(Excerpts from the six pages I filled in my written journal today, on the skytrain and on Commercial Drive)

*I both adore and despise transit.  The press of unfamiliar bodies, the reek of body odor, and the unwanted contact of their voices screeching thorugh my thoughts... it disgusts me.  Knowing that the most I will pay for my transportation is $136.00 in a month.  That I can get all the important places.  Yeah, I like that part.  There are days that I considor getting my license.  They are few and far between.  I can put my headphones in and read or write on transit.  I can nap although it's a little more hazardous... *

*Things seem to be looking up.  I found a great little Apple Macbook that beats the hell out of both of my computers.  The guy at Best Buy was great help.  There's this really hot girl working at a coffee shop on Commercial.  I'm on my way to see if she's there.  Yeah, I'm a stalker...*

*My ocean stills, the water tracing one last time along my feet before the whole world goes quiet.  I raise my face into that silence I know I will be alright.  I know that I can go this alone and things will work out.  The moment of silence ends and I gaze out as the water begins to stir again, lapping hungrily at the shore.  It begs me to join it, to go out to sea and become lost in it's depths.  But I am happy... happy.  It's a feeling I'd nearly forgotten.  But I am happy.  I am stressed and upset and depressed.  I am also happy, and that emotion floats above the rest, allows me to grasp it tight and float with it above the negativity into a new world where there is safety and contentment.  Where there is hope.  I clutch the hope close to my chest and allow it to sink into me and share its light.  I am free of my depression.  For now it is at bay and I look at my ocean and I smile...*

*I looked into the mirror a few weeks ago and realized how much I've changed.  I've lost alot of weight, gained age in my eyes.  I barely recognize the woman I am becoming.  This confident dyke is not the unhappy girl I was, but rather the product of her, the memory of years of pain and self torment.  The more she fades, the more that woman takes hold.  Childish fat and features have adjusted to match the inner knowledge and I no longer dread to look in the mirror because I now have the beauty so long sought after.  In truth, I always had it.  I was just to scared to see it, to know it.  I didn't want to believe it.  Now I see it, embrace it.  I will never be "model pretty".  I will also never be ugly.  I am beautiful in a strange unique way and I think that is the best way...*

So I've been talking alot with this friend who will remain nameless and gender-free so that people don't make assumptions on who it is.  They have four people (that I know of) interested in them, four people who want them so badly it hurts.  And yet everytime I talk to them, one of those people is causing them issue.  Unfortunately for my heart, I am included in those four.  They have somewhat come to a decison, at least temporarily and are spending time with them, getting interested in dating and such.  So everytime I'm around them, they talk about that person, so excited to have finally found someone.  It's hard to hear that someone I like so much is so damn interested... in someone else.

Sometimes I wish that one person, any one person, wanted me as badly as their four want them.  It would be so nice to hear that someone was interested in me, someone liked something in me, saw something worth caring about, worth crushing on, worth loving.  It seems like everytime I've wanted someone, I've had to actively pursue them, I've had to make the effort and I've been the one with the crush.

My girlfriend is differant.  We have an arrangement that works for us because we got so sick of waiting around for Miss Right.  We will never be lovers.  We both know that beyond a doubt.  It would be too awkward.  But we can be close and calling it a relationship allows us the safety of each other and the ability to kiss and snuggle without people rolling their eyes.  We can honestly say  "I'm sorry, I have a girlfriend" if we aren't interested.

But we aren't lovers.  And no matter what, we both know it's not the same.

I'm so sick of the
I really really love and care about you
As a friend
Our talks are so great
And we're so close already
Bullshit

For once I just want
Someone to hold
Someone to be physical with
To get rid of the
We should just be friends
Drama

It would never work anyways
We are so close already
Stop fucking repeating yourself
Let's be friends
Let's be friends
I don't need anymore friends!

I have lots of let's be friends
So for just one night
Let's not be friends
Let's fall into the bed
And forget everything
Let's be lovers

I sometimes feel like I don't deserve love, like all the events of the past year are links in the chains of a prophecy, a cosmic warning that I am doomed to fail in the quest for affection and the unconditional love, the true love that is pain and suffering and extascy and desire, yearning.  Falling in and out of until you can hardly stand it.  Between everything I have learned in the last twelve months and all the mistakes I have made, all the pain I have caused the people I want the most... I am beginning to think that I need to stop.  Stop looking for a love I can't have.

The thing is, I know what will make me happy.  And it's not a relationship.  I want to be an Interpreter for the deaf community.  I've wanted to do it since I was eleven years old, ever since I found out that it was a career path I could follow.  With that, I want to take what I learn to third world countries and help deaf people there to communicate their needs to their peers, to make a differance among people who just don't have the education options to help themselves.  I want to travel around and teach people to communicate, to bond.

There is something about signing that is more intense than in regular spoken word.  You really have to pay attention, to see what the person is telling you, in order to respond.  The silence is exhilerating, it's a moment of peace in the cacophany of noise and the buzz of everything around us.

So as of today I give up on love.  Because I don't need it.  I am going to live my dream.  And I'm going to live it alone, just me, making my way in this world.

This is my journey...
Want to come along?

I should be asleep.
I have an interview at 11am for a data entry job in downtown Vancouver. It looks like it could be a good job. It's for a big company that will give me a referance at the end of the contract. It's a good company to have a referance for.
It's 4:30am. So I should be asleep.
But I'm not
My mind is buzzing, thrumming with energy, with thoughts that won't let me sleep.
Because I have to be honest with myself.
The past few months... life has sucked. Everything went downhill after he left, things crashed into the solid concrete wall that my life became. I was still doing somewhat ok. I called into work the day he left, but after that I went back to being a productive member of the workforce.
I should still be working.
Things happened, private things, and my employment with Sears Portrait Studio was terminated. It was part time and I was having a hard time getting shifts, not a huge loss.
Except that I have no money. So I should still be working.
But I'm not.
I'm broke as heck because of the loss of job. Thankfully tax returns are coming up, so there may be a minor increase in cash flow at the end of the month. Even that thought proves that money can't buy happiness, because I still sit here wondering where the hell I'm going with my life.
I should be happy
These past eight years I haven't been. I've battled depression, anxiety, insomnia.
I have good friends, a decent life. So I should be happy
But I'm not.
I was... breifly, two weeks ago. I was up on stage, dancing and for those five minutes of time, I was happy. I lost myself in it. It's been so long since I could be happy while I danced that I nearly didn't recognize it for what it was. 
I should be alone
I have now not one, but two people who were in pretty dire situations, living in my home.  I don't mind helping them.  I hate seeing people in rough situations.  But one of them is using me, something I've just started to recognize and confront them about.  They haven't changed the situation.
I need to relax.  So I should be alone.
But I'm not.
The thing is... I'm not sure I mind it.  I mean, yes, imposing on household, but my room is still my room and I can still run away when I need to.  It's nice to know that there are people there, that I'm a little safer now that there is three of us.
So here I sit.  Awake when I should be asleep, jobless when I should be working, suffering when I should be happy and smothered when I should be alone.
I should... should should should should.
I'm so sick of that damned word....
Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda.... didn't.

Someone help me...

Written about five years ago now - I was taking a kick boxing/aerobics class at the local gym and after class one night, this is what spilled out of me.

Fists flailing, I crash through the night
Rage flaming from my body
As I fill the room
With my anger

Finally empty
My energy spent
I lay down and rest
My head on the ground

My breathing slows
And I am calm
I strip off my clothes
And head to the showers.

I LOVED kick boxing.  It was taught by this butchy muscular woman who had so much energy it was contagious.  I've been thinking about it since I found the poem in a folder full of various arts that I did in highschool.  When I was in class, there was nothing but the firm lines I extended my arms and legs into, pushing the energy through those lines to do the most damage to my opponant.  It didn't matter that I was doing poorly in gym, or that my step-dad had thrown another frying pan at me.  I could forget about it all when I was there.  I miss it.

So I'm thinking I need to polish off my gym clothes, suck in my gut and head down to Walnut Grove for class.  Who's with me?

This is my journey...
Want to come along?

"It hurts, sometimes more than we can bear.  If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace.  But we would be hollow.  Empty rooms, shuttered and dank.  Without passion, we would truly be dead"
-Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

 If my ribs weren't still achey and I didn't have a make-up covered sweat towel pinned to my wall, I would think it was all a dream.  That's how it feels right now, like I dreamed the whole concert.  It makes me wish I hadn't gone to sleep, like maybe staying awake as long as possible would preserve the memory better.  I need to take this tshirt off eventually lol.  But I've been home the past two days sick so I'm allowed to mope around the house in my Marilyn and Twiggy shirt and sweats.  And now some photos from the show courtesy of Andrea:


"Love me damn it!"

Up on the podium during Irresponsible Hate Anthem:


As Andrea stated "All Hail President Manson!"


"Look, I sings!"


"Yay, it burning, it burning" (burning the bible that I was talking about in my last entry)


Dying over the podium with scary/sexy smile 

And of course, the uber wonderful TWIGGY!!!:


"Ta dah!!!"

This is when I got to touch him, they set him on the platform on the other side of the barricades.  My hand is in there somewhere I'm sure.  The security guards were shoving our hands away, it was kind of funny lol.



This is my journey...
Want to come along?

Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.  But it brought all of them to a standstill when she spoke.

"What?" Professer Elridge turned in his seat to look upon the short slender woman who had dared infiltrate their institute of higher education.

"I said I disagree.  What gives you the right to tell her she can't take intermediate Law courses?  We're not in the middle ages Hector."  Her voice was never raised, never harsh.  She continued in her soft lilting tone, "Amelia has as much right to any of these courses.  You're just offended because she didn't drop out after taking her grad classes."  The white haired man rubbed at his quickly reddening face, spluttering over his words as he tried to speak.

"The fact of the matter, Miss Williams, is that the majority of this faculty is against it and we have every right, as her professors, to discourage her from taking courses that may be too much for her to handle."

"The fact of the matter, Hector," he flinched at her second use of his first name, "is that I will encourage her to take whatever courses she wishes and I will help her pass every single one if I have to.  But she won't need my help Hector, because she is far more intelligent than any of the students you have at this excuse for a University and, I'll dare say, more intelligent than much of the staff as well."  She rose, turning on her heel and walking out, leaving the male staff of Rolwood Pines University dumbfounded.

Two words had started it.
"I disagree"

I'm writing this out so that when I get the chance to speak to him, I don't forgot to say anything...

I don't know where to begin when I say I'm sorry.  I've hurt you in so many ways over the past four months that a simple "I'm sorry for..." wouldn't cut it.  The list would go on forever.  The worst part is that I didn't even mean to hurt you.  Every word that spilled out of my mouth that was hurtful, every "game" that I seemed to play... I didn't mean for it to happen.  I didn't mean for you to get hurt.

The worst part is that right before this last big hurt happened, you and I had just started being able to talk to each other without tension rearing up it's evil head.  We talked for two hours that one night, laughing over differant names you could use when you changed your name.  I think for the first time since... the time of before, I felt that maybe we could be friends again, that maybe one day we would have the connection we had before all of this happened.

I wasn't stable back when this hurting all started.  I wasn't ready for the strain that comes with every polyamorous relationship.  I know that now.  The unfortunate part is that I should have said something when my doubts first came into play.  By the time I said "no" it was too late and I lost you and our shared lover all in one fell swoop.

I can't promise that I won't open my mouth, let the words spill out and then think about what I just said.  I have my oops moments.  But I am changing - it is a slow and meticulous process, but I AM changing.  The promise I can make to you is that I can try.  That when I speak the stupid words, I will open my mouth up again and own up to the fact that I made a mistake.  Take responsibility for the hurt I cause.  The words WILL come out less because I do want to be differant.  I don't want to hurt you, or anyone else, like that, ever again.

I don't know that you'll ever let me speak these words to you, so I can't help but hope that you'll read them and understand me when I say, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry.  So so so so very sorry.  And that no matter what you think, or anyone else thinks: I love you.  Some part of me always will.  I just wish I'd been able to show you when I had the chance.