Here's a question: How is it possible, in the span of ten months, to go from knowing where a certain person is at all times to not even knowing that this certain person left the country for a week or so?

I hate losing people.

This is precisely why I make a conscious effort not to make friends and not to care about anyone. It occasionally happens (and always on accident), but I certainly don't seek friends, boyfriends, etc. The more you care the more you bleed, I've learned. Unfortunately, when I care about someone I care more than anyone ever should.

Having my heart sliced open is not my forte, I've come to realize.

Wishes should never be considered money poorly spent, Sig. Even if they don't come true, just making them shows the life in your spirit and hope.

Remember all those coins we tossed into the wishing well, Jamie? (And perhaps this ought to be directed to Jolene and Ursula too, though I'm not at all certain of what they wished for.) That was money poorly spent, because those wishes will never come true. That epoch has ended.

Everything is my fault
I'll take all the blame
Aqua seafoam shame
Sunburn with freezeburn
Choking on the ashes of her enemy
All alone is all we are

Thats because I WORK. I've worked EVERY DAY this week. and I go in early. I go to work, come home, sleep, wake up, shower, go to work. I'll call you the MOMENT I get a day off, ok, Psycho? :-)

Jamie: You are impossible to get ahold of. How annoying. :) Anyway, the Grotto Shrine becomes a paying attraction as of Monday (I think). I don't want to pay to stare at the creepy-ass bleedy Jesus statues. (Although it's only $2.00 or something...still...I don't like to fund Catholicism. The bonus of paying, however, would be that we'd get to tour the Wonder Cave, which I've never been in because I alway go in the off season when it's free.) This means that you (and anyone else who would like to view the stations of the cross and etc) have to call me a.s.a.p. This is something that you have to see at some point in your life if you live in the Wisconsin Rapids area.

They're just boys....but they also have the amazing ability to make me feel either perfect or worthless with one word or glance. Stupid? Yes. I miss being loved.

"Why do we value them so much? They're just boys." -Me, Spring 2000.

I suspect that I made that statement in a moment of sheer bravery. Perhaps I knew, even as I spoke it, that it wasn't really true - that is, I may have recognized that even though John Henry and Nathan Thomas were "just boys" to the rest of the world they were, in fact, the whole world to me and Jamie (or so it seemed). Admittedly, we were young, naive and stupid...shit, we still are.

All I'm getting at, I guess, is that it'll be really, really nice when - some day in the distant future - we can say "they're just boys" and mean it, whether in reference to John Henry and Nathan Thomas or to any other boys. It'll be quite the triumph. I'm looking forward to it.

No sausages...Brad is not a positive experience. You could just play with your pretty pink birthday vibrator. That would probably be more mortifying for her anyway.

It'd be super special to come back from an 8 o'clock final after getting very little sleep (because I had to sleep in a strange bed the night before due to my roommate's boy/girlfriend sleeping over) and be able to sleep in my bed, but I guess that's not in the cards. You heard it right, folks. My....roommate....has....her....fuckbuddy....sleeping....in....MY....FUCKING....BED. How charming is that? I'm sure I have no right to be angry about this, but you know what? I am. Incredibly so. I mean, I realize that Lauren will be moving into a new apartment in less than a week and will then have her own space for this fuckbuddy to come visit, but perhaps I'm being self-centered in the idea that she could wait one fucking week until finals are over to pull this shit....hmm....I wonder how she'd feel to come back from class to find me getting the sausage slipped to me from someone? Perhaps that will be in the cards.

I tried, Jolene...it was too hard. Especially with Joan's super-short buzz. Her "I Love Rock-N-Roll" mullet went slightly better, but it still looked like crap. Sorry...I can't help you out. I think you should go for the real short and black look. It'll be hot. :) And if not, it'll grow. If you'd like to see a really crappy rendition of yourself with black hair, then by all means click here.

Fun with Photoshop:

Yeah, I didn't do a very good job...but I'm just learning. I know that Erica doesn't REALLY look like she's holding Blue Friend. I also know that the hair looks pretty crappy - especially Lauren's; hers was super dark and the color was super even when I started (on account of the dye) that..yeah. I didn't do a very good job (especially for the ridiculous amount of time it took to create the image), but...it was fun anyway. My goal is to get better. Eventually. When I have time to learn.

(...right...free time...funny joke)

TOWANDA!!!

I just feel like guys are so fucking stupid. I really honestly do, . But I went out with Dana and her friend Brooke last night, and I got to know Brooke, she's very pretty, she looks like a doll, and all the guys want her, and she's MEAN AS HELL, she has NO personality, she has the WORST grammar I've EVER heard...she's intellectually void....she'll tell them they're ugly and to fuck off and they still adore her. Seriously, it's like..."oh, its cute when you can't string a verb and a noun together to make a sentence, or when you use more 'aint, no, nevers' in one statement than one would think is humanly possible....and when you tell me I'm a loser and you'd never dance with me/go on a date with me....I like that." Which goes to show what boys want....now I KNOW why they don't want me....I mean....honestly, if thats all that matters, how a girl looks....then I don't want a boy. Its disturbing, really. I fucking hate guys. I really really really really do. I'm gonna be a superhero that like....destroys them....or something.

Just a thought: why are some professors assholes? They're the minority, that's for sure...but they're still assholes, and it still sucks. Why do they derive a sadistic joy from demanding nine typewritten pages in response to their take-home essay exams? And why do they require said nine pages to be completed in 3 days, and why do they require the exams to be handed in a full 72 hours before the scheduled final exam time? And, why do they require 20 students to reference the one and only existing copy of a certain article, on reserve at the campus library, in said take-home essay exam? Are we all supposed to fight over it between now and Monday? Fucker.

Personally, I've been on a Ya-Ya kick lately, thanks to my indpendent study paper for Lori. Basically, the paper is about women's rejection of the rules associated with patriarchal religion in order to facilitate healing...and all of this as it appears in contemporary literature.

I'm writing about four different books, one of which is Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by the lovely Rebecca Wells. I'm using the Sister Solange/St. Augustines section of the book in which Sister Solange rejects the authority of the Catholic school and the head nun to give Vivi a lavendar bath and to call Genevieve. Yeah. It's a lot more exciting in my paper. Really.

Speaking of my paper...I'm going to go work on that. Anyway, we need to do some Ya-Ya-esque things this summer, OK ladies? I feel like being naughty.

After re-watching Gone with the Wind for the billionth time, I've reawakened my inner Scarlett, and I'm absolutely obsessed with getting myself a gown made of green velvet drapes with gold cording. AND the red one she wears to Ashley's birthday party....anyways, I need a new hairstyle, too. I prefer to keep it real long like it is, but I need something new and kinky/funky and bound to cause disapproving looks....Perhaps I should just get more layers and then dye it bright red with silver streaks...or black with pink streaks....either way, I wanna look like the Superhero that I am.

Siggie....He did awaken parts of you...and I know you think he awakened all that is in you...but I think you've only just begun. I love you and know this about you. I know what you are capable of even if you don't....

Down with love. Bring on my vibrator!

Warning: long, sentimental reflection ahead. I have a lot to say. I'm sorry...but if you get bored, you can always stop reading. Or perhaps you shouldn't even start reading.

He was a good kid, that John Henry guy. Really. I know that certain people thought he was horrible for (and to) me, and in the past few months I've come to realize that - in certain limited ways - those people were correct… But I also know that he was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I’ll never regret him. He did too much for me.

The fact of the matter is that, prior to the John Henry experience, I was hellbent on being as non-human as possible. I refused to acknowledge that I had any feelings or that I had the capacity for things like...love. I didn't want or seek fulfilling human relationships (not even the romantic kind...I'm talking friendship here); I was positive that getting to know someone was the equivelant of stabbing myself in the eye with a carefully sharpened stick. But somehow, over the course of several years, John Henry wore me down. Though I fought it, he forced me to accept the fact that I am, in fact, a member of the human race. He's the one that taught me to feel, care, and love. And, of course, he taught me the other side of humanity, too; I've had my share of tears on his account. He's proven to me (twice, actually) that I was correct about the sharp stick. I'm not sure whether I should be happy/smug that I was correct about being human, or depressed as hell because humanity sucks just as much as I expected it to. Dilemma.

Greater dilemma: How will anyone ever be able to compare to him? How will anyone ever be able to give me as much as he did? Awakening someone to her full human potential isn't something that just anyone can do, nor is it an act that can be repeated or easily followed up. It just seems that the getting-to-know-you/falling-in-love experience has been forever spoiled. Well...not spoiled, so much as used up. It's over, it's done, it was nice while it lasted. This is why I suspect that it will be a horribly, painfully long time before I even think about having another boy. In all honesty, I don't expect to ever really want one.

But that's not even what's bothering me right now. I had a realization last night. It came to me as I was sitting on Jillian's loveseat with Andy curled up in my lap. I realized that John Henry will some day have somebody else. But not only will he have someone else, he'll have experiences with somebody else. She'll play piano while he plays guitar; maybe they'll even sing together. She'll watch anime cartoons with him. She'll be able to carry on a conversation about the newest Red Hat release, and she'll be able to discuss the latest episode of The Screen Savers. And then there are all the other things... She'll do everything I didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't do. She'll be perfect...she'll be all of the things he tried to turn me into. And she won't get upset when he doesn't visit, doesn't call, doesn't write. She won't mind when he doesn't come to see her on her birthday, when he doesn't even try to take off of work for holiday weekends when he knows he'll be able to see her. She'll be his fucking wet dream.

And, of course, he'll forget about me...he'll forget that I even existed. This came to me yesterday, and though I felt my heart hit the floor I was very calm. It was very matter-of-fact, but also very profound - as if someone had just shown me (for the very first time) solid, easily-understood, undeniable proof of God. I just sat there. I didn't move. I didn't cry. I didn't think. I maybe didn't even breathe. And then Andy moved, jarring me back into the present.

It doesn't seem fair, though, that someobody else will get to have him. Will she know where the scars came from? Will she have watched them come into existence? Will she know how his parents treated him while he lived at home? Will she understand why he never goes home, why he tries his damndest to work on Christmas and Easter, why he never learned how to care? (Ironic, isn't it, that the kid who made me feel too much is practically incable of feeling?) Was she there for his first kiss (and his first everything else)? No. Was she there when he got his first guitar? No. Did he promise her that he'd wait for her forever, no matter what, regardless of what got in the way? No. But she'll have him, and I won't. Something about that just seems so wrong.

Missing that boy comes in phases, like the ocean or the moon. There are high tides and low tides, full and new moons. This will pass, I'm sure, as it always does. In a week or two this will all seem so fucking melodramatic. And then, a month or two after that, I'll read it again...and cry. (Random note: I'm not bleeding from my snatch. This is genuine emotion.)

It's been eight months. Everyone says that it's time to stop caring...everyone says that I should have more than moved on by now. But what's eight months compared to seven years? That's how long I knew that kid at the time of my disposal. (It's been almost eight years now, but this past year doesn't really count...I've seen him just once since August - thank you, Nathan N*ze - and I've only talked to him a few times more than that.) We were really good friends for a really long time, and we dated for just as long. It's not just letting go of this boy I had and it's not just getting my heart broken. It's also saying goodbye to one of my oldest friends. (I've only been friends with Rock longer.) It's bidding farewell to an entire era and admitting that one of the best things I ever had is gone...it's coming to terms with the fact that I simply wasn't good enough for one of the only things that's ever really mattered.

I know that he's not coming back. I already had my second chance...it lasted for two years. It didn't work out, though I tried so hard...so hard. I'm not sure that I could have possibly done anything else. Unfortunately, I've learned the hardest lesson of my life in the past few months:

I loved him more than he loved me. I loved him enough for both of us, but love isn't like other things. If one party has a defecit and the other an excess, the one with the excess simply cannot cover the other's debt. It just doesn't work...it can't.

Goodbye.
.
.
.
.
.
Are you uncomfortable now? Do you know too much about me? I don't care. Go cry about it.

When I was little my sisters and I made May Day baskets for the neighbor boys one year....I'm assuming that was during one of our truces with the bastards. No one caught MY ass, cuz I was so thoroughly disgusted with the idea of Jesse Koeshall or Eric or Brent Matthews mackin on me that I ran like hell and picked up some throwing rocks for good measure.

I've figured out my psychosis, Siggie. I like men that I hate. It's a throwback to my favorite movie, Gone with the Wind. It's just so much more romantic and so much sexier if I think any moment I'll piss him off to the point that he'll grab me and kiss me and carry me to the boudoir to be ravished. Also, I'm bored silly with boys that actually like me....what's the fun in that?

Merry Beltane, all.


It's May Day. If we're going to start a pagan-ish goddess cult, we'd better learn to love May 1...it's the most important Pagan holiday, especially in Wicca. It'll be our new Christmas. Too bad it's a fertility ceremony, huh? Oh well. We can reclaim it - we can make it a rebirth/renewal ceremony and not focus so much on the abundance of our ovaries. (And, of course, we don't have to give up Christmas...it's too much of a cultural phenomenon to abandon. Besides...exchanging gifts rocks, as does Christmas baking.) Other random Beltane/May Day fact: It's the oldest known holiday. Nobody can come up with anything older, including holidays that have been recorded but are no longer celebrated.

Nobody brought me a May Basket today. Too bad...I wanted to chase someone down the hall, catch him, and kiss him. My mom used to help me deliver May Baskets to all of the neighbor kids back in the day. Allison Mason was the only one who ever caught me, though. She kissed me too. Funny how a thing like that isn't disgusting when you're only six. I wonder how the hell that tradition ever got started. Maybe it was to put you in the mood to be fertile. :) Anyway.

Siggie, it says I'm the Pilot, too. Actually, it kinda fits for me, too, even though you and I are so different....then again, maybe our differences are set in our similarities....that sounds paradoxal, but I mean...like, we're different in the ways in which we conduct ourselves, but we feel a lot of the same. Actually....I think thats pretty accurate. Go me. :-)