Well… almost.

Did you know that for The High Life, I have 55 pages written? There are also five more pages (bringing the total to 60) so far of brainstorming, little snippets I’ve written which don’t fit into the main story, and random thoughts and ideas which have occurred to me but which I have not yet incorporated into anything. There are about six new chapters (one of which will have to be broken up into two because of its length and scope), a possible new character, and a new villain.

I am maybe… 1/2 of the way there. No where close to being done. Yet I see the ending, how I could get there. It’s not as strong as it used to be though, when the ideas where fresh. Now I only see faint glimmers of scenes, and when I sit down at night to write I spend more time rereading and reworking previous scenes than writing new ones.

Some of the main characters though have fallen off the map. I can’t figure out how to write them back in without reworking lots of other scenes. Nor do I know exactly what to do with them. If I am following the format of Heroes, then I am also missing about four origin stories, only one of which I know what to do with at all. Sigh.

This frustrates me.

I’ve got to get back into the game.

Tags : friends, parodies, stories, the high life, writing

Friday: Sleep in. Decide not to go to the gym to instead get more sleep (which doesn’t help, because I end up looking about fifty years old that day anyway, from the pressure of everything). Get ready. Work. Get yelled at for not making deadline (although it’s not my fault I joined the project late and have been dragging it on ever since. So what that I don’t know how the hell these manufacturing processes work? You can hardly hold me to learning all of that in two months, especially having never visited on-site with the rest of the team. Whatever). Go to lunch. Burn face off at lunch but try not to show it. Finish out work, barely. Go home to pass out. Decide instead to go to the movies with the cousin. Tropic Thunder again, which is funnier this time around. Go to bed late, regrettably.

Saturday: Wake up to the looming clouds. Drive to the gym. Run a very (surprisingly) easy two and a half miles, then shower and drive slowly to work. Work for a while. Until about five o’clock, when attention is so shattered there’s no point in staying. Drive to the apartment. Clean up the legions of dead bodies, then check the mail, drop the keys through the office door, and leave. That is the last time I hope to go to that place. Drive to Target, pick up some things (unexpectedly, too), get medicine, and then stop at Ikea. Drive to Publix back near the house, and then finally drive home. Make barbecue sandwiches to make up for not visiting Fat Matt’s, then watch Charlie Bartlett.

Sunday, today: Wake up to rain hitting the side of the neighbors’ awning. Shower, eat buttery waffles with syrup, quickly burn a mix cd for the road, and get driving. It is slow work. At first nobody picks up the phone and this makes me annoyed and afraid that I’ll get lost and just end up turning around and driving back over an hour home to nothing, to work. Terrible. Finally, as I turn around for the third time on Route 10 around Athens, my friend calls and I magically find my way into downtown. I wish I could spend more time there, but we only have a few moments to say hello to one friend, drive to a local diner (very good second breakfast), and then get back on the road towards the city. We stop by my house to admire its cuteness and then go off to the airport.

Now, I’m sitting at work as the clouds roll over and then break, roll over and pour rain, and then break again. Thanks to two vanilla frappucinos I am buzzing pleasantly along on caffeine. My boss has left for the day–the first time I have ever worked later than her on a day with so much to do–and I feel reasonably confident that I am in good graces once again.

I suppose there isn’t much else at the moment. This week is shaping up to be a busy one again. Who knew life could be so crazy?

Dear Comcast,

You fucking suck.

Since we all already know this, I will not expound upon the many reasons why you blow huge testicles. Those reasons have already been written about over and over in the many internet forums that exist. In fact, you can find these forums and postings by typing in, “Comcast sucks” into any search engine.

Anyway, as of right now, I am happy to continue leeching internet from my neighbors, who don’t seem to mind leaving their network unlocked. Sucks for them and you, whom I’m not paying the requisite $33.99 per month for cable television that I didn’t order.

Fuck you very much,

KLA

…which makes my life slightly annoying.

Well, I am still feeling like I did from last entry (the password is my old neighborhood, by the way). Maybe slightly less.

I am going to have to switch my car insurance because the people at Geico are being assholes about it. My coworker surprised me to day by yelling–yes, yelling–at me not to give in and to switch my goddamn company if Geico is screwing me out of money.

They’re not  your friends! he yelled, after I’d sort of bemoaned staying with them because they’d always been good to me…

They’ve always been good to you, and how much money have they taken from you? They’re definitely not your friends now. They’re making their money and hoping you won’t say anything.

Again, it surprised me but also made me feel happy. Supported. In that moment he was acting like a dad would (which he is, and has been, several times over). I like to think that we have hints of that kind of working relationship with one another, since I am after all the baby of the office.  Oh well.

This morning, before the incident with the car insurance (as Danielle would say….Geico…you’ve made the list), I woke up extra early and got myself to the gym. Since I’d forgotten my headphones though, I couldn’t run, and instead I walked for a few minutes on the treadmill, did a quick set of chest, arms, and abs, and then went for a half hour swim. It was unproductive because I had to share with so many people and mostly fiddled with my leaking goggles, but I was tired nonetheless when I got to work.

During lunch, I had the remnants of a sandwich from Subway (which I got during my horribly frustrating two-hour lunch break), and walked to the bank. It was warm and I felt lightheaded and ill when I got back, but depositing money made it slightly worthwhile. Not a lot of money, but at least it was something (thank you, boy).

That’s it. Quiet night tonight, for which I’m grateful.

I haven’t written about the weekend, but it was wonderful for the most part.

Friday I rushed off to catch the train to the airport so fast, I forgot my shoes and my keys. The latter I wouldn’t realize until Saturday, though, and for the moment I put the annoyance of having forgotten my shoes out of my mind. The train got me to the airport, and I sped to the terminal whose plane would take me to Dulles. Having timed everything exactly, I arrived just as they called my name. Got on the plane. Settled in, and waited through the flight.

I was at the back and so I waited for a long time, but the flight seemed a bit shorter than the one to BWI is. Making stilted conversation with the guy next to me helped things to pass a bit faster as well, but mostly I read my book, No Country for Old Men. The Boy picked me up and we drove to my house, stopping for fried chicken along the way since I hadn’t eaten since two.

When we got to my house, everybody came from the innards of the house to greet us and sit with us in the living room while we caught up.  I had my brothers watch Dr. Horrible, we finished off the chicken, played with the dogs, and went to sleep.

Saturday was a date day, and the Boy and I went to DC to walk around, hold hands, eat good food, and enjoy the day. It was beautiful. In the evening we ate a fast dinner and drove to meet some friends at the movies, so we could watch Tropic Thunder together. About twenty minutes in, the fire alarm went off, and so we were herded outside to wait. Told to go home, we started to drift to the parking garage. Some of our friends had already started driving back to my house so we could hang out, since we assumed the theater had closed (it’s what the manager had said!), but we saw people re-entering. All of us ended up seeing the later showing, and had a good time because of it (plus, free food).

At night, the Boy and I cuddle in the room and watch an episode of Heroes.  In the morning, since I do not have to go home on the earliest, crack-of-dawn flight, we enjoy a rare moment of solitude, together, in the quiet of the morning.

These times are both the best to hold onto and the saddest for me; I love the moments we get to share during the brief visits right now, while we live apart. But leaving restores the inevitable distance and separation that comes between us when we can’t see one another somewhat regularly. What will this mean for the future? I’m not sure yet, and so I keep hold of what little I can, the photographs, the ticket stubs, the hugs and the late nights spent driving over and over the land from the airport to what used to be my home, and back again.

Sunday morning, when we finally get up, I get to eat eggs, pancakes, a bit of cherry yogurt, and drink coffee sweetened with cream and a little sugar.  We linger a bit longer than necessary, but I get to the airport around 11. Check in. Miss the next two flights, but have them change my priority (which ends up being downgraded anyway) so that I can try to make the 2:45 flight home.

I do, and sit in the first class seat that is by itself on the left side of the plane. But I make the most of the isolation by reading (currently Abundance, a novel about Marie Antoinette), writing, and musing about the weekend. Taking pictures of clouds out the window.

In the end, it is a long train ride back to Decatur, where I’ve left my car. My coworker has left the key hidden under the tire, visible with just a bit of string, and I am tried, aching, but happy. I return to the house with a load of sheet music. I clean, relax, and get a good night’s rest.

Good night last night. Today’s shaping up to be a pretty good day too.

I have a lot on my mind, but for some reason it won’t translate into words this morning. That’s all right.  There’s lots to do before I fly out tomorrow. Hopefully the weekend will bring interesting things to talk about on Monday!

This weekend was spent repressing getting over the horror that was last week.

Friday: Working, barely functional. Bleary-eyed, uncomprehending, and generally spouting gibberish when spoken to. Friday night is a movie by myself (I think?), some piano playing, and then sleep, much needed sleep.

Saturday is the gym. Winding through the city. Can’t quite remember. Coming home, cleaning up. Dust and folding clothes. Three loads of laundry. Trash everywhere. Piano playing. Flute playing. Then a  movie (X-Files: I Want to Believe – see below for a semi-review/spoilers!), then some games, a tumble in heels which results in a scraped knee (who gets a scraped knee when they’re 23 years old?!), movies, my games, and sleep.

Sunday is the gym again, but only after some cleaning, lounging around, and piano again. Wind through narrow streets in Atlanta and stumble upon the Trader Joe’s again. Mango-vanilla soy ice cream, fair-trade dark chocolate, a little can of crab meat, and some rice bowls later, I walk out with a paper bag and go back home. Watch two movies and relax, do nothing, and generally have a good day.

Yesterday, I owned a project and impressed my boss when I finished faster than normal. Today she told me she was confused about some parts, why I departed from her ideas, but in general is still happy that it is at least drafted fully. I’m still unsure of her enthusiasm, as praise is never quite forthcoming, but it’s better than nothing.

The locks are getting replaced, the house smells like ‘lilac comfort’ air freshener, and my floor space is cleared, with the exception of the goldfish tank, which sits on the ground by my bed. I’ve gotten more sleep in the last three days than the entirety of last week, combined. I’ve been doing well at work yesterday and today so far and hope that it keeps up.

This weekend, I believe I’m going home to visit the boy, close a bank account, and generally hang around. I think it will be a good weekend.

Read the rest of this entry »»

Yesterday was a truly horrific day. I think I’ve grown a bit since my last really awful day though, because while I felt angry and indignant that these events were happening to me, I was also able to laugh and accept. Not laugh in the truly amused sense, of course, but laugh ruefully.

Well, my bad run of luck started the night before, when I got lost on the way home from work. My mental map is extremely lacking in the Kirkwood/Edgewood neighborhoods still, and so once I realized I had no idea where I was I started to feel irritated with myself. You can’t even follow simple directions! my brain screamed at me, and the minutes ticked by, wasted, as I meandered around tiny back roads, until I finally found Memorial Drive, one of the main roads that runs east-west through this side of the city.

Cousin and I went out for a while, spent way too much money on simple things that we needed for the house. The heat, sheer effort of moving the television and heavy boxes of furniture for me made both of us irritable, and it was late by the time we got back to the house. We got into an argument which resulted in us not really speaking much the rest of the night.

I stomped upstairs after this, decided to put together my new stuff, and ended up putting my back through the wall as I tried to move my bed. Yes, through.  I cannot tell you how much this pissed me off. I’d backed up to the wall, pressed against it and was about to move my bed frame and mattress with the strength in my legs (much stronger than my arms and back)…. and found myself sitting inside the wall.

For the moment, I’ve covered it with the dresser and fish tank, but I know that soon enough I’ll have to repair it. Great.

This was the first in a series of terrible events, though.  What followed was that my cousin splashed fish water all over the end of my mattress, I got to sleep only four hours, and when I did I lay awake for a long time looking at the unfamiliar shadows. I had dreams in which I was eating plants and gagging on them, woke up freezing, and since I hadn’t set the water up warmer, had to take a cold shower (in an already freezing house since the AC was set down to 70…), and go to the court house hungry, since I didn’t want to be late.

Then at the court house, I was bounced around from clerk to clerk until finally someone agreed with me that my documents, including the notarized form that my dad sent specially, were good enough to start processing me and get my car registered.  But they asked for my registration.

Back in my car, it was no where to be found.

So I drove home, tore my room apart and found my MVA registration where I’d put it–in my planner, which I’d taken out of my purse the night before.

They sat me down in front of the slowest teller on the planet. The whole situation was just so pathetic, I had to laugh.

She typed with one finger. Checked her personal cell phone, twice. Gossiped about how Bernie Mac died. Got up a few times to verify something with her manager, since apparently coming from out of state is so confusing to everybody that peons at the customer service level can’t figure it out. By the time we had finished and I had paid my $38 registration fee, it was 10:15.

So I went to work, played out the rest of the day, and came home.

But no, the bad luck didn’t stop there.

I tried getting my license plate off, to no avail. The front one came off fine; the back one had bolts so rusted in place I chipped giant weals of metal off each one, cut myself, and gave up. There were shelves missing from every bookcase I owned, and when I went to dust off one of the remaining ones that had all its parts in my room, I noticed the bottle of poison was leaking.

I’d brought it upstairs the night before after noticing something huge and disgusting scuttling around on the floor. Used the poison on the base boards, then left it sitting at the top of the stairs.

Last night, I noticed a small puddle around the nozzle, which is extendable. I’d left the nozzle itself on the floor but figured that nothing would leak too much, having to work against gravity and all. Then I saw the cardboard box nearby was wet a few inches up its side.

Cursing, I went to shift the box and saw that not only the side was wet, but all four of them and the bottom. And that almost 4/5 of the entire bottle was empty. Last night I’d used maybe 40 sprays total, not enough to even register a difference in the level of liquid inside. As I started to lift the box, I felt low panic rising, especially as the bottom threatened to give way.

There go all my journals, I thought rather dully. Years and years of journals stacked in there, plus pictures, and some other random knick knacks.

Worse, worse by far compared to the journals, I think, was the school records I’d filched from my father’s drawer that are some of the few remaining free details about my mother’s past.

Ruined. The paper melted when I picked it up. The only thing that survived was the yearbook, which was still only about half all right. I picked it up carefully and set it on the ledge in my room close by the fan so that it could air out naturally.

I don’t think it’s hit me yet, losing all that stuff, and I keep telling myself that it’s the universe’s way of telling me that I need to move on, to forget some of my grievances with my past. I don’t know.

But those journals are all me, from when I could barely write two sentences up until the most recent years of my life, and everything in between.

One friend asked if I’d “backed them up” somewhere… I could only laugh. Maybe if I’d had some foresight or was especially paranoid, I would have thought to scan all those pages into my computer and save them somewhere digitally. Or type them in by hand. But who has the foresight to think that you’re going to let four gallons of poison leak on to the floor and destroy everything? Now I’m afraid that putting them in plastic bins will just be a bad idea if my house burns down–they’ll melt with the plastic. Maybe a bin inside a fire box?

Maybe I’m overreacting.

I know the important parts of my past and my writing are not gone; they’re still a part of me. But I won’t be able to read through them again and see how I experienced them when I did, in the moment. I think the loss of that is harder than anything else, and I think once it actually hits me I’ll grieve for the loss of that stuff.

But for now… what can I do?