French Fries

Long and oily
so promising
tiny crystals of pleasure
only disappear
Golden skins
contain dull white meat
After, an ill feeling of defeat
resides
only the red-stained cardboard
presides
like a monument.


I love french fries.

Here is an excerpt from my digital journal about two weeks before I discovered that I was pregnant. Issac was probably conceived around this time period of my life. Scary. Read on:

"Friday night turned out ok.. it could have been better. We heard Elena driving by Mike’s parents’ house and went out to meet her, she couldn’t find it at first because we rode our bikes over instead of driving, so she didn’t see my car like I told her she would. At any rate, we drove over to Leo’s and made a pizza (which made my hands stink like onions) and drank a couple of pitchers of beer. It was cool to see everyone again, and chat for a while, but I was annoyed because Erin was preaching the whole time to Elena about how to be a strong woman, which is fine, but Erin is not really a strong woman, she’s just a bitch, because their really is a difference. If anyone disagrees with Erin, she deems them inferior and stupid and unworthy of existence. She is SO controlling of Chris, and I can tell that he is going to start to resent her if he hasn’t already. It seems like if I were a guy, I would not be able to take Erin seriously at all, because I don’t even take her seriously now. Everything is her way or the highway, she even says that. So, instead of letting us all chill together like I wanted to, like we WERE doing, she grabs Elena up and announces “Elena and I are going to go talk about girl stuff in L-7. Nobody else is allowed.” And I said, “you mean I’m not allowed to come talk in L-7?” And she said, “Well, you’re allowed, silly. But just only if you want to man-bash. Cause that’s what we’re doing.” And I was like, “no thanks” and every once in a while I’d go check on them and see if they were talking about anything interesting, but Elena was just telling the same old boring stories about what Kazra did to her, he did this, and that, and took back his microwave and asked her on a date with another girl, and Erin is half listening and smoking a cigarette getting off on saying what a loser he is. The funny thing was that they were on two totally different wavelengths. Elena doesn’t think Kazra is a loser, she thinks that he is great but just treats her bad because there is some innate quality about her that screams “Men! Treat me badly!” Because there IS. And Erin thinks that Elena thinks that he is a loser and doesn’t talk to him anymore, but really, Elena does talk to him still all the time, holding on to him like an injured fly. But Elena doesn’t mention this to Erin, and they both sit their and bash Kazra--they don’t bash Elena’s mock injured-fly imitation-- and then Elena gets brainwashed with all these crazy ideas in her head that Kazra is the biggest idiot loser jerk in the whole world (when she really doesn’t think that) and calls him up at three in the morning later that night and cusses him out for being an asshole and completely confuses the poor guy who probably is an asshole but just because he is so confused from the mixed messages that she sends out. So anyways, it’s a hopeless situation. I was just pissed that I was excluded from their conversation unless I was man-bashing, and that Mike was not “allowed” to come sit at their table, and that Erin managed to split up a completely comfortable everybody chill and happy atmosphere by insisting on seperation.

Well, the real trouble began when I learned that a Reggae band was playing at Eddie C’s. Everyone was going, and I really wanted to go too. Mike “had to work in the morning,” and didn’t feel like going. (Mike doesn’t have to even go to work until 3 in the afternoon). He told me that I could go by myself when I insisted that we go and reminded him of what time he really had to work, but I felt like he was just saying that and that he would really be pissed if I actually went and fight with me when I got home. So I think he got mad at me for insisting so much (he felt like I wasn’t listening to him) so he got up and left. And I ran after him begging him to quit being rash, and to try to get along with me and then I got frustrated and told him I was going by myself and now he wasn’t allowed to come because he was being such a jackass."

Man, what a life I led. Here is some more of my thoughts about my life during this time:

"I really like this font. I wish I wasn’t at work. Right now, if I could, I would be somewhere outside strumming on a guitar, trying to get good at it. I was a little depressed today, but I’d rather not talk about it. It does not go with my new philosophy, which is Be happy, not un-happy. It works. So, if I could I would be dreaming away the day. It was weird, yesterday I came home from work and played the guitar for a while (the first time I took it out of its case for a long time) and then Mike came home and we went to bed. And I was thinking, where did that day go? Don’t let the days gooooo byyyyyyyy. That day just totally blew by and I didn’t touch anybody or do anything super and that’s what I want: to do super things and then you have to ask, what is a super thing? What does it feel like and taste like and do you know it is a super thing when you are doing it or does it just kind of sneak up on you? Or can you add up a bunch of little things and have them become a super thing and how do some people do so much and what is fame and why do I need it? Do I need to validate myself as a person by being this famous person who does good deeds? What drives people to want to do good deeds? is it God? Or is it themselves who need to feel important and whats wrong with feeling important? And why do I want to play the guitar so damn bad and be good at it and why do I want to be a jazz singer and why do I want to climb mountains and run triathalons and win at things? When was the last time I won something? Where did my competitive nature go and when did I stop caring? Have I stopped caring? When did I turn 21 and what did it mean?"

My be-happy philosophy is a good one. It really does work.

And some more:

"Why must I use big words and why are there ten words that mean the same thing? Why am I getting paid to work in this fucking office when there is no work to be done and I feel like I’m cheating the system and why does that make me feel bad? It’s like an animal that is injured and cannot reproduce. It’s like a cookie that knows it is completely fattening and sugary and excessive and there is really no need for it to be around. That’s how I feel: completely excessive. It really is exhausting being excessive.
And why do I feel this way and what is it that I should be doing in order to not feel this way and how do I go about doing that? I want to be lean, unexcessive, efficient, strong and proud and tall and right and right and right and strong and proud and tall and effiecient and unexcessive and lean."

Well, getting pregnant didn't make me feel too lean but being a mom has made me feel essential and efficient and strong and proud and tall and right. And keeping up with Issac might one day make me lean.

I like the way I wrote then. It was perhaps...more lively?
Here is some more. Wow. Almost two years ago exactly:

"(2/22/02) My Aunt Lynn called me today and thanked me for the Valentine that I sent out. She said that everybody loved it and it made them feel very special and then she asked if I wanted to babysit and I told her no. No I do not feel like babysitting all your bratty kids. I am so exhausted after this week of work, and I wonder why I wonder why I even try sometimes. It’s really a stupid thing to wonder: why I even try. I even try because that’s all you can do, but sometimes it feels like I just don’t try hard enough, because if I tried harder, maybe things would work out better and I’d be happier, and things would be more perfect, and what does perfect even mean? Perfect means being smart and having friends and being loved and doing things that you love to do and perfect is things being easy and not being a pessimist like my Dad. My Dad hardly ever complains but you can see it on his face, how unsatisfied he is, and he doesn’t complain until you start trying to confide in him how frustrated you are with your life because things aren’t easy and are difficult and you are lonely and then he really lets you know that the world is a miserable awful place and all you can do is trudge through it knowing that the next day will probably be just as shitty as the last one. It really would drive one to drinking with that sort of attitude… It just makes me want to cry. It’s like, where did my dad go? I don’t even want to get into it except to say this: It could be worse right? Your Dad could be dead. Your Dad could never have been in your life but then I think, would it really be any different? Would I really be searching so much harder for love from my Dad if he weren’t ever in my life? Because I’m already searching now, looking for it, needing it, wanting it and it’s funny because when I really think about it, I don’t even like my Dad. He’s boring, mean, grumpy, and gloomy. And if he had never been in my life, would it be so bad? At least I could dream about how much my Daddy would have loved me if he had been around and how much fun we would have had together if he had been, instead of the opposite, wondering what it was that was missing and awful and boring about me that made him not want to spend time with me. "

In the last two years, my relationship with my Dad has improved dramatically. Then, we were both in shitty places in our lives--he, suffering from an impending divorce, and me with an abusive ass. But now our relationship is much better, probably because he has found a nice beautiful girlfriend , but mostly because I have made a commitment to make sure that my Dad knows me better.