White trash and black slimeballs. What make downtown so special. Although some of them are fun. We have a man who comes in that we call Temptations Man because he comes in expressly to listen to the Temptations on the computer. He's always drunk -- reeks of alcohol -- and sometimes gets upset -- if we tell him to stop singing or tell him he has to leave. He's a nice black man in his mid fifties and I happen to adore him. He's always so sweet to me, but apparently he has been kicked out for a year (again) because he smells too bad and because he has been singing loudly. I feel bad, because he must have a terrible life, to always be so drunk, and I feel like (however minutely) his time at the library is a time for him to have some fun. And who cares if he's singing? It's not like our library is ever quiet anyway. And he's never tried to sell me weed.
I won't be in again until next week. Was going to go in tomorrow, but want to watch over my dad a bit, make sure he takes the medication he's suppose to -- a lacsitiv (grossly mispelled) -- that I'm sure he's not going to want to take, and he'll want to wait until the last possible moment. He was suppose to take it tonight -- tomorrow morning at the latest, but he still wants to go to work tomorrow and then take it when he gets home at 10:00 pm! He's so stubborn. It upsets me. I don't know if I told you that the doctors told him that if he had waited only two or three more days to see a doctor (for what he was in the hospital for) he would have died, his heart would have just stopped working. Hence -- why I'm taking anxiety pills. lol.
Glad to hear Marsha is keeping strong. And it was good to see you today, however briefly. I shall tell you when I am next in, and you can stop in if you have time (and the strength), and we can have a little chat.
My dad amazes me. At 73, he gets up and goes to work. He looks so tired in the morning while he's eating breakfast, and sometimes falls asleep in his chair between bites. But when it is time to go, he gets dressed, and rushes out the door. He likes his work, but I know if he had a chance he would give it up, if somehow we could get enough money from some other source to pay for our bills, bills we can't even manage to entirely pay as it is. I feel so bad that he is working, while I am not.
These last three days I have been feeling superb. Actually happy. No sickness. If this continues, then I will try for a waitressing job. I do have an appointment at career development at Point Park next week, and hopefully that will yield something, although I'm cynical.
But in the meantime, I do the dishes, everyone's laundry, keep the house clean, give my father money for bills. So I guess I shouldn't feel too bad.
These pills keep me calm. I haven't been angry in over a week. I used to be so angry. Everything upset me. But I haven't been upset, even though things have happened that I know if I weren't on these pills, would make me very upset.
I sleep better too. All through the night. I wake up at 7:00 in the morning and can't believe that I have been sleeping non-stop since midnight. Before I could always tell exactly what time it was when I woke up, but now my sleep is so deep that I don't even realize time has passed.
I had a wonderful day. For the first time in a long time. Maybe it is the unnatural (for October) 70 degree weather, maybe my pills have finally decided to work, but I woke today without a headache and did not feel sick after eating toast and taking my pill. I took a walk, listening to Lily Allen, and then took the bus to town, to return and pick up books at the library. Had lunch by myself at my favourite eatery -- that sells wraps, smoothies, and soups (delish), flipping through the new Craig Ferguson auto-biography while I ate, and beginning the biography on Daphne Du Maurier that, since reading Justine Picardie's fictional biography of Daphne -- not-so ingeniously titled "Daphne" -- I have been eagerly wanting to begin.
A library patron -- Theresa -- came into the eatery just as I finished -- lucky for me -- and after having a short chat, that dealt with what I was reading and "Honey, do you know anyone who writes like her [Daphne] today?" to which I replied, "No. Writers today just don't write like they did back then" -- I left to have tea in the Starbucks in the Omni William Penn Hotel, which I have just decided shall be my new cafe. It is so fancy, with the large chandelier, and the ornate gold stucco, and warm coloured and therefore inviting large carpets. I like things that are fancy. I like beautiful places where I can sit and read and look at people dressed in fancy clothes, the women with their uniquely adorned high heels (leopard skin and bright coloured ones) and men with their blackberries, and their facial expressions of importance. While I sit in a large, brown, comfy chair, dressed in tattered old jeans, a child's shirt with Tinkerbell on it, and a hoodie over that. Despite my pretensions of modesty, I am a snob.
I have to take the trash out. It is cold and rainy, and I have just taken a shower.
Spent all day in bed today, watching innocuous shows. A lot of bridal shows, whose wedding is it anyway and say yes to the dress. They interest me, although I don't want to marry, or want to grow through the process of a wedding. Maybe a perverted curiosity about something foreign and distasteful to me.
Still feeling sick after taking an anxiety pill, but less so than yesterday. I wake up with a headache and feeling fluish sick. I hope there isn't something else wrong with me.
These pills make me tired, and I don't feel like doing anything, even taking a walk, although it is so rainy out that I can't really take a walk.
One of my friends is no longer my friend. 10 years I've known him. But because I've been a bit bitchy with him lately, or because he doesn't want to deal with me, he doesn't want to know me anymore. Isn't that horrible? I should have known this would happen. I think I did. He isn't good with people. He doesn't want to deal with people's pain. He only wants people who will deal with his. I don't think he was using me as such, but he obviously didn't care so much for me as a friend as I thought he did, if he'll give me up this easily.
Starting my anxiety pill today. It was a bad experience at first. I don't know if it was a reaction to the pill, but I had the worst nausea I've had, and some other things which I won't mention. One of the side effects is nausea, but the reason why I'm taking this pill is primarily for nausea brought on by anxiety. After the wretched nausea subsided, I felt, and have been feeling, better. More calm, not racing thoughts, no anger. But I don't know if that's the pill per se, or if I'm just having a good day. Even with my persistent anxiety, I have had days where I am perfectly fine, which is one of the reasons why I waited so long to see the doctor.
Got my anti-anxiety pills today, after passing a thyroid test, and having an EKG done to rule out heart disease (one of my symptoms is heart palpitations). I hope these pills work and I start feeling better. I already do, actually, now that I know I have these pills.
Dream last night. I was in a house. And there were a bunch of young crazy people, about 16-22. I had to evaluate them. I wasn't a doctor, but I was there to take care of them, and had a notepad. I couldn't read my own writing. I was writing down their conditions, and what they were taking in order to help them. A lot of them were quite rude to me, but I told myself that they were sick and they needed my help. One girl was very nice to me, but then was mean.
I was suppose to meet a friend for lunch today, but was sick, of course, and had to cancel. Stomach upset, and headache. I have my doctors appointment tomorrow. Hopefully whatever they give me will help.
I am trying to remain calm. Easier said than done. I take walks, and listen to Lily Allen, and watch Buffy, and Craig Ferguson, and listen to music that I like. I try not to be sad that my life is hurting me so much. I try to hope that there will be something better. I try to imagine how my life can be better.
I don't believe that anything I can do will make it better. I feel like I'm infected. I'm a bad person. I'm not good enough to lead a happy life. I'm too needy, I'm not strong enough, I'm not smart enough. People I know who were idiots in high school are doing better than me.
I try to not be so disillusioned that I lose sight of the good in life. I try not to let myself be like some, who only see the practical, so-called realistic side of life, but allow myself to indulge in the hopeful, perhaps not entirely "truthful" side. The side that encourages one to try to get something good out of this awful existence we've been handed.
Not at all sick today. That's how it goes. Some days just wretched, and there's nothing to do to stop feeling that way. And then others, completely fine.
I feel my spirit dwindling, so far, and to a greater extent than it ever has. It doesn't seem like there is much of anything good in this life, and I don't feel like being here anymore. Not that I am suicidal, by any means no. I have some zest for life still. I read from a novel last night, set in the 19th century, and felt more alive than I do in my own life. If it weren't for literature...
Okay, now this truly sounds as if I want to off myself. But it is just that every day life bores me so much, and there seems no cure for it.
I took a walk today, and had a fantasy. Some guy living here who's British but lives in London 6 months out of the year, and here 6 months. And how nice it would be if we could spend half the year here, and the other in England. I could work for the British library and waitress here. The best of both worlds.
I feel so sick today. Woke up with headache and have been nauseous and disoriented -- that feeling you get when you have an ear infection and you're off your equalibirium. This is the worst. Went out with Tom and felt sick the whole time. At least it wasn't too overwhelming until I got home. But had to sick in the shower for a bit while the water fell on me before I could feel even good enough to get up.
Probably didn't help that I watched the episode where Buffy's mum dies. couldn't help but to think what it will be like when my parents go. I think how any of us feels when that happens is sort of a mini-dose of how I feel every day with this anxiety/nausea thing going on. I cried a lot watching this episode. I think that helped. I needed a bit of a cry.
I went to Walnut Grove today. A new restaurant opened where I live. I am going to send in an application for a job waitressing. I am scared. Of everything now. But scared of waitressing, of doing something wrong, breaking a plate or something. But I need money. And I can't get anything else.
My parents are yelling at one another. Every day, every night. They yell at one another. No money to pay for anything. I get sick hearing them.
I need a new place to live, and people who don't make me feel sick to my stomach.
I told my mother I hate her last night. I hate her for always being drunk and not doing anything. It was during a 20 minute electrical black out -- all the lights on the street and in the houses went out -- and I went to get a flash light and mother was being drunk and I told her I hated her. I think I could only have done that in the dark.
I just really hate people right now. People I can't depend on. One of my acquaintances doesn't want anything to do with me now because he knows that I can't depend on him -- that he's not dependable -- and that I need that. And he doesn't think he can trust me, which he probably can't. I know too much what is bad, and cannot be simple and nice right now. And he needs that, I guess, someone who isn't filled with hatred for the world around her.
It is useless getting close to people, for me. They always think I am so much nicer and simpler than I am. But they learn otherwise. And then, something always happens -- in any relationship, for every person -- and people run away.
My whole life, I have had people in my life who I have been close with and they no longer like me, and they leave. I'm not trying to get sympathy here. But it is curious. Friends in middle school and high school that I was so close with and they find other people. I've never really thought about it and what effect that has had on me, if any. I just figure that they find people who are cooler -- it was all about who was cool in school in middle school -- or they marry, or they move away (or I move away) and they find other people. I think I've taken it for a matter of course that people will leave me. Why I don't get too close to them.
I need to move on. I need to find a way to cope, and not expect anyone to pick me up or make things better for me, or even to offer sympathy. I need to learn how to live on my own, so that even when I have people that are there for me, I will know how to cope when they are no longer around.
I need to find some perspective, and not be so (seemingly) neurotic.
I need to find something worth living for.
I need to write about the good things.
I need to realize that London was something of a disaster, and the prospect of leaving this horrible place for that city was the only thing that for a long time kept me going, but now I need to move on and find something else to depend on, something that is hopefully better, and more successful.
Okay,s o I guess I won't give this up completely. But it is all going to be depressing stuff. I'll try to write positive some times.
Got the King's College Magazine today. Those magazines you get from the universities you've attended. Notice some faces. Clare Brant, 18th century specialist of literature, in her usual purple and black shirt ensemble, with plain black slacks. A medallion of some sort hanging on her neck. Never saw her in any other two colours, but purple and black. Some dinner the literature department was at. The whole magazine detailing how great they are. All the things the university does. I don't mind it of Point Park -- I love that university (college, when I was there) -- feel solemn reading King's College. Large magazine it is, with a Lord on the cover as the piece de resistance. An article about Virginia Woolf's time at the college; how a student home inspires one, playing with Woolf's A Room of One's Own. I was least happy in my dorm room. It was London that I wanted. I don't completely hate reading this magazine, but makes me rather sad. Everything makes me sad these days.
I feel so alone. I feel like there is good out there, and I tried to find them, and couldn't (either because I'm lame or I just didn't come across them) and I may never. I may end up just living life half-feelingly and then die. And I don't feel safe. There is not one place I can go where I feel completely safe. I have no Tiffany's. No one person who I feel I can say anything to. No Knightley. But life doesn't have Tiffany's or Knightley's maybe; only literature. Literature as the vessel that shows more of what can be, rather than what is. I just need to learn that there will always be conflict in my life -- I will never be completely secure, life does not provide that -- with any place or person, but that that is not a bad thing. That I will find place and people that I feel as secure with as a person can. And if I haven't found those places yet, there is still time.