With a good criminal heart,

Hey guys. GO HERE.

Or watch THIS.

It's the Borderlands video. You watch that shit. Over, and over, and over. And then you tell everyone else to watch it, too.

---
"Got a bad feelin' but I know it's right, I'm goin'. . ."
^my whole life.

I'm learning how to play Tell It To Me on the guitar.

Dear Suki,
You know what the hell to say to me to remind me that I can be beautiful and empowered. You understand me always and have said many of "just the right things" to me tonight.

Dear Damon,
I'm glad you called. I was miserable before you did and I'm [something more positive] now, since you thought to and there was a good time in your voice. I liked to hear it.

Dear Old Friend #2,
You have beautiful language and tragically beautiful ideas, but your conversation is boring the hell out of me. Why'd you choose tonight to re-connect with me?


I refuse to slam a door just because it makes me uncomfortable. I refuse to slam a door just because it makes me uncomfortable. I refuse to slam a door just because it makes me uncomfortable.

Mantra.

The world can be interesting or beautiful if I decide to allow it to. Let's see how good I am at that, folks.

I felt beautiful today. It has been far too long since I have felt that way-- the last time I remember feeling anything close was a month or two ago. And I felt like a real stunner today: I was motivated to put on makeup, comb my hair. The arbitrary gothing-out-for-the-winter helps, too-- I was dressed to the nines, today. The sweater, shirt, jeans, combat boots, red lips, dark eyes, red hair. I even had on a lacy black bra and everything.
Caught sight of myself in a window downtown, and realized that I did not shy away from seeing my own figure, face, posture. It's not common and I liked it.

I think that it's important for a woman to feel attractive every once in a while, but I couldn't get away from the fact of how meaningless it was once it occurred to me that I felt pretty. Kind of tinges the whole thing-- "Oh, why does it matter in the first place?"

Got together with Suki and Danielle and had coffee. I like the three of us together, we always have fun and it's nice to be a part of. DJ and I rode the lightrail home and talked about some stuff. Her insight is important to me because of how many similar things she has been through before I have.


Still not tired of the playlist.

Clay's coming home this weekend.

I have a sinus infection and have no way of taking care of it (says doctor and boss) that involve NOT taking the antibiotics I was prescribed. Which I hate doing because antibiotics interfere with my birth control, and even though that doesn't REALLY matter, it fucks up my period and gets me all irregular and anxious and makes it fail and so it messes with my hormones and it's really annoying. Plus I just try to not take antibiotics as often as possible because I don't like the idea of my body getting used to them.

Did the workshops with the younger CW majors today. LOVED IT. It was awesome. It was fucking great. I had a lottt of fun. Suki and I make a great team, and the flash fiction that those kids cranked out was cohesive and struck that GREAT balance of flash fiction and prose. Those kids are fucking good. Those kids are better than I was at their age. I like being involved with them, I like teaching them; I still want to be a teacher.

Went to work early. Put myself on the schedule and asked if I could stay; Len said yes. =D

I can feel my body stumbling
over the illness,
but even the hot cords of sore muscle
and the clammy quiver-of-hand
cannot stop the inquisitive:
--can he get me to stay?
can he keep me with his
vicious words
and lurching breaths in his sleep?

my fingers, my lungs, my head,
my stomach, my feet, and my spine
are all tired of my abuse.
my nails should know better
than to grow

and I should know better than to pull in
and re-stitch without thinking
because I am not my body;

I should simply
know better

(there are memories
of obscene and violent flaws
in the gazelle-white,
side-of-thigh
years buried and
pathetic, cringing
juvenile
memory
and she had cried to me
and screamed at me
and looked me in the eye--
she was not her body
and she should have known
better
than to doubt my understanding:
minds
betray bodies, I know, I know
shh, I know
I love you
do not doubt me)

but this illness is sudden
and quite temporary,
body tired and head
on fire--
it does nothing to keep
my mind from splitting into pieces
shaken loose from each wrack
and shiver.

Inspire me.

Lol. I just went out for a smoke and called Micah of all people. Don't know what compelled me. He DID pick up, surprisingly, and we caught up for about forty minutes or so. I expected something nice but he's actually still a stupid dick. Well, okay, no. That's the vindictive speaking. But he is incredibly invaluable and in the light of things, I don't know if I ever really DID learn anything permanent from him, because EVERYTHING I valued was 1.) different from everything destructive that I knew previously, and 2.) honest (until, well, you know.)

GUESS WHAT. HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS-- the important ones-- they go WAY beyond what he is capable of. The honest, face-value thing has been wildly trumped by more recent things in my life.

Anydamnway.
--

On a COMPLEEEETTEEELY different note, people I know surprised me this evening and it was nice to know that the concept of surprise is still possible with me.

SWEET. COOL. AWESOME.

THE THIRD MOST RIDICULOUS REASON I HAVE EVER BEEN GROUNDED: TURNING THE SHOWER KNOB ON/OFF TOO MANY TIMES WHILE IN THE SHOWER.

I'm dying my fucking hair! Jesus! I'm trying to save fucking water! I try to NOT leave it on when I'm not fucking using it. Dear CHRIST.

(The first two, if you all recall, were
1.) having a spoon in my room, and
2.) jiggling the lights. )

Jesus Christ.
At least I have work on Saturday.

He didn't let me wash the rest of the dye out. I hope it doesn't hurt my hair.

Fuck it. If it makes it mushy or fall out, he's the only one who'd have a problem with it anyway.
Oh, and my boss.

Oh, I am so pissed off, I could throw a brick through a few car windows.

Actually, fuck it. I had a lot of shit to get done anyhow, and anyway, I could use a weekend alone. Yeah, fuck it. This'll be nice. He'll be out of the house and I can work more, think more, and hope I start to like everything more/again.

People are either incredibly disgusting, or just boring and/or predictable.

I don't mean to say that people can't also have their merits and be unbelievably valuable at the same time as being boring/disgusting/predictable, but. . . somebody surprise me, for fuck's sake.

I want to surprise somebody, too.

I just ran over to Johnson and Wales to grab a cup of hot water for my medicinal tea, and a cup of coffee for Ms. Dubrava. We have critiques today, and writer appreciation. Barf.

I'm trying to finish a bunch of college prep work. To do: finish the write-up of the college fair I did not attend, write a rep review and a review of Metro, figure out my how-to presentation by the twentieth, finish the final drafts of the diploma template and the no left turn sign, finish my significant person essay, apply for a scholarship, send off the common app, put together a portfolio, apply to University of Maine at Farmington. . . . . I think there's more. I don't wanna think about it. That's all due within the next week.

I've also got to get my chapbook done by December eleventh. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

I don't care about anything anymore. (That's a heap of bullshit.)

Ack. I just called Len and told him about what kinda cold I've got and what my temperature is, and he said what I DIDN'T want him to say, which is that I ought to stay home. He gets SO mad at me when I come in to work sick--- "Just you wait a week, and Angie'll get your cooties! Or Anna!"-- (he's usually right). Only. . . I wanted to go in today. I don't wanna be here. If I'm here tonight, it means tomorrow I might have to stay home all fucking day because my dad is nuts about illness.

akdjfhg *grumble*. It's just a fucking cold. I've got a might of a fever and some chills and a cough, that's it. You know?

Urgh. It's a pharmacy. Of course I should stay home. I'm an idiot. He doesn't need me coughing on people all day and sounding all stuffed up and looking like a fucking zombie while I hand a customer a package of Ny-Quil from across the counter.

BALLS.

Things I am Bad At:
-comforting people
-recognising what the problem is
-drawing
-singing
-making good decisions
-self-control in the context of emotion+action
-being patient with people who grind my nerves
-speaking foreign languages
-sewing
-combing my hair
-knowing when to stop doing something/knowing what's good for me
-giving advice
-peeling fruit
-lying
-running more than a few yards
-sending letters
-explaining myself



Things I am Good at:
-explaining why I hate John Keats and Virginia Woolf
-getting out of questionably legal situations
-reading books
-writing
-making smoothies
-being patient with people I love
-making stencils
-acting like a tool
-listening
-being as sincere as I know how
-forgiving
-chewing on my nails
-making a gin and tonic
-using words
-getting shit done
-keeping my promises
-being removed

FUCK YOU MOM YOU GOT ME SICK.

I hope I don't lose my voice at a time I really need it for something. Sheeiitt.ttt.

God, and sickness fucking FLIES around my circle of friends because we share fucking everything, all the time. God damn it. God damn it.

My mom told me today that I have not had more than stomach-sickness, cramp-related, or headache-related sicknesses since last school year ended. Besides the carpal-tunnel diagnosis, anyway. Like, no colds or flu or anything. I guess my immune system is better than I am convinced it is.

The only way that I can think to describe myself tonight is "soft". Not as in incapable or, dare I say it, weak; more like soft-boiled. Like things are easier for me tonight, as though more rolls off, like I am far less tightly wound. Like things are just. . . are just lighter. I am not sure why. Something about not really giving a damn about everything, I am sure.

I have been so tightly wound for a long time.

I would really like a permanent, sharp, violent release of that feeling. A few steps away from coiled feels nice as hell, but it's not everything. It's only temporary.

Violent, violent, I still feel violent. Please stop, violence. Your concept is tired to me.

Not me, not me, not me, not me.
Not me, not me, not me, not me. . .

Listening to what I am listening to reminds me that I have not always been so weak and willing to compromise myself.

TOday had its ups and downs. I memorized some shit for CW all hard, and. . . did the Borderlands thing, which is not complete, but we NAILED the fucking costumes and now have some idea what we're doing (and finishing it on Sunday). Damon doesn't have the highest hopes, but regardless, I think we can nail it and it will come out ten different kids of awesome. It's incredibly well-written, too, which helps--- if only I could fuckin' act. I think it will be a good thing. We were all in good spirits, kind of, which also helped. I was frightened of the dynamic because I am frightened of everything, but it was fine.
I, personally, love the way it's written which means I will likely love the way it's done.

I have work tomorrow.

Stopped in at Josh's 22n'd birthday party for about an hour. It was radhats.

Damon and Miguel met my parents all official-like, and my dad was incredibly impressed and called them "nice gentleman" (lol). I actually didn't even know he was going to be home, but at least I no longer have to tip-toe around that certain, ambiguous, "Whooo. . . what?" dynamic that surrounds any time I want to go see somebody they haven't met.
"No, of course you can't. I have no idea who they are."
Reasonable for a parent to say, yes?
I feel terrible putting people I know and love into a slightly uncomfortable, pressurized situation but. . . fuck it. My dad loves them, and my mother loves everybody (because she is an angel).

--
So, before, after this, I'd written this crazy-stumbling, extra-long. . . thing. And I went and took a shower, re-thought, and I realized some stuff. Most of it comes down to resolving daddy issues. Fuck yeah.

So I realized that I put a special kind of importance on this dynamic between my father, Miguel, and Damon, right? Of course I did. And I realized that it was important because it was the deciding factor on whether or not I would be able to see these people who are so very close to me casually, and with support and permission.

There are two things that bother me about this.
One is the circumstantial nature of my father. The way I approached this meeting, the situation, the art involved, the time spent between seeds planted with my father and actions taken is something ridiculous-- not because of its existence, necessarily, but because it is different EVERY TIME. Every time I want to bring a new figure into my life that I have not known either for years or through Clay. It takes months for me to execute it correctly.

I do not mind Dad's expectations with my company-- that part is fine. I mind how volatile it is, how it changes every time, and how. fucking. long. it takes. Or at least, took, here-- especially, here, because damage was done. If the situation had been in one that did not involve an artistic medium, it would have failed. If I had not planted seeds and explained myself in certain ways over the past month, it would have failed. If anything about the situation had been false or unclear or ambiguous in any way in my proposal of it to him, it would have failed. If I had gone to him straight at any time previously to ask to see either one-- Miguel or Damon-- casually, he would have been a wary, nervous, and assuming, and would have shut down. THIS is what bothers me. THIS is the circumstantial part that fucking bothers me. new people do not come into my life very often--- all of my friends, I have known for years. It took over a month of name-dropping and a specific, artistic, clear situation for it to work at all. That. . . that's. . . what? He was so completely non-skeptical because of THESE THINGS and only THESE THINGS.

It bothers me that any time I want to build a relationship with somebody, I cannot be direct about it. Any friendship must has to be pussy-footed around in their own specific and different ways for them to be acceptable. I am patient; that's fine. But when the length of time and my behaviour surrounding it damages the friendship, it's terrible. You know?

It bothers the HELL out of me that next time I want to explore any sort of relationship with somebody unrelated to those ways I previously mentioned, I am going to have to go through A WHOLE NEW SET OF FUCKING MOTIONS in order to even APPROACH Dad on it, in order for him to open his fucking hears without setting off a thousand fucking alarms.

I wish I was not so scared, but there it is.

I'm glad the weight is off, that pressure-- I feel better. A door has opened that I've been building and nailing and repairing and avoiding.

God, I feel young. I hate remembering how young I am. I feel so fucking capable sometimes.

Clay just called me a jew. Or was it "jue" as in HAY JUE. . ?

Sweet. Bedtime.

Dear Miguel,
THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING!
(Coffee, drivin'z, meeting my father once more, compassion.)
"Don't make yourself scarce."

Dear Damon,
Good God was it ever nice to see you.
I'm sorry.
Thank you.

Either of you-- sometimes I think that I do not make it clear how much I appreciate you for who you are and also what each of you does. They are worlds different, between you, sometimes-- but I appreciate the hell out of both of you. I do.

Clay is giggly, wild, spacey, and friendly tonight.



xD

He can tell the young kids
because he has been behind the counter
for thirty years.
He knows the look.
They are always softer,
they look around, there are false
and arrogant convictions in
their voices---
“Hi. CanIjustgetapack. . .”
and then they name their brand
and he does not ask them
for identification--- he can always
spot the undercover cops (still kids
themselves, it seems,
half the time).
But it’s the young kids,
their scared eyes and
brick fingers and
rushed hands and loud voices.
It’s the young kids,
and their veal lungs
that make him sad some mornings---
But he has spent thirty years
behind that counter
and is still the man
with the toothless
and genuine smile.

---

There's something hackneyed about it, but I like it, in a way. Maybe because it's that incorporation of CHARACTER I have been looking for lately, instead of whatever skewed emotions come out all over my notebook.

I am going to throw a brick through somebody's face.

Dear daddy issues,
Please to not escalate into something that dissolves any chance of me redeeming myself in more important areas of my life. Please GTFO.
Thanks,
Leah.

P.S. I know I've gotten grounded for things like spoons in my room before, but please don't let this sort of thing be one of those times. For God's sake.
--
(What's comforting is that Clay still has to deal with this sort of shit, too. /sarcasm.)

Being reminded that half of the reason I value something is because I romanticise it is something that makes me feel crazy as hell. Scattered and like I'm missing a bookend.

Fucking. . . fucking Neal Cassady. How it feels to lose respect for a poet and character that you once valued very much for specific and false reasons is something I do not want to feel again.

I felt that with Stza, too, after I saw LOC that one summer.

It's. . . defeating. What a theme.

This morning, I was talking with Nick again, and he understood the whole. . . thing. All of these concepts about why there is so much tragedy in how people treat one another, and in romance, too, especially at our age-- because we are so, so young, and both he and I have loved enough to know that we can feel a lot without necessarily being able to be natural or intellectual in our approach to other people all of the time. It was a good conversation, this morning, and I noticed that he had as many tears kind of. . . shining in his eyes as I did in mine, just talking conceptually. It was a kind of passion that I needed-- one that was not destructive or shallow like my weekend was, even if it was a little sad.

It's funny, because he and I even spoke about genuinity, sincerity, honesty, understanding, and vulnerability, and how very fucking IMPORTANT those things are between people. It's funny, because I know how important it is and I know how much I value it, but I do not always receive it in the best way from all angles, although I am incredibly grateful for it, towards it.
(Thank you.)

There is an amount of broken-ness and defeat in today, but at least there is no unproductivity-- at least there is not that.

Sometimes I think that insecurities completely dwarf my core values. That's not. . . that's not fucking okay, you know? I shouldn't put myself into positions where I feel weak or intimidated. Maybe it's necessary or. . . or maybe it just comes WITH. But it shouldn't. It absolutely should not.

Danielle was talking to me once, in reference to Micah-- "I think he's attracted to strong women, and then intimidated by them."
I'd looked at her, and I'd gone, "Me? No. I'm not strong." right? Because I don't ever fucking feel strong.
And this girl looked at me and went, "Bullshit."
And that look in her eyes, one of. . . not blind faith, not even really faith at all-- just. . . just belief in. Something. That's not accurate, either, but whatever it was, I should remember that look in her eyes because I would like to feel that way more often.

I really, really, miss passion, and feel its loss in my life very much. I would like to light a few fires of that nature.

--

I have been filling out applications left and right. . . I need to look up scholarships, also. Once I finish the significant person essay, we're good to go, and I can apply to x amount of colleges (that take the common app, anyway-- three that I care about.)
It's as though college has been drowning my day, today.


I feel as though I have to really. . . kick it up a notch to make it to December. There's so much shit I have to get done. Just fucking LOOKING at the Google calendar makes me want to throw up a little. It's mostly all from college prep class and Creative Writing, too-- the two most necessary to me right now.