Fade Away
Saturday November 29th 2003, 9:35 pm
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Things don’t fade away, though, not really. And although memories, the all too many memories, don’t fade away, they do get softer, slightly blurrier. Not any easier, but softer. Life passes and I try to put the pieces together. The stunning realisation that I can still go down, that I still sport an empty center, inked on my back for a fucking reason. Delusion illusion allusion fades away, leaving me with what I have left. Precisely….

Been feeling blue all day, despite a lovely Thanksgiving dinner with my cousin in Uxbridge. Been feeling blue all day, despite wonderful supportive friends and a place to be and nice food and nice wine. Been feeling blue all day despite getting work done and having purpose. Been feeling blue all day despite….

But you reap what you sow, so there you are. Maybe I should add a new category to this blog of mine – ‘teenage polish girl bitchings’. There will be no poetry, though, people: I promise you that much. Fade to blue…

ain’t what they used to be
Monday November 24th 2003, 2:14 pm
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Temp Agencies ain’t what they used to be. Whatever happened to walking in, taking a typing test or two, and then waiting for a call the next morning? All these bloody places want CVs, career plans, fields of experience and interest. I JUST WANT A FUCKING JOB. 8 pounds an hour and up, people: it’s NOT rocket science.Sorry about that. I’m so sick of pissing resumes to the wind, I feel like a dog trying to mark its territory in a tornado. If you see what I mean….

Sunday November 23rd 2003, 2:17 pm
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A river-cruise along the Thames, on a party boat, for the 60th birthday party for the mother of a friend of a friend. Replete, no less, with the old drunk hitting the deck, and then vomiting profusely into a glass bowl, requiring, ultimately, the attentions of the Thames River police and Ambulance services. While we docked at the line demarcating, not the Island of the Day Before, but rather the Island of Today, the line between Occidental and Oriental, the staggeringly self-important Greenwich Meridian.

The surreality was not lessened by the attentive ministrations of a hooker, flirting with all of the men on the boat between the ages of 14 and 60, who was being copiously filmed by her erstwhile companion/procurer. Who brings a hooker to a birthday party? On a boat?

The river, though, was lovely. If the experience bizarre.

cross post
Friday November 21st 2003, 11:36 am
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I hid all day. Watched Angel, Buffy, surfed the web, took care of a few odds and ends and references. And now, having finished what the summer started – Buffy season 2, that is – the tears won’t don’t come. JTunes on the stereo and the dishes clean. Neither empty nor full inside, not scared or lonely or hurting so bad it needs to come out. Yet in this in-between grief, I know that I loved her, that I love her. That part fucking hurts. But not enough, apparently. Not enough to cry; enough, perhaps, to light a fag.

Right. Managed that much today, at least. Feeling ever more detached as the ink flows and smoke blows. That’s always what I’ve done, what I’ve been, of course. + she brought me out of that, out of the detachment everywhere except by myself, on a page or in a book. There, that’s better. I hurt a bit more now, but it fades so fast.

5 Hail Mary’s, 10 Our Father’s, and an act of contrition. Then I’ll be raring to go, no? ‘Resentment’s high-tide, but devotions won’t grow’ (OK, the lyrics are wrong, but I prefer my version). Love will tear me apart. Or it already has. At least I leave with more honesty and integrity than I’ve had before. I thought, somewhere towards the middle of these 10 minutes, that I’d post this to TPT. But that would lead me to the love-lorn Polish 12 year-old side. Perhaps there’s no escaping it. But if I only knew my audience…

NY, NY and London
Thursday November 20th 2003, 2:32 am
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Wherever you are, well, err, there you are. Anyway, I’ve spent my few days in NY, now, and am back (?) in London. For now, at least. The siren call of one of the few places on earth to require, and warrant, a definite article (The City), proved to be rather strong whilst I was there. But that, really, is neither here nor there. It’s going to take time, time, time.

The jetlag is, I think, much worse coming from New York than it is from SF. But there you have it. I’ve started writing a journal again. A bit hesitant, admittedly, especially as it was a parting gift. And I’ve been writing it in pen (!). So much for fade-away me. I’ll see how that and this overlap. For that matter, I’ll just see how everything overlaps: life is rather a mystery at the moment.

Sorry about the incoherent ramblings, but what did you fucking expect on 3 hours of on-plane sleep and a five-hour time difference?

what was that
Saturday November 08th 2003, 2:27 pm
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What was that about endings and beginnings? All that soul-searching waaay back in May? Well, take two. More soon. Gimme about two weeks, folks, then, as many of you know, I’ll be back in the winter of my discontent…but less so.

real candy
Monday November 03rd 2003, 9:27 am
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