i guess i should do a normal mocca-wrap-up post.

hm. okay. well, i didn't buy CRAP. i got a bunch of free treats though: blankets soundtrack, a really stunning collection of melissa prints by craiggers, two jeffrey brown sulky things. the hubster got stuff though. if he leaves it on the kitchen table, maybe i'll read it.

i should give chester brown another try.

oh i did buy a shirt at the young designer's market across the street. it has a heart (muscle-heart, not symmetrical card heart) with red paint splattered, and the back says "the heart in the window" (in italiano). lovely!

okay what else? it was less crowded...just a steady stream of people coming in and out on both days. very nice.

i annoyed jeffrey when i told him that i thought that chris ware's bigass sketchbook collection was not a good first-read from him, that it actually sort of frightened me (but also reminded me of a handful of jeff's images). i also yelled at him for having vomiting in his books. i smacked him on the ass several times, and then told him that i'd waited a long time to do that. i found that i could just sit for hours and watch him draw and be in a happy land.

the hubby and i crashed the harveys just in time to see craiggers win his third (of three) award (YAY!) and i had a yummy pink blossom. grey goose may well change my whole attitude towards vodka.

i spent a lot of time waiting around for craig to stop yapping or flirting, so we could go home or get our eat on. i saw delightful/disturbing pictures of the fun he had with his beard in europe. we talked a lot about sex. but that's what i do.

lucy liked him. she rarely likes boys. good for him.

craig'll be back in july, and then we'll all be out in san diego. jeff'll be in san diego too, yay.

what else...ah yes. the cute comics boy report:

i actually spoke to paul hornschemeier, who thinks i'm an ass. he is cute but no cuter than jeffrey brown.
craiggers is a cutie-pie. just beware of thinking you're the only one he says things to. he invites EVERYONE to portland.
jeffrey brown is hot.
nick bertozzi has a charming little lady and a lovely wife.
crap. what was that guy's name? jeff had a friend...mark or matt...who was cute. watch for him, ladies.
i'm putting brett warnock on my cute boy list. yeah. great fellow, too. and congratulations to him!

i got hit on. i think. that's good, because people tend to treat me like a bit of a medusa since i'm married. or maybe it's because i'm plain. but i prefer to think it's that people are afraid to touch me because my husband and i are so hot that we'll burn you.

ahem.

love and death are always on my mind

i got home this morning (night? we never went to bed) at 5:30 am after dropping off craiggers. i slept for two hours then ran off to an otolaryngologist appointment an hour away (still have nodules, big shock. still have gerd, and was admonished for not taking the medicine regularly for six months). i stayed awake during the long wait by writing. i had to stop at a store on the way back to get a new book, but i promised myself that i wouldn't completely write off my thoughts as mania/sleep-deprivation/caffeine-induced rubbish.

things to do...june 28, 2004

stop obsessing. stop thinking. stop writing. stop dreaming. stop waiting. stop hoping. stop longing. stop envying. stop memorizing. stop looking. stop staring. stop watching. stop counting. stop standing around. stop caring. stop wondering. stop wishing. stop ignoring. stop fantasizing. stop checking. stop connecting. stop planning. stop serving. stop loving needing.

(
other ways to say things.
other ways to write things.
other ways to list things.
other ways to arrange things.
)

OTHER WAYS TO MAKE IT STOP.

no.
NO!

START:
stopping the voice
getting over it
going out a little more
working on a budget
writing that thing
working on those skinny arms
trying to knit
trying to sew
bringing tape with you. and a towel.
reading more
not caring what others think
ignoring the computerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
writing things to yourself
playing
sleeping without pills
drinking more water
seeing others' faults
dealing with your own without involving others
doing creative stuff crappily
judging looking at things [other than yourself] critically
looking at others as human
turning off the tv
thinking of ideas
learning
remembering who he fell in love with
remembering who you fell in love with
getting over your fear of the embodiment of happiness
getting over your fear of self-acceptance
thinking about how others feel when speaking to you
making your own coffee at home
running and screaming when you hear your own voice in your head
putting more pictures in your diary
writing everyday
looking to yourself...errr maybe k and sean...to get over things
asking "what if"
writing down all hypomania-induced ideas
remembering that the largest percentage of the circle is "what you don't know you don't know"
cutting the umbilical cord between yourself and anorexia, depression, neuroses, etc.
working on things without any attention to "what now" or "what else is there"
(the fool...at your feet..."doesn't know where he is going. he just follows his fate").
cooking and cleaning much more
talking to the witch. even talking BACK to the witch.
playing with lucy more often
realizing that self-deprecation makes others uncomfortable (creates pity at best and drives people away at worst).
finding things that you like to do, read, etc.
if you don't know, block out others' tastes
pretending to take yourself a little more seriously
going into the city more often
recruiting some damn students
stretching more often
challenging others to come off of their pedestals and talk to you
letting go of "special"
reviewing vocal ped stuff
being grateful for your superhuman immune system this past year
squaring your shoulders
refusing to feel like a freak because you're married
inquiring about looks (especially the "you have two heads!" one)
looking into SAM-e instead of the lexapro
trying to come up with ways in which you might be a good influence on your friends.

a mystery in pictures

this was the scene when i returned from the doctor today.

last train to babylon and out into the dawn tracks run off a cliff you didn't hear it from me

dude. my favorite artist is totally asleep on my couch right now. holy crap.

this has helped me avoid dealing with work ending. thursday i cried and yesterday i just stayed disconnected from it. and now...now i have a cute cartoonist boy staying here!! woo!! see k--i have one too!!! i tried to start a battle ("oh yeah? well MY cartoonist _________"), but it didn't work.

don't ask me to rise

something that i heard a long time ago is bothering me in a new way.

k got back from a weekend the people who follow tori around on tour, and she informed me that "______ is even more self-deprecating than you." at the time, i sort of took it as something that reflected negatively on our friendship (mine and k's, not mine and _____'s, as i don't know ___ all that well but she seems awesome and everyone else loves her). i took this to mean that k liked ____ more than me. don't ask me why. but hating myself is something that makes me me, and i like to give myself credit for at least having enough sense to realize how loathsome i am.

so i was thinking about it today in the shower, and something else occurred to me. this is yet another thing i've failed at. clearly, i have gotten a little too into myself (in a positive way). i'm not doing my job. another thing. i was anorexic, but not anorexic enough to miss my periods. i was good enough to get in as a voice major, but not good enough to get BACK in after i dropped the double major. craig says i'm "halfway there" to becoming a good writer. in the meantime, i type fast. wow.

how could i become less self-deprecating than i was? i certainly haven't done anything to make me worthy of letting my many faults go. and i was feeling better about that post from the other day. i really wanted to hurt myself (physically), but letting myself have it in writing actually made me feel a little better. i guess i just need to do that more often.

and no one wrote me last night when i was lonesome. same old same old. you don't have to comfort me or anything, people. i'm not worthy of comfort. oh poor me...no. i was supposed to be a crib death. just tell me anything you want. anything. i can giggle too...

hand me a kick and trick and your message

i'm so lonesome. or maybe i'm bored. i'm not crying, and i don't have the urge to hurt myself, so maybe it's just boredom. someone e-mail me. tell me a funny story about your day, or tell me about a secret dream of yours, or the naughtiest thing you ever did without regret.

had another interview today--just one of those "snapshot" deals. there are two positions--a leave-replacement and a part-time one. i like that. level and exact schedule is to be determined...the director of music will shuffle current faculty around as necessary so that everyone is working in their strongest areas. part-time would be great. i could preserve my voice but still get benefits. even leave-replacement is okay. i wouldn't be worried about being "perfect" to get tenure, and it's more time/exposure to build up the studio. so i'm pretty open about this. we'll see what happens. either way is fine. it's a decent district, too.

i'm playing with this tooth. i want it out and bridged before san diego, but i don't know if that's going to happen. i'll just be walking around toothless all summer. i had a dream that i was playing with this tooth, and i thought it just fell out but it turned out it just broke in half. then another one (one that isn't supposed to come out) just fell out, and i was in the car and i had no access to water or papertowels, and i was terrified of swallowing the blood (which might have made me sick), so i just spit into a soda can.

i could move. i could pack up and move right now.

dear long island:

this is the hardest letter i've ever had to write. i just can't bring myself to tell you this face to face. i'm leaving you for another place. i just don't think we see eye to eye. or cheek to cheek. do you need some mouth to mouth? we can go head to head. i know that sometimes you left me grinning from ear to ear, but there are some things that we simply will never agree on:

(1) you are NOT the center of the universe. i was all but unaware of your existence until i met my hubster--and i only grew up about 150 miles away from you. montauk is the end of the island, huh? big freakin' deal! it's not like it's the easternmost point of the united states. jersey doesn't have bumper stickers for their easternmost point--and it's an actual state!(2) you are also not the only place in the world that has diners or listens to the pianoman.
(3) long island is NOT new york city. growing up on long island doesn't give you any kind of "ownership" of the city. certainly not more than someone from, say, connecticut.
(4) lexus drivers do NOT, as it turns out, get special driver's licenses. so go ahead and explain to me the assholitude of their driving.
(5) you need to stop pretending that you're not racist. "the blacks???" "the jews???" and it's never "the jews believe [insert correct dogma]." it's some negative stereotype. you claim to be so progressive (and part of the city's liberalism), yet your views are stuck back in the middle ages. i grew up in a hicktown? i never experienced racism until i moved here!
(6) i still think all grocery stores should be open until midnight (or later), but obviously you don't.
(7) it's "caw-fee." not "coo-waw-fee." YOU are the one with the accent. who sounds more like a neutral-accented newscaster?
(8) delaware is not "the south." pull out your social studies textbook. it's north of the mason-dixon line. oh, i see. anywhere south of long island is "the south" since long island is the center (of the universe).
(9) you feel that you are an important person, and you have places to go. and go you do--cellphone up to ear (how much work is a hands-free device exactly?), honking and fingering, and cutting off. while i agree that you are more special important than me, i don't feel that risking your life is a good idea. we just can't seem to agree on that.
(10)your kid DOES lie. and your child can be a downright pain in the ass, as a matter of fact.
(11) you like fur. i think it's trashy and cruel. you think that a fur coat is appropriate attire for the supermarket. i think that pajamas are appropriate attire for the supermarket. you think that a fur coat with sweats and sneakers is a good look. i think it's a good look...for me to poop on!!!
(12) you think that $500,000 is an appropriate amount to spend on a 3-bedroom house that is practically smushed up against its neighbors' houses. i just don't have that kind of money.
(13) you think that i'm interested in a north shore / south shore debate. i would like to know what grade you are in.

see what i mean? this just isn't going to work. we're both so stubborn. neither of us will budge on these issues. it's best to quit while we're ahead and before we start to hate each other. i wish you lots of luck, especially with your schooling. you really do have tremendous potential there.

yours truly,
lucy

but i love it when you blink your eyes

i'm so sick of this. i'm so sick of being at war with my own body. i'm sure some of you can relate to this, but you're probably annoyed (knowing that it was my mind that started the war, and not my body). i still don't feel like i had a choice. it's like i'm possessed. i have no control over what i'm thinking or feeling...or seeing, for god's sake. i see a different body everytime i look. yesterday i saw someone who looked decidedly and delightfully thin. collarbones you could hang her from. almost flat stomach. today, i look pregnant. my "apparent weight" varies by about 30 pounds--even in a 24 hour period. and i'm angry because i know that a percentage of this is something that every woman has to shoulder--it's not just because i'm crazy. "some of" this torment is prescribed.

i can't handle the mood swings. when i get into this pit, i curse having ever been high. i resent myself for being happy. it just hurts more when i fall.

maybe it's caffeine, but i love the way it makes me forget my appetite. it makes food actually NEUTRAL. i'll get so happy and so filled with hope...all these ideas just rush to me, and i feel like i have to gather them up before they float away. i think of all these things to say to different people--all these inspired, sentimental things. i'll be driving and i'll never want to hide from the sun again and i'll see my wings

and the thing is i saw them last year when i was very sick and i figured that the wings were a little present to keep me hooked on the anorexia

but now they make me so happy and giggly i don't know what to think.

and then there's now. i'll do my little projects or at least make my big plans while i'll up...and now i have to listen to the tapes (either my rational mind or whatever has taken over me) telling me that i'm an idiot, that i'm going to drive people away, that i'm crazy, that there's no wonder no one wants a relationship with me. i'll want to delete everything i've ever written and never contact anyone again, so great is this desire to not have to hear this again:

_______ thinks you are such an ass. and you are an ass. why would you send people to your blog to read this shit? people have better things to do. if you were any good, people would read it without feeling obligated to, and they'd comment.

you are not ________'s friend. you are needy. they were your friend at first because they felt sorta sorry for you (lucky for you they're a kind person), but now you're just taking it too far.

don't bother _____ with a phone call. they don't want to talk to you. you're just going to feel stupid when they make it apparent.

there is nothing even remotely sexy about you. you are skinny like a 9-year old in some places (what are you hoping to do? catch a pedophile?) and disgustingly thick in others. your legs are too skinny and your pouch is too big. your boobs are saggy, just like your mom warned you...you should have worn a bra.

it's self-centered to be conceited and in love with yourself, but what you do is even worse. talking about yourself this much--whether in a positive or negative way--is still extremely selfish. yeah, you talk shit about yourself, but you spend more time thinking about yourself than anyone or anything else. you are selfish and self-centered. and people can't even laugh it off like they do when someone is being conceited. you are so annoying and such a burden to everyone you leech onto.

you're NOT a perfectionist. you have no right to even entertain such ideas. you are a failure in everything but mediocrity. why would you think you have a special talent? you're not special. you are not entitled to it. and quit talking about this to others. it just puts them on the spot and makes them feel like they have to lie or exaggerate the virtues of the very ordinary things you do (that everyone else does). it's annoying to them. no need to bring extra attention to your flaws. people dislike you whether you waste your breath or not.

you are a complete waste of resources. why should you take food that others deserve? why should you get treatment at renfrew when there are people who have potential? why should you get your job back when other teachers lost theirs, too? why are you entitled to spend the money on a second master's degree when you made your husband take a job he hated when he got laid off?

why doesn't your body just work? if you can't be adequate, at least be normal. you aren't even competent when it comes to basic bodily functioning.

you are disgusting and loathsome, and you will always be lonely. your punishment for you shortcomings will be a lifetime of having to live with yourself. don't try to take this lump and give it to others, because others deserve better than that.

you would have to go back to s.i. if you weren't already so grotesque. you already look on the outside the way you are on the inside--the only thing about you that is right.

you are alive so that you can bring upon yourself the suffering that you deserve.

CONTEST RESULTS

okee josiah got it first. but i need to ascertain that he didn't talk to a certain someone who already knew what it was. the runner-up is mr. jim dougan woo!



it's "that angel symbol thing" from blankets. in no way am i an angel. it tends to appear in fantastic/escapist sequences, and that's the aspect to which i connect. i live in my own world.

we have a winner!

it's mr. josiah leighton of new orleans, louisiana.

however, i want to see if anyone else can get it.

but josiah you get your choice of prize:
a gift certificate to amazon.com
or
a picture of me on international read-a-comic-book-naked-day!!!

ATTENTION CARTOONISTS:

do you make comics? are you looking to increase your readership? do you think your work has a certain inter-species appeal?

if you answered "yes" to any of these questions, then we have the offer for you! our cat will read your comics!

that's right. miss lucy collins, a calico as cute as her taste in sequential art is discerning, is looking for a few good artists. if you think you have what it takes, simply e-mail lucy's mommy (lucyhoney23 at yahoo dot com). she will provide you with our mailing address to which you can send your work. for no extra charge, lucy will provide you with feedback, an honest critique, and a picture of her with your work.

take a look at lucy perusing some books by today's hottest cartoonists:

craig thompson's goodbye, chunky rice

lucy says, "hmmmmm...that bird looks pretty tasty! why don't you 'doot doot' your way into my mouth!!! two paws up!"


nick bertozzi's rubbernecker no.4

lucy says, "this is the eightball of the new millenium! but if there were lots of drawings of people taking yarn and making lots of sudden, jerky movements with it, it would be even better!"


jeffrey brown's be a man

lucy says, "i have to hide this one under my kitty bed, because i'd be in big trouble if mommy caught me reading this! woo-woo! if only the naked people had fur! woo!"


phoebe gloeckner's a child's life and other stories

lucy says, "her comics are good enough, but how about the hunk she lives with? pipsqueak: hubba-hubba!!!! call me!"


DON'T HESITATE, FOLKS! ACT NOW!

Conscious self	Overall self

Take Free Enneagram Personality Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

CONTEST TIME!!!

okay, so my 'puter is back, so i was able to take a picture of my tattoo. i'm running a contest--first person to correctly identify this wins a prize. i'm serious. i'll actually send you a prize. so e-mail me (lucyhoney23 at yahoo dot com) with your entries. if you are on the right track, i will confirm it. if you're not, i'll tell you that you aren't close. so get researchin' and e-mailin'!!!!

oh, and if you already KNOW (because i told you or for whatever reason), you are ineligible to participate in this contest.

FUN! GAMES! PRIZE!!!

the more you ignore me
the closer i get
you're wasting your time
"the more you ignore me," morrissey

remember that song? i was a senior that year.

i decided to brave the dinosaur since i can't get to my blog from work. our 'puter--our less-than-6-months-old, just-got-back (26 days ago)-from-a-week-getting-fixed-by-the-apple-people--is sick. again. this time, we stand to lose everything. dammit. the only thing i really care about is my whole collection of pictures. i think i made a cd for my parents with a bunch of them...but i don't want to lose a single picture of the furry guys.

i'm still excessed. c'mon. my bmi is 17. how much excess could i be?

i will post a picture of my tattoo as soon as we get the computer back (so i can hook the camera up to it). whoever figures out first what it's from wins a prize. i'm serious. anything to get feedback. i never get comments. i can see that my traffic is at a record high, but if no one comments it's because i suck. just because people come here doesn't mean they like it.

i wrote wayne beamer an e-mail the other day, complaining about craig thompson's absence from mocca this year. ass. that's right. i said ass. doesn't he know that his presence on june 25 was the only thing that could ease the pain of my last day of work? but no, he had to go break my heart. and now that i've dragged my feet, i can't even get tickets to iron & wine (sold out) that day with karolyn and jeffrey (brown). i'll show up anyway. as i warned wayne, craig's absence means that the stalking spotlight is on jeff now.

I DIDN'T WANT TO SEE YOU ANYWAY, CRAIG!*

some of my students made me a banner with puppies that said "we'll miss you mrs. [my last name]!!!" and gave me this cute doggie which i named obob. another wrote me a letter saying how upset she was about me losing my job. i believe her words were "this budget this is so retarded." these are seventh graders. i never would have guessed that kids that age would give a flying doodie. but these are the kids that i don't get to work with next year. and they are unbelievably serious about chorus. wanh.

meanwhile, i'm dragging my feet about sending a resume out to a district to which i have a strong connection (my former assistant superintendent is their current assistant superintendent, and she's close with my mother-in-law). urrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhh...

so stay tuned. i'll update before then, but i should have my computer back late next week. so let's just say that the "guess my tattoo" contest is in honor of mocca.

* this is a lie.

"if you're not perfect, then die."

supposedly that's what the witch says to me in my little jungian fairy tale. but i'm not striving for perfection. i'm just trying to be decent. worthwhile. adequate. that is as close to perfect as i get. i guess that's what she meant. but "if you're not adequate, then die" kinda makes sense.

apparently i'm doing neither a "perfect" nor an adequate job of dying. i went to renfrew in new york today. i told my "intake" person that i had seriously contemplated (picked up and put down numerous times) laxatives and water pills. i told her that i had gotten up to 112, but now i'm at the 106 that i was when i was discharged (which is about 83% ibw, or a bmi of 17.1). i told her i had been slipping for a few months and that i was down to 1000 calories a day--which was what i was eating when i went inpatient last year. i said that i wanted to do iop to bring myself back...

and i was told that i would probably be turned down for iop. i said, "what, am i not skinny enough???" and she said that i am, but there usually has to be a "complicating factor" for the insurance to cover it--which pretty much means some type of purging. last summer, when i was accepted as an inpatient, i had fulfilled all of the criteria for anorexia except for missed periods. now, i fulfill all of the criteria except for missed period. although my weight is higher, it's still below 85% (which is the "cutoff").

but i'm not sick enough for treatment. but they'll put me on the waiting list for a group.

i feel like a failure and a hypochondriac. i feel selfish for being angry about this. i wouldn't want to take a spot in the program that could be filled by someone who is sicker and just more worth helping.

the sunlight's making me feel paranoid
i look outside and see the world at war
the people laugh and play like they're alone
they're watching us while we sleep in our homes
i never, i never meant to shut you out
all I know and all i need is you
i never, i never meant to cause alarm
all I know and all i need and all i got is gonna bleed
"sunlight makes me paranoid," elefant

yes, i know you're all excited sean.

that was the most stressful meal i've had in a loooooooong time. i restrict all day, and then the restaurant doesn't have a single vegetarian dish. i was just going to get a house salad, because i really can't handle attention being drawn to me (especially when it's because i'm asking for something "special" when i'd be just as happy eating nothing). so i had to tell the waitress that i'm a vegetarian and ask if they had anything for me. can you believe that in the year 2004 they didn't? the waitress: "uhh...no. i guess a salad." so i'm like "fine i'll have that" (breathing a sigh of relief). but then his family starts with the "you don't have pasta?" (in his family, vegetarian = iceberg lettuce. and pasta). so i ended up getting this penne with too-sweet sauce that clearly came right from the jar. gross. and i started crying after i ordered. if i were prone to purging, i'd have done it in a second. waste of calories and stress.

anyway, i was thinking about me and friends. i actually let go of friends very easily. it's better for me to do that than to wait for them to blow me off. but there are certain people--just a few--that i just can't seem to let go of even when i know i'm a pain in their butts. when i know i am clearly being blown off, i give up. but it's hard. only with some people. i almost enjoy relationships that are very close but only last a certain amount of time. but if i don't get the amount of closeness i want from a person, i get way too attached.

i think some questions will be answered tomorrow.

ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass

that sums up my feelings lately. i think i'm angry. i still want to drive through the streets of s_______ (town in which i work--for two more weeks) giving everyone the finger. "280 MUSIC STUDENTS LOST THEIR TEACHER BECAUSE YOU SAY NO. ASS." there's also someone at work who is an ass. and i couldn't resist NOT being the bigger person the other day, and i'm sure it really ruined her day (i'm the ass this time). and then sir correspondsolittle informs me that he's not coming out here at the end of the month. ass!!!

okay i'm the ass here. i live in a little fantasy world with all (two of) my friends. we all live in this happy place and we're all best friends and none of them have any other friends who tell me i look like i belong on happy days because my hair is in a freaking pony tail. and we are all happy and--

it's sorta like renfrew. but with less flashbacks. and more boys. preferably hot gay ones. and craig and jeff. but if they turned gay that would be fine, because every gay boy needs a fag hag with an eating disorder. in this utopia place (probably a big house with wooden floors) everyone would have a talent (ok everyone does except me, but i'd have one too) and we'd use it and there would always be someone to talk to and snuggle (or, at the very least, a stuffed animal).

okay, i have that. a wonderful wonderful hubby. always someone to snuggle. but i need girlfriends and all of that.

the problem with this fantasy (beside the obvious) is that i'm not really friends with any of these people. they're still my pretend friend because they don't really know me. even the 'frew girls...our friendship exists in that 3 weeks of the summer of 2003. none of them really know me. i have to keep them that way, because they probably wouldn't be my friend in real life. as for the kindly comics people...i'm more "fan" than friend. i keep trying to cross that line, but it's not possible because i never see them. but then i'll still think/do things that have the line blurred, which sets me up for disappointment. who is your favorite singer? have you ever been disappointed by them? did they have make you "sad"? crazy, right?

lucy is rolling around on my yoga mat.

although i've stopped reading craigslist, this is very funny. (please pardon the crude language).

so here's my day so far:
4:00 am woke up, had to go potty but didn't want to disturb my husband
5:30 am husband's alarm goes off...i hijack the bathroom
5:32 am i fiddle around on the internet
6:40 am husband leaves--i go back to sleep
9:00 am i wake up, transplant my butt on the living room couch, and play on the puter.
11:00 am eat an apple and do a yoga thing
11:30 am do a pilates thing
12:00 pm e-mail back and forth a little
1:00 pm walk to 7-11, get coffee (decaf this time), walk to walgreens, buy a bunch of crap
2:30 pm come back here to im with karolyn and write this crap.

total calories (3:18 pm): 200

but i'm going out to dinner.

i can't let little, dumb, nonexistent things get me this down. i'll let the fact that i forgot to take my lexapro again (second day in a row) do it.

in sum, dear audience (of two): I am the ass.

i feel weird today. all yesterday i felt so happy, so filled with hope, so at home back at renfrew. all throughout the day i heard the whisper of "go for it...if it's your dream, do it...go back to school AND start a private studio" over and over. and i heard it over and over and over and i was certain of what i wanted to do.

and then today i called my therapist (an msw) and her first reaction was "can you afford that?" and not in an inquisitive way but in a get-back-to-reality way (a way in which people rarely speak to me, because i can usually keep myself in check). and we talked more about how hunter would be wrong for me because it's psychoanalytic and that just doesn't jive with me. and she said that she thinks i'd be tremendous with it (but probably in an i'm-your-therapist-and-i'm-here-to-make-sure-you-have-dreams way). but the money thing is what stuck with me.

first, it made me feel terribly guilty, because she went to all the trouble to get on my insurance, and before that she charged me close to nothing for our sessions, because we didn't have a lot of money. at least, that was what i thought. we had money, but we have to save it for one of two inevitabilities: sean's job going down (happened), or sean becoming successful/prolific/on fire enough to want to write full-time with, or without compensation (hasn't happened just yet). but to tell her we have money in the back...i'm afraid i pissed her off. i'm just realizing i was a little bit too worried about money at the time. i had no idea how much money we've sacked away in the last two years. but it probably looked like i was scamming her to accept such generously low rates.

then, i felt like i was just an idiot and that this was some mania-induced, crackpot scheme that would blow up in my face.

and since then, i just feel ridiculously anxious. what if i make the "wrong" decision? what if i walk away or blow off the best job ever? what if i put us in the hole with my selfishness? i already have one master's degree--do i really deserve to use our money for a second one? of course not. i'm not that smart anyway. i just love reading and studying and learning. that money, in my mind, was supposed to go towards helping us float while he writes, or maybe even a non-rental property. what right do i have to spend it at _____ university like i would at loehmanns, especially when i have no idea if this is what i'm meant to do? maybe this--like my selfish thoughts of going ip again--is just another way of escaping.

i want to go ip probably just so i can make friends. but i won't be ip, because my weight is at about 83%. my insurance only covers day once you're at about 77%. i'd be "dtla" which means it's $300 a night. more money. iop might be best for me. maybe i can make friends there, and there is more of a direct connection to my work there and my life at home. inpatient at renfrew was its own sweet microcosm. three nights a week in the city, in the summer, might be best.

or maybe i don't even need treatment. i'm pretty happy with my body, actually. i weigh about what i did at my wedding, and i definitely didn't (don't) look sick. just thin. i don't want all this attention paid to eating and getting my weight up. i want to transcend that. i want to work on my self-esteem issues, anger stuff that i allegedly repress, creativity...that sort of thing. i still hate myself, you know!!! but my self-hatred is probably an inconvenience to the few that love me, so maybe i should change. i was unable to change to become the daughter that my mom needed when i was younger, but maybe i can change myself now.

i'm so anxious. i'm scared of liking this job. i want to either love it enough to drop this crazy "going back to school" thing, or dislike it enough to turn down a second interview (should one be offered, of course). jeez...please don't let this buzzing in my head block my gut reaction tomorrow. i definitely don't want to wear a suit, but i will. i don't want to answer things in the "right" way...i won't. i'm going to be completely honest. "office space" honest. well, maybe not that honest, but honest. my worst flaw? (not that i care too much and take my worries home...although that may actually be true) classroom management.

i need my bobo. he'd tell me what to do. but i won't see him until july.

i read craigslist rants and raves, which is the place where nyc people go to be true bastard people. or maybe they are all bastards. all minus one. a guy wrote a ridiculous essay on how our culture promotes rape...or, actually, that women bring it on themselves with their tight clothes. this girl posted about the three times she was raped (first time being at 5), and how she was not scantily clad. i wrote her, and she wrote me back.

dear (my real name),

the quote you offered made my eyes prick with tears. no trauma is more or less than another. the eating disorder is something i know very well, and for me it has lifted over the years (but has been replaced by other compulsive behaviors from time to time.) i assume you are getting help?

isolation is our slave-keeper. thank you for writing. we are not alone.

-a.

>From: "my maiden name"
>To: anon-33025952@craigslist.org
>Subject: your post on rape
>Date: Sun, 06 Jun 2004 12:41:02 -0400
>
>
>god bless you for dealing with that amount of trauma. you're a real
>inspiration to someone like me who is trying to rise above an eating
>disorder that may have resulted from trauma that is very minor in
>comparision to yours. just wanted to let you know that.
>
>(my real name)
>
>
>
>nothing i cared, in the lamb-white days
>that time would take me up to the swallow-thronged loft
>by the shadow of my hand
>in the moon that is always rising
>o'er the childless land
>oh, as i was young and easy
>in the mercy of his means
>time held me green and dying
>though i sang in my chains like the sea
>
>"fern hill," dylan thomas

that's still one of my favorite poems. maybe my favorite. we sung it when i was a senior in college. i can't separate the poem from the music. anyway, this beginning and ending of it was the most relevant part to me. it still is, i guess, because at every point in your life you look back on the last stage, and you see yourself as a child.

i hate my body. not the way it looks, but this anxious feeling. and most of all, my dead girl parts. wake up, dammit. i looked over at my sweet husband the other evening and felt nothing. and i panicked because i felt so little attraction. and then i went through a list of people that are attractive in my kind of way, and i realized that my feelings were just as flat for them. i wish i'd just work already. someone please fix me, please. i don't care if it hurts, i'm just not allowed to hit or cut myself anymore.

one day, it will happen
one day, one day
it will all come true.
one day, when you're ready
one day, one day
when you're up to it.
the atmosphere
will get lighter
and two suns ready
to shine just for you
i can feel it, i can feel it.
one day, it will happen
one day, one day
it will all make sense.
one day, one day
you will blossom
one day, one day
when you're ready.
"one day," bjork

i was going through old videotapes tonight (in hopes of finding my old copy of either into the woods or les miserables) to show the kids, and i stumbled across old stuff from college. one of my first attempts at teaching young kids (or undergrads pretending to be young kids), a random sigma alpha iota recital, my degree recital...

what. the heck. happened. to my voice

i sounded good. i sounded like i had potential, particularly in the sai recital (the video is from my sophomore year, when i was 20). what happened? i've ruled out an m.a. in voice because of my limited range and...well, limited everything. why did i lose so much? HOW did i lose so much? when did this begin? i was proud, at first, of how good i sounded, how well i handled the aria ("always through the changing" from the ballad of baby doe, but now i'm just depressed. i haven't been a soprano since 2000.

and then i'll get this little burst of "dammit i'm going to practice EVERY DAY this summer for two hours...." face it, lucy, it's gone. your days of singing in a way that would impress anyone are over.