my, my, my,
How things have changed.
I am 22.
Tom and I are still together, but our relationship is rocky at best, sometimes abusive, and overall boring and uneventful. And yet, I stay. I tell myself that I love him. I tell him that I love him. Most of the time I don't know why I insist on it. And sometimes, while traveling through my daily activity, I feel tormented. Yes, sometimes the very thought of him torments me.
Yet, here I am.
After graduating college, my mother told me that a temporary (three month) position had opened up where she works. Well, three months turned into eight, and I am still employed by Village Care of New York's very own Rivington House, the largest nursing home for people with AIDS and HIV in the United States. I am a unit secretary.
A non-profit funded by severely plummeting Medicaid dollars, Rivington House serves as a haven for a population of 200: blacks, latinos, and a few Caucasions, all who come from what I would call, to be generous, "broken homes." 95% were intravenous drug users. Some are schizophrenic. To be frank, every day I witness what I can only call the stuff of nightmares. People whose minds and bodies have deteriorated beyond the point of no return... But we truly bring them back from the dead.
And I tell myself every day that I make a difference in these people's lives because it makes me feel better about the fact that, after 4 years of college, a nomination to Phi Beta Kappa, 4 tremendous poetry awards, publications in every single on-campus magazine at Rutgers University, as well as nearly a dozen articles published online for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, I am now "just a secretary."
But it is good to have a job. In these awful, frightening times, it is a blessing to work. To make $17 an hour. To live at home. To be young, without children, and to have the opportunity and time to better myself if I so choose, in whichever way that I decide.
Unfortunately my new, and depressing mantra seems to be: "I used to be an amazing writer."
This is the first thing I've written in months.
Here we are. Things are better than I could dream them to be. He tells me every day how much he loves me, that I am his everything, his world, his best friend. I can't wait to marry him and start a family together.
This was taken at my brother's wedding. I was a bride's maid. It was phenomenal, so much fun, and very romantic. Both my brother and Rosemarie looked amazing. The ceremony was beautiful (and I cried, of course), the food was amazing, the drinks were great, and the reception was a blast. Tom (who doesn't dance) slow-danced to "Purple Rain" by Prince and "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. My brother and Rose's song was Etta James' "At Last"; my mom and brother danced to "Through the Years"; and Rose and her dad danced to "Because You Loved Me" by Celine Dion.
I gave a heartfelt speech and didn't cry or get nervous during it. I introduced Tom to everyone and they all (especially the bridal party, who had met him at the paint-ball bachelor/ette party) loved him. I would live it over again if I could. All that's left now are my gorgeous fake nails, my manicured toenails, my hairless arms (I had them waxed), 3 fake lashes on my right eye, and one fake lash on my left eye.
When the stars have all gone out, you'll still be burning so bright
I am happy, and entirely in love, mind, body, and soul, with a man who is entirely in love with me. I've known him for three years or so, and we dated last summer but I broke up with him because he treated me badly. After about 8 months of my avoiding his calls, he's changed his life around and had been missing me sorely all along. Now we are together again and he is a completely different person. We want to get married.
I am writing my last college paper ever today, and after that, I graduate. My brother's wedding is on Sunday. My parents leave May 22nd, and come back June 4th, and Tom is going to shack up at my house with me until then, having fun and hiking and going for walks and stuff.
My graduation party is June 8th. I was nominated for Phi Beta Kappa but I don't know if I will receive the honor because my grades this semester probably aren't as good as they've been throughout college.
Basically, things couldn't be better.
The traffic was a series of stutters and coughs. I could not translate the lines and sweeping metal. I reached out for your callused hand, but you had gone ahead and were not turning back. Your name in my mouth, its repetition, was not enough to make you turn back for me. You were the back of a black suit, topped with a head of black hair, and your legs were very long. Their speed intimidated.
Jesus Christ, that's a pretty face, the kind you'd find on someone that could save. If they don't put me away, it’ll be a miracle. Do you believe you're missing out? That everything good is happening somewhere else. With nobody in your bed, the night's hard to get through.
And I will die all alone. And when I arrive, I won’t know anyone.
Jesus Christ, I’m alone again. So what did you do those three days you were dead? 'Cause this problem is gonna last more than the weekend.
Jesus Christ, I’m not scared to die. I’m a little bit scared of what comes after. Do I get the gold chariot o
r do I float through the ceiling?
Or do I divide and pull apart? 'Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark
. This ship went down in sight of land and at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands?
I know you're coming in the night like a thief, but I’ve had some time alone to hone my lying technique. I know you think that I’m someone you can trust but I’m scared I’ll get scared and I swear I’ll try to never give up. So do you think that we could work out a sign, so I’ll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try?
I know you'll come for the people like me, but we all got wood and nails. We turn, turn out hate in factories. We all got wood and nails. We turn, turn out hate in factories. We all got wood and nails, and we sleep inside of this machine.
i post a lot of shitty prose and poetry in here not because i don't want to share, but because i'm afraid of having the "better" stuff i've written stolen. yes, i'm that
full of myself.
i want to do something drastic. like run away, or get another tattoo. i will probably just end up dying and cutting my hair... that sounds like such a good idea right now.
i applied for a summer internship through Montclair Editors and Writers, but no one has contacted me yet. it would be really great if i could get a job with a publishing company because, for one thing, i would enjoy it, and for another, my parents would stop nagging me. their suggestions are always so uninventive too. "why don't you work at starbucks? why don't you apply at whole foods? you know, barnes and noble is hiring." ew... i don't want to work for minimum wage for the most evil corporations of america. the ones that have commodified everything that i love! (good coffee, weird health/ethnic food, and literature/music/movies?)
i'm such a brat.
i have an 8-page paper due tomorrow and i haven't started it yet. haven't even really read any of the books that it is on. i've realized that i haven't had to work so hard this semester of college. despite the fact that the classes i am in are 300-level courses, each one really only requires me to write maybe two papers, and take two exams. i put all the work off till the very last minute, thus putting forth the least possible amount of effort... and i still manage to get an A.
the english major at rutgers is insubstantial in my opinion. there aren't enough course offerings in creative writing, and the major itself is not demanding enough.
i'm gonna try to write my paper now though.
a line that always comes to my mind.
All the bridges in the world won't save you.