Enough Already Mrs.

What is it with everyone getting engaged to doctors?

My ex-girlfriend, (my brother’s ex-fiancé) is dating a nurse and e is engaged to a second yr. med student.

Curious looking back to about a year ago, and now… Doctors! Stealing my womens, and by employing the term 'my womens' I am by no means attempting to graft ownership or dominance over them. Fish got through the damn net. Speaking of.

Life does its twists and turns and takes you where it chooses. Who out there among you doesn't occasionally hear Bowie's Young Americans come on the radio and wish they could be that little girl in the song? I do. I think it's about a little girl. Is it about a little girl? I have no idea. But I want to be that little girl. I don't care if he touches me there. Where? you ask. There. You know. My special place. Who was it that said Prince was “gayer than David Bowie, and Bowie has sex with men,”? Oh yeah! My good friends in LA. God I miss LA. Don't you miss LA?
Here is the weather today in LA{

And here's the weather where I am{

And it frustrates me. That and the doctor thing. A nurse is like a doctor right? I wonder just what it is exactly that they’re teaching them at thar medical school. I sometimes think I should have been a doctor. Surgeons get to wear masks! I don’t even mind blood all that much. It’s caring that I have a hard time doing. Doctors hafta take an oath that they’ll help people and I’m not sure that’s for me. I’m working on it though. Every day. But it doesn’t help that the girls I open up to are now all gone. Or is it me that left them? At least I’m not engaged to a doctor! And don’t think this means I’m over them! I’m not under them anymore, that’s fer sure, but I’m definitely not over them either.

I sometimes kiss meSome boys.

I love meThe girls.

1 August Youth: What's gotten into you today?

DMsqdMn17: Just a little manic.

1 August Youth: Meth Girls?

DMsqdMn17: Me. the. Two words. There is Flying Ghosts. I dunno.

1 August Youth: mmhmm. Interesting.

I am filled with scalding rage. OK scalding rage is a bit dramatic. Still. Some people, (you know) get angry at the way things are happening:

"i'm angry at lotsa things (mainly people) bc i'm sick of taking it.

i'm angry with my inability to accomplish anything.

i'm angry with school. i don't ever wanna go back. I hate it there.

i'm angry with homework & quizzes & tests & projects.

angry with stress.

i'm very very very very very very angry with the weather.
i can't believe it snowed.
i just need sun
and warmth.”

-e

Thus was e the thinker, the feeler, the girl, who is suddenly getting married this summer. Woman, sorry, not girl. Not friend, not girlfriend, just, AARGH! bear with me.

They say that intellectual courage insists on the truth- which is never simple. I suspect that most of you pass over the majority of this in disdain. Moreover, people would appreciate it if I spoke more honestly more of the time. This is not easy, secrets and lies flow through me like a dextrous blood. Tell the truth they said. No I can't go out with you, I'm masturbating to your fantasy football avatar.

Yes I need to lose 30 lbs and stop smoking so much pot and start swimming again. I don't like you. I like you very much but I am scared of committing to you because I'm a selfish prick who likes to spend hours a day alone avoiding Bukowski like the pleg. Plague, sorry.

It seems to me that most people are ever sharpening their viewpoints of reality as they get older and wiser every day and that this perception of mine is actually a kind of optical illusion. Time doesn't sharpen reality like that for me, why would it do that for anyone else? Which is not to say that everyone experiences things like I do, but I think that all our experiences are more shaped by the sharp earthquakes of pain than the long geologic shifts in how we see the world.

Sometimes, I wonder if we ever really get past something traumatizing. Sure, we say we do and we act like we have but do we ever really let go? After a crucial episodic crisis its natural to fear that you'll never be able to get over that constant sinking feeling for the rest of your life because of that one freak incident. You want to be a shut-in, so acutely aware are we our pain. Jim Morrison said: “Pain is something to carry. Like a radio.” People are conditioned to believe that pain is dangerous, but just the opposite is true. Love is supposed to be some kind of cure all. A balm. That's bullshit! Love fucking hurts. We need love because it hurts and its distubing and it wakes us up to reality and we spend the rest of our time forgetting that pain and thinking it's actually reality that is coming into focus. Don't be afraid of pain, of reality. It's socially expected of us to answer the question we're always fine, things are okay, and we've moving past it but I would be remiss if I did not wonder, have we really gotten past it or is it just a knee jerk reaction to the real truth that no, we haven't gotten over things and we don't want to get over things and maybe that's okay. I may never get past it, surmount it, and if I ever did it would only be because I lost my foot or something.

Ha! I'm actually filled with happiness over mostly keeping my cool today. Pride almost. Yes, pride. Haha! Even when the nurse/doctor/ex thing got overwhelming, instead of lashing out I asked for help. I didn't lash out for help either, I wrote. And I wrote, and when writing didn't work, I called a friend in LA and got over it. Until they started talking about the weather. But that's a different problem, and I dealt with that one rather adroitly adultly too. Is adultly a word? No. Just adroitly then. This is a vast improvement over what was happening when I ...

When I was first set free and things immediately started going for broke I took to richly complaining. That's, well, a few false starts aside, that's pretty much where I've been ever since. And the thing is, no matter how pretty you dress it, shit is still shit, and the people who care about you and give you the attention you deserve eventually get sick of you if you never reciprocate, or never improve. If all you ever do is mope and make no effort to go after the things you want in life... I entered a writing contest, I didn't tell you that. I'm lying. I entered 5!

Life does its twists and turns and takes you where it chooses. The shifting contextual sands of aging. Anyone can complain. Not everyone can complain as eloquently as I still can, but only my loved ones have to really suffer through it, and the rest of you get me trying to express all my pathetic-as-possible scratch sentiments instead in a manner both healthy and boilingly constructive.

When I was first set free, well - college happened. Poverty in my pockets, poverty in my experience, poverty in my knowledge- the only thing I was rich in was urgency, unfortunately. I remember a particular afternoon, my fists oak knots coiled in the cold as I walked in the saffron sum of the exhausted afternoon sun staring askew down a flat flat nothing. No warmth, only light save the cigarettes which were killingly allowing me to inhale the darkness. Nothing would ever work. I wouldn't ever work. The sun setting and I was heading nowhere. The whole vision stained in watery yellow memory, the sun leeching through the Minnesota clouds.

no warmth, only light. No warmth, only light.

The sound of silence/ is the only instruction/ you'll get

-Kerouac