Alexyss

At any rate, I'm glad I am who I am. I'm happy to be me, Alexis, je et moi. At least I'm not some other boring, snobbish weakling prat. It's kind of nice having my name, too. I mean, how awful would it feel to have people refer to you as "one of the Johns" or something like that? "Which friend was that?" "Oh, just one of the Alexises." I mean, really now! How very silly and unlikely! And we would NOT be warm below the storm in our little hideaway beneath the waves, Ringo, no matter how much you'd like to be under the sea! You're right, though; we WOULD shout and sing about the coral that lies beneath the waves. And I must agree, that what joy for every girl and boy, knowing they're happy and they're safe. Personally, I'd rather know the combination to their safe.

I recently was reminded that I am a healer. I am a healer, and a helper, and like the "great" Alexander of my namesake, a defender. Let me ask you this: Does a healer have to throw away the beautiful potted plants that never seemed to adjust to the move, get impatient with her cat's chronic urinary troubles, poison her own being? Does a helper accept a role of guidance when she so desparately needs a hand to pull her out of the sinkhole she created? A true defender should protect out of love, not out of fear. Oh, I love, certainly, and I am more willing to help than even I can express, but healer? Perhaps it is the mergeance of love and willingness that makes one a healer, but my eyes are too sick to see myself as such right now.

Like a complete unknown

Like I was telling my brother tonight, it's extremely difficult for me to think about eliminating and leaving when I've spent over five years and so much effort establishing my own home and household. It's hard to think about winding down and wrapping up when I just got settled, saying goodbye when we've hardly said hello. I have to go. I have to prove to myself (and to my boyfriend and my parents and my friends and my teachers and the whole goddamn world, it seems) that I am not mediocre. There is more to me than this, and every bit that's trapped inside is screaming to show itself, but I have no stage. It's not that I have "no direction home," but no home toward which to direct myself. I used to love that. Maybe I've gotten too attached to people, to places, to conventionality. Maybe I'm unhappy because that's not who I am, yet the people and places have always torn apart my heart no matter how far I strayed from them. I know this is just another leg of the journey, but I'm so fucking carsick and I haven't even pulled out of the driveway.

Red-Hooded Sweatshirt

"Abra, abracadabra, I wanna reach out and grab ya." (Have a, have a cadaver. I wanna reach out and stab ya.) And hey, sometimes I do. I hate feeling left out because my friends are doing (my) Richard Simmons videos without me at their house using my electronics. I'm not terribly possessive about my stuff, but I wish I could be included if I share stuff. It's not the stuff I miss; it's the company, of course. I've been feeling very Tiger Child lately, very red and black. I'm crimson without the clover. A few weeks ago, I agreed to attend this weekend conference for work in Fergus Falls. Well, after the longest week of my life, I get to go! It kind of sucks because I finally started feeling like I could relate to many of my coworkers and that they were accepting me and we were all joking and getting along, and FINALLY someone invited me to carpool with them, but of course, I have to work at Bon Jos that afternoon so would need to leave later than they're planning, so either I go by myself or go with the woman I'm not sure I like. She's second-in-charge, I guess, and is pretty good at being a kindergarten teacher but, in my not-so-humble opinion, needs to realize that it's okay to come down from that role when talking privately to other adults. You know the type, "Oh, good morn-ing, A-lex-is! How are you to-day?" "Doin' alright, thanks (insert her name). How 'bout you?" "I am fine, thank you!" and it's ALL in that VOICE! Ugh. But hey, I have only seen her at work, and maybe she just needs to maintain that character the entire time she's in her work environment for, I don't know, her sanity? But if I do carpool with her, I understand that this other guy I will be going, too, and I haven't met him yet. It might be cool to meet a new person, or it might suck. I have the feeling I'd almost prefer to drive by myself, because that way, after the conference is over, I won't have to hurry up or wait for anyone or refrain from ripping out my hair and screaming at the end or buying a pack of cigs out of relief or who knows? Crying for joy that I spend an hour and a half in my breakout session learning how to do art with infants? The thing is, my boss really wants everyone who can to attend, and since it's all paid for AND I get paid for my time, it could be nice to get to know my coworkers a little better and perhaps gain some insight to be better at my job, although it's hard for me to feel terribly optimistic about that since I'm leaving soon anyway and would love to have a weekend for one WHILE avoiding being in close quarters with some of my coworkers who, this past week, have been VERY ill with some nasty sicknesses I do not wish to contract. Plus, it's in Fergus. I haven't been able to go there since I was brought there, and it reminds me of all the circumstances I hate. However, I feel a lot better about certain parts of my life. We started to watch The Cable Guy last night and ended up in discussion instead, but it's nice having clearer reception, at any rate! It's very weird to think that Mike and I are coming up on our anniversary. We don't really have a date. I mean, in a lot of ways it's difficult to fix an exact date for just being together. It's more the sort of thing a person notes for a wedding/birthday/politcal invasion/assassination, etc., but I suppose for some people, a first date/first kiss/first fuck/first fist fuck/etc. is the event they like to celebrate annually. I suppose in order to pick an anniversary date, we'd have to decide the occasion, which, since we've been saying, "We've been together almost a year," is extremely hard to do. I don't remember what day we verbally confirmed that the relationship we have is unique to us, but I know when our first date was, and for me, anyway, it was pretty clear shortly after the second. It's so weird and difficult for me that I can't talk to my dad about love and relationships (especially anything other than heterosexual), I can't talk to my brother about financial matters, and I can't talk to my mom about medications and therapy and my personal mental health. I would think that because my mom came to hold my hand when I was crazy, and my brother is a property accountant, and (traditionally) my daddy's role is the one replaced in a relationship, I should be able to talk to them about these things, because it seems like I need to. They're the self-proclaimed experts! But maybe because they are such is why we end up fighting or closing each other off. I just hate that my dad can send my mom the nicest email or say something to her, basically thanking her for her efforts or something she did for me, and she pretty much shoots him down with the coldest, hardest bitch emails ever. Maybe after living with my dad drives me crazy, I'll go live off the land in the desert (however that works...and yes, he owns some land out yonder) and wander the wilderness, soak up the sun, get bitten by a rattlesnake and foam at the mouth until all the natural poison in my body is dried up and consumed by the trickster at hand.

Becoming a Woman

I like this picture because, although it is blurry, the strech-marks on my hip are visible. Stretch-marks aren't the best, but you know what? They don't signify anything negative other than the pain I had to and still endure from being a mature, human female. I carry other permanent marks on my skin, many of them intentional, and I don't regret or reject a single one. Sometimes none of them are appealing, just as the circumstances and events surrounding the marks are unpleasant and painful both physically and emotionally, but nonetheless, they bear significance, and I am stronger and more beautiful because of them. I don't know what's going to happen next. Yes, I am moving to Texas in a few months. Other than more sunshine (and thus more seratonin), cheaper living, and a fresh start, I don't know what that means to my future. Where will things go with Mike? Well, like I told him, I am leaving Morris forever (as it seems...not that I won't visit occasionally) and won't be moving back. Commitments are a difficult thing, and I recognize that huge ones at this age are impossible, but right now the only two ways an optimistic outcome seems possible are if words are spoken/tentative plans are discussed and made or if Fate takes a hand and we happen to run into each other at a bazaar in Cairo years from now...and lately it seems as though the latter is more plausible, much to my dismay and extreme disappointment. It's probably for the best. Maybe in five years I'll finally have my own Lolita, not that I necessarily wish for that. My glass is more than half empty, but rather than look at it as half full, I throw it against the wall, choosing to dehydrate myself while screaming "Fuck water!" It's just so hard. I drew the 10 of Cups once, but when I reached up to grab my glasses this morning (symbolically interesting as I made an attempt to SEE), my lover's tarot deck fell down onto the bed. One card landed face-up on my pillow. Any guesses? The Hermit. Funny thing: The Hermit chooses his isolation and thus gains wisdom, but is that what we as unenlightened humans want? What's outside of Pleasantville? I disagree with a lot of the Buddhist paths to achievement (as I understand it), because I believe that the closer we get to each other, the brighter the light inside of us shines, and we get closer to God, to Oneness, to Enlightenment...and I think we need to recognize our own needs in order to see them in others, and we need to see the needs in others in order to help them, and we need to help them in order to get close to them, etc. I remember why I stopped reading the campus newspaper. No, it's not as though I would prefer to remain uninformed about "bias incidents" (and shouldn't it be "biased incidents"?), but it sickens my already weakened heart to read about the hate and fear and cowardice of people who have been selected to attend the same university as I. I have so much pride in my school, but it's threatened by assholes. They have so much darkness clouding their paths that it breaks my heart. They are like a well that cannot be tapped because its workers cannot reach the water without dying; ever read Laura Ingalls Wilder? There is a wonderful description of a well being dug in "Little House on the Prairie" in which Pa sends a lit candle down the hole each morning before the men descend to dig. If the candle is still burning when they wheel it back up, it is safe to continue. However, if the candle becomes extinguished, poisonous gasses are present and the men cannot dig that day until they have passed. I am, however, very pleased with and touched by the students' response and support sparked by such incidents. Despite the hurt they cause, the love that shows its face is the most wonderful healer. More on the UR: Some of it is well edited, but a lot of it sucks or is mediocre at best. If one MUST split infinitives, does one really have to do it in the headline?! I'm sick of all those wannabe British fucks who write dipshit want ads about their minions and kings. Just go live at the Renfest. Please. Don't come to school because you're wasting the time you could be spending in your fantasy world. And don't get me started on the fucking "I made fun of vegetarians when I was in high school but after being in college I've been a vegan for six months and therefore am far superior to everyone" articles (sorry MtR, but you know it's true, and same goes for all you other self-righteous, elitist fuckers, some of whom I love dearly)!I think it's wonderful that you're trying to save the world, but do it in a way that's genuine and not for your image, please. Voting, meh, I suppose it's important, and I'm planning on voting this year (hooray, I guess?), but why can't WE make the changes, little by little, in our everyday lives instead of spending assloads of money to have some lying rich white guy write up shit that no one is going to follow anyway? I bet everyone who reads my blog (all three of you) is going to send me some kind of arguement, and that's fine, but is that really necessary? I mean, this is my rant. I'm not really trying to influence anyone. I'm trying to vent, sort out my own thoughts and feelings that CYCLONE through me, and let those of you who ask and encourage my writing know what's up tonight in the land of Lex.

Leider, this post has to be schnell like a cat. I just want to congratulate all my friends for being really cool, insightful, creative people. It's refreshing to have y'all in the world, and this weekend is going to kick ass! On another note, how's this for irony? I want to turn the heat on in my house because I don't like how it has been maintaining an icebox-like atmosphere. However, I worry that if I turn the heat back on, the refridgerator will go out again.