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Tuesday, 30 November 1999 (can't not) 12:30pm Maddy did call this morning, at around 7:15am my time, meaning she got on the road a few hours later than she'd hoped. For a trip of this magnitude, that's still not bad. She'll be calling me tonight...
Meanwhile, I'm in a training class for most of the day, and of course
the sky has started falling again, so when I get out of the class I'll
be kept busy—no bailing out early for movies today. Just as well.
Sometimes the best place to hide is at one's desk. This is what I'm
going to tell myself, anyway.
I returned to find two boxes waiting for me: kitchen stuff which Maddy mailed rather than carting along on the drive. The timing couldn't be better, since The Ex is taking the remainder of hers (not that there's much) this evening.
Haven't heard from Maddy since this morning. Not that I was expecting to
talk to her a lot, but she did say that she'd be calling when she reached
the motel, and that she was planning on stopping around around six or seven
each night. So it could be any time now, or she might decide to drive on
a bit longer to make up for having gotten a late start this morning, particularly
since rain and/or snow is predicted for between points A & B in the next
few days (as this map so generously donated by The Weather Channel will attest), so the more distance she covers today the better...
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Monday, 29 November 1999 (monster) 8:37am Not that there was ever any doubt, but this is already gearing up to be a weird week. Woke up feeling even more disoriented than usual, and just late enough to not be able to get the super-cool free parking space. I drove anyway. Probably because rain is predicted, and I'm just not feeling like being at home in the evenings. Catch up on movies, maybe. Of course, I've been spending way too much money lately (and still have to pay rent, which is at least already set aside, and make a car payment and get my 'mones refilled), but that hardly ever seems to be the point. So I'm on the meter-feeding schedule, which sucks, but at least I was able to get into one of the two-hour spots rather than hourly. It's all about the little details. Damnit, I wish there was an actual bank around here so I could stock up on quarter rolls. I heard the big guy bragging a while back about how he stole change from a tip jar to feed the meter. He sound insufferably proud of himself. Seeing as how he's a Howard Stern fan, I can't say as I'm too surprised.
Speaking of little details, my face is healing up nicely. The swelling is long
gone, not that there was much to begin with. It was mostly red splotchiness,
somehow more distinct than usual. Probably because there was less hair to be
zapped, and it was further apart, ergo each individual splotch becomes more
noticeable. (The physics of splotches is a fascinating subject, isn't it?)
I shaved for the first time this morning since Thursday, though I'm not subjecting
my skin to makeup just yet. I want it to heal a bit more before Maddy arrives,
plus I'm down to my last bottle of foundation. The hunt continues...
Someday, that's going to be valuable information.
There's very few places where I do.
I saw Being John Malkovich and Toy Story 2, a more effective double feature than you might suspect. Granted, I paid the matinee price for the first one then snuck into the second one, which helped. (Particularly when the fucking gararge charged me $16, since I was over four hours. A multiplex that won't validate over four hours. The mind reels.) (No pun intended.) I'd also been hoping to see Last Night, but the timing just wasn't there. Perhaps tomorrow, or Wednesday. And I have to say this much about Toy Story 2: Joan Cusack somehow made the psychotic cowgirl doll she voiced much sexier than it should have been. I'm gonna have to think about this one. Maybe it's the way the animators made her lips faithfully reproduce the weird things Joan Cusack's do that result in that weird near-speech impediment. Whatever it was, it worked. In between, I talked to Maddy on the pay phone. She was not well, since on the eve of her cross-country trip her cat Oscar ran outside and effectively disappeared, and she was understandably distraught about this. Fortunately, by the time I got home she'd found him, and she'll be calling me tomorrow morning before she heads out. It should be around 4am my time, but I can always use the help getting up, and it'll be worth it to hear her voice once more before the silence begins...
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Sunday, 28 November 1999 (restoration) 3:43pm It's wonderfully gray and desolate outside. Almost makes me wish I hadn't spent all day inside.
Almost. I'd originally planned on going to see a couple movies today,
but then I realized that this would be my only chance to whip this
place into shape. Imani's gone by Wednesday, The Ex should be getting
the remainder of her stuff (mostly the contents of the kitchen cupboards)
around the same time, and Maddy arrives on Friday. My work schedule
probably won't be quite as
intense this next week as it had been this last one, but today is still my
only opportunity to do what I can to make the assorted transitions go smoothly.
Of course, a clean kitchen and bathroom may only be necessary for my own peace
of mind, but that's okay too.
i do what i can, but i have my limits. saving the world is not my job.
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Saturday, 27 November 1999 (solace) 8:09am It's nice to know that while I'm away from the office, Omega is keeping an eye on Dealey Plaza. 5:32pm Not much longer. Not too much longer at all.
nightswimming deserves a quiet night 9:10pm I ordered a flour quesadilla and they gave me a corn quesadilla. Don't you hate it when that happens? Oh well. It was the only taqueria I could find open in North Beach, and when you're the only game in town, you can suck ass. El Gran Taco, my preference, was long since closed. All of which means, yes, I'm at the office. 9pm Saturday night and I'm at the fucking office. Hey, why not? 9am Saturday morning I was here too. If I had somewhere else to be, I'd go there. But I don't. Imani's asleep in my living room, having crashed at 6pm, and thus making it slightly uninhabitable. No big deal, since I'd been planning on heading out anyway. The Man on the Moon soundtrack and Marilyn Manson's The Last Tour on Earth: those were my relatively simple goals. I seldom buy new albums, but for R.E.M. and Manson, absolutely. (Neil Young and Lou Reed are also on the short list of those who merit full price.) Certainly they need the record sales. I stopped first at tiny used CD store on Irving. I wasn't sure going in if they even carried new albums or not, but I figured it was worth a shot. Nope, they don't have new ones. But I browsed anyway because it's the kind of place where I feel guilty if I don't at least look around. Knowing I shouldn't be getting anything at all, I somehow managed to narrow my purchases down to the soundtrack of A Life Less Ordinary (which I haven't seen, but it has a different version of R.E.M.'s "Leave" plus a Beck song I really like not to mention I know Madeline dug the movie) and the remastering of Pink Floyd's Relics ("Arnold Layne" and "The Nile Song," need I say more?). It didn't hurt my conscience too much, since I'm supposrting independent record stores. Hooray for me. I then proceeded into my original destination, the Haight. Before going into Amoeba, which I knew for certain would carry them, I stopped by New York Apparel. It never hurts to grab a pair or two of stripeys while I'm nearby, since I go through them pretty damn fast and at $4 a pair you can't go wrong. New York Apparel is also the only place I know of that carries velvet leggings, which I of course used to buy at Belladonna Arcana. Unfortunately, unless the size is "M" or "S" they probably won't carry something, and as such I have yet to find a properly sized pair. Eternal fuckin' vigilance, though. Naturally, I had to look through the sale rack. I'm not new at this; I look at the tag, then the item itself. Better to find out if the damn thing has a chance in hell of fitting before getting my hopes up too much. Two dresses had "L" tags. One, while fitting, was clearly for a person not quite as tall as myself. Story of my life. The other...well, I wasn't able to look in a full-length mirror for assorted reasons, but it definitely fit, was long enough, and showed off my curves nicely. Too nicely: my teetotaler's beergut was way too evident. But with a corset of some persuasion, which I'm surely going to get someday, and this dress being marked down to under $20, and I haven't bought an actual dress in months, and it's something new for Madeline to see me in... Throw in a pair of stripeys for good measure and I'm on my way, already having spent more than I'd originally intended without having gotten what I'd originally intended. I'd go into Amoeba and behave myself. Period. Somehow, I managed to leave with even less than I'd originally intended: just the Manson CD, not even the Man on the Moon soundtrack. Problem being, there was too damn much to choose from. The bastards even had two R.E.M. videos I'd never seen on laserdisc before (Succumbs and Tourfilm), and I knew that it would be very easy for me to spend way too much. I'd already retail-therapied like crazy, and it had to stop. So I forced myself to change my strategy, to only get one of the two things I'd had in mind. Manson won out because he needs the album sales even more than R.E.M. does at this point. A Mansonite who understands the economics of the record business, how dangerous is that? Then I headed here, detouring for the overpriced and unsatisfying burrito. I've gotten some work done, perhaps not as much as I should (gee, I wonder why). Maddy said she may or may not be getting on tonight, and hasn't yet. Probably won't. Just as well, she needs to be well rested for this next week. As of this upcoming Friday, I can't imagine that I'll be quite as eager to spend as much time here as I do now. Whatever gravitational forces seem to be pushing me here will be reversed with Maddy's arrival. My life is lacking a center, which she'll provide. We both began this year knowing on some level that our respective relationships were about to finally die their long-overdue deaths. For me it happened fairly quickly, barely two weeks in; for her, a month and half. I think we both expected to be alone for a very long time. I couldn't admit it to myself at first, and by the time I'd come to terms with it, there she was, waiting patiently for me. As perhaps she always had been.
We started the year unaware that the other existed, only knowing that we had to get out of the situations we were
in, more than a little nervous about the great unknown which lay ahead. Now we're ending the year together...and
I suspect it will feel like we were never apart...
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Friday, 26 November 1999 (grindstone) 3:56pm We had breakfast with my mom this morning. The timing was actually perfect, since my electro appointment was at 10am in Alameda, and her train left at 10am from Jack London Square, a few blocks from the Webster Tube leading into Alameda. Since I was getting zapped, I didn't shave nor was I wearing makeup beyond the de rigueur eyeliner. My mom commented that she was glad I wasn't wearing the black lipstick, and also seemed happy to see my facial hair so clearly. This was certainly more like it. I doubt it even occured to her at all that I didn't exactly feel like I was looking my best at that moment, ergo compliments on how much better I looked than the day before when I'd been fully made up might be considered just a little bit insensitive. Indeed, at no point over the last couple days did she have anything remotely positive to say about my appearance. She didn't say anything at all until I commented on the drive yesterday from the train station to my brother's place that she was probably nervous, since it was her first time in Oakland, her first time being hosted by her eldest son, and the first time she's seen me since April. To that last, she said at first she didn't think I looked any different. I put on an extremely exaggerated display of being hurt, so incredibly facetious that even she would be able to tell that I was mostly kidding, and she then conceded that yes, I did look a little different—but she hated the black lipstick and the pale foundation. And that was all the support she had to offer, not even anything like "I don't care for your choice of colors, but I'm glad you're making progress." As her joy at seeing me in boi mode this morning suggests, if she had said something like that, she would have been lying. It would be like admitting defeat, like losing all hope that I'll someday change my mind and be the person she wants me to be, not the person I am. The only reason I would have expected any kind of outward support at all is because she's turned into such a PFLAG cheerleader, to the point of insisting we look at their newsletter and going on about how everyone in the family should join. It's a noble organization and I'm glad they exist, but I don't really care if anyone in my family belongs or not. I'm certainly not about to ask or imply that they should. I suppose it's a kind of irony that belonging doesn't seem to make her any more understanding of me; she's thinking globally, but can't quite bring herself to act locally. The only even remotely supportive thing she said was in regards to her conversation with the m2f a few weeks back. It seems she was in her mid-forties with an ex-wife, two estranged children and a bitter legal battle for custody, although the children want nothing to do with her. Because of witnessing that entirely too common scenario, my mother said she was glad that I was starting at a relatively young age and hadn't made an attempt to start a family. So that's one thing she thinks I've done right. Maybe I'm just a whore for approval, or maybe I still cling to the disproven theory that parents are supposed to want their children to be happy. Whichever it is, I was bothered that at no point yesterday, or at all in the last few months, has she sounded the least bit happy for me regarding my relationship with Madeline. Oh, she expressed doubts about Maddy's motivations (phrasing it as "You have to admit, it's possible she's just using you as an excuse to move") and helpfully reminded me how much my family likes The Ex and how sad they all are that they won't get to see her as much. Maybe so, I pointed out, but The Ex's family doesn't seem to care if they ever see me again. Well, she replied, can you really blame them?
I hope she keeps going to those meetings, because I really don't think she's getting
the point.
My mom was telling us about the latest bit of knowledge she gleaned from his show: time is speeding up. It feels that way to her (gosh, it's already late November? time MUST be moving faster!), and even her grandchildren think this year has gone by fast, ergo it it's true. Not her subjective perception of it, but time itself. Because Jim and I refused to accept this with no further study or testing, we were deemed "closed-minded." Returning to her old pattern of automatically contradicting everything I say, she now claims that Tom, my Not-A-Fundie brother who believes the bible is 1) "the inspired revelation of God to man" and 2) the "infallible, authoritative rule of faith and conduct" believes in evolution, not creationism. Yeah. He doesn't believe the first chapter of his Good Fuckin' Book. That makes a lot of sense, mom. Of course, when I suggested writing Tom to ask, she begged me not to. In any event, things went better with Phil. I still had to filter out a lot of Art Bell-ish noise, but it was worth it. (And I know better than to even attempt to debate him on most things, since he's sticking electrically charged needles into my flesh. If he insists that there are real, genuine vampires living in Mexico, I'm not going to argue the point.) Clearing my face took about four hours; he didn't get much of my neck, but it didn't really need it, either. Phil was very pleased with my regrowth, or lack thereof, from last time. He's quite well convinced we're in the home stretch, at that point where I don't need to shave every day, and the shadow will disappear for good...
...I've gotten my hopes up before. It's going to happen eventually, and when it does, it does.
I hope it's now, but...
By this time next week, Maddy will be here. One more week. It still feels like forever. I'm not sure I can really express just how much I love her.
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Thursday, 25 November 1999 (the root of all evil) 9:08am Okay, I'm starting to get nervous about seeing my mother. It was bound to happen. I'm probably not half as nervous as she is, though.
Naturally, it's very bright outside. Fuck.
She hates my makeup.
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Wednesday, 24 November 1999 (i believe) 2:34pm I have to admit, it's nice to have enough juice to be able to come in at noon and not have anyone raise an eyebrow. The fact that I was here extremely last night saving the world might have something to do with it, though.
And the little chode is here, of course. God-for-FUCKING-bid...
She sounded particularly enthusiastic as she was telling me about a couple trannies who spoke to the Fresno group. One m2f and one f2m. It was the biggest crowd she'd ever seen at a meeting (not that she's been to a lot), owing to the considerable novelty value in Fresno. Afterwards, the m2f spoke to her personally, no doubt having been pointed out. I get the impression it went very well, and I would imagine it helped make everything that much more real for her. Sure, she knew I wasn't the only one, but meeting another who wasn't a freak didn't hurt. The m2f commented that she travelled a lot speaking to groups such as this one, but was getting a bit tired of it and wanted to just get on with her life. I can certainly understand that, and I suspect such public speaking wouldn't really suit me. My mother seemed skeptical, saying that it was very good that they were doing this, allowing people such as herself exposure they might not get otherwise. I decided not to point out that she was only there because of me and wouldn't have sought out such enlightenment on her own accord, and instead commented that I rather like to think that I'm fighting the good fight by simply going on about my business. She continued to be skeptical. Which is why I think seeing me tomorrow will do her good. I'll look quite different from the last time she saw me, certainly more made up. Back in April, I hadn't progressed much beyond eyeliner in terms of daily makeup, and I was still wearing my older, extremely unflattering glasses. Not to mention the damn beret, the velvet leggings and the stripeys which tend to stick out of the legs. There'll be a momentary shock, no doubt, but probably she's preparing for much worse. Ironically, her reaction will probably be far less negative than when she first saw my bangs last year (damn, I haven't whined about that argument in several months), and my bangs will be mostly obscured by my beret. There was the well-documented confrontation over my most heinous hair over Mother's Day weekend last year. Then, Thanksgiving of that year, she pulled me aside and told be to nice to her boyfriend. I wasn't doing anything to him, but my brothers and I weren't actively including him in our conversations, and that upset her—though I was the only one reprimanded for it. My brother later told me that she told him she suspected I was having "identity problems." That xmas...oh, that fuckin' xmas. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but that was when I told her that The Ex and I were no longer engaged, although the engagement had been pronounced dead several months prior. (A few weeks later I found myself strongly considering suggesting that we go to Vegas to get married, to just do it. Fortunately, that never happened.) My mother was not pleased, and did not seem interested in the reasons why. I hadn't come out to her by that point, and somehow it seemed like the wrong time, though it was tempting. But, no; there was enough drama happening as it was. What I remember most vividly is the way she was looking at me after I told her. Not even immediately following, but a few minutes later. She was just sitting there, practically staring at me, the most potent look of disappointment on her face. I've never seen someone look more like they'd had all their hopes and expectations dashed. In breaking up with The Ex, I'd destroyed all good in her life. Or, at the very least, I'd failed to live up to at least the bare minimum of what she thought I should be. Not because I couldn't, just that I didn't. Sorta like the all the teachers who said that I didn't apply myself. That was what she was feeling at that moment: I wasn't applying myself and as a result was fucking everything up. Indeed, less than a month later when I told her that The Ex and I broke up, she called me self-destructive, as self-destructive as my crack-addict-turned-fundie-in-denial (yeah, he's a goddamn Fundamentalist, whether he's afraid to admit it or not, the least he could do is have the courage of his convictions), just "in a different way." Oh, of course.
But I guess that's all behind us now.
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Tuesday, 23 November 1999 (raise your arms up to the sky) 9:11am It's very bright again today. 1:59pm I'm hiding from the bad people. 3:34pm They found me. They always do. 6:11pm Saving the world again. Which sucks because it means I won't be getting out of here until fairly late, hence I won't be able to pick up the new R.E.M. album (the Man on the Moon soundtrack) until tomorrow. The sacrifices we all must make. 6:46pm Orders are being taken for Japanese food. I guess I'm not the only one in it for the long haul. Sadly, it appears TFQ is also sticking around (I just heard a somewhat random "I want green tea ice cream!" from him), but nothing's perfect. 7:17pm I'm beginning to slip.
Ergo, I must call Phil and make an appointment for this weekend. Hmmm, maybe Friday, if he can see. It would mean no Shrine,
but it would also mean an extra day of healing before Maddy's arrival.
we all had our reasons to be there 9:30pm I wish I'd driven today. I wish that little shit wasn't here. I wish it wasn't going to so long before Maddy was here. I wish we weren't falling into our apparent habit of bickering after a month apart.
I wish I could convince her I'm not like the others.
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Monday, 22 November 1999 (it's on a maddening loop) 8:41pm Hi.
I survived. Barely.
Got to sleep at about 2am, and ended up sleeping until 8. Not intentional, but I think I was on a Penguin Mint-induced crash, hence I slept right through my alarm. So when I got up I skipped the shower, shaved, slapped on the warpaint, put my clothes on over my stripeys (which have been my pajamas lately) and hopped in the car. Bright. Terribly bright. Supernova-esque, eyeball-searing bright. Why the fuck was it so bright today? And I had to go into it every couple of hours to feed the hungry meter, my super-secret no-meter-no-limit street having long since filled up. Not that in the office was much better, as the collective sky was falling regarding the big scary project I've been busting my back over the last couple weeks. Whine, bitch, moan, bite me. So I'm walking back to the office from a meter-feed mission, and I see The Fidget Queen outside. He's stretching, arms at length. Good for him. I certainly don't exercise enough. He stretches, bends to one side, then another...then takes a drag from his cigarette. The little wanker is actually smoking while he's exercising. How I kept from laughing in disbelief, I'm still not sure. It certainly gave my otherwise harsh day a bit of needed levity. What else are clowns for?
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Sunday, 21 November 1999 (this film is on) 12:40pm In spite of only having watched maybe the first half hour on Joe Bob Brigg's show on TNT last night, I still dreamed about The Exorcist. And it hadn't even gotten gorey yet. Impressive. Anyway, today's looking to be a day which I'm going to spend hiding from the world in movie theaters. It's the only way I can possibly think of to relax at this point, and I really need to just fucking stop moving and not have to think. It sounds good on paper, anyway.
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