we learn our mothers are always right

i planted my moonflower plants in a black birdcage, they are sitting on the porch. Everymorning, i go out in my orange dress and water them. Some have died, and some are stronger with the sun.
when i am upset, i get this exergonic feeling of burning around my heart. it feels like a spreading cancer. sometimes i am afraid this feeling will envelope me. it is my body revolting against me, it is blood on white dogs.
i still haven’t called my sister. i know i will cry when she breathes into the reciever. i know i will think about how noone meant more to me than her, how it felt to want to be by her all the time, how i began to forget. she was my first us, my first plural.
i am 90% sure i will get an A in advanced biology this semester. i am a chapter ahead.
I like my new job. It is still young, I still want to be at work. I laugh there alot. It is one big circus, and richard is the seal. (he’s been known to get on all fours and bark for ahi)
tim, 23, he’s the kind of boy i would dismiss right away usually, muscular and tattooed, a sorority boy. At a stoplight one afternoon i learned he was an Literature Major, that he watched documentaries and went to mueseums and libraries on the weekends. it’s nice to have someone else’s opinion, to discuss the themes of books, what the authors were trying to tell us. I made him a mixed cd last tuesday, and upon receiving it he asked
"do you have friends?" i said, "just a few, why?, do you?" he said "in phoenix, in california, but not here." i ended up suggesting we be friends, and gave him my number. maybe we’ll go to northampton. i don’t really have all that much time for friends.
hilary, 26, our manager has had to ask her to wash her hair and shower. she tells me that her boyfriend is a resident of new zealand, and that he doesn’t want to become a citizen so he doesn’t have a job. Sometimes she says things like "my husband’s sitting at home medi-ta-ting and doing yo-ga" she enuciates these words like i don’t know what they mean, so i pretend i don’t. She’s been to switzerland and picked grapes, hawaii, and mexico, and other small european countries that i’ve only ever seen as the size of my thumb, on a map.
lindsay, 20, she’s your average bristol resident. she’s got these edges that will cut you. she told me once while we were folding linens, that both he parents were speed freaks and that’s why she’s a "cold-hearted bitch" she reminds me on a little girl trapped inside a pitbull’s body. i find myself apologizing to her alot.
wendy, 34, well i suppose you already have guessed that i’ve imagined her as peter pan’s muse grown up. she’s married, has a baby. people called her wiggles. she walks like she’s birthing and her handwriting is all edwardian and curly. i like her because when she talks, i can imagine thousand of babies falling asleep. she has a mother’s lullaby-esque rasp in her throat, a soothing voice.
mike is the chef, 38, he creates these universes of drama, about his many women, how he juggles them surrepticiously. he’s got constellations of tattoos on his arms, swallows and stars, naked women. these women bring him flowers in the middle of the lunch shifts. they write in capital letters "FORGIVE ME" i imagine them sacrificing themselves to him like a fork in the road. as he leaves, he tells me, "baby, i live on corona and women"
bill, 31, the extern, used to walk jason’s dog. right now i have a small work-related attraction to him. but he’s about to get married. i like the word honeymoon. i think he’s adorable, he seems to act like me and i think that’s why i’m drawn to him. he kind of reminds me of adrien brody, he’s tall and thin, has eyes like some sky ready to flood with rain.
matt,29, the prep, is italian and knows alot about wine. he has grateful dead tattoos on his arms and legs, and a huge eagle on his back i can see through the back of his white jacket. he believes the free masons run the world.
christiane is my manager. she started arugula as a tearoom and we still serve over fifty kinds of tea. she’s very eccentric and is this tiny little women with a spit-fire grill inside her mouth. i like her, she’s got moxie. she has a boyfriend in NYC with a wineshop. she only sees him every two months for one week. "we are married to our businesses" she says. i nod, and go steal dried pears from the basement.
tomato abd richard are our dishboys. they are both from an assisted living community, and our a little slow. the chefs make them wear lacrosse helmets while watering the flowers outside. people stop their cars and point to laugh. the chefs are going to hell.
i feel better now that i’ve written. not that i feel any less disgusted, but the anvil in my chest has gotten smaller. i don’t know what i feel, but i know it is not anger. i know it is not sadness. i think it is desperation. i think it is recoginzing a reality that is not supposed to be in my dream. i think it is feeling ignored, i think it is feeling like i am inconsequential. i think it is beating my fists against a stone wall. i think it is mine, my responsibility, i am responsible for my happiness, and for my emotion. i think i want to stay quiet, but i wonder if i’m even able to bury words anymore.
My heart is stubborn but my mind is smart.

.exude

June 9, 2005

arc-de-triomphe

you are never inconsequential.

this is war

this entry is amazing. it makes me wish i could see where you work. perhaps work there myself. i hope you figure out what youre feeling. ;;

Amazing, as always. I know what feeling you’re describing so well. I want you to know,though- you are NOT ignored. I admire you and your fantastic writing. Always Yours, Diane http://ddixonsdiary.blogspot.com (I don’t use OD anymore)

evolve

June 15, 2005

when i get upset i feel it in my stomach.

i admire you, too. i left OD over a year ago & i still read your journal every once in a while. it’s honest, & beautiful. you don’t think the way that most people do, & reading what you write is refreshing. good luck at your new job ! <3.