And now, I'll talk about something reasonable! YAY!

Sometimes black things follow me.

For the skepticals of this world, I want to point out that I am by no means the only person who've seen them. In fact, many people see them. When I'm going through these periods, situations like this become common:

While visiting with a friend:
Her: EEEK! I just saw a fucking black thing crawl behind the sofa! What the bloody weeping hell?
Me: Oh yeah. Don't worry, they're coming with me.

Notice I said common, not frequent. It's not like they're swarming around me like grackles. When they're near, I see them often and I dismiss them most of the time; but I've seen them clearly a few times --or as clearly as they can be seen, I guess--, and that was enough to know that it's not your usual garden-variety peripheral vision brainfart, a mistake.


Many people, including family, friends, acquaintances and complete strangers, have seen them in my presence to be a mere collective suggestion. Besides, I'm not going around telling people that the Men In Black and all their fuzzy pets are after me.

I rarely talk about it because whenever this has happened, I'm usually more worried about whatever's going on that has me depressed than the black things themselves. When they leave, I rarely think about them anymore. Besides, I'm open to the possibility that there might be a very reasonable explanation for them, too. It could be that it's me who's manifesting these things, little bits of darkness escaped from my troubled spirit that are becoming visible for everyone to see.

However, that all sounds much more complicated than the simpler explanation other people have given me for this li'l trait of mine: that they're astral bugs, simple beings that for some reason are attracted to me like moths are to a bright light.

I hadn't made the connection between the black things and my bad times until now, when I started seeing them again about a week ago. Even then I told myself I've been exhausted, stressed, and abusing myself for a long time, so it probably was nothing but vision quirks. Yesterday, though, I saw the cat chase after one of them; and since then, my doubts are pretty much gone. I still allow to the possibility that I could be hallucinating, because all cats seem to pounce at nothing occassionally and that doesn't prove anything, right? It could well be. Fucking cats, so ambiguous. You can't count on them to prove you sane.

Tangent:

Except for the case of the Horrible Haunted Apartment: when the demonic episodes of horror went by, we had no questions about our sanity; the things in that apartment not only had us humans crouching in the corner with every hair standing on end, but the cat was also usually perched on one of our heads, spitting and hissing bloody murder.

From that I learned that when three people and one cat unanimously agree Nyarlathotep is getting ready to open Its ancient yellow eye at any old time, it's time to bolt out the door, spreading salt as you go. There's no need to find a rational explanation.

End of Tangent.

Anyway, I don't overly worry about them, unsettling as it might be to realize that the black thing who just touched you and then scuttered down the hall and disappeared was definitely [i]not[/i] your dog. They frighten me in the measure that I don't know what they are, or why they follow me, or if they're actually only in my head, despite what other people say. Maybe they're just trying to get me to go insane.

But at least I do realize that whatever they are, it's me who's drawing them with my misery and not the other way around. It also worries me that although I think they're relatively harmless, it's been hinted to me that if these things are drawn to me it's because I'm somehow more 'visible' than other people, and if these simple beings can see me, other things could, too.

Which I think has already happened too, but I lucked out and the thing that noticed me actually chose to guard me for awhile instead of slowly eating my immortal soul, and I'm thankful for that.

If you're curious about it, a guy in blue followed me for awhile. I saw him a couple times, once sitting on my bed, but usually it was other people who saw him. They'd ask me who was that nice guy they'd seen with me on so-and-so, at times when I'd been walking on the street by myself. Furthermore, I didn't even know a guy like they described; tall, young, nice-looking, dressed in blue. Some people said they'd seen him walking with his arm around my shoulders.

Once I was sitting at the counter in a coffeeshop, playing cards with the owner. The place was deserted and we were friends, so we were just passing the time. A car parked in front and the driver, a regular of the coffeeshop too, waved at us, got out of his car, and stepped in. I was sitting on one of the only two stools at the counter, but the one beside me was empty. He didn't take it, though; he sat at one of the tables and we started talking. He was at an awkward distance there sitting at the table, so I asked him if he wanted to sit on the stool.

Him: I'd love to, but isn't your friend coming back? I got the impression he'd be back soon.
Me: Friend? I'm here alone... except for him --I pointed at Owner.
Him: I know, but I'm talking about the guy who left when I got here.
Me and Owner: What guy?
Him (probably thinking we're fucking with him): The guy who was sitting on the other stool. I thought he was your boyfriend,
Me: There was no one in here with me. When you parked, it was only Owner and me. When you got in, the same. It's been only Owner and me in here for the last hour.
Him: But there was a guy in the stool next to you. He waved too!

Holy Jesus the Jew, my ghosts fucking wave at people. To make the rest of the conversation short, he saw a guy with a blue jacket or blazer sitting next to me. When the newcomer stepped in the shop, the Blue Guy got up, put his hands on my shoulders, and walked out. He thought he'd say something to me and then left for the store or something, to be right back: that's why he hadn't taken the stool. He said he looked to be younger than thirty, tall, dark hair, blue jacket. Nice.

Weird shit, huh? The two characteristics that kept popping up in the descriptions were always Blue and Nice.

Anyway, then.

If anyone has any ideas, you could leave me a comment. If you think I'm crazy... well, I guess I could be, so I won't be offended. But I don't think I am.

Kiss me for luck / Three little chats

Yesterday night I finally figured out who I needed to talk to. The person who'd listen to me and then ask the right questions, the questions that really matter. I probably should called him sooner, but in the raging confusion of my pocket storm it was my brother who had to remind me of his existence. I called at a highly indecent time for someone who's been AWOL for more than a year, but he didn't seem to care. I'm probably not giving my friends enough credit again, it seems.

Hey J, I don't say this enough because you have the tendency to believe it, but you're The Man and I love you. Thanks again.

After talking to him I finally managed nine hours of sleep after six days of very troubled insomnia. Aaaah.


Then this morning Tim called. He's been sick but having a good time, and doing a good deal of thinking on his own, it seems. He said he knows we're nearing the end, but he has a plan now. He'll get an apartment and go back to school, and live his own life here. I'll help him find an apartment, and then we're through.

In theory.

The most difficult was the talk with my Mom, to be frank. She's been trying to get me to talk to her for days, but I hadn't wanted to because well, she was really not the best person for the kind of talk I needed to have; but today with my thoughts more or less neatly ordered after my talk with J last night, we talked.

Of course, we started to talk about me and Bel and my things in his apartment (a huge issue right now, as far as my mother is concerned). She takes it personally that I haven't gotten around to move out all of my stuff out yet; I don't care about the stuff, Bel doesn't care about the stuff, but you can bet your ass my parents care about the stuff. So of course the conversation quickly distorted to how they (my parents) keep assuming everything I do is just to somehow bother them. And that I would take sides with someone who's out of the family.

We kept a fairly civil tone during our talk though, and she didn't cry much, which was good. But now I keep asking 'are you mad at me?' and she keeps saying no and acting mad.

All in all, I still feel fine. I think things are going to work out.

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

I know I'd decided not to talk to Bel for now, but I dropped something important in the apartment on Sunday and I needed to ask him to look for it and put it in a safe place. Said thing isn't even of my property, so I really couldn't put off the call, much as I wanted to.

So I asked him about the thing and he said he'd look for it, I said thanks, and our conversation had been so successful so far (by our standards, anyway) that I felt brave enough to motion something I briefly considered yesterday night before discarding it as pointless. But when I saw we'd been doing so well --almost friendly-- during our 40 seconds exchange I decided (wrongly, again) to plunge ahead and give it a go.

"I was wondering if I could ask for another favor" I said. "I need to see you, if you can, today or tomorrow. It's really important."

"What about?"

"I need to talk to you."

"But what about?"

"...I can't talk right now. That's why I want to see you, so we can talk."

Let me tell you why I answered this. At the moment of this conversation I was sitting in my living room. Two meters away from me, my brother was bustling around the kitchen making himself breakfast. Mrs. E, who helps us with the cleaning, was busy behind me scrubbin' that tabletop until it squeaked. My mom was hurrying about too, mostly talking to herself but also sometimes half-talking to me like she's wont to do when I'm on the phone in the same room as her.

So I couldn't very well say Well dear, I know I've become one of those Psycho Bitches From Hell we sometimes talked about, and that you don't deserve it. I want to apologize for my behaviour. I was planning on making little notes for my declamation with all the things I'm feeling and that I'd want you to know, because I thought that maybe if I wrote them down I wouldn't stutter, mutter, or leave sentences half-finished like I usually do because I'm too choked up to remember what the fuck I'm trying to say. I thought we could have a cup of coffee and I could tell you all these things, during a calm and reasonable conversation. And then I could leave and perhaps feel that I've come clean; that I can go out with some dignity left. .

So no, it's not that I try to make a huge complication out of everything, but I just couldn't say that with my whole family pending on my every word. Call me insular --I don't like discussing such private issues in front of others.

"What do you mean you can't talk? Just tell me why you want to see me."

"..." <--- in this pause I'm actually considering just blurting out everything on the phone, but I know that won't do. I'll definetely fuck it up.

"Why are you so fucking difficult? Just tell me why you want to see me."

"I just want to talk to you. It's important."

"Yes, but WHY?" <--- he's losing his patience.

"I can't tell you now... there's people here."

"Just tell me why you want to see me and stop being so complicated!"

"..." <--- by now, I've managed to switch to the cordless phone and I'm running upstairs to my room after assuring my mom that no, I'm not fighting with Bel again. But by now I've also lost my cool, because he losing his patience and I don't even know why. I'm not even being annoying yet, not that I can tell, why is he so mad? I'm starting to wheeze and my voice, when I find it, will be a shrill little whisper.

"You're not telling me? Okay. Anyway, I have things to do today and tomorrow."

"...ok, I see."

"you see what?!"

"Nevermind. It's really not that important. Well, it is... but just for me it seems. Don't worry." <--- there it is, see the kind of self-serving bullshit that leaves my mouth when I'm near him. I really don't know why a piano hasn't fallen on my head yet.

"What is that supposed to mean? Jesus, it's too early for this, G."

"No, don't worry, I told you it was a favor, it's ok if you can't, really." <--- the Psycho Bitch is back and in full control.

I wanted it to be either today or tomorrow only because Tim comes back on Thursday. I'm really not feeling good right now, and the kind of meeting I wanted with Bel will surely leave me feeling like I've been sucked through an airplane turbine. If possible, I want to NOT let Tim see me while I'm such a wreck, because I'll have to give explanations. That will make him feel bad, which in turn will will make me feel worse, and so on and on ad fucking nauseam.

I'm so tired. Yesterday, when I thought about having a talk to him before vanishing from his map, I thought it was a good idea because then I could explain him why I was going away, and how I intended to get better and pull my shit together and be WELL. I would apologize for handling the situation so badly. In short, I'd inform him of what I'm doing instead of just disappearing, if only so he wouldn't have forever the impression that he once had a girlfriend who was very quiet and nice, but then she went insane and left him in the middle of a difficult part of his life, then she came back and turned into a passive-aggresive monster, and then she disappeared without further ado, and good fucking riddance.

After much thinking I decided against it, because I thought that we were beyond the point where he'd care.

Doesn't this prove me right? He's probably glad to lose sight of me.

Open Your Eyes

Have you ever had one of those drives when you feel so bad you end up screaming inside your closed car and banging your fists against the drivewheel? For like an hour straight? That was my drive home last night.

I haven't slept all night, and I haven't been able to stop the crying, either. And over Nothing, really. There are people out there with real problems. No real tragedy here; my hell is portable and apparently I can make it happen any old where I am.

It just suddenly hit me that from what he's seen of me in the last eight months, Bel must like me less with each call I make, and that I'm probably escalating rapidly to the Psycho Ex Girlfriend category.

I also realized I hadn't heard him laugh in such a long time. I realized this because I heard him laugh today, and it struck me how much I miss that hearty, rich, wonderful laugh he has. Obviously it wasn't me who made him laugh --he doesn't find me funny anymore, and that's why I hadn't heard him laugh in such a long time. Every time he sees me I'm the very depiction of gloom and I tend to tear up at very confusing and inappropriate times. To top things off, I'm a snappy bitch to him half of the time. No fucking reason why he should find me funny now, right?

This all somehow led to the aforementioned crying fits and sleepless night. Mostly the realization that I haven't made him laugh, really laugh, in more than a year.

The advice I seem to keep getting (from the whole of the Universe it seems) is some version of "be strong, hang in there, do your best".

Strong I get. Strength I've got; at least I know that. I'd like to know what I'm bloody supposed to use it on though; there are just too many options, and I have to choose, because in the meantime I'm doing nothing.

On the matter of Bel, I decided to walk away for awhile. I think I'm doing us both a favor with this; our get-togethers must be really annoying for him and they're excruciating for me, to say the least. When you're in love, you like yourself so much more; regardless of what I said in my last post, I still believe that you love your partner the more because he/she brings out the best out in you. He makes you a better person. (See, I'm bawling my silly head off again and now I'm also out of cigarettes.)

I was so very in love with him, but now he has the complete opposite effect on me; he brings out the worst in me and I *hate* the person I become when I'm near him. I've done my best to make it better, but I'm only making it worse.

I don't want to wear out whatever good memories we have left, so I'm Walking Away. For now.

I'm in the process of writing a blue whale of a post about my current and up-to-the-minute frustrations, but it'll stay on draft until later; I'm too flustered to even know where I'm going with it anymore.

In the meantime, I wanted to pin down the quote of today, for it's a jewel:

My Dad (about Terri Schiavo): "Well, I suppose it's better to have an unsufferably stupid daughter than one in vegetative state. I suppose."

By the way, let it be stated (for people keep claiming I don't tell them stuff) here if nowhere else: If a destiny similar to Terri Schiavo's should befall me, don't hesitate about unplugging me. I will go with a chirp, a giggle and a big thankyou. Just make sure I'm really gone, for gods' sakes!!!!!! And wait a long time. Like several years, not months, eh? Thanks.

I'll gnaw on this bone a little longer

My Momichi had three calicos. (That's the right word in this case. Apparently everyone knew but me.) I used to whisper in her ear that she'd have a spotted baby, a striped one, and a plaid one. Just to spite me, she had Many Spots, Several Spots and Couple O'Spots instead.

I'd never seen such tiny kittens! I've never hosted a birth of kittens at my home; so far, only dogs (and a few murderous desires) have been born in them.

This became apparent when I first looked in the basket and immediately concluded that:

1) they were all victim of some brutal genetic flaw that made their bellies three times as big as their heads.
2) they obviously also were some sort of muties, for they had the hairless, pinkish paws of newborn rats (and for a second I counted seven toes on one tiny paw).
3) one of them was dead.

I was very wrong on all accounts. Turns out they don't really need their heads right now so their bellies are bigger for nutrition purposes. Apparently it's also perfectly normal that they're not completely covered in fur and this not necessarily denotes immediate rodent ancestry. And the one I'd taken for dead was just in deep contemplation and extremely pliable under her mom's maneuvering.

Not just your everyday kitty fever: a kitten from Momichi. I'll have to keep pushing mom's switches on that. Too bad I was in such a hurry to forget what it was like to be fifteen.

* * * * *

Bel: Only you can decide what's best for you! No one can help you there!
Me: Hey, I was the one who fell in love with a guy on the internet and who thought that scattering my few resources to the wind, throwing all my life overboard and taking flight like a wild swallow was the best idea.

And incredibly enough, once upon a time I did. Talk about needing help.

Me, Interrupted

I'm getting to be worried here, to be honest. It's been easy to just shut my eyes to reality and tell myself I'm just during a break, a healing period.

But I don't feel much healed. Granted, I'm not obsessed and weeping over it anymore, which possibly means It Could Be Much Worse, but that isn't precisely great, is it? I've been back and "healing" for seven months, yet have I made any progress? I wonder.

All right, I'll give myself some credit; I guess the very fact that I'm not just curled up in a little ball while cackling and muttering to myself...

hey - hold it. I'm surfing while I post, a nasty habit of mine --which partially explains my usual incoherence-- and I came across this piece of post in dt.net:

"Empathy pains, illnesses and distress are caused when a person is effected by the ENERGY of another living thing. This is what makes elderly alzheimers patients calm and happy when they pat a cat and what makes depressed people happy when they garden. And those are just the basic examples."

How about that. So that's why I feel the compulsion to sneak to the roof or the back yard every occassion I have to gape at my plants. I weed a bit, I move them around a lot, I pray that the wind won't blow my makeshift greenhouse away, but mostly I just look at them.

So that's why I've been feeling better. Isn't that a splendid thing to know. And stupid Bel is right one more time; yes, I'm probably still depressed.

Anyway, I'm trying to be proactive and shit about it, but I'm totally stuck. I keep procrastinating the decision-making because none of the options seems quite right.

And that I'm dilly-dallying this much at my age is even more pathethic, so I need to do something soon.

But I feel so lost. I feel like such a drama queen saying that I have no one to talk to; after all, it's not like I live on an iceberg. But again, no one is quite right. My parents are, of course, totally out of the question. My brother doesn't care. My friends I've cut contact with for reasons I don't understand myself. And even though I wish I had someone to talk to, none of my now estranged friends would do for the kind of help I need now, even if I was up for the task of updating them about my ongoings--which isn't the case.

This only leaves Tim and Bel. I can't talk openly to Tim, because it'll hurt him and I already distress him enough whenever we do talk about what's going on with me.

Bel is the only one I kind of open to, but he's oh so difficult. In the first place, there are some things I just can't discuss with him, and these are issues I also desperately need to work out. And second, I've already told how crazy I go whenever I'm near him. But maybe I haven't been clear on just how bad it is; well, I behave like a seventeen year old without brains, a la Brittany Murphy in Girl, Interrupted, but without the chicken, the self mutilation or the ugly robe. So yeah, Bel's shaky ground.

I made an appointment with a psychologist today. I got a number from a friend in December and I'd been putting off the call. Due to my recent concern I finally braved up to call her and make the appointment. I don't know if I'll keep it, however. I asked about the fee for the consult and I can't possibly afford it. I have a huge credit debt I'm slowly paying off and it's just impossible. So joke's on me; I have no one to talk to and I can't afford therapy. I'm fucked.

I wish I could work this out by myself, but I clearly can't.

Did I mention I'm worried?

Chopsticks, please

The chop suey (?) I just made:

3 green onions
1 red pepper
2-3 sticks of celery
1/2 k mushrooms
1/2 k bean sprouts
1 medium piece of ginger

4 tbsp oyster sauce
2 tbsp soy sauce
1 tbsp sriracha sauce

chicken breast (optional)

Wash the beansprouts well and let them dry a little. Chop all the vegetables and the ginger, not very finely, and add it to a pan with sesame oil in this order: peppers, mushrooms and ginger first, let cook for 1-2 minutes, celery, let cook another 2 minutes, then the onion and whatever other vegetables (carrot, squash, etc) you're using.

Don't let cook too much. Once all the vegetables sauteed add the beansprouts little by little. Mix the sauces and add to vegetables.

I marinated some chicken steaks in oyster sauce, lemon, hot sauce and chopped onion for a couple of hours. I'll grill them when I'm ready to serve.

Yum.

Why should a man die while sage grows in his garden?

The T-man left today for a two week visit to Homeland, USA. Also, today I found that my sage --rescued from a Home Depot, about to flower and one of my favorites-- died overnight for no apparent reason.

There is no relation between the two events above. Or is there?

I took the sage from the pot, washed away the dirt, got rid of most of the leaves and set it in a glass with an efigy of the Virgin Mary. Lord knows the poor plant needs a miracle.

(And when googling to find out what could have happened to the sage, I came across the proverb "Why should a man die while sage grows in his garden?". Now this has had me intrigued all day. What does that mean, exactly?)

I'm going to miss Tim so much. It's true. I've come to think my emotional IQ must be of around 14; I still think I need a break, that I need to be alone for now and moreover, I think he's not good for me in the long run, but I still can't help but missing him sorely when he's not around.

Or maybe it's just that he's fun and sweet and attentive to me, and he's wearing my resistance down little by little.

Is that good or bad? On the one hand, didn't I promise myself that I *wouldn't* let myself be carried into another relationship I didn't really want? And on the other, could it be that I'm just trying to push everyone away in another satisfying episode of self-sabotage?

But even though I miss him, it still feels wrong. Does that mean anything?

As you can see, this post is full of absurd meanings that could/could not be there.

Afternote: Momichi had three kittens on Monday. They're all red, black and white; according to my folk knowledge, this coloration is exclusive to females. Bel didn't want to believe me when I told him he'd probably be dealing with three more girls in his house. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure I'm not. They're three little ladies, gods have mercy on us.

and I say to myself, what a wonderful world

And there are also the days when I wake up and see things exactly for what they are. The dreams don't help.

They change. Sometimes it's a year ago and I'm trying to stop myself, but it's always too late.

Last night he and I were sitting on the beach, watching the sea and talking about us. He wouldn't listen, he wouldn't believe me. I started crying. The water rose in a line in front of us, like Moses parting the red sea; when the wave hit, I knew we were going to end up in opposite sides of the world and I'd never see him again.

I woke up crying. To this.

I'm twenty six and living with my parents again. I lost all my worldly possessions last year when I left; what little I had left I lost the night I came back, when some asshat stole my luggage from the trunk of the car.

My parents are wonderful folks, no doubt, but I've come to realize my brother and I were just the wrong kind of children for this people. That is to say there is a lot of love but we can't stand each other, because our respective value systems are like oil and water.

My goals and my expectations are subterranean. Other than harvesting a few tomatoes this summer, there isn't much.

I've pushed away all my friends in real life, so far away they're wondering if we're even friends anymore. I wonder the same thing.

I share my bed with one man and have dreams about another.

This is my life. It sucks and nothing is going the way I'd want it to.

And I still like to think I'm doing okay. This is one of my cherry tomatoes in a happy-happy day. And that makes me happy-happy too.



* * * * *

Post edited later to include The Call.

*ring*
Bel: Hello?
Me: Hello!
Bel: Ah, me and the girls were just talking about you!
Me: Really? What were you saying?
Bel: You know, just shooting the shit.
Me: No, please tell me.
Bel (to the girls): She wants to know what we were talking about.
Girls aaaaahhh in the background.
Me: what?!
Bel: I was telling them you're the woman of my life.
Girls aaaaahhh in the background. I melt into a puddle on the couch.

Zoe: Love (I got stuck in your planet)

Download from Kazaa. Has a jaunty Beatley I-don't-know-what that just cheers me up.

En tu planeta me quedé
fue por un tiempo y nunca fue mi plan
pero mi nave se averió
y ahora estoy perdido aquí

en mañanas con tres soles
y múltiples visiones
montañas transparentes
anémonas de luz

y recuerdos de ti.

Love
Love
Love.

Rosemary Emergency

Hmmmph. My rosemary is not doing too great. The tips of her leaves are browning and I can't really tell if she's grown at all.

I had another exciting conversation with Bel today. It works like a tonic; for days and days I go calm and coldhearted, like baby Buddha sitting naked on a chunk of ice, but it's good to remember there's someone who can make me blow my cool (not to mention my IQ)and get into surrealistic exchanges that start well but go tsunami in minutes. In other words, it's good to call Bel and have a good, stimulating shouting match. It gets the blood pumping.

I'm being so absolutely unfair to him. Just to give an example, today I freaked out because, and I quote myself, "I don't like the way you treat me... I'm not your pal!"

How's that for raging hormones and passive-aggression?

I could argue I felt he was being condescending again, but who am I kidding. Even if he was, he can afford to condescend me. After all, he turned out to be right and I, wrong.

But honestly, on the whole I still think I'm more concerned about the rosemary. Help appreciated.