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I'm listening to JJ Grey & Mofro.

  • Dec. 29th, 2009 at 6:31 AM
dv, lego
and yep, that's how i'm going to begin this insomnia fueled entry. it's been  months. but apparently it's still being stumbled upon.

"She believes in what I do. She believes even if I don't. She don't know how much I love her."

I would like to implant this song into every significant - well in my life - person's id. as in freud.

also, stevie ray vaughan is soooo much more than "pride and joy."

the last time i visited this scrapbook of thoughts was under circumtances not too unsimilar to what's cooking in the brain now.

this will make no sense to anyone but me and it may never make sense.
my apologie for the rambles. won' thappen aSAIN
dv, lego


fuck twitter. fuck myspace journals. the one that started it all is right here.

and i'm bringin it back!

it's been more than a year since my last entry. no private ones either : ) haha, i remember the days when i used to write in this so much i would have different privacy levels and "friend groups."

gadd. life before boyfriends, right? : )

and my life currently finds me somewhere in between, i suppose. and i love jeimo.

but in the midst of my fears i'm afraid i may have ruined my first shot (at love - fuck you tila tequila for ruining that idiom forever).

so. here i am. it's midnight and i'm putting off a paper. i guess some things don't change. : )

looking back on the last entry, a flood of linh-ness rushes to the forefront of my thought. but alas, nothing's changed. i miss her. so much. and maybe my memories of her are romanticized; not too far off though. i miss you.





lately, very recently, i've started to feel the depression coming back. or at least most of its symptoms. and i guess that's the biggest reason why i've taken up this whole journal thing tonight. this time, i am positive no one is out there. : ) and i love you if you are (cuz that's crazy!)  frankly, maybe i'd prefer it this way for a bit.

BUT, here it is. my tiny, unnoticed re-entry into lj. and i guess, my single-ness - at least for the time being (i hope?).


SHORT LOVE LIST:
1. ERICA EDWARDS
2. TONI MORRISON
3. ICED CARAMEL MACCHIATO FROM IVANS ON DAILY BASIS
4. BILLI JEAN - the cat jeremy got me (after/because linh passed, actually).
5. MY, as i like to call them, "STUDY BOOTIES" - because they are like adult baby booties with grip on the bottom. i wear them when i do hw/study for long periods of time because i walk on the cold hardwood floor to the kitchen for cigarette breaks and also, feets be cold.
6. "THROWING DOWN" ON CIGARETTES WITH LINDSEY BECAUSE THEY ARE $7/PACK. SO FUCKIN SAD : (
7. PROFESSOR AXELROD <33 if you weren't an adorable, precious, 60 year-old man, i would want you to have my babies. <33



SHORT HATE LIST:
1. THE WAY RIVERSIDE HEAT MAKES MY FEET SMELL AFTER WORK. yep, think about it.
2. DRUNK FUCKS STOPPING ME WHEN I'M BUSY RUNNING AROUND AT WORK TO INQUIRE ABOUT MY "ETHNICITY" - AND THEREAFTER COMING UP WITH GEMS SUCH AS "well, whatever you are, you're hot!" DIE PLEASE. : )
3. MY FUCKING KNEE!!!
4. MY FUCKING DRIVER'S SIDE WINDOW!!!
5. WHEN AUTO BODY GUYS CASH YOUR CHECK BEFORE THEY FINISH THE WORK.
6. THAT GIRL IN MY MAJOR AUTHORS CLASS WHO TALKS LIKE 8 TIMES/CLASS AND NEVER MAKES SENSE... everyone has the same, "WTF??" look on their faces; get the hint boo. well, i'm not sure if this belongs on the HATE list, but she annoys me. <3


and on a very ending note:

sometimes i look around and question the strength or sincerity of my friendships, always inevitably feeling disillusioned. YET(!!) i have to remind myself of being guilty of the same. : / oy.
 

Mar. 6th, 2008

  • 9:45 PM
dv, lego
 alrighty...

so it's been a while, i guess. i don't really know what to say or even why i've decided to keep this thing alive. maybe at the bit of encouragement from michael... mike, maybe you're the  only one left who reads this. but that's alright... this is more for me than anyone.

linh's gone. and i'm really lost as to how to adequately put my thoughts into coherent cubbies. sometimes i feel fine; almost unaffected. other times, i cry. a lot. ususally on my commutes to and from school or work. always alone... that's when i think about you the most. when i think about you... i don't really think about the end so much as i do all the memories... and i feel like i'm trying to dig deeper and deeper into my catalogue of times spent with you... all of them so seemingly happy now. and so distant.

a couple months ago now feels like years or another lifetime. does that make sense? thanks for buying dinah converse last year when i skipped off to santa cruz. thanks for being there with me at my lowest of lows... something a lot of my friends could not and did not do. you were an amazing girl. i honestly thought you would be there when i got married, babysit my kids, and i'd be there to change your babies' diapers (if you decided to have any ; )

and now what's left is just memory after memory. image after image of your smiling face, your laugh. your laugh above all things, i will remember till i am very, very old. the way you would just laugh out loud while catching breaths and i would see your straight teeth all in a line... i really really miss you linh. i miss you so much.

i'm going to find some happy emily dickinson poems. they weren't all sad.





school is almost over. much better than last quarter. 
i just care about school. everything else has lost its significance. work, play, everything. i just want to do really good in school. it's been rough. i've always lost motivation easily... not this time i think.

so...

  • Oct. 9th, 2007 at 7:41 PM
dv, lego

i'm embarassed to look at the mkaolsen community when i'm at the library... cuz i feel like everyone who walks past my computer screen has little "wtf?" moment... : (

but how else to pass the time at the library?!

things have been pretty calm in terms of school and work. and i'm really feeling good about this quarter. my mentality towards school has matured and i'm not too stupid to appreciate this new job.

it's a little surreal that things are moving forward in this way because 6 months ago, everything was completely different. but again, i'm smart enough to be grateful (sp?) and appreciative.

i get lonely in my little room by myself in riverside. so needy... 

brandon is such a BAD BOY! aye yai yai... "the terrible twos."

is it just my superiority complex or has it become a trend in recent years for girls to act like half-wits? really annoying... i'm not saying you can't be girly AND smart... but appeasing others (males, specifically) at the expense of your dignity and pride is wiggity.

btw: the only guys who like the dumb act are exactly the types of guys these bitches always lament over afterwards... "he's such a jerk..." or "how was i supposed to know he only wanted to fuck me?" 

:single tear: 

anyway, that's my mini-rant. gotta YIN out the positivity of the first half entry with some YANGGGG. ::KNAWMEAN::

OH MY GOD.

  • Aug. 21st, 2007 at 9:09 PM
dv, lego
...right?

an article i found online, from a magazine:


"They love each other, they have two beautiful daughters, but their union is over. Allison Glock shares the diary of her divorce ...

My husband has been sleeping in the spare room for five nights. He sleeps well there. I am in our bedroom, in the bed we shared for seven years. I do not sleep. I do what all women do. I think; I blame myself; I marinate in my failure; I hate myself for my feelings; sometimes I cry. More often, I stare at the ceiling and wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.

It is August 2005. By September, my husband and I spend a lot of time walking around our garden, talking about ending our marriage.

"Maybe we should spend some time apart," I begin weakly. I do not mention "divorce". I tell myself this makes a difference, that until I say the word out loud it won't exist. That there is still a chance we will find each other again.

"Breaks never work," he snaps back. He is right, of course.

"I just want some clarity," I say.

"You just want to sleep with someone else," he retorts.

"That isn't what this is about."

"Isn't it?"

"Not for me. I am still in love with you."

That I can say. It feels hopelessly, urgently true. I say it again.

"I love you."

"That is such bullshit," he answers.

"No it isn't."

I take his hand. He lets me.

"I love you," I say again.

In my mind, I imagine that if I can convince him I love him, he will forgive me for wanting to leave. He will understand and know it isn't about him, and we will go on to be wonderful, dear friends. All of this mess will fade with time, and in the mutual love of our children we will rise above it, because we are good people and that's what good people do. But my husband doesn't want me to love him. That is too complicated. Better that I hate him. Or love another. He wants maths, not poetry.

"I love you," I repeat, starting to cry.

"Just shut the hell up," he says forcefully, dropping my hand.

Five months later, my husband moves out of the spare room and into his own unit. He leaves on New Year's Day, his belongings tossed into half a dozen garbage bags.

I was a good wife. I did all the wifely things you should, the old-fashioned duties, like keeping up with the "lost" socks and doctors' appointments and the amount of window cleaner in the house. I also provided the modern wifely contributions of an independent income and a body maintained within a few kilos of its premarital form. I cooked and cleaned and packed the kids' lunches. I laughed often, made love to my husband with vigour, making him feel brilliant and beautiful, which he was. I would like to say I liked being a wife. But if I am honest, I did not.

I liked being good. I liked being perceived as decent and honourable and committed to my family. And while I was committed beyond reason to my children, the same could not be said about my commitment to my husband.

If you ask my husband, he will say our seven-year marriage ended the day I began to have feelings for someone else. To be precise, it ended the day he broke into my email account and discovered I had feelings for someone else. For him, this is likely true. But for me, it is far more complicated. Because I am a woman, and women, as a rule, inhabit the grey areas of life.

Women want things to go on. All things. Even, or perhaps particularly, sad things. We want our lovers to love us forever. Not necessarily to be with us forever, but to carry us somewhere in their hearts, somewhere prominent. Women want to matter. And as such, we do not like endings.

We know that feelings are complicated, fluid, uncontrollable - and they are all that really count in the final days of life. We know this intuitively and because we know it, we are happy in the mess they create.

Men, not so much. When men leave a marriage, they just go. They make no apologies. They move on, the cord cut.

Women, however, need a reason to leave. "Because I want to" is simply not enough. We need witnesses and encouragement and approval and an alternative vision of our future, which explains why, statistically, most women decide to leave their marriages seven years before they actually do, and why, when they finally go, it is often into the arms of another man. Messy, but real. Or it feels real, which can sometimes be enough.

�I met my husband at a fancy-dress party. I was dressed as a schoolboy, a sartorial choice that left him assuming I was a lesbian. He chatted with me anyway, asking many questions. By the time he was undoing my shorts back at his place later that night, he had revised his initial impression. We had sex on the floor in front of his couch, with Mozart's Requiem blaring from the stereo. The next morning, in the cold, harsh light of sobriety, I hurriedly dressed and fled his apartment. Less than two weeks later, we were engaged.

It was a great story, one we delighted in retelling in the years that followed, watching the predictably startled response of people when we reached the punchline: "And then, 10 days later, he proposed!"

Two weeks was not a long courtship. But that is not what killed the marriage. In fact, our mutual impulsiveness and the pride we took in it bound us. We were ridiculous, madcap. Other people were timid. So we married, and nine months later (almost to the day), our first daughter was born. Fifteen months later, a second daughter came. During that time, we moved five times, twice interstate. We collapsed a lifetime of experience into a few years. We were busy, distracted.

There were signs. There are always signs. The problem for every married person lies in discerning what is a sign and what is a normal consequence of sharing a life with someone. Are you bored because you aren't with the right person? Or because no-one stays interesting after 10 years? Are you just going through a rough patch? Or is this it for life? Every day yields a reason to leave. What you need is a reason to stay.

I knew the moment I would leave my husband. Three years before our separation, I was having dinner with a woman I respected - older, beautiful and successful. She was in the middle of her own break-up, after 15 years of partnership, and it was levelling her. Not because it was the wrong thing to do, but because she was the one leaving. I asked her what made her so sure she should quit her marriage. And she answered, "I finally figured out that no-one would be grading me at the end of all this."

And there I sat, gunning for the A+.

For what? That one sentence made me realise for the very first time just how much of my life was about trying to please someone else, how it had been years since I had even considered what I personally wanted. When I got home from dinner, there was an email from her. "Trust yourself," she wrote.

I wept when I read it. In the years that followed, I found myself unconsciously seeking out women who'd left their men. Women who dared to listen to themselves. I would grill them with impertinent questions about divorce and loneliness and sex after separation. I wanted to see the consequences, the fallout. What I saw were women who were relaxed.

And then there was me, feeling balled as tight as twine and still gunning for the A+.

I tried to tell him: "Sometimes, when I walk across the overpass, I imagine if I timed it right, the jump would be quick and painless."

"Oh, so now you're suicidal?"

Was I? Maybe I was. Maybe for that few minutes when I crossed over the bridge and saw the traffic roaring below, it did seem like it would be simpler if it would just cease to be. Because the other option - facing myself, dealing with my inapprop-riate feelings of rage and isolation and self-loathing - was going to be a lot harder than jumping off a bridge. "You could tell the kids it was an accident," I say.

There was one time, in the middle of the end, when he mentioned our oldest daughter. Reminded me how emotional and sensitive she is. How his absence would cause her nothing but hurt.

"I'm her father," he said pointedly, as if I'd forgotten. I knew my choice would hurt my children, just as it would hurt my husband. To leave was to knowingly cause pain to my loved ones. And why? Because I wanted something else.

I remember when my first daughter was born. It was a difficult and terrifying delivery. There was talk of an emergency caesarean. Blinking equipment was wheeled into the room, the nurses talking in hushed, hurried tones. My sister, also present, began sobbing. At the last moment, the baby arrived, head squashed and face bruised, but alive. I wept with relief and fatigue, my body shaking enough to rattle the rails of the hospital bed. I looked at my husband, now a father. He was beaming. I thought to myself, we would never divorce because how could we ever leave each other after that?

No-one will remember the sound my second daughter made when she saw her first dog. Or how my eldest squealed hysterically on her first roller-coaster ride. To divorce is to say farewell to your record-keeper. It is to jettison your history, to abandon your ready identity. For years, you are someone's wife, then one day, you aren't. And then it becomes your job to decide who you are.

One Sunday morning, a week before he left, I made scrambled eggs and bacon. The girls, still unaware of the impending split, fought over who got to break the eggs. We all ate, and it was delicious. Everything seemed perfectly normal, as it had always been - the four of us sharing Sunday breakfast, deciding how best to spend the day.

Afterwards, the girls toddled off to watch cartoons while my husband and I talked about how we got derailed.

"Why did you always have to make me feel bad?" he implored. "That's what killed it. Your constant judging."

I did judge. And that is the thing about breaking apart. When the person who knows you best decides you are a loser, you kind of have to believe them. Because they've done the time. They've seen you naked.

"I'm sorry," I replied.

"I may not love you in the way you need. But I would carry you across burning sands. Doesn't that count?" he said.

It did. But not enough.

My marriage wasn't bad, I just didn't belong there. I know this now. I am not wife material. I like being alone. I believe the pay-offs of tending to a man pale greatly when compared to the benefits of tending to myself. I believe I am a better mother without a husband, because I am happy and strong and not sleepwalking in a bath of resentment about who is or isn't taking out the rubbish.

My divorce has also taught me some other hard truths about love:

That good sex can survive, even as your marriage dies.

That it really is the little things.

That you have to talk about the ugly stuff - with each other.

That only you are capable of asking for what you want.

That charisma gets old.

That love may be everything, but it is not enough to keep two people together, no matter what they say in the movies.

My love for my husband was, and remains, uncontested. I love him, and I will always love him. My heart cleaves to his, even as he moves away, loves another, even as time and paperwork dismantle us. I love him as a person apart, for who he is, not for what he does for or to me.

And that will last. Till death.

On our second real date, my husband and I went to a museum. We held hands. We ate sandwiches in the overpriced cafeteria. He told me he'd spent eight months in India. I told him I'd played high-school basketball. He told me he once loved a woman who brought a hairdryer on a camping trip. I said I didn't own a hairdryer.

We walked the three kilometres home, the wind lashing our faces. We stopped for sushi. We kissed on street corners. We did not say, "I love you."

The next morning, we were engaged. I told no-one. I had no words.

"Do you remember that day?" I asked him recently. His eyes instantly welled up. Then he swallowed, and I saw the tears recede. I saw him bury himself in front of my eyes. I recognised the move.

"

friday...

  • Aug. 13th, 2007 at 5:07 PM
dv, lego
my girl received an invitation for a, and i quote, "private party at a reserved nightclub." so i'm like, okay cool, sounds fun.

thennnnn... we get there... and it's a house? a house party?? how is..what the...but i thought..

thennnnn...

"Three men were stabbed early Saturday after an argument at a party. The incident took place at a residence in the 1300 block of West Grand Avenue, according to a Pomona police news release. Officers responded after receiving a call at 1:07 a.m. about a stabbing victim. Three people - two 18-year-olds and a 20-year-old - were found suffering from stab wounds. The victims' names were not released for safety reasons, authorities said. One victim, stabbed several times, was airlifted to a trauma center. He was listed in critical condition. The other two men were treated at Pomona Valley Hospital Medical Center and released. Police found that several friends hosted a party for about 50 people, police said. Eventually, 100 to 150 people showed up before the fight. "

excuse me?!?! that party? the one we left because we were bored?

as horrible an event as this is, shitty to say, but i'm not surprised. i hate the" OC BANDWAGON".




picture from that night. bumping into ang was serendipitous. about the only good thing about that night...

jeremy mooney

  • Jul. 23rd, 2007 at 3:52 AM
dv, lego
i've got a case of crazy insomnia

and i wish i could be with you

pictures of the summer

  • Jul. 16th, 2007 at 12:50 AM
dv, lego


america's day of independence. i'm wearing my buhdda to show patriotism.




the difference between a good smiling picture...




and an almost, but not quite, studio "pixx".




no, the girl in the picture is not a dwarf. i repeat, not.



see you in a couple months, livejournal. : )

yayy...

  • Jul. 16th, 2007 at 12:32 AM
dv, lego
so i finally figured out how to download the livejournal client onto my desktop again.

not that updating my livejournal is so important, but there are two main reasons why i almost never write it in it anymore:

1. not having the program on my computer. i hate logging in and writing on the entry page and then posting and then going back to the entry page if something's wrong, blah blah blah. so tedious. but now, maybe i will write more again.

2. i know jeremy will still read my livejournal every so often. just don't appreciate the commentary; nothing ever seems like it's okay to share.

i think this summer has really served me well. yes, i've been bored to tears for a lot of it, but that's probably exactly what i needed. a time-out. time-the-fuck-out.

i'm excited to be going back to UCR in the fall. i talked to michelle briefly about becoming affiliated. haha, the thought of being some guy's "lil sis" cracks me up but i ain't too proud for a social life. i never thought i would join a sorority.

time to be a little carefree and take advantage of this college life. key words: "a little," hopefully.

overall, i'm doing really well all things considered.

brandon is the biggest 16 month old in this history of babies, i'm pretty sure.

i hang out with zody more than anyone and it's so nice to have a regular girlfriend again. i wish my other girlfriends would call me as often. i appreciate zode a lot. she's really been there for me during this stoic time. : )

i miss you, jeimo. thiiiiiiiiis much all the time! i am anxiously waiting move-in day. and praying that everything works out.

and it's not often i can say this, but my self-image is good right now. i really think it can stay this way... it should. it's so much easier this way...

the other night, i saw this random picture and got creeped out. so what do i do? stay up until 6:30 AM and knock out when i couldn't fight it anymore. pussyyyy.

i appreciate. appreciate some shit, you know?

last post seven weeks ago?!

  • Jun. 11th, 2007 at 6:29 AM
dv, lego

i'm writing this entry today to remind myself that there are always things to be grateful(sp?) for.

i've spent so much time these past few years, my entire teenage existence even, being angry and unsatisfied. there are times now, looking back, when i was so unhappy for basically no good reason. 

even now when i feel i have "good reason" to be upset, i realize i've used my misery as a crutch for so long that maybe i've forgotten how to just appreciate. i would kill to trade places with myself 3 years ago... 

if i had known then what i'm only beginning to learn now, i could have saved myself a lot of time and energy. both of which could have been channeled towards something other than superfluous angst.

the bottom line is that i know i'm fortunate. not fortunate to have had these trials, but fortunate that i can still stand here and look around to see people who sincerely love and care for me.

sometimes i feel as though i've fall too far away from my goals that it might be impossible to get back on track. ultimately, i just have to keep telling myself that i'm more capable than this. 

i've felt so guilty for so long about things i can't change. i've held so much anger here for so long... anger that has nothing to do with anything in my life today.

there is no one alive who doesn't feel hurt or pain. it's how we cope with/utilize these experiences that mark the caliber of a person.

having recognized my acute narcissim a long time ago, i know i think too much of myself to not live up to my own scrutiny. 

holding myself accountable for my expectations of other people... that's probably the singular, most important epiphany i've had after all the dust settles. in reference to the narcissism, this had been something so difficult for me to do. i expect so much from others and yet give so very little back. what kind of shit is that, really.

i've decided to apply for readmission at UCR. after everything that's happened this year, i think i will be a lot more appreciative towards this opportunity of education. i really don't want to waste any more time attempting a transfer. it's really up to me what i do at the institution and how far i can push myself. so although things didn't go according to plan, i hope that this decision will be the most rewarding.

i'm ready to get up. i'm still 2 months shy of being 20. it's really not that fucking bad, i tell myself. and it really, really, really isn't bad at all. 

there are so many things i can choose to celebrate and appreciate. my love, family, friends, the future. maybe this is the advil pm talking but i feel so optimistic. everything can and will be better.

it just boils down to making a choice: be healthy and happy OR continue to dwell and be miserable for years.

i don't know what i was thinking, saying or doing certain things that only serve to magnify disconent. a stoic, useless, flacid discontent that gets me nowhere. 

it's happy time now. remember, remember, remember.