infinite

magritte

i feel nothing today. thought i had the blues first, but has changed into total blankness. this whole week has been a shit show.
last weekend i slapped a guy in the face because i was so tired of the way men act...even if they are trying to be gentlemen and you can see through the sheer shade of it. i conveyed to this fellow that i thought his cousin was a typical man thinking only with his goodie bag and since he is a punker he thinks he can do whatever he wants to women without consequence. or something like that. i was pretty sauced, but everyone else was too- so hopefully it didn't sound like total garbage. now everyone knows there's nothing a dude loves more than some broad telling the entire male population off through him like he's the messenger. his comeback was to just throw compliments on me and try to get in my shit, even suggesting that we hook up to remedy the situation. i was beyond put off and later interrupted him making out with some idiot to give him the palm of my hand to the face. it felt incredibly good because i get very passionate and sometimes violent when i drink. there's so much sexual frustration and shit beneath the surface that i have to vent somehow. fighting, fucking, breaking shit. all the same.
other than that the house party was lame but i was just willing to follow the posse to whatever adventure the night brought on.
sunday was a day of fasting which is always terrible. monday was hospital stuff with no conclusion. wednesday i went back to work and had a terrible anxiety attack, had to leave work and had vertigo. joe was t-boned by a car as he was biking to get my prescription. thursday we fought.

last night i talked to chicken, he approached me in a doorway in a friendly matter. we chatted and hugged it out. peace. toby thought i would try to fight him given my recent attitude and the fact that i HOLD GRUDGES FOREVER, but not to worry. i wasn't going to fight a soul. i felt oddly sad all night. talking to marti made me super sad, like running and jumping to catch a balloon that is floating higher and further away. that's all i could think of. sad at a punk show with familiar faces? sad bar-hopping and making peace with people? maybe not even sad. i don't know. i feel nothing.
i don't have the energy to draw or paint or sew, nor the attention span to watch a movie, nor the energy to bike. it's so beautiful outside.
joe is working all the time. i'm afraid we're living like brother and sister now and it can only end badly.

last night neil hennessey was at the show. i'm fascinated by this person. i can't figure him out. i can't crack this nut. he pretty much stood alone all night, just drinking a beer. he'll talk to people but when there's nothing to say he just stands alone. he doesn't need the comfort of a group at a show, to be standing in a posse for support. the few conversations we've had, or, probably the only extended one totally threw me for a loop. i dunno. i like to know what people are about.

now i've gotten too sleepy to type

i have bored myself to tears, you know, if i could actually make water come out.

i detest being tied down in any way. in the make-believe world i live in i can leave any time i want, magically come up with money and get around, some romantic hippie roaming rambling bullshit. working for months and them possibly driving or taking the train twice a year has poisoned my brain with this idea. i am free. i don't like to live in the same room, date the same man, work the same job, bike the same street every day.
i know i am batshit crazy and hide it very well, and normalcy and being secure is a good thing. but i like to think that the early death of my brother has fucked up my entire life and i will use it as an excuse to be a total fuck-up and to act out at numerous times. that's immature, but i use it. i have. i stopped eating in college until my fair-weather friends carried me to the ER. i broke everything and stabbed myself and stayed in the psycho ward a few years ago. i drank and drove, acted like a selfish brat, fucked any stupid asshole with a tattoo (though still not as many people as some totally normal girlfriends of mine) and blamed it all on things that happened when i was a teenager.
using the same things as an excuse to not grow up, not take responsibility. i'm ashamed of myself but mostly ashamed my life hasn't been that terrible and i am still a stupid brat taking advantage of it. so many people have it so much worse.
i don't know where i am going and afraid that nothing will ever satisfy me. i can move to every shitty city in this country and onwards and date every kind of man (and really leading on and hurting some of them in the process) and work every kind of job and play every kind of role and change my wardrobe however many times but nothing will ever fit.
i dream of being able to fly multiple times a month, lately so vivid that i can see geese flying below me, the sun shining on their backs as they flap their wings. pretending to be content as different people could go on for so long. a deep unsettling is growing inside me as the years go on and still nothing feels quite correct. the pieces won't fit. lately when i drink i just hit a wall where i want to smash everything and pick fights just to feel something. i don't feel anything.

things aren't terrible, they are just normal. i'm just so bored. just wasting oxygen.

what an asshole i am

shit's been interesting lately. i work two part time jobs because i'm a college dropout and can't decide what i want to "do" with my life. i'd go to dental school but am just living paycheck to paycheck right now...like the past ten years. but it could be worse. i'm not totally unhappy. pretty content, actually.
i have either crohns disease or colitis. similar things. everything i consume gives me discomfort, the end result is not eating much. i've become sort of obsessed with food and losing weight (not trying to, just how it is catching me off guard). my highest weight in boston was 165, which wasn't too large as i'm pretty tall, now down to 135-140. seems like a pretty dull disease but at the worst a colon removal happens. god.
joe moved to logan square and his cat died the same day, which has shattered him. his free time leads to him being blasted. he chugs from bottles of vodka. chugs! obviously i'm concerned for his health and state of mind, but when he tries to become amorous or talk about serious things and his eyes are out of focus and he has marble mouth and looks all bloated i just become angry. he's already been to rehab and would never go back. it's such a turn-off. i do not like drunks. i get blasted sometimes, lately only when at gingerman with a girlfriend when chris mccaughan is bartending because he makes me so fucking nervous i can't handle it. but i can't understand being drunk every night. i can't do it. i wanna help joe.
another anniversary of my brother's death has come and gone. giant blizzard, boring. need a new bike. it's been about a year since i moved to chicago. def. did the right thing at the time. how long i'll stay here i don't know. i like to move around. but things are getting so interesting...
i dunno. gotta go get my bike and check out my art show (that feels fucking weird to say even though it's not the first time). some extra cash would be good. L and L tonight after work. i'll smell like hickory smoke, tastycakes.