It's a nice day, I think

Let's hear it for New York.

2009-11-13T05:45:56Z

Oh, god.. How do such sounds come out of such a silent woman? And another lies next to me, sliding in out and of sleep and she does not hear. But are we women, really? For when do we become women from girls and how do you quantify? Woman seems like such a myth and girls are what I know, but at some point we become what we are meant to be. Is it when we bear children? Is there a specific age? How do I refer to these bodies lying all around me who have so much life and are dying uncontrollably?

My teacher tells me to read Molly's soliloquy because people do not think in complete sentences, but I do. I do. I think in periods and quotations and semi-colons and syntax. I think in things I have said and have yet to say. If I could, I would be speaking constantly because every thought is a statement waiting, like a toad crouches below the surface of a murky pond to spring forth and devour the unexpecting fly. I think in terms of what makes us human, how we communicate and not simply how we feel because, oh, don't all these emotions become tiresome after so many years and all the hours? If there is ever a thing that these written words cannot convey it is the music that pervades my thoughts; this running soundtrack that darts in and out of my mind's traffic can never be displayed on any forum. If I have lost everything else in life then that symphony is and always will be entirely my own.

And so I drink to meld my constant commentary into reality, but don't we all? We yearn for the chance to say what we have we have really wanted to and we will deal with the consequences when dawn breaks. They are never so bad, really--all those consequences. For if we had not opened ourselves up on that table, would not the disease have spread within us?

I grow old, I grow old. I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled.

Goodnight, though never goodbye.

Alethea.

Get out of my head, Hughes.

2009-10-21T21:06:12Z

There are three sentiments which make up this abysmal day on the lonely upper east.

1. Bliss. Sun-soaked, sugar-coated bliss with a cyanide tablet baked right into the center. And because I still hunger for that bliss I am a
2. stupid stupid STUPID girl. I can almost get past the lies and think that I can ride this on for a while, but then he calls and I realize that
3.

I CAN'T FUCKING DO THIS.

And FUCK you for acting like everything is okay! Get out of my life and stay there! I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to think about you, I don't want to be anything to you. As bad of a job as I am doing, I want to rebuild my life in peace without you sending me memories of the life I used to have and the person I used to be. Do you know what it does to me to hear your voice or to even see your name? Do you even remember what happened or does the medication do a good job of blocking that out?
I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you.

JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.

This is all far too hard already.

Al.

Some things I'll never know.

2009-10-14T03:26:37Z

I can't say too much here anymore. Not since the last time. This connection is not secure.

I'm not sure how to express the thoughts that boil like a kettle inside of me. Those who were so close are now so desperately far and the distance is only filled once in a Blue Moon.. or four or five. There are things that I think about when I'm alone in bed that no one has ever heard, or likely ever will hear. There is a disproportionate amount of phone calls and messages sent as compared to received. Has it always been this way? Will it always be?

I have slimmed down, but the present midnight snack-attack is a relapse. I need to focus, which is incredibly hard when all these objects keep piling up around me: dishes, clothes, bags, boxes, papers, books, trials, and tribulations. They never tell you how much the victim gets punished in the end.

So, I have these objects. And I have these thoughts. And I don't have internet so my guilty Netflix pleasure is out. There is too much to bear when it gets so quiet. Would somebody please turn the ambient noise back on? This silence burns, as do the days and months.

When does it end?
[Never]

Day in, day out; still picking the petals off of daisies.

Alethea.

These days, it just won't stop pouring.

2009-07-30T13:32:42Z

July 30th means that it's twenty-nine days until school begins and I did nothing this summer. I didn't see all those people I meant to see. I didn't play in the park or stroll along the boardwalk. We still don't have a couch or a new comforter. I just worked and worked and worked. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I stayed in bed and watched movies and shows and mindlessly snaked and every other week I had a drink or two.

I can feel the weight of school's return already. The constant reading, midterms, papers. Trying to connect with classmates and teachers and make each day even slightly more bearable. Coming home feeling defeated and exhausted every day. Although, I suppose I'm already doing that. I work this job, and it's just waitressing, but every day feels like a battle. Every day is a test of my patience and strength. It's not easy. I come home and I can barely walk. Sometimes I'm so mad I want to blow through my house like a hurricane and destroy everything in my path. Most days I want to forget work, just sleep in, turn my phone off, make a big breakfast, and then hop on a train going anywhere and never come back. I want an apartment for dirt cheap in a town where everyone isn't so fucking loud, where a Corona doesn't cost seven dollars at a bar and I don't have to feel like I'm being judged all the time. I want to buy a little car with a stick shift and race along country roads again--the winds blowing knots in my hair, singing all my favorite songs at the top of my lungs, smoking cigarette after sweet cigarette and writhing in my seat to the beat of the music.

I want to feel what being me was like before because these days I don't feel like much of anything.

I come home and he's here, watching TV. And I love this boy to death, but he lost his job and hasn't gotten another and I bust my ass every day to feed us, to pay our bills, to buy him subway fare. We are broke. I'm tired. It's been over three months and I have sacrificed everything I have this summer so that he can keep his head up and we don't starve. And he's always here. A couple hours alone feels like when I would come home from school and John would be at football practice and James would be at Dylan's and my mother would still be at work and I would turn on my music downstairs really loud and dance like a ballerina on amphetamines through the dining room, living room, kitchen and then back again in circles, singing all the while. I feel like I can accomplish anything when I'm here alone. But I rarely am. And so the house stays a mess because I can't clean when he's here and he's always using my computer so I can't mindlessly browse through Anthropologie or Victoria's Secret online. I just sucked into his mindless routine of watching shows on Netflix instant until the house comes when my eyes just automatically shut.

This is not to say that I hate this boy. It's not that at all. I love seeing his face when I get home, making dinner with him, having play fights. He's the one thing I have to look forward to, even on his bad days. Right now, I'm waiting for him to get up so that I can make breakfast because I've got a hankering for raspberry-blackberry pancakes with scrambled eggs and veggie-sausage patties. And, once he's up I can make the bed.

I wonder what today will bring since it seems that I've stirred up a lot of emotions in me. Perhaps I'll see Care, but I've learned to never count on her. Maybe I'll send Johnny off to the store while I clean the tub and listen to the new Regina Spektor album. I can only hope it doesn't rain. It's been raining in New York and, as they say, "when it rains, it pours." Or, in the case of this week, "when it rains, it monsoons" and I get caught in it on my way to work and show up looking like I just stepped out of the shower when I was supposed to show up showing off my hair that I just had colored and trimmed. No matter. I'll forgive the skies eventually, but will I ever forgive myself for being too stupid to check the weather online and grab my umbrella just in case? Probably not.

I'll be back, I promise.

Alethea.

Funny story...

2009-03-29T19:01:57Z

I got a wisdom tooth out on Friday and haven't really left the house. So, Johnny comes over after work yesterday and I'm ready to stop stewing in my own sweat and get out. Of course, all Johnny has to wear is his work pants and undershirt. He decides to go to shopping to buy himself a new outfit instead of going all the way back to Long Island to change. This is not the first time he's done this.

So we go to H&M and he buys himself a nice shirt, but hates all of the pants. Then, despite my literal screaming protest, Johnny saunters into Diesel right across the street and drops TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS on a pair of jeans. "Think of the apartment!" I kept saying, but he "needed" to splurge.

This is where karma begins to kick in. To get the tag off of his jeans, Johnny used his keys like a knife to break through the impossible twine, cutting his finger in the process. Luckily, I happen to always have band-aids. Then we go to FAO Schwartz, which had changed for the worse since I was a child. We bought some candy, but didn't stay long. The whole way there and back, Johnny is talking about his jeans; "Do you think people are checking me out in my new jeans?" "Damn, I look really good." And so on.

We get home, I sit down at the kitchen table and, lo and behold, I notice drops and smears of blood all over the right pant leg of his brand-new $250 Diesel jeans. He must have wiped his cut finger on his leg without thinking. Johnny's voice hikes up a couple of octaves and he seems about ready to cry, so I calmly get him to take his pants off and I spend the next 20 minutes treating every spot (I think there were about 8 or 10 in total) and then throw the pants in the wash. They came out perfectly, not a trace of a stain.

Moral of the story: Don't buy $250 jeans when you're supposed to be saving up to furnish an apartment. However, even if you do, your girlfriend just may love you enough to save your ass in the end.

The end.

Veganity, shopping sprees, hospitals, and big, BIG love.

2009-03-26T03:38:32Z

Everything is different! This past month couldn't have been more ridiculous! Who am I anymore? Where am I?

It all started off with a BIG bang on March 1st (the day Johnny and I decided to go vegan) when I woke up at Care's house, started getting ready for work and fainted/had a seizure. I spent eight hours in a shittiest hospital in Brooklyn for them to tell me nothing. I have seen a neurologist, a cardiologist, I have been back and forth and back and forth to a (less shitty) hospital in Brooklyn for weeks---nothing. It may just be one of those things that will never happen again and I'll never know.

So then there's the veganity. Johnny and I are vegan for March. It's been interesting. There was a good week where my aunt Betty was out of town and he was staying here and we were cooking these wonderful meals and it was beautiful. And then it came time for midterms. My life was drastically reduced to bagels and cereal for a week or two and I'm just now starting to eat more well-rounded meals. It's hard. I felt I needed to do this when my sense of morality collapsed a couple months ago, but it's not easy working full time and going to school full time and trying to squeeze in grocery shopping and nutritious meals. Mostly, I needed to new perspective, which I feel I've accomplished. I want a diet that isn't based on dairy and that's what it was. I wanted to force myself to cook, to try and I did. And when April 1st hits, sure, I'm going to scarf down a big fucking cheese omelet, but I think I'll really start to eat differently and still opt for vegan choices at restaurants and in the grocery aisle and still buy more vegan cookbooks for Johnny and I WHICH brings me to item #3....

Johnny and I got an apartment! We're moving to Bushwick! It's a one bedroom on the first floor of a beautiful two-apartment building. We have a big living room, a humble kitchen, a nice bedroom and a backyard! With patio furniture! Everything is newly painted and renovated and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I love this apartment and I love Johnny. We're ten minutes from Caroline and Heather, we're five minutes from Laure and the gang. The month from hell is ending up in serenity and I'm the happiest little girl in Manhattan.

Oh. And the shopping. Spring sales have been too much for me to resist and I've found myself online a little too much. I got two Threadless tees, seven pairs of Victoria's Secret undies, a pair of short-short high-waisted denim shorts, a pair of black knee high boots, and a sweater stone (I'm a sucker for The Vermont Country Store). All of this came today.
In addition to this, my sweet Johnny who has heard me swoon over the mid-high, white Doc Martens that I've wanted since I was FIFTEEN went ahead and bought me the $120 suckers INCLUDING an extra $30 for next-day delivery because he couldn't wait for me to get them and wear them with that big shit-eating grin on my face that I surely will. These also came today. It was like Christmas. Everything fit perfectly and I am in heaven.

Johnny is my favorite and I can't wait to squeeze him every night and make breakfast for him in the morning. I'm coming to get furniture and other various things from Ithaca on the 8th (we're taking a U-Haul back like real people!).

On a duller note, I have to get a wisdom tooth out on Friday. UPSIDE: painkillers and three days off.

Well, now that I've finished off a pint of chocolate sorbet, I think it's about that time to go to bed and dream sweet dreams about the wonderful life I've finally managed to make for myself.

Big love,
Alethea.

p.s. Did I mention that I got an A+ on my Literary Theory midterm (this class that's kind of been ruining my life this semester)? Whammy.

Yes, we can.

2009-01-20T19:07:49Z

My breasts are a serious D cup. They don't seem any bigger, but extensive recent bra shopping has revealed that my breasts just don't fit into a C anymore. It has also been revealed that Victoria's Secret does not make sexy lingerie in a D. Damn and blast! Perhaps bras are getting smaller. Perhaps I'm getting fatter. Perhaps I'm going crazy.

The bra shopping is for Johnny. It's all for him. Nothing compares to the face makes when I flash a garter or walk up to him in a pair of heels. I love being loved by him, I love being pampered by him, I love being close to him. We're just happy. Plainly and perfectly happy. Okay, maybe not-so-plainly--I did seduce him last night dressed as a secretary with a $160 lace garter slip underneath(shh... it was on sale...). The poor child nearly had a heart attack. He's so meek at times, but one of the most caring people I've ever met. How I wish he'd go back to school; he's very smart and I want the world for him.

You see, something happened after weeks and months of brushing this boy aside and denying our involvement--I realized, quite suddenly, that I wanted to be with him. All these thoughts of not wanting to be tied down, not wanting to belong to someone, not wanting to love someone, they just disappeared. I don't want to fuck around, I don't want to get used anymore, I want someone to care about me, to care about who I am and he really, really does. And I know that he would never hurt me, and every time he does something to upset me he apologizes(it's a forgotten practice nowadays, especially among friends). And I'm learning to be more tolerating and he's learning to be more mature and we're experiencing so many new things together and so on like this, we are happy.

Barack Obama is our president today, school starts in six, and I think I'm about to make another one of those big, impulsive decisions that could turn my life around in either direction.

Love,
Alethea.

my_neck @ 2009-01-04T12:52:00

2009-01-04T18:04:37Z

I spent a quiet hour or so unpacking and ambling about the apartment. The gravity of being back in the city had not yet been felt on my shoulders, although I had settled back quite casually into my routine: Monotonous job, subways, cheap beer, chain-smoking, dirty text messages. The apartment looked exactly the same except for the obese pine tree in the living room and the kitchen smelled of fresh flowers; pots and stems and petals everywhere. The white bugs are still below my bedside table, my hair dryer is missing, new york, new york. I steep a cup of black tea as the last of my new socks and nick-knacks are falling back into their drawers. And then I sit down at the head of my bed with my thick cup of tea and that's when it happened, that first sip, a gasp, "Ah! Here! I am home."

In my arms she was always...

2008-11-25T04:02:13Z

A gasp! There she is! Oh, you've outdone yourself this evening. You really do look incredible. This sky, these colors, the lights, and long, lovely Lexington Avenue stretching out and disappearing into the concrete forest. My childishly close face breathes a cloud onto the windowpane and I draw a heart-shaped viewer for my batting eye. A picture, perhaps, will satiate me. But oh, no; it will never do. It's never good enough. A vibration disturbs my glee. (Not now, love. I'm out of this decade for the moment).

"Hi," I breathe. "Hi. Hi, purple night sky. Hi, wispy-waspy clouds. Hi, bright windows, rooftop gardens and black-painted gates. Hi, dominant dogs, taking your owners for a walk--Teensy-tiny people trickling along down sidewalks and city streets. And everything, everything, everything that makes you beautiful. Hi. Hello. Hola. Bonsoir. Sincerely; yours truly."

Lo.
Lee.
Tah.

Blowing my nose.

2008-11-02T14:29:32Z

I sat on a 6 train subway bench at an especially chilly nine o'clock in the morning, dissolving into Lolita. My body was dehydrated and shivering, my hair was all about me, I was devastatingly without make-up, and subconsciously sniffling. When all of a sudden, a perfectly pitched coo came from the woman next to me. She was older than I, but young in a perfectly purple coat with perfectly blond hair, a clear complexion and the straightest teeth(I daresay straighter than yours, my pet). Her offer, in a matching purple plastic pack, was a Kleenex. I had bagel shop napkins in my purse, but I hadn't even regarded the fact that there was something trying to escape my nose and I had been daintily calling it back for a good ten minutes. And besides, her tissues were big and pillowy. I gladly pulled one from the open pack and threw her an awkward 'thank you' with it's complementary awkward smile. "Sorry," she chimed, "it's the mother in me." She then took out a vial of lotion and worked it into her manicured nails. Without thinking, I too took out my lotion and began to smear it across my knuckles. My fingers next to hers were intolerable; unworthy of any woman, I thought. And there was our train.

I finished my olfactory exile on the bench and watched her step up in front of me. I inspected the back of her, from bright blond head to disappointing black athletic sneakers. God, that coat was perfect. It seemed tailor-made for her body. Everyone in New York has coats that look tailor-made. I stole another innocent glance on the train, which she only rode for one stop. She was so fortunate to look as she did, I thought. She is probably also wealthy, uptight, and prudish. But thank you for the Kleenex.

Alethea.

Uptown girl..

2008-09-25T04:32:13Z

I have a job, but not an apartment. I'm still trying to stay positive, but my father (who I am unfortunately relying on completely) couldn't be less helpful. So, days keep passing and passing with no word from him about my loans. And I keep calling and calling and he keeps telling me he'll get back to me in a couple minutes, a couple hours, tomorrow.. It never happens, anyway. There is so much I could say about my father and how much I abhor him, but there's no use in it. I've got too much on my mind and too many things to be angry about. I can't really emote right now. Tired.

However, in this gray period of housing uncertainty, I have been whisked away into the dreamland of my Aunt Betty's upper-east side apartment. I love it here. Everything is in excess, just like I wanted. Although, there is still something very humble old world about all of it. From up here I hear the same sirens, the familiar rush; it is somehow romantic. Up here and down on those streets are very, very different. I love both, but they're not the same from up here. I wish I could live in a place high-up like this someday.

School is beginning to wane. I despise The Gift, my latest assigned reading for my Nabokov class. Again, there is so much boiling blood in me, but this teapot is temporarily too heavy to tip. And so on: my math teacher gives me an incredible headache, I botched my first quiz in Classics, and I'm running out of time to go to the Bronx Zoo for my Anthro lab. I may go this weekend. I must recruit.

So, remember in Dodgeball when the lawyer lady walks in on White(W-H-I-T....E) "reading the dictionary," which is supposed to be this inconceivably ridiculous act? For the record, I would like to say that I do that. I read the dictionary. I do, in fact, enjoy breaking a mental sweat.
That being said, here's a nice definition of a word we all know, especially applicable to my new city:

hipster. n: a person who is unusually aware of and interested in new and unconventional patterns esp. in jazz, in the use of stimulants (as narcotics), and in exotic religion.

Other things I like: Greek characters, root words, buying bagels from a bakery and having them be warm and gooey, free yoga, my new job.

Things I don't like: The 6 train, not getting to see my Brooklyn buddies, my skin, getting up at 7:30 in the morning, not getting laid.

Oh. And Emily's gone. -sigh-

Alethea.

my_neck @ 2008-09-15T01:44:00

2008-09-15T05:52:28Z

There are these emotions that I've never been able to explain to people. Never. There are some things about me that have never made much sense. Never ever. And every time I see someone nod their head at me or spit optimism at me, I just simply can't stand it. Never have been able to. No one knows what it's like up here, with these changing faces and shifting walls. I forget how to breathe most of the time. It's so hard to remember anything anymore. I wished I'd just done that one thing right. Every day.

Summer in the City

2008-09-08T17:51:37Z

I knew that nothing was ever going to come this easy for me.
I knew that my move to New York wouldn't be a seamless one.

I have to move. Immediately. I have to leave this temporary home into another temporary home until maybe I can finally find a job that will propel me into (most likely) another temporary home. I am broke, I am rejected. I've been drinking a little too much and saying and doing a lot of things that I shouldn't be. It's fine. I'm just never going to get laid again.

Ahhh.. It's summer in the city. It's hot and not-so-pretty. And I'm so lonely, lonely, lonely.

Alethea.

You know you're in Bed-Sty when...

2008-08-29T05:07:00Z

..you walk outside, the streets are clogged with squad cars and there are at least thirty cops rushing onto the subway platform for no apparent reason.

But I think I'll take The Market over Park Slope any day.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck

2008-08-26T04:17:05Z

I'm in Park Slope, Brooklyn; alone.

My hair smells like all-spice and my legs smell like warm vanilla cake and I am one hundred percent uncomfortable in my little twin bed. All I have is the whir-whir of the fan and the recycling trucks clicking bottles and slamming doors up and down the neighborhood. However, I'm glad I'm here, I really am.

A surprise visit to Ithaca left me feeling even worse than before. Granted, I was drunk and clumsy the entire time. I forgot most of the things I had come back to collect, did everything last minute, and jumped on a bus this afternoon with no more than a handful of chips and two cups of coffee in me. I sat in pain on that bus for five long hours contemplating my emotions--my lack of emotions. I feel nearly nothing for people. True, I do have a couple of dear friends and I love big social situations, but when I find myself in a rare state of sobriety, I become completely intolerant of those around me. I am insufferably apathetic. I can hold a conversation well enough.. for a while.. but I don't really feel as if I'm doing the talking. It's programmed, I think. I may respond to things alright, but I honestly have no idea what is going on half the time. Someone, anyone, can stand right in front of me and grope my breast for a good fifteen seconds before I even notice their hand. I get caught off-guard being asked questions that seem out of the blue, but are really continuations of twenty-minute-long stories that I somehow forgot to listen to. A beautiful man might kiss me and touch me and my body simply stiffens and goes numb; not in repulsion or shock, but in pure apathy. What happened to me?

Tomorrow, I will eat a feast, but tonight.. I am just alone and hollow in a big dark house in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Alethea Rudd.

I measure my life in coffee spoons.

2008-08-14T21:13:39Z

Since my Post-Portland Depression, my life has been a whirlwind. One week I'm in New York; the next week, a random trip to Boston with a pseudo-friend. I saw my first New York rat and got lost on the subway. I've dealt with two dead batteries and three different cars. I've been caught between my mother and father while he is defending himself coldly and she is bawling on the floor. I'm three days from New York City, sexually unsatisfied and scared near death. I've lost most of my compassion in the days and days of drinking. Haircuts, headaches, new ink, old friends, planned parenthood, PDA, IHOP. Sneaking around, getting blown off, packs and packs of cigarettes coating my car floor, forty-degree nights and so much more than I could never re-tell and could only hope to re-live in these last three nights.

Then... poof. We're gone.

Alethea.

Holy crap I cannot remember the last time I did this.

2008-07-18T17:16:26Z

I was stalking someone's old livejournal entires and got inspired to do a survey, off all things. I also got inspired to hug this person a lot a lot, but I can't. DAMMIT.

Holy crap, I don't remember how to do an LJ cut!!! Hold on, I have to go searching through old entries real quick.

Where were you when the ball dropped for 2008?
In my living room, lounging about after a hearty meal with a few close friends.

How did you get the idea for your profile name?
It is the most sacred and protected part of my body.

What time were you born?
Sometime in the evening. I don't even know if my mom remembers.

What song are you playing now, or wish you were playing?
If I Were Your Woman by Gladys Knight & the Pips.

Has the death of a celebrity ever made you cry?
I'm pretty sure I cried when Aaliyah died.

What color underwear are you wearing?
Black. The usual.

Do you want a baby?
I think I just threw up a little bit inside my mouth.

What did you do this morning?
I had a very hard time waking up and then ate and made myself tea.

What does your dad do for a living?
Hydro geologist. Ground water and soil testing for building sites.

Where do you work?
Hah. I'm unemployed by choice for the first time in years. I was bartending at Zaza's for almost two years, though.

What are the last 2 digits of your phone number?
72, which is also my house number.

What was the last concert you attended?
Jedi Mind Tricks and Say Anything at Ithaca College.

Who was with you?
Zac, predominately, and we also hung with Shane for a bit.

What was the last movie you watched?
SUPER MARIO BROS.!!! I fell asleep, like usual, but I fucking love that movie.

Who do you dislike at the moment?
My parents, for not birthing me in Portland, Oregon.

What food do you crave right now?
Ugh, nothing. I ate enough already.

Did you dream last night?
Probably.

What was the last TV show you watched?
Charmed. I'm re-watching the first season.

What is your favorite piece of jewelry?
Probably the long silver necklace I got from my great aunt Alla with a silver pendant that looks like an A.

What is to the left of you?
Random beauty products, two notepads and some dirty dishes.

What was the last thing you ate?
Pancakes, soy milk, and coconut chai tea.

Who is your best friend of the opposite sex?
Jonah Bear!

Write some song lyrics that are in your head
"If I were your woman, I'd never stop loving you."

Who last IMd you?
Zac.

What side of the bed do you sleep on?
What would be the left side, if I'm lying on my back. Always.

What shirt are you wearing?
My favorite black tank top.

What color is your razor?
Blue and white.

What is your favorite frozen treat?
Eddy's Whole Fruit coconut bars.

How many tattoos/piercings do you have?
Eleven piercings, four tattoos.

What's your favorite store?
I'm a sucker for Target, and also Pastimes when I'm feeling like a sweetheart. I also like Urban Outfitters online, but not in real life.

Are you thirsty right now?
No. I think the soy milk I'm drinking has turned.

Can you imagine yourself ever getting married?
Kinda.

Who's someone you haven't seen in a while and miss?
My cousin, yo! Maryrose... not Robbie

What did you do last night?
Hung out with Beth, then with Zac, then came home and organized all of my sewing projects.

Do you care what people think about you?
In a big way.

Have you ever done something to instigate trouble?
Probably. My life is boring right now to recall.

What song(s) do you think ex's listen to and think of you?
Oh, I don't know. I think Nate Boggess has a stock pile of regurgitated songs for all of his girlfriends. Jim and I mutually had a hard time listening to Death Cab's We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes album after our break-up, which is kind of still relevant for me. I have no idea about Zac. He is elusive.

What song(s) do you listen to and think of ex's?
What I said before about Death Cab. Also, "Girl O'Clock" by The Dismemberment Plan, "It's All Gonna Break" by Broken Social Scene, "Why I'm So Unhappy" by Dntel, "A Lung" by The Knife. I could go on.

What is one thing you wish you were better at?
Singing.

Do you like the person who posted this last?
Heck yes.

What is across the room from you?
My expansive closet. And an elliptical.

Also, in searching for how to do to an LJ cut, I found the following survey which I could not resist.

[This is for my iPod]

How many total songs?
10,245.

Sort by Song Title
FIRST: 078h - M83
LAST: Zurich is Stained - Pavement

Sort by Time
FIRST: Interlude: Let's Dance - Janet Jackson (4 seconds)
LAST: T5 Soul Session - Prefuse 73 (1:01:37)

Sort by Album
FIRST: 11:11 by Maria Taylor.
LAST: Zombies! Aliens! Vampires! Dinosaurs! by Hellogoodbye.

Sort by Artist
FIRST: 13 & God
LAST: ZZ Top

10 Most Recently Added Songs
1. It's Too Late - The Jim Carroll Band
2. Voices - The Jim Carroll Band
3. People Who Died - The Jim Carroll Band
4. Simon Says - Pharoahe Monch
5. We Didn't Start the Fire - Billy Joel
6. Goodnight Saigon - Billy Joel
After that, it's a lot of soul all added at once: Wilson Pickett, The Supremes, Gladys Knight, etc.

Search "sex," how many songs show up? 68
Search "death," how many songs show up? 128
Search "love," how many songs show up? 435
Search "peace," how many songs show up? 16
Search "rock," how many songs show up? 181
Search "fuck," how many songs show up? 38

Well, that was entertaining.
Alethea.

Portland, Oregon.

2008-07-17T09:49:12Z

First night.
I wrote a tispy-tired haiku.

twenty. four. hours.
I finally land to find
all truths became lies.

Second day.
We perused through the downtown shops I remember so well, the landmarks I would nod at as I strolled around the city nearly three years ago. Over to Belmont. In my awe of the vegetarian diner, I ordered four items off the menu and took most of it home. No more than 30 feet away, we went to a nickel arcade and played skeeball until our backs nearly gave out. We gathered all the toys we could and bounced around in a school playground, running and skipping and laughing. The air started to cool and we went back to Belmont for a $2.50 movie. The night ended with flaming dessert and delicious coffee. For me, anyway.

Third day.
The zoo. The zoo + robotic dinosaurs. More PBR, then my favorite diner ever.

Fourth/fifth days. are omitted because they were not spent in Portland.

Sixth day.
I reunited with an amazing, amazing friend whom I never knew if I would see again. Then again, Portland has always managed to dig up faith in me that no one could have ever believed was there. We did crosswords in the park, surrounded by frolicking dogs. The evening was entirely devoted to beer and cigarettes and literature. I could hardly contain my drunken fervor as we relayed novels and authors and ideas and passions back and forth until my mind was a-whirl. I fell asleep in a bed that night; coddled.

The last day was a blur, a hurricane. I was spinning and marching and talking and twisting so uncontrollably that by the time I landed, I was in a car airport bound thinking up haikus in my head and suddenly all I could do was cry. And that was it. I hugged Michael like I was leaving for war and the outlook wasn't good. We cried and squeezed each other. I cried in security and on the move-a-lator. I cried in the terminal and at take-off. I put on the most depressing playlist I have, sat in the dark and sobbed over my crossword book next to a whiny 3-year-old for my entire flight. At some point, Tuesday became Wednesday and the clocks skipped ahead three hours and my body felt swollen and numb. My head throbbed the whole car ride "home" and the more familiar the streets signs, the bigger the hole in my stomach. I didn't quite know where I was today, or what I was doing or had to do.

It's 5:30 in the morning now; 2:30 Portland time. I can't bring myself to go to sleep because today still feels like yesterday and yesterday I was still in Portland and still happy and had something so big to love. As soon as I go to sleep then the dream is over and I have to wake up. In Ithaca. It is inevitable. And I when that happens, I have to continue my life here--paying student loans and making "important" phone calls and planning the next trip out of town and putting clean sheets back on my bed. I don't want that. I don't want any of it. I want the Paradox and Wunderland and Michael and Gerald and Powell's and $4 packs of cigarettes and Art and the Pied Cow and the hot streets and the cold nights. Every bus line, every punch line, every piece of toast and the entire Oregon coast.

I am so incredibly, unbelievably sad to be in Ithaca.

I wrote this on the plane in the margins of my crossword and, well, we all know how permanent paper is:

Have you ever been to a place and just known that you belong there? Have you ever felt faith in something when you never thought you could have faith? That's Portland. New York City is like my favorite bar and Portland is the home I made where I can lay my head to rest. New York is a close friend, but Portland is my family, my undeniable blood. I cried more tears on the way to the airport, on the way into the clouds, than I did when I left him. I miss it. So much. My world is empty without you, babe.

Torn and scorn,
Alethea.

Solstice. (It's still Saturday to me.)

2008-06-22T08:21:17Z

My skin feels hot like a sunburn.
It's not. But I wish I understood my body better.

Today was just one of those day that should have been incredible, but was, in every aspect, awful.
Every day seems to be similarly depressing. My paranoia has flown off the handle. It's actually getting to the point that it's debilitating. My perception is skewed as well. I have no graces about my social. I am misunderstanding people more than ever. Most of all, my patience is running oh, so thin. Status report on pathos: little to none.

Paranoia.
Perception.
Patience.
Pathos.

Everything is in excess or recession. Dammit. Alethea.

my_neck @ 2008-05-19T03:04:00

2008-05-19T07:05:17Z

I honestly don't remember the last time my body was this sore.

Ow.

my_neck @ 2008-05-18T10:56:00

2008-05-18T15:02:59Z

As Sunday pushes its way onto me and fight the rays of light less and less, I am strangely okay with the things I have said and done. My mind is calmer than I thought it would be--maybe it's the mere five hours of sleep I got. The past few days have reminded me of who I used to be; I embrace it. Moreover, I have grasped the potential of who I could be, and it excites me even more.

It's the being alone part that is petrifying. Absolutely petrifying.

Al.

Straight ahead.

2008-05-02T06:49:04Z

I just ordered $70 worth of Sephora products and I don't feel bad about it. Maybe it's because I deserve indulgence. Maybe it's because these are things I could argue that I "need". Or maybe it's because it's the month of May which means HOLYCRAPIMAKEALLTHEMONEYINTHEWORLD.

(And I plan on taking out student loans to pay for Manhattan housing no matter what my mother says.)

My projected savings by the time I leave Zaza's is $3000 to $3500. This includes my Federal tax return, which I still haven't gotten back, and EXcludes my last month's rent which will hopefully be negated by my $800 security deposit which I will HOPEFULLY be getting back.

. . . .

Leaving my job is a strange concept. Although, I know, it is more a reality than a concept, as I will be freed of my position in 30 days. All the same... this has been my longest job--a full year and ten months by the end of May. Not only that, but I have never made this much money before. I have some power, but not excessive responsibility. I have gained mountains of respect and vast valleys of knowledge. I can't hardly remember what it's like to start over again, to be new and clueless. I can't remember what it's like to learn from new faces. It's terrifying. What if I leave and I end up spooning my eyes out with boredom? What if my savings diminish more quickly that I can anticipate? How will I stay afloat? Not only here, but in New York?

My life feels like an ultimatum; as if there is a crowd of ambiguous bodies following my every step, counting down my days in unison. Counting, counting, counting down until the last day of work, the last day in this house, the last drive in my car, the last day in this town, the last day of school, the last day of my life. Ten, nine, eight... My last cigarette, my last five bucks. Our last I love you.

Give me back my sunlight, so I can bathe in my numbered nanoseconds.
Let me love what I will inevitably have to learn to let go of.

Alethea.

my_neck @ 2008-04-21T09:55:00

2008-04-21T14:03:18Z

I got in.

I'm going to college; real college.
I'm going to be where I've always wanted to be.
I'm going to soak up the city streets and bunch my fist in the wind's sneer.

Alas, I must also prepare myself for the heartbreak of leaving so many beautiful things in my trail.
I won't be waking up next to him anymore. There will be no Manos, no Goth Night -- bye bye Billy Ocean, goodnight starlight.

I'm trying to decide if it is better to think or forget at this juncture. Should I taint my remaining months with fear, or decompose right at the very end with startling realizations?

I think I choose to forget. There is too much to do. There is never enough time.

Alethea.

my_neck @ 2008-04-11T01:22:00

2008-04-11T05:27:30Z

I feel like I'm seriously setting myself up to be let down. Seriously.
With every letter from Hunter, every "We still have yet to receive.." I feel more and more hopeless.

I'm all in here. I've got all my chips on New York City. If this doesn't go through, I have no back-up. No Plan B. I'm fucked. I have another worthless summer, another apartment hunt, another year at this job that's killing me; another "better luck next time".

I'm wiggin' out. I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'll survive.

I'm in deep shit. Seriously. Alethea.

What am I hiding for?

2008-04-07T15:37:01Z

I am filled with so much anger.

It's not very well contained any more. Not at work, not with him, not with them. The facades I built to mend walls, hide faces, keep secrets.. are slowly beginning to crumble. I am showing through. I can't tell you how many people have seen what lies beneath. A couple, a few. I am more covered than you think you know.

But it's all falling to pieces.
Because I am filled with no much jealousyragecontemptfeararroganceselfloathing

I think I'm going to be sick. I think I'm going to do an awful thing or two.
I think I need to vent on paper before it comes out on someone's face.

air.