the innocence can never last

One of the side effects of being what will, I suspect very soon, become unemployed, is the hours I find myself keeping. I roll out over and turn on the TV around 8:30am watch the last 30 minutes of the day before's General Hospital. Sometimes I get up and make coffee. Usually not. Around 9 I turn on the computer to see if I missed anything whilst sleeping. The Daily Show is on a 9 and Colbert is on at 9:30. These viewings are usually my third for each and on everyday but Monday and Thursday I watch these shows at least one more time. Probably around the second commercial on the Report I finally get around to that coffee. I'm usually dressed by the time Ellen is on-All my Children at the latest---well, the next day at the latest---but usually by 12:30.
My afternoons are meaningless. I watch SciFi channel-the X Files-Quantum Leap-Twilight Zone if any of those are on. The time between when General Hospital ends and the Daily Show begins is the worst. It's a very long stretch of time (7 hours) in which I have to be conscious that requires nothing of me. I usually putz around with my computer and watch re-runs of Good Times. I watch approx 20 episodes of Good Times a week. Everything in my life is based on TV-what's on TV, how things relate to TV, what TV looks like without my glasses on thru my plastic free in a box of oats wine tumbler-anything having to do with TV. TV is my most nearby friend-it isn't the best of friends-but it also doesn't worry about me if I'm drunk and crying uncontrollably to When September Ends by Green Day. This has only happened once, the last time I heard the song I mocked it mercilessly. I mocked lots of things mercilessly today-since, I forced myself to leave the house and go up to school early---like way early 3 hours--so that I wasn't sitting in my apartment watching soaps being alone and contemplating pulling my bed back out and just falling back to sleep.
I don't even have a reason to be depressed-other than the Seasonal Affective Disorder that is paralyzing my soul. Other than that I have no reason to be depressed. Some days I don't even go out of the house and while that used to be a treat---not having to pretend to want to be part of society---now it's the norm. I have very little human contact. I appreciate what I get---but I don't seek it out.
Was talking to Mum today-she said "Yr dad says you don't like to go to bars anymore because of the men that hit on you."
"I don't."
"Why not?"
"THe men that hit on me, I'd rather be alone the rest of my life than with any of them."
"Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know."
"Do you think it's how you dress? I mean, I don't KNOW how you dress, but I always see you in jeans and t-shirts."
"Yeh, and Chucks."
"What kind of guy do you attract?"
"Dirty, scraggly, no tooth havin' good ole boys without jobs or prospects."
"And what do you find attractive?"
"Same kind of guy I've always found attractive you know."
"No, I really don't know."
"Well, either scruffy, kind of clean hippies." (By this I am thinking Todd Snider, Hayes Carll, kind of scruff. The sort that can clean up if the occassion warrants.)"Or really clean cut, no facial hair, button down shirts, bespectacled nerds of the highest degrees."
"You want a college professor."
"Well, yeah."
"And, do you think you're going to get a college professor looking like..."
"I'm readying to kick some ass?"
"Well, basically."
Seems to me my intellect should show through my appearance. Or I could try dressing like a girl and see what happens. I am excited to say that one of my professors referred to me as "thin" today and while it was not proper to say thanks for that I was excited someone thought of me as thin. (For further information-I was showing off my belt buckle-it makes sense, really.)
SO-I spent 3 hours in the cabin today with B. Mostly listening to old time music and picking apart everything other than ourselves. For example-slash fanfiction-which he had never heard of !!!! Can you believe it-shocking. Or maybe, I wish I had never heard of it but I can't give it up. It is like the crack.
"It is so hilarious to read these descriptions of sex written by 15 year olds that haven't had sex with one man much less with 2."
"Yr showing yr age thinking 15 yr olds haven't had sex. In that very building behind us 15 year olds are having sex with 2 guys as we speak."
"Okay-given-maybe I just have trouble with the fairness of the whole thing. I can't get sex with one man."
"Well...you....uh..." it seems to me the conversation changed topic for awhile. Then I read some slash-y "goodness" from the Jon needs to get back with Stephen camp. I have no comment on this-other than I don't understand why Stephen is always the "girl" in the relationship. Much laughter was had--I will refrain from link-y good links so that no one there thinks I'm making fun of their hobby. Which I'm not-I read it-it entertains me that isn't something I would make fun of. Wonder about, yeh, but make fun of, not at all.
"The best part is, if you do research, you could turn it into a book, and then you could go on a book tour."
"Mmmm---I would have to tour all the news shows...fake and otherwise....very interesting...."
I now have a new life goal.
Note to me: meeting with e on Thurs at 3:45, maybe have something worthwhile to contribute, I doubt that will be my thoughts on slash fiction--done with plenty of time to grab a pint before class (ha...mostly...not really...I'd have to move my truck if I did that)
Further note to me: Strangers with Candy is airing on Comedy Central on Feb 6 at 1-2pm and Feb 8 from 1-3am. That's exciting.
Got to continue watching the Daily Show for the second time in 2 hours.
Oh and
Note to self: You have to get out of bed tomorrow. You need to buy stamps.
See, a reason to get up.
And another thing: I want a Muhlenberg County dog-I will give it an esoteric Western Kentucky name----like Merle Travis (that isn't esoteric enough---I'll think of something---John Prine? Flat picker? I'll have to look into it.) I do not want a rooster.

It's alright to dsappear for awhile

A post I am refaining from making over on the BR board-at least until I've cooled down a bit...Maybe I should just send the note off to the person that offended me-since it's not the first or I would bet the last time that he would do that. The good old boy mentality makes me sick and sometimes I wonder how I manage to live in this part of the country with all these gay-bashin, black fearing, shirt tuckin, back slappers.


I dunno whether it's just some level of sensitivity in me but I am getting really tired of the discomfort expressed about Brokeback Mountain (want to make a topical jab at someone-say the President-and use the movie as a reference point? I'm all for it) But I am really damn sick of this-"ha ha funny fag cowboy" movie insinuation that I've noticed more than once here--for a cheap shot perhaps I should point out the old adage about protesting too much?
Have you SEEN the movie? If you have-then feel free to make jokes, if you see fit. There are plenty of opportunities-and it's easy, much like (the far inferior both stylistically and story-wise, tho I did once share a bar with Stephen Rea which is cool but neither here nor there-The Crying Game) But if you haven't and yr just a homophobe and don't even know the contextual details of what yr laughing about then keep it to yrself. Because this isn't a rerun of All in the Family so it isn't funny. Yes, I'm calling this out-it may be unnecessary or overly PC-call it what you want but I think actions like hints of laughter at the very idea of the film are pre-adolescent at best. And-I am all FOR making fun of society's follies-it's a big time hobby of mine-but this is making fun of an entire part of the population and that isn't right. And maybe some people that read this are wondering if I'm offended because I've never bothered to mention that I'm gay-well, now, is that ANY of yr business? (****this would surprise a few people I think---I wouldn't post that part, just typing out loud***)

That off my chest now-I suspect that was a fine time to be had and I would've loved to have been at the show. But, I will make another one or two-and I won't die from my brakes going out on the way to or from there-and that's nice. Thanks for the set list and details-did you notice anyone taping?

On a related un-pissed off note I was talking to Daddy today. Ma's in Cincy with the "girls." I had pointed out how little trouble it would be for me to drive up there and hang out with the gang-all of whom are friends of mine (to more or less extents of course-it's a bit strange to share friends with one's mother-but you'd have to meet Mommy to really get how not strange it is). She said no. Mean old Mommy. Pout. But that's ok because staying in town allowed me plenty of time to sit on my couch and do nothing. One of my favorite pastimes-nay, my favorite pastime. I called Dad today and we always have groovy conversations about exciting stuff-like James Frey ("He was poor, he wrote a book and lied and now he's not poor anymore. I don't see a problem." "Pop, he's from Shaker Heights who do you know from that side of town that's poor? I WISH we'd been that poor when I was growing up." "Well, he's got a lot of money now, good for him.)
Other good comments:
"Quality of life is directly proportionate to cost of life. If you lived somewhere like where yr sister lives or in New York you would't have a very good quality of life."
"Now, I love New York."
"You love New York like you love the zoo."
This is pretty much what all of my conversations with my dad are like. We argue about the sincerity of the convictions of Rush Limbaugh (Dad SWEARS he heard Rush corpse on air in regards to the Kent State Shootings-- break character so noticeably as to be detrimental to the integrity of yr stage persona) and I ask him why he hates America. Then we discuss religion-he calls organized religion pigeon-holing and constrictive and he asks me why I plan to sleep in tomorrow instead of going to church if I believe in anything other than myself. Then we talk about food.
I am reminded once more of my cousin, who spoke of making brownies or cake should anyone stop over and then when they didn't she was forced to eat the cake lest it went to waste. I've done that twice this week. I certainly hope it's a feminine issue and that I haven't developed some sort of unfortunate chocolate deficiency treatable only by mousse and double chocolate fudge cake with fudge whip cream and fudge sauce.

Ain't nobody's business but ours

When it comes to writing reviews I'm terrible. I can't tell you wyhat was a storyline without rewriting the story and I can't say why something is good or great as the case may be in a few easily digestable phrases. That's not my strong suit and I think that my opinion isn't a reason to do or not do anything. Even if I've said repeatedly that I think otherwise about things.
That being as may be-I went to see Brokeback Mountain today. I don't go to a lot of movies. This year I've seen 4 movies in the theatre-The Brothers Grimm, Walk the Line, Be Here to Love Me and now Brokeback Mountain (by year, I mean 12 month length of time). 4 movies-2 of which star Heath Ledger-I wouldn't know Heath Ledger if he showed up at my doorstep with a pizza and some candy but of the VERY FEW total movies (not just the ones in the theatre) he's starred in 2-interesting. I can't describe this movie-I felt uncomfortable watching it-the way I would feel if I accidentally caught a declaration of affection between two people that were unaware they were being watched. The gay aspect meant nothing to me-I didn't care that they were men, I cared that the characters seemed to truly FEEL these emotions, despite seeming to not want to feel what they couldn't deny. That is the story-that's what's important--not who feels these things but the feelings it was devastating and heatbreaking. The love was painful and rarely freeing there was so little communication. I don't want to describe the film-the cinematography is beautiful and the film feels realistic---like I said, almost too much. It's a long film, but even when I felt the need to get up I didn't I had to watch I couldn't miss anything that happened, Was afraid that the limited time Jack and Ennis got to spend together and that I got to spend with them would be cheapened by walking out of the theatre. When the movie was over, I stayed for the credits, like ya do. I always watch all of the credits-or the majority-up until the soundtrack is listed-usually until the dedication-a lot of people spent a lot of time making a movie and even if I don't read the names I feel that it is somewhat important to watch the scroll. For a person that really doesn't like films that much-I really do love the movies-the right movies, anyway.
I broke down crying during the credits. I'd barely cried during the film but as the credits ended my shoulders began to shake, my eyes burned and tears began welling up in my eyes. I wasn't even aware that I was going to cry-it just happened. The credits over I walked into the restroom, closed myself in a stall and cried more. I was very effected by something-I walked around the mall for an hour-went to Barnes and Noble and read the short story the film was based upon-just to stay with the characters a little longer...That isn't something I remember doing before-wanting to walk back into a film, I've done that--but not wanting to hold onto characters, reclaim the events of the story-that was new.
Maybe I was open today-open and accepting to stories/emotions and if I had gone to the movie tomorrow I wouldn't have felt the same way when I left-wounded, raw, disconnected from the rest of the people in the mall.
Whatever the case, it was a beautiful film about a complicated relationship. It makes me sick that people are writing the story off as a "fag" movie or JUST about "GAY cowboys." It's not porn, it's not cheap and it isn't something to write off as simply anything---it is one of the few movies in memory that left me without the power of speech, feeling as if I had to do SOMETHING to regain possession of the characters, wanting not to go back into the theatre but back into their world.

America-behold the power of Truth

Read down the page for thoughtfulness and shite of that nature. A more web savvy person would back date this but eh fuck.
I wish I could do SOMETHING with fan culture of actual POPULAR media...I mean, sure, I've got the WKU market cornered on musical stuff only I care about but y'know-there's these popular things-stuff that people are REALLY into encompassing shit and I want to be the person to write about this. Particularly my weakness, slash fiction. IT's so terribly written and unrealistic and yet I can't help but read it. Sadly, my writing skills don't stretch to me being able to write slashfic---I've actually had sex and adult interactions featuring interaction of that nature and thus I am unable (unwilling?) to write trad slash--no man, not even a man into getting bizzay with another man (or woman with woman-and I will admit it's easier to write femslash for some reason) would be so ridiculous as the authors of most slashfanfic---honestly it's so bad it's like Half Baked. The conscious laughter outweighs the shame.
Oh-and my other weakness-Colbert-here's the reason for the weakness---the audience gets to play the part of the jingoistic robots spewing the talking heads' ultra-conservative-ultra-pseudo Christian party line. It's an emotional release, a chance to be everything they despise, as acting out that which you hate is often the truest projection of person epistemology- an opportunity to express that which is anathema to their perception of reality without actually causing the harm (psychological or otherwise) that actual portrayal of those ideological opinions would cause...Well, screw a pooch---I have a paper topic for Belief. Right inside my area of fan culture but within the realm of political belief systems. I don't think I have ever had a paper topic on the first day of class-not even in any of the music classes.

I believe in karma, I believe in soul, I believe in heaven, I believe in rock'n'roll

In which I further contemplate belief--something that will probably happen a lot this semester.
Class tonight-Belief-E's class. Always enjoy these classes, as despite all of the organization and knowledge at any given time any of her classes could erupt into a ruleless, disorganized festival of free form association. This is why I like her classes, I would wager that it turns off more people than the number that find it fascinating.
The class is TOO big and about 1/2 need to drop before it is the right size. I hate big classes. Too many people means less time for me to discuss my opinions and to argue about the validity of the opinions of others. Nothing ruins a really cool class like people. We did the intro thing-then there was a smudging ritual. The class ended with us filling out the obligatory basic information page-with an extra question about "Deep backgroud" info about our beliefs or something in that area. I wrote "I was raised pagan by a lapsed Episcopalian and an agnostic, it is damn confusing to be me." I was being annoying---or maybe the word is "cute" but I meant it-I was and it is. Esp since I am a lapsed pagan-I bring shame to my family, I not only own, but unironically wear a cross--well, I did, until I left it in Ohio. It's hard to wear what you don't have.
On the way home I started thinking about what I believe. Essentially, I believe in everything. I may not hold a personal belief, but I do feel that believing in something is every person's right and everyone has the right to believe what the do. This does not mean I have to understand or even kind of agree, but I am accepting of this as part of life. My parents raised me with no belief system-my sis and I were raised to distrust and even dislike organized religion-faith was only my middle name, it wasn't something with much inherent meaning. Not as I remember being told when I was a kid. But-I don't think that's wrong. Being given the choice, I chose my own truth instead of accepting the truth I was fed as a child. This is interesting from an intellectual standpoint-not because it is revolutionary-the Baby Boom generation and their GenX children forcibly removed themselves from the faith of their fathers quite regularly. X'ers-"the first generation raised without God" had it easy-being raised without fear of retribution from an invisible, angry force in the sky. This lead to a huge quantity of pot smoking, ill advised sexual encounters and dabbling in Wicca. Of all these, really only practicing the Wiccan religion at any point in one's life is something to feel shame about. I mean, really? You believed that? I bet you claimed you were bi-sexual at the time too, didn't ya? Pretty embarassing now, isn't it? (AUTHOR'S NOTE--yes, I had some bad Wiccan experiences, what gave it away? Oddly enough, I also knew some really cool Wiccans, but unfortunately the one REALLY bad one I experience negates the decent-such.is.life.)
And I was thinking about why I give power to objects-why, when in a state when I can't easily identify my feelings I light a candle and pray for an understanding of the situation. I thought about naming my cars, giving power to items, the feeling that I somehow deserve the bad things that happen far more than the good there is a lot to think about when it comes to why these feelings exist. Course, I can say something I believe but there is the emotional aspect that I-or anyone else I'd say-can't say. For example, I can say that I miss my dog but the extent of these feelings are not explainable. My parents tell me they love me-but those are words-I think they are true and have no reason to feel otherwise-but then again, I have no frame of reference upon which to base any thoughts that would involve their not loving me. Now, I don't know if I am able to accept this-it requires a philosophical leap that is, honestly, beyond my mental grasp of reality. But, perhaps it is the acceptance that since I cannot know one thing, then I should be able to further realize that I have not the knowledge of one that knows anything.
Luckily I'm not talking about "fact" I'm talking about belief, which, in my discussion tonight is a lot like "truthiness." It's not that it's true---it's that it feels true. This is a culture of feelings with very little interest in fact. It is a culture of blind religiousity, in essence. An evangelical pseudo-Calvinistic capitalocracy.It's almost worse than being an Anglinostipagan.
Further, the smudging put the germ of idea into my head that perhaps I should conduct such a ceremony in my apartment. The practice is used to cleanse negative energy or release spirits and to bring in positive energy in its place. I feel, that, as much as I hate the fact of what the act would signify it is highly emotionally purifying to conduct a ceremony that in some way releases the departed spirit from the physical realm. There are some things that cannot be avoided and I am a firm believer in ritual as an emotional salve for the human psyche. (I am also probably a little too educated to say that in the most honest way possible---in a way, this saddens me.) I now put forth this-I need to conduct a smudging/cleansing ritual upon my apartment so that I may release Baxter's energy/spirit to the next realm in order to do this I need to remove those things that contain specific reference to his earthly existence-I do not know if I can do this alone-tho I will if need be. I see it as an important part of this that I not do it alone, as by letting Baxter go while alone I would be leaving myself completely alone--setting my position in the universe as "a rock" dare I say, "an island"--but if I free him in the presence of a spirit that is in a physical form I believe that it will be easier for his spirit to be released without concern and for me to accept the release. This seems in conflict with my beliefs (clearly things I don't know whether I believe or not even at the moment I believe them) but it is not in conflict with my feelings at this moment.
RIGHT-so that got a bit off topic I suppose. That's a bit like me isn't it.

Fuck me in the ass with a lit cigar*

Rosie is back in my possession. My credit card is no longer paid off-that was fun for the 12 hrs it lasted. Since I am so in debt that I will never get out of it I've decided that there are worse fates and I'm planning to survive nay, even thrive, on student loans and the buck-buck fifty I get each week from mailing out those letters. Let's face it-I'm in debt until I'm pushing up daisies this debt and shite is just part of how I support the American economy.
Did my taxes today. I'll be getting a refund of about 1 1/2 months wages so that should be enough for me to afford to live somewhere other than in a not paid for truck down by the Cumberland River. Yea for the ghetto wealth of February. Possibly the best part of February.
Didn't do anything else today, really. Being as how I"m a puss I rode the bus back to the garage instead of my bike. It was much more relaxing and my breathing remained normal. Regular breath is important to keep up my dilligence in pursuit of the cause of not passing out from lack of oxygen.
Uhm-do I have other news? Nah...I'm in debt forever and my truck shouldn't need much more work this week...oh---I remember, my electric bill is half what it was last month..now, I was out of town for about a week and a half but I doubt I will have such an experience as I did last month with the no money and the high bills and all..good times.

*this is the best expression I have heard since--asshat-- I think only dirtier and more graphic and so way better. no need to credit we know where I get all my inspiration.

Snap me out of it! I need something fantastic!

Today is the most depressing day of the year-good-then it will get better. Hell, by next Monday I should be slowly able to crawl up out of this pit of suck that has been January and begin to believe there's hope yet....I swear if I still smoked pot I would be SO high by now.

OH yeh, just keeps getting better---I do believe I was just turned down for an amazon.com visa card. Nice-just when I needed a new credit line to spend on cult TV shows on DVD.

I'm a dreadful sight, I just don't care, spend all morning pulling out my hair

Fun fact: when a person-let's call that person me-hasn't been on a bike in 3 years the time to find out if the adage about not forgetting is not at dusk and the distance recommended is under 3 miles and the location is not the rolling hills of Nashville, TN.
My plans for this Tuesday didn't include going for a bike ride-there's a story. Everything I do has a story.
Yesterday I was on my way up to school when the brake light came on. That's not good-so I bought some brake fluid and went on. The light stayed on the whole way home and, I'll tell you what-having cheated death back on '03 on the MASS Pike I didn't really feel like I had the luck of the Irish on my side a second time. Dad said it could be nothing, maybe some air in the brake line or a glitch in the computer. When driving the truck would come to a stop so I didn't think I was in dire straits. I am reminded of the famous last words of so many rednecks-hey y'all watch this. Hey y'all watch me drive thru the moutains in my big ole truck on these iffy brakes!! And again, that night on the MassPike came floating back on my ride home last night-the smell of the water coming thru the windows of my sister's truck as I'd coasted thru Boston to the club-the pints and hail fellow well met cheers and best wishes all night the throb and wail of the bands, the sobbing onto Larry's shoulder at the end of the evening when I realized trucks don't fix themselves and I would surely die before the sun rose the next day, passing out at a rest area somewhere on the way back to CT and sneaking into my sister's apt at 6am like a guilty teenager praying no one would hear me. Truly one of the greatest nights of my life...Lord! That's one of the tales.
That was my one driving a truck without brakes without retribution opportunity-but today I was pretty certain that it wasn't air in the brakes-my online research indicated that it wasn't something to fuck with-brake issues. I took the car up to Budget Brakes-because they had the word BUDGET in the name and, well, I'm not the smartest person or the best informed at all really, so I thought that meant that the cost of repairs would be within reach my budget not approximately my personal responsibility for balancing the FEDERAL budget. For someone with 12 years of higher education under her belt and close to 5 years of independent living I am naive about cars. Daddy or Uncle L always fixed them and I guess by their names alone you can tell these aren't people that would be interested in screwing me over. I've never had a car repair that cost more than $350 and that was for a near complete replacement of a front end tires included on Rosie just last month. Daddy rebuilt my old wagon for under $300. These sorts of repair bills give the impression that it is very inexpensive to fix a car/truck, especially since I have more than once purchased the materials needed to do repair jobs and I know what parts cost. The turnip truck is still in the neighborhood but I ain't been on it in the last 24 hours.
Budget Brakes is right next to the Vet that told me that Baxter's only problem was that he was old and gave me no cause to think he would be gone from me in less than a month from the visit. I shoulda fuckin' thought that maybe that strip is bad for me but I went anyway. The greasy fingered guy (this seemed like a good sign-he works on cars, he shouldn't have finely manicured hands) took the keys and twenty minutes later came back in "Ready for the bad news?"
He took me out to the bay and showed me the worn to near non-existence brakes/cylinders. "You can't even drive home on that. It's a wonder you got here." I've heard this before-take the car in for an oil change and the helpful Mr. Mechanicman is explaining how the hydrotator flusk valve is bent and the truck will spontaneously combust at the first encounter of a yellow light. The price I was quoted for
-2 rear brake shoes
-2 wheel cylinders
-2 drums
-Labor
----------------------
$565

You read that right. The price for the car to be "safe to drive home" was $256. For ONE side-not for both brakes.
I called Daddy and we got into a screaming match-he even talked to the guy at the shop who explained the dire situation and Dad said there wasn't any choice for me than to get the work done whatever the cost. I screamed more and suffered a small but notable psychotic break unlike anything I had undergone in quite a lengthy period of time. I'd say years. I don't take kindly to being fucked with-and no one was going to argue-not even Mum who doesn't allow communication when I get worked up because she figures if I have someone to talk to my emotions will only grow more heated and extreme. I don't entirely disagree but I still don't know if hanging up (even accidentally) on an irrational screaming person is the right method of action. Whatever works-whatever works. I'm not saying anything negative about it-my irrational anger turned into near dissociative reason and I walked into that joint and said with all due bluntness "Take the truck down and give me my keys." Counter dude shrugged the "It's your funeral you stupid woman" shrug mechanics save for righteously indignant women.
My parents called back when I was waiting for them to pull the truck out so I could go home. Counter guy came out when I was talking to them, "Sign this and you can have your truck."
"I will not sign anything for you."
"Then you can't have yr keys."
"Sign the paper and get the hell outta there, Kenz," Ma said.
I scribbled on the paper and took my keys, "Yr a shyster."
"No I'm not."
Ma rebuked me for "calling names" by referring to me by my full given name-a rare event in my life.
"Mama, I ain't lying."
"And yr also driving a truck without brakes, don't make it worse by insulting people."
"I'll tell you what-if it costs me anywhere near what he quoted me I will personally write an apology note to him, hell, I'll deliver it with flowers."
When I got home Dad called--how did people survive before cell phone "IN" minutes? We set up a plan-I'd call some local Mom and Pop shops and he'd find out a reasonable price for parts and I should expect at least $60/hr for labor. Fine, effing fine.
"And you shouldn't have called that guy names kid."
"Da, a man that talks to a woman like she's stupid simply because she's a woman deserves names thrown at him."
"And in a just world stuff like that would never happen. But this world isn't big on justice."
"I'm sorry I got so pissed. It's just that I was going to be ahead, well, even, for the first time this month-I was going to be able to make a car payment, my dryer's almost paid off, I thought I was going to catch up."
"That's not how it works."
"Don't I know..."
"Hey, you should call that guy you took yr wagon to awhile back...call him."
So, I called him. And here I get a little madder at me cuz all of this could've been avoided if I'd just thought about it and hadn't tried to "save." There's a guy over on Main St-Shaw recommended him before I even moved down here-said he'd been going there for years---hey, y'know, I'm fond of the guy but does he know from mechanics? Turns out-yeh, he does. Listen to people-esp people you consider friends when they tell you shit like "Here's a good mechanic, he won't rip you off." Why would a buddy lie about that? What would be the gain? For all my fight about being treated like a stupid girl, I feel a bit like I acted like one by not listening to what was a good piece of information. Me=Dumbass.
Dude on Main St's written quote is for $225 for parts and labor for both brakes---lower than the est he gave me over the phone. Oh-it's not cheap-and he has a Bush/Cheney yard sign on the wall of the garage-but I am willing to overlook his CCRWRSWAM-ness to save $200+, besides he's honest, he's local, he comes recommended and he was pretty funny when I pulled my bike out of the truck (see---the bike thing wasn't just a non-sequitor) there's was much laughter about how I musta been a Girl Scout-since I came prepared and with a Miller High Life bike at that---for when yr just too drunk to drive a car-it's Miller Bike. (I've heard every joke ever conceived about that bike-I've had it for 5 years. It was WAY easier to ride around in the flatlands of Bowling Green, OH. Never go biking drunk-just trust me on this-not even in Bowling Green, OH.)
Tomorrow my tune may change a bit-there might be more work that will need done on my truck that I can't afford the payments on, that has had over $500 in repairs since Christmas, that has the insurance due in 2 months but it'll be drivable and hell-it couldn't need more than another two or three thousand dollars worth of repairs before Lent.

beautiful despair is hearing dylan when you're drunk at 3am

Right-so I tuned to Night Court after that sexy, sexy Stephen Colbert made me long to be old just so I could be on some hot and steamy Medicare service provider like Gunderson Lutheran and there's this kid playing with a high tech lap top computer that has 64MB of RAM! I must get one of those-that would be useful if I need to make some ASCII art.

School started today. There are 3 noobs in the class. I am sure I made a great impression and I passed judgement quickly. Because I am just that nice. One thing I do wonder is, and this is old anger ball me coming out--how the ever loving fuck did a person I will not describe get an assistantship when said individual doesn't have the brain power God gave gerbildance.com? Mother-fucker but that is a raging act of idiocy on the part of the powers that be and if I am ever the powers that be I will refrain from being so damn clueless and misguided. Course, I am far too laid back to be the powers that be---if I am anything in this field I will be the powers that confound or maybe the power that annoys. I don't have the drive to be....still, I know am quite convinced that the JRterrors are smarter than particular better off classmates--I'm honestly stunned to see this person's return their performance last semester seemed such a debacle. This further illustrates why the words "Department Head" will never follow my name. But there are newbies and they seem---well, I can't say, because they seemed overpowered and intimidated by those of us that knew each other. We were not only loud but-I dare say somewhat annoying to the not participating. I daresay it was nice being back.
But-I saw a look of displeasure when we were discussing the inclass viewing's musical soundtracksomething they were doing with much seriousness and intellectual rigor and I stated that any film about Kentuckians had to, by law, feature fiddle music as the main musical theme. The two new women across from me, the ones uninitiated to my-ahem-charm-looked downright pissed. Well, feck em. It's true-Kentucky is to fiddle what Cleveland is to polka. Look it up-it's on the SATs.
This weekend I am very tempted to roadtrip up to Ohio-Cincy Dayton. But if I do that I will be spending money that is totally not in my possession---and I would have to decide between BR and Todd on Sunday and then be back in Bowling Green for class on Monday. But then, I AM doing an independent study on fan activity within the Americana music culture and in a way, it seems necessary. I probably won't--but I SHOULD. I really, really, should.
Damn it all to hell---maybe if I get paid $100 for watching the terrors-then I'll go. That's sarcasm--I'll probably get a shirt that says "I babysat 2 ill mannered dogs for 4 days and all I got was this crummy t-shirt"

little furry waterproof pals

My apt has 2 dogs in it. I absconded with them earlier today-and they seem cool with that. Crazy dogs just jumped in the truck and stupidly went for a ride with me. Course, they know me. And I have a key to their house so clearly they knew that they were not being taken to the Chinese restaurant (urban legend alert). They're quite comfortable it seems-all curled up looking cuddly next to me on the couch. Small dogs need to come in pairs in order to be enough beast to qualify as DOG and not for example-huge rodent.
They make me smile with their spazziness-couldn't imagine what they must've been like as youngsters.
Home for wayword and chubby animals is what I'm running.
Furthermore-I'll be graduating on time.
Happy happy joy joy.

If beauty truth and truth beauty than I am looking fabulous tonight

'K. So S handed me a glass of champagne at 1 this afternoon and I've been drinking steadily since. I have an urge to buy every season of Strangers With Candy on DVD-but luckily 7 hours of drinking isn't enough to cause me to go crazy on amazon.com. I'm planning to turn off the computer before that. Or-at the very least-apply for the credit card-so that I could get a little more than one season for free.
Due to my addiction to podcasts I downloaded an interview with Stephen Colbert today-I'll listen to it tomorrow---oh---and I simply MUST go off now an renew my DVD that I have out or else the fines will quickly get painful.
Otherwise-my life is pretty uninteresting. That's probably alright really.

Pancho needs yr prayers its true...but save a few for Lefty too

Old cowboys never die they just ride on. Drifters just drift away. Gypsies just travel on.Bw
Strangely enough I realized this sittin' in the Belcourt tonight, eating a box of Milk Duds and drinking a PBR, watchingBe Here to Love Me a movie about Townes Van Zandt a stunning songwriter. He talked about how sad all his songs were, "Not all my songs are sad, some of them are hopeless." I wish I could say that I understood what happened in my head-I haven't stopped feeling sad-but I understand something I'm not sure I did before-Baxter, he'll always be here to love me today
God, that man wasn't of this world-he wrote lyrics like I can't even imagine a human being able to channel, he said things I can barely imagine anyone saying. He's been dead a decade but he talked to me today-like Hank Williams still speaks or Harry Chapin or any number of gone poets of varying degrees of ethereal power. So-I realized-that my Bax-he's ok I'm not totally ok with it but I think for some reason that I realize now that he's ok. I'll probably feel different tomorrow and then different from that on Thursday. It's a constant process...
Talked to Daddy today-he called me when I'd gotten home from the theatre. I'd started to call earlier-but I live in Nashville and it was snowing. I can drive in the snow-but most of the people in this town can't. Crazy Southerners.
"Are you getting over some of your Baxter grief?"
"Well, sometimes Daddy...then sometimes I think that I didn't do enough or I did things wrong."
"That dog was a cowboy, a drifter," ("He's a poet, he's a picker, he's a prophet and a preacher and a problem when he's stoned. He's a walking contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction taking every wrong direction on his lonely way back home.") "his life expectancy was about 5 minutes. Animal control would've found him and he would've been a goner, cuz he was an asshole, but he died of old age that's a miracle."
"Yeh, Daddy, he was an asshole, but he was my asshole."
"Hey, other than you I was that dog's best friend. I know what you mean. He was an ass but so was Henry that's just the kind of dogs they were."
"You remember when you were in Atlanta and you came to visit? I told Baxter you were coming to see him and he stared out that window waiting for you."
"We were buds."
"You know Pop, I don't know if I can forgive myself for not being the one with him when he died."
"Kid, you didn't need to go through that. He was home, and he was glad to be home and you didn't need to put yourself through that."
"Y'know, I would've run up my credit cards, sold stuff, whatever I could've done to keep him alive."
"And that bastard wouldn't have been happy. As long as he could he tried to run away, sometimes I had to carry him up the stairs because he couldn't walk back, that wasn't Baxter. You could've spent a thousand dollars and only added a week to his life."
"But I woulda done it, maybe it's better, maybe it's what B wanted, but it was best that he was home."
"And he will always be home. Even if we move, this is where you grew up, it's home."
My Daddy is a Big Old Bear----and he's a Big Old Softy---'specially when it comes to difficult old hounds....
"Y'know Da the thing is, I keep looking at these dogs...and I really want a cairn terrier-like the kind that Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara had in Best in Show---you remember?"
"Yes, I remember every joke and humorous scene in Best in Show," said Dad.
"I do."
"I'm sure you do," he said.
"Well, I want a terrier like that---but I keep seeing these two kinds of dogs-and I know you have the same disorder-I keep seeing these black and white pit bull Australian Shepherd Henry looking beasts or these black pointy eared a couple years away from "Got Milk?" faces Baxter dopplegangers and I just want to take any dog that looks like that home."
"You'll have that," he said.

"If God does things for a reason, he sure has a bunch of psychopaths carrying out his job orders."

--Fox Mulder

I have a $900 (not that anyone paid that much) computer with enough memory to store 75% of the library of congress (approx) but I'm playing Pong. Badly. A $1 CD of ancient by computer game standards games and I'm all tangled up in arcade games. I have played 30 minutes worth of classic atari games and lost consistently. Tho I am not as bad at Centipede as I am at Pong. It's hard dammit. That little paddle is all teeny and stuff.
In other news...I have to go to BG to explain why my plan for an independent study is a good idea and I should get credit for it. Due to my general feeling of malaise I am having trouble getting too excited about the possibility. But I have the proposal and some possible bibliographic sources and I would just like to say-I would really benefit from this working out-I'm tired of this stupid battle for this degree. I'm sick of not getting any breaks and it seems like I've shown time and again that I am willing to work hard. I've worked my ass off. I don't have a perfect GPA but I have the scars to show that I've been around and done my best. If I could just get this independent study to go my way that would make me happy. I might even begin the process of forgiving all the fucking over I've gotten at the hands of this program if three out of the four semesters went relatively alright I'd be able to forgive the ass fuck that was my first semester. THo I will NEVER forgive JAK. Rot Asshole. How that worthless excuse maintains employment is beyond me. He single-handedly cut my graduating class by more than half that should be worthy of redundancy but no one's asked me. I think I'm really only bitter about him-well him and the fact that I never got one motherfuckin dime in grant/scholarship/assistantship money despite being a better student (based entirely, I admit, on my own appraisal of my fellows) than several of the incoming this semester. Or better isn't the word-harder-I've always worked harder than a lot of people. Having to overcome the mental illness, the eating disorder, the abusive relationship, all that of course being FAR in the past-but it still is a bit haunting of course. Being, as I am, completely alone and sometimes I think adrift (tho I am neither of these things, anyone that spends a good deal of time inside her head with no break-sometimes I go 24 hours without speaking sometimes I can go even longer--reality becomes distorted) I have anger issues about how much work I've had to do for this degree compared to what I see everyone else doing. But I don't see their lives...I bet they see me with my constant stream of shows living in Nashville living "the life" being a groupie in my "spare" time and it probably looks better. Nevermind that...it's old news. I have nothing to complain about unless I don't convince MA that I have a clear and organized plan for an independent study. Like I said, if I can do this then I have 3 of 4 semesters that didn't suck too horribly.
RIGHT-so otherwise. I think I have one of those month long tumors that are going around. I just don't feel good. Or I'm depressed or something. Maybe I'll just practice my moaning...uhhhhnnnn....uhhhhhnnnnn.....I wish I owned When Harry Met Sally... on DVD cuz I'd watch that right now it would do me good.
I have no life
Let me further that---Colbert Report minutea

On notice:

grizzy bears
bob woodruff
tornto raptors
british empire
business csual
barbra streisand
black hole at center of gravity

Dead to me:

cnn en espanol
california's 50th istrict
new york intellectuals
men with beards
screw top wines
bow tie pasta
Heather somebody

it's either sadness or euphoria

It was brought to my attention that I haven't updated in a few days. So-while my head it's still a little throbbing I don't feel nealy as hideous as I have all day.
Yesterday I went to school for the last of my J-term course meetings. It was exciting. Spent most of the day back in the back of the room BSing with the boys. As far as work goes I didn't do much for the course I just hope to get decent credit for it. I felt hideous all day and came home and went to sleep right away. This morning I woke up turned on the TV-there's a 48 hr All in the Family marathon and I've watched about 20 hours or had it on that much. I've been asleep most of the day. I feel just icky.
SO anyway-went to Knoxville on a whim on Wednesday. It's under 3 hours-which falls into my acceptable road trip range. The night was fun. I got there in time to see an in-store and make a new friend-a shorty that called me "that girl" and wanted to walk around the store with me and look at the pictures (posters). I had no idea children could be so fun to be around-she spoke so clearly and made sense as opposed to being little and crazy. Which is how I usually think of children.
Then J took me to the Redneckinest Bar in Redneck Town-scary lookin joint off the wrong road and then two wrong turns and straight into 1982. I was by far the most attractive person in the bar. All the men had mullets and the women were all bottle blondes with home perms. The jukebox played Patsy Cline and other old country songs that no jukebox has had stocked for decades. The air was so full of smoke it was impossible to make out if there was anyone on the other side of the room---there were only about 8 people in the whole place. I ordered a Shiner Bock and the woman looked at me like I was from outer space. She said I looked about 16 and that I sure wasn't from "these parts" was I? Er, no-thankfully. If I was from those parts I'd be forced to root for UT and that is just WRONG.
SO-then me and J went to this brew house across from the club to get brews and pizza pie. J is a good old guy-and I know he's harmless,but I get a little tired of how he gropes on me all the time. Not just because he's old, but because it always feels to me like he's going to accidentally on purpose slip his hands somewhere they don't belong. Yet, I trust him completely he's a good friend-he's just a dirty old man. He's mostly harmless afterall. Just wish he'd keep his hands to himself is all.
Right-then JK came along with a couple friends and then D and a friend of his-showed up and it was a party after all. Lots of delicious beverages and pizza and fun we were fully ready to get down by the time we were finished eating. It felt good to be at a table full of people far away from trouble.
When the show started-the Avett's set-I went outside to get some air because it was smoky and stifling in the club. Something came over me and I went into a coma. I just sat there-by this heat lamp-watching people walk in. I couldn't move or think I just sat there for about 10 minutes.
The BR set was fun-enjoyed it immensely. After the show I did the roaming thing-wandered around nothing special. I took off late-was probably a little lit but I felt tired more than anything. I'd asked around for a place to stay but there wasn't any opportunities--my luck for asking a bunch of men to put up a chick. But it's okay. The phone rang when I was barely on the road. THAT was a number I thought wouldn't come up on my phone again. There we'd been in the same place 4 times over the course of the week and hardly ever talked-we spent 2 hours on the phone I was nearly home when we hung up. My ear was hot enough I was sure it was going to fall off from whatever poisonous rays phones give off. But it didn't.
I got home and went to bed then got up and drove to Bowling Green to meet E for coffee. Well, I had tea. She had coffee. I told her about my evening and all the the ways of the redneck I had taken on (for example using the phrase "Y'all reckon we need 'nother round a High Life?")
"Welcome back to Bowling Green," she said. Why do people keep saying that to me?
The only other worth mentioning thing from that meeting-at least wort mentioning that isn't somewhat either confidential or up in the air and not worth mentioning is that I had to explain why I was somewhat unprepared with a speil about why I was good idea for a sponsorship for an independent study. Course that reason was that I have been somewhat horribly depressed despite all my continuing to survive and do what I'm supposed to do.
She was very sorry. I've grown to understand that facial expression beter than I ever would've wanted to know what that look means. We talked about pets that had passed, a very sad conversation. When I got home that evening there was an email telling me again how sorry she was and that she would be making a donation to the Humane Society in his memory. I cried, and the next day when I got the letter saying that the donation had been made I cried again. Bless her. Bless everyone for all they have done for me. It doesn't alleviate the pain-but I feel less alone and helpless at any rate.
I hope I'm not sick-the last couple of days would say that it is a good chance. My head aches-course-All in the Family is a loud show lots of yelling and Gloria (how talentless she is-good lord-esp compared to the rest of the cast who were superb) wails like a banshee every episode.
Time to go to sleep again.

sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears

Today I begged out of school-as I was sick. And I am not that well, to be honest. I am preparing to do something I haven't done in years---I'm going on a running away road trip. I think the last one I took was down here to Nashville to see BR at the Exit/In back in Oct of '03. (I took road trips since then, but I don't remmeber running away exactly) The reasons were WAY different then. Tho, I would say that maye that wasn't running away so much as running in the general direction of. At any rate-I find that even as I grow old and change and become a somewhat different person (not much-but changing is inevitable to some extent-I don't feel much different. I still feel frail and small) but at any rate-I still find myself coping in the exact same manner. Isn't that just bloody static of me.
So here I am, much like I was at 23 (22? Fuck if I know?) and every year since dealing with a troubling situation by going to see a semi-well known hillbilly band. That-my pets-is sad. But it's my life. And I am comforted-it's like a blanky with more alcohol.
Right-so I didn't go to school today. I couldn't have dealt really-I couldn't have got in the car and had to tell so many people about Baxie. I could't have pretended I was okay. Sometimes, it is necessary to be sad and to grieve. I feel a great deal of grief. I saw him last night-I can't sleep in my bed---can barely go into my bedroom. I'm very sad. I saw him, I got up to go pee and there was a dark shape on my floor-I stepped over it-maybe even muttered something to that darker area of space---it was a jacket and shirt that had fallen off my chair. Yet, in my haze, I was sure it was him. I think I might go crazy. Maybe I already am. Seeing things like that-tho Mommy said that she did the same thing-she thought she saw him too.
It took me until 2pm to get out of bed. I showered and then promptly got back into bed. But I got up and went out around 5.
I got to Grimey's around a quarter til 6. There were a lot of people there. Due to my level of suckage I found out just about too late that many of those people were there to hear one of my favorite new singer songwriters Hayes Carll---but like I said, I suck so I missed all but his last song and about half of a song midway thru the set-when I wandered into the bar to use the toilet and thought-hey, for a guy playing a 5:30 set he's pretty good. I believe the phrase to use here is, well---duh.
In between sets I felt I needed to smoke-I felt I needed to smoke before that but I got up the nerve to do that after BR played-not really in between sets-after sets I should say. I went out to the outside smokers' lounge and I was looking for someone to bum off of. There was next to no one out there-I must've looked confused or something pitiful. "I"m looking for someone to bum off of," I said.
"Here, I got one," said Hayes. He opened the pack and flipped it so a cigarette pushed forward from the others in the pack. I took it out. "You need a light too?"
"Yeh, please. I wasn't going to smoke tonight-but then I decided that I would instead." He took his lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette for me. "Thanks," I said, too embarassed to tell him how much I dig his music.
'Sure, no problem," he said.
I am a starstruck little fan girl-I admit it.
Right-and I'd missed a free Hayes show---and the store was packed so I would be having to have an attack as a response to the large quantity of human forms packed into the not exactly spacious record store area.
But I forgot to tell you about when I first got there. I parked my car down the street-there was no parking in the lot. I saw Chuck and Shaw-they were standing on the first level-outside of the basement.
"Hey you, come here," said Chuck and he hugged me. "I'm sorry about your baby. That's hard....'
"Thank you...." we talked for a minute.
"It does stop hurting. Not right away but it does and then one day you'll get another dog or another dog will find you...it took me ten years."
I was very touched, not just that he took the time to tell me that he was sorry, that it was the first thing he said as soon as he saw me or because of the fact that due to timing he was the first person to hug me-the only human physical contact I had had at all actually--tho I suspect that was long overdue and I think it's kind of funny that comfort came from Chuck, dunno why---but I was moved to hear other stories and to be reminded that I am not the only person to feel so lost. Brenda also took the time to tell me she was sorry-"You don't have to talk about it, I know it hurts. But I am sorry to hear about Baxter." I was just really touched that there was that much attention to my little life that the loss of my dog would register with so many people (Course, I broadcasted it on the website-but I had to-it was easier than telling people one at a time for months to come--and he deserved a memorial dammit. He was Baxter motherfuckin Black best damn dog ever.)
Mommy was comforting me today-she said "I just remember when he tried to kill (my Dad's dog) Henry, you begged to save his life, you promised you'd t"
"And I did everything I could Mama, I did-didn't I?"
"He had a great life and he was yr best friend and I loved him for taking care of you." this from the woman who was driven to distraction by the old boy day after day that she was in his vicinity. She also said, "Your dad took it, I mean he may've cried when yr grandma died, but I didn't see it, but when those dogs died, he cried for Baxter...like he cried for Higgy" (Mommy always called Henry by his last name-Higgins or Higgy---I guess they had a more formal relationship) I think that what I need to deal with is that he had a wonderful life-a life that he had because of me-I saved him from certain demise because I loved him and promised to take care of him and I did as much as I could. There just was a point when I couldn't do anything anymore. One thing that I will remember-he always walked with me, walked me I think, even when he could barely stand he would walk around the yard with me. Even when I knew he was very sick and he didn't need his rope anymore he would wait for me to put his rope on and walk with me around the yard or down by the woods. When I left, he never did that again...
But, I'm not here to be sad. Or should I say, sadder? Because I know one day another dog will find me, and I will have no choice but to accept that is my dog. Not right away-you see, I was looking today-becase of the loneliness-and every dog I looked at was a black Shepherd/Lab that looked just a bit like B. There is no way I could replace him, yet, I have this need to try...again-when I was talking to Chuck and I said this he got this quick look on his face-it was very quick and I think it meant-"Don't do that." Or maybe I just know that's the fact of the matter and I saw something that wasn't really there because it's easier to attribute these thoughts to someone else rather than accept it's coming from me. Or both---there's the option of both.
Before the show-I need to add this...I had gone inside-but it was just claustrophic, made me a wee bit crazy so I went outside to go downstairs to get a beer. There was free beer-but I was sure I would get there right after the final beer was drank so I just decided to pay for it. I went outside and as soon as I was out of the store I said "Damn! That's crazy tight in there!" I said this to no one. The band was doing an interview about 5 feet away from where I was ranting. Funny me. When I'd walked up those same stairs I'd grabbed a railing and it made a loud and obnoxious clang! sound.
"What trouble are you causing now?" asked Shaw.
"No problems, I didn't break the gate," I said.
"Sure ya didn't.... He hugged me, "Happy New Year." I responded in kind.
"There's a lot of people in there...I'm hoping for something like the Who concert in Cincinnatti..." (he said something about how he would prefer I wasn't crushed-but he also insinuated that if I was and it got them publicity that would be okay too---he must've graduated top of his class in charm school)
I took offense at the idea of using my demise as a publicity stunt, "Well, I didn't know if you were into that."
"Yeh, I'm into being maimed that turns me on."
After the show I was alone-Amy and Gerald had headed home,but I had a Fall's City to drink. Mmm cheap cheap beer. I was walking around the store-being a phantom of a person. I saw Shaw and stopped him, "Look, I'm sorry about Saturday-it was crazy and I didn't see you."
"You didn't see me because I wasn't there. I went home after the show-I had a ride that was leaving."
"Oh."
"Yeah...So..look, I was wondering if--well, if you heard about my Baxter-my dog..."
"No."
"He died, he died on Elvis' birthday" (I remember I saw a show on Elvis' birthday or there abouts once-we talked about Elvis we talked about fried pickles...)
His eyes got big-he looked sad, "He just wanted to be with the King."
"Yeh, I'm sure he's with the King now..."we looked at each other-like we do "so the thing is-the thihg is I don't have any reason to be home and I'm broke and have no right but I'm going to Knoxville cuz I need to-can you put me on the list?"
"Yeh."
"Thanks. I'll be in town in time for the record store in store..."
"Do you know where that is?"
"No clue-but luckily I work for someone that has no idea what I do most of the time I'm there so as long as I do what I"m supposed to do I won't cause much trouble if I also print out a map to the place. I've only been to Knoxville once...it was to see y'all."
"I remember that."
"It was what--5, 7 years ago. A long damn time ago-my Sis was there, you remember?"
"Yeh, that, that was like a whole other century."
Fuck, yeh, that was like a whole other century indeed.
Here I am broke and lonely-but I'm going to go to knoxville tomorrow because for most of my adult life-for some reason I've channelled my sorrow into attending BR549 shows. And I would like to be a bigger person than I am-by which I mean more adult-but I'm not and I need it the shows and the noise and the companionship and the feeling of safety.
I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up that I am willing to run up a credit card for the benefit of a band but music is the healer and the reminder that every little thing is gonna be alright.
don't worry about a thing....every little thing....is gonna be alright...

He spoke with tears how...his dog and him travelled about...

For my love-RIP boy-I love you so much and you will always be with me.


All that travel and now you're home

I know some folks will say was just a dog. I would say those are people that never travelled across the country with only a dog as a companion-never had the connection he and I had. He was the best friend I ever had. He took as much care of me as I did of him.

He got sick fast. When I left he was still walking and eating and less than a week later he's gone. Mama says he was able to let go-he would've tried to hang on for me she says. It breaks my heart-the image of my parents sitting on the couch with him as his heart stopped beating--how can he die so sad when he lived such a gypsy life...well-what do we expect---even the wildest of us, given the chance get old and tired. I cry even harder when I force myself to realize that Daddy stayed with him all last night-couldn't bear to leave him alone...and today.......today......he had to sit with him as he died---and then after all that still be strong enough to bury him. OH God! OH God!WHY? My heart is in shreds with all of the images and the details and that I couldn't be there that he wasn't with me.
Yet, I am thankful-I prayed (Not that I know how really) that he would die at home where he knew where he was. At least he could smell me on the bed and he had love around him.
I am so selfish-I wish I had love around me right now.
I wish, just once-tho if I could have once I would wanted endless times-I understand the human mind works that way-but still I wish I could see Baxter begging for my dish and scratch his muzzle and get another doggy kiss from him. I wish I could hug him once more, or take him out for him to do his sinful dirty business. I hope he's running-I hope he has all the steak he could ever want. I hope he's warm and has a couch to sleep on. I hope he haseverything he ever wanted---I hope I gave him that when he was here.

I love you Baxter. Goodbye beautiful boy.

I'm alright-for the shape I'm in

If you are looking for my insights (such as they are into the Belcourst show they can be found by doing the click thing here
I enjoyed myself. I am too well treated by some people who know who they are. Thank you-I still maintain they don't need to make money-but maybe they do need some cash for food....and shelter...
Anyway...
I spent most of the day doing nothing-as is my want.
Mama says the Baxter can't drink anymore and he has no interest in any food. She says he can't hardly walk-she says it is very sad. I think he will go to a better place on Monday or Tuesday-he won't be hurting anymore, I love him so much...I don't want my boy to hurt-I want him to run and play. He'll go to heaven, I saw a movie once, says that dogs do that-even bad old hounds like my love-Ann says when we get our reward we get to see our best friends again....someday-when I get my reward....I'm not rushing to it---but I wish I could see him run away from me again. Isn't it funny-the things that drove me crazy I realize I miss--I tell myself that I am ready...I have no choice...
But I had a great night at the BR gig...seeing the boys doing their thing and all sounding good, looking good and that good stuff...
Today is my Ma's birthday-actually yesterday, according to the clock-today is Elvis' birthday.
Look at me-all shook up. Uh huh.

I need room to think this over-I need a ride out to horseshoe lake

With no one to take care of I find myself becoming strangely fascinated with things that are not fascinating. I contemplated downloading every episode of the office to itunes. For a mere $40/approx. It seems like something to keep me occupied at any rate. I could be more pitiful and obviously depressed but it would require sharp knives and possibly a month's supply of painkillers taken at once.
At school today I was standing waiting to use the toilet...I became fascinated with a row of pencils on a shelf across the room..just stared at them as if they were a podcast of the Sopranos.
"Yr looking 110% today."
"I've been better...I've been a lot worse..."
"Are you sick? Or what?"
"No, her dog..." whispered like I might've forgotten or maybe it's because it's easier to just not say....my dog...
I started to cry. Then I fought and didn't.
S and I did. We just did. I couldn't help it. I am in a lot of pain. I cry at the drop of a hat...no one has actually dropped at hat in my vicinity-yet, still I cry.
The class I am taking is a joke. No, jokes have a use-this class is just absurd. But it's easy credit and I just need to get out of this program. Not that I don't enjoy it-but I need a job and there is a big part of me that doesn't want to live here anymore...here where everything reminds me of my boy. God, I miss that dog so much I don't know what to say....I can barely get out of bed and when I am up and about I feel like such an evil bitch for functioning when he barely can anymore. I don't know how to live without him. I just never thought I would have to.
I am just that stupid.
I am just so fucking stupid.
And lonely.
More calls checking on me today-thanks J.
Tomorrow I have to get up. I don't know how much more I will do-but I will get up. I need money desperately...I need Baxter goddammit.

I'm down on my knees behind the 31W Texaco

In which I recount the events of my trip home...if I can manage to do so...
The highpoints seem like the only way I can get through this...
Everyone but me got sick right IChristmas.
So I provided my best known sickness cure----Bourbon Toddies. I bought a 750mL of bourbon and made some delicious hot toddies for Mum and Mik. Then I got into the fun--case I was getting sick...Must've worked-cuz I didn't get sick..And the whole bottle of bourbon was gone in about an hour...Good times...Good times...I don't think Ma had ever had bourbon before funny-ha.

Then it was Christmas. The family descended en masse to the house---the place was loud and alive and vital it was awesome---the yelling and laughing and eating everyone in the living room and kitchen sounding like dozens more people than we were. The crowd lasted until past 10pm it felt good. If I weren't so depressed I would talk about my cousin putting back box of wine-all the Smithwicks and Sam Adams I drank and all the ham and bread and pie we all ate and I would talk abouta discussion about how some of our family can live entirely on meals of a single heart of palm and a glass of water while others among us like brownies...I really like brownies----wish I had some now.

Then it was Mik's birthday and everyone was sick...Well, I wasn't sick---but mostly people were sick...

We shopped for clothes for the wedding.
We went to a Todd show up in Cleveland-it was an awesome show. I meant to tell him that when I saw him next but I was too busy trying to decide what kind of couscous to buy---it took me five minutes to choose couscous---there were three kinds---I just stood there looking at the shelf like the boxes were alien entities written in a previouly unencountered language---I can only assume this will get worse before it gets better...I contemplated avocados for nearly as long. There's only one kind of avocado.
He sang "Up Against the Wall Redneck Mother" and as the crowd yelling "Kissing (Kicking) hippies asses and raising..." he sang: "Conservative Christian Right Wing Republican Straight White American Males..." Lovely. Seamless.
There was more shopping-I bought many clothes. Lots of Calvin Klein and Donna Karan and way expensive name brands---for next to nothing--- Mik bought a pair of $180 jeans for $7---no, I can't tell you where this store is-as you might start shopping there which would mean the sales would surely become less sale-a-rific.

My cousin got married on New Years Eve. This little church in 5 miles from nowhere Ohio held the ceremony. I was in the basement leaving the restroom-my aunt was in the hall-she kissed me hello (I understand some families don't do this---I find that odd---but then, I understand that many people may find it odd how close and affectionate my family is--as far apart as we are--I hate how far apart we are sometimes) she took me by the hand and pulled me into the tiny classroom where the bride and the bridesmaids were standing nervously about waiting for their cues. They all looked beautiful I hugged them hello-I was afraid to touch A-she was so perfect looking I was afraid I would ruin that. They checked that she had something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. Aunt T and I headed upstairs-she took me right to the front of the church so there we were acting terribly non-chalant--fine for her but I was embarassed.
The reception was a huge and wonderful party-the food was good, the music was thoroughly danceable and while the bartenders couldn't uncork a wine bottle they also didn't have a good idea of how to mix a drink so I spent most of the night drinking ultra sweet Sloe Gin Fizzes (yummy! and the drink of the evening it seemed---I never saw so much pink being ingested in one evening) and ultra strong diets and Jack. I had a wonderful time---dancing like a damn fool, shaking my lady lumps with the best of them. During Paradise by the Dashboard Light the song I remember distinctly being the tune the ended my dreaded miserable sucktacular prom-everyone was singing and dancing and being insane. I was screaming at the top of my lungs "So now I'm praying for the end of time..." various relatives and near relatives and people I don't know from Adam screamed the lyrics along with me-by this point no one was even bothering putting down their drinks opting instead to juggle alcohol and dance with a skill only the truly inebriated can manage. A just swigged from a bottle of champagne and I-despite a painful coughing attack-could not bring myself to stop ingesting my adult beverage.
Other favorite moment-the DJ called for all the hillbillies to come out on the dancefloor and started playing the Cotton Eyed Joe dance remix from the day--I remember this song primarily for it's constant presence on the sound system for the longer rides at Cedar Point. I got out on the floor and began doing the one dance I do well-I began to jig-with a vigor usually reserved for the not sound of mind---or those that have recently attended a performance of Riverdance. "So you're a hillbilly huh?" asked my cousin by marriage. "Are you surprised?" I laughed as we hopped around like goofballs. My aunt tried to copy my dance steps-but my mad moves are patented and not to be toyed with.
On the way home I read the JAF and Mom discussed making a fence out of used computer parts---trust me this is strange--I haven't the energy to explain also it wouldn't be interesting unless you're a folknerd.
Don't be a folknerd-it's unpretty.

It was the new year. Nothing changed for me tho I suppose for others it did. Not my story. I cried a lot and I did laundry. On Tuesday I went south and got to BG at 4:30. In the front of the building I told about Bax."Would you want to get a dog?" I don't know-why, do you have a spare? The lonelier among us compared notes-I win-I live alone in a closet in East Nashville without a relationship and now I have no dog. Was sitting with the other folkies making lovely and charming comments about same such as "Don't be a girl, hitch across the country" and repeatedly slapping people that deserved it. "Welcome back to Bowling Green."
In true fashion we went to Mariah's for drinks.
We all got a night older-it happens in Bowling Green. Thank God I don't live there.
I got home in time for the Colbert Report. I fell asleep on the couch and finally went to bed at 3am.
Thank to kacigrrl for calling and checking on me.
Oh-and I got a new computer for the Yule. It's a laptop-60gig hard drive 512 processor wifi DVD/CDRW less than 6lbs 15 inch screen. It's very nice-my Dad, who should be nominated for Sainthood-put up with me shopping compulsively for the right machine for over 2 weeks. At one point I chose a computer that was the same as the one he'd had stolen last fall. Did I talk about that? He had a thinkpad stolen and it was written off as a loss-it was old anyway-like, 2 years. So, I had Bax out for a walk and we were going to the "dog park" (really a drained lake-drained since I was a little girl--it's been a long time since it was a lake) and I tripped, quite literally over the keyboard. We certainly did laugh-stupid criminals couldn't hack the IBM security. Ha ha funny.
I have to go back to work tomorrow. Presuming I can get out of bed. I have to get an independent study approved by someone really soon. Presuming I can get out of bed. Most everything is contingent upon me dragging my depressed self out of bed.
At least The Daily Show is new...I have that

no I would not give you false hope on this strange and mournful day

Home in Nashville
My apartment is very quiet and cold and empty
Baxter couldn't come home
He had to stay in Ohio
His health improved quite a bit over the course of the last couple of weeks but he just isn't in the shape to go on a 10 hour road trip
I cried myself to sleep nearly every night after I got home to Ohio
No matter how much I cried I couldn't come to terms with that I would be in this apartment alone
Still, even as I sit here and it is very real that I am here without my dog I am still unable to fully accept that I am alone
I keep thinking he will somehow be here
There's all this dog food and his dishes waiting for him and he isn't here
I am so sad
I could wax very poetic and talk about all my favorite times with Baxter and everything but all I really have right now is that I am completely alone
He is still alive and he is not doing so bad---he was ready to tear a encroaching kitty limb from limb this morning---he just can't be with me
Ma said if he gets better she'll bring him to me-in their van where he can ride comfortably. He never liked Rosie---not roomy enough I guess...She said if he can come home she'll make sure he gets here
My apartment smells like him-there's dog hair on everything even tho I cleaned for 3 days before leaving
He's everywhere and he's not here
How can that be?
I am so damn alone I just don't know what to do with myself