What if the things we said are our dreams [as in "hopes and"] were the same things that happened in dreams [as in "while sleeping"]? What if I dreamt every night about being a fabulously successful writer with a hot girlfriend who looks like Jackie Warner and possessing an endless bounty of peanut butter M&Ms? Maybe I'd wake up able to make dreams come true right away; maybe I'd walk like the ground is a trampoline and life itself a boundless and sunshine-streaked sky. Or I'd just have a LeanPocket and sit in front of my laptop and make dying ferret-esque low-pitched moaning sounds, per ushe.
I seem to recall referring to something, in the comments, as my "worst nightmare," then acknowledging I overused that term, then announcing my intention to use that as my next Sunday Top Ten topic. I can't find evidence of this, but I'm pretty sure it happened. Or I've got no excuse for this slap-shot presentation of pathos. I talked about dreams in like, February. 'Dreams You Want to Hear About.' Times have grown dark since then. [What am I talking about?!!??]
TO BE PRESENTED IN TWO INSTALLMENTS
INSTALLMENT ONE: 12-6
To evidence my over-usage of this term, I searched my blogger and gmail to find how I've [mis] appropriated it in the past. That's in here, too, along with things I just thought up, just now, all by myself. It turns out I have a lot of fears, y'all. The way I use 'worst nightmare' is pretty specific though. Like, I know what I mean. Also, I feel like all the sentences in this intro are a grammatical nightmare.
"Really though, this applies to all morning after subway rides, not just "morning after" subway rides: As your stop nears [after, if it's someone you don't know so well, you've inevitably asked, "What's your stop again?" 30 times], even if you're having a fight hurdling towards divorce/breakup, or a discussion pointed towards marriage proposal --when their stop arrives, convo OVER. You've got no control over this. Your fate's the subway engineer's whim, his fast/slow hands your doom/gloom. At a house, people'll stick out the extra ten minutes to finish a discussion, end a fight, complete confession ... but people will not, under any condition, suffer the unbearable consequences of riding the subway even one small moment further than where it JUST WAS, if where it JUST WAS is YOUR STOP, and G-D FORBID you'd encounter the worst nightmare ever, which's if you actually RIDE ALL THE WAY TO THEIR STOP. When the discussion's over, you're now forced to exit the subway at THE WRONG STOP, and, in some cases, you must actually exit the station, cross the street, and attempt to get back onto the subway going BACK towards your stop."
Ideally I guess all that drama took over 18 minutes.
Okay so I'm trying to think of these, and somehow, they're all related to losing technology of some sort: a computer crash, the swift&sudden death of a well-functioning iPod, the [formerly] hypothetical restriction of internet access. 'Cause it turns out you actually can't control life at all, these gadgets and gizmos a'plenty just keep telling you that you can, if you buy more of 'em, but it's a lie! Still, all I ask is that I'm able to select my own soundtrack for being mercilessly trapped underground on the A train for twenty of the best most beautiful minutes of my life or directly after spending a day staring mindlessly at "access restricted" computer screens. Like: life is hard, here is Frou Frou.
That Being Said:
This happened once. I'd just bought a new iBook and I moved a glass of water and it spilled and just like that, everything: vanished, after only two days prior undergoing severe trauma when my first iBook crashed, requiring the purchase of this new one I'd just destroyed. You know when you start like, developing complex relationships with the men at the Genuis Bar? They're like "Oh: you again." My Genius was a photographer and asked me to model for him for his fashion portfolio. I looked at his stuff online and it was good, but I felt weird 'cause I'd already almost cried in front of him. It's like he already saw the most spoiled, stubborn, codependent side of me, after all that I couldn't just show up and be like "What a pretty dress!"
Krista spilled scotch on my ibook once when we lived together.. That wasn't pretty at all whatsoever. The sitch upset me beyond belief, and I took it out on her, as I had, really, no other options for resentment besides Steve Jobs or like, whomever invented this stuff to begin with. The fixed computer was returned with this "sticky" on the desktop:
MLB: this is your happier and healthier-than-ever computer, back in your life to stay. It respectfully requests that you back up your work in case other future unexpected events (i.e. accidents) result in the compromise of your life's soulful records. This said, we promise that your roommate, scotch, and your computer will never ever again share the same small space. The divorce between the scotch and aforementioned i-book is complete and non-negotiable with no chance for reconciliation. However, if you can explore the deep back mildewing recesses of your heart and find there, trembling in some dark corner, forgiveness - - feel free to invite him up to the light and share him with your roommate who loves you desperately and cannot live up to her full potential when she is wrestling with guilt and the vengeance that you cultivate in times of asthma ridden - bad days. peace in the middle east. love, kcw.I love when we sign letters "peace in the middle east." I feel like it's saying: "There are bigger problems than ours, obvs," though I originally picked it up from a sk8er boy I'd email alot back in the mid-90s who I had a big crush on. He told me everything in email and ignored me in school and that's how he signed his letters. Oh, him. Also, I love Krista.
me: I mean, we're fully having a three hour convo about how much we like each other, which is totes my worst nightmare, but obvs not right now, because you're like, my greatest dream.
[redacted]: You like, totally make my day. And night. ... God, I want you.
me: I hate you.
I don't do sleepovers. Lately, this's been a totes non-issue. But, back in my former life as a more emotionally ambitious person, I tried to avoid this at all costs. The worst was the morning I woke up mid-morning at [redacted #2]'s Williamsburg loft on a mattress underneath the bedroom she shared with her then-boyfriend, who hated me with the fury of a thousand suns. It was four or five A.M., maybe, I'd just developed a sudden need for tampons, and I was ten or 100 blocks from the L train, in Williamsburg, where I'd never been before. I was defo still drunk. I remember walking in the dark out by the water, seeing the bridge that I knew linked me to home but having no clue how to reach it.
An empty bus came by, I got on it. It was a bus like in a movie where innocent young girls get killed in mundane blue light. I asked him where we were, if he knew where the train was, I didn't have enough cash to get all the way to Sparlem via cab. I musta looked super hard-up 'cause he took me directly to the L station, which I took to 14th street and then took a cab uptown, slept for about an hour, and then went to work at nerve.com in Hangover Shirt.
Hangover Shirt, which I actually inherited from my Dad, is what I wear to let people know not to fuck with me. I've been doing this for probs like, seven years, which's why there's a lot of holes in Hangover Shirt (aside from the whole "existing since the 70s" thing). I can't believe I used to have jobs where I could actually have a "Hangover Shirt" that looked like this, and wear it to work. Waa. Anyhow, I love it because the drawing in on it is of an old-school computer. "My system is down." Get it? Ha ha.:
Coincidentally, [redacted #2]'d won a nerve photo contest a year prior, so I could explain my wrecked state to my best work-friend Jason not only via audio but also w/visuals: I quickly found her picture in the archive. He approved. He was one of those people I could talk to forever. That morning, prior to the A/V convo, he IMed me [everyone at nerve communicates via AIM 'cause we're all socially awkward weirdos] --my IM name is Plaster176 -- "You're plastered176 today." Obvs, I was wearing my hangover shirt. Which I still have on 'cause I just took those photos. I love it.
"At 15, I saw All Over Me [my mother and her lesbian crew occupied the front row, my friends and I took up a front few: more or less an encapsulation of my worst nightmare ever]. Later, I'd fantasize about that scene where best friends break a barrier I once considered unbreakable: that skinny blonde badass girl, in bed, straddles Claude like it's all she's ever wanted [at least right then], which was so much more than my previous concept of "never." When the movie was released on DVD last year, I re-watched it and was surprised to see: the scene I remembered was not even a sex scene, though I'd remembered it as such. It was just a kiss. They just kissed! But it meant so much more to me than that."
Seriously, reading this email just now, I was slightly taken aback by my own insanity.
"I am in Michigan. There is no wireless. I have cramps like WHOA but I guess i'll just be waiting it out sans Midol considering that I cannot get to a drug store or anything because I am trapped without a car, which is...um...my worst nightmare! Ack! I don't know how I am going to survive the next three days...no car...no wireless....NO GYM I AM GOING FUCKING INSANE CRAWLING ON THE WALLS I NEED A HORSE TRANQULIZIER, SOME MIDOL, AND MAYBE SOME MARAJUANA ! STAT.
Don't people come home to get fed? SOMEONE MAKE ME SOMETHING I CAN EAT SOMETHING THAT WAS NEVER EVER EVER ALIVE!!! NEVER. ALIVE. SOMETHING. NOT DEAD. SOMETHING NOT ANIMAL PLEASE NOW PLEASE THANKS.
I am losing it, and it's called good old fashioned Midwestern Despair.
Tomorrow Lewis and I are going to go to Home Depot to buy power tools for our Moms and then kill each other with chain saws and hammers and overpriced drills.
I am going to go jump off a bridge, but because I am in Michigan all I can do is jump off a highway overpass.
GOD Marie, you are so negative!
Speaking of Jesus, how was the rest of your xmas? Did you eat any dead bovines?"
Lo and I threw a housewarming party (one of our "reminder" invites, to the left to the left) in March '06 for our Brooklyn pad, and the night before I almost had an anxiety attack thinking of how it'd actually play out: I realised I was hopelessly and irrevocably fragmented and thus, in preparation, I drew a diagram to ease my mind. Lists help me. Each box contained a different set of guests and the personality they expected from me.
These are those categories/personalities, literally, transcribed word-for word (I do not include the friend/s who apply to each category, as that would be TMI) (haha):
1) Bitchy, smart-ass, distracted, hot, damaged, gay.
2) Crazy writer girl, talented/insane.
3) Emotionally distant, erratic, bi, impulsive, self-destructive.
4) Nurturing, creative, loyal, illusive, smart.
5) Goddess of mythical proportions (obvs does not know me at all whatsoever).
6) I am exactly the kind of person who'd have such disparate groups of friends. [sidenote: Krista was the only person in this box, obvs]
7) Ambitious & "quirky."
8) Undependable, tease, exciting/fun but flaky.
9) Workaholic, starving, anxiety-ridden, insecure, vanished.
10) However Lo's described me to her friends. (annoying? amazing?)
Obvs I delt with the panic that ensued when all these people did come together in one room by drinking heavily. I was so amazed that so many people'd shown up in the first place. It was weird.
A few weeks after that party, I started this blog. I hadn't wanted to ever start a public blog because I didn't think I could ever be happy with an image anyone who knew or didn't know me could consume. Except my grandparents, they can't read it because they don't understand the internets.
Consolidation of personality was part of the idea, actually, and in my first entry I said : "I think, especially now, my personality has become kinda fragmented. And although there are far more important things in the world then the Generation X Search for Self, it might be a good idea for me to try to consolidate myself into someone I recognize, and therefore not feel this deep panic when someone random asks to be my friendster."
And you know what's funny? It worked. And the difference between Marie and Riese and Auto-Win has continued to narrow even further than I'd originally imagined; not that in I'm revealing more, but that I'm becoming comfortable with this image, whatever it may be, for better or for worse. This flawed, half-finished, grappling, strange totes randomized weirdo of a girl. The idea of having a party and inviting everyone doesn't panic me at all. Well, the "inviting everyone" part doesn't.
The "having a party" part does though, clearly, because like, Who do I think I am?
-Angela, My So-Called Life, Episode 1.2
"There are so many different ways to be connected to people. There are the people you feel this unspoken connection to, even though there's not even a word for it. There's the people who you've known forever who know you in this way that other people can't because they've seen you change. They've let you change."
-Angela, My So-Called Life, Episode 1.8