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äRRiel ©

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The Story of Red [May. 23rd, 2005|12:48 am]
äRRiel ©

The Story of Red

Before I was born, my father and mother and brother Anu lived in an ugly green house on Woods Hole Road. They Had many people who would come and stay with them from time to time, waiters and waitresses from the restaurant they worked at, hippies passing through town... And my mothers siblings who travelled out from Michigan...

My uncle Robert came to stay for awhile- he was a teenager then, and very strange one. Robert liked guns and motorcycles and looking ugly. He was actually quite a handsome man, but he would grow a messy beard to hide his face and always chose the most hideous eyeglasses on purpose.

One day Robert came home with a present for them. Two kittens, one black, and one red. He named them "Black Boy" and "Red Man," which my mother though was terribly rascist and would go on and on about.

Eventually Robert left, probably back to Michigan to go shoot his guns and ride his motorcycle and be ugly, and something happened to Black Boy. I do not know what, but neither Robert nor Black Boy were not still around when I came along.

Only Red Man remained, and eventually he became simply Red.

They moved to a summer house on Gardener Road, which was not equipped for winter at all. When it was cold the four of them would huddle around the small wood fireplace, and they all slept on a large futon on the floor together.

That following summer I was born, in that little summer house with lilacs blooming outside the window, or that's how the story goes. I entered this world surrounded by my mothers friends, a cat, and an angry little boy.

"Put her back!" yelled the angry 2 year old Anu. Those were my welcoming words to this world. If only I could remember!

Needless to say, he hated me.

Red became my brother, my partner, my companion. He was a very mellow cat.

When I was three, he ran away for three days, and we thought he might be dead, but eventually he came slinking home, bruised and broken- his tail had been run over by a car, and hung limply from him.

When we took him to the vet, they said his poor tail was not dead, only paralyzed, and that amputating it would be bad for his balance, so they left it alone, and he lived to be 14 all the while dragging his poor paralyzed tail behind him.

I think, probably because of his pathetic state, he became an even more mellow cat. The mellowest cat in the world. I would play tricks on him, step on his tail while he sat- he would never notice until he tried to walk away, and never understood why something held him to the spot- he could not feel my little foot on his tail.

He would never meow, only look at me with large pleading kitty eyes.

My mother had been catholic, when she was a child. For her confirmation she had to wear the silliest little white veil, and she gave it to me when I wanted to play dressup. I don't think she ever knew the real reason I wanted it- to make Red wear it and drink tea with my stuffed animals and I.

He never complained.

</end story>
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and now it's real [May. 21st, 2005|04:14 pm]
äRRiel ©
Being sick can make you crazy. At least that's what it does to me. Yesterday was hard. The lopsided chipmunk thing is slowly going away, but I feel so weak, and inside me I have that feeling like heartbreak. Breathlessness. Regret.

In my delirium I said many things I don't mean. Mean things I should have known better than to say.

I had wanted him to marry me, to be done with it. To live together in some shitty little house, no yard, 'cause yards are hard to come by here, and a shitty little house would be all we could afford, but what would it matter? If we had each other that would be enough. I could make him sandwiches for lunch, barefoot and pregnant, and chasing little rascals around our shitty little house.

I would smoke misty 120s and not worry so much about the inches as the accumulated around my waist. There are more important things.

But he said what I already knew, but in saying it he made it real. He said, "I'm not that guy," and he isn't.

I cried, and he cried, and we wouldn't let ourselves hold each other. Holding each other leads to bad things, good things we regret later. If only we were not drawn together like magnets. Our bodies fit so well.

But they are just bodies. Just bodies. Just bodies.

The love I seek is in the mind. Can a mind hold another mind and comfort it? I do not know.
link5 inane ramblings|tell me about it

Say Anything [May. 4th, 2005|12:03 am]
äRRiel ©
Post anything that you want (in the comments), BUT post it ANONYMOUSLY. It can be anything. A story, a secret, a confession, a fear, a love -- anything. Be sure to post Anonymously and Honestly. Post twice or 40 times if you'd like.

Then, put this in your LJ (if you have one) to see what your friends (and perhaps others who you don't even realize read your LJ) have to say.

p.s. I have temporarily disabled the logging of IP addresses in my journal, because I know some of you by your IP's- and I want to keep this completely anonymous.
link26 inane ramblings|tell me about it

Last Night [Apr. 30th, 2005|05:42 am]
äRRiel ©
linkwhat they think|tell me about it

(no subject) [Apr. 23rd, 2005|02:21 am]
äRRiel ©
link3 inane ramblings|tell me about it

May 3rd 2002 (Flashback) [Apr. 22nd, 2005|05:41 pm]
äRRiel ©
This is a transcript of me talking on a day when I was still struggling to get clean, and stuggling with my place in the world. It's long, and meandering, and more for my benefit than anyone else's

click to readCollapse )
link2 inane ramblings|tell me about it

Discovering The Game (flashback) [Apr. 21st, 2005|04:44 pm]
äRRiel ©

It all started over some sushi at little Japanese joint in Harvard Square. I'd never had a guy take me out for sushi before, as a matter of fact I'd never really had a guy take me out, just like I'd never had a guy buy me roses, either. I didn't come from that kind of culture.

They guys I always dated were punks, and they never had enough money for a decent bottle of whiskey, let alone a sushi dinner.

I never really dated them, either. It was like, one day I'm this guy's drinking buddy, then I wake up naked next to him in a park somewhere, and all the sudden I'm his old lady.

It's not a bad situation, really. It seems to work for the hobo kids. You end up with a decent partner half the time, and everybody hates themselves anyway, so it's not ike you expect too much from each other.

It never really worked for me, though, 'cause I was looking for Love, and you sure don't find it like that.

I discovered later that you also don't find it by 'dating' guys you don't like, whether or not they buy you sushi or roses or whatever, but at this point I was very new to the game.
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Summer of Death (flashback) [Apr. 21st, 2005|04:17 pm]
äRRiel ©
A word of advice to those who would follow in my footsteps,

"What happened to the story?" Dare asks.

He is playing with my hair, which is turning his hands blue. My hand are always blue. Anna says my fingernails look like those of dead people, which is terribly morbid considering how many dead people occupy my life right now. Five? Six? I don't want to think about it.

"You just mangled it. The idea-"

"Look, just shut the hell up. I already feel plenty bad about myself."

"The idea is great," he says, "what you you've been talking about... You vision... It's captivating. Hearing you talk about it made me excited to read it-"

"I don't want to talk about it. Maybe I'm just a bad writer. Maybe stupid people will like it... But I did accomplish what I was going for, I mean, you're pissed off at me, right? Well, that was the idea, you knew that from the start. I win!"

I laugh nervously.

"I'm not pissed off for the right reasons. I never got attached to the characters, so when they died it was just sort of anti-climactic."

QUICK! Rationalize! You can't beat a writer at their own game, and I'm not a writer like Dare is. I'm a meandering storyteller who can't tell her ass from her elbow when it comes to grammar, and I'm beginning to think I ought to just stick to writing in the first person, because he's right- I can't develop a character for shit.

"Life is sort of anti-climactic, doncha think? It's a commentary on life... Though I guess you're right, and if I want to write 'commentaries on life' I ought to just stick to that and not try to write bad fiction."
linktell me about it

(no subject) [Apr. 20th, 2005|06:31 pm]
äRRiel ©
It's not so far, the store on the corner, it's only a corner or two away- that's why we call it the corner store. We might call it the convenience store, but really it isn't.

It smells like mouldy leather and bad milk, and there is always a cat laying on the freezer in the summer, sucking up the cool air. He looks so happy there. I'd like to be him, except for the mouldy leather smell- all day trying to nap and all you smell is mouldy leather and bad milk, I can't think of a worse thought. Not now, at least.

They never remember how old I am. I show my card everytime I buy those nasty Newport 100's, buy one, get one free. I am poor so I snatch them up like candy. They always remind me how young I look, and I tell them if I keep smoking eventually maybe I won't and they won't have to card me anymore. I say this everytime, and laugh. It never gets tiresome.

It was so hot today I thought I'd burst from my clothes, sweating. I wanted to be naked, but of course I can't do that- the desk is in the hall and everyone would see.

It is cooler now, and perfect. The world is new. Every day the world is new, but more so in springtime.

There is a squirrel basking on a rooftop across the alley, and he's been there everyday this week. I though for awhile he was dead, but one day he moved and it frightened me. Now I know it is just his favorite place to bask, and sometime I watch him while I do the dishes.

I walked down the hill and up again, and that was all. To get my cigarrettes, you know?

It was enough, to touch the world for a moment.

Everything was so slow, the sun setting so subtly casting a warm glow over us, the trees and their little buds beginning to blossom, people meandering, and all the squirrels and I having such a wonderful day, just walking down and up the hill again.
link4 inane ramblings|tell me about it

mommy, am I growed up yet? [Apr. 18th, 2005|11:56 pm]
äRRiel ©
I never got those breasts they promised me, that hourglass figure. My face still breaks out at least once a week and I see no wrinkles in the mirror.

Am I all grown up now?

I can give you all the fucking html advice in the world, all the advice I have, which isn't much- but more than I had a few months ago, which was nothing... But inside I am crying.

I know all about having your heart broken. I know all about giving yourself over to someone 100% and dying when they leave you. Because when they leave, they take you with them- and you are left with nothing.

But then time comes and picks up the pieces and puts you back together again. Time is the only thing that can.

I have had 3 great loves, and you are one of them. My heart was broken twice, and I have broken two hearts.

Does That make me even with the world?

I did not know that in breaking your heart I would also break my own. I cry as I write this.

I had forgotten about crying. The computer and the Klonopin do that to me, I become a numb machine whose sole purpose is to memorize codes and regurgitate them. There is no feeling in this but the elation one receives from learning something knew. From knowing things. Intellectual elation is some how different. It doesn't stop the tears from falling all over my fucking keyboard.

I met you at a strange time in my life. A time when I had finally been freed from heroin and liquor. A time when I realized I had never had a childhood, and it was all I wanted.

You were my childhood. You were those crazy teenage years I missed, you were my PG-Rated, happy go lucky, fuckitall world when I needed it more than I'd ever needed anything. You were my little handsome prince on a skateboard, and I fell so far for you because you possessed a quality I have never found in anyone... and I have met and loved and fucked and screwed so many people.

You are truly honest, and truly trustworthy. I never believed such a person existed until I met you.

All I remember is the good times- and it's not because this is the end, but because there never really were any bad ones. For me.

I know you struggled as you held me so many nights in my hysteria, as I tried so hard to put my world back together you held me. No one ever made me feel so safe as you. I know you struggled as you tried to smile, me in a hospital, me in a little ball in a corner, me shaking with hurt that came long before you did.

You deserve so much from the world, so much that I cannot give. I hope you can forgive me.

I love your smile, your belly. I love the little sound you make when you are thinking. I love the chest tapping and the way you chew off the tips of your fingers, even though it grosses me out. I love all the things you think are wrong with you. They make you so much more loveable.

I'd hate it if we were perfect.

I am so old, not old but still old. I don't know if you will understand this. I am only 25 and yet I've lived a thousand lives, all non-linear. The life I lived with you was supposed to come much sooner. We could have been each other's first loves, and broken each others hearts, and been even- but you are so young.

You have so much more of life to live before you will be able to give me what I need. I could never really ask you to marry me now, because I know you are not ready. If you said you were, you would be lying. And that's okay, though it hurt me so much to realize.

When I realized how much you needed to live, I realized I had to let you.

I know you don't think you will survive this, but you will. I know you don't think you will be able to love again, but you will. I promise.

And I promise I will never stop loving you. And maybe someday when you are older and ready I will still be here. I hope so.

I am so scared of being sick. Of not being able to ride my bicycle, and carry the groceries up the stairs. I cannot lift the bucket of litter anymore. I cannot walk up the hill now without stopping. I was always so strong. Maybe it's my turn to learn how to be humble.

I needed to be sure, in the face off all this madness, or to be alone. I had to be alone. It's not your fault, you are young.

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