Year: 1998

For the most part yesterday, I walked around in this almost hazy existence. There were several minor issues, not including my own personal mental health almost jonesing every five minutes. Somehow I made it through the day, but when I got home from work, I realize “what am I going to do now?” i had made no plans, no questions, no idea of what to do with my free time. I opted for climbing into bed in my pjs and eating ice cream, but when justin bounded in and hopped (literally) on top of me, i could only smirk.
he asked me if i wanted to talk, and i said “no.”
but when he left, i started yelling through the door and he came back in. i talked about how “boring” my life was, and how “dissatisfied” i was with everything. everything that i have already said and rehashed a million times in my head. this stuff isn’t new, by far, however the holiday time is when it hits the most.
justin says living with me is exciting because he never knows whom he is going to “meet” sorta speak in a period of a day. my personality and mood range from up high to down below. in fact, i feel like there are at least three of us who reside in my body (talk about a major oopsie. i almost said “our body”). (i said oops up side the head.) my cats are sneaky. they keep thinking they are going to get outside. but I won’t let them! muhahahahaha.
The word I is a curious thing. Is it even just a word or is it a just a letter? not to be confused with the word eye which is obviously a noun, for it describes a thing. wouldn’t that be horrible if someone emailed me and said that I was wrong? That it was a verb, and adjective or even a proposition? (according to after against around at. before behind below beneath by. down during except for from in into in front of.) For try as they might, they will always be wrong.
A few weeks ago, I was reading a book or watching a movie. I remember now, it was a scene from a movie about Walter Winchell who for something like 30 years did a radio show. One of the characters had commented that you can’t bastardize the English language because English in and of itself is already bastardized. The words we use (at least me, maybe you, sometimes them) come from other languages. Spanish, French, German, Dutch, Portuguese. English is the white trash of languages. God, we Americans are so damn smug. We think the world revolves around ourselves. I don’t see why people bitch about Ebonics. It’s only natural that some sort of mutant language pops up after years of being taught about double negatives, infinitives, proper nouns and the like. I ASKED YOUSE A QUESTION! Dammit girl, youse knows that youse get on my last nerve. For real? For real.
I always wondered what it would be like to go insane. Truly, madly, deeply insane. My reality would obviously not correspond with your reality. My perception of the world would not correspond with your perception of the world. Just call me Queen of Sheba. Or better yet, Cleopatra. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but damn was she a strong bitch! I wonder if Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind using Cleopatra as a role model. I’ve already raved how Ayn Rand stole most of the ideas in GWTW in The Fountainhead. Ever see the movie? God it stunk. Insert melodramatic music HERE!
Just finished reading Contact by Carl Sagan. Yes, it’s the same book after the movie. Or more properly, it’s the movie that came after the book. Or some such. Anyway, the book rages differently then the movie. In the book, when Ellie is on Vega, she does speak with her father, but, she is given the message that there is a deeper meaning inside of pi. Think about it. Wouldn’t that be cool? That a message is buried beneath all those digits. One friend of mine knows pi to the 6th place. I only know it to the 2nd place. I once asked Michael why pi was so freaking important (really, it’s elementary geometry). Now I know. The whole damn world is revolves around pi. Maybe I should become a “performance artist” and call myself pi. Or call myself “the artist formally known as pi” and have that little symbol action going on. That would be coool.(extra o’s permitted. please step through.)
Or maybe I should just do what I wanted to do in the first place. Be a porn star. Now that would rock. In fact, when I brought this up to several people last week, they all commented they would purchase my movies. That both frightens and disgusts me at the same time.
I haven’t thought up a good name yet. Lusty Lisa or basically anything that begins with the letter “L” (not to be confused with “Elle” which is french) is lame. Any idea’s? You oughta be in pictures.

every morning it’s the same thing.
i get up at 5am while justin flips on the coffee maker to make the coffee i’ve prepared the night before. I fall out of bed to go to the bathroom and put my contacts in. I grab whatever purse i am using at the moment, grab my car keys and a cup of coffee in my Starbucks/LilithFair coffee cup. I start the car and let it warm up. I drive 2.1 miles to the bart, drop justin off and come back home.
Once home, my options of what to do for the next hour or so vary. I either do a chronicle (such as I am doing now), jump in the shower, or write in my journal (the “jezzusican’tbelievesonsodidthat” type of thing). After such, I pick up Darryl in Lake Merrit, spend 1/2 hour cursing the bridge traffic and go to work.
After work, I generally drop of Daniel & Darryl at their respective places, come home at about 6pm. My schedule at night varies on what’s on the tube. Tuesday’s were saved for Felicity, Wednesday’s for 90210 and SouthPark. Weekends are saved for whatever is going on at the moment. Generally if there is a part-tay (we make part-tay) or some such event. This past Sunday, my friend Jason was having an ArtyFarty show. I had wanted to go because I knew Jason did incredible stuff, BUT, I had promised Justin to go play tennis with him. In 40 degree weather, he and I tossed the ball around for about 45 minutes. It felt like hours.
My passion for Tennis had been waylaid by something bigger. I used to love playing tennis when I was younger and even went so far as to take lessons as well as tryout for the hs team. But now, I don’t have the passion I once did when I played. In all honesty, I could care less.
The new rise in price in cigarettes (from about $2.50 a pack to between $3.00 and $3.50 depending on where you go) as well as my own general health is what prompts me to play now. Justin sucks. I’m not so bad. I feel like I spend half my time chasing after the balls he volleys in my general direction. He says that if we don’t play more, he won’t get better. I agree, but in the interim, it sucks playing. I can akin it to going to the dentist: you bitch, whine and complain when it’s not all that painful. At least for me. First I would stall playing. my ankle I would say. sudden flurry of activity causes it to swell and hurt. So we dropped 10 bucks for a slip on brace and that is taking care of. The new bitching on my side? Shoes. My tennis shoes (actually, could be considered platform tennis shoes. they have a 2-inch sole). I need a pair of cross trainers. And this is what I asked for Christmas.
Sometime ago, I had posted to a list I’m on a survey: What do you keep in/on your purse/backpack, nightstand, desk? The answers raged from everything from candles to books to condoms (my nightstand). While it is always interesting on what people kept, i envied the stuff they did have. Candles, doo-dads, night lights: just regular old junk. stuff I would never think of purchasing in a million years. Me? I spend my money on cds, books, purses and shoes. I never think to buy pictures, candles, anything that would make a place more homey. I don’t think of new ways to do things, or creative ways to do things. I don’t write, save for the chronicles, anymore. And I don’t read the books that I want to read. My own passion has been slowly dying due to Justin’s lack of one. This is one of our biggest arguments: he isn’t passionate about anything save football and me. But i feel foreshadowed my own lack of passion now. I don’t want to do -anything- that would constitute making the plunge like I felt oh so long ago. Truth be told, I don’t know why.
I recently asked several friends of mine that got married recently, why they married whom they married. The top answer from both was “the ability to grow” and “they make me want to be a better person”. I don’t see that (anymore) with Justin. His own lack of enthusiasm/passion/drive drowns out my own. I no longer give a fuck about this that or then some.
To be sure, this isn’t something new. I’ve discussed, cajoled, pleaded and begged him on this. he recognizes there is a problem, but isn’t willing to do anything about it. When recently I had asked him about his job at PBI, his answer was “I hate the job, but it’s the best one around”. His answer for everything is that “he knows he’s going to be a great person some day and doesn’t see why he has to hurry”.
To be continued…