in some ways, i want it to happen already. i dont want it to happen at all, but if its inevitable, may as well get it over with.

no no no. what am i saying.

god. i dont know. is it better to prolong the inevitable and live with the uncertainty or just get it all fucking done with?

my mother keeps telling me she is falling apart. her face keeps collapsing in on itself. i haven't been very sympathetic. not that i don't care, i just care too much. so much that i can't bare to watch. i care so much i can't care, if that makes any sense.

fuck my life.

everything is disintegrating.

It would be my luck, wouldn't it, that there are riots in Thailand the week I am planning to go. Can't I get ANYTHING I want without strings being attached or something going wrong.

I'm scared this was all a bad idea. That this is a warning. I've had other warnings, other signs--like expedia and travelocity not working continuously when I tried to book the ticket. But I ignored the goddamn signs and pressed on. Hope I won't come to regret it.

Eh, well if the plane crashes or I am trampled over during a riot, c'est la vie. That is life. Or that is death, to be technical. I'd never ever ever induce it myself, but if it happened on its own, well, hey, maybe it wouldn't be so awful.

People speak of yin and yang, tell me that things cannot be this bad for this long. They have a point. After all, they can get worse.

My computer is bugging out right now but I can't restart it because I'm attempting to edit. All I want is for my goddamn itunes to play properly, but it keeps freezing in the middle of songs. I need my music to survive, or at least, to edit, but I don't even get that pleasure.

Am I one of those people not meant to be happy? I think I've brought happiness to many-- where's mine?

I struggled for so many years when I was younger, but I finally found myself, my happiness, in high school and college. Or so I thought. That all seems so far away now. Who I was, all that I had, has slipped from my grasp. Every now and then, I try to reach back to my past and yank it, but it is like grabbing for specks of dust in the air. Impossible. Tedious. Futile.

No, I'm not OK. I'm really, really not OK. And there's nothing anyone can do about it (save maybe a doctor who makes my father better or at least FEEL better).

For now, I am alive. That's as close as I'll get to OK, and that will just have to do.

or maybe i'm just growing

for the first time in months, i saw him in nothing but a pair of boxers. i had no idea how skinny he'd gotten. his legs are like twigs made of gelatin. his shoulders...his arms...his chest...

the word frail is so cliche yet i can't think of another. defeated, maybe. his voice has grown hoarse, stuck in a constant state of murmur.

it is nearly 4 am. he lies before me on the couch, not sleeping, really, but not talking, either. i am keeping him company as i pound the keyboard. every so often, he asks a question. i answer pleasantly. try to make conversation until he nods off again.

no one in this house sleeps. she went to bed, or tried. then he came down for a drink a half hour later, half nude, dressed only in naked reality.

he seemed shorter, somehow. or maybe i'm just growing. hey, a girl can hope, right?

you are a teeny, tiny little buddy icon in my existence. i know nothing of you anymore, save that you're alive and across an ocean. but i can watch you from afar, watch your screen name flick on and off, on and off.

it is amazing, what we hold on to, the things we notice-- the tagged photos, the status updates, the comments on your wall-- the things that mean you are somewhere out there. it's amazing, the people we sit at the computer for, waiting and watching for the name that represents the person. the name that means you're living. somehow, it means you're alright. happy. happier than i am, anyway.

we wait for this name, this virtual icon, a symbol of distance, whether physical or emotional. we wait. we hold on to a memory, stare a name on a screen, and wait. hoping that one day it will be like it was before. but it will never be like before.

the waiting will end, but it never will. you will come back, and you will be happy, a changed person. the only thing that won't have changed will be me: still sad, lonely, struggling for answers. it will be old news. i, old news. continuing waiting.

you can choose your life, your fate, your existence to a certain extent. but some fates choose you.

the question is: can i live with this fate?

No Sir, I'm Not A Fool

Daddy Dearest, cut it out. Quit pretending you’re not hungry. Quit nodding off onto your plate of mashed potatoes. Stop getting up in the middle of dinner, saying nothing, wandering away. Stop closing the door to the bathroom, gasping for air, and throwing up nothing. Quit massaging the imaginary tumor in your tummy. You don’t need all the drugs. You don’t need all the attention. You don’t need Mommy to tickle you for hours on end.

Don’t think we buy the sick act. Don’t think we’re going to feel sorry for you. Don’t think we’re falling for the power trip.

Do you really think we believe you spend Fridays at the hospital? We all know you’re off golfing (even though you’ve never golfed in your life) or at the movies (even though you think they’re way too expensive to see in theaters) or eating Indian food (although you hate curry). You look great, anyway, slender as your college self, and you still have your hair. You’re only 58. Stop trying to make like you’re dying, or something. No no, Daddy, you’re not fooling me. You’re not fooling anyone.

***

Sometimes, I rip up tissues and chew them. Sometimes the wads of Kleenex are too big and I feel as though I might choke but I continue chewing till I’m gasping for air.

***

I love you, but I’m punishing you anyway, and punishing you because I love you.

***

Still chewing. My jaw hurts.

***

There are things you don’t know about me. Like this one. Did you know I compulsively chew tissues? Why do I do it? Is there a name for it, for this condition? Is there a label?

***

Sometimes I take the tissue out of my mouth and look at it, wet and shredded. Then I stick it back into my mouth and continue to grind. I should really get over my dislike of gum.

***

Recently, I dreamt a brown bear with claws was living on our porch. It stuck its claws through the door and into my back. I screamed but no one came. Finally, someone -- maybe you, Daddy, or maybe Jeremy -- chopped its claws off and the bear recoiled, but when I saw it later, it still had claws and was strolling contentedly.

***

The weather is getting warmer. The days longer. And when I sit in the sun, with a book and my red Ray Ban sunglasses, and think of all the other sunny days I’ve lived, I realize these days are exactly like those but nothing like those. Nothing at all.

***

I am meandering through an impressionist painting. The slogs to and from the 6 train, the slogs to and from class, the slogs to and from the Envoy office, to and from home, to and from the cancer clinic, all a blur without end, as though there are perpetual smudges on my contact lenses.

I only see the details from afar. Recall them when it’s too late to experience them.

***

I go through the motions. A single motion, really. The attempt to tell tall tales, and then believe the bullshit I spew.

***

I’m living in a memory and for a fantasy.

***

I’m all tangled up in dreams. Caught in a whirlwind of what ifs.

***

If I could, I'd make a deal with the devil.

***

You think I cannot lie, but I do it every day.

Every single day.

***

I get it from you

***

If only the devil had paypal.

I've been thinking a lot about money today. I've never been poor, but recently, I've been feeling greedy for more. And unapologetically so. I'm starting to feel like it doesn't matter if I'm changing the world or doing something I truly love. If I make a lot of money, I can splurge on whatever I want, treat my family to vacations, take private jets to places on a whim, get a personal trainer, a yacht, a chef, fancy dresses... Who gives a shit about the world. I might as well live it up. Where has being kind gotten me? Nowhere.

I look around, and people far crueler and more selfish than I am have it all. And I've been dealt THIS BULLSHIT. Well, fuck it. The world can kiss my ass. From now on, it's about me.

Mark my words. I'm going to make it. I'm going to be a fucking big shot somewhere, somehow. Someday, I'll get what I want. If fate won't help me, I'll make my own fate.