3:08 am

Feeling better. Maybe. No alcohol today. My girlfriend and I fell asleep in one of the Monster Recliners in front of the Royal Tennenbaums, though she denies it. She does not sleep, she does not drink water, she holds me and rocks me when the fear of the Psychiatric Inevitable threatens to reach down and snatch me up forever. My mother has a jacuzzi instead of a bathtub. Did I mention that Little Tiny Brother's father died tragically at an early age and there was fat life insurance involved? That was 1997, though, and I think she is having to earn her own living again. I didn't even put on a patch today. It's not my fault. At the apothecary the highest strength they had was for smokers of 10 or fewer sticks per day. What kind of nonsense is that? Those people aren't even smokers. THe forces of the universe don't align to molest, mutilate, irritate, or annoy them. THose people wouldn't drive 10 miles over icy roads at night on a cocktail of wine, sample liquers, and benzos to get a pack of cigarettes. THey wouldn't drive 5 miles on 5 hits of acid to get a pack of smokes passing gas station after gas station seeking an open station for salvation. God I hate these fucking death bars. Now I think I'm going to smoke another cigarette.

4:36 pm

I feel like shit pate on a crisp. I have been thinking about That-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Contemplated, lest I lose my status as the most fucked up self-destructive person on the face of the earth who actually isn't suicidal. My Girlfriend and I are a my mom's. I have so much work to do, to get ready to write my candidacy paper next term, find out whether it's even possible to finish the work for my Old Church Slavonic Class for last term and spent way too much money on the trip to Florida and am trying on and off to quit smoking. Apparently I am a drug addict. Oh well. I guess that's the 25 percent of me that's not perfect and she'll have to work with.

Trying/not trying to quit smoking. Put a patch on for several hours, go zoinks, rip it off, and drive for a pack of cigarettes. I will quit again after this pack.

The effexor is making my body do things I don't like, like disembodying my arms from the rest of me and making my head, legs, and arms jerk violently at untoward intervals. Hurrah I'm off the Zoloft. Boo I have to take buspar again to control the Twitch. Boo that life sucks and I am depressed and stressed and left the fated message on my psych's voice mail which will likely result in more effexor which will result in more crippling headaches and twitching and why, why, why, why do I have to go through all of this? I'm in my mom's big beutiful house with my caring adorable loving girlfriend and I wish I could just curl up in a ball and cry alone forever or as long as it takes.

I hate myself for this.

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11:53 am

If we were a normal upwardly mobile lesbian couple, I would have cleared out a section of closet/bookshelf for my lady to keep her shit her when she's away. But we are two students, me living on a yearly 14,000 USD stipend and her living on grants and loans. Therefore, neither of us has any extra drawer/ bookshelf space.

We actually got back from sunny Florida two days ago but I have not had the, erm, finger mobility to make entries thusfar. Unfortunately she left to go do an abbreviated Xmas today so I will be mournfully making entries about her over and over ad nauseum for the remainder of the the weekend till I head out for the Mother's house on the 23rd, or more likely the 24th. I finally have some X-mas present ideas. I have decided to leave my father out of it. When I returned home and checked the mail at the office, I found a check from him saying "I gave up. I hope you can get somethings you want/need with this." Nice, but I want gifts. I know this is obnoxious, but I promptly emailed my mom complaining about getting no actual gifts and begged to her to please please not give me a check and sent her the link for my amazon wishlist and a reminder that I'd already emailed her the info on the running shoes I wanted. When I arrived home again home again jiggedy jig today I had a message on the answer phone stating that I did not have to worry about getting money from her. . .


We went to the beach everyday (too cold to swim or even sit on a privately owned boardwalk and cuddle without putting on a jacket; the beach is colder than inland) but since only one beach permits driving on the shore, no Chris Isaak was specifically involved.) However, she did purchase the album containing that portion of our cheesy soundtrack ahead of time, so that was pretty neat.

I've started getting jerky twitches from the Effexor even though my dose is not up. This has been enough to convince me to go back on Buspar, which sucks but if it keeps me from having to deal with same sort of odd looks and obstacles the Tourettes Syndrome victims go through every day I guess I'll have to slide with it.

I AM OFF SERTRALINE!

Can I have a round of applause please?

I've been doing good with my binging and stuff. I purged in the hotel on the way back up and bEEped twice the first night we got back, which was a tragic reason for sending My Girlfriend to sleep at her own place. Um, I also got my diazepam, which was another reason. I've decided I'm tired of diazepam and will be requesting clonazepam for future ventures. We can make this like a guessing game and y'all can place bets on when I make the switch. Erm, should you so choose.

I gained 5 pounds on vacation which I suppose is to be expected. Though 5 pounds in 10 days seems a bit much and after one of those heavy eating days I went back to semi-starve mode for a day. But the truth of the matter is, there's nowhere North of South Carolina you can get boiled green peanuts and I don't know when we'll be making it there again. Also lots of restaurant food of questionable nutritional content contributed, I think. But you know what? Fuck it. Everyone who gives a damn would like another 15 pounds still on me.

We spent a total of 27 hours in the car together, lived in a tent in a friend's driveway for two days, and spent the rest of time exclusively disgustingly together in single hotel rooms, the cargo space of my jeep, etc. And we still love each other. So blah. This means I am finding it entirely appropriate to start thinking about where we should be apartment shopping for next year, how we shall convince our families and others that this is a newlywed situation and get homemaking gifts (queen size bed, coffee table, dining room table, bookshelves galore) out of it, and, of course, how my well-to-do mom should send us on a legit honeymoon to Walt Disney World, staying in a W.D. hotel complete with 4 day mutli-park passes for each of us in September when we have break.

That's not counting our chickens before they pop out, is it? I mean, really. It's not like we're shopping for sperm (not working on that seriously until my 29th b-day) This is the more immediate future. This is just September I'm talking about here.

I know this has been a very lesbianic entry. Should you require a cliff's notes type reading guide, may I please suggest, Lesbianism Made Easy by Helen Eisenbach.

1:10 pm

They found the car. Didn't go very far. Alas I spoke too soon about the CDs. Also missing is her stereo, a blender that was in the trunk and a very large tarp. Why someone would want to steal a large piece of plastic inparticular is being my rationalizing powers, but it kind of pisses me off, because I really wanted to use part of it to seal off my air conditioner. We're leaving for Florida tomorrow. We were going to take her car for gas-guzzling purposes, but a 900 mile drive in a vehicle with no stereo is really completely out of the question. From a conversation with my mother awhile back, on the subject of babymaking (which I intend to do) and the fact that neither partner in my current relationship has any actual sperm of their own. "You might not even mind doing it the old-fashioned way," says mom. When I relate this to My Girlfriend, she innocently inquires, "you mean, with a turkey baster?"

In Which her True Colors Show

3:14 pm

We went to bed around six this morning. By the grace of my fellow pharmaceutical junkies I had a few klonopins in me, plus the requisite triazolam. So when My Girlfriend tried to get me get up and come outside with her to confirm that her car had, in fact, been stolen, at 7:50am I really was not able to do that. Of course, she missed everything she was supposed to be doing this morning: mailing bills, class, picking up a script for me, and taking her friend out to a birthday lunch. When I finally agreed to come to consciousness, around (post) noon, I felt awful when I realized that she had, in fact, had her car fucking STOLEN. With CDs and other fabulous items inside. Luckily the CDs are without cases, so they can't really be pawned. So we wound up taking the bus back to my house. She's taken the car to go and retrieve my stuff and her stuff, including the laundry we were so excited about me doing last night and the groceries I bought for my house on the way home last night. As we were walking the bus route, the way you do when it's well below freezing and best to keep moving rather than just jump on any random bus that passes in the hopes it will not deliever you to West Virginia, I found out her car has enough gas in it to go 170 miles on the highway. Enough to get out of state, as a matter of fact. I'm fairly certain there are at least 3 different states a car leaving this city on the highway with 170 miles to go could wind up in. Perhaps 4. Maybe 5. Lets just hope some moron needed to get to his drug dealer fast and it will be located, abandoned, outside a crack house sometime this evening. Let's hope that there's not a big market for parting out Saturns, cause that would suck. Someone tried to break into her car last month. This was apparently a junior criminal. JC didn't try, oh, say, jimmying the lock or even breaking a window. The Stupid Criminal of the Month gift for November had been a very large bottle opener, and someone had actually attempted to pry her door open. "Maybe it's the same guy," I suggested. "He went and took a correspondence course and this is, like, his final." I have to go do some Tae-Bo on video, toss this blunt syringe and pack up a new one in the hopes that I might be somehow fortunate tonight, take a shower, glam myself up, and head to the bar. Which is what all self-respecting people are doing at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon, right?

4:59 pm

Home Again

For some reason, my apartment seems to have been the only one flooded by the deluge yesterday. They did come and vacuum some of the water off the floor, and I got home to a nice soggy carpet. The problem with catching the water in bucket, etc, logical as it might seem, is that the water was leaking right through the threshold of entrance to my apartment. I would have had to have left the door open all night to catch it. Thank god (sort of) I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Wednesday. Down to 50 mg of Zoloft and up to 150 of effexor. I would really like to knock the sertraline off my daily to-swallow list for good. Not looking forward to another series of Effexor adjustments, but c'est la vie. Hey, I took French this summer, I finally can use such a phrase without being utterly full of shit. Let me take a moment in praise of My Girlfriend. My Girlfriend, My Girlfriend. I don't think I've ever been so entranced by any one thing, person, or event in a state of sobriety in all my life. She is like fucking ecstacy, fabulous, amazing, bodacious, smart, hilarious, sensitive, wise and beautiful and indubitably incomparably righteous. I don't want to fuck this up. I want to roll around with her on the beach with Chris Isaak in the background, I want to take her everywhere and demonstrate her to everyone I know and love, I want her class to end so I can comfortably call her cellphone and find out when we are meeting up tonight. I shit you not, I have found the answer. Everybody should get themselves a codependant lesbian.

In Which She Waits For Her Girl to Return from Thanksgiving

11:52 am

Waiting

My roof is leaking quite insistently. I suppose I am grateful that it is only leaking (knock wood) in the hallway, but it's running under my door into my "kitchen", which distinguishes itself from my living room in that it is tiled and the living room is carpeted. I hope it stops soon. I had a fun few minutes trying to get everything visible and damageable in the way of the flow up onto surfaces, but I don't have very many surfaces.

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