Girl Talk

I received an irritating call from the captain’s insecure girlfriend, which confirmed a few things:

1.     He was cheating on me towards the end of our relationship

2.     He is drama

3.     His new relationship reeks of karma and he will be miserable in the end

4.     I want nothing more to do with him

I was mistaken to put up with so much for so long, but there is no one to blame but myself. I tolerated his behavior and allowed him to treat me according to his own will. 

He Cums and Goes in Waves

Yesterday’s much feared upon yet welcome bit of closure took a nose dive into the bog of eternal stench. The Capt. Felt brave enough to visit his old teacher, under the guise of ‘looking for a tutor’ for a friend. Bullshit. He simply decided that the timing was right to see me, so he did.

My heart sank when he walked into my office, and fuck him for doing so. We chatted he asked about my health said I looked good, filled him in on my life and how great I’ve been, and then realized I had to go to class. Since we were in the middle of catching up, I said goodbye and ‘if it isn’t weird for you, let’s hang out”. With great hesitation he replied—as if letting me know through a forced pause of silence that he was about to break my goddamn heart “I have a girlfriend and I don’t want her to get jealous’. Wow. I had no idea he had begun considering his girlfriend’s feelings. 

Epistolary Relationships with a Hunk

I received the Captain’s response to the email I send him this morning. It was kind. It reeked of nostalgia, while he [twice] referred to our relationship in the past tense, claimed to ‘look at our time together in a positive light’. We both win as we both apologized for our mistakes and transgressions—or at least merely acknowledged them.

The moral? I don’t know. Another relationship came and went. Nine months wasted? No. I lived through this tumultuous and rocky relationship and can say that at least I know what it’s like to fuck a hunk. And he raised the bar on my conversational expectations in a relationship. Those are the two things I will truly miss. On that note, I am recognizing all experiences with the Captain in the past tense and eliminating notions of the future. Those were just ridiculous. 

Confirm Email:

I wrote the Captain an email, but have yet to send it. I’m scared of his reaction. If he’s mean, my heart won’t maintain fortitude, nor my mind the clarity and serenity it has worked so hard to attain.  So, my job is to decide what I want out of the contact—friendship? Closure? Revenge? Ego boost that he didn’t get the final word? I have more thinking to do. An email shouldn’t hold as much weigh as I’ve made it—but he can be very cruel.

Memory Bins

The Captain and I broke up. I haven’t drank since June 21. I haven’t thrown up since then either. I suppose things are going well. I miss him, though. His place in the living room is empty.

When we last spoke he was incredibly cold and uninterested, so I got the hint. He also told me that he’s ‘moving on’. I got that hint as well. It’s strange that I awaited the summer throughout our relationship so as to actualize his departure, yet I am sad upon its arrival.  Closure is missing. The break-up was so quick and on the phone. But what do I need? A face to face ‘fuck you’? And what to make of the expectation that he will walk up my driveway wanting to talk and patch things up? That he remembers telling me that he loves me, that I had him wrapped around my finger, r that I could call him in a year, no matter where I am, and that he’d come for me? Do I throw all that away? Where do I put all those memories? 

Secrets Only Everyone Knows

I have turned 31 years-old. I have reignited my eating disorder from the ashes into which it crumbled. I have affirmed to no one but myself, that I have a drinking problem. And in the midst of this chaos, I began applying to Ph.D. programs. Perhaps doing something different will disturb this stasis in darkness, the perfectly explained Plathian expression which has become my everyday. 

I like the Word "Mate" but after that, You Got Me

Tonight the Captain told me that I am his soul mate. He realized this amid a candid conversation with an old friend, wherein the friend, in describing his wife, declared he has no soul mate, and if he did, it is not her. and then the kind Captain reflected and put himself first in the situation—as he is wont to do—and mused on his soul mate, ultimately deciding on me. After asking him why, he answered that he’s never connected to anyone the way he does to  me. I told him, as I still think is true, that it’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever heard. 

Realistic Expectations

The New Year has brought with it new problems. As I am wont to do, I refuse to focus on these and instead focus on solutions. Unfortunately, my problems—centering around Dave—have no solution, vivid from the fact that he described our relationship as ‘doomed’. I don’t know what to do and feel helpless trying to fix this thing which is totally out of my control. I only want him to prioritize me….over everything else. That’s all. 

Emotional Masturbation

For what feels like months, although it’s been weeks, I’ve avoided writing in this for its sheer potential destruction. About two months ago I decided to make a Marine officer fall in love with me—not because I particularly care for him or longed for his love and affections, but because I wanted to see if I could. It was a game and I proved the victor.

And now I am seated in a very confused state because this man’s love has created a set of genuine emotions I didn’t anticipate and from which I must suffer. He no longer wishes to spend time with me, basing this decision on self-preservation; he has seceded from my union for no other reason than what’s best for him. I suppose that’s respectable, but respect is hardly what I would choose to exert to this individual. 

He's a Major Now

“I hope you weren’t planning on breaking up with your boyfriend for me, because that would have been a really bad idea.”
-Captain

And that said it all. The confusion with which I have been battling concerning these men has finally subsided. The truth is that I don’t want to break up with Dave for this guy. Dave is forever. This guy will be just another guy in two years time. 

Rocks and Places

October proved hazardous. Two men—one of whom I love and the other serving as an excellent filler for the loneliness caused by the absence of the latter. I tango amidst them both. Real Emotion vs. Physical Presence. I only hope to keep from causing too much destruction. 

Transcontinental

A truly eventful few weeks. Boston proved dangerous; I should have gotten the stitches across the bridge of my nose caused by the gash in my face from the glasses that broke whilst wearing them. NYC proved disappointing. I should have left after I felt the weariness caused by my friend’s negative perspective on everything. As well as her pot addiction.

Sam got married yesterday. Before even greeting me he stated his disappointment on the nullification of our marriage pact. I just laughed. If only to have heard that 15 years ago. And before the wedding I went to SF to spend 15 minutes with Dave and give him little kisses and well wishes on his motorcycle adventure to WA, where I will probably see him in two weeks. Very eventful week, indeed. 

Making Love at Midnight?

I recently met with the man I love in San Diego and proposed to him at a bar. In this drunken margarita stupor, I realized what a huge mistake I’d made and that it was too late to take it back. So there we both were, in a sun-drenched bar with my sun-kissed man following a walk on the beach. There it was where I heard an answer I didn’t want to hear to a question I didn’t want to ask. 

Charlotte!

A spider crept off of the pen...other sneaky and hateful things will follow. I promise.

For the first time in years [lie] I examined the veins in my wrist. It isn’t worth it, I know, but I through long and hard for reasons why not.

Dave explained his marital status tonight and that he will be locked in tight for 1 ½ years. And then…most likely it’ll be exactly what I want, yet successfully reaching romantic goals has yet to exist in my life. I know that I’m the only woman in his life, but not the most important person. He loves his son. And that’s understandable. Being selfish is…well, selfish.

I just stopped crying. He has so much to work out and as I told him, I’ll be patient until ‘we get to the point where we need to have a talk”. He’ll be moving soon and I won’t have the luxury of casually seeing how things develop or where things go in the upcoming months. I know where things go. Georgia. And when you wipe the feminist dust off of ‘my decision to wait for him is MY decision’ it’s really just centering my life on a man. 

Dogru

Experience is a consolation prize. 

Drink Water and Be Merry

Abstaining from drink has proven most beneficial. I read more, eat better, and am dipping my hand in new adventures. I cooked a Thai vegetable soup from a recipe out of Vegetarian Times cookbook. Dave and I had sober sex which was phenomenal and I’m in bed at 10:26. Outside of the disturbing pangs of hurt brought on by the realization of Dave’s imminent departure, it was a pleasant evening. 

The Rise and Fall of Le Pen

The title is a reference only I would understand. The kind of thing that makes a misanthropic self-obsessed individual feel understood. Tonight I don’t revel in private/secret jokes between myself and I, but I revel in the normalcy surrounding my life.

I am in love with a gentleman and never been more romantically content. He is to take me on a surprise trip to Napa for my birthday. I am on a mini-wagon or a week, hoping not only to prove to myself that I can exist happily without alcohol, but also to decrease my expectations and intake. I am sober now—2 days in a row for the first time in a year and a half. Excellent. 

Meet Me at the Blood Bank

“Everything is so confusing and all your words only make things worse”
Milo, The Phantom Tollbooth

“People are so very sensitive about the things they know best”
-see above

I love my boyfriend but he never wants to have sex with me. It may be that the ‘with me’ is an excessive extension of that statement, but it’s hurtful and boring all the same. I now find myself attempting to minimize the importance of sex in my life so as to appease the hurt and boredom. Is that right?

Squirrely

My educational pursuit is highly dramatized. Am I even interested in grad school or do I just feel the need to continue going to school. Ultimately to get a PhD.

Blah. I’m sick of thinking. I put on many ridiculous expectation on myself I can’t make sense of my goals anymore. I really can’t stand being me right now. It’s not that bad. Just uneventful. The option of going to LA reared its ugly head. Maybe tomorrow…or the next day. Either way, just to go. What I’d love is to go somewhere I’ve never been. Where the people I stay with are new. But then—why would I stay with them? Yes, well, the metaphysics bore me, much does I’m tired. German, Persian, write your book, eat, smoke. Too many things to think about. I don’t like being me, have I already said that> repetition. Fucking wonderful. I can’t really understand. I’m wonderful. I’m not. I’m Kristin Hirsch’s muse. That would be a reason to get upset.

Fuck it, that doesn’t mean to get sad. I can’t be like this anymore. I’ll be however the hell I want. Expectations. Why are people always in a state of becoming rather than being? Why do I always want to change and why do waste so much energy picking out things that are wrong with me? Something to wonder and cyclically another to fix.

X

Silent Sleeper

The boy with whom I’ve spent every night for two weeks says that he’s too tired to come over. Maybe I was too pushy. Or maybe I was a dick. And then there’s next week with thanksgiving and Christmas and all this other bullshit I’m not ready for. But who is ever ready. That’s for the weak…or the wise. One or the other. I still can’t figure out where I stand, but I do know that if I lost him tomorrow upon her arrival—this other woman whom he loves—I’ll miss him and his quiet sleep. 

Ahoy, Mate!

It’s all too easy to complain. I met a Navy man (Petty Officer Dave), my future with whom the odds are against. I blame my parents. They raised me to think I could have anything and when I don’t…here we are. I want him to want me and nobody else, but there is somebody else and this person arrives next week and he claims to love her and I must fit that into my reality somewhere. 

Twerps

It’s been a strange and horrible summer. In the last three months I have moved in with a man (Sgt Jim), gained ten pounds, and broken his heart. I wanted it over because of his three kids, military status, deployment to Afghanistan, bad tattoos, etc. While all of these still apply, tonight I called him because I missed being around him. I’m not ready to end it, there’s no closure. I want to have sex with him and look at him again.

I’m tired to trying to figure out if he’s ‘the one’, if/when my father will approve, what my friends think, if it’s really love, is he cool enough bla bla.I need to get an apartment in Monterey first, then he can come over and nobody will know ever. I’m not telling a soul. 

The Kids Are OK

Work is different than anticipated. I suppose a Nazi war camp would have been a relief compared to what I anticipated. I realized after hours of orientation upon entering the Multi-Language School Building that I will actually enjoy this job—that I’ll be good at it. It will, I believe, offer fulfillment—truly amazing to have found something like this at age 28. I have a feeling many people go all of their life without feeling gratification from their job. 

Reveille

I start work at DLI tomorrow and I’m feeling strange. What if my Persian isn’t good enough? My past experiences with UCLA and teaching 101/102 at Arizona offer some solace, it’s still a scary thought to be teaching four hours of Persian a day to the military. Only one way to find out. 

Lie of the Tiger

I am still questioning my motives of being in this post-apocalyptic city. Am I here to learn Arabic? I’m not. To have fun? I’m not. To make friends…well, I’ll stop the nihilism there.

There is one Danish girl who is magic. Yet, there is another. A handsome man. My accolades for him run barren. There’s really nothing nice to say about him, but I feel bad glossing over his goodness. He helped me with my Arabic homework, kissed me on a bench in front of the Mediterranean, and took me to a fun nightclub called Prague.

He was prompt in his delivery, but what he is delivering is beyond me. At first I thought it was caprice, but I was wrong. Then I thought it might be sex: wrong again. Now I realize that the only thing I got was confusion and anger. I revel in the latter as it often manifests into stifled emotion.

He lied to me. told me I wasn’t the one for him and it was all a ruse. That he doesn’t find me attractive—I’m still in shock. He called himself an asshole. I disagreed and now I wonder why I didn’t just let him continue thinking it. Why did I consider his feelings? Nobody likes a hero, yet here I am.

So now I study and tan and hang out with the Dane. I have 3 weeks left and I really want to enjoy them. We were supposed to spend my last nine days fucking and having fun, going to Byblos, meeting his mom and her cooking, instead we are in a biergarten/someone’s converted backyard while I’m being told I’m ugly and getting dumped.

I trusted that was wrong. I have to be wiser, where does wisdom come from? Experience? Age? I have both, but no helpful juices pour from these sources. 

Musings

Why the fuck am I in Beirut?

Bugs

I’m nothing if not a pierced fool. It’s Thursday night—Thirsty Fright Night. The undergrads go nuts. In turn, this makes me a little bit nuts. That’s where it starts.

I’ve been really conscious of my age. Suddenly, 27 feels old. I feel the absence of husband, child, career and comfort. The theoretical mini-van of acting my conventional age reeks.

If continuing at this pace, my first child won’t arrive until age 32. When my mom reached 32 I was writing suicide notes in my room. At this rate I’ll be a senior citizen before my kids start writing suicide notes.

As yet there is no plan. There is E*…who gets me. He even gets that he doesn’t always get me. I can’t count on him though. He’s busy. And scared. The commitment scares him—or, more truthfully, my ability to stay committed scares him. He thinks I’m a wanderer. So, either way, neither the proposal nor the intent for marriage exists. Perhaps there is more than this. 

Man-moth

My sister has taken ill. The bells of St. Christopher are ringing to make it an exact 12 pm. I ordered a latte in German and was asked whether I’d like cinnamon or chocolate sprinkles in English.

I’ve miss my friends and life in Cairo. The bells are still ringing. One of my best memories is the night E* and I walked down Hassan Sabry on the other side of 26^th of July and I revealed secrets about myself, which ended up not being secrets at all. I’m convinced that I’m in love with him. then there’s T* back home. What was that Jane Austen quote about mountains vs. men? Insert that here. 

Berlin I

I lack the energy to continue traveling. Fatigue has usurped my wherewithal. Berlin and its people are beautiful. It all makes sense. But I am bored. This may be attributed to my extensive and excessive travels from home—studies in Egypt have led to a sojourn in Deutschland.

I’ve lost the will to be impressed by architectural miracles or sculptural sensation. When I get on a bus, I only wish it that it be headed to my house. My sister, I sense, is not having fun and as her travel companion I sense failure. Ugh, I just want to go home. 

Masks of Zamalek

I find myself drinking water to combat fatigue/illness, yet despite these great quantities of ‘ultimate solvent’ flushing through my system, I grow more sick and tired of Cairo every passing minute.

It isn’t the dirty, crowded or oppressive aspect of the city, nor is it the academic program which busies itself pandering fools and assholes. It’s what I become when I’m here. The socially soaring success of the image I have created carries tiring expectations. I must not only be interesting but also sunny, funny, pretty, intellectually stimulating and—the worst one, an ‘easy-going traveler’.

This is the portrayal of self to which I have submitted and it is haunting. I feel the need to deliver this person, or I am the opposite of all the positive and wonderful characteristics I want to believe I am

These thoughts have usurped my Cairene day. I will take this time to say that it isn’t that I dislike myself, per se, just the energy it takes to be me. I don't want to die, I just don't want to drive.

L&M Blues

15 minutes a day for a proper travel treatise—that's what the great ones say
But, how do I capture in time what I feel on an intangible and spatial level? 
Thus far, Cairo has been a dredging trudge, a dreadful dredge amid a straining stretch. Alliterative descriptions only add sadness to an even more sad day. In short, this place sucks.

Disassociation in travel? Normal

Anxiety during travel? A new religion. 
But the anxiety has blended with boredom in what has become a spiraled mess
The Middle East is boring once the shopping is done and exchange rates are exalted
One is left with a depressed city causing depression 
Lacking warmth (ironically)
While bearing an uneasy resemblance to every other Middle Eastern city 
Plus the ass-grabbers. Can't forget them. They make this place what it is: gross and sexually oppressive, 
But we're going to Giza tomorrow to see the Pyramids and the Sphinx, so...
I'll get my ass-grabbed in somewhere historic. 
The pyramids have to be good for something, right? 

Rooms with Views

After finding some will today, expectations started to burden me…telling me that I should find a way. I chose the modification of my reality, I took it upon me to change everything. I went to the store, bought a ticket to Egypt, scaling three countries on my way. 

For reasons inexplicable, I can’t be in one place for very long, and therefore choose to replicate or ape some young female traveler in a Forester novel, exalting the architecture in obnoxiously exuberant statements, musing upon whether or not (and what a travesty if it were so!) the locals appreciate the color and majesty in the surroundings. 

I’m too hard on Forester. Travel writing should neither be appreciated nor discriminated in a vacuum. It gives context to my own travels. Using home as a comparison to, for example, the frightful disaster that is the Cairo Airport; the hopelessness and panic in explaining a forgotten [in my desk drawer] airline ticket to a Czech Airlines representative who, it seems, was capable of offering me nothing but the icy glaze of her wet, blue eyes. Yes, I live here as The Ugly American (if we’re keeping it literary) and find that my U.S. passport burdens me either in reality or all in my too-well-read-over-educated head. 

Foghorn Leghorn

Currently, roosters are calling—or whatever designation one gives to the rooster’s bellow. I can’t sleep as I have much on my mind: the Iranian boarder I have taken in, find affordable hostel in Prague for imminent trip with sister, register at AUC, pack for Cairo, roommate’s boyfriend is visiting, I smoked too many cigarettes tonight.  

Sleepy Tingles

 I want to move, but

The fear kicks in—of waking him

He obliviously shifts position

And          we’re 

    suddenly

           contorted.

Like a sly ninja

My arm hides under the slumbering boy;

Keeping secrets from his neck.

An arm that has lost all sensation--

Crammed beneath his temple. 

Yet in the process,

We have built our own fleshy mosque.

Yes, I am beneath you,

(Although I prefer being on top)

Entangled—or should I say entingled?—

With relentless pins jabbing in,

Harder at work now,

Piercing deeper and quicker.

The tingles deter sleep,

But they feel like how the stars look;

(Even though my starry night lacks hydrogen, 

helium, 

and a dense cloud

Within its life cycle)

And definitely has a great attractor.

20 April 2000-14 February 2001  

Precious Atom

The girl suffered within the disharmony of opposites:

Fat/thin, pretty/ugly, charming/obnoxious, nice/mean,

Superficiality fist-fucked her soul.

These opposites (meant to attract) subtracted 

from her self-worth. 

Living amid the pinch of friends,

The clench of men,

And the slow self-destruction of cigarettes,

She preferred the consistency of isolation.

Allow me to change voice, and refer  to “she” as me.

For all these things I was, 

“Unworthy of love” was one of them

Its mere idea unleashed a non-self-induced nausea.

Yet it was all I wanted, and was too self-involved to know.

And then there was you and the phone, you and the phone;

Me on my back on the ground of my bedroom,

Still furnished with the pink bed that I picked out in grade school;

Leaving a monochromatic stain on the carpet

From all the blood,

From the wounds,

From people and their words.

I understood from you: a kind gesture of pity.

“He feels sorry for me,” I tell myself

And your words ricocheted my open wounds.

But you wedged the word love

somewhere tangible. In the part of me,

That wanted to be saved.  

You introduced me to myself…(Hello. Pleased to meet me); 

Upon descending my head, I realized that

Love is spreading within every pore, 

And atom and crevasse in my body—

It was the most vital lesson I ever learned;

With a billion filled holes to prove it,

And you to thank.

Brownish Wings to Fly

Sorry I can’t change a moth into a fly for you,

Grow a garden in July for you--

Jump into the sky for you.

Sorry I can’t sing the sweetest song for you, 

Grow my hair real long for you--

Never say anything wrong for you. 

Please don’t judge if I can’t climb the highest tree

Or float like the humming bee. 

Let’s instead focus on the things I did that you can see:

I stabbed a deer

I drank a beer

I swam in muddy water, 

Now that you see the dirt under my nails, 

Please hold me like your daughter. 

But I know you’ll focus on the things undone--

I let you down,

Didn’t earn my crown. 

Perhaps you’ll one day understand my hell,

I hope for things to sweet to tell. 

Mother's milk

Sunny walkway, sunny one
Where'd you put your sunshine smile?
I think you lost it in the shuffle.

Did you know, I think you're perfect?
I don't think you know it though
I used to hate you until a few minutes afo

Difference between fire and a firefly

Sorry I can't change a moth into a fly for you,
Grow a garden in July for you,
Jump into the sky for you

Sorry I can't sing the sweetest song for you, 
Grow my hair real long for you,
Never say anything wrong for you

Please don't cry for me if I can't can't climb the highest tree for you
Or fly with the fastest bee for you

I stabbed a deer and drink a beer,
I even let you touch me.
Then why is it on nights like this
I feel like you have cut me?

Sitting alone in my room 
Cold like a tomb
I know
I've let you down
Because I can't play Princess tonight