GREAT READ...the onion girl

March 29, 2005
helluva good read. Took me fourteen months to finish it, but each section that I read was read at exactly the right moment for me to get the messages that I needed to.
So Jilly is the protagonist and her process/ progress is dependent on peeling back the layers of who she has been and creating new layers of who she is becoming...the onion girl. I've never been much for book reports, so that's all for that.
I remember holding my heart out so freely and being able to trust in the metamorphosis and go with the flow. I fear I may be an onion girl in the sense that there are layers of thick, calloused onion paper covering my heart and if I were to pull it out and show it to the light of day again, it may be too concealed to be desirable.
there I go being weird again. better run now.
jas

drab rabble

March 27, 2005
spring is not a pretty thing
road salt and sand become dust
sitting on my windshield
mirroring what I feel

and there's all this crap to clean up in the yard
and the sunlight shines hard
bringing to light the grime
on the windowsill
and the lackluster ledge
between the stove and the fridge

judgemental? me?

March 26, 2005

memories flicker
like an old motion picture
starring you
supported by me

I grew up believing that there are things you forgive people for and there are other things that are absolutely unforgivable.
This sort of conviction leads to making frequent judgements about everyone that one encounters.
It also results in being very judgemental about one's own actions.
What do you do when the person you need to forgive is yourself?
Of all the things I have done that I regret, lying to myself will always be tops.
Black and white...if you do "this" or "that" you will not be forgiven. You cannot redeem yourself. You get no more chances. Hmmmmm...
I am trying to smear the black and white a little. I am, in fact, beginning to wonder if actions mean anything at all. I mean, I can't find one, single person that has anything really "figured out", so with those stats, how does anything good ever happen? People are screwed up and they get more screwed up as they screw up themselves and others while they're trying not to screw up.
Maybe it's all about remorse. Maybe if you learn from a mistake, it doesn't matter how big it was or how many people it seemingly affected. However, with that logic, everyone must be carrying the remorse and self-doubt that I am and I can tell you, it's neither helping me nor healing me.
I can see why people become born-again Christians. If you told me right now that I could splash some water on my face and accept a savior and all my guilt, pain, and doubt would vanish, hey, I might just get in that line up right now.
I think about the lost souls that I have loved and I wonder what it would take to save them. Who would it take? What kind of "nice girl" would it take to help them be okay? Who would love them "enough"?
I wonder this about them, of course, because I'm really wondering...who would want me with all my quirks? Is anyone ever going to want me?
I don't know who I am at any given moment...it's like my life is a series of motion pictures, each one a different period in my life. One represents a failed relationship, a couple are all about failed careers, and dozens of bad sitcoms could be produced from my brief encounters with many fairweather friends.
Here's the kicker: all these f ing movies about my life flash through my thoughts, flickering in my mind's eye as though they are being shown through an old Gaumont Kalee projector...
and I'm not the lead role in any of them.
I play a helluve supporting actress. I'm ready to take a lead some days, but mostly I chicken out.
I listen a lot. I don't really have anything to say most times (and when I do, chances are good that it will all come out wrong and be entirely inappropriate) and so I listen.
That's all I have to say. I'm going to my friend Sondra's birthday party now.
jasmine

a little poem

she sees me watching you
and I am still wanting you
in my mind I am haunting you
as my hand brushes another's
as a gentle reassurance that
I am not still loving you

and I've never heard you sing
the way you sang to her
every note intensely perfect
every word exactly there
as my lover left the table
so that I would be able
to pretend that I was yours again

this too shall pass...right?

March 9, 2005
I’ve been trying to reconcile with myself for years. It’s like trying to remain friends with your ex when the new girlfriend hates you, only harder. I have made some painfully poor decisions in my life, let me tell you. My mom thinks she’s somehow responsible; she tries to figure out where she went wrong, where society played a role, and overall what it was that caused her child to be unmotivated, unloved, and unsuccessful. I can’t believe I have caused such a struggle for her…this is the time when I should be giving my parents plane tickets to Rome for Christmas. They should be enjoying their lives unhindered by their flailing, failing child.
I could fill a week with the things I could do here, but there is no urgency to any of it, and so I do none of it. At this point, the list of people who could justifiably tear a strip off of me is long enough that I am running out of hiding places and must resort to lying in plain sight, feigning dead. This is not a challenging feat, however, as I feel quite suited to my current pastime.
And tonight, I will pull it all together and go to a scrap booking party, where I will be expected to spend money that I do not have.
Sweet goodness and light, what fun that will be.

strange again

March 7, 2005
Solitaire is killing me. I’m serious. I can feel it creeping into my brain, taunting me with promises of careless abandon and countless hours of mind numbing simplicity. If I have to lift my ass off this chair to have a shower, it will be under protest, that’s for sure. I tell myself, “go write this down, you idiot, because you’re RUNNING OUT OF TIME!” Soon this misery will pass and be replaced by a modest contented feeling, tempered of course with the anticipation of the next catastrophic occurrence, which have become commonplace in my life. God, why can’t I speak in shorter sentences? The run-ons are tedious. I’m not sure which part of me is winning in my inner struggle at the moment. I feel as though I just need to play dead so as to protect myself from potential predators. I tell myself that I will never meet anyone nice if I’m playing dead, but I’m not very good at heeding authority, so chances are that I will ignore myself.
I wrote a few good things today and practiced for hours. My hands are fighting me every step of the way here, and I am just about to fire them and find some that are more committed to the music, you know?
There really is nothing left to be said, you know. Like, nothing. Heartache, loneliness, you left me, I left you, I’m sorry, I’m not sorry, I want you back, I don’t want you back, you’re so sexy, you’re so new, don’t go, please go, bah bah black sheep have you any wool? Why yes, sir, but keep in mind it’s the same as all the other wool out there. Weird. I am weird and I think weird thoughts.
I was thinking about men today and how I really don’t get them. I mean, they are really perplexing in the way that they operate and what makes them happy. I wish I could be one for a day. Well, okay, maybe a week, just so I’d have the complete package experience. I think the first thing I would do is talk to some women about how I feel. I mean, really trip them out with my amazing understanding of how it feels to be a woman. Good times. Am I getting strange again?
Shit.
I’m wearing the dorkiest little outfit right now. That’s it. I need to shower now.
I have found the motivation, but perhaps only for a moment so I must seize it.