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myself_i_must_remake last won the day on May 11 2011

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  1. So I fell off with my blogging, obviously, but honestly it's for the best. The last few months were important, but would've been unpleasant to read about week by week. To sum things up: 1) We've moved closer to campus, chopping fifty entire minutes off my commute, which has been game changing. 2) The "we" in question is the sort-of boyfriend I seemed so dead-set on breaking up with in my last entry. I'm not interested in hashing out exactly what all has happened, but it will suffice to say that we radically renegotiated our relationship: we're entirely open; I bear a lot less of the chores/finances/being an adult burden; and I get a lot more alone time. At first he had some issues, but now that I've gotten some distance and seem to be really into him sometimes, and now that he's had some side flings of his own, we are both very, very happy. 3) I was sober for a solid three months, dropped fifteen pounds, and now I'm letting alcohol back into my life, which I'm sure will backfire shortly enough, but for now it's under control. In short, I can't believe how happy I am. It's weird how I always end up on GA just before making a bunch of life changes. I wonder why that is. I have some ideas, but I can't pin them down entirely. One of my first acts after redefining my relationship with my non-boyfriend was to go on a complete fucking rampage. I can't believe how many guys I've been getting lately. It feels selfish, immature, and even irresponsible, but I really don't care. I've had nearly four years of suppressing monogamy, and what I've learned is that I really, really, really love guys. It's not just that I like men, it's that I like men in their plurality. I love how much variety there is among men. I would never be satisfied with just one, and as long as my sex drive holds out, I will never agree to monogamy again. I'm having the time of my life. As a side note, I've also discovered that telling guys I'm on a rampage is a great pick-up line, for whatever reason. As soon as I explain that I'm on a rampage, they want in on it. I think to bottoms it implies a certain kind of sex, so they get all excited. I hope I'm not disappointing them Tonight was a little sloppy though. Some surfer type guy (this is California) came over, and he was pretty attractive, and we watched most of a movie together before starting to cuddle. I gave him what I thought was really stellar head for a bit, really enjoying myself, and then before finishing, he asks me to cuddle naked with him. I strip to my underwear and we start cuddling. He mentions he's dizzy because he had a few shots earlier. I thought nothing of it until he got up suddenly and vomited powerfully into my sink. The funny thing about that is that that was the second time those dishes had been vomited upon. One of my friends in the department lives in the same apartments and visits herself upon me sometimes, often after she's had an unclear amount to drink. A few nights ago, she came over, we were talking, and I was fucking around on my phone. I look up at her as she's talking, she casually turns her head to the side, projectile vomits, and then starts to talk to me again as if nothing had happened. I told another friend about it and she called it a "casual side-vom'," which I found funny. I've gotten a student loan as a living cushion (I don't pay tuition and I get income as an instructor, so it's not so ridiculous), and I'm using part of it to finally get a professional wardrobe. That shopping trip hasn't occurred yet, but I did buy some cute boxer briefs online, and I'm using them as a weight loss incentive. I bought three wonderful pairs. One pair I'm allowed to wear now. Another pair I'm allowed to wear once my weight stays under 162. My favorite pair I'm allowed to wear once I get under 157, around which weight my abs re-emerge. I'm hoping this is a good dieting strategy. Anyway, things are pretty awesome right now. I hope to keep blogging in the near future, and I hope you're all doing well.
  2. every aspect of today has been stupid.

  3. I'm sorry to clutter up the blog page with blogs. My original plan was to do one a week, but I need to emergency blog! I'm sorry if it's not reader-friendly. I pulled the trigger on the break-up sooner than I had expected, but it just kind of happened today. I just took a sleeping pill plus my benzo at the same time (don't worry, they're safe to take together) so I don't have too much time to type before Z-town, but I just need to clear my head a bit. I know I need this break-up. The line of work I'm doing does not give me time for a relationship right now. This relationship is the best I've yet to have, but hardly a day goes by that I'm not aware that it had to end eventually. He was a good one, but he was not, and will never be the one. And it's not as if I have some idea of soulmates; I just know I couldn't spend the entirety of my life with him. In fact, I don't think I'm monogamous by nature; I will be happiest living fling to fling, I think, at least for the short- to medium-term. But we have to live together until our lease is up March 31. That's a long time, and there's nothing for him here. I dragged him out here with me to this dump town where he had no friends, and now I'm dropping him again. I feel like I just subtracted a year and a half from his life for nothing. And now that it's over, the good parts of the relationship bubble up in my mind: the first date when he was so insistent on paying, the time he took me away from my stressful studies by forcing me to go hiking with him, the way he was an escape for me when I first met him from a difficult roommate situation, all the gifts we gave each other, our holidays together, the way our cats love each other--I've never let go of so much at once before. It will be tempting, over the next two months, to get back together, but I have to make sure not to. I'm not going to speak poorly about him here in detail, but I have to admit--and you'll have to take my word on it--that there were many ways in which he was a drain on me. I would be financially better off, doing better at my studies, and I think in many ways happier if I had just come out here alone in the first place. Because he's younger than me, and because he had difficult parents, I have always felt responsible for him, and that is the force that has held the relationship together for so long. It was not romantic love; it was a weird kind of brotherly or (ew) even parental love. I am nurturing by heart. That is part of the reason I'm becoming an educator, and why I even feel bad for the Neko Atsume cats if I forget to feed them for a day. But that's no foundation for a real relationship. In the months ahead lie the challenges of finding a new place for me to live and a way to get him and all his stuff back to Ohio. But I cannot get back together with him. I cannot I cannot I cannot I cannot I cannot. This has to be it. I am posting this to hold myself publicly accountable. The part of my brain that makes good decisions knows this is the good decision. But aye! So many difficult things at once. Getting sober and breaking up and having to read a solid 15,000 pages for my comprehensive exams in five months, all while fascist-lite comes to power! 2017, which was morally obligated to be better than 2016, better get its shit together.
  4. finished re-readling Lolita for the first time in eight years; now an emotional wreck.

    1. Timothy M.

      Timothy M.

      the beginning of that story is so sad (the beach scene)

    2. myself_i_must_remake


      part two, chapters 29 and 30, when he sees her again when she's married and pregnant, and then afterward when he realizes how he ruined her childhood, completely killed me. i was a mess.

  5. I know this was supposed to be a kind of melancholy, reflective piece, but I just got caught up in the part about wonderful sex. (Been a while since anyone really... did it right for me. Why is a good man so hard to find?) But if you liked Dancer from the Dance, a book that's pretty similar and set around the same time is Alan Hollinghurst's The Swimming-Pool Library.
  6. Your attitude is certainly better than mine. I think this election is a test case for a certain question: at what point does respect for the office of the President stop being enough to compensate for the holder of that office? I am glad some people, like yourself, have a positive attitude and are able to put their grievances aside and give him a chance, but for people like me, his chance was during the primaries and the general election season, and he already made so many threats to so many people, that I literally cannot imagine what he could ever possibly do to win back my respect. And I hope no one here finds that unreasonable. We already know who he is.
  7. Trying to quit without assistance makes you realize what animals we really are. I remember being absolutely determined last summer to quit on my own, because of course not being able to quit without help feels like a weakness, but no matter how clever I tried to be about it (tapering schedules, removing triggers, trying to get my friends in on it to hold me accountable), something would happen a few days in where I became aware that the part of me brain I identify as "me" was no longer in control, and I would basically auto-pilot myself to the liquor store and end up on a binge, and then the next day I'd be exhausted and basically hate myself. P. S. I don't know if you saw my belated response to your last comment, but I do hope to nudge you into blogging again.
  8. I’m choosing to believe it was not a coincidence that I had a couple of productive, positive days after I blogged last week. For those of you who are mostly only readers here, I really suggest you try it out for yourself. I was glad, also, to have heard from some familiar faces. This community really is, in general, remarkably kind. As promised, I had my last drink about sixteen hours ago, picked up my benzodiazepine pills in the afternoon, and now I’m on the road to sustained sobriety, one hopes. I’m glad I don’t have any Friday obligations this quarter, since I can see that falling asleep is going to be a battle. I have been bad at sleeping my entire life, and for a long time now I’ve been knocking myself out with my esteemed co-council of alcohol and off-brand ZzzQuil; once I’ve comfortably kicked the former, the latter’s got to go too, so I can return to my original faulty neuro-baseline, and then try to cope with it in trusty, mundane, healthy ways: mindful eating habits (which are easy for me since I’m a whiz in the kitchen now) and enough exercise to exhaust myself (which I’m hoping to re-learn to enjoy). What’s weird, for those of you who have never quit regular drinking before, is how your brain starts to overload during the first week of sobriety. In the worst cases, this leads to seizures and the much-feared delirium tremens, but for moderate cases like myself, the symptoms are more disconcerting than dangerous: my brain feels electric, everyone annoys me, I have nightmares about spiders and relapse, and I vividly call up memories I thought I had long ago forgotten, some of which are likely false. I don’t know what I was thinking though, deciding to get sober before tomorrow’s (today’s, technically) inauguration. Earlier today (or yesterday, who’s counting?) I had planned to blow off a lot of steam in this entry about how horrible this really is and will be, but such an entry would only fall on two groups of deaf ears: those who are already thinking what I’m thinking, and those for whom upset leftists are a sign that things must be headed in the right direction. Handwringing is a waste of time. Facts and arguments have stopped meaning anything; only appeals to strength and fear and pride have meaningful currency anymore. I will content myself, instead, with an observation that sort of shades into a vague prediction, but requires some detours: 1) In the essay I used as a writing sample to get into graduate school (which is a published article now!), I observed that in the works of J. M. Coetzee, madness is figured as a contagious historical force; he uses it repeatedly to describe the workings of the social body under systems like apartheid as well as the experience of writing under such systems. We can remember other times when something that can only be described as madness has infected social bodies, and the madness only ever grows until it reaches a crisis point: revolution or war or some other intervention. 2) A few people I know who suffer from various mental illness share a strange, frustrating habit. They start to act out in certain situations—screaming at people, starting fights, hurting themselves—until there’s a kind of consequence: the party is ruined, a friendship is lost, someone else gets hurt, whatever. One of my previous roommates (my boyfriend and I have had nothing but crazy roommates since we’ve moved out here) drank way too much vodka one night, passed out, and then woke up scream-sobbing. I went in to check on her, knowing more or less why she was sobbing, but it turned out the particular trigger in this case was that she was too drunk to order herself a pizza online. I got annoyed and just went to the grocery store to buy her a frozen pizza. When I returned, my boyfriend was crying because she had cut herself—not with a knife—but by jamming scissors under her flesh and then actually snipping large flaps of it. Subcutaneous fat was bulging through the wounds. Everyone was upset by this point and I insisted she needed to go to the hospital. As soon as I took out my phone to call 911, she settled right down. Many of you are probably tempted to read her actions here as a simple bid for attention, and I wouldn’t deny that element, but there’s more to it than that. There’s something about a certain type of craziness that is only cured by running into some kind of consequence. It’s as if people like her go completely nuts until reality concretely reasserts itself—and then they cool right down. Later that night we were laughing and joking between, you know, applying new bandages and wound cleaner. Anyway: my country is clearly in the grip of some kind of madness right now. Those of us with cool heads know what caused it—demographic change, economic pressure, media oversaturation—but populism isn’t interested in abstract causes with slow-acting, difficult solutions. The kind of populism my country is dealing with is sadistic and paranoid, and the only solutions it believes in are those that only a powerful Father can administer: some people must be punished, others must be purged, others must be reminded of their place. Their country is a simple macrocosm of a strict, pure-blooded family unit; others are welcome in as hired servants who eat the leftovers in the room in the back. But under this system the real problems never really go away, and so the punishments, purges, and subjugations have always to be renewed and applied with greater and greater intensity. We will reach a crisis within the decade when reality violently reasserts itself in place of this silly Father myth, and like South Africa after apartheid, and like my mentally ill friends after everyone’s night has been ruined, the cured mad will become sober and contrite, having wrecked everything and yet feeling somehow that they were the real victims all along. Short-term pessimism aside, I take heart in knowing that my generation will soon come into political dominance. We are, as a generation—in spite of the myths about us baby boomers trumpet to fluff their own egos—extremely caring, diligent and clear-eyed. More and more I think that all of the bad things baby boomers say about millennials are really just wild displacements of their own insecurities. The baby boomers resent the fact that they were in fact the spoiled generation. Sure, they mowed lawns as kids and had that one really hard boss once who taught them how to respect authority, but the data tells a more convincing story than their self-serving anecdotes: they rose to prominence and success on the smooth path to the middle class created by their parents, and then they took their share and more by bankrupting the millennials. It is the baby boomers who are entitled, self-absorbed and spoiled. And as for those “participation trophies” that were supposed to have ruined my generation—those were never actually for us. Anyone who’s ever heard baby boomers brag about their children knows that participation trophies were only ever gifts given by baby boomers to other baby boomers via their children as proxies, because baby boomers always saw their millennial children as accessories, mere extensions of themselves. “Oh, you know, my Katie got a 4.0 last semester, and she got first place in her dressage competition!” “Well isn’t that something. I’m putting my Annabel into a French immersion camp this summer. We really have our eyes set on Yale, and nothing less than Dartmouth will do.” “Hmph!” “Hmph!” I’ve joked on Facebook recently that I want to run for public office on the slogan: DESTROY ALL BABY BOOMERS. The joke is that, while you might think I’d only get the youth vote, I think I’d actually get the boomers themselves. They’d say I talk straight and shoot from the hip, and apparently they love voting against their own interests anyway.
  9. Hi, Lacey: It's nice to see you're still here too. It turns out that blogging last week actually really did make me feel better--maybe you should get back into blogging too? I think it's going to be a very useful crutch for sobriety.
  10. Are we allowed to talk politics in our blogs, or is that a no-no?

    1. wildone


      Blogs and the Pit are fair game :)

  11. It's been over a decade since I first joined GA, though I've been mostly absent for a few years now, and past versions of me that were mad at other past versions of me erased a lot of what I/we/they posted here. Part of me is sad, because I'm sure I could've wrung a lot of nostalgia out of some of what I deleted, but part of me is also glad, because I'm sure there would have been a lot to cringe over anyway. So: hello again, those of you who remember me, and hello also to the wee little neophytes who don't. I'll cut to the chase, since I don't have much time to write. I've always tended to participate on GA most when I'm dissatisfied with my life and actively trying to change it. I won't list the past reasons, and I'll only skim the surface of the present ones below, but it'll suffice to say that at the moment the two main requisites for my coming back here are true: 1) my life is in many aspects in need of correction and 2) I have the time and opportunity to do something about it. I suppose I'm unfair to this website. I use it when I need it and then disappear when the sun comes out again. Last time I blogged I still lived in Ohio, and was documenting year after year of my slow process of clawing myself into a PhD program, and at last, it's happened! I live in California now, and attend quite a shiny university, which will hopefully lead me to getting a job, somehow, somewhere, ranting about literature. But oh, how things have gone astray! Honestly, I really think I only need to make several minor corrections at once, but they kind of need to happen all at once, so it'll feel stressful: 1) In a real Faustian move, the alcohol problem I developed in response to the stresses of working full time while studying and researching my ass off at night to get into this program has persisted as I started the program and is now actively sabotaging me. I detoxed once late last summer, staying sober for a solid two months, but then this and that went wrong, and as soon as I started drinking again, it's like my body starting wanting to reclaim every single drink I had denied it for that entire two months. I had lost ten pounds from quitting alcohol, and immediately gained it all back, plus two or three more. I hate feeling overweight; I grew up pretty skinny and athletic so when my body's not in good shape, I simply don't identify with it. It feels like I'm wearing a fat suit I can't unzip. (I weigh 175-180 and I'm 5'10, so I'm not like massive or anything, just squishy enough to lower my confidence, kill my libido, and make me constantly poke my sides and stomach). I'm detoxing again next Thursday (I have to wait until I get benzo pills so I don't get withdraw-y), so hopefully I'll beat this finally, or at least beat it for longer, this time. 2) I seem to have lost direction when I hit the PhD program. For my BA and MA, I got by just being really good at writing essays about literature. Now, everyone in the department has like a solid identity: they specialize in radical Marxist ecology or queer readings of 19th-century maritime literature or what-have-you, but I don't give a shit about the Anthropocene and I think Moby-Dick really is just an unfortunate name and nothing more, so I have nothing to say to some of these people. The truth is that I was always secretly a literature student just because I wanted to write novels myself, and I used the English degrees as a sort of private creative writing program (because actual creative writing programs are for suckers and hacks), but now that I have to shape myself as an academic and get a hyper-specific, boner-deflatingly esoteric focus, I'm struggling. I do have options though--I think I'll get into translation theory and pile on some foreign languages like I've always wanted to--but I still have the sense of needing to play catch-up, even though I had thought the whole process of getting accepted here was the catch-up game, and that at last it would be comparatively smooth sailing. 3) If you have misgivings about your relationship every day, is it a solid indicator you should start charting a way out of it? My boyfriend and I live together, and sometimes I feel that I really do love him, but often I wonder how much he holds me back. This is a whole entry in itself, so I'm going to deal with it at length another time. I'll content myself with saying that I don't think we're really that sexually compatible, so the only things holding me back from going on a wild sex rampage are a) not being crazy about my body at the moment and the unfortunately long half-lives of my self-control and loyalty. 4) Lately I'm tired all the time. I remember years ago the very idea of a story I wanted to write or a song I wanted to learn on the piano used to keep me up until the early hours, but for the past few years it just feels like all the things I used to get so excited about just don't do it for me anymore. I'm hoping this is related to the alcohol and not so much to age, so that once I quit again, the old drives come back. I miss being a creative, expressive person. My blogs, I'm sure, were definitely more fun to read back then. I guess for the next few months I'll try to focus on those big four: sobriety, career, sex and, uh, sprightliness. I really, and perhaps naively, hope that fixing the first problem kind of sets into play a chain reaction that fixes the rest. But enough with the complaining. I'm hoping to make myself blog once a week or so, because I'll feel obligated to live my life in a way that lets me report progress to a bunch of anonymous or semi-onymous strangers. I want to say that even when things improve I'll stick around and be a nice, active, contributing member of the forums, but... perhaps it's not so terrible for there to be a place where people can go and get support when they're low, and then kind of graduate out and move on once things are better again. I think that's how a bunch of institutions are designed to work, anyway.
  12. been a while. don't recognize any of these users.

    1. MJ85


      Heh. You're not the only one who needs to survey the new landscape a bit. :P

    2. asamvav111
  13. Happy Birthday, myself! :)

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