Can You Tell Me the Color of Daylight?

     During an "up" I can be quite pleasant.  Even outside of one, sometimes I am still pleasant.  To keep good things going, I sometimes do good things for others.  Like donations for cancer, buying girl scout cookies, the usual.  I try not to pass up the attempt.  One thing I've started doing has been a lot of fun.  I write letters to customers who are nice.  I have always had customer service jobs.  It's a mega-crappy thing to do; and I think everyone should have had to do this, or work food service, or another similar hang-myself-now job.  When I am lucky enough to get someone who really makes my day, I send them a note (my job gives me access to their addresses).  One in particular stood out so amazingly, I gave her a hint as to my address.  I figured if she cared enough, she could find out who I was.  Well, she wrote me back, and now I have sort of forced her to be my pen-pal.  (I am a sucker for handwritten letters.)

     She came into my store yesterday!!!  She had no idea who I was (she knows the name of the author, but doesn't know the name of the cashier); but she was, again, as fantastic as ever.  Made my freakin' day.
In other news, I will be having coffee with a friend from over at http://laminatedfragments1063.blogspot.com/ who was a friend from high school.  We went our separate ways, but those different paths do kind of the same thing, like a northwestern forest as compared to a northeastern one.  It'll be so nice to have a friend again.
     Tonight, I'm pretty sure there will be drinking again.  The wife in pink velour has a red-headed friend who is having a birthday.  [back story:  DaVinci is friends with an assortment of people; I get lumped with their wives.]  I've ditched so many "girls nights out" that I am a little obligated to go to this one.  Look, I'd like to be friends with these women, I would.  I try.  Trust me, I do not have so many friends that I am willing to pass on the opportunity to have another.  Some people were made to remain acquaintances.  They are meeting at six for dinner and drinks, and I get off work at six-thirty.  By the time I get there, they will have already had their food and at least one drink each.  I will drink a lot to catch up.
     Speaking of drinking.  I did not drink last night.  I should have, I believe.  I awoke at the shining time of three-fifty.  I know it was three-fifty, because usually the dog lays on my face until I wake, and this morning I could see the clock.  I get fidgety when wide awake and stuck in bed.  DaVinci banished me to the couch, where I flipped through each channel so many times, that the number of times I looped may have actually outnumbered the number of channels we have.  I eventually went outside and played fetch with my dog.  [We have two, but one is so obviously his.]  A five a.m. squeaky toy is the best way to make friends with the neighbors.  When I eventually got around to going back inside, I bothered DaVinci until he woke up.  I'm such a good, nice wife.  He had to be at work for eight, so he was going to wake eventually.  We watched Choke (based on the book by Chuck Palahniuk).  That's a movie with a very well-crafted storyline.  It was amazing. 
     Now I am at work killing time, as usual.  We're switching my dad's old car to my name so we can be a two-car family again.  We have two unique cars, in a lame kind of way.  I have a metallic blue Chevy Tracker, and he has a black Honda Del Sol.  Each car is so small, we can fit them BOTH under our single-car carport at the same time.  Mine is named Jamie Wingo, after the gay adult male actor, because he (the Tracker) can always seem to make Journey and/or Petula Clark come on the radio.   I know, right?
This Sunday is going to be the coffee day with my friend.  He's a grad student now, as I should be.  Get off my back already, I'm applying.  He does lit, but I'm pretty sure he reads different things different ways.  DaVinci is so happy I have a friend to talk books with again.  So am I.  Hopefully, in a few months I'll be able to ditch the weekends of husbands-ignoring-their-wives-to-watch-sports-while-kids-run-around-like-a-pack-of-retarded-bonobos with the excuse of "I'm sorry, but I really have a lot of school work to do."
Wish me luck with that!

Venti Mocha, Non-Fat, Shot of Peppermint, Shot of Bailey's, No Whip

     I awoke at the crisp early time of 1:41 a.m.  I curled up in the living room with my dog and Borges until about 3, when I decided to try sleeping again.  But my other dog wanted to hang, too.  Somewhere around 5 I fell asleep again on the couch.  You know what this means?  It's another episode.

     The problem with being diagnosed with bipolar disorder and going untreated is that, well, the disorder just kind of does its own thing.  Even though I sometimes question whether I am or am not bipolar, there's no doubt that there exists in my mind some sort of mental and emotional disorder.  The biggest problem, aside from the crazy running unchecked, is that I can't seem to tell the difference between the ups and the downs.  That's not true.  When I feel and episode coming on, when I know it's about to peak, the symptoms are very similar.  It's the big outburst that defines it for me.  The sleeplessness, desire for a cigarette (has to be real bad for me to actually have one), and creative writing spurts come in the approach.  A good episode results in my house becoming spotless in the middle of the night, people getting presents from me just because, and lots of music with a horn section.  A bad episode results in crying, calling in sick just so I can drink, and the occasional act of dragging my fingernails up my arm or thigh. 
     They usually all peak the same way, too:  I have some sort of fight with Da Vinci.  It used to be whoever was nearest to me.  In high school it was mom and school officials.  In college it was roommates and friends.  Then it was the Pretender.  He really couldn't take it.  He had his own kind of issues, mostly regarding drugs and family issues to rival my own.  But during the fight I tend to run away.  I don't mean I am a coward and can't stand the fight.  I run away like a 6 year-old kid.  I take a highway and drive, just drive, until I begin to think clearly again.  I can never stop the thoughts.  They move so fast they hurt.
     I'm not very nice when I get like this.  The non-sleep is hard enough.  Since I'm awake, I might as well be miserable, right?  I remind myself how I'm 40 pounds overweight.  Shut Up!  I'm 40 pounds overweight, have no friends, am the laziest person I know, and am incapable of being on my own.
     I have some people I consider friends.  I have one who lives too far away and is too busy to be my friend.  She's also a bit of a extremist.  If I'm having a bad day, she assumes I might kill myself; if her husband got a correction from a director, she assumes he's fired and needs a new job.  The other women around me are pretty useless.  One wears hot pink velour running suits and pretends to be a housewife.  She's really only good at making kids.  Whenever one is old enough to go to school, she gets pregnant with another.  Their dog (no longer a pup) is locked away from everyone all day, and she has decided her life in incomplete without a kitten.  It goes on.
     Being 40 pounds overweight sucks.  I feel too ashamed about it to even have sex.  Which leads to me not having sex, and then thinking I'm not having sex because I'm unattractive.  At least the boobs are big.  The DaVinci is kind and comforting, but not very helpful.  He really can't be.  When I'm fat and miserable about my weight, he knows better than to say, "Do you really want to eat that, too?"  He may die for that, and he knows it.  But he's overweight also.  His dad is trying to lose weight by correcting his eating habits, not changing in exercise though.  This would work for me because I'm so lazy it's exhausting.  But I don't cook.  I know I could cook, if left to my own devices, I guess.  As a family and a person with odd social obligations, a change in diet would entail a total life makeover.  Change is the hardest thing in the world for me.
     So in the meantime, I'm fat and sad today.  All I really want is liquor.  That's all I want, liquor- and maybe my pj's, couch, and some Harold Pinter.  Shit, if my life could be that perfect.  I'd wear hot pink velour suits as a uniform if I was allowed to just do what makes me happy. 
     But today I'm pretty sure it's a bad episode.  And all I want to do is drink myself to numbness.

Since I Have Nothing Else To Do

See, the problem now is that I'm at work; my job requires the IQ of a carrot.  I don't have internet at home.  I get more than a daily dose here.  I play on pogo.com all freakin' day.  I also have a facebook account.  Alas my job blocks it.  Something about employees wasting time.  But I couldn't just let my mafia die, now could I?  The DaVinci has taken over my account.  He logs in several times a day to do everything.  Sometimes he calls to notify if so-and-so wants to be my friend.  I don't know most of the people he has agreed to.  It's okay, though.  I don't talk to most of the people I do know anyway.
A goofy side effect is that when I have to play the social wife, the other women talk about shit they sent me.  What's sad?  I can follow the score without watching the game.  They talk about their kids- I am childless, so I compare them to my dogs.  I like dogs more.  They talk about their husbands.  Since mine seems to be the only honest one in the group, I already know the story (sometimes in more detail than they).  They have no substance.  There's more to my life than TV and shopping.  Not a whole lot, but enough.
I'm not being harsh.  DaVinci and I watch very little TV.  Actually, besides sports and The Office, we don't watch anything but movies from netflix.  I lie.  I'm a sucker for the Canadian show The Weekend Guy.  But that's because I make my dogs dance to the theme song.  All I do anymore is read.  I read a lot.  I want to be a perpetual student, and study semiotics in postmodern fiction, and the absurdists.  I want to write short stories which get published shortly after my death as a compilation- only to be later recognized as non-fiction.
I'd also like to note that DaVinci and I are dirt-poor.  We both work, but to no avail.  I'm actually cancelling our health insurance so we can afford to insure a second car.  We also can't afford to see doctors when sick, because our insurance is so high.  We don't shop at Wal-Mart.  Haven't in years.  That's not expensive though.  We just don't shop.  He cooks.  He's actually a bit of a food snob.  And he cooks like one.
I'm applying to the local university.  I have a Bachelors in English, and now I want a Master's.  If I can survive that, I would like to go for a PhD.  The local school doesn't offer the program for a PhD... well, one does but it is expensive and I don't really want to stay in this city.  It haunts me.
I know I am rambling.  I'm just a little nervous.  I can't cry at work.  I cut my leg in the parking lot.  I only went out for a cigarette.  But it hurts so bad.  Cutting is bad.  And DaVinci says I can't do it anymore.  But like I said this morning, I'm fat and he's not touching me anyway.

He Brought Hawaii to My World, and Just Kept Grinning

     There's one ex who is the most astonishing.  He's honest, and not a lot of flair.  He's got rhythm, and taste.  He's got the best smile.  For years he was in my phone as The Smile or EverSmile.  EverSmile was very honest, but not mean.  Everything was so matter-of-fact with him.  He was so damn nice, too.  From Hawaii, he came into my life one night to get the mail.  I just started talking to him, because strangers can be anybody.  He turned out to be fantastic.  He mountainbikes, listens to groovy tunes, and just takes life as it comes to him.  He exists in a world of sunshine and bright colors.  Dinner with him was nice, usually sushi or Greek.  He's a man who likes flavor, likes spice, and creativity.

     I had a blast dating him.  He was more interesting that any art exhibit- well, maybe not Georgia O'Keefe- but damn close.  I had no business dating him.  He was so smart and sweet.  He was a mechanical engineering graduate, and I was a freshman.  Like most guys, I would have eventually driven him away.  Well, I did, when we broke up.  Rather than let it fester and end badly, I was lucky enough to have an out.  He was moving to Colorado [personal identity hint:  I didn't live in Colorado].  Or so I thought.  What we had was nice, but I don't know if it was love.  We hadn't been dating long enough to try a distance thing.  So I ended it.  Better be safe than have it get too serious and get hurt.  But he didn't move to Colorado.  I don't really know where he went, actually. 
     I stumbled across him later, when I was living with The Pretender.  We hung out and caught up.  After the Pretender and I broke up, I visited him a few times in a different city.  I was visiting family anyway, right?  It was nice.  He was nice.  I cannot have nice things.  I'm a little uncareful; I lose/break/deface nice things a lot.  I was just talking to him on GoogleTalk.  He's still so nice. 
     The odd thing is that he's the only guy I've ever slept with/dated who is still on good terms with me.  Maybe The Poet would be.  Can't bring myself to attempt that one, not just yet.  EverSmile will always stay in my heart as a very wonderful man.  I wish him great things and eternal sunshine. 

Reasons why I remember him so fondly:
We once watched 28 Days Later.  Before he turned it on, I actually though it was a sequel to 28 Days (with Sandra Bullock) and I thought, "kinda cheesey, but sweet."  I was so happy it was a zombie movie!
He was with me when I first heard Portuguese music, Cyro Baptista's Beat the Donkey.  I dance to it still and think of him.
He's the only person I ever met who actually had a battlebot.  He's just good like that.
That smile.

When the Elephant Lifted His Leg to Dance, We Saw His Chains

     Last night was interesting enough.  Dinner was okay- at a chain restaurant and greasy.  Pink Velour and Mommy Jubs were there, as were FishMomGrr (with sister) and HorseBerri.  Mommy Jubs is the one I get along with the best.  She has potential to learn and try new things.  I like that about her.  If I say I read a book I loved or watched an awesome movie, I can count on her to try it out.  That's cool because then the next time, she'll say "Oh, I saw that, and it reminded me of _.  You would like that, too."  She's working part-time now, so she's back in the real world instead of looking for reasons to shop at Wal-Mart and Sam's.  DaVinci and I haven't shopped at either store in years, and it's odd how proud I am of that.

     I was thinking, as I drove there and rocked out to Pat Benatar (on two radio stations!), that maybe I should commit to my writing a little more.  That's asking a lot of me.  It would mean some pretty goofy changes for me; change is not something that gets me wet.  I like to write short fiction from time to time, and poetry if the mood strikes me.  I've written about the Pretender and The Poet, but never once about DaVinci.  It would have been easier in the beginning, when we were all goofy and romantic.  But now, there's no more art to this.  That's a little devastating to think about, really.  I'm in need of art, some heat, passion, some violence, even.  I've also been listening to a lot of She Wants Revenge.  Mmmm, Monkey wants....
     To write, I'd need some time to myself.  I don't get a good dose of alone time.  Even in my own home, I don't get a lot of privacy.  DaVinci and I are sharing a car (which should end today), so he knows where I am at all times.  He also has all the log-ins and passwords for everything, since he does all the online bills and plays my mafia wars.  I'm confident the only thing he doesn't know about, and he may, is this blog.  When I write this, it's to get the crazy out of me and onto the internet where crazy belongs.  The level on anonymity I have on this, allows me to write things like, "I scratch my thighs now.  Because I scratch my arms, and you promised to help me.  And now, you check my arms for cuts, but don't help."  When I write creatively, I work in sections, and self-edit as I go.  I want to re-read and correct it before I share it with anyone.
     What's really lame is that I'm not that good.  That's said in no polite, humble way.  In fact, I write impressive literature reviews and research articles.  Comparative literature, noting little quirks in a piece, and the basics of any literature class, I am a whiz at 'em all.  When it comes to creative writing, I can only write the things that I know.  I tend to fictionalize (is that even a word?) the facts.  I take the people I know, and put them in situations I'd like to see.  Or I take strangers, and give them identity.  I am not a writer, just a player.

  

She Only Lets Me Out When the Tequila's Gone

Rum and I are not very kind to each other.  Like most nouns from my past, rum saw a few too many bad episodes and decided we couldn't be friends anymore.  I think we broke up the night The Pretender moved away.  Everyone was buying me shots, and no one was tracking what I drank, much less me.  It was a combination of mixing things that should never be mixed and drinking too many individual things.  Highlights include:  toasting to verbs for being so helpful (and dissing adjectives for complicating things), throwing up in the booth, falling twice (that's two times) in the parking lot, and confusing my DD's foot for his car.  The party moved to his place for my shower, and everyone else continued drinking.  I awoke a few hours later asking for soup, but still drunk.


Saturday night I had one drink with a single shot of rum.  I woke up a little nauseous, but otherwise fine.

Tequila and I are best friends.  When my puppy died, my roommate tried to help by taking away any drug that I could overdose on (my cough syrup, mood stabilizers, anit-depressants, painkillers, etc.).  He said "I know you have a bad history of not handling things well, so I'm taking these.  But you can have this."  He handed me my bottle of Cuervo, sat on the porch and smoked alongside me.  He helped me to bed a few hours later, and I woke up still cradling the empty bottle.  Tequila will always be there for me.

Since I have been involved in a downward spiral recently, all I wanted last night was to sleep.  I average two to three hours a night when my moods start shifting to a peak or trough.  I have a bottle of Sauza (not fantastic, but silver nonetheless) but no mixers.  Because I consider myself to be super-classy, I usually mix with juice (orange is preferred, but any will do) or Sunny-D.  I had absolutely nothing to utilize.  I put it over ice in a coffee mug and started playing Mario Kart.  Halfway through the 12-race marathon to see who will be crowned king- me or DaVinci- I threw in frozen peaches.  BEST IDEA EVER!  My bubble bath later was a difficut task, but fun as well.

I got five hours of sleep.  It was fantastic.  I woke up this morning feeling... something.  I'm better, but not well.  I broke down and bought a pack of cigarettes yesterday.  We can't all be winners.

What a Smile Can Say

If you really want to know what a sane conversation between exes sounds like, this is how it goes.  I did edit names and places.  This is the sanest person I have ever met.

3xE: hah! you do exist!
EverSmile: hello married lady.
3xE: hello
EverSmile: i heard that you got married.
3xE: yeah. you'd be proud. he accepts the crazy and everything
EverSmile: oh.
that's great!
but kind of sad for me
i guess i already had my chance
3xE: nah, you wouldn't want me now. you know i got diagnosed as bipolar?
it's no surprise, but sucks all the same.
EverSmile: oh
i knew all along
it's okay, most women have bipolarness
3xE: well, i would like to apologize for being a nutcase. i should have been nicer to you.
EverSmile: thank you. i liked you anyway, and still do.
3xE: aww, that's sweet. i still think fondly of you
EverSmile: you thought fondly of me in the beginning?
3xE: i thought of you the other day. a friend was talking about battlebots
always have
EverSmile: hahahah
battlebots...
my old love
hey, remember that picture of you with a black eye?
3xE: yeah
EverSmile: i still have it, i saw it when i moved about a month ago
it's pretty cool
3xE: i was wondering what happened with that
i thought i threw it away. i threw away an entire box of photos one night.
EverSmile: awwww =
=(
3xE: it happens
it was a bad time when i did it, and i wanted to start over.
so. how are you? besides 2 frugal?
EverSmile: hahaha
well, i'm in shanghai right now
on a little business trip
3xE: what!?!
EverSmile: yeah i work for a microchip design house in [city]
and our factories are all in asia
i have a girlfriend back in [city], who is really pretty cool
actually some things about her remind me of you quite a bit
3xE: that's great.
she crazy too?
my sis lives in [still came city]
EverSmile: small waist, nice butt
hazel eyes, brown hair
5'6"
i feel like maybe your laugh is the same, but i don't really remember yours enough to say
it's kind of weird, now that i think about it
you are similar to her
3xE: heh
EverSmile: what are you doing these days:?
[insert former workplace]?
3xE: I work for my mom outside of [insert another city], back home. a car dealership. but i am applyign to grad school. hopefully to start in the fall
EverSmile: majoring in?
3xE: literature. i'd like to work on modern fiction
EverSmile: oh
that sounds cool
3xE: not to be a writer, but a teacher
EverSmile: you always said that you wanted to teach
3xE: it's the only way to stay in school after graduation
what's shanghai like?
EverSmile: whoops
hellooooo?
3xE: ama t work,, gimme a sec
EverSmile: ok
3xE: ok, back
EverSmile: hi
3xE: i work for my mom, and she just got back from [city]. my sis lives there and just had a baby
EverSmile: oh
mb me and your sister should be friends
3xE: hehehe
maybe. she lives in [close city]
EverSmile: yeah that's close by
do you ever visit her? we could all go get lunch! yay!
3xE: hehehehe
i'm supposed to go in january. my birthday is then, and i'm getting the baby a shirt that says "baby's 1st Aunt 3xE's birthday"
EverSmile: hahahaha
that's funny
3xE: so, life....
EverSmile: life?
3xE: how's yours? mine is okay.
you live in [city], currently in shanghai, have a girl who sounds just fantastic if she's like me, and....
EverSmile: i would like a poodle.
that will complete my life.
3xE: standard, i hope?
EverSmile: toy.
3xE: too small for you. you need a dog who can keep up with you.
you do things. you ahve hobbies and interests.
and i type poorly
EverSmile: oh, right
i mountain bike
i'm starting a little company
that's about it
3xE: i blog anonymously. and stalk ex-boyfriends
don't really ahvea hobby
EverSmile: oh, your xanga?
i read it all the time.
3xE: I have a xanga?
EverSmile: oh
i was just guessing about your blog
hey do you really stalk me? that's very flattering.
3xE: not really. sorry
EverSmile: oh
you could have lied there to make me feel good
3xE: well, i am a friend on facebook.
and i check, but you don't update much
EverSmile: yeah they don't fucking have facebook in china
it's blocked
3xE: they block it here at work, too. and i do not have internet at home
EverSmile: oh
=(
then how do you fb?
3xE: i go to DaVinci's work in the morning and abuse their free wireless
EverSmile: hahahaha
3xE: then go to work. he's always on my account playing mafia wars
EverSmile: that's funny!
3xE: why i blog anonymously. i get no privacy.
it's not all bad, my mafia is awesome
EverSmile: hehehehe
3xE: yeah, my work has blocked facebook and myspace and twitter. add that to not having cable or internet at home, and i live like a modern caveman
but i have a super awesome gay car!
EverSmile: cave WOMAN
3xE: nah, i don't get beat in the head
EverSmile: the next time i see you, you will
3xE: hehehehe
you have always had a thing about me and violence. first the black eye and now clubbing. was it something i said?
EverSmile: hahaha
no
actually i'm not violent at all
though i do seem to be attracted to violent girls