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Jul. 3rd, 2004 02:52 amSo much to say...
Today was an emotional overload. The rat thing, yeah.
After my OChem midterm and before the injections, I had lots of time to kill. So I went down to the bookstore (Baytree) with the intention of sitting and maybe reading for an hour or two, any old book. I saw the section name "Fiction and Literature" while I was heading for the teeny SciFi section, stopped, and thought to myself, for no particular reason, "The Lovely Bones. Who wrote that? Where would I find that? Fiction and Literature. The Lovely Bones. Crap, I'll never find it, I don't know who wrote it." I walked partway down the aisle, maybe six feet, and it was right there in front of me, on the middle shelf. This book is weird.
I didn't mean to buy it, I just meant to sit and read. But I couldn't put it down. At 11:30, getting close to the time when I was supposed to go inject, I realized I had to buy the book. So, almost without interrupting my reading, I bought it and walked out of the store. I read while I crossed the street, while I got on the bus, while I got off the bus, while I walked to Baskin to get the keys to the vivarium, while I walked to the vivarium. I'm serious. I read while crossing streets and everything. I couldn't put it down.
After the injections, I got on a bus and rode to the metro center (reading, of course--and I forgot to look at the ocean as we drove past Porter, which I never forget to do). I decided to window shop. So I stopped reading and walked up and down the main street, holding the book in my hand, my finger in my place.... I eventually decided to take myself to see Spiderman 2, which did some other funky emotional things that I won't go into here.
After the movie I rode my bike from the metro station, where I leave it every morning, to the beach, where I spread my sweatshirt on the ground and read The Lovely Bones for a few hours, until the lifeguards were gone and so were the happy families and their bright towels, and it got windy. I came home then and talked for a few minutes with my housemates... and managed to not read for a few hours. Even talked to George on the phone--for almost an hour, almost more than I've talked to him in the last several months combined.
I just finished The Lovely Bones. It's 3 am. But it was one of those books, the kind you don't put down. The kind that you can't put down, even though your head hurts and the three glasses of wine have made your eyes tired, and you've been awake since 7 am. There are so many things that this emotional day has made me realize.
So, this being a livejournal and all, I may as well be honest. And I'm kind of tired of the private entry thing. This is my life, this is me, I'm not ashamed of it. I love myself.
So, the things this day made me realize.
1. I love Clark. I don't know if it will work, but despite all the yo-yoing we've had over the years, I love him.
2. I love Jamie. There is a part of me that wishes I loved him more, and that he loved me. There is a part of me that wishes we could be together forever, forever each other's firsts, always each other's onlys. A part that wishes that somehow that moment back on December 7, between 4 and 5 in the morning, when he said, "I think I believe in God again... because you and I needed each other, and we found each other" could be real, could last. And I don't remember now how many times he said to me, "I think I'd go back to San Diego if you had to go back to Reno. I couldn't be here without you. I don't want to be here without you," and then he'd wipe away the tears I was crying over debt and the thought of losing him. Somehow we let that fade away, and part of me wonders why, and what could have happened if we'd tried harder, been more loving, more understanding of each other. When I think of Jamie, I remember that he's the best kisser I've ever kissed, that our mouths and lips and tongues fit together perfectly, that he always knew exactly how to kiss me and it always fit. How I loved even our sloppy and imperfect kisses. I don't think I'll ever kiss anyone again the way I kissed Jamie.
3. I love George. I always will. I can't help it in the same way I can't help loving the other two. He is a part of me and I miss the innocent days we used to have together, when I was madly and hopelessly devoted to him and he pretended not to know, and neither of us did anything about it because we didn't know how. This weekend is the one-year anniversary of the night we slept on the beach at Lake Tahoe together in the same sleeping bag. We dozed fitfully for a few hours, mostly on top of one another, holding hands, and when one of his fingers slipped off one of mine, he jolted awake and said, "I dreamed I dropped a test tube," and I laughed and squeezed his hand and held him tight and willed the world to stop, but the sun finished coming up in the most glorious and beautiful sunrise I've EVER seen, and the night was over and it never went back. The kisses we shared in August made me feel like I was drowning, but there was nothing for him, and I let it go. I knew it was over then. Something that had never started had died because I had been too afraid to kiss the freckled boy in my 7th period class my sophomore year in high school.
4. I am both woman and child in the same body, in the same instant. I am passionate and uncontrolled and wild and free, and at the same time I am lost and lonely and the thing I want most in the world is to have someone hold my hand, lead me, tell me how to live my life and love me even though I'm weak. And I love myself, I find myself to be fascinating and wonderful and complicated, but I want other people to see that in me, too. It is enough to survive on that I love myself, and it has gotten me through all of the above--but it is not enough to live on that I love myself.
5. Next time I go to Baytree I will find every copy of The Lovely Bones they have and mail them to the two people I thought of most while I was reading it. Jamie, Stef. Kerouac, if he was still alive. I thought of Alicia because I know she's read it already. And I will find that traveling book exchange thing and leave the other copies in those spots, wherever they are, so other book lovers can find it and love it.
I'm too exhausted to say anything more of consequence here, and that's probably enough reading for you. I know your lives are almost as busy as mine, and sometimes you just don't have time to read 3 pages of late-night rambling from your friendly neighborhood neurotic. After all, I am the girl who talks out loud to herself on the bus.
Today was an emotional overload. The rat thing, yeah.
After my OChem midterm and before the injections, I had lots of time to kill. So I went down to the bookstore (Baytree) with the intention of sitting and maybe reading for an hour or two, any old book. I saw the section name "Fiction and Literature" while I was heading for the teeny SciFi section, stopped, and thought to myself, for no particular reason, "The Lovely Bones. Who wrote that? Where would I find that? Fiction and Literature. The Lovely Bones. Crap, I'll never find it, I don't know who wrote it." I walked partway down the aisle, maybe six feet, and it was right there in front of me, on the middle shelf. This book is weird.
I didn't mean to buy it, I just meant to sit and read. But I couldn't put it down. At 11:30, getting close to the time when I was supposed to go inject, I realized I had to buy the book. So, almost without interrupting my reading, I bought it and walked out of the store. I read while I crossed the street, while I got on the bus, while I got off the bus, while I walked to Baskin to get the keys to the vivarium, while I walked to the vivarium. I'm serious. I read while crossing streets and everything. I couldn't put it down.
After the injections, I got on a bus and rode to the metro center (reading, of course--and I forgot to look at the ocean as we drove past Porter, which I never forget to do). I decided to window shop. So I stopped reading and walked up and down the main street, holding the book in my hand, my finger in my place.... I eventually decided to take myself to see Spiderman 2, which did some other funky emotional things that I won't go into here.
After the movie I rode my bike from the metro station, where I leave it every morning, to the beach, where I spread my sweatshirt on the ground and read The Lovely Bones for a few hours, until the lifeguards were gone and so were the happy families and their bright towels, and it got windy. I came home then and talked for a few minutes with my housemates... and managed to not read for a few hours. Even talked to George on the phone--for almost an hour, almost more than I've talked to him in the last several months combined.
I just finished The Lovely Bones. It's 3 am. But it was one of those books, the kind you don't put down. The kind that you can't put down, even though your head hurts and the three glasses of wine have made your eyes tired, and you've been awake since 7 am. There are so many things that this emotional day has made me realize.
So, this being a livejournal and all, I may as well be honest. And I'm kind of tired of the private entry thing. This is my life, this is me, I'm not ashamed of it. I love myself.
So, the things this day made me realize.
1. I love Clark. I don't know if it will work, but despite all the yo-yoing we've had over the years, I love him.
2. I love Jamie. There is a part of me that wishes I loved him more, and that he loved me. There is a part of me that wishes we could be together forever, forever each other's firsts, always each other's onlys. A part that wishes that somehow that moment back on December 7, between 4 and 5 in the morning, when he said, "I think I believe in God again... because you and I needed each other, and we found each other" could be real, could last. And I don't remember now how many times he said to me, "I think I'd go back to San Diego if you had to go back to Reno. I couldn't be here without you. I don't want to be here without you," and then he'd wipe away the tears I was crying over debt and the thought of losing him. Somehow we let that fade away, and part of me wonders why, and what could have happened if we'd tried harder, been more loving, more understanding of each other. When I think of Jamie, I remember that he's the best kisser I've ever kissed, that our mouths and lips and tongues fit together perfectly, that he always knew exactly how to kiss me and it always fit. How I loved even our sloppy and imperfect kisses. I don't think I'll ever kiss anyone again the way I kissed Jamie.
3. I love George. I always will. I can't help it in the same way I can't help loving the other two. He is a part of me and I miss the innocent days we used to have together, when I was madly and hopelessly devoted to him and he pretended not to know, and neither of us did anything about it because we didn't know how. This weekend is the one-year anniversary of the night we slept on the beach at Lake Tahoe together in the same sleeping bag. We dozed fitfully for a few hours, mostly on top of one another, holding hands, and when one of his fingers slipped off one of mine, he jolted awake and said, "I dreamed I dropped a test tube," and I laughed and squeezed his hand and held him tight and willed the world to stop, but the sun finished coming up in the most glorious and beautiful sunrise I've EVER seen, and the night was over and it never went back. The kisses we shared in August made me feel like I was drowning, but there was nothing for him, and I let it go. I knew it was over then. Something that had never started had died because I had been too afraid to kiss the freckled boy in my 7th period class my sophomore year in high school.
4. I am both woman and child in the same body, in the same instant. I am passionate and uncontrolled and wild and free, and at the same time I am lost and lonely and the thing I want most in the world is to have someone hold my hand, lead me, tell me how to live my life and love me even though I'm weak. And I love myself, I find myself to be fascinating and wonderful and complicated, but I want other people to see that in me, too. It is enough to survive on that I love myself, and it has gotten me through all of the above--but it is not enough to live on that I love myself.
5. Next time I go to Baytree I will find every copy of The Lovely Bones they have and mail them to the two people I thought of most while I was reading it. Jamie, Stef. Kerouac, if he was still alive. I thought of Alicia because I know she's read it already. And I will find that traveling book exchange thing and leave the other copies in those spots, wherever they are, so other book lovers can find it and love it.
I'm too exhausted to say anything more of consequence here, and that's probably enough reading for you. I know your lives are almost as busy as mine, and sometimes you just don't have time to read 3 pages of late-night rambling from your friendly neighborhood neurotic. After all, I am the girl who talks out loud to herself on the bus.
