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 Sometimes when I close my eyes, I like to picture myself an elegant ballerina, beautifully built with strong and petite muscles toning each point.  I wish that was the theme of my reality.  How beautiful it is to watch those feathers of dancers move from one end of the floor as if it were a cloud.  Walking on the piano notes like they could walk on water.  Other times I wish my daily life could weave in and out of inspiring moments from the past.  That of my own past and of other's stories.  I look at my postcard collection and and find myself most intrigued by the antique ones and the ones that captured one person in one moment from years ago.  One of a tall German man, tightly dressed during WWII, standing in front of a thick, white cloud of smoke.  I like to turn a song on, classical maybe, and stare into that photograph forever, picturing myself also formally dressed, in the dark colors of the war, behind that think puff of smoke, hidden from that soldier.  Quietly, I'd taunt him, walking and clicking my heels against the pavement, invisible to him, at which point I see myself emerge from the dark, where he'd silently fall to the ground, the heat from his once living body slowly escaping into the cloud of black and white smoke.  My heels disappearing into that lost memory of the fallen soldier who once fought for his country.  Do you wake up on mornings like those, where your life will stop even unaware of the fact, and have a feeling that makes you feel different.  I wonder if the day you die, there is any noise you hear, a smell, or something passing you by on the street, if that foreshadows your one and only ending.  

I walked down the same stairs John Martin walked down, only weeks ago.  They are stone steps, many of them, that lead in a winding path up to the the wooden and glass front door of their house.  Leaving Haley and Bea at that door, I thought of John also leaving that door.  He walked down those same steps to lead the last day of his life.  No one knew, of course.  But I can't help but wonder if one small noise, one small mental photograph anywhere in his routine, a small bird chirping near his ear, close enough for him to hear the flaps of it's wings, or the familiar taste of a simple glass of water, the last expression he saw in his wife's face, if that filled his heart with so much warmth, as not to lose what he lived for.  And did he see those feelings as he fell to the ground, his arms full, his nose kissing the parking lot ground.  As I walked behind Sidney down those stairs that night, after hugging Haley and Bea goodbye, I thought more than most people would.  How many times, as I descended down their stairs, did I step in the same spot John did.  

While Sidney, Haley and I played penguin game after penguin game, I sat at one of the heads of their dining room table.  My view was of some cabinets, which sat next to one simple photograph of John in the middle of his two children, Haley and Kalin.  Each of their faces had the same dark, crescent eyes that lit up their three faces.  I gazed into that framed picture, and I saw them full, together and happy.  They moved in that picture.  It wasn't just a still memory.  
Current Location:
Los Angeles
Current Music:
Gnossienne No. 1
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My second night in my dorm.  I was shy.  Mom and dad dropped me off and we were going to get dinner together but then as we were leaving my building, after dropping my things off on my bed, we open the door to Lauren and bunch of her friends.  They all looked like they were having a lot of fun.  She stopped laughing and joking around with her friends to tell me if was her birthday and she was turning twenty.  She then introduced me to her friends as a group and invited me to their sushi dinner with them.  So my mom encouraged it, and I told her I'd text her after I went to buy some light bulbs among other things with my parents.  She told me to text her and said they'd be at the restaurant around 7:30.  After I went to the hardware store with my parents they said goodbye, gave me hugs, money and compliments.  And then I turned around from them to head back to my dorm.  I dropped off my colorful plate and bowl and silverware and light bulbs, and put on a nicer sweater.  I had been wearing a fine enough outfit.  Just jeans and a gray sweater-shirt.  But also a fleece jacket that is too big for me.  So I grabbed a scarf and a nice sweater, texted Lauren and said goodbye to one of my roommates, Gabby.  She seemed really nice.  Didn't really say all that much to me.  I couldn't tell if it was because she's shy or if she doesn't like me or doesn't want a fourth roommate.  Who knows.  I guess I just have to wait and see what she's like as I better get to know her.  Laura, the girl in the bunk above me, was still not moved in.  I suppose she doesn't come until today.  All her things were still packed and put away and piled on her bed.  

When I got a text back from Lauren, saying that she and her friends were at the motel next door, I was nice to Gabby, told her I was going to dinner with some friends and that it was nice to meet her.  I walked out the door, through the gate and right next door to the motel.  Headed for room 218.  As I was about to knock on the door, it opened.   A guy was like, "Oh!  Hey."  Without even asking who I was he just let me right in and walked out the door himself.  Lauren saw me and was immediately nice to me.  She walked toward me, greeted me and introduced me to a packed room full of friends of hers that were visiting her from back home.  They were all dressed in great looking clothes and were having a blast with each other, drinking a bit and smoking.  So, then, basically I was the only one sober.  Made things kind of awkward.  
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 Nicky barks at the door, the lights are off and the sun slowly disappearing.  I get up from watching The Godfather and walk to the door.  I see someone wearing a blue jacket through the window and the Christmas tree.  While I approach the door, I admit that I have no clue who is behind that door.  Couldn't even make a guess.  As I open it I see Scott and Tory standing with some plates and such in their hands.  With big friendly smiles on their faces, we all greet each other and I offer to put Nicky away, but they say they don't mind.  So, I leave him barking on occasion somewhere off to the side.  They hand me the plates that they say they've had for a long time.  Since the showing of their web series a while back.  We had brought snacks and used our own platters to serve them.  We stand their and I ask questions, make conversation, smile and laugh.  For a few minutes were talked out on the front step with the door wide open.  I ask them how their Christmas was and what they've been up to, if they went back home for the holidays.  They asked me how mine was and what my plans are for the rest of break and I tell them I'll probably do nothing.  Watch movies.  And we laugh.  When the talking ends they tell me they'll let me get back to my movie and I smile and say okay and thank you for bringing back our things.  They wave and smile good-bye and I smile and good-bye back.  After I close the door and set the things on the table and walk back into the living room to join Cathy and Patrick again, I feel really good.  Like I just made friendly conversation and was nice and warm.  I felt really good about the way I went about finding them at the front door.  How I spoke with comfort and continued the talking.  Which is usually difficult for me.   A piece of confidence seeped into me, boosting my mood and simply making me feel better about myself.  A part of me felt excitement.  Like my mind had a huge grin.  

The movie went on.  People being shot, deals being made, meetings holding place, Italian being mixed in with english.  Patrick seemingly to be picking at something on his foot or possibly his ankle behind me.  I'm sitting in one of the red chairs in front of the couch.  My back facing him but still getting perfect sound of him picking.  I haven't mentioned that I have such little tolerance for the noise of picking.  Drives me insane.  The sun goes completely and the room gets darker and darker by each minute passing.  

This long movie continues on as mom and Sidney walk through the door.  I don't immediately get up and talk to them.  Sidney comes in to ask if I had made a phone call I should have made earlier.  So since I forgot, I get up to do that right away.  But first I go to the kitchen to talk to Sidney and mom and tell them Scott and Tory stopped by.  She cuts her finger as she chops bread for dinner.  I get her a band aid from the linen closet and bring it back to her in the kitchen.  With one of her hands full of raw meat and bread crumbs she tells me to put the band aid on the counter.  So I do so, and take the wrapping off of it.  She asks me about Scott and Tory and I tell her we had a conversation and she asks me if I was nice to them and I tell her I was very much so.  Then she asks if I invited them in.  And I didn't.  So, I tell her and she tells me that's weird and rude.  And I respond by saying it is?  And she says yes, it's really weird.  In a yes-what-the-fuck-where-you-thinking-not-inviting-them-in tone.  Like it was this obvious thing I should have done and now I'm just a rude person who is always rude to them.  I'm never a nice enough girl, never polite enough, never thoughtful enough.  Where are the times where there is never room for improvement?  It feels as if I've always got to be growing up and I'm never a good enough girl.  I'm too shy, I don't talk enough, I'm too rude and never welcoming, I'm too lazy and immature, irresponsible, incompetent and I've even been called a bitch.  She told me once she only refers to Sidney and I as "bitches".  I don't even know if I should care about what she should think of me.  What does she even think of me as anymore?  My confidence and growth just gets shot down and I'm just tired of it now.  This feeling of guilt left and right is too stressful and getting out of it seems impossible.  Being her daughter just makes this stuckness, this obligation to look up to her and respect her.  Oh mother, I beg of you.  
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Trying to think about what is the scariest part of throwing up. Maybe it's all the anticipation. I think the fear starts when I hear of someone getting sick. Or if I feel that unusual stomach ache and I know what's to come from past experience... It's definitely hard to sleep when I hear of someone throwing up. With the stomach flu, food poisoning, etc. I'll put my palms on my stomach and try to rationalize and ease myself to sleep. When winter hits, the thought of stomachs becomes so common in my brain. And it seems like the winter is oh so long. Too long. Christmas comes and I feel exposed and vulnerable, like I might end up deserving getting the stomach flu for some reason.

But if I had to chose one reason that scares me the most about throwing up would probably be that sound of your throat opening up and completely surrendering all control to the sickness. It coming through your nose and that splash against the water that you never want to be doomed to hear. And usually with those moments, it's not just like one quick moment. You have to anticipate that to just keep coming and going and pausing and then coming again. You know once it happens once, it's going to start happening again. The not being able to control this horrid feeling is the scary part. And it can attack you. Loss of control.
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Here, I am sitting at a black, round table at a cafe. I finished most of my computer homework. We had to write a brief explanation about why we did what we did in the assignment. Well, I wrote a freakin' novel... And she better just suck it up.

This teacher of mine is ridiculous. She's given me a hard time this whole semester. And continues to do so... Basically, I just want to go kill her. I don't really care for ranting about her right now. It's not worth it. People like this come along, and you just have to deal, right? Right. I wonder how many times a day, a week, a year, I speak to myself. I should start counting, no? Let's see, I talk to myself in the shower, in the mirror, when I get dressed or put make-up on. When I'm home alone. Honestly, I do it a lot. And it's usually me pretending to say these things to a person I wish I could say. Getting mad or speaking my mind or pouring my heart out to someone in my life that I imagine they're right there. I'm not really sure if other people do this. But I do, and I think it's a little weird. It's almost as if talking to myself is like keeping a journal. I don't know if it really actually resolves anything. But, in speaking to myself, I point things out I couldn't see or say before. I just wish I could say and see these things I can so easily speak to myself about to the person I want to be saying it to.

My eyes feel hot and dry and wet at the same time. They feel red with tears and I feel lame. I'm dressed casually. In dark jeans with a loose black t-shirt, with a thick, light brown belt, black slip ons and a dark blue military style sweater. The fact that I just explained my outfit so detailed is a little concerning. I spend too much time in the morning picking out what to wear, worrying about how I look constantly. I guess it makes sense that I'm majoring in fashion... But it still shouldn't be that important. I don't want to care so much, worry so much. But I sit here, more casually dressed than ever. Well, at least for a long time. But, right now, I'm unhappy. I'm angry and pissed, so pissed I want to break things, I'm sad and feel like, well, pathetic. Earlier today, Sidney tells me that when I was in the shower, mom talked to her an dad. She said, "I have an experiment. Let's see if Julia can actually manage to arrange to move into the dorms." She apparently was going on about how I never get anything done. Which dad had been yelling at me about earlier this semester. And this just made me so mad and depressed. To hear my parents basically call me lame and lazy and spoiled all the time. They don't give me help. They only harass me or yell at me or get mad at me about everything I do wrong. They don't show me how to grow up. They just expect me to figure it out on my own. And it's so unfair. I've been the other half that raised me. They only did half of the job. The other half, I filled in the blanks, fucked up and now have a lot of problems to deal with. I just want to scream and cry and run and run and run. I don't know how to even be myself around either of them. I don't know how to genuinely mean anything I say nice to them or speak to them. This past year, I've lost them. They've lost me. There's no respect anymore.

My fat mother, she finally gets off her lazy ass off that purple couch and starts walking. She starts Weight Watchers. She starts things. Can she finish them? Who the fuck knows... Probably not. She will probably just give up on this plan, goal, progress, whatever you want to call it, sooner or later and continue to get fat again. She's fat. She's clinically obese. And she's like this because she's lazy. She's lazy because she's depressed I guess. And I have no idea why. Because she holds everything in. These examples I learn from her are wrong. I mean obviously. What the fuck kind of examples are those? So, naturally, I have gained the same problems. Which my dad has too. Of holding his feelings in. And the result of this... Arthritis. He lost function of his left elbow. It's huge and swollen and he can't make his arm straight or bend it. These are my parents. A quiet dad who has no emotional experience, who barely speaks, who never learned how to talk about how he feels. His smart brains are stupid in so many ways. My mom, who is pathetically over dramatic and won't admit it. She makes everyone's problems her own or victimizes herself by saying my behavior or Sidney's behavior is uncivil and that we're being mean to her, attacking her... She doesn't know how to set an example for anything, doesn't know how to accomplish or complete anything. And she pushes over dad, while he lets her. This sight makes me wonder how in the world I could ever come from them two.

How does one admire these kinds of people? I used to. One day, somewhere in time, about a year ago, I lost respect for them. I lost my relationship with them. And now they flipped, head over heals insane. Didn't know what to do when their easy child, their special child jumped away and got perspective on them. I used to be that wonderful yummy little thing they couldn't get enough of. Now that I've stopped being so, I've changed. I feel like a much more amazing person. So much more depth and things to be proud of. But, in a lot of ways, I feel like shit. Like the huge log of shit sitting on your lawn covered in flies. I feel like this because of what they say about me so often. Such mean things, that I don't want to do what I was just about to do.

After I heard what mom said about me today, I lied down on my dark, parisian, throw rug at the foot of my bed, and I looked out my patio doors. Into the blue and crisp, sunny sky behind the redwood tree and the persimmon tree, holding only one orange fruit and its last few yellow leaves. Everything slightly blowing in a soft wind. And as I looked out I cried hard. Hard but silently. And now my eyes are hot and dry and wet and sad.
Current Location:
College Avenue
Current Mood:
discontent discontent
Current Music:
Classical
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