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February 20th, 2005 - This is Lula — LiveJournal [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Angelic Fruitcake

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February 20th, 2005

why go out? [Feb. 20th, 2005|01:30 pm]
Angelic Fruitcake
[mood |lonelylonely]
[music |click of keyboard]

the snow is nice. i have a slight headache. i was awake at 11am though i didn't sleep till 3am. went over to clay's place and watched "secret window". i knew what would happen, but it was still pretty effective. then i came home and eric was finally up. we watched "terminator 3". this movie sucked. i barely remember it at all now. pointless. but it was nice to just spend some waking time with eric. the drinking and his meds had him sleeping until nearly 10p tonight.

i wasn't sure if i would go to clay's as leaving the house has been considerably stressful of late. i'd rather stay home. i'm here at the library to get more books so that i don't have to go out. a lot people put a lot of energy into getting out of the house: let's pay to go to some bar and look cool. let's pay to go drink coffee and be seen. i love being at home. i fear it's leaning toward agoraphobia, but whatever. i'll put it this way:

when you're making yourself into what you want to be, you always start somewhere. the starting place is all. and my home is my starting place for everything. i'm not paranoid about the place. i get paranoid sometimes about folks coming in. i jump when the door buzzer rings because it so rarely does and i get a sense of dread in my heart. i can take my time at home and brace myself. perhaps it's not even about home but about a private space. i feel the same way at hotels: it's my power cell. i'm here to recharge, rest, ruminate. when i go out, i want to know where i'm coming from.

i just started a book w/the complete works of the marquis de sade. i just don't know why i can't get the classics. i go a little left of center. anyway, i just started it. the essay i read was interesting and i will explore it in my paper journal. apparently "Marquis de Sade:Justine, Philosophy in the Bedroom & Other Writings" is the first book to put in the complete works and some letters from the man. fascinating stuff. i may post a response to Sade in here sometime. get out of the useless energy spent trying to be social. it's bad enough i had to kick my ass last night to smile and make 40 bucks in tips. shrieking kids, obnoxious old folks and all. i'm too good at placating others for my own good. i should *not* have to be paid to do it.

well, here i go. off to find some "classic" stuff to read so that i can know what others are talking about -- or rather reading about. i love essays. i love political essays that can artfully relate political ideals. i mean, what would you do without the art of it all? it doesn't reach anyone's heart. i think that's why kerry lost. cold bastard. no *heart*. at least you knew dean felt something, right?

there it is. i can speak to myself in swahili. i don't have to offend anyone with my nervousness, my impulsively truthful answers. my throwing in a dry bit of humour when they're expecting something broad and obvious. what can you? you can stay home. that's what. and when you do go out, go out kicking.

and that's the thing: i can write it here. but i have to be able to act it *there* or what's the point? last night at work, a co-worker THREW open a cabinet door after sliding my step-stool out of the way. and in a barely controlled, condescending tone (which she had been using all night) said: "um, tonya? can we slide your stool out of the way when you aren't using it? i mean it gets in other people's way, okay?". what was i supposed to say? i was humiliated, as i usually am when i walk out the door. i can take it when i'm ready for it, but such an unprofessional display was beyond me. i was struck silent and nodded. i can't help that you have your phone 2 feet from the ceiling and that i'm short enough to need a stool to reach and take your goddam pizza delivery orders. it's not intentional, nor did i design the place to have the fucking cabinets with cooking supplies BENEATH the phone. now how many seconds did it take for her to get to her pot? about two after sliding the step-stool. and how many seconds did i get to be humiliated for this two-second inconvenience? 30. if you don't count me taking that shit home and stewing over it and writing about it here...it seems a bit unbalanced. and incidents like this aren't isolated. not in the least.

i just blushed, moved the step-stool and went away. i wish i could PROVE that i'm deformed. i could get disability and stay at home and not have to deal with the ignorance of others. i could also be free of trying to be kind to others when they realize that i don't look good for them because they'd be embarrassed and have to explain me to friends after i'm gone. they could just say: oh, i'm being nice to her. she's got a disability. then we'd both be off the hook. and everyone would nod and think how cool and nice and thoughtful the other person was for wasting some of their precious time on me...

later,
Lula.
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