1. I wake up with a big white cat and a big white man in my bed.
2. then I eat breakfast and don't throw up.
3. then I go to my job and manage things. Like my employees and my after school program.
4. then I think about going back to school next month and going to therapy next week and how I live in New York mfucking city and how I am not going to die of an eating disorder. And I wear his ring and his pearls and come home to him writing songs about my varient-hued eyes and life is, in general, less the Big Drama I had come to believe it was and more than the disaffected comic book nihilism I had guessed it had to be. And I am happy, and I am okay.
Starting a new blog these days focused on not puking. Since dying of gastric rupture at this point would be a clever cynical ending for a zine or something, but decidedly inconvenient in reality.
1. new job.
2. in Bensonhurst.
3. thank fucking god.
4. still with the boy.
5. nine months.
6. "if I had knocked you up on our first date, we'd have a baby by now."
7. only a memphis boy would say that.
1. have attained my universal signifier. he does not care about Lacan. he does not care about my bullshit. he loves me.
2. am leaving the events described above without a witty rejoinder for now.
3. tutoring rich kids means you are a managing instructor, and get health insurance and $45 an hour. and an office on Madison Avenue.
4. move into a new apartment with Zane on Saturday.
5. currently operating without much of a sense of irony. it's weird. where before I had snide comments, now I have -- what do you call them? feelings?
I went to college for four years so I would not have to do any goddamn data entry. so I would not have to coordinate any fucking spreadsheets or go after people for their fucking homework charts. I fucking hate homework charts, I fucking hate teamwork, I want to teach kids and not have to fucking make any more homework charts ever. I DO NOT LIKE ADMINISTRATION WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WOULD I WANT AN ADMINISTRATIVE POSITION???????
I also hate judgmental lesbians who try and tell me what time to go to bed and generally piss me off with their voices and their judgment and their never having sex with anyone, and their telling me to go to the gym when what I want to do is get drunk, and their total antagonism of everything in me that is petty, and their general antagonism, to the point where I suspect that I will spend this morning having spiteful rape fantasies while I try and teach kids algebra. kincky, ass-pounding, tied-up-with-duck-tape-and-gang-banged-b
I do not want to have to run any stupid stations with these stupid people, I barely want to look at them, and I do not like having to spend my vacation making stupid fucking hoemwork charts, and I am never living at my goddamn job again. I needed to not spend last night feeling guilty.
okay. I feel more sedate now. I want to be in NOLA, or Philly, or Blatimore, or DC. I HATE data collection. the data doesn't mean a goddman thing because the people DO NOT EVEN FILL IN THE CHARTS CORRECTLY!
This is an excerpt from a note I wrote to someone else who has an eating disorder and won't shut up about the MAD HATE she has for her boobs. But I like it and want to read it myself:
"I don't always feel great about my boobs, or my belly, or my arms or anything. But. I love my kids (students) fiercely, naturally, to the point where I would do anything in my power to give them, the opportunities I believe that they deserve; I evaluate my decisions and fight to do the right thing in my life; I can get through to people and get them to open up, even when they may be afraid; I can make almost anyone laugh, including myself; I've written some really good poems, I have really good ideas, and I learn and understand things like a tiger mauling prey -- and once something matters to me, I will accomplish it. So really, I can be those things (in my mind) or I can be the girl with the nasty tits who could stand to tone up a little. And if I really am both things, why focus on that second one?
I just think it is helpful to remember that we do have power over what we zero in on. And we may feel like we deserve to pick at our insecurities and allow them to steal our lives -- but who, exactly, benefits from that? And who would be hurt if we just let go of it and thought about something else?"
In other news: I am in at A&M. So, you know. Iamsplendid.
you would cry too.
if you lived in a skoo(l).
seriously, A&M. process my application! omg. wtf.
dreamed I was in pittsburgh. woke up deeply sad.
at least, to finish the english MA.
I am always reading something, and working on writing something every day. and
I think I am being the best tutor I can possibly be, and the best worker,
I might feel okay, might be able
to let this go more easily. because
I am a plebe, and not
inner resources or internal
sense that I matter, that things are
okay if I'm high performing or not.
but I was so hammered I sputtered and stammered
told him he couldn't just die...
I may be weak. but I can become stronger.
will. become. stronger.
it is fucking goreous outside. I feel like the word "fuck" pretty much qualifies as sublime.
I'm missing autumn a little. I'm needing to be more goal oriented and less prone to puking my guts out in response to stress.
I'm fucking tired of this, mates. It's a mindfuck. no one here is aware of what I am doing. so no one really knows me. because this isn't all I am, but it's the thing that's closest to me, the thing with which I struggle most. and I want very badly to be able to have someone know it. but no one who is close to me would get it. by which I mean -- let's not play -- would give me the response I want. somewhere along the lines of, "what the fuck, Amanda?" possibly followed by, "I know you can get better."
thing is, no one knows there's a problem. so none of my friends or my parents realize how much improvement is needed. that I need to get better. that I feel like my body is dying.
and sometimes I am irrationally angry with people for focusing on smaller questionable behaviors as if there wasn't a giant problem glaring them in the face. I mean, given that said problem is not. glaring.
and sometimes I think about how long I will have to be dead, and how I wish there was someone in whose company I could be reminded that I am alive.
que, need to have sex with someone. or a conversation that actually communicates something, that actually connects me to someone.
my money is on the coitus.