Brian (Pauls brother) and I hit barnes and noble tonight for me to get some quality writing in and for brian to get out of the house for awhile. I came across a book in the clearance section called Writing For Self-Discovery. I had brought along my notebooks so I went ahead and sat in the cafe and started reading the damn thing. The first exercise on the very first page (which surprised me as most books go into more theory on why you should write before going to the nitty gritty) was to sit in one spot and write about what’s around you. Pick and object and go from there. This is what occurred:
barnes and noble cafe. people. feeling anxious. left breast has slight pains from being anxious. feeling stupid sitting solo at the cafe table with my white painted fingernails, people milling about. various people studying. remembering the cool cafe in Berkeley, CA where all the CalState kids went to. drank coffee. study. college. missing school. thinking of my father. small silver urn around my neck. thin people. beautiful people. grad school. college university. hard tables/chairs. people still here. sitting with Cathleen at the cafe. her sister Carolyn who was way cooler. why is it that people with “Ca” beginning names are called “cat”? on some people it sounds wrong. on others it sounds right. what can one say about the name lisa? derived from Elizabeth. fear to run. flight or fight. i ‘m in a public place and i’m scared.
dreaming about my father more. i’m not sure but it dawns on me in the bathroom tonight that the dreams are a realization he’s okay. he was younger and happier looking. there were scars on his forehead. “Dad, I say,” where are those scars from?” and he points to my necklace — the small silver urn with some of his ashes on it that i wear daily. My father, close to my heart.
i was watching la femme nikita the other night with brian and i saw what i wanted to be — her. Nikita. she is tall, blonde and perfect. except i don’t want to be blonde, just tall and perfect. and she’s was wearing this long black skirt that hung low over her hips and there was an inch or so of skin showing between her shirt and the damn skirt. with her pale skin and deep blue eyes. she looked amazingly exotic. and that was my inspiration. that is what i want to be. i have to lose 100lbs.
fuck.
i remember when i was 14? 15? I weighed 140? 150 pounds. I was like 5’9 or so. And I remember laying on my bed at night, obsessing about my weight and running my hands over my concave stomach and thinking “i’m never going to be fat. i’m not going to allow myself to get past this point in weight.”
that was 1/2 a life ago!
been reading more journals online again. going through diarist.net and sorting by women and ages and reading generally anything of anyone within my age group. and i realize that the 25-32 age bracket is nearly empty — not empty but it’s like what overcomes people between that age group to not write. i’m looking for a REASON and i’m finding it. Ana Voog is 34. Cheryl Tigs is a mom at 54. She can, next year, legally qualify for the AARP. I have 30 whole years left before I need to. And for once I smile. At the cafe. Where the cute goth girl works.
I’m obsessed about ages. People think i’m 22. Brian thought I was 22 or 23. No one believes I just turned 28. But i’m obsessed with other people’s ages. When someone tells me a story, I almost always ask “how old are they?” so that i can make the comment of “she’s immature” or “he should have known better”. and it’s stupid to gauge other people’s life by my age. at 28 i should have accomplished many things and i haven’t. but in a way, i’ve accomplished more than other people ever will. because i took chances. i took the chance, no matter how stupid, on flying to SF with nothing and making a go of it. and when that didn’t work, of driving cross country solo to another state and trying again. and seeing those stupid “jesus knows” signs along the highway. meeting paul for the first time in atlanta. BUT the thing is, i did it. myself. these are my stories and i know lots and lots of people who don’t have the balls to leave within 50 miles of where they were born.
west texas sucked.
my dad was 45 when i was born.
and today i really like me, imperfections and all.
-finis-
so tonight, when the urge struck me to redesign again (and i really do like this new design btw), i felt it. the cold crushing feeling in my chest. and it’s different from all the anxiety attacks i had before. because this time i was not obsessing about anything — I WAS FREAKING WORKINGÂ IN PHOTOSHOP. and i start crying. paul is freaking out because i can’t breathe (or so i say between the sobs). my pulse is normal but my chest felt like a ton of bricks landed on it. i call the 24 hour hot line my hmo has set up and i get picked up on the first ring. i tell the woman, mary, what is going on. she assures me i’m not having a heart attack. “you’re on klonopin” she says. “what’s your dosage?” i tell her i’m taking the bare minimum these days – .5mgs .25 in the morning and sometimes .25 later in the after noon. “did you take a dose?” she asks. “yes, i replied — a few moments ago”. klonopin takes 30 minutes to kick in before it works. she talks to me. calms me down. turns out she has done over 15 years as a coronary specialist nurse. i’m not having a heart attack. i’m so low risk it’s disgusting. ‘but this crushing” i keep telling her. it hurts. i don’t know what to do. the klonopin has been my miracle drug for the last two weeks. tonight was worse because it was fast and furious. and i’m so scared something is going on with me. she tells me if the pain doesn’t stop within the next 15 minutes, take another klonopin. after an hour, if there is still pain call. they are open 24 hours. i can be seen.
within an hour brian and i were at 7-11 buying slurpees and a big bite.
Tag: Mentally Healthy
a new psychosis
riddle me this.
What is worse: being sick or THINKING you are sick?
Anyone who has been a long time reader of the chronicle knows about the anxiety attacks I had before I left California, on my way to Atlanta and now the current batch.
Let me start with the latest batch:
My dad died on april 25, 2000. I was a wreck. An emotional and physical wreck. I took two weeks off from work to deal with myself and with the funeral and everything else combined. I laid, literally, on the couch watching the golden girls and crying. After the funeral, we came back to VA where the very next day we left to go to Virginia Beach for my court case against shelly. After coming back from that trip on a Friday (May 5th), I started feeling congested in my chest. I went to the doctor who said i was had a tad bronchitis and gave me drugs for it. Within a few days i felt better. Then starting in late june, i started feeling “weird” again (my only word to describe it). I went to see three separate doctors who said it was stress (and while you are at it, drop a few pounds quit smoking — you’ll feel better). And while that is all well and good — when i’m laid up all weekend due to such a severe anxiety attack I NEED RELIEF NOW!
so we tried Paxil. didn’t work.
and now i’m on klonopin (for schizos actually -teehee) which, after the first dose i slept for 14 hours and felt WONDERFUL when i woke up. But then the paranoia kicks in:
each ache and pain in my body is instant “i’m having a heart attack, i’m feeling sick, i’ve got cancer, i’ve got —-” and so goes in my head EVERY FUCKING DAY!
And going to bed was worse — because i started obsessing with death. oh, this isn’t the old morbid gawf crap — this was the “if i fall asleep, i’m dying. i’m not waking up.” and each fucking nuance of my body made me feel WORSE. and then i couldn’t sleep. and my heart would pick up pace and that freaked me out even more and on and on it would go. and it has been going on for a good month now.
so the other day i wrote about taking charge of my life. and i want to say a BIG THANK you to everyone that wrote me and said that they have gone through similar things because it’s so fucking lonely feeling like i’m the only one whose life is falling apart.
when I first started working at UUNet, a person i shall say became a very good friend said he thought it was remarkable that i was handling a new job, new move new everything with such aplomb. my job is fucking stressful. (sidebar: some nitwit started emailing me a few weeks ago accusing me of being someone else. and claimed something along the lines that we were lovers 17 years ago. 17 years ago i was 11. I kept telling him it wasn’t who he thought it was — i mean any idiot could find out anything about me if they tried hard enough. i’ve never been ashamed in giving out information. then he counters back “i have a few friends at uunet. you don’t work there. my bosses thought that was funny.) my life with paul is stressful. my life in GENERAL is stressful. and my body was saying LISA! WOOHOO time to wake up. And i started and am still taking babysteps in making those changes. i’ve tried giving up smoking (again, tonight, i’m smoking my last cigarette. the coughing and nasty taste in my mouth is making me sick). but what sucks is the day to day crap. because i freak out if my heartbeat accelerates and THEN i start panicking more so.
My doctor told me that when you have social anxiety disorder (or you are just darn anxious about something) every nuance of your body is explamified. Every pull, strain, bruise, tingle suddenly causes me to worry. so i sit there with my stupid “instant stress relief” music cds doing deep breathing for 10 minutes to calm down. and when i don’t? I freak again!
My heartbeat at rest is between 70-80. American Heart Association says normal is between 50-100 (thought chances are more so if you have a heartbeat over 70 of having a heart attack). Sometimes I hit 100 and other times 120. When I hit 120 — i keep thinking like fred sanford “I’M COMING ESTER! THIS IS THE BIG ONE!” and then i sit and have to do the stupid stress relief music and deep breathing exercises to bring it back down. My cholesterol, blood pressure and everything else is PERFECT. (however i am a woman who smokes/smoked and takes birth control pills). i’m overweight. but i’m healthy. i’m too young to be freaking out.
As you can see, my life is full of stressful events. But i started noticing things. When i started writing (shock) even just bullshit in my paper journal — i felt better. when i work out, i feel better. when i stretch my body out just after sitting in a cramped movie theater i feel better. i have to keep telling myself it’s anxiety and stress and that taking care of the issue NOW without living in isolation for three years (which happened to another co-worker of mine at UU. she had anxiety/stress so bad, she didn’t drive for three years and barely left her house — now she’s so easy going it’s depressing). Me. Myself. And I.
I’d like to think there is a reason for all of this. Why me? Why at such a young age? Why am i popping drugs and not looking for healthy alternatives. which prompts the paranoia that i’m gonna STOP shaving my legs, drink herbal tea and chant about my ying and yang. I’m so afraid of becoming a freaking hippie to be well. It’s like the holistic path works — but i don’t want to get caught up in those stereotypes, yo.
i don’t have a reason or a point to this. it’s mindless ramblings. but there is something i wanted to point out — when I used to discuss my past with my friend Michael, i used to get anxious and headachy stressing “i don’t want to deal with this now” because I didn’t. but i never did deal with it. I just went on my normal little way. but see the headaches have grown worse until i write about it (even if it is stupid — which i think sometimes i am — because i can be much more wittier) — and it’s like a fight against me and the world. i know i’m a strong person (nurse at the help line: you don’t sound sick. you sound actually very strong. me: look lady, if a doctor doesn’t see me today, i’m gonna kill some muther fucking someone) and I CAN DEAL with this. but it’s hard.
no one ever told me how hard it was to be normal.
my shrink apt is on tuesday. that should be interesting.
x0x0x0x
lisa
a new beginning
for the last two days i’ve been uploading the old chronicles into the new format that i talked about oh so long ago. you see, pauly had created this neat database for me that allows me to write a chronicle anywhere in the world via a web browser and while it doesn’t have all the tricks of blogger he felt really slighted i wasn’t using it. i told him that going through the past was hard and especially if i had to reread it all over again as i uploaded the crap to his new database. but he was insistent that i give it a try (and modify it to my own needs so that it would be completely personalized to my tastes).
so i did it.
over 200 entries later, i started reflecting to the writing i wrote and the person i’ve changed. what really hit home with me today was that going through all the old stuff within the last year about moving to virginia, being with paul and start a whole new life.
looking back on the last 6 months, i noticed that all the dreams and promises i made to myself to make that a reality wasn’t happening. shit got fucked up. and i started getting sick — really sick. having anxiety attacks, feeling like crap, gaining weight, not talking to anyone — stuff that was chronicled here and not chronicled anywhere but inside my head. i was going to the doctor literally every week because i couldn’t take feeling like this — and who can. the chest pains, feeling of being not being in control of my body, the whole nine yards. PHYSICALLY there is nothing wrong with me. Mentally, well, that would take years to fill.
so i’m wanting to the do the right thing. i really do want to do the right thing. but that requires a lot of change on my part and a lot of the changes aren’t that easy to make. like quitting smoking, and losing weight and working out. finding a job i like and doing stuff FOR. ME. stress takes a huge toil on your body — whether or not you want to believe it or not. my body is acting like it’s 90 and the funny thing is — after all the talk of death and morbid crap that i wrote in the past — i don’t want to die. i really really do not. i want to LIVE.
as the chronicles has it’s second anniversary this month and goes onto entering it’s third year, i thought that i would start all over. reintroduce myself to you. introduce yourself to me. lets meet and befriends. and hopefully, when this all blows over, we’ll be happier for that.
so hi.
my name is lisa.
i’m a 6′ tall 270lb network engineer living in virginia. (well depends if i have my job tomorrow or not heh).
i live with my boyfriend Paul. he’s a programmer for thinkgeek. we have a lot of flakey geeky friends who hang out here. we make plans and break them occasionally. like every weekend. or something.
moving right along, my goal is to lose weight (can we say 100lbs. whose rooting for me over there?) and to finally quit smoking (i’m down to my last two right now). and to just FEEL better and not have to pop pills every five minutes because i think i’m dying (i’m not — really).
i boast an impressive cd list and an even more impressive shoe collection. i like texture and fabrics. i like the colors orange and lime green. i love bands like rem, afghan whigs, the eels, blur, new order and luna. i like things british. i like reading. i LOVE wildflowers. i love wild kinky sex (as long as it’s from paul). i love reading and doing things creatively. i like tacky and kitsch.
that’s me in a nutshell.
and so we begin on another journey with lisa — and this time hopefully she’ll get some shit straight.
or die
sleepy bye bye
you’ll notice a few things: new layout and new design. found some older writings that i had written some time ago on various subjects. you can check them out on the archive page, under “misc.”
ooka thought it would be cute if i was a coderbuff chick. tomorrow (or is it today?) i will be the featured coderbuff girl. check “Open Knightly” for the series.
i’ve also started a mailing list where the topic of discussion will be, me! of course, what else did you think we would talk about? sign up at egroups, sign up on the mailing list and email the list talking about: ME.
i’m fucking tired.
damn paxil.
x0x0x
not justin
to “not justin”:
i don’t know who you are — but you are giving me the willies. please stop attempting contact with me and please stop sending emails telling me i’ve dumped my dream guy. the past is over and done with and i’m very much in love with paul.
thank you and have a nice day.
fsck me
my plates came in.
i’m so surprised that the state of virginia allowed me to have the plate “FSCK ME”. There were bets going around due to the fact that a friend of ours who wanted “FSCK” was denied due to it’s implications (supposedly). I am now a “Linux Pronstar”. bow down before me for i give good head.
make it stop
i don’t know what it has been lately, but i’ve been feeling like two separate people are living inside of my body. the other day i got so angry on the way home from work that if someone was in the car with me (which they weren’t), i would have killed them. i don’t know why i was angry or why i would have killed them but the rage in my head is driving me insane. now i’m not talking about just straight off pms, this is much much worse. i have had to start taking walking breaks at work because when i get an email from a customer that sounds scratching (even if it really wasn’t), i have to walk away from the situation to see if i am feeling any better.
chances are, i am and i do. but that doesn’t stop making it less scary. i’m not quite sure what i’m going to do now — i’m thinking it’s the new birth control pills but it may not be. but they found me to be healthy.
supposedly.
back to square one.
x0x0x0x
lisa
birthday countdown
my birthday is in 8 days.
buy me something! .
oops! i did it again!
i’m obsessed with britney spears.
get over it.
the art of death
today i had to run to cvs to grab some stuff for a gift i bought for a friend of mine whose birthday is coming up. while i was perusing the aisles, i noticed the fathers days cards that were displayed so prominently.
——
the other night, derrick, paul and i had gone to barnes and noble (as we tend to do about 2x a week) and both derrick and i laughed at the fact that we no longer have to celebrate fathers day any longer. while it was morbid in thought, it was, in a way, a welcome relief to the realization that we can celebrate our fathers life instead of mourning their death.
——
in the weeks following my fathers death, i’m still shaken by the aspect of the fact that death is all around me. i see it in the animals we eat, the flowers i pick and the obituaries i can’t tear myself from reading in the sunday paper. i’m working (trying/fighting/hoping) on moving off of this depressing kick – but i can’t shake myself from feeling that one day i too will die and what is going to happen next is the big unknown.
i try to keep comforted by the words my mother and paul both tell me: he’s in a better place now. he’s happy now. he’s not in pain anymore. but on the flipside, i still can’t work over the reality of his death: i haven’t seen him in some time, i didn’t call him enough, i wasn’t made aware of his illness. he won’t be around when i get married, have kids or celebrate other fortunes in my life.
i’m beginning to feel that i too will die. not in the way off future that is the reality of it, but in the oh so close future. tomorrow. next week. next month. this is what immobilizes me and this is what eating at my heart. i lash out to paul only to realised this is getting me no where and that everything feels stale and fake.
——
the only solace i’m finding is the beauty in the green of the trees, the look in pauls eye when he says he loves me and the feel of his hugs when we sleep at night.
x0x0x0x
mid-life crisis at 27
April 25, 2000 — my father dies.
April 29, 2000 — paul, jeff and i fly to toronto for his funeral.
May 2, 2000 — my fathers “wake” where i meet up with cousins i haven’t seen in 10 years.
May 3, 2000 — i bury my father and we all fly home.
May 4, 2000 — paul and i drive to virginia beach for a court date.
May 5, 2000 — go to court and get a speeding ticket on the way home.
May 8, 2000 — come home to find out that i have a suspended license and I go back to work.
May 10, 2000 — i get bronchitis.
May 29, 2000 — realise i’ve been spending the last few weeks in some sort of funk that can only be described as “depression”. i’ve gained a lot of weight, i don’t give a fuck about my job, my life and other etc related aspects. paul and i have arguments that are short of starting WWIII and i want to kill myself however the concept of death has sent me to thinking that since I don’t know what it’s like after you die, then i don’t want to do it. which is the one good thing about being a human: we have the ability to reason and to think about the consequences of our actions.
i’ve read enough trippy novels to last a lifetime. i’ve been reading anything and everything i can get my hands on, however they always fall into the same suicidal, woman is wronged, strong woman without a man genre: ie: the oprah book club. every week we go to barnes and noble and every week i pick up about 50 bucks worth of paperbacks that paul said i wouldn’t be happy unless it was suicidal, depressing or something else knocking down the human spirit.
and sometimes i get flashbacks. i’ll read about someone or watch television commercial/show about a woman who changed their life at 30, 40 and even 50. how life is precious and wonderful and we shouldn’t throw it away. and all i can do is get up at 1am and throw up the remains of my dinner into the toilet. that is what i thought about life sometimes.
and i hated work. i hated getting up and getting dressed only to speak to moronic idiots who supposedly know what they are doing and don’t. i hated pretending that i liked what i was doing. and everyone is leaving. all the good engineers are LEAVING. and i wanted to scream and shout and say “i have no fucking idea what i’m doing. stay!” but i can’t cos that would be selfish and i can’t be selfish.
and i didn’t want to, really i didn’t want to, come off being whiny and pretentious. but when the doctor looked at me (my! you’re a big girl) i suddenly became conscious of the world around me. i became conscious that i was in love even if i was hell bent on destroying it. i was conscious that i had a life that was worth living and i wasn’t living it. i remember a few days ago i was laying in my bath and i was feeling up my tummy and felt new stretch marks from the recent weight gain. the skin felt like satin and while it was glaring red against the rest of me, i felt like that was my cross to bear suddenly. that my weight gain coupled with the world surrounding me was driving me to not leave my apartment for days at a time. i can’t remember a week in the last few months i haven’t been late to work. i can’t remember a time when i wasn’t planted somewhere in front of a television or in front of the computer. everything showed my lack of attention: my relationship with paul, my body.
the man who
i’m tired.
i can’t remember the last time i’ve felt so drained. i’m not sure when the last time i’ve felt this way before — i’m sure it’s probably been pretty recent, BUT, the thing is, i sat at work today, bored. BORED out of my mind.
I was thinking today on the way home how I’m liked at work, but i’m not popular. I’m not sure if this really makes a difference to anyone, but it makes a difference to me. Especially since I was coming from slip.net where respect was earned about who you fucked, not what you do. Anyways, I like where I work as there is no time clock to punch, i manage myself and my work can be somewhat exciting. But i’m not driven by it and i’m not passionate about it and i don’t think, no i’m sure that this is NOT what i want to do with the rest of my life. The problem is the following: It pays well, it’s impressive and it looks well when people ask me what i do for a living. The downside is: i’m bored, it’s stressful, and it can disrupt my life (ask Paul about the many days i’ve come home at 10-11pm at night). A lot of the people that i work with, really do love what they do. It is challenging and it can provide satisfaction and you do learn on the job. But, to me, I’m bored. I don’t care if someone wants a t1 or not. Seriously. It didn’t take long for me to become cynical about the job after speaking with consultants day after day who were not hip to what they had exactly ordered. and the times i have to explain over and over what dns is and bgp. i don’t give a fuck what my ex-boss Scott says, this is a tech support job — just way more high falutin.
when i first started working at UU, everyone told me how much they loved their job, how stable it is and how much the management (even with WorldCom’s interfering fingers) was incredible. And to be honest, none of that really has changed but there has been a rash of people leaving and we’ve gotten so many new “engineers” that now i’m a “senior engineer” which frightens me because i don’t feel like i know enough to be a “senior” engineer in anything.
one of the managers, lenny, whom i’m friend with; suggested that i come work with him in his department which is in the same region as i work in. there have been so many rumors and accusations with so many shifts of power, that i am not sure what to believe. but i do know that i don’t want to transfer to another department after the fiasco i had with working with scott.
i was thinking today that i have worked exactly half my life. i got my first job when i was 14 (working at sbarros pizzeria at woodland mall in grand rapids). i can’t remember why i had gotten the job, other than i wanted to demonstrate responsibility and make my own money. i made 3.15 an hour as i bussed tables and i fended off advances from the young Italian stud who worked in the kitchen. i don’t know why i quit. probably tired of being hit on, couldn’t get rides and i was not doing anything really worthwhile. the jobs lead on to working at footlocker, a few restaurants and etc and so on. now 14 years later, after holding down variety of jobs and such, i find that it’s 14 years later and while my life has changed significantly, i just find that this whole working thing is pointless. especially when i got the social security update of my earnings and i haven’t earned really jack. it was so depressing reading all those bright and shiny figures to realize that when i am 65, it will all mean nothing.
can you imagine working for another FORTY YEARS? I can’t.
pictures
here is a new pic of me and paul. new as of tonight.
i’m really really tired.
see you tomorrow.
x0x0x0x0x
in the pink
I’m obsessed with the color pink.
for the last few seasons they have been directing it back to springy pastels and pink always seems to be the color that is in. everywhere i turn, there is some slinky brunette (brunettes are also in this season — have you seen jenny mccarthy recently?) whose wearing some light pink lipstick with this beautiful pink dress (okay, so as you are probably already are aware that i obsess over minnie driver). and i’m standing there, thinking to myself “i can look like that.” and i can. i have pale skin and i HAD dark hair and now i’m a stinking red head.
grumble.
and it fucking figures, i find these awesome shirts while i was shopping yesterday and the only colors i can wear is white OR black because any of the pretty new colors make me look like a washed out ho.
grumble.
i’ve been threatening to re-dye my hair for the last two weeks. i don’t know what made me think i could carry red hair off again — but everyone seems to love it and paul tells me it makes me look that much more beautiful (and who the hell is going to argue with that logic). when my brother was here visiting, i had gone on a rampage and purchased ultra-blue and the red hair dye. four hours later, i walked out of the bathroom, completely changed from bright black hair to bright red hair. and i twitched.
this whole change of hair color was supposed to make me feel better, but within a week i was crying in the kitchen while paul kept telling me that no, i did not look like redneck white trash. but i still cried and went out and bought my usual feria “starry night” and waited. paul convinced me that i should stay red (and i did the usual dance “does this color look good on me”), my brother said so, my friends at work say so. i just look fabulous as a redhead (and this isn’t auburn baby — this is really red). But unfortunately, I got so tied to my gawf hair from hell that it’s hard to let go. maybe if i got it cut — i would feel better.
so i ‘m standing in the middle of a store last night with Sunni, lenny’s wife. i find these neat shirts that i really wanted. they had black, white, checkered lime green, checkered orange, orange, this beautiful pink shirt. i really really wanted to wear that pink shirt. i really wanted to strut around in that pink shirt and black pants and just flip my hair all around. i’ve been feeling very princessy lately.
so i grab a few shirts in a various colors and try them on. obviously the standards black and white look fine. then i try on the pink.
i really really want to wear this shirt.
and i almost started crying in the middle of the dressing room.
i looked like hell. i did not look like the spring bloom that i had envisioned. my hair had completely thrown off the color and i looked like someone had made me look like shit. i felt and looked like hell. i kicked. i screamed. i frightened the ladies at the store.
i really really wanted to wear that damn shirt. however, with my coloring i was forced to buy the black and white shirts. i couldn’t even wear the nifty checkered shirts.
this may seem trivial, but it sucked major ass. i’ve always felt that i was behind the times in clothing styles (though i’ve been told that i’m more hip than hip — and they are hip. let me tell you) but yet i’m not. okay this sounds really girlish (Queen Latifah rocks) but I’ve always fought with this inner thing inside of me. part of me wants to be the queen of cutting edge fashion, thin, beautiful, well loved and like. the other side of me wanted to be like this uber gawf queen with the balls to wear vinyl and pvc with no problems and not giving a damn about what people thought. i keep finding myself caught between these two rocks without a middle man to call home.
all because i wanted to wear this stupid pink shirt.
i’m not sure what got me on this special tangent, but the thing is majority of my clothes are black OR gray OR brown. the smattering of color i have looks good on a brunette but not on a redhead. and i’m sick of looking like the goff queen. it sucks. i’m tired of it. i prefer black hair, it looks better with clothing, i think i look better. but everyone loves me in red and gee, i’m going to have buy a new wardrobe to go with this color.
i’m just kidding.
that pink shirt though symbolizes a lot to me. it symbolizes how i am at one point and i want to be another. i will have that pink shirt, if is the last thing i will do.
lisa the geek
As many of you probably know, I recently acquired a Macintosh. I know I know, no — hell hasn’t frozen over. Basically what happened was that in the process of doing Y2k inventory, all the “junk” machines such as the production machine I was doing IEAK on, were not being included and were going to be sold off. I bought a Macintosh Quadra, 17 inch monitor, CD-ROM reader/writer (SCSI) and an external SCSI drive for, get this 100 bucks!. I’ve been spending all weekend getting it hooked up. The only fucked up part is that it’s a 68k Mac and NOT a power PC. gash. But anyway, you would be surprised how much software is still available for the 68k Mac. So I’m sitting here, doing the chronicles on my Mac (named imhotep) while my linux box plays Ned’s Atomic Dustbin God Fodder.
This so owns.
See, this was part of the problem. Mainly I wanted to have two boxen: One would run linux of some distro (now it’s Mandrake aka RedHat on crack) and some sort of gui based OS. The problem was that with Linux, many of what I use and do, there is nothing out available for it. I tried doing TLC on a linux boxen and lemme tell you, it was not easy. Mainly the thing is my spelling (very important of course) sucks major ass — and I needed a spell checker. There was NO getting around that. The only thing I found for linux was iSpell, which is okay but it kept saving the files to /home/lisa/temp — which was pissing me off. It would save the files as “12aksjdhf.tmp”. Then doing a hunt and peck looking to see which file was what with pico ain’t my idea of fun. I needed something that was literally easy, I could run my lame ass apps (like Aol/IM/ICQ/Eudora) and where i could also fuck around in linux. I wanted best of both worlds. heh.
Anyway, the problem with running solely Linux was the fact that half of my hardware wasn’t running. We are talking about a second generation Sony Vaio (200mhz) which I had pimped out with 12gig’s and 64mb of ram and a PHAT 56k modem. heh. Anyway! Moving right along, sound didn’t work — and with no sound when lisa is working makes for a very unhappy lisa. Everyone and their brother tried to help me out — nothing was working. It was some sort of legacy issue — that and PnP of course. But, thanks gods for Justin. I walked away from my comp the other day and he sat down, reinstalled Mandrake, got ipchains working, setup the firewall AND got it so that my sound was working. So now I’m jamming to Ned’s and typing on mah mac. 🙂
This rocks.
ph33r my elitness
grey cell green
So, nearly 10 days ago when i wrote my last missive, shit has been fucked up all around. My car got towed and I owed the City of SF 600 bucks to get it out of impound. I’ve been playing “Am I getting fired today?” at work (very long story — and no I’m not). I’ve been uber depressed. Been walking around listening to nothing but Front242/FrontLine Assembly/KMFDM — anything industrial/techno/gothic based. Spending too much time being really down on myself. I wish I had something specific to pinpoint as to WHY I’m feeling like shit — I mean — depression is coming. I knew when I went out and bought “raven mist” hair color and painted my nails “seduction” (aka blood red). I know shit is fucked up all over — and it didn’t seem to get better. I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t know how to handle it. As obvious by Justin shaking me on the corner of 2nd and Stillmen when my car got towed. I’m slowly going INSANE. People are commenting left and right to me that they haven’t quite “seen” me like this in eons — and I know what it signifies. The next couple of months are going to be ultra-crucial. I’m moving to VA on October 7thish, I’m going to Atlanta, I’m moving to a new state — starting a whole new life. I should be FUCKING happy and I’m not. I keep degrading myself down to these pitiful little holes of hell and it’s driving me mad. I just wanted to be happy — and I think that everyone wants that as well. But I’m finding that all my old “things” that I was so angry at are resurfacing. Read anything before TLC came on-line in July of 1998 — you’ll see what I mean. Many of it still seems to be tripe to me — but a lot of echoes how I feel right now.
My mom is joining a convent soon. How quaint.
I’ve been trying to write a TLC for days now — but finding it harder and harder to do so.
I don’t know what’s happening to me.
Paul said I need to face my fears and only then will I be free.
Maybe.
I just fear some major heavy ultra-rejection.
I don’t know how strong I’m supposed to be and how much stronger I need to keep being. Sometimes I just want to die. I won’t lie to you. I’ve been calling the music I’ve been listening to “Slit Your Wrist” music. I’m not kidding. Do a search for Front 242 lyrics for the album “Off” — you’ll see exactly what I mean. I’ve been walking around going mumbling “just be myself, can i just be myself”.
I told someone 30 was my cut-off point. If I don’t accomplish a lot of what I want to do before I’m 30 — I’m gone. Now before you start going “Um, Lisa, that is SUCH a cry for help” and calling your local suicide hotline, don’t bother. 98% chance that I won’t off myself (I made a funny!). Anyone who has known me for years that these things pass with time and I’m never serious — however, I know that many of us feel, that from time to time, life isn’t worth living. And sometimes I’m happy that I made it through my first suicide attempt 10 years ago, and other times I wish I would have died. But that is neither here nor there. I’m just telling you how it is folks, that is why you are here.
I will make no illusions that I’m being serious. For a few days, i was dead serious. But, I have (and will always know) that this passes with time. Being bipolar manic depressive isn’t cool kids. It sucks major ass. Lemme tell you.
But things are looking up. I’m removing myself from one situation and starting anew life. I’m really digging someone I’ve been digging for 6 months and he’s mein gott (g). I had to say it to taunt him.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, there is so much, that you as a general public are not aware of. So much lies behind me then what meets the eye. Some people are not comfortable with knowing THAT MUCH about me — others want to own my soul. I give what I can — when I can. I give to those I feel deserve it and when I feel they need to have it. It’s not a game — it’s my life.
i’ve always been strong — and I’ve always attempted to make some sort of peace within my life. I’ve always strived to be the VERY FUCKING BEST that I can be. And that threatens people — and it’s harmful to others. My megalomania can be daunting. Fuck, I just created a new IM name: LishaIsGod. heh. Cos, I am god. this is my fucking world and I’m letting you enjoy it. If you piss me off, nothing a little DENY won’t work magic on.
I’m rambling.
Someone once asked me long ago the purpose of this site. I’ve been on slashdot, I’ve been linked a time or five from UserFriendlys website — People know of me. I’m not some nameless person in the crowd (well — heh). I am someone.
And see, in some sick twist of fate, this is NOT what I wanted. I never wanted to be known as se7en’s exfuck (which, two years later, still fucking haunts my ass), or anything other than myself. This website was purposely for my own purposes — I write to feel better. I write to create. I write to look back and laugh at my own stupidity or my own wisdom. You, the general public, just think I rock on with my frock on. And that’s okay too. I’ve created new identities for myself and I’ll keep creating till one fits who I am. Things are looking up. I’m hopeful, I’m optimistic, I’m moving on up (to the east side!).
I’m okay — really.
I’m telling you all this now because how could I not tell you. For over a year now, my life has been an open book Many people probably know WAY more about me then they want to know — but, that’s okay. I’m here and I’m still kicking and screaming and that says something. I’ve always known that if I was going to off myself, I would have finished the job that I started 10 years ago. But, I know that many things are going to happen, it does get easier and I have a 6’6 sadistic motherfucker waiting for me in Atlanta.
Things aren’t what they always appear to be — and I know that. And I’m rational enough to know that only I can control my fate (I won’t tell you WHY I’m subscribed to getting my daily horoscope, i can cos it’s cool) and i only can make the decisions to make my life better. For the first time, in a very very long time, I feel more confident in all my abilities than I have for a long time.
And what does lisa do when she’s down?
She goes out and buys new shoes of course!
And can someone PLEASE explain to me why the fuck I can’t find bra’s in size 36Ds? It’s not like I’m that big — jesus. I found bras in 36DDs but not single Ds. Sunofabitch.
I’m tired now. Carolyn (Cathleen’s sister who is staying with us temporarily) and I wear the same shoe size. We are going out this weekend
looking for bitchboots (imagine — 5-6 inch platform, knee high leather boots). Woo doggie. I can’t wait.
BRING IT!
I tired and I go nini.
happy thoughts
Today I actually left the office and sat in SouthPark and ate a burrito from Pepitos as I enjoyed the beautiful summer weather and read Henry Miller. Regardless of the crap that has been occurring — doing the little things really makes me glad to be fucking alive.
x0x0x0x
LishaIsGod