The other day we watched two really amazing (and rage-inducing) documentaries. One is called Flow. It is about water, and the gigantic multinational corporations who are stealing water from 3rd world countries and selling it back to them for a sizable profit. It's atrocious what these companies do. Lack of access to potable water is a huge, huge problem. It's frightening. So many people die from parasites and diseases and chemicals in dirty water, and these companies are part of the problem. They're totally evil. When water purification and distribution is privatized, everything goes to shit. The whole movie was just painfully sad and completely disgusting.
Then we watched Who Killed the Electric Car? GM used to have a completely electric car called the EV-1, which was a zero emissions vehicle. There were about 150 of them that had been leased out to people, mainly celebrities, and anyone who had one was totally in love with it. And then GM took all the cars back and destroyed every single one of them. Because they like their oil money and if people knew about the cars they would want them and GM might be under pressure to start mass producing them, which would upset the oil companies. Also electric cars would need much less maintenance (no complicated engine) and GM would lose money.
The general theme of both documentaries is giant corporations are pure evil and the government (of course) does nothing to protect us from them because they're being controlled by the giant corporations.
Andrea is ready to move to France or the Moon or something. She's been in an America-hating mood lately. I don't blame her. It's hard not to hate America sometimes. We are mad at America because it has so much potential. It could be such a great country. It's just not there yet. I don't know if it ever will be.
Anyway. We'll just keep our bags packed for Canada or Mars or wherever. And if we go we'll totally send you guys a postcard.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
this morning
If anorexia (or something else) kills my sister, I may be inconsolable. And by that I mean you may have to sit on me so I don't try to jump off a building or do something else equally stupid. This came into my head this morning because Andrea has been gone 12 hours and I already miss her terribly.
Our relationship is very interesting. I don't quite fully understand it except that we both share the aftermath of interacting with my father, who is a robot. But there is something in both of us that needs the other, almost desperately. It's weird. Like we are two sides of the same coin and together we make sense but apart we don't.
Also, I know anorexia could kill her, and I'm worried she won't eat enough at Bonnaroo and she'll faint. They have medics there, though. And Dave will make her eat. I told him to protect her. So did Mom. It's hard to be away from her because when I am in the room with her I know she is ok.
Sometimes (not often) I wonder if she will leave Dave and I brokenhearted and empty. That is why I leave her room the same as it was when she was in high school: in case she leaves me I will have something left of her.
I don't think about this stuff all the time. But she is gone today. So maybe I feel a tiny fraction of what it would be like if she were really gone. And maybe I want to know what that feels like so that I can steel myself for when she is really gone.
I hate these thoughts. I hate them so much. I don't want her to be sick, or dying, or vanishing before my eyes. But the thoughts come up, and I write them out. And she will be back on Sunday, and I will feel better.
And maybe she'll live a very long time. Maybe she will get better. I know I can't love her well, but maybe she will love herself well. One can always hope.
Our relationship is very interesting. I don't quite fully understand it except that we both share the aftermath of interacting with my father, who is a robot. But there is something in both of us that needs the other, almost desperately. It's weird. Like we are two sides of the same coin and together we make sense but apart we don't.
Also, I know anorexia could kill her, and I'm worried she won't eat enough at Bonnaroo and she'll faint. They have medics there, though. And Dave will make her eat. I told him to protect her. So did Mom. It's hard to be away from her because when I am in the room with her I know she is ok.
Sometimes (not often) I wonder if she will leave Dave and I brokenhearted and empty. That is why I leave her room the same as it was when she was in high school: in case she leaves me I will have something left of her.
I don't think about this stuff all the time. But she is gone today. So maybe I feel a tiny fraction of what it would be like if she were really gone. And maybe I want to know what that feels like so that I can steel myself for when she is really gone.
I hate these thoughts. I hate them so much. I don't want her to be sick, or dying, or vanishing before my eyes. But the thoughts come up, and I write them out. And she will be back on Sunday, and I will feel better.
And maybe she'll live a very long time. Maybe she will get better. I know I can't love her well, but maybe she will love herself well. One can always hope.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
don't know what i gave them for, all those little lessons
I used to be in love with someone. But it couldn't work because he is a man and we are both gay. And we were both so fucked up at the time. Hopelessly immature, like any normal 19-year-old. We lived together for four years. Parts of it were wonderful. Most of it was. We got along. We had fun. We watched bad movies. We played house. We went for drives in the pretty, rich part of town. We went on dates. Platonic ones, at least. We were soul mates. We wanted to be together forever. We were going to buy a giant house and live together with our respective spouses. And dogs, probably.
We were compatible. Too compatible. We became enmeshed and it was bad for both of us. We were both depressed. We both had issues. Lots of them. It just got to be too much. I'm not going to rehash everything. That's unnecessary. I couldn't do it anymore. I had to come back to Tulsa. I was utterly, utterly heartbroken. (Heartbreak is such a vague concept. I use it only for lack of a better term. Devastated works, too, I suppose.) I have only been truly heartbroken by three* people in my life. One is my father. One is my sister. And one is Jacob.
I still love Jacob. I am so happy that he is doing well and dating and about to move in with his boyfriend and start a new job. It's fabulous. And I'm still sad about how everything ended up, and all the hurt and all the ways I failed the relationship. Because I did. I forgive myself, though. And I forgive Jacob. He will always have a special place in my heart, no matter what happens. The way I love him has changed, but I'll never not love him.
Life is so funny. It has been a constant surprise. When I moved to Kansas City, I never thought that in 6 years I would be where I am right now. That is the beauty of life. It scares the shit out of me, though, knowing that my plans are lovely and good but most definitely will be upset in some strange and unexpected way. Like this gallbladder business. Seriously. What the fuck? Gallbladder? Really? Thank god it was a relatively superfluous organ. I've already had my tonsils and adenoids out. Now gallbladder. What's next? Appendix? Sign me up. I love surgery.
Blech. Seriously, though, surgery is the worst. The hospital is the worst. IVs and catheters and hospital gowns and hospital smell and being roused in the middle of the night to have your blood drawn is the worst.
You know what's not the worst, though? Sunshine and cookouts and swimming and friends and flowers and walking at the park and playing and loving and cookies and food and fun and camping and taking pictures and oh so much more.
I feel like this blog went a little stream-of-consciousness after the first couple of paragraphs, but I'm just going to go with it. It works.
*If I count myself breaking my own heart, which I think is warranted, the number is 4. And if you count Polaroid film, which is also warranted, the number is 5. I don't count Liz. I broke my own heart in that situation by allowing her to treat me the way she did for as long as she did. I let her snow me and manipulate me. And because she refused to see the real me and refused to be her real self she did not have my heart to break. I will not give that piece away.
We were compatible. Too compatible. We became enmeshed and it was bad for both of us. We were both depressed. We both had issues. Lots of them. It just got to be too much. I'm not going to rehash everything. That's unnecessary. I couldn't do it anymore. I had to come back to Tulsa. I was utterly, utterly heartbroken. (Heartbreak is such a vague concept. I use it only for lack of a better term. Devastated works, too, I suppose.) I have only been truly heartbroken by three* people in my life. One is my father. One is my sister. And one is Jacob.
I still love Jacob. I am so happy that he is doing well and dating and about to move in with his boyfriend and start a new job. It's fabulous. And I'm still sad about how everything ended up, and all the hurt and all the ways I failed the relationship. Because I did. I forgive myself, though. And I forgive Jacob. He will always have a special place in my heart, no matter what happens. The way I love him has changed, but I'll never not love him.
Life is so funny. It has been a constant surprise. When I moved to Kansas City, I never thought that in 6 years I would be where I am right now. That is the beauty of life. It scares the shit out of me, though, knowing that my plans are lovely and good but most definitely will be upset in some strange and unexpected way. Like this gallbladder business. Seriously. What the fuck? Gallbladder? Really? Thank god it was a relatively superfluous organ. I've already had my tonsils and adenoids out. Now gallbladder. What's next? Appendix? Sign me up. I love surgery.
Blech. Seriously, though, surgery is the worst. The hospital is the worst. IVs and catheters and hospital gowns and hospital smell and being roused in the middle of the night to have your blood drawn is the worst.
You know what's not the worst, though? Sunshine and cookouts and swimming and friends and flowers and walking at the park and playing and loving and cookies and food and fun and camping and taking pictures and oh so much more.
I feel like this blog went a little stream-of-consciousness after the first couple of paragraphs, but I'm just going to go with it. It works.
*If I count myself breaking my own heart, which I think is warranted, the number is 4. And if you count Polaroid film, which is also warranted, the number is 5. I don't count Liz. I broke my own heart in that situation by allowing her to treat me the way she did for as long as she did. I let her snow me and manipulate me. And because she refused to see the real me and refused to be her real self she did not have my heart to break. I will not give that piece away.
Friday, March 27, 2009
maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore
I am only writing because I don't know what else to do. I can't not write. I'll drown. I am going to write about living and dying. It is heavy, heavy on my mind lately and writing relieves the burden as nothing else can. I hope not to be dramatic, only matter-of-fact about it because it is a reality that none of us can escape and is just as natural as birth and change and the unstoppable force of progress.
In a sense, we are all afflicted by this disease called Life, which we will all die from. It is the most beautiful terminal condition because there is nothing better than truly living. And you know deep in your heart of hearts if you are truly living or if you are just a ghost turned flesh. You know. You can see it in your eyes and feel it in your bones.
We all know what dying feels like. Parts of us are dying and regenerating all the time. It's normal, except when it's not. It's normal unless your whole self is dying, emotionally or physically or both. It's normal as a cycle of ebb and flow, but not when you circumvent it and stay ashen always. You can't live in winter forever. Or, actually, you can, but it's not really living.
I guess what I am trying to say is that we are all dying, so we may as well live as much as we can because you can't take even one single day for granted. And I can sit and be sorrowful about the alleged (supposed, possible, questionable, something) brevity of the lives of people I love, or I can just be with them as much as I can and enjoy the living we have left to do, however finite.
Heartbreak and death are inevitable. And anorexia and cardiomyopathy are hard things no one should ever have to suffer. And yet, they still are. Many, many things still are. Such is life. And as I am just another soldier in the army of Love, I will simply live fully, love fully, give fully, experience fully, be fully, do fully, and cry when I need to. That is all I can do.
but i guess that this is the price
that we pay for the privilege
of living for even a day
in a world with so many things
worth believing
in
- ani
In a sense, we are all afflicted by this disease called Life, which we will all die from. It is the most beautiful terminal condition because there is nothing better than truly living. And you know deep in your heart of hearts if you are truly living or if you are just a ghost turned flesh. You know. You can see it in your eyes and feel it in your bones.
We all know what dying feels like. Parts of us are dying and regenerating all the time. It's normal, except when it's not. It's normal unless your whole self is dying, emotionally or physically or both. It's normal as a cycle of ebb and flow, but not when you circumvent it and stay ashen always. You can't live in winter forever. Or, actually, you can, but it's not really living.
I guess what I am trying to say is that we are all dying, so we may as well live as much as we can because you can't take even one single day for granted. And I can sit and be sorrowful about the alleged (supposed, possible, questionable, something) brevity of the lives of people I love, or I can just be with them as much as I can and enjoy the living we have left to do, however finite.
Heartbreak and death are inevitable. And anorexia and cardiomyopathy are hard things no one should ever have to suffer. And yet, they still are. Many, many things still are. Such is life. And as I am just another soldier in the army of Love, I will simply live fully, love fully, give fully, experience fully, be fully, do fully, and cry when I need to. That is all I can do.
but i guess that this is the price
that we pay for the privilege
of living for even a day
in a world with so many things
worth believing
in
- ani
Friday, February 6, 2009
things
This is the poster I bought:
It is a beautiful three-color silkscreen limited edition of either 45 or 100. It's awesome and I am going to put it in a nice black frame. Art school turned me into a black-frame-white-mat person. Does that make me boring or does it make me a Fascist? I haven't decided.
KCAI is having Alumni Weekend in May. Can you be an alum if you didn't graduate? Unimportant. There's no way I could handle going back there at this point in my life. That's actually a lie. I can totally handle it. Fuck. Maybe I should go. Maybe it would be therapeutic. Maybe it would just be humiliating. Do you show? No. Do you have any new work? No. Do you feel dead inside and heartbroken because in your life you have abandoned not one, but two of your true loves? Why yes, yes I do. *commence blackout drinking*
In other news, the Robert ParkeHarrison exhibit at the Nelson that I desperately wanted to go to is ending on Sunday. That's like a tiny knife in my crusted-over heart because it's my fault and my fault alone that I did not make that happen.
I think maybe I should be in therapy again. I hate therapy. But I have this self-loathing that I don't know what to do with.
Blerg, you guys. Just... blerg.
It is a beautiful three-color silkscreen limited edition of either 45 or 100. It's awesome and I am going to put it in a nice black frame. Art school turned me into a black-frame-white-mat person. Does that make me boring or does it make me a Fascist? I haven't decided.
KCAI is having Alumni Weekend in May. Can you be an alum if you didn't graduate? Unimportant. There's no way I could handle going back there at this point in my life. That's actually a lie. I can totally handle it. Fuck. Maybe I should go. Maybe it would be therapeutic. Maybe it would just be humiliating. Do you show? No. Do you have any new work? No. Do you feel dead inside and heartbroken because in your life you have abandoned not one, but two of your true loves? Why yes, yes I do. *commence blackout drinking*
In other news, the Robert ParkeHarrison exhibit at the Nelson that I desperately wanted to go to is ending on Sunday. That's like a tiny knife in my crusted-over heart because it's my fault and my fault alone that I did not make that happen.
I think maybe I should be in therapy again. I hate therapy. But I have this self-loathing that I don't know what to do with.
Blerg, you guys. Just... blerg.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
save it for your ivillage blog, lemon
Today is the last day of 2008. It doesn't really feel that big or important this year because I'm in that place where everything is kind of normal and even and steady and non-dramatic and maybe even boring (in a good way). I got the tumult over with a few months ago.
I did the death/rebirth thing already this year. I feel kind of like I am coasting right now. I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. I don't think I am stagnating. Krystal says I am not stagnating.
Things just are, and I am just doing. I don't know how else to say it.
And, I mean, maybe parts of me are hibernating, but only because they need to be. Specifically, in this case, the hibernating parts are my artistic self and my romantic (I don't know if that's exactly the right word, but I'm just going to roll with it) self. Both of these selves are still really hurt and scared and have cocooned, I guess. How does one go about coaxing them back into the sunlight?
The art part is most troubling to me because the whole school-falling-through thing happened two and a half years ago. I have to figure out how to heal that wound, and it is significant. I still feel it. It's like a death. I guess of part of myself. And my job is to Lazarus it.
So that's fun. I'll figure it out, though. It's what I do.
Merry New Year's to the two people who read this blog.
I did the death/rebirth thing already this year. I feel kind of like I am coasting right now. I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. I don't think I am stagnating. Krystal says I am not stagnating.
Things just are, and I am just doing. I don't know how else to say it.
And, I mean, maybe parts of me are hibernating, but only because they need to be. Specifically, in this case, the hibernating parts are my artistic self and my romantic (I don't know if that's exactly the right word, but I'm just going to roll with it) self. Both of these selves are still really hurt and scared and have cocooned, I guess. How does one go about coaxing them back into the sunlight?
The art part is most troubling to me because the whole school-falling-through thing happened two and a half years ago. I have to figure out how to heal that wound, and it is significant. I still feel it. It's like a death. I guess of part of myself. And my job is to Lazarus it.
So that's fun. I'll figure it out, though. It's what I do.
Merry New Year's to the two people who read this blog.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
i made that class my bitch
I got my grade today for ASL 1. I totally rocked that class to pieces. I got 387.8 points out of 390 possible points, which is a 99.4%. This makes me very happy. I did all my homework and only missed one class (and that was for the Deaf, Deaf World thing in Stillwater). I am so proud of me.
Yay!
I even felt kind of sad this morning that I don't have class today. I like class.
But now I get to rest and get good and bored so I will be ready when next semester starts. That is my plan, anyway.
On an unrelated note, I was going to go back and find my New Year's Resolution blog from last year but I decided that would be a bad idea because even though I'm sure my resolutions were good I don't need to be going back to that headspace I was in a year ago. I am a different person now. I don't know that Natalie anymore, which is weird but completely true.
Anyway. Going back to school-related stuff, fucking TCC still hasn't processed my financial aid and I am really pissed about it. Those bastards. Every time I call them they're just like, "You just have to wait..." I'm tired of fucking waiting. They should not still be processing shit for a semester that is over in two days. That is ridiculous. I don't even care about this semester. I want to know about next semester. Ugh. Whatever. It'll all work out. Somehow.
Yay!
I even felt kind of sad this morning that I don't have class today. I like class.
But now I get to rest and get good and bored so I will be ready when next semester starts. That is my plan, anyway.
On an unrelated note, I was going to go back and find my New Year's Resolution blog from last year but I decided that would be a bad idea because even though I'm sure my resolutions were good I don't need to be going back to that headspace I was in a year ago. I am a different person now. I don't know that Natalie anymore, which is weird but completely true.
Anyway. Going back to school-related stuff, fucking TCC still hasn't processed my financial aid and I am really pissed about it. Those bastards. Every time I call them they're just like, "You just have to wait..." I'm tired of fucking waiting. They should not still be processing shit for a semester that is over in two days. That is ridiculous. I don't even care about this semester. I want to know about next semester. Ugh. Whatever. It'll all work out. Somehow.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
slow down, you crazy child
I had a dream about neglecting animals last night. And by that I mean I had a dream about all the ways in which I neglect myself, and about that overwhelming feeling you have when the Jenga game of your life becomes ridiculously precarious. The dream is about the fact that I have been procrastinating buying new clothes for months. It is also about the three classes I am enrolled in for next semester. It is about the fucking stupid holidays and my guilt about being too broke to buy presents. It is about the interview I have at Borders today. (I fucking hate interviews.) It is about letting those damned students walk all over me at work.
I can't please everyone. I can't fix everything. So maybe I should just focus on pleasing and fixing myself and everyone else can just fuck off.
Non sequitir: They are painting the closest bathroom at work so I have to use the "crying bathroom" (the onsie bathroom I would always go cry about Liz in). So that's fun. Fond memories.
Anyway. I had a proud moment this morning because I was telling my sister about my weird dream and she said, "Animals represent primal emotions, and everyone in your dream is just different aspects of yourself." She is so smart. I love her more than anything, ever.
Andrea is the only person who truly understands how awful my dad is. And how completely clueless he is. He doesn't know or understand either of us at all, and he never will. And that sucks, but oh, well. I don't need him. I have plenty of love and support without him. My cup runneth over with love and support, which is an amazing thing.
So, chin up, buttercup, fight that seasonal depression, and no crying at work.
I can't please everyone. I can't fix everything. So maybe I should just focus on pleasing and fixing myself and everyone else can just fuck off.
Non sequitir: They are painting the closest bathroom at work so I have to use the "crying bathroom" (the onsie bathroom I would always go cry about Liz in). So that's fun. Fond memories.
Anyway. I had a proud moment this morning because I was telling my sister about my weird dream and she said, "Animals represent primal emotions, and everyone in your dream is just different aspects of yourself." She is so smart. I love her more than anything, ever.
Andrea is the only person who truly understands how awful my dad is. And how completely clueless he is. He doesn't know or understand either of us at all, and he never will. And that sucks, but oh, well. I don't need him. I have plenty of love and support without him. My cup runneth over with love and support, which is an amazing thing.
So, chin up, buttercup, fight that seasonal depression, and no crying at work.
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