Spanish Nights

For those of you that don't know, I am currently working on my masters. So I'm at that point that I have to work on my thesis (I get a lot of grief from my family because it's all I talk about and they're kind of fed up to the point where they kind of mock me - yeah, great family!). Yesterday I finally finished the literature review and I was so proud of myself! I literally jumped around for a while... then I realized I was super tired. Especially because I had to pull out one of my wisdom teeth. Apparently it had no room to just sit there and not give me grief, so it was giving me a lot of jaw pain and migraines. I decided: "screw it! just pull it out!". And so it came out... the day after Christmas. How masochistic am I? very (apparently). So... yeah... I'm on some painkillers. I'm losing myself in thought a lot which is not a very good thing because I still have a lot of work to do which is due on the 6th (of January, of course!). Okay... so yesterday I finally finished my literature review and I jumped around for a while. Then I realized there was no one around to jump around with me. I stopped... I was woozy and sort of blue. I sat down. I listened to some music (Keaton Henson) and I decided to go to bed. I crawl into bed (I was already in my jammies - which is my holiday uniform) and turned on the TV. I like to drift off listening to the TV (it shuts itself off after a while). So amazingly enough there was nothing good on and I ended up watching the ending to this weird movie which I think was called Dristrict 9 (I'm not sure if it was a movie or not). The ending really pissed me off because I'll never know if the alied dude came back after three years (like he promised). That's the last thing I remember thinking before I fell asleep.

I fell asleep... I had a decent amount of sleep. But the dreams... the dreams I had this night were amazing! I have this thing (which some people find weird but for me it's pretty normal)... I dream in color so it's pretty much like watching TV. But this night... besides lots of beautiful colors I also dreamed in Spanish. It felt so real... my Spanish also sucked in the dream. But there was this man... and he was beautiful but I couldn't have him. He had to go. The scenery around me... the sun, the trees, the houses... everything felt so real! I haven't seen the sun in days (it's been raining nonstop for over a week) and I could literally feel it on my skin, in my dream. I also felt the sadness of being left behind. The sorrow that loss brings. The ending is blurry... Or I'm not supposed to remember it. But it felt sort like one of those Spanish dramatic soap operas... it was beautiful, funny and painful. I don't think I need to talk about the particulars of the dream. I guess the title of this post speaks for itself... Spanish Nights. :)

Xmas Blues

It's that time of the year once more. And has I am sitting here watching everybody else's Christmas through this window that is social networking I started to wonder... when was the last happy Christmas I ever had. To be honest... I think that the last truly happy Christmas I had was when my grandparents were still alive. Now, it's just a day like any other... except my family gather (father, mother, sister, son...) and we just bicker all throughout dinner. We get criticized as we drink our wine (too much of it, if I say so myself) and then we drink coffee and exchange gifts. After that, everybody sort of just scatters. This day has lost all meaning for me. It's just another day. Another day I feel lonely even though my family is with me. Another day I second guess everything I do so I don't get criticized. Another day I second guess everything I say so I don't start World War III. Another day for sadness to creep in slowly and make this hole I got punched through my heart a little bigger... I guess soon I'll be left with nothing but a hole in my chest. A black hole that'll suck every bit of happiness I might have coming my way.

Yes... it might just be the Xmas blues. But why do I feel so alone and so empty all of the time? I feel like I don't belong. This is not my country. This is not my world. Maybe it's not even my time. Why do have all these feelings flooding me all of the time all at once? I just wish all these voices could be silenced. I wish all these feelings would just stop. And even though I'd turn into just another robot like all those people I fear and stear clear of, I would probably be a bit happier living in ignorant bliss. But they never quiet down... they keep getting louder and louder. Sometimes I just can't handle it. And these feeling... they just keep twisting and turning. They burn me up inside. It's all unbearably hard. I just cope. I close my eyes and try to navigate this thunderstorm inside of me, this angry tumultuous sea that at times feels like it's ready to break all barriers and pour out of me through angry and violent words of despair and frustration.

These tears I cry from time to time are nothing but light showers. I know that poets or writers usually are known for having demons or tormented souls. If this is the case than I should be the most eloquent one of all. But I am not. I am just a simple person whose feelings are so intense they need to be expelled through writing. Because they are like a wound... and if a wound festers there's an infection setting in that left untreated will rot you to the core. I don't want to rot as much as I don't want to feel.

I am a mess. I am confused. I have no idea what I want to do. People have this idea of what I should be, they see me a certain way. I can't see myself in such a way. I can't even begin to conceive the image people project and tell me I should be. I don't want to be part of any social circles. I don't want to be popular. I don't.... I just want to be left alone. I know I said I was lonely and know I say I want to be alone. They're two different concepts: I feel lonely because there's no people around that understand me; I want to be left alone because I don't have the  strength  anymore to pretend I understand what people are talking about. I just don't get any of this social bullshit. Nobody ever says what they mean, and they never mean what they say... it's all horse shit! I'm fed up!

Fifteen years ago I would never believe I would spend a Christmas alone, in my room, blogging. Yet... here I am. Alone in my room blogging about my miserable Christmas. I shouldn't complain. I don't have a bad life. I have a great family...but they don't understand me. They understand that I have a different set of values and interests. Social standing is not something I aspire to. I just want to be myself.

Rage

There is a rage in me. A quiet rage tearing me up inside. It is well hidden, I am a master of disguise. My face frozen with the same blank expression and empty eyes. The windows to the soul shut tightly so that no light comes in. There is a rage in me and it is cold.
To the people around me I am just the odd and silent fat girl lurking with her head stuck in a book. Reading... writing... daydreaming... thinking... hoping. But there is a rage in me that blinds me to all manner of beauty. This monster inside takes over and there is nothing left but loneliness and rage. The music is silenced by all the different loud voices in my head that drive me insane. The one monster is broken down into all sorts of different self-deprecating voices. Voices that drown me in melancholy. But sometimes the rage inside breeds chaos, a violent storm ends in tears forcing open the windows I had shut to keep in the rage.
There is a sadness in this place inside of me. It is an empty space that I tried filling many times with love or the idea of it. I tried filling it with friendship but people let me down. The space is empty because rage doesn't fill it. This rage in me destroys the once beautiful warm place ready for love. Now it's just cold and empty. Destroyed. In ruins. Scorched. The rage in me set fire to it. The melancholy put that fire out. This place within is  abandoned and the rage in me has gone cold.    

A Rush of Feelings

I've  been struggling lately... a lot, actually. I haven't been able to write. I write what I feel and when I feel nothing I have nothing to say or to write. I've also been  preoccupied with my thesis. I fear I might not be good enough to pull off such an  ambitious  project but I'm going to try. I am here and I am willing. That should be a key ingredient. I stared at my screen all day trying to write something... anything. On my this here blog, for my thesis... nothing came to mind. I felt empty. I feel empty. I feel loneliness flow through me. I am loneliness. I am melancholy. So I started checking put my Facebook wall and watching all these things pop up, reading statuses, looking at pictures... no feelings. Nothing. No smiles, no lol's, no expressions of disbelief or shock, simply... nothing... Then I came across a picture the band Half Moon Run published. It was a picture taken in London as they played their song "Need It". I felt the need to listen to this song again and the strangest thing happened: a tear. A tear ran down my face. I felt sad. I was feeling. Then I felt angry and powerless because the past is  unfix-able, untraceable. All sorts of feelings started to rush in as I closed my eyes and really let the song seep in. Passion, romance, love, sex, madness, melancholy, anger, bliss, lust, sadness, despair, sorrow... all at once hitting me like a ton of bricks. I assume this is what an amnesiac feels like when he gets all his/her memories back.

But the main thing is... I let go. I let go of a fantasy I held on to for so many years and now I have nothing. I have no one. No fantasy. No hope. No dreams. Emptiness. I am this huge pile of flesh harboring all these memories I so hold on to and so wish to forget. And now the song is on repeat because I want to provoke more tears, more feelings but nothing. The song keeps on playing, the lyrics echoing inside of me and nothing... there's nothing inside of me. I feel like someone punched a hole in my chest and ripped out my already broken heart. Maybe it's for the best. Feeling too much is not as great either. But... you know me! I'm either all in or not in at all.

Ashes

And when the ashes scattered I was still coughing. My eyes were red and burning... all of my work destroyed on a whim. I wasn't sure who I was anymore but I knew I didn't want to be the person coming alive on paper. So I chucked everything in the bin and without another thought I grabbed my crappy lighter and lit all of it on fire! I watched it burned... my life. The life that wasn't really mine. Words that I spilled on to paper as a sort of exorcism. But I wasn't that person. And even though they were my words, private words... they were JUST words. Words I would rather forget... I ran to the kitchen to get water so I could put out the small fire I had lit with the last 20 years of my life on page but I froze. I just stood there and watched it burn. Somehow I wished that I would get back all those years as they were burning and turning into ash. But I didn’t. And I didn’t feel free either. Everything was the same except the mess I had made and the wastebasket I had destroyed. I felt foolish and frustrated. I wanted to do something! Something meaningful, something to get me out of this funk, this daze… But I did nothing. I just sat down and stared into nothing. I was oddly calm even though I was frustrated by my inability to move forward. The words on paper were gone but they were still itching and burning in my mind, my memories. They’re just words… but they’re etched into my being. They are a part of me. They are who I am, no matter how hard I fight them or erase them or burn them. Those words are my soul, scattered outside and stuck to the bottom of the bin they were cremated in. I guess their current situation emulate my life – burned, broken, scattered, down in the dumps. I have decided to ignore them. I can’t forget them, erase them, burn them…so I shall ignore them. And I shall write new words. I shall write a new story for myself and I will be the person I want to be – moving forward.

Reminiscing in the cold

After years of confusion and not knowing which path to chose I decided to go back to university and work on a master's. I decided to go back to the university I got my degree because I felt I needed and need to prove myself. I also consider it to be the best place to find my voice because it was the place where I lost myself, my voice, my power.
Sometimes I get depressed because maybe I'm not good enough, or I don't really have a voice or a clear vision... All I have are these words that haunt me when I sleep. People would say "they're just words, Edna! snap out of it!". But words are never just words... they are manifestations of ones thoughts, voice, perspective, vision... Maybe my words are all I have. Maybe the written word is my voice. Or maybe I'm just tripping...

Last  Friday  I went to a lecture on documentary-making and it was quite interesting. It got me thinking maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I can create some art... the one thing in my life that always made sense - art. My ex-classmate gave the lecture and he was very clear... What I gathered from those two hours is that sometimes you have to lose yourself and take your time finding your voice. Once you let out the first syllable you'll be able to scream out your message in no time for the whole world to hear it. I wonder if one day the world will listen to me and see the world as I see it. The whole process of finding myself scares me to death... but I have to try.
This cold I caught leaving the lecture must count for something in the long run. I went outside for a smoke and all these different memories came rushing back - I could see the past unfolding before my eyes, walking the halls, like ghosts or some sort of residual energy hanging around me. I could hear all those voices of people I used to know. Their voices got louder and louder that I had to shut my eyes for a minute. The lit cigarette forgotten between my cold fingers. I heard an echoing voices pulling me out of the past. It was my current classmate. She was talking about her problems and putting her thoughts out there for me to analyze (or maybe so I could agree and validate them) but fuck if I know anything! I can't even fix my own life or understand what kind of shit goes on with me. So... reminiscing in the cold was basically what got me this funky cold that is totally destroying my nose.

Today is Sunday and I'm at my parents' for a visit. I'm ill... this cold might be evolving into something else. It might be the perfect time to settle my ideas and stop freaking out. I need to focus but I am constantly tired. The world around me bores me. I let myself get lost in books - poetry, novels... I should be reading the materials I need to work on my thesis but the truth is I feel so alone that poetic works and novels are the only written solace I can fully submerge myself in and forget about... everything. Even myself.

Maybe tomorrow I'll get out of this funk. But today, I shall crawl into bed with Bukowski and let him take me to places I remember from my past. My past is hidden behind every one of his words. And when I look myself in the mirror and see this person I don't recognize I feel disgusted, angry, sorry, powerless... That is a huge part of my problems. Not knowing where to start to change what bothers me, not knowing how to love myself. Because if I don't love myself who will? Even though I've always felt comfortable on my own and thought that people would have to like/love me for who I am and not how I look, I must confess that I am not happy with how I look. I look tired, heavy, broken, lifeless. I vowed going gym "shopping" and getting my ass back in shape but I'm... I have no idea what is holding me back. I need some sort of motivation and I don't know how or where to get some.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that all these past nights were filled with confusion and random thoughts that made no sense at all. I was mostly caught up with some sort of passive-aggressive  anxiety that is making me feel a lot like a dear caught in headlights. Am I on the right path? Am I reading enough? Am I working enough? Will I be able to get things done? Will I find my voice? Will I finally figure out who I am? Maybe... but not tonight.

I Envy People in Comas

Last night turning into morning before I could even get a wink of sleep. I spent those hours reading. I dove straight in to the story and I was right there with the characters. My mind was on overdrive. When I looked at the clock I was startled! I had to get to sleep. And so I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow and I felt happy that this one time I would not toss and turn waiting for sleep to take me into dream. Speaking of which I had none this night. There were no dreams, no nightmares. No confusion, no sadness. Only deep sleep. Only rest. Of course at 9 a.m. my brain jump-started back up and I was awake again. So much for rest. I got up and drove my mom into town since I came up north for a visit. I went to buy my medication and my mom went grocery shopping. As I walked around with her I sort of felt like a ghost roaming the isles of the supermarket. I had coffee at home, I had an espresso downtown... still... I was groggy and unrested. I just wanted to go back home, crawl into bed and sleep a couple of more hours. I took the groceries to the car and I felt the rain hit my face. It felt like a kiss. I do love the rain - I feel at home in darkness (not evil/darkness... but melancholic darkness - no light to hurt my eyes or burn my pale skin). I jumped in the car and turned the key... I had to wait because my mom decided to play the lotto or whatever. Then I saw her making her way to the car. I was already right up front to make it easier for her to get in. We drove back home and I wished that it would have been a silent drive... but it wasn't. She always has something criticizing to say (and not in a good way). My mother is the person who most criticizes me and she is the only person in the world that really makes me feel like crap all the time. I'm sure she doesn't mean to, it's just her nature. And even though I've told her plenty of times to stop bringing me down she just keeps at it. It's useless. I just sort of learned how to ignore it. I couldn't wait to get home so I could disappear up into the attic and take a nice nap. I did try... but the nap wasn't taken. I read some more. I decided to write and here I am now... envying people in comas because I can't seem to sleep over 4 or 5 hours straight. It's like I sleep in shifts or something. I just know that although comas aren't quite amusing or healthy (or something to take lightly) I do wish I could sleep 8 hours a night and I wish I could stop dreaming. My life in dreams is so much better I fear that the short hours of sleep is the way that my body has found to keep me from wanting to never wake up.

Last Night I was Lost in Thought. Today... I'm Just Lost.

The blinking cursor compels me to write - it's what's keeping me going. Like regular people are fueled by coffee or whatever other vice is considered normal and acceptable. I take coffee too... I try to fit in. But coffee alone isn't enough to jump-start my day, my thoughts, my whole being... I think I died during the 90's and never quite got my whole soul back. My life was over even before it began. I am a walking corpse, a walking cautionary tale, a walking disaster, a living-dead memory somebody fights hard to forget. I have my own memories... memories I would like to bury deep in the past. But they are constantly being brought back to life by the trivialities that surround me daily. My memories are open wounds that never healed properly. I fear that my emotional death might be diagnosed as depression or other fabulous psychiatric fashionable label. I have the latest medication to prove it... Last night I took 2 tablets and stared myself in the mirror. I told myself I was dead. I told myself I was an abject being, a fat lump of useless waste of space. I wanted to sleep. I took another tablet. I spun around in my bed... restless, sleepless. I told myself I was so useless I couldn't even sleep. Then I was perfectly still and the room around me was spinning and I felt like I was sinking, I felt like I was actually dead and I smiled. I closed my eyes. It seemed just for a second. I opened my eyes and it was morning. The church bells were ringing... they pounded loudly in my ears and I just wanted to fall back down in the hole I had fallen just a few seconds ago. I wanted to drift off again so I could live in those few seconds before you fall asleep where you can't remember who you are or where you came from. I wanted amnesia. I wanted something other than this lifeless  existence. I wanted to be brought back to life somehow. I wanted the 90's to be erased. I wanted my years back, my life back. I wanted everything that was taken from me. And as I awoke all of those feelings came rushing in and I cried. My pillow soaked in tears made me get up and drag this lumpy corpse to the bathroom where I started to go about my day. I had coffee. I read. I had lunch. I listened to music. I stared at my guitar. I picked up a book and flipped through it's pages. I couldn't concentrate. The cursor was blinking for over 45 minutes before I even started to write. And now... it is almost 6 p.m. and I haven't even gotten out of my pj's. I wasted a whole day. I just sat here at my desk. Reading, thinking... remembering. Lost.

How time flies/Lost In Thought

Time flies by regardless of how much free time you have on your hands. When I had no time at all I dragged myself around stressing about how much I had to do in so little time. Now that I have practically all the time in the world I feel sad and depressed. I have all this time to do my work, my art and all I want to do is crawl into bed and just stay there until the world ends.
Sometimes I cry when I am taking a shower because everything that once gave me (even if minimum) pleasure has withered and sort of tastes like ash. I fear I am turning into some kind of depressed zombie with my head stuck in books. I feel no joy, no pain... only apathy.
I am still obsessing over Charles Bukowski. I read his books in haste hoping I might feel something... a spark... But my eyes glisten and are clouded. The poem Lifedance as somehow pricked some sort of numbing membrane I developed around my heart.

LIFEDANCE

"the area dividing the brain and the soul

is affected in many ways by

experience -

some lose all mind and become soul:

insane.

some lose all soul and become mind:

intellectual.

some lose both and become:

accepted."

~ BUKOWSKI

Besides spending my whole summer in such a funk I did manage to work a bit on my upcoming thesis. Sometimes I am in the classroom and I can hear all the people around me but I'm not really there. I've never been "all there". I read Kristin Hersh post on Facebook and she said her therapist told she's not bipolar after all. Kristin wrote a whole book about being bipolar. Her therapist diagnosed her with multiple personality disorder (I think that was it, I'm not sure though). I think it's all kind of ridiculous. So... one minute you're one thing then you have multiple personality disorder? I keep wondering if I have any kind of mental disorder. Then I tell myself that I am sure of it but it's nothing a therapist can label. I'm just damaged, broken. I don't think I can ever be put together, or fixed. Maybe I just don't want to. Maybe I feel comfortable with the numbness alternating with the (almost) unbearable pain/sorrow (or whatever people call it - depression?). Maybe this is who I am. 

And sometimes, in the classroom, my thoughts drown the voices around me and they start to fade further and further away, like I'm falling in some kind of  trance, until they all go silent... and I am left alone within myself in a kind of darkness that feel cold yet comforting. I stare outside, through the window, and I once saw a man passing back and forth, like he was in a hurry to get nowhere, smoking his cigarette lost in his own thoughts unaware that I was watching him and at that moment I stepped out of the darkness within me and wondered if his thoughts were the same as mine...

Damn!!

Last night was like... well... it was like... daaaaamn! It was abso-fucking-lutely... uneventful. As usual. Nothing happened. I just slept and watched movies. That was it. I've also been kind of ill and totally out of it. So... there you have it. Nothing... just lounging.

The Space That Can't Be Filled...

For over thirty nights I have been consumed by my thoughts, lost in that space Charles Bukowski speaks of through his poem from his book "You Get So Alone at Times that it Just Makes Sense".

My whole life has been wasted trying to fill that empty space... that hole inside you that you wake up with one morning not knowing how it started, not knowing how to fix it. The emptiness that at times seems to burn you up inside, a feeling that makes you awkward and prevents you from fitting in. A darkness you are to afraid to stare in to because just maybe it might look back and swallow you whole. The more you try to fill that hole with whatever you can think of it just gets bigger and your soul gets chipped at each time you try until you fear the next attempt might completely take hole and destroy what little soul you have left. And so you spend every waking hour trying to fill that emptiness with what society deems acceptable and necessary to lead a righteous and happy life... but what "society" doesn't understand is that individuality, in my case, speaks so much louder than any of their rules and "how to's". My thoughts and feelings are my own and I cannot take upon myself or accept rules that would turn me into some high-functioning robot with no self-induced thought and always second-guessing my choices fearful that they might no be in conformity with what society expects. I would much rather accept the emptiness, the hole as it is because, like Bukowski says: even in the best of times we will know the empty space is there and we will forever wait in that space. I think that space is necessary, at least it is for me, to get in touch with all of my emotions, all of my being, with my nature so that I can breathe and live with the knowledge that, in life, there are no "happily ever afters". There are only a string of fleeting moments of bliss that are never enough to fill the space he writes of. 

"No Help For That", by Charles Bukowski

 there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

a space

and even during the
best moments
and
the greatest
times

we will know it

we will know it
more than
ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

and

we will wait
and
wait

in that
space.

So... I guess that... what I'm saying... is that the past thirty nights have been introspective. They have been nights of getting lost in pages written that whisper to me and touch my soul (or whatever remains of it). The past thirty nights have been quiet, a time for meditation, a time of choices, a time to choose myself and accepting my failures and recognizing that I do have a space inside that cannot be filled. Maybe now it will stop growing every time I try to cram some sort of activity, person, project or even pretend it's not thee. And that is the worts. Ignoring the void inside yourself is pretty much similar to death. But it's the worst kind of death: it is a death of thought. So... this is me now... accepting myself with all my virtues and faults and  acknowledging that the space I tried my whole life to fill with random crazy things is always there, and always with me. 

The Past

Last night was different. I thought about the past. I remembered the red shoes my mom got for me when I was a little girl and I hated them. They were red shiny shoes. With time I grew to love them and wore them everywhere. It was like those shoes were an  extension  of myself and if allowed I would have worn them to bed. Mind you that I had never seen th wizard of Oz so I did not associate my shoes with Dorothy and the magical land of Oz and what not. But I did feel like the shoes gave me some sort of magical power. I used them in school plays... I wanted to be an actress. But I grew out of it. Funny how I still am in some other way associated with movies and art. I was always a quiet child and had little friends. I spent my time running the fields chasing crickets or riding my bike. I also remember the jean bedazzled skirt I had. That was a very big favorite of mine also. So I would spend my weekends roaming the small village in my red shiny shoes and bedazzled jean skirt. I wanted to be Madonna. I wanted to be an actress and make music everyone would listen to. I wanted to be loved. So I guess that the longing for love started at a very young age. Of course it was a different type of love. Through the years the love I wanted changed. I wanted friends who loved me. I wanted my family to love me. I wanted boys to love me. I want my son to love me now. I want someone good and kind to love me. I want to love myself. In the end it all comes down to loving myself. If I don't love myself who else will? So that's what I thought of last night... about the past and the present. Of who I used to be led to who I am now. Am I good enough? Am I worthy of love? I see love all around me everyday blinded and overshadowed by hate and greed. It  diminishes  my hope once and a while and dark rants flow out of me. Those rants are my way of purging my darkness. We all have darkness and light inside of us and we fight it constantly. Only we can decide which way to turn . It's not easy to walk from the shadow and into the light especially if you're lived most of your life in darkness because the light will hurt your eyes at first. But the beauty that comes with that initial pain is so worth it you will bask in the beauty of all things trivial you never thought twice about. You will smile and enjoy simple things. You will find balance. I want to find that balance but am still fearing the light... but I step towards it a little each day and maybe someday I will come to enjoy all the beauty that there remains.
I wonder what I will dream up this night? I will tell you all tomorrow...

Nights in Limbo

When I started this blog I was psyched and was pretty  adamant  on  writing what the night before had been like. Truth is... these past nights have been what I would imagine Limbo is like. A string of consecutive nights feeling numb and not thinking of anything in particular. Trying to pretend I don't exist so I wouldn't have to come on here and write what I was feeling because the truth is... I don't feel anything anymore. I try really hard everyday to feel all the great feelings I read in books, see in movies and on people's faces as I walk the street. But I don't feel any of those beautiful feelings. All I feel is anger. I am angry at the world... but mostly at myself. I am angry at myself because I let myself get caught in a loop. I'm not doing so well but none of you would ever tell that inside I'm pretty much dead. The smiles, the jokes, the laughing... all masks cleverly crafted to keep people from peeling at me like an onion. Eventually there'd be nothing left to uncover. What would happen then? Would I come to realize some self and life changing truth? Or would I just disappear and all my layers be thrown in the garbage, abandoned... spoiled and rotting. Forgotten.
This particular night was unsettling... had a huge fight with my mother because she has this  innate  ability to drive me insane! It wouldn't have been Easter or whatever this day is about for Catholics without her getting me all worked up and pissed off. She is the ultimate drama queen. She ruined a perfectly good dinner. Now everyone has retired to their rooms for the night and I am in my room listening to some Kristin Hersh. She's awesome! She kicks ass! I wish I was more like her. I started this blog trying to in some way take back who I am but the truth is each night I want to be someone else. Each night I lose a little piece of myself because each night I realize I am not myself. I am not anyone. I am just a speck of dust stuck in some remote corner of the universe. Forgotten. Swept under some dusty old rug. This night won't be any  different  from any other night. No one will call me. I'll be surfing the web randomly. I won't smile. I won't laugh. I won't cry. I won't feel sorry for anyone. I will just be this helpless zombie waiting for someone to put a bullet to my brain and end this meaningless existence. I fear there is no more hope left for me to hold on to. I would usually end a post with the tiniest hope... a small word like "maybe" or "someday" or "soon" or "I'll wait". Because they always say that good things come to those who wait. But fuck me! I've been waiting my whole life and nothing good ever came... quite the contrary! Only sadness, sorrow, bitterness, anger... And now I'm this thing, this walking-talking zombie with no feelings, no hope, no tomorrow. The only thing keeping me remotely human are the sighs that come out from time to time. Even the beautiful man I saw that one time a few weeks ago hasn't brought me any comfort. The thought of him just makes me feel even more hopeless and helpless... who in their right mind would ever love a zombie such as I am?
Well... I guess you know what tomorrow will be like. Another night of self-pity and darkness.

Time to ACT!

Last night was like daydreaming. Feelings fluttered, emotions were stirred. I started to miss bits of pieces of myself I had to drown within myself to function "properly" in this rotten society! I miss those bits and pieces... those were the bits and pieces that usually told people bluntly to fuck off. So I would suspect that I actually drowned the revolutionary bits and pieces of myself and now I am nothing but a big pussy that never speaks up or ever stand up for myself. I mean... what the fuck? I shall have to revive or  resurrect  those bits and pieces. I fear I shall have need of them very soon. Sooner than I hoped. Eventually I will start feeling like a whole again because lately I've been feeling too much of a loser and not enough of a fighter. No one should ever feel or be made to feel this way. I am being made to feel this way and it's starting to feel a lot like bullshit. Outspoken opinionated bits and pieces shall resurface as well and I shall speak my mind as loud and often as I can. No one shall ever shut me up again. I don't care who you are, you will always have to swallow what I have to say. So last night was a night for daydreaming, resolutions and resurrection of my old bitchy self. There is no more time to spend on self-pity  or wallow in sadness. It is a time for action!

Heart Skips a Beat

Last night was a night for watching movies and rest. The rain outside made it easy to stretch out in my bed,  comfortable  and warm, drifting off to the sound of old movies.
As I lay in bed I thought of the man I stared at while he tried to make conversation with me. I was outside smoking before class and this tall gorgeous golden god stood next to me. His small-talk was like... I have no words to describe it. I just looked in his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes. They melted me and I could not bring myself to say a thing... not even a syllable. And I thought how could anyone be interested in talking to me. The lack of words from my lips made the beautiful man think I was foreign but before I left I said: "see you later". He followed me in a couple of minutes later and we walked up the stairs together... I couldn't stop smiling. The way he looked at me made my heart skip a beat. And for the rest of the day I thought of those few minutes. And thinking of him I can't help but smile. I wonder where he is and what he's doing?
And that what my night was like... thinking of a beautiful stranger I met before class.
I wonder what tonight will be like?

Dazed and Confused...

I was supposed to be in class until 8 p.m. but our professor forgot to bring the footage we were supposed to edit so he let us go home early. The whole class was pretty psyched about getting a couple of hours of down time and so was I. I finished editing the assignment that was due and I told you all about yesterday. I thought I wouldn't be able to finish it in time but I actually did. So that made me happy and it made me feel accomplished. 

At home I was feeling pretty shitty because I still haven't gotten paid (un-fucking-believable!) and I got a text from my sister. Kind of made me feel better when she wrote "we're fucked! lol". To read her "lol" and know she was laughing kind of made me feel like I'm not alone in the world, that someone understands what I'm going through.

After a couple of texts dissing my so-called place of work my sister asked me what I felt like having for dinner... and I was undecided because my current situation makes me feel sick to my stomach. She finally convinced me to make mac&cheese. So I dragged my feet into the kitchen and starting dabbling. I sort of felt like the  swedish chef on the Muppets. Finished preparing the meal and decided I wanted to put on something more confortable. Pajama mode was on like donkey kong! 

I ate my dinner as I watched an episode of grey's anatomy and I felt like my brain was shutting down because I couldn't possibly tell you what went on during the episode I watched. And the eating... the handling the fork and guiding it with food to my mouth was all very mechanical and not at all thought about. I felt like a machine about to break down. I tried to read for a while but I realized I couldn't process any information. I felt dazed and confused... helpless and misused. With such frustrations taking over I just gave up and dragged my ass to bed. I was asleep before I could even think about anything. That's how tired I've been lately...

What will this night be like? 

Race Against Time...

Last night I drove down the coast to Aveiro which is a city in Portugal where I go to university for my masters degree. And I was so tired... I had to crank up the music so I wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel. 90's tunes are my "drug" of choice to keep awake. I swear... it was the weirdest road trip ever because even doing this every week since September on my own with no one to talk to I always sort of feel okay and confortable... I always keep myself company, if you know what I mean. I don't talk to myself... but my thoughts keep me entertained. But yesterday... yesterday I had nothing on my mind. Literally nothing! It kind of freaked me out. Of course when I got the toll just before entering Porto I had an idea for a poem and wrote it down on a piece of paper. When I looked up the dude in the toll booth was like... really hot! He actually melted me and I felt my whole body tingle. What a deep voice as he told me in portuguese: have a nice day! Oh my! Then I snapped out of it as he raised the pole for me to go through (hmmm... this sounds funny... raised the pole... that's what he did. eheheh). And I went back to thinking about... well... nothing.
When I got to Aveiro I was really stressed out because it's 2 weeks in the month and still haven't gotten paid. What is up with that crap? I am so sick of being mistreated and underrated. I went to university! I invested time and money on my degree! But working where I do I realize it was all for nothing. I should have just "networked" and got to know the right people. Maybe I'd be fucking president by now! You have no idea how fucked up things are here in Portugal. Makes me ashamed of having such a background. I'm fed up with "this" world (not in a suicidal way, but in a way I want to tell them to fuck themselves, pack a bag and split).

Well... after dinner I was racing against time to get this weeks assignment done. Need I say that I wasn't successful. It's partially done. But I'm on track. Eventually it'll come together later today so I can turn it in at 5 p.m. It's just a simple assignment I had no time for because of my fucking day job. That place is destroying me bit by bit everyday. I need to get my shit together and think of alternate solutions. And that's what I thought of last night (and basically every day and every night since October).

I wonder what this night will be like?

P.S. I'm going out with some groovy chicks to check out this zombie flick (at least that's the plan), so some juicy (or funny) stuff might be written down tomorrow!

Computer Problems

So... yesterday I did not write about what was the night before was like because my computer flipped out and I didn't really have to time to fix it. So I fixed it last night and went straight to sleep. So I guess last night I was distracted and didn't think much about anything meaningful. I just focused on my computer and thought about all the work I still have to get done by friday.
Just paused for 45 minutes to get some of that work done. I am almost finished. No rest for the weary.

I guess last night I woke up during the night a couple of times because it was so cold. I also had strange dreams. I've been dreaming about crows a lot lately. I wonder what that means. I hope it's good omen. Not that I believe in omens but... well... like Lisa Simpson I should have my bases covered (you know... the episode she's praying to Jesus,  Buddha  and Sponge Bob).

Anyway... I'm ranting. I should go o sleep. It's past 1 a.m. so technically it's "tomorrow" and I'm still living in "yesterday".

Well... my few in number blog readers... I bid you a good night and pleasant dreams!
I wonder if this night I'll finally be able to sleep...

Fish out of water...

It was the first time in years  since I was so tired, frustrated and helpless. I can't even remember the last time I felt this... way. I don't have a word for it and I can't quite describe it but I would think it's pretty much how a fish feels when he's out of water slowly suffocating with a simple fisherman starting at him waiting for him to die. Some of you would say that there are merciful fishermen who would throw the fish back in the water. But I tell you this: there is no mercy, only vanity... People some times do the "right" thing when they know people are watching and will "admire" them for doing the "right" thing. It's just human nature. You're probably wondering how many times you've done that... and then you'll probably weigh how or how much such "right" decisions have affected your life. Stop! Don't think... just breathe. This is what I tell myself many nights as I try (very) hard to sleep.
And so all these random thoughts were simultaneously hitting me over and over all at once until I could no longer bare it. I set my head on my desk, closed my eyes and prayed... Not some sort of religious prayer but what I would consider a sort of mantra to keep me sane and push through.
Then I reminded myself of all the work I needed to get done for the next day and forced myself to think. Wasn't too happy about it. After I did all I had to do I crawled into bed and fell asleep watching TV. I like to drift off listening to documentaries or biography channel. Listening to other people helps to drown out my own thought although some nights they are too loud to tune out.
But last night I was able to fall asleep quickly... maybe it's a sign I'm way too tired to worry about anything at this point. Or maybe I'm the perfect example of how the world has no mercy, only vanity.
I wonder what tonight will be like...