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Ghostly Wench Day: 9/27

My grandmother, Nany Nee, died early on Friday morning.
I feel as if I am the ghost going through her life and haunting her through pictures. So far I have had a knack for finding her things. Her shoes and pictures of posing on gravestones in High School. Material that she shippsd from Scotland before I was born. There was her wedding corsage buried under my mom's old trunks from collage. Her mother's china wrapped so carefully in newspaper only to be left under a table in the basement. A life in peices. The green carpet where she taught me how to swing dance. Sauce pans that she made Chinese food in. As I handele each item I can't tell whether a part of her is living or a part of me is dying. It seems a little of both.

Oral Wench Day: 9/14

On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin'
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleepin' city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin' comin' down. Johnny Cash

You’re all perverts. What I am discussing is the beauty of oral history. Recently it has come back to me how beautiful it is listening to someone orate. It began with a small bookstore in Bethesda that gives away proofs, the unedited early copies of a book sent to reviewers. Liz , Mike and I had gone down there a few weeks ago while shopping for Japanese food. Liz picked up a book called Cloud 8 that she has been reading to Dana and I recently. The three of us will sit outside and study, or one of us will read in the room while we dye our hair and the boys play KOTOR. Listening to the cadence of someone else’s voice is amazingly soothing. It makes an already great book that much better because we can sit there and discuss how we liked that turn of phrase, or how true a passage is, as we go through the actual dialogue. I now understand how people could sit for hours in parlors sewing and reading to each other. It reminds me of how I loved Harry Potter so much because I read it to my little sister out loud the first time I ever read it. The two of us imagined how the characters looked, whether the spells could be done according the laws of magic in E. Nesbit books and pretended that we lived in Hogwarts together.

As Justin was describing the Mage world over dinner to me it made everything come together. Mage is about people who awake and discover the magic inherent in life again. Listening to him talk about this world made me feel it growing around me in the rain hitting the ceiling and dripping onto the floor. Even though he did most of the talking I was an active participant in Something More, something Magical. We were both initiates into this other world, just as my sister and I went to Hogwarts and Dana, Liz and I live on Cloud 8, by forcing the worlds out into the open we brought them all to life and momentarily could live in them. We were all a little like Johnny Cash, the folk hero, who makes you want to laugh and cry because he’s telling stories that are your life. He’s giving them reality by speaking them. There is power in saying a word out loud. By giving it sustenance we transubstantiate ourselves into that world and that world into ours.

9/7 Working Wench Day

The sound of copiers

I kind of killed my registry a couple of days ago, and while I now have two lovely operating systems, neither of which will boot. But hopefully once I get off of work this will all be fixed. Speaking of which, I will never understand the dynamics of temperature at this bloody university. I think they’re trying to freeze me to death. It’s a beautiful, warm sunny day outside and even in long sleeves and a jacket I feel the small fingers of frostbite permanently setting into my bones. Opening the library on Sunday morning is a rather surreal experience. For one, I can’t figure out why they haven’t gotten rid of us yet. They recently completely automated the system so that people buy a copy card on one machine and add value on another. As a worker here I can neither add nor subtract money. If someone’s money doesn’t show up on the system I can’t give them a refund or give them a new card. All I can do is give them a number to call for someone who will probably never get back to them-through no fault of his own really, because they only have one person taking care of the whole system. They say this is supposed to be easier. In reality in frustrates everyone. It frustrates people whose cards don’t work, it frustrates me because I can’t do a damn thing about it, and it frustrates the one poor schlep who has to then deal with all these angry people.

Another reason Sunday morning is interesting is because there is not one single student here until at least noon. So, I get a lot of high school students who use the local college library, some workers at the University, and a bunch of pastors. I’m still trying to figure that one out. They even come in wearing their robes and little Christian yarmulke before or after service. I especially hate telling them that I can’t really help them. The neat thing is no one really wants to be here this early on a Sunday morning and so when the rare person does come to the desk (one or two a shift) we usually have a rather prolonged conversation. The main topic of course is the new system and people’s general fear of machines. One guy out and out asked me if I was afraid of losing my job because of the automation. Personally, by the time some administrator thought about it I probably won’t be here. Most people are afraid of the vending machines and so ask me to go through the process with them. “Okay, so you slide your card like this, now put the dollar in…” These are all intelligent people who could easily do this themselves. However, they want the sound of a human voice. Someone to ask them how’s the weather (since it’s impossible to tell in a badly lit basement) and what the project they’re working on is. Often the high schoolers will ask for my input since I am a College Student who must know all sorts of Cool and Interesting information. The pastors or priests always inquire after my “studies,” my health, and whether I enjoy working here. None of them have tried to sermonize yet, for which I am grateful, though a rousing theological argument might spice up the morning. The workers however, are the most confused ones. Most of them don’t speak English and my Spanish is rather rusty. Not only are the machines only in English, but I’m really of no use. After awhile these conversations always end in morning calisthenics of me making wild motions of sliding cards of putting in money. At least it's something to do *shrug*

Purgatorial Wench Day 8/24

I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that's real
the needle tears a hole
the old familar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything
what have I become
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear my crown of shit
on my liar's chair
full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
beneath the stain of time
the feeling disappears
you are someone else
I am still right here
what have i become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
if I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find away NIN

Perhaps we shouldn't have made the Johnny Cash cover our theme song. Maybe we doomed ourselves through hair cuts and depressing music. We both loved this song, and The Drugs Don't Work.

Read the lyrics.

Looking through a banister the other night I started crying when I really heard the lyrics for the first time. My friend Nattie always talks about how we are too young to be in this much pain. Normally I would never blog about this. But, this time I feel like I have something to say. I sit here and feel as if I've woken up in an old room that has been changed just enough to make you miss the past. I'm tired of watching myself and my friends cry. Because we are too young.

To me love is sleeping next to someone and smiling. It is when only their presence brings you joy. "When men have problems they change their girlfriends, women change their shoes" re Rachel. There are so few things in life that give people joy that I just want to cry every time I see us hurting each other. I don't believe in true love and I don't believe in fireworks. I can be passionate about someone so much that their eyes become my world for a moment. We are silly looking for bells and whistles to go off when we kiss someone because that is not going to happen. There is friendship and passion and I honestly believe that we don't need anything else. That's all there is to love, and looking for a fairy tale romance is only go to leave us lonely.

Love someone today. Love the sky. Love a flower, love a beautiful moment. Everyone can feel a moment of joy about something and we need to work on loving. I don't want to live in a world without love, joy, passion, or friendship. After all they are really the same thing. I want to love. I want to sleep next to someone and feel their breath against my neck. In the meantime though I am going to love good movies and funny stories. I am going to love my friends who drove me home at 4:30am and who always listen to me cry. I love.

Stubborn Wench Day 8/1

Yeah, you wanna go out 'cuz it's rainin' and blowin'
You can't go out cuz your roots are showin'
Dye 'em black Type O Negative

Yeah, I'm definatly on a Type O kick. Somehow they have always cheered me up. Go ahead tell me I have bad metal taste, but man, it brings to mind shouting out of car windows on summer nights. Type O just runs through me and makes me feel like a Summer Breeze is going through me, the parody or the regular one. The depression of recent times and hearing about the upcoming tour brought on the kick. I was sitting in my room on hold with financial aid when World Coming Down came on in all it's 11 minute glory. Instead of a messy room I remembered walking through the graveyard with Chicken as the Mistress of Night. These were nights when he could become a rockstar and I could become a writer. And we really believed it too, well, with less cynicism and the bitter taste of reality in our mouths. Type O reminds me of riding out in a car late at night to Kill all the White People as I laughed at how crazy the guys were. We could take over our own country between two towns where the land was unclaimed by signs. Hell, I could even write and edit my own world for a LARP then. "Fuck all the people" was the pass phrase in high school when I worked in a cafe where no one cared and we danced outside as the manager rolled a joint. Playing Risk with wine, giving Tarot card readings, and alphabatizing the sci fi section was magical somehow. I want those days back and I know that I'm making them better in my mind. But these are my personal legends. Type O is my personal opera of how a well-lived life should be lived. It has true love, true hate and true pain. Now if I can just find someone to go to the concert with and July Anyone game? I'll keep your identity hidden in case you fear to be associated with *gasp* American metal. Friends from far away are always welcome as well. We even have girls here. :) So here's to making nights like that again. Cheers.

*Look shiny new change of topic!*

Things in general have also been looking up due to my adopting the "I'm going to sit in your office for hours until you do something" method of wading through university bueracracy. I got a room on a floor that I have friends on and somehow I'll make up the extra $500. It helped me find out that they had cancelled a class without telling me, which was how I fixed my scheduling problem. I'm now hoping a prof. will let me into a different full class. And on Thursday I'll do it again with financial aid. When neccessary I can be the unmovable rock. Maybe I'll bring Bloody Kisses to listen to as I wait for hours. It'll cheer me up.

Tired Wench Day 7/30

You try at working out chaotic things,
and why should I believe myself not you?
It's like the world is going to end so soon,
and why should I believe myself?

You me and everything caught in the fire Radiohead

There are two things that I have always tried not to do in this blog. One is to talk about other people who I know read the bloody thing. After all if you can't say it someone's face then what's the point. Another thing I have tried not to do was descend into the boring my life sucks rant.

So instead I'm simply going to apologize for my absence. Life is crazy. But we all move on right? Right now I'm simply looking for a cheap place to live for another semester. If you know of something, please let me know. In happier news my mother made it through her heart surgery ok and my grandmother walked 100 feet yesterday. This is the best she's done since she's been in the hospital as of two weeks ago. Unlike last year when I didn't have a place to live because of emotional reasons, I now really only need to find a place to house my body. If this summer has taught me anything its that I need to stop stressing out and be happy for the people I have. That and I need to see more people. I'm officially coming out of my little hole. I hope this is coherent. I just haven't slept or eaten really in three days. Sorry.

Sad Wench Day: 7/17

If I ever leave this world alive
I'll thank for all the things you did in my life
If I ever leave this world alive
I'll come back down and sit beside your
Feet tonight
Wherever I am you'll always be
More than just a memory
If I ever leave this world alive Flogging Molly

Grief is a funny thing. This weekend I went home and saw my grandmother and friends for awhile. My grandmother is not doing well. I've already watched two other people die of cancer: my uncle and a close friend's mother. Currently my grandmother cannot leave her bed because she is in so much pain. Perhaps the worst part is that she is aware enough to have a conversation and to understand everything that is going on - but she is in too much pain to leave. I can only imagine how hard it is for her sitting up in her room alone, feeling the pain in her lungs as the lung and colon cancer consume her. If nothing else this has made me give up smoking. After two days with her I went home and almost managed to forget everything among 1 am travels to the beach and lunches with friends. The night I got back to DC and actually sat down in a comfortable surrounding for the first time I just started crying. The tears slowly fell down my cheeks, with me almost unaware. Being exhausted from 24 hours of work out of the last 28 has not helped either. But, sometimes I just start crying. It's like something out of a bad Victorian novel as the young herione mourns her grandmother. At this point I would like her to be out of pain more than anything else.

What is odd is that all my former defenses for and against death have vanished. All I know is that even in full rooms I feel alone. Currently I have four homes. My one with my parents, my one in NY with my grandparents, and my two in DC. Last year when I was kicked out of my house for awhile I learned the true meaning of "home." It is a place that you feel comfortable and loved. It's a place where you can cry without feeling guilty. With my grandmother's emminent death I'm losing one of those places and a place of strength in myself that I never knew I had until now. I should be grateful for all that I've had - for having a chance to truly love my grandmother this much and to get to know her. But right now all I feel is the welling up of loneliness.

Singing Wench Day 7/6

A dreaded sunny day
so let's go where we're wanted
and I meet you at the cemetery gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
but you lose because Wilde is on mine The Smiths

It's been an odd couple of days which have only reinforced my theory that music is life. The Placebo concert was awesome. There was a good mix of older songs and newer ones off of their album. Also the large group of high school goths that were all shorter than me were really cute. It reminded me of my high school days when I just wanted to be different, cute and out with my friends. Thanks to everyone who went with me because I know those were rather expensive tickets for people who aren't totally into a band. Anyway, dancing at that concert and mouthing lyrics that mean so much to me just made me feel good. Concerts are cathartic to me because its a chance to dance that nervous, angry energy away and just exist through the sound waves. Then when you look at all the other people who are doing the same thing you have one of those moments of "well if everyone finds so much meaning in lyrics like 'remember me special needs' or 'i know you want the song, but not the singer' then you don't feel so crazy and out there. This is why I love concerts. Meanwhile my Placebo kicked turned into one of The Smiths. While Placebo makes me feel, The Smiths make me think. Some of their songs are also on that emotional level, Bigmouth Strikes Again, for instance is my all time annoyed song - but then other lyrics about driving in someone's car and both wanting to go home, but realizing you have none, or ones about needing love more than you love, or hell, songs about how I feel more like Oscar Wilde strike me as thoughtful because they hit the emotions through detailed moments. That's the beauty of music, it makes you think of moments in time when you felt just that feeling but couldn't express it.

The fourth was also fun. I went to the National Mall, where all the monuments are in Washington, DC, to see the fireworks. They were, of course, absolutely fabulous. Afterward was fun; we had a few people over to the house and celebrated by drinking and just generally hanging out. Taking care of someone later on was not so fun, though it always amazes me how different people can be when they are drunk. What's always really weird when they say things that you take to heart and that they then have no real recollection of later on. It's like going through some weird loophole in time where you've experienced something before its happened. It can also feel kind of odd though, like you snuck into someone's mind and found out what he was thinking of before he ever told you.

Tired Wench Day 6/28

My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so manythings to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny peole and all the tall-short people
All the nobody people and all the somebody people
I never thought I'd need so many people David Bowie

So I just was forced to put things in perspective by the last person I ever thought would help out. Knowing my past history at home he asked me "so how is being in DC for the summer for you? better than home?" And I realized something amazing: that it was. About a week ago I was forced to resign from a newspaper post I had. To make it even happier the editor refuses to even acknowledge that this was what happened. It was kind of a last straw thing. That and my grandmother's cancer is spreading, she's canceling the family trip to the beach for her fiftieth. However, she's still waiting for her marble to come in for her kitchen. One of my greatest wishes is to be as strong as she is as I grow older. So, anyway, I'm sorry to all of those who have had to deal with me recently. Forcing me to get out of bed and me as a shitty depressed drunk is no fun to deal with. And something occured to me, living in DC isn't that bad. There are people here who actually give a shit about me and despite all the crap as the questioner said "well you've just got bad luck, have as long as i've known you. Course the other side of it is that you've managed to get past it all." Instead of future plans of vacation and imagining nights that will never actually happen, I think I'm going to focus on that. Because every time I try to make myself happy by dreaming something up I just end up making myself more miserable. Let's face it, nothing ever goes the way you want it to, especially when you have luck like mine ;).

Meanwhile I have lots of work. Like 26 hours of it in the next 48 hours. But two days after that is the Placebo concert. And no matter what happens, very few things short of Brian Molko dropping dead will ruin that for me. Both Placebo and Bowie, especially the Ziggy Stardust album have reflected my moods recently. Odd, ne?

Waiting Wench Day 6/22

We gamble to be born again
You know I never wanted to
With expert levitation forward
Polished to the nth degree
It takes it's smile from every children
You take the beating Placebo

Placebo's coming on July 1st and I have tickets, w00t. Recently I've been trying to keep my mind on things like that. I'm trying to be a strong person and yell back at the sky a big Fuck You like everyone has been telling me. But, like waiting on hold with financial aid, it often seems a rather large waste. Going through this has made me want to go into humanitarian aid more and journalism less. Or maybe journalistic humanitarian aid? Does such a thing exist? I mean if I'm going crazy just trying to pay my way through college then what do people who can't even imagine of doing that go through? Through books and magazines I know, through people I've talked to I know and frankly I feel like I wouldn't be a decent person if I didn't help someone else out. This too is something to look foward to at nights when I wake up from nightmares. Unfortunatly those have gotten much worse of late. All this bloody anxiety.

Meanwhile my grandmother is slowly dying of cancer. From all reports it's basically spread throughout her body...and we wait. From watching a good friend's mother and my own uncle in the last three years go through this I know what's coming. What doesn't help my sanity is that neither of them survived. In fact, no one in my family has ever made it through cancer. Depressing, ne? Nothing makes me scream more though than sitting here. Last night I went to a Phillip Glass concert which was beautiful. When I hear music I see images and