I've become so numb

Dear Dad,

I got your message. I suppose I can see how it could be construed that I want you to buy me a laptop for no other reason than to game. I mean, obviously, all I've ever done my whole fucking life is video games -- I've never gotten straight A's in High School, I've never graduated with more credits than needed because of the hundreds upon hundreds of hours I've spent in theatre, I've never been Eaton's Calendar Girl (no thanks to you, I may add), I've never held a job, I've never started a magazine, I've never started to write a novel, I've never written any poetry, I've never published a book of poetry, I've never made any films, I've never been into films, I've never had a lead role, I've never multi-tasked as actor and tech crew for a play, I've never worked hard for anything, I've never accomplished anything in my life, because I've spent all my years playing video games.

Travis too, actually, we're both big bums who just sit at home and play video games while leeching off our respective sets of parents. I certainly don't work 12 hour shifts in the liquor store and he doesn't work full time at the mall -- both of us for minimum wage. We're not in a long-distance relationship right now and so in need of some other way to unwind after work aside from the comfort of each others' arms. There's no reason for us to enjoy video games at all -- we could be doing something more productive, like killing older people in their homes then committing arson, while high on meth, then fucking right there next to the corpse for the rush it will give. That's definitely more productive than a few hours of WoW; I don't know why I didn't think of it before now.

I can also see how you would be so tired of paying for things for me -- after all, it wasn't my broke mom and oma who paid for my school laptop a few years ago, it wasn't my broke mom and oma who paid for my trip to La Jolla, it wasn't my broke mom and oma who paid for my course in Adobe Dreamweaver and Illustrator and then the software to use, it wasn't my mom and oma who supported me through college and high school, it wasn't my mom and oma who put me through the modeling course that gained me the prestige of Eaton's Calendar Girl, it wasn't my mom and oma who have been behind me every step of the way.

And of course, university students nowadays don't need computers at all to do their work, they all use typewriters. Any graphic design or website work I may get paid for wouldn't be done on a computer -- we use our pure psychic powers for that nowadays, not computers and software. And it's not like I'll have to type up my novel at any point -- I hear tell some company in England accepted a manuscript in longhand on paper napkins with beerstains.

And of course, it's not like you can afford it. I mean, it's not like you spend $3000 when you need a new suit. It's not like $4500 for a laptop is reasonable, when said laptop is state of the art and would have anything I could possibly need for university and work.

I know, dad, I'm just totally crazy.

I mean, how dare I ask you for something like this for my 21st birthday? It's not like I turn 21 only once, it's not like it's a milestone for me, it's not like you've never given me anything except a pair of nice shoes and a bunch of emotional scars, it's not like you owe me anything.

It's not like I ask you for material items because I know you'll never give me what I really want. It's not like you'll never give me a father's love.

So if you ever hear through the grapevine, dad, that I'm graduating with honors with a BA in Theatre, that I'm getting happily married to the love of my life, that I'm wildly successful, making tonnes of money from my various accomplishments -- if you ever hear of any of this dad, then don't bother coming to the ceremony, don't bother dropping me a line, don't bother trying to meet your new extension of family, because like all my other accomplishments, it won't have anything to do with you.

And I won't waste myself on you any more.


Take everything from the inside
and throw it all away
cause I swear for the last time I won't trust myself with you

Changes

So it's been a while since I've posted here.

I have had my life eaten and spit out again by the Gods of WoWCraft. Fucking videogames.

Things should be better now though. I've gotten rid of my myspace (thank the gods) and some other useless things. Trying to downsize my 'netlife is so much fun, let me tell you.

Hey Voo -- I'm going to be in Vancouver from October 18th or so to the 21st -- can we hang out? PLEASE?


And in other news, I have again chosen to post at 5:30 in the morning, so it's bedtime. Night all.

-J

wtfwtfwtf

I swear to god, people in this town just don't have any FUCKING BRAINS.



Mom and I currently have no washer and dryer. This is because the house had no w/d when we moved in, and the set we bought is sitting in the garage at the other house, waiting for our basement to be clean enough to be installed.

We also have no shower, because the plumbing dates back to 1910 and is disintegrating before our very eyes.

This pisses me off as well, but is not really part of today's rant.

Because of our lack of w/d, we must go to either our tenant's house to do laundry, the laundromat, or I have to do it while at work, using work's machines.

Well, after a few fiascoes with doing my laundry at the tenant's place (read: they thought it belonged to the previous tenant so they threw it in the garbage, then when they fished it out and said they'd wash it again and throw it in the dryer, they just left it in the washer to get moldy, and so I threw it in the dryer, but no one had told me there was no dryer vent and so their paint job was ruined, at which point I said "I'm never fucking doing this again" and stopped going up there to do my laundry) my mom assured me it was "safe" again to do my laundry there.

So I go up and put my load in.

As I'm leaving the husband comes out and I tell him that I've just put a load in, and I'll be back later to put it in the dryer and put my second load in the washer, is that cool?

"Sure."

"Cool. Then I'll be back after I'm done at the gym."

I come back after the gym.

They are no longer home.

My laundry is in its hamper, in the car port, with the detergent next to it. The wet clothing has been put into a plastic bag and is sitting on top of the dirty dry clothing in the hamper.

WHAT. THE. MOTHER. FUCK.

Did I imagine that whole conversation? Did you really tell me to shove it up my ass and I just didn't catch that part? WHY THE FUCK CAN YOU PEOPLE NOT GET IT INTO YOUR HEAD THAT I NEED MY CLOTHES TO BE CLEAN FOR WORK?


So I take the laundry home, too angry to even speak.


I go and buy clothespins and a shit load of ice cream.


And I hang the wet clothing on the line.


And here's the fucking kicker:


they didn't even let the cycle finish. One shirt was still half dry, and the rest were soaking wet.

It bothered them SO FUCKING MUCH they had to stop it beginning-mid-cycle. Couldn't let it finish. No. Had to stop NOW.







And people wonder why I'm a homicidal nutcase.

Stars

.Fire The Grid.

Was interesting. I waked up at 4am PST and did it....at first my mind wandered and I couldn't concentrate. I have problems with meditating.

But then I got into it, and (I was lying down) I saw "the grid" -- a grid of golden glowing energy, slightly above me. I reached out my hands and connected to it, and saw the whole earth encompassed in this great glowing grid of energy. My left hand was receiving energy from it, and my right hand was giving, and I saw the grid get "fired".

It was pretty fucking cool.

Anyone else participate? How was it for you? *eyebrows*

Precious

Be all that you can be.

Live to your best ability.

You're a smart girl, and I only want the best for you.

I know what's right for you, I'm your father.

I'm just trying to give you some friendly parental advice.

I think you could be so much if you didn't waste your life at your mom's place.

I'm really unhappy that you chose not to embrace your talents and get a real job--how about holding traffic signs in Vancouver?


Sounds funny, doesn't it?

It is all, to some extent, my father speaking. Not verbatim, but close enough to make no nevermind.

Tonight I attempted to tell him I want to go back to school. My goal: a degree in Theatre, possibly double-majoring in Anthropology. Then on to bigger and better things than being a liquor-store clerk and short order cook.

What every loving father would want for his uber-intelligent daughter, right?

I gave him the spiel, told him I wished to attend MCC again in January (that's in 6 months) full-time, and then again next summer, and then on to the University of Hawaii (a real University) in fall of 2008--full time. Tuition costs, et al, should be by my current rough draft estimates just under 20,000 (USD) a year. Providing I take the standard 4 years to complete my degree, that totals out to [roughly] 80,000 (USD). For a degree. For a college education. For a guarantee of a life well-lived.

Pretty cheap, by current college cost estimates. You'd think he'd go for it.

What I got in response was him saying he didn't believe me, because every time I talk to him I lie to him, and I need to get away from my mother.

1. He lies too. 2. Mom is in Powell River and I would be going back to Hawaii, which is 2700 miles away. I think that's "getting away from her".

O, well, she'd follow you there.

That's a lame excuse, Dad, because it can be used no matter where I want to go to school. It's not even a real reason.

Your mom wants to go back to Hawaii.

She doesn't. I could get a sworn affidavit saying she didn't.

I don't believe you, you lie everytime you talk to me.

The same could be said for you, dad.

Oh yeah, how do you figure?

You're a parent. Parents lie; it's fact.

FUCK YOU. *click*

Well. That was mature.


The sad thing--I'm not kidding. This was our conversation, more or less word for word.

So I'm searching for scholarships, and planning a trip to see my lawyer.

I will get my college education, despite my asshole of a progenitor.

Flickerlight

Work tonight was .... interesting.

A few nights ago my co-worker came in with some of her friends to buy some alcohol. I warned her that our manager was on the warpath, cause when I'd come into work I'd gotten an earful about how my co-worker had forgotten to stock one or two things (our manager is really anal). I apparently said it wrong, because today my boss tells me (nicely) that next time an employee forgets to do something to not confront him or her but to leave a note for my manager or boss.

I explained that it hadn't been my intention to confront her but to warn her. I was doing the whole "Do unto others" thing that I usually avoid.

So my co-worker comes in tonight with her friends again and I apologize to her for being an asshole, basically. She accepted my apology and said "It would have been different had I been alone."

Now, I would just leave this at that but for the "Different if I were alone" bit.

I didn't say anything to her, but it got me to thinking. If you come in with your friends and your co-worker says something, and you're worried about what your friends are going to think--then what does that say about your friends? I mean, if the words of a white-ass parents-house-living college-drop-out lazy self-centered whore is going to seriously affect your friends' opinions of you, then shouldn't you have better friends?

Really, the only opinion that should matter to you is your own. (And in my case, Travis's. :3)

Off that topic.

Mom went to Vancouver today. Will be back tomorrow. My response to that short a trip is "What's the fucking point?"

Well, of course the point is that she sees her mom/my oma for a bit, which makes Oma happy. She (Oma) is going in for her pre-surgery interview tomorrow, and surgery is on Monday. She'll be in the hospital for 5 days afterwards. I'd say what the surgery was for, but I honestly can't remember. I think it's for her eye, but I could be wrong.

Regardless: she will feel 100 X better afterwards. I know it.

Anyway, mom took Major with her, so I am alone in the house (except the perpetually drunk cat*).

*Kitty has an ear infection right now, and is meandering all over the house like a drunkard.

Speaking of drunkards, tonight I refused to sell beer to an intoxicated customer and he told me to shove it up my fucking ass. (Verbatim.) When I told him that if I sold to him I would lose my job, he said he didn't care about all that. Some people.

Today is Annie's birthday, but I cannot call her because she is in Newfoundland. But she is with her luvher, Deuzma, so 'sall good.

It is amazing how quickly two people can become such close friends.

Today is also Midsummer, but as I was working I did not do anything. Le sigh. One of these days I'll actually celebrate a freaking sabbat.

This whole thing about warning my co-worker has made me realize, abruptly, that I am a fucking gossip.

Slapself.

Drama doesn't follow me it rides on my back...

x Jana

sister i'm not much

:a poet but a criminal:


118am and why am i up? mindlessly blogging, that's why.

all is good on my front, aside from a crazy drug lord ex-tenant and a cat with an inner ear infection. walks like a drunk. (the cat does.)

in the process of codifying my beliefs....if i ever do the DTWC faq will be on my lj (I have more than one, actually--this one is strictly for magickal/witchy stuff).

and have just finished typing up my entry into the 2007 Pagan Fiction Award and Anthology contest...don't think i'll win--it's for short stories really and i'm entering in a few chapters of Bellica, but we'll see.

need to sleep now.

loves.
j

like golden fire

my hair grows down and tangles.

immanence is up and running. yay!

and has a myspace and a facebook.


and i've been up since 3pm yesterday, so it's sleepy byes for jana.


x j

stupid

What's a really good thing to do when you've had no sleep and are already travelling down Emo Lane?

Take a side trip down Memory Street: High School Crescent.

This was a bad, bad idea.

Oh, let's search the ex-love of your life, Jana--good idea! While we're at it, why don't we take a look at his girlfriend too? And remind ourselves just how perfect they are for each other?

I'm so fucking pathetic.

I have a boyfriend, arguably the best boyfriend in the world, and yet I can't be happy because things aren't perfect.

I want to be back in Maui. I want to be back in Maui. I want to be back in Maui.

I'm wasting my life whether I'm here or there. I may as well be there.

holy fucking shit bear

tonight at work was HELL. HELL, I TELL YOU. 300 people came in for their grad dinners and they DINED IN HELL.

and i have nothing else to say.

except i spent the last few hours creating this:




i fucking rock.

lovelove
j

aaahhhh

I have to work tonight and I really don't want to.

:(

sing'n picard

GO. AND LOVE.

So. White. And. Nerdy. ROFL.

There are four lights! There are FIVE lights!

Ok, I started this post with the need to say something coherent about my life, but that soon ended. /sigh.

Anyway, I started a new blog....like I need one more. But I've felt a need to have a place where I can talk about my religion exclusively, and be part of Pagan-ish communities. I haven't let on, but since that internet war that I posted about a while ago I've felt very...blank and closed, I guess would be closest to what I'm feeling. I feel nervous about ever saying anything about what I believe again, for fear of reprisals, and actually not even really sure about my faith. It's affected me on a very deep level (the religion level), more than I care to admit. But since it happened I've found it hard to concentrate on the faith-based activities I should be concentrating on. My last ritual sucked. Really sucked. And it's because this issue is in the back of my mind.

It shouldn't really bother me that much, I suppose, and technically she didn't say anything mean-spirited, at least if you're an objective observer. But the truth is that since telling her in pm that I admired her, her posts to me had been getting steadily more challenging and critical--as if she was testing me, my devotion to my mistress, as I'm sure it translated to her.

After my last post I sent her a pm saying sorry if I came off too heavy-handed. Haven't heard back from her yet. Don't think I will.

And I've come to realize...all that glitters is not gold. In standard form that quote probably would not apply here, but I feel it does. So.

Anyway. I'm trying to heal. But it's hard. So I feel this other blog will help.

over and out
Jagged

no pr0n for Jana

so i ended up searching for my site + the word porn, to see if it would turn up, and didn't find it.

but did find this site and this blog.

go figure.

i still have not finished what should be a 2-page porn story....*rolls eyes* shows how comfortable i am writing about the subject.

in other news, marilyn manson's new album is the shizznick.

over and out
|J|

holy shit i'm writing pr0n

srlsy. my porn name is the marquisa de sade. and please tell me you get the reference.

PORN!
yeah. it's kinda hard for me to do. but i'm doing it because travis is sick and i want to make him feel better by writing LOTS OF PORN about us.

and i wanted to see if an entry with the word PORN so many times would get random comments from spammers.

what a wonderful carciature of intimacy

i don't really have a good reason for being up this late....perhaps, yes, i was at work until 11:45, and yes, mom was watching the departed when i got home so i had to escape so it wouldn't be ruined for me, and highlighting my hair seemed a good option, and then yes, i had stuff to do on the net, but still. i could have gone to bed a little while ago. but i'm sitting here waiting for travis to text me back, so i can call him. i'll call him anyway, we know this. still. my excuses.

i highlighted my hair because i'm tired of this tri-color shaggy dog shit, and somehow looking good is important to me. a powerplay is all it is, really, because when i look good i feel good because i know people are thinking they'd like to fuck me, and the knowledge that i produce that response and am unavailable is a sweet, sadistic pleasure for me.

the masochist in me also produces a need to look good, to slavishly submit to others' desires to see me pretty, even if i would rather really not and just want to stay in my sweats today, thanks.

i wish my life were like the lives of tv people, who sit around in coffee houses and talk and seemingly never have to work but have a ton of money to play around with, and are always witty and looking good, unless it's part of a joke. i wish my dad would pay for my college. i wish there were more hours in the day, though summer here makes it close.

i sing aloud to the black parade but wonder if i'm telling the truth or lies to keep myself silent. who wants to carry on?

why?

do i do these things?

they only waste time.

5:20 omglollerz

I have arbitrarily decided that 5:20, being both a month and an hour after 4:20, shall be
International Have Sex Till We Puke Day.

So, um, Travis...GET YOUR BUTT UP HERE, BUCKO.

It makes sense--at 4:20 we light up, giggle, get totally fucking stoned, and then after an hour rolls around we sort of kind of get around to the sex part, but because we're stoned we do it really slowly and clumsily and sort of throw up afterwards.

So. This HollyDay is OFFICIAL, because the QUEEN HAS SPOKETH.

In other news....

I'm completely and totally behind in my articles for Immanence. So I should get cracking.
I'm kinda over the internet war mentioned before.
I have decided to start a new blog. In fact, I just did: http://keukenheks.blogdrive.com. A cooking blog. No content as of yet, but it's forthcoming. I figure--I love to cook. I love to bake. I love to experiment in the kitchen. I call myself a Kitchen Witch. WHY NOT have a blog about it?

Because I want to have a life?

Anyway.

I'm sure I have a lot more to say, but it's probably all narcissistic and boring, so I'll leave off here. I have work to do at any rate, so I should stop dawdling.

Love you, my bitches
Jagged

more nightmares

I swear, the more I sleep, the more I don't want to.

Anyway...enough with that.

MNS Publishing Ltd. has been approved and reserved for us, so all I need to do now is go to City Hall and register my business, and then Corey and I can actually officially have something to publish Immanence Magazine.

Saw Nausicaa last night. Good movie. Arguably his best and cheesiest.

BREAKFAST TIME!

Laters.
J

the kill...bury me

I got caught in a nightmare cycle while I slept last night. It was horrible. Quite possibly the worst I've ever been in.

I woke up never wanting to sleep again.

And I swear to god, the dream had better fucking be just borne of my own fear and paranoia and be in NO WAY premonitory.

Because if I lose him, I'll kill myself.

Maybe not literally, though there's no telling. Right now I have no idea how I'm even going to survive the next 6 months without him. And I know that if I do lose him, that's it. This is my heart's last chance for redemption. He is only one I will ever love for the rest of my life. I can't get hurt one more time and survive. This is one of those things I just know, regardless how fucking silly it sounds.

Hurt the heart too many times and it eventually just closes up.

And how do I tell him?

How do I find out if he feels for me what I feel for him?

I mean, fuck. I love you doesn't always equal you're the only one for me.

Shit. Looks like another night spent crying.

the ghost of you

so right when i feel like writing and actually pouring my heart onto this cruel digital page for the voyeurs of my internet life to lap up like hungry puppies

my fucking keyboard breaks.

watch my apostrophes, quotation marks, question marks, and back slashes:

è È É é

not even fucking kidding.