Today I feel at a loss. Misplaced. Like something just isn't right. uneasy.

I get this feeling often. So I won't give any importance to it.

I think it's masked hunger, homesickness, over slept petualentcy, and government aimed anger.

Don't ask. long story and maybe just a mood.

But still the resounding question is...

what am i doing with my life?

It sounds like only an excuse but i wouldreally like to pick a profession or field that in 30 - 40 years I won't regret. And i feel like my long term happiness and life satisfaction depend on my choices now.

And I reallly reallllly don't want to fuck this up.

MOst people don't put all this pressure on themselves. But if i don't have a plan or a "what to do next" i feel like i'm failing. I feel like it's ok to change paths and it's ok to take steps back occassionally. I think it's ok to be slow going.... as long as you know where you're going. what you're heading to. what the long term plan is. which is really just product of my parent's being proud of the goal oriented person they raised. but now i'm goalless.

i'm another one of those people that i just never wanted to be.

Water and Sun to Soothe Me

So no one was there. Not Adolfo or Grace or my Mom. Only my dad. and he never knows what to do.

And so I sink into bed. not moving or blinking or speaking. barely breathing. I curl into a ball and I know that emotionally i'm falling into one million peices.

And my dad who never knows what to do tries to wake me even though i'm not sleeping. and he tries to get me up. he tries to call for help. But he doesn't get it. He never would.

In my dream I am so depressed I am paralyzed. And my dad is helpless. because he doesn't understand depression.

But I don't care. Tears fill and fall in my eyes but I'm not seeing anyways. I'm frozen. I'm constricted. Everything within me is contracting to help from falling apart. But i'm sinking and falling and i'm lost.

And my dad is on the phone. he's calling adam. And adam is there. he takes off his jacket. He is methodical.

And he climbs into bed with me. And something in me is comforted.

And then I wake up with him there. we're next to a fountain, a water fall. And the architecture of the building is magnificent and the sunlight filters in on slants and beautiful rays. The people walk by and their footsteps make echoes and everything is sort of tranquil. We're in an art museum. And It's ok. I look around and adam is still there.

He takes me by the hand telling me that sometimes it's just good to be here because it's a good place. Because the water and sun can soothe my heart. And he knows that. And he understands.

And he takes me by the hand leading me to different walls and stairs and elevators. And I'm in awe.

The Conflict

I"m considering going home. forever going I mean. I don't know what to think.

And i've heard the general feeling of how you start off owning things until eventually the things own you. I think i've come to that point. because one of the big things concerning me is what i'll do with my beautiful red couch. I mean... the stools and desk and coffee table and tv stand too. but mostly the couch. and i could just bring my bed home with me. use it and such. but i don't know about my beautiful red couch. which makes me sad.

well that and giving up my hopes and dreams, throwing in the towew, calling it quits. that sort of thing. and taking longer to finish school than originally planned.

which totally sucks.

but i don't know. i just don't know if this is really what i want to do. english i mean. I'ev come to the realization that i actually hate reading my homework. that i hate english literature. and i hate american literature.

the only thing, at this point, that i ENJOY reading is latin american and spanish poems and novels that've been translated. which is actually not help me at all in regards to careers or classes or being relatively happy in my life.

and so here's my arguement. I think i could do better in school at home. i feel like i'm wasting money by half assing classes here. I mean, as it is i spend a third of the week depressed. a third of the week at home and the rest i'm "ok." and i'm not happy. i'm just ok. and i get so depressed i can't get out of bed. i don't want to go to class. i don't want to do my homework. and i don't want to take care o fmyself. which is childish. but i let it happen. i don't go grocery shopping. i don't feed myself. i miss whole days of classes and keep it secret. what am i REALLY achieving? and i know i should give it more time or whatever but it's really now or never. because i'm supposed to register for my classes next quarter. and if i register and stay here longer than my dad will buy me a house here. and then i'll be stuck here until im done. wow. it's heavy.

and maybe if i go home i won't do any better about slacking off inmy classes but won't i at least be happier?

or what if i go home and think i'll be happier but in fact i'll be just as bad off if not worse.

i have to remember that i hated my job. and i hated how overbearing my family is. and so yes, being here is escaping me from that. i hated working at the office everyday. i hated it. and i hate family weekends. and then i'll have to deal with the dissapointment and feelings of failure. that i let myself down. because i can't even begin to describe what high standards i hold to myself. and because i'll be so insecure then i'll feel as if everyone else is looking down on me.

what then?

but then there's good stuff. i can go back to CSM and takedifferent classes. and maybe i'll find somethign that makes me happier. or maybe i'll just take better classes and try to get into a better school. and that'll be a lot better for me. or i think.

but i just don't know.

i want to move back home. but i don't know if in the end i'm just shafting myself. what if i allow myself to go back to community college and i just never leave? what if i get sucked into "the hole?"

But i'm SO unhappy can i really do nohting about it?

and if i were to move to the home-ish area maybe eventually i could move out with some friends. and take my red couch.

anyone have any advice? anyone willing to tell me what to do?

exhaustion and excitement

My birthday was relatively uneventful. Just some lunches here and a dinner there. But still absolutely wonderful due to my most awesome peoples that i love ever so very much.

home again this thursday.

it makes for fun to only have 3 days in between my home visits but also for exhaustion.

I should be doing homework and instead i'm spacing out on myspace. bad habit.

Here's my food situation: i have nothing to eat in my apartment. like noth-nothing. but i don't feel like going grocery cause i'm gonna leave in two days for 4 days and therefore waste my food. it has been recommended that i go grocery but only go a little bit. but that's SO inconvenient. so... for the next two days i'm surviving on whatever i can scavange here.

another thing: my phone is broken which is like three bits awful on bit irritating.

I feel the colors and set up of this blog is a thousand times more attractive than my other one.

Pass the Night

There have been times where the words of a writer have spoken to my soul. and awakened within me something powerful and natural and entirely myself but nothing like the self i'm aware of. The bed of the letters and the formations of the words have made me both uncomfortable, happy and satisfied. It had awoken within me new hungers and new heartaches.

that nothing else could fill.

I have wept for the loss of a life that was never mine and sometimes was never real.

Books and words have created me and destroyed me.

I long for the something more that my literature has promised me.

There's been a lot of reassesment as of late. and there's been BUNCHES i wanted to bloggerize. but they all came and went and so....

today is tuesday. that's all.

She was a Mermaid

Wanna know a secret? I have these cute little moles on the insides of each thigh. they match each other.

something else? My entire life I didn't want to get married because it seemed so strangely sexist. And then I fell in love and understood. Nature v. nurture. I guess we'll never know.

Adolfo is coming today. He's my favorite. And i'm sad that he's sad at home. But I hope he'll be happy here.

I found a poem by pablo neruda in regards to mermaids:


The Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks
All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death

Being Judgemental

She has this way of baring all of her teeth. like her mouth becomes a rectangle. it makes everyone of her looks look like a nervous smile. She looks so uncomfortable and awkward. and when she manages to keep her ninety degree mouth closed she looks too tight lipped. I feel she's very unattractive.

She has no prettiness or delicacy about her. or any mysteriousness. she isn't even cute. just awkward. But mostly it's her mouth that bothers me. When she talks it looks clumsy. The way her face moves makes me imagine a circus clown purposely and ungracefully tripping all over himself.

and then she tried to grow her hair. and cut it just right to hide it. but it didn't work. not completely, at least. I admit, her hair is cute but somehow her mouth still shines through.

Her ugliness makes me uncomfortable.

Pomegranate Wine

Two separate bodies with definitive lines traverse the mountains
in different directions
Their feet mold to rocks and desert
to meet again at midnight
and commune of one another as if made of bread
and pomegranate wine.

Their skin is cool
with moist lips
and silent bodies.
They taste of sun and sugar.
Or sweet in sweat.
They radiate and evaporate.


____________________________


They have been the creators of distance
of the conversions of meters to miles
of productivity and sustenance.

And they have been the creators of gardens.
And they dig shamelessly through dirt, with mud in between the fingers and always a thirst
searching for the threads of answers
to know whether this is blessing or curse.

They are never together but cannot be apart.
And they travel these starred hills
where spirits lay in waiting
for a God less vindictive.

And they all pray
for a blessing of a curse.

and peacefully
quiet and cautious
like white moon whispers

they begin.

Helpless

I not so secretly hate life.

I hate school. And I hate homework. I hate fucking LA. I hate cars and driving and plastic bags. I hate groceries and i hate cleaning. I hate apartments and elevators and idiot people. I hate the people I see on a daily basis.

I just hate life.


And I don't know what else to do.

I hate LA. I hate life. I hate everyone I know.

Oh yes. very much so.

History

I would erase the blog. start all over sort of thing. but i guess I'm just not that kind of person. one that prefers a clean slate. at least not with things like this.

I told myself for so long that I journal (and blog) because it's like an emotional photograph. I get to snap the picture and there it is. preserved. forever. And in 3 years when we don't remember how awful we looked in that haircut or when we all gather to laugh at nasty old outfits. Or when we want to be sentimental and say "awww. we were there once" the pictures are just there. for open viewing. which has it's drawbacks.

but they're memories nonetheless.

And I can't just erase all these years of exactly what i was feeling or what I was doing in all of these blogs. It's too private. and a lot of the times i'm ashamed of what i've written. but they're there. and with reason.

so that in years to come I can say "hey, I was there once. but I'm not anymore." So i can remember who i was. and reference who i am.

It seems silly to want to remember such bad awful things. But I feel like it's the only way I can really be honest with myself.