And time yet for a hundred indecisions

okay it's not so so so so so bad. I got another car, live in my own apartment that I can decorate like a mini-Martha, and I have a pretty killer collection of shoes going on right now. Just sayin'

That was from two months ago--early, early May. I suppose things are much, much different now. I don't know, I'm not sure. Still!

On June 19th, at 9:19pm, I crashed my car. It is totaled. It is gone. It is frustrating.
Wellbutrin, scarily enough, or helpfully enough, has made everything easier to deal with. It is very weird to realize that I am not so gripped by the present tense, and that the future seems lighter, less burdensome and most incredibly, within grasp. It is like viewing and responding through a tinted window. Nothing is distorted, just experienced in a different, reassured/self-assured shade. And, it is fine by me. For now. For as long as I can hope for.
But, there are some things that are not pleasant: I am anxiety-crazy; I also have to take sleeping medication now. Because, if I don't, I can't stay asleep for more than 3 hours at a time--with nightmares. But Ambien knocks me the fuck out.

I am trying. I mean, really trying to be the change. They, things, this and that, come into your life and slip through your fingers like water. It is not useful to own them. My father is right: "You can't take it with you." The only thing that I can ever really have is what I have already. I have that, and must never forget or ignore it. You really are the only person who can serve yourself best.

JP and I are 10 months and going, which I couldn't be more delighted about. I am happy.

I think I am more alert, affable, engaged, assertive. Less glum, despairing, disconnected, wooden.

"knock on wood." 

but...oh.


This is my car, except my model is black, and has Swedish pride stickers adorning the back--but I think it's kind of lovely:



I participated in a felting workshop today;I plan to participate the rest of this week too, and I'm really excited about that. Making...a hat, of course. Hopefully, I can have it finished by the end of this week. Felting genuinely interests and excites me. I hope it isn't too little too late?
I still need to buy my Langerado ticket, but my parents are so ornery and hostile to me lately, so I really hope that that won't disable me from going. I would be so so upset. Langerado is a tradition!
Oh yeah, did I mention how hostile and controlling my parents are being lately? "Restriction" this, "Restriction" that. I am honestly getting away with less now, than when I was fifteen. I can't wait to cut that cunt out of my life with as much permanence as possible. And then my dad, who has always been supportive and as understanding as he could be capable of, has started disliking me and letting me feel the sting of his disappointment and disregard, which hurts because my father's favor is something that I have always irrationally craved.
Yeah okay fine: college scares the hell out of me. So I just pretended it wasn't happening and waited and procrastinated and tried to excuse myself. I just wish I could ellicit more sympathy from my parents about that, instead of stern disapproval and disappointment. I never received help or encouragement or even attention, so I just kind of blew it off and pretended it wasn't something I cared about. I just don't understand the mixed signals I keep receiving from them about it. It's frustrating, especially since I'm stuck going to schools I have no interest in now. A further blow to my scholastic aspirations. I just try to reassure myself that I'm "easing into it", and will transfer after the first year. I have to, I couldn't live with myself if I thought otherwise. On to the next despair...
I'm so saddened by the deterioration of my friendships, but I feel helpless about how to improve or salvage them. I realize that some of it is due to my geographical isolation, but I can't help but feel pushed away. I also realize that a particularly destructive factor affecting them is my significant other, and his strong presence in my life, but that isn't something I am willing to reduce or change. I guess more than ever I am getting the impression that I probably won't maintain contact with my best friends, and it distresses me--not only because I despise the slow, awkward, dwindling of familiarity and interest, but because I always felt safe with them, and enjoyed them so much. Perhaps this goes in hand with my paralyzing fear of the future.

I think, I just need to have a good cry to relieve some of my irritability/emotionability. ew, haha.
See, you are NOT seduced!

I cut off all my hair and bought loads of sexy underwear and drove in traffic for the first time today. Big deal alright.

It's only right that you should play it the way that you feel it.

The fact that I'm constantly seeking approval from people who don't make me feel good about myself makes me feel nauseous. And, feeling like I'm spinning out of control and can't get a foothold anywhere really terrifies me. I mean, this is right now. I can't spend anymore time not knowing and avoiding assertion. In two months I have to apply to college. In 12 hours, I have to try to save my English grade again.


And. I keep noticing the desperation that no one even troubles themselves to disguise anymore. And. It just disgusts me. I don't know why now, of all times. Maybe because I've been slapped in the face with it's rudeness.

...So horribly alluring--only because the warmth of the past sweetly distorts what actually might be arranging itself. It's not convenient enough though. I can't swallow it, no matter how viscerally to it I am drawn. Do you understand?

I feel like I always make the worst decisions and feel gratified by them, and resentful of being robbed of some trivial, fleeting happiness when I make the right choice. I suppose I must be less impulsive. Train my eye for the happiness of what I could attain if I applied myself.
Sometimes I think I honestly just want to be an aborigine though. They believed that your dreams are the true reality, and that the waking, conscious, life is merely for the mechanics of living--eating and shitting, procreating and such. Subconscious is more real to them than their physical surroundings. It sounds like Escapism encapsulated into a cultural philosophy, but I honestly think that I like the content of some of my dreams more than the content of my life, so why shouldn't that be real to me? Why don't I put on some Bright Eyes and wallow in my self-dissapointment? hahahahaha.

No. I'm going to do my homework. I'm going to make fucking fabulously conceptually beautiful hats and be a fucking fabulous milliner. I'm going to try to get straight A's this year. It's never happened to me in high school, and even though it's a silly aspiration, it's certainly worth pursuing for practical, not-just-prideful, reasons.


"What's broken can always be fixed,
and what's fixed will always be broken"
You put your arms around me

"Dear Jane Reader:

With regret, Jane and janemag.com is no longer being published.

In its place, we invite you to explore Glamour magazine and Glamour.com.

We think you’ll love Glamour.com. Like Jane, it’s packed with everything smart, sexy women want to know—about your body, your beauty, your relationships … and more!

Sincerely,

Jane Magazine"


Oh my God.

Say goodbye to another publication that appealed to and sympathized with counter-culturally-minded females. I seriously can't believe this! Losing ELLEgirl, the Intellectual Teenage Riotgrrl Vixen's retaliation against trite, cliched, and mall-rat Seventeen was horrible enough. Jane, which I felt was aimed at an articulate, mature, Intellectual Riotgrrl Vixen, was brewed with a hearty helping of borderline-pretentious-but-still-affirming indie jokes and hilarious cultural criticisms, not to mention style and beauty editorials that knew what they were talking about (if perhaps, your aesthetic icon is NOT Jessica Simpson or Beyonce, but rather Chloe Sevigny or Kirsten Dunst?)--themed with an ironic, saucy and satisfyingly cynical "just don't take yourself too seriously" attitude, that the staff even applied to their truly worthy cover celebrities/artists (for the most part!). I just felt like its content was accessibly self deprecating, refreshingly practical and always on pulse. They even discontinued the website. Rerouted to GLAMOUR Magazine.


Maybe I'm just really shocked, but I seriously feel insulted. A tad betrayed, perhaps? Um yeah. Now there's only like...Nylon, which can be so-fucking-hipster-pretentious-I-want-to-gag-myself at times and TeenVOGUE, which has beautiful fashion spreads but honestly really sub-par editorial content left (that are widely available). It's these kind of stabs at not-willing-to-conform-and-be-vapid women's projects and initiatives that make me want to freak out and start making and distributing a zine or invest my femi-nazi anger into some other creative outlet. I mean, I understand that Jane received the axe because of sluggish deplorable sales, but I still feel it could have been more aggressively promoted or something to bolster readership before being unceremoniously terminated.


Ugh! Tell me I'm not peerless in being pissed!

I guess I care about the fact that I can't care about anything


LOLZ.



hahahaha. typing "LOLZ" actually made me LOL--IRL!

and also, this cat icon amuses me so much. it's something i could spend a lot of time watching without realizing it, and then, upon remembering that i'm staring at a repeating GIF image, feel like the biggest moron ever.

i found out my 2007/2008 school year schedule, and it's just whatever.
but more excitingly, my baby brother (aged 14, and ever so angsty <3) will be attending Dreyfoos High school of the Arts this year as a freshman. GET EXCITED. especially since his new interest is looking like an indie skater asshole. even though, he is neither of those things. well maybe a little bit of an asshole sometimes. but, who isn't? HA! here i am already making excuses for my baby brother-muffin. this school year is going to be fucking RIDICULOUS. and that's the way we love it, right?

hate. is just not a strong enough word.

Well hi. I haven't posted in a long time sort of. I do have a lot of things I could talk about, but I have this problem lately where I am unable to synthesize and mobilize my thoughts and inclinations in one direction. So, I guess that's a focus problem then, now that I consider it. Which makes for a rather spacey and indifferent persona. I'm having trouble focusing and following through and being pro-active. But what's new?

I suppose I could write about the fact that I've been living in a little apartment in Paris for two weeks, and spent a few days in London proceeding that.

I suppose I could write about my A.P. scores, which surprised the hell out of me.

I suppose I could write about the books I've been reading and enjoying.

I suppose I could write about my frustration concerning the foods here.

And, I suppose an honorable mention should be made to the television programming here, because, it rules.

List Format (because my non-focus coupled with the rather large amount of information makes it impossible to write cohesively):


1) I am living in a charming, but filthy and cramped apartment in the 1st Arrondissement, and subsequently very trendy area of Paris, France. The apartments are all above retail stores and are accessible by these tiny inconspicuous doors, generally requiring access codes to enter. All the walls are paper-thin, so you know exactly what your neighbors are doing (lately my neighbors above me and across the courtyard have had a penchant for Cat Power, Bob Dylan and Swan Lake) and it's totally fine to walk around naked with your windows open (a privilege my other neighbors love to abuse, to the mixed horror and delight of my mum and elderly "aunt" Pam). Anyway, I am living in an apartment above ENERGIE, which is kind of like urban casual wear I guess. It reminds me of a lesser Miss Sixty, which is actually just a few blocks down the street. The clothes here are all sort of weird compared to what's trendy in the states. Of course I've attempted to pick some up. I've gotten rather adept at the Metro and RER train systems, however, I really dislike using the Bus System. It's rather like riding Palm Tran, which is fine for getting you where you need to be, but is not a particularly pleasant experience. The Metro and RER are fun. We go daily for fresh baguettes, and since everything is sold in small quantities, we have to go replenish food nearly every other day, which doesn't bother me, because I take quite a bit of pleasure in just meandering around the area and people-watching and whatnot. I am a short walking distance from the Louvre and Tuileries Gardens, which are very nice to take leisurely strolls through, if you don't mind the crowds. The grass is very warm and soft and perfect for napping in, which lots of people, including myself do.
So far, I have been to nearly all of the important tourist attractions such as the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Elysees, the Louvre and my personal favorite, the Pompidou Centre. All of the artwork is overwhelming. I seriously thought I was going to have an American-Beauty-plastic-bag-blowing-in-the-wind-moment.
Paris is simultaneously the dirtiest and most beautiful place I have ever been.
London, on the other hand is comparatively, impeccably clean. Like, a super liberal and super hygienic version of an American city.

2) A.P. English--4, A.P. 2-D--3, A.P. Art History--4 (seriously the shock of my life)

3) I've been chipping away at the required summer reading for next year, and managed to enjoy Brave New World quite a lot; I really like dystopia-themed literature. In the spirit of France, I read The Stranger by Albert Camus, and loved it. I want to perhaps read more of his work. Of course, I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (I procured the British version since they don't sell the American one here), and was honestly let down. I just expected it to be a lot more epic and a lot less predictable, not to mention the loads of loose ends and the shoddy tying up of the ones that were. And now, I'm in the process of reading The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin, which is a bit droll--so much so, that I kind of want to put it down for My Antonia by Willa Cather since I discovered a copy of it in the bookshelf here. Other than that, I have to start bothering with the A.P. Euro question packet based on A World Lit Only By Fire, a book that I started in June and abandoned for Brave New World. TO BE REVISITED.

4) Consider this: the food trinity in every region in this country is some variation on bread, meat and cheese. None of which I can eat. I am allergic to gluten, so all breads available here are totally out of the question, even though I sampled some because I was so tempted, and my body promptly freaked out. Touche, body, ok? And meat, for the obvious reason that...it's like a dead animal, ya know? And then, my mum and I discussed in America, that it would be easier for traveling and living here if I were to be a vegetarian, and I agreed to eat cheese and eggs, not only for convenience, but also a little out of curiosity--I mean, I would feel silly coming here and not trying an omelet or something quintessentially French. However, I learned that the vast majority of cheese here is produced using rennet, an enzyme procured from a dead animal's stomach lining. So, joy joy, nearly everything is off-limits. I have been enjoying meringue from the patisserie down the street, and I even discovered some coconut macaroons at the market that I like a lot. And then...beloved flora.
England, however, was like a paradise. In the Sainsbury's near our inn, they sold not just gluten-free bread, but a variety of gluten free breads and bread products. Oh my god. The packaged food goods are clearly labeled as vegan/vegetarian and/or celiac appropriate. Again, oh my god.
In summation, France, I love your culture and sights and style, but not your food at all. And England, if the way to my heart is indeed through my stomach, you might have something going for you.

5) European T.V. is the bomb. Like, it's just bloody brilliantly retarded. And that's how I like it. Europe2TV is a music channel that is after my own heart. It plays good music videos (Smashing Pumpkins, Justice, The National, for instance) and it plays Degrassi everyday and NEXT. Like, two of the best shows ever. And I really like watching NEXT in French. It just comes off as even more asinine. LUV IT.


p.s. The boys of Europe are hot as fuck. Hot as fuck, lady friends. But way intimidating.

p.s.s. I went to the Ed Banger Records Costume Boat Party with Julia when she was here, because we wanted to see Justice and Uffie. That shit sucked. Uffie, you don't know who your true fans are, obviously. And, I never want to be in a crowd of asshole hipsters that massive again. It was so gross.

I think I'm on the karma payment plan.

I JUST GOTTA So0o0o0o0o MUCH EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE. I just....I don't even know. I don't ever know.

I just feel so enormously defeated by everything. I can't even try.
My therapist is so goddamn dead-on right: I never really put in anything, and I never really get anything out except more void and more emptiness. And by the way, she's dumping me because I am so difficult. Am I so crazy?

Mr. Johnston is seriously creepy, and I seriously started crying writing that essay in the exam. That's all I can really say about that.

Shit fuck damn. Eva, you're so fucking repetitive. mmmmmfuckfuckfuckyou'resostupid.

Really Goddamn stupid. Really Goddamn lousy.

Sometimes I get worried because I notice so many incongruities within myself. I don't know about amending them either. Or if I could--or even want to. Essentially, I just view them as weaknesses that someone would confront me with, or try to exploit.

Some contradictions make people intriguing, but some just make them ersatz. Most of the time I'm concerned about falling with the latter.

I think I've decided my new life ambition is to experience everything I possibly can, and learn as much as I can. Obviously, I'd want to pursue this with an inclination towards positivity, but I understand that to understand happiness, one must understand pain too.
I just want to fill myself to capacity with everything I consider beautiful.
I'm trying to accept my regrets, and use them to prevent possible ones to come. I take comfort in the fact that my intelligence or worth as an individual isn't and shouldn't be measured in numerals on official-looking documents, content of my iPod, or past transgressions. Everything is weightless and relative and ultimately insignifigant, so why not embrace such a despaired concept? I can see wonders of good happening from that. Which reminds me of how  thrilled I am to FINALLY go to Europe this summer, where I can just try to soak up as much culture and intrigue and history and sex appeal as possible. And it totally is.
I just have to keep on keeping on. I found a really great quote today (shutthehellup).

"Fall down seven times, Stand up eight"-- anonymous ancient Japanese proverb.

Come on, it rules, just a little.
Goodness, I feel like I'm having a hippie-crisis or something!? Basically, I'm kind of admitting that I do care. But I'm going to do so on my own terms.

All of my entries in this journal are kind of filled with the same crippling uncertainty, coupled with cautious hope and humourous diversions. Eh, we'll see, I suppose.

I know that I'm completely ungrateful for my life and the advantages and beauty that I have been exposed to over the course of it. My memories really are so precious to me. I love looking back at the little  moments of pleasure and beauty and depth in my life. Recognizing how they weave together and meld into a human.


I think about the horses that used to live next door to me. One was black and there was a dappled grey mare too. I remember my first in a long succession of nannies: she was black, and pretty, and would play with me amongst the tall, tall, Christmas tree-like pines. There were pansies along the long driveway, because we lived in the country. Once when we were driving on it, we stopped and moved a box turtle out of the way of our car. There were red-breasted robins in the woods. And snakes. So many snakes in the ceilings, and termites. Goldenbook Fairy Tales.

I remember Massachusetts. I lived in a condo on a steep steep hill. I was always sick. Our neighbor was eastern european, and her daughter couldn't speak English at all. When it snowed there, everything absolutely glittered with it. I had a tricycle that I was only permitted to ride in the parking lot. And I made snow angels with my father at the base of the hill while the cars sped past. I threw tantrums on purpose for the fourteen year old boy who babysat me. Goodnight Moon.

I think about the rusty orange color of these maple leaves that littered a road that my mother pulled my brother and I along in a red wagon in Rhode Island. It was near his friend Clayton's house. And I disliked that boy because he laughed too much. I remember recess and monkey bars, and this huge hollowed-out tree stump that children made "potions" in with their lunches. I remember making forts out of leaves, and climbing the back staircase because we were too dirty and would muddy-up the front one. I remember (attempting and failing miserably at) playing soccer. I remember the mysterious name on the back of the tile in the fireplace, and learning about discrimination in class. My Mama Had a Dancin' Soul.

I remember disliking the uni-season of Florida. The glaring sun always everyday. I remember riding bicycles--into my neighbor's parked car. And the strange, strange, ugly flora and insects here. I remember realizing that I lived in real, stereotypical suburbia. I remember piano lessons. I remember Fredrika Takk. And the beginning of the drifting cycle of friendship. Ella Enchanted/ Sirena

The beach when I was pre-adolescent and self-absorbed. Bleached out colors under the bright sun, and the burning and sifting of the soft sand that I romped around in. Rainbow vanilla ice cream. Making friendship bracelets out of embroidery thread and reading fashion magazines. I remember the aqua-vastness of the pool. And almost drowning in the inky black ocean on a bleak day. Honeysuckle nectar and grilled cheese sandwiches. The Catcher in the Rye.

I can recall first understanding the fear of tangible fatness. My seventh-grade friend had cellulite, and another girl showed it to me, disgusted. I remember the false sexuality of middle school. Or at least, it certainly was false for me. Chalk on the sidewalk measuring out the entire length of the human digestive system.  Dipping slippered feet into the dust of translucent, yellow crumbs of rosin. The approximate commencement (because I don't know that it ever has a starting point or an ending) of six years of confrontation, alienation, and ongoing resentment of my mother. The initial episode in a series of unofficial spiraling internal collapses. The Bell Jar.

Fresh start. Adolescence. Insecurity. Constant Instability. Hair dye. Vaguely romantic encounters. Intellectual pursuit. Carnies and electric daylight and adrenaline and movie quotes. Becoming nocturnal. Music Music Music. Being hopeful, guarded, inexperienced, conflicted, deceitful, intoxicated, confused and ultimately very wretched. Swimming in nostalgia, and Dadaism, and being guarded again. Sleeping. Warmth and softness and disconnection. Being semi-serious. Letting go, accepting, and trashing something that I couldn't grasp anyway. Repeat, except not literally. Love in the Time of Cholera/ The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Basking. Dabbling, but being more serious. Self-image reassessments. Social outlets. Vehicles and pavement and signs and lights. Music. Cutting the ties that bind too much. Cultural ambitions and pursuits. Self-assurance. Plunging into a future that shifts before my eyes like a mirage. Panoramic beauty. Learning to adjust to the fluctuations that always roll in like weather clouds. Not holding on or clinging to what is already gone. Color placement, folk songs, gossip. Medication for living. Sleeping in sunlight. Degenerate activity! Oddly enough, Walden.

This is what it means to me. It won't always be wonderful, and it won't always be heart wrenching. Seasons of life, you know, ripen and rot, but for a time, immerse you in thier mood. I may not be on the threshold of something fabulous right now, but it's coming. Really, it's all worth it, in a cumulative sense.

p.s.

So we talked for hours
and you cried into my sheets
you said you hated your body
that it was just a piece of meat

I'm so terrified of being constricted and never being able to live to my full capacity. I'm also terrified of never understanding, and my entire existence being one extravagant exercise in futility. Of my life just amounting to some sort of blithe act of entertaining myself. Some kind of cruel trick, I guess. I just don't want to be useless and take up space that someone else deserves.
Lately I've just been burdened and I feel like every shard of my life that has been held together is loosening, and at some point I'll be overcome by the fragility and it'll just shatter. Sometimes, I want to make it shatter; before events outside of my control can.
But basically, I don't want to be Marie Antoinette.



P.S. Boston was fab. I would like to live there. And go to school of course.


Also, for this entry to make any sort of sense, it is imperative that you follow the links provided. I just felt like those sources articulate what I'm in the midst of so much more effectively than I ever could.