get in this mode where I question everything I do, think, everything about myself. Hiking, something I enjoy on various levels, I'm all questioning my motivation. I'm all, 'Am I doing this for my heath? Because without any health insurance I have to take better care of myself? Or am I doing it so that I will lose weight and look better? Because I am trying to conform to some false societal standard of pretty and I am basing my self-worth upon my appearance? '
And then I get all mad at myself. Because I'd like to think I'm exercising solely for my mental and physical health but I suspect that I am doing it so that I will look better. And that makes me really, really not like myself. Because shouldn't I be better than this? This superficial crap? Have I tried so hard to get smarter and tougher, only to find that I still want to be fucking pretty? Because that's messed up.

I wanted to change and I worry that I haven't changed at all.

My stomach hurts. I'm thinking I'll try to drink some herbal tea stuff. It's drizzling rain outside and I have to wait for the Verizon guy to return... I guess I should try to get a head start on my textbooks... but I guess I'll just watch TV...

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Update: 3 hours later I still have a new modem that won't work, an old modem that only semi works, the desktop can't get ANY connection through its ethernet cable, and he Verizon guy says, "Let's just see what happens."

Kill me.

You know what I just learned online? (No. Not that. I already knew about that frottage stuff. I used to be Mormon, remember?)

I learned that my recently decreased ex-father-in-law (named Francis as well... dumb Sicilian traditions!), has, like, a scholarship thing in his name. Like, he gives money to poor and/or deserving students.

I'm... trying to figure out how to react to this. You know... we are so freaking POOR... And his obit is all filled with stuff about how he was a loving "Papa" to his children and grandchildren and blah blah blah... and he freaking DISOWNED my kids.

Eh. It doesn't matter, right? And Rainy keeps nagging me about legally changing his name to Rainier and I really need to do it, don't I? Rainy doesn't need to be named after a man who disowned him.

How do you legally change a kid's name? Does it cost money? Do I need a lawyer? How do I do it?

Link

Now floating up and down
I spin, colliding into sound
Like whales beneath me diving down
I'm sinking to the bottom of my
Everything that freaks me out
The lighthouse beam has just run out
I'm cold as cold as cold can be
be

I want to swim away but don't know how
Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling in the ocean
Let the waves up take me down
Let the hurricane set in motion... yeah
Let the rain of what I feel right now...come down
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down

(Blue October)

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I decided to go hiking. Try to walk away my angst. Even though it's Sunday and I avoid the hiking trail on the weekends like... like... Like I'm going to avoid sex and social interaction FOREVER.

And here's why. (The hiking on weekends part. Not the sex/social interaction part. You-all probably already know about the social interaction/sex thing.) And I'm in a bad mood so I'm probably going to be all intolerant, biased, and mean. (But I don't care.)

Okay. It's an eleven-acre lake, a mile-and-a-half "wilderness" trail. (I go around twice. 'Cause its always better the second time around, right?) The trail is all up and down, narrow in places, and rocky (yesss!). There's some guy that maintains it. The Park and Rec people want him to do it. I've met him a couple times (he gave me a dvd he'd made of a "virtual hike"). He's a retired professor of something, and he spends his retirement keeping the trail cleared. He's out there, telling me how he likes to keep the trail clear of roots and rocks and poison oak and vines and stuff because a lot of the hikers would stumble or trip or wander into poison oak and just have a generally difficult time with a rocky/viney/rooty/poison oaky path. (And, of course, I was privately thinking that if it were up to me, I'd be out there adding more roots, rocks, and vines, transplanting big clumps of poison oak, because I think that what we seriously need to do is thin out the weak hikers...)

Anyway, so the guy's told me that on weekends there're, like, three hundred people going around the trail and so I  renewed my vow to avoid the whole area on weekends. Except, well, for today, because I was all upset, mad at myself for wanting to be pretty-or-something, and so I thought that stomping around the trail, picking up another 13 pounds of slate might be a good idea, and so me and my terrier hit the road, hiking trail bound.

Blah blah, enough backstory. The thing IS, I think, like, a hundred people got on my nerves. (I probably exaggerate; it's Sunday and most people were in church around here.) And my annoyance has inspired me to create a freaking list. A freaking list of the freaking things that get on my freaking nerves. And here it is:

Well crap. Stuff's bothering me. (There's my next blog title: Stuff That Bothers Me.)

I had a sucky day yesterday. Remember how I was up reading porn erotica? Until, like, 5-ish, and then I decided I should probably give this whole sex thing another shot and then I fell asleep again. And I slept for a couple hours and then Fran called and woke me up, and he's all, "I've really lost my job this time... and I'm thinking of coming to Texas."

And how often have we all heard this? And by that I mean, how often have I freaking BLOGGED about this? And see, after the last time when he said he lost his job, I didn't even mention the fact that after this he apparently DIDN'T lose his job because he said that they said (sigh), that he could just pay off the ticket or whatever... So I got a month and a half of more child support and that's all good, but then he called yesterday, blah blah blah, to say that he's lost his job after all because they can't insure him as a hybrid-limo driver blah blah because of his driving record. Blah freaking blah. And you'd think I'd be kinda used to this by now, wouldn't you? And yet - surprise! - I'm not.

It's the constant roller coaster of sometimes getting my six hundred per month child support and sometimes not. Plus, I think of course that he's lying to me. Allegedly they never found a will from his father and so things got divided half to his mother and a quarter to him and to is older sister, and Fran's all, "I'm going to just sign my portion over to my mother," and I'm all thinking, "The first crackhead in HISTORY to pass on money!' And I'm thinking he did it because he thought that if he inherited money part of it would go to pay my back child support and so he made a deal with his mother where he'd sign it over to her and then she'd covertly pass it on to him, blah blah.

But none of this really matters. And I mean it doesn't matter because there's nothing I can do about it. There's not much I can do about any of this. The attorney general in Texas is nearly useless. There's basically nothing I can do except get better locks on my doors if Fran heads towards Texas. Which he won't, because I'm thinking he's sitting on a big bunch of money in Boston, enough to keep him in crack for a while.

But I'm so angry. Even though I'm trying to let it go.

Which means, I'm thinking, that I need to stop blogging about it.

Though I can't stop thinking about it.

Maybe I should throw myself into self-criticism. (Because that's always fun.) Okay. So... What the fuck is WRONG with me?

Dea's comment made me think way too much. Made me think and, you know, generally loathe myself.

Everything I've been doing for the last, idk, three or more years, has been geared towards totally changing myself. Changing all the useless, stupid, ridiculous, pathetic, contemptible things I saw in myself.

I wanted to be better. I wanted to transcend all the crap. I wanted to get smart and strong and independent. I wanted to stop basing my identity, my validity, on the reactions of others. I wanted, I really, really wanted, to stop thinking that people would only like me if they wanted to fuck me.

I knew I'd gotten old, I knew it was time to stop. I knew that even if I hadn't gotten old, it was time to stop. I knew that superficial outward physical attractiveness was shallow and useless and that it was pathetic of me to still want to be pretty, to still want people to think I was pretty.

Because what is pretty, anyway? Nothing but some artificial societal standard. Something useless.

And I thought I was getting better. All smarter. All more aware of stuff, aware of myself. And then I totally fuck up and basically ask people to validate, idk, SOMETHING. Validate something about me.

I'm so mad at myself. I'm so disappointed. I thought I was, I don't know, smarter or something.

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You know, it's a good thing that I've basically isolated myself from any kind of social life. I can't obviously do social. Celibacy's the word for the sex I abstain from; what's the word for abstaining from any kind of social interaction?

There's got to be a word.

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Crap. I think I'm having another crappy day...  

Don't just stand there, say nice things to me
I've been cheated I've been wronged, and you,
You don't know me, I can't change
I won't do anything at all

(Matchbox 20)

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So you all totally FAIL.

People! People, geez! Are we not on the same page here! Catch up! Follow along! Get with the flipping PROGRAM

Okay. Let's go over this again: I post a video of myself, sprawled in my flipping BED, trying to look all semi-kinda-quasi SEXUALLY ATTRACTIVE (in, well, an inept way...), and y'all are suppose to be all SAYING SOMETHING. Describing me in a way that does not involve MOTION SICKNESS.

And yes! Yes, people, read the directions; you are allowed to LIE. Lying is flipping FINE. Lying is a-okay. Geez.

Unbelievable.

And yes again. And yes it's in the manual that you all should have received upon your first visit to this site. EVERYONE has to say something. Women, men, those arriving here in search of tentacle hentai. Something NICE.

Damn. What's wrong with all-y'all?

I'm seriously disappointed. For serious, dude. Very disappointed. And I think I may have to assign you all some extra reading. 'Cause you all are suddenly in need of extra credit.

Hmmm. I'm feeling very stern; you must read TWO things.

Indicolite I and Indicolite II. Stuff I wrote, I am compelled to add, for flipping MONEY. I was shocked, actually, at what a motivator money was. I went from writer's block to type-type-typing my little fingers, creating a story combining sex and sci fi. ('Cause who doesn't like a little sex in their science fiction? Or, well, science fiction in their sex? Seriously.)

I think it is clear by the lack of part 3 that the online magazine closed and the money dried up. Heh.

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So hmph.

I think I've decided to, idk, have sex again. Or something. Maybe. And I don't think I say this just because I was up from 2-ish until 5-ish reading my own old porn erotica. (Though it didn't hurt. Much.)

I was halfway through The Veldt, it was, like, 4:13 a.m. and I was all suddenly, 'Hmmm. I've never done that hot candle wax thing of which I inexplicably write...'

And although I'm not saying that my motivation in ending my celibacy has anything to do with candle wax, hot or otherwise, it occurred to me that contrary to my general belief that I have pretty much Been There/Done That/Got A Closet Full Of Tee Shirts,  I have NOT in fact been there, done everyonething, and I do not in fact actually own the entire tee shirt collection.

See?

No?

Hmm.

Of course this raises a rather large ('cause size matters), issue. Yeah. Ummm... WHO, exactly, would I, ummm, do it with?

'Cause I can't have sex with anyone born in Texas. Or Oklahoma. ('Cause we all know that's a line I GOTTA draw.) So umm... that's gonna be a problem.

How 'bout the guy who's buying my truck? He's not only tall/dark/relatively handsome, but he DOESN'T SPEAK ENGLISH! And he's leaving the ENTIRE COUNTRY in two weeks! Whee! Perfect, right?

'Cause with a language barrier it takes me twice as long to figure out someone's an idiot. And even though I have this pesky Ooops I Guess I Speak Spanish thing going on,  I haven't spoken Spanish in a year and I like to think my Spanish is rusty. By the time I DO figure out he's an idiot and begin to, you know, LOATHE him, he'll be on his way outta the country. In my ex-truck. !Leaving, gracias a Dios!

It'll be great. It'll be perfect. Right?

Right?

Geez. Y'all are no fun. No fun at ALL this weekend.

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Edit: Oh crap. I just remembered: I'm a radical lesbian feminist. This could seriously complicate matters...

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Edit again: I feel compelled to explain that I am using my new macbook to take pictures and videos. I know! Awkward! I prefer to think that I'd be much more, you know, provocative and cool with a more appropriate  body  camcorder or something...

Movie 167.mov

I swear, each and very time I say the P word (politics!!!), my macbook's movie thing shuts down!

And shoot! I was going to all take off my clothes and talk about politics all NAKED!


Movie 166.mov