e_juliana: (endure)
Note: The Castro Safeway at 10:30 p.m. on Mother's Day is a freakin' wasteland. The lack of product is not quite Soviet-era, but close. I was there at that time because I had just gotten off a shift at Bertolucci's, wherein I had all of 5 tables and still made good money. Mother's Day dinners are much more profitable than Mother's Day brunches.

Anyway, I have my cart (with a squeaky wheel), I'm so tired I'm almost stumbling, and even though it's unbuttoned all the way to show the tank top underneath, I still have my uniform shirt on, which is covered in polenta and marinara. As I'm going down one aisle or another, this guy walks past me and makes eye contact with me, clearly noticing me. He's good-looking in a far-too clean-cut way for me, dark brown eyes, kind of slim, definitely an inch shorter than me. Whatever, I'm too busy trying to figure out where I know another shopper from - either from MN or Wells Fargo, can't remember, but that dude looks too bitchy for me to walk up to and say, "Seriously, I know you from somewhere." (I do tend to size up most people I see, trying to remember details.)

So I get to the extremely long, extremely understaffed checkout line, and there's a display with hardcover books for $5.99. Most of it's dreck, but one is an Elmore Leonard book. For 6 bucks, I will pick up a hardcover Elmore Leonard. So I put it in my cart, and dude who checked me out comes up behind me and asks about the book. He then proceeds to try to chat me up at intervals, complimenting my eyes, commenting on my cart's contents (overall healthy, except for the beer, which he teased me about), talking about the book, talking about the book he's reading which is a self-help about living in the present moment, and my favorite, saying that I looked pissed when he saw me in the aisle, and he liked the expression I had on now. Except for the eyes, because they're intimidating (or something). I am so exhausted that I just don't care to be speaking, and yet I feel I still have to talk to this dude, because a) polite and b) what if he got pissed that I blew him off? What danger would that put me in? And that got me pissed off - the fact that I have to put that factor in to the equation of social interactions.

Luckily, by that point, the extremely slow line had gotten me up to the checkstand, so I could buy my crap in peace and leave. I said goodbye to him, and then booked it to the truck, making double-extra sure to be aware of my surroundings in the parking lot.

Just, argh. I get that he was trying to live in the present/seize the moment and most likely presented no threat, but... Dude. And frankly, the most I expect out of the Castro Safeway at night is some bitchy insomniacs and random homeless dudes. Maybe some bikers from Lucky 13. But it also reminded me how differently men and women have to weigh social interactions, which is something I don't think men get very often.
e_juliana: (focus)
I've had an emotionally sucktastic few days, complete with massive anxiety, catastrophizing, abandonment fears, insomnia, tears, and rage. The knowledge that this is coming to the forefront because of hormones only helps a little bit, because the anxiety is here to stay, at least until November 4th. (And if my hopes come true and the U.S. comes down for Obama, I'm going to be twitchy as fuck, just waiting for one of the racist assholes that have been getting riled up by the Republican campaign to do something monumentally fucking stupid.)

But! I saw this amazing story on Jezebel, and followed it to the original story, and I got over myself. Mostly.

The title of homecoming queen is typically reserved for the head cheerleader or student class president, but not so at one Texas high school where this year's queen saw hundreds of onlookers moved to tears as she was crowned.
Kristin Pass, 18, was named homecoming queen Friday night at her Texas High School, beating two other finalists for the crown.

"There wasn't a dry eye to be seen," said Carolyn Pass, the mother of newly crowned queen Kristin Pass, who was born with Down syndrome 18 years ago.

Read the full story, because it's kind of entirely awesome.
e_juliana: (raven)
I have life-image ones.

There are times, when I'm feeling particularly down and in a more morbid frame of mind than usual, that I find myself staring smack at my life and what little I've done with it. All that potential, gone in a puff of actuality.

Right now, on this night, I wonder if I used up every last bit of luck and grace that the universe had in store for me when I survived the fall of November 14, 2004. I occasionally picture some occult figure (not Death, because my mental Death is now and forevermore Terry Pratchett's Death and is far more dignified than that), an imp-like figure, perhaps the Imp of Over-Morbidity, watching me from atop its brick wall and laughing its head off at me as I blithely go about my days, capering in front of me whenever I trip or bump into things.

There times when I get too florid, as well. Hazard of the profession, I expect.

To bed with me. Hopefully I shall sleep well and dream of large women.

Do it....

May. 25th, 2005 10:14 am
e_juliana: (fucked-up girl)
Gonna take your mama out all night
Yeah we'll show her what it's all about
We'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne
We'll let the good times all roll out

And if the music ain't good, well it's just too bad
We're gonna sing along no matter what
Because the dancers don't mind at the New Orleans
If you tip 'em and they make a cut

Sorry, it's just what's in my head.

Lots of turmoil right now. Shifting interactions, both in personal life and work life. I fear I was too me, too brash at a party on Sunday and have frelled my chance to work at a Big!Name!theater. We'll see. I have another 10 days until I have a hope of hearing one way or another.

I actually sort of feel like I'm reverting back to how I was at 25. I don't want to be that way, that clueless in how I'm perceived, how I interact. I don't want to have all of my emotions living so close to the surface. 25 was not a great year for me, and I'm one who'd rather move on than re-do.

Now we end up takin' the long way home
Lookin' overdressed, wearin' buckets of stale cologne
It's so hard to see streets on a country road
When your glasses' in the garbage
And your Continental's just been towed

We open A Streetcar Named Desire on Friday. Twin Cities peeps should come see it. It's at the Garage, it's however much you can pay, and it's damn good. Graydon wrote an article on it last Sunday, so that should hopefully generate some interest. I'm also house-managing most nights, so I'll need ideas of books and scripts to read. Preferably ones that can be fetched from my library. Once I pay my fine (oops).

So, any recs?
e_juliana: (fucked-up girl)
I have a terrible time focusing at work, primarily because I don't really enjoy the work and it doesn't challenge me. My poor job performance is feeding into and reinforcing my poor self-esteem, making it impossible to want either improve at this job or find a new one. I can't afford a shrink or a 'career counselor', so here I am.

Dear readers, please share your favorite organizational and focus tips. It doesn't matter if it seems completely elementary or obvious to you, it may not be to me. If I already know it, I'll appreciate the reminder. I need something, because we really can't afford for me to lose this job, and I need to shake myself out of this paralysis.

e_juliana: (raven)
Interesting weekend.

Actually, not really. There were performances and parties and the whole shebang, but meh. The ickiness that surrounded the production end of the show really cast a pall over the final performances. Interpersonal conflicts took care of the rest, mucking up the parties. I'm almost looking forward to Alaska now. At least I'll have a genetic reason to be cranky, instead of wondering why I choose to be around certain people. And I'll be able to sleep.

Friday night was mostly fine. The show was off, for a couple of reasons, but still fun. The party was hosted by a castmate and his fiancee, who is a dancer and just fun to be around. Every time I'm around her, I feel the need to go enroll in a modern dance class or summat. Anyway. But, there was still awkwardness with the producing company and with other people who showed up (who weren't supposed to!) and just... meh.

Saturday - again, the show was fine, but the party.... meh. I got to talk with women I like, but it was, again, the producing company and just Awkward. I did rest and run during the day, so that was good.

Sunday, I had coffee with Sally in the morning, and we drove around to look for spaces. I drove around for a while afterwards, as well, still searching for a possible theater space. Then home to read a script, picked up Z from work, and we went for a bike ride. Then... karaoke. Which I just shouldn't have gone to. It started out kind of icky, perked up when [livejournal.com profile] envoy was there, and ended kind of icky.

I started out the weekend thinking about how much has changed in a year and how happy I am, and I ended it by realizing how much damage has been done and how much still needs to be repaired. And how I have to do so much of said repairing, for whatever reasons. And you know what? I'm really tired. I'm tired of having to deal with the fallout, of flinching from the scars. I'm tired.

Fuck 'em all.
e_juliana: (kickass)
From this article in today's STrib:

"We don't know what course the friendship might have taken from the beginning if we asserted ourselves and our boundaries," she said. "We end up feeling betrayed, and the truth is that we almost always play a significant role in our own betrayal. We ignore what we know, how we're feeling. We let people get away with things, and then, when it happens one too many times, we act like we're surprised and have been betrayed -- and that's not fair," said Sanderson.

I really should have seen that 7 or 8 or 9 months ago. I think it would have helped. Maybe not. I was pretty far down in my own pain, and unable to assess the results of a lot of my actions. As it is, it's over and done with, and I'm dealing with the consequences, good and bad.

[babbling cut due to excessive self-repeatage]

I'm noodling here, and it's frustrating me. I've got real thoughts on the subject of boundaries and human interaction, and I can't break through the fog of tiredness.

ION, people are pissing me off. Specifically, the people who are allowing the transit strike to continue for the foreseeable future, the people who are perfectly okay with depriving a section of law-abiding citizens of rights afforded to others - namely them, and the people who have such immense disrespect for the general public that they feel perfectly justified in blatantly lying about everything under the sun and accusing their opponents of being mistaken. Those people need a good cluesticking or three. Dammit.
e_juliana: (b&w)
[livejournal.com profile] fox1013 has written a very powerful post on it here.

What is self-injury? Self-injury is the active choice to physically harm oneself, without intent of suicide. Self-injury is the act of cutting, hitting, punching, stabbing, biting, poking. It's the act of pulling out hair or nails, of sometimes even removing a limb.

It's a coping mechanism. Not the healthiest, clearly, but it helps some people. Most of those people are intelligent young women. Self-injury can start earlier than puberty, but the most common ages are between 15 and 24. Odds are, you know at least one person who has self-injured. If you're on my friendslist, you know me.

I pulled my eyebrows, eyelashes, hair, body hair. I cut, I bit, I wouldn't let wounds heal.

You see, the pain? It helped bring me back to myself. It gave me something real and immediate to focus on, instead of the elaborate scenarios that my fucked-up brain concocts.

A lot of the old habits are still here, in muted form. My obsessiveness with my cuticles tends to result in a wound during times of high stress. I pluck my eyebrows quite often. I have to be very careful not to pick at scabs.

I've talked about my hysterical episodes before. They're scary and they suck, but they have replaced self-injuring as my overload coping mechanism, and I'm glad this is so. Hysterics may give me a headache, but the long-terms effects are much less than self-injury.

So, please, read [livejournal.com profile] fox1013's entry. She says it better than I can, and she has good literature to back her up. I don't think that I wouldn't have self-injured if I had known that it was a common response, but I do know that it would have helped to have someone else say, "Hey, I do that too. It can get better."

Thanks for reading.

I've removed comments, because there are some fucked-up people trolling out there. If you want to talk about it, you can email me through LJ. Thanks.


Dec. 17th, 2003 08:40 am
e_juliana: (drink)
I'm writing out proposals for plays. Why I like the play, why it should be produced, etc., etc.. I'm really not good at this. My writing feels clunky, I can't find the words past "Play good. Me direct.", and any sort of concept is completely beyond me.

It's always been like this. Even writing papers in school, for subjects I knew well and was passionate about. As soon as it came time to express to someone else what exactly was so special about the topic, I froze. I freeze. My mind blanks, concepts don't come, nothing's good enough. It's really very upsetting. How can I expect to direct anything if I can't tell people why I should? How are people supposed to know about this great play if I freeze up? Why do I suddenly think it's not that great when I have to talk about it?

As I said, feh.

Serious, non-whiny question for all the creative-types reading:

How do you break out of your traditions/habits/conventions? Everyone, even the most avant-garde of us has their conventions, the tropes that they fall back on. This can be a good and bad thing, but it's best to know how to break out of them, whether or not you'll actually do so. So, how do you do it?
e_juliana: (raven)
There's a discussion going on on one of my boards that makes me want to bawl my eyes out, so instead of posting there and being all incoherent and shit, I'm trying to corral my thoughts here:


Never mind. I don't have the emotional or intellectual energy right now, and anything I type sounds like a pathetic whine for strokes. Screw that. Suffice to say that I know damn well I'm not as smart as my parents thought I was, and it's something I get to learn to live with, much like this right knee.

Anyway. The other point of this post was to clarify the question that I added to the meme I just posted:

21. The children's game where everyone sits in a circle, one child goes around patting everyone's head saying, "duck, duck...", and then another child gets up and chases the first child, and the first child has to get to the vacated spot before the chaser catches them?

duck, duck, GOOSE

You see, here in Minnesota, children apparently play a game called "duck duck grAy duck". So instead of a simple "duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, GOOSE" (run like hell), they play "[color] duck, [color] duck, [color] duck, [color] duck, [color] duck, GRAY DUCK" (run like hell). This is a major bone of contention in every freshman dorm in Minnesota come the month of September. It's very strange, and apparently limited to MN-only. Since I'm an instigator, I like teasing my gray duck-playing friends every once in a while.


Jul. 5th, 2003 12:51 pm
e_juliana: (Default)
Yeeeouch. My legs, they are not happy. However, my torso is the most painful part of my body right now. I feel like I spent 5 hours laughing hysterically, without the amusement part.

Zach is training for his bike ride right now. 100 miles. He's riding the marathon route over and back twice. I met him for lunch when he was halfway done. Sigh. We still have such a strong connection, but so much to work on, as well. Not just in our relationship, but on ourselves. And the absolute hardest thing for me to remember is that I cannot help him work on his issues, nor can I expect him to work on them in the manner in which I'd like him to. I can't control that. I can only control my actions and my path for growth. Yes.

Today is a lazy day for me. I think I'll be able to finish "A Prayer For Owen Meany", and then I will lift weights (arms ONLY) and do stretchy stretchy yoga. Then, it's off to Sally's for the 5th of July party. I'm going there early to hang out with two of my favorite Hags (Sally and Linda) and one of my fellow Hags-In-Training (Adena), Should be fun.

Is it me?

Apr. 28th, 2003 12:50 pm
e_juliana: (chaos)

Am I just incapable of maintaining a long-term relationship?

I didn't really have the best of models growing up. My parents should have divorced 9 years before they did. That was a slow, painful decline.

My grandparents. Well, they're still together. But they bicker all the time. I see how unhappy my grandmother is, how she harps on my grandfather about stupid, petty things. There's not a lack of love, but there's a lack of something.

I don't expect it all to be champagne and raspberries. I'm not that much of a fool. But is it always this bloody hard?

Being alone is not the end of the world. I'm quite good at it. But...




e_juliana: (Default)

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