Moving right along.
I just cancelled my MySpace account. All these social network things do more to make me crazy than to keep me connected. Too much information about what my friends are doing at all times only serves to make me feel lonely and disconnected. Why wasn't I tagged in that note? Invited to that event? Who the hell is that pretty new friend of his? It hurts me instead of heping. I've been holding on to MySpace for too long. I don't what I'll let go of next.
However. I did have a blog over there, and while I had deleted most of it a while ago, there are some entries I want to keep. So I'm sticking them here for now, until I think of something better.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
You get what you need.
It's Thanksgiving, and I have an awful lot to be thankful for.
I am thankful that I live in a city with the best doctors in the world. I've never needed them before, but I'm thankful that they're here now. I'm having surgery next month to remove some stubborn pre-cancerous endocervical cells. They found them back in August and I've had 2 procedures already to remove them, but the little fuckers are holding on. My official diagnosis is adenocarcinoma in situ. The in situ part is really important, because it means I don't have cancer. The cells are on the surface layers of skin, so they can be removed. They haven't progressed into deeper tissue, or my blood, or my organs because it was caught in time. I don't need radiation, or chemotherapy. Just surgery, and even then I'll still be home that same day. I see the women in the waiting room who are bald, who get called in before me and have their entire families with them, bracing for bad news. That's not going to be me, and I am thankful.
I have amazing friends and family. I am overwhelmed by the love and concern they have extended to me. It's embarassing, really. They check up on me, volunteer to go with me to appointments, bring me wine and movies. They understand when I don't feel like talking about it, and when it's all I want to talk about. They let me be scared, and they pretend to believe my brave front. I am thankful.
Things could be a lot worse. It's terrifying enough as it is, but it's going to be okay. You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need. I've got more than I need. I am thankful.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
When there's wolves knocking at your door, and there's danger for sure...
Ode to a Record Store
I haven't worked at Tower for 9 years. But I remember my time there like it was yesterday.
The interview - "So, do you like music?"
"Hi, I'm Elaina. I don't sweep."
Classical Andy making me green tea and telling me about his girl problems.
Joe SatrianiDifranco
Ted dashing through the back room in spandex pants and a wig.
Pissing off Jeff O forever by telling him he looked like Gavin Rossdale.
Tony. He always wore fuzzy shirts.
Kevin K. Good Lord, was he hot. We were sitting in back one night, talking with some creepy guy who liked me. I was, as usual, defending Tori Amos, and was about to share something personal. Kevin knew what it was, and stopped me. I continue to be grateful for that.
Geoff. I miss him a lot. I have one of his poems on my bedroom wall.
Playing "Southern Harmony and Musical Companion" every morning, and driving Dennis nuts.
The drive home after Jim gave me the tape with the only song ever written for me on it.
Dance School Debbie. She'd tell me she "didn't need this job" at least three times a week.
"Ice blue eyes" and a "stupid little nose".
Bad math.
The word "Chit".
The L-Dogs. Flat out.
That dude who never wore a coat, ever.
The confrontation with Jim in the parking lot. "Are we going or not?" "Yeah, let's go."
The consequent 2 month cross country road trip. I miss the Tempo.
Late-night talks in the parking lot.
Geoff to me and Chris, early on, in the cage - "What are you two doing in there? Falling in love?"
Flirting over the copy machine.
Peter making me price videos my first day. I was so mad at him.
Jim showing up on my doorstep after getting sent home. I went in and read the boss the riot act. Seriously, who does that?? A ballsy, ballsy girl, that's who.
Peter slamming the door in my face while he consoled someone (Elaina? The Adversary?) I thought it was great that he was so protective of her.
"Would you like to come and smoke some marijuana with us, Rachel?"
That skirt I used to wear all the time with the flowers.
Sitting on the rocks by the marsh and being emo.
Feeling like a sell out for leaving for a store with better pay and better hours. It wasn't nearly as fun.
I'm so, so sad that the 191 is closing. I know the people who live there now will be okay. They're smart, and competent, and everything will be okay. I'm sadder for the kids who'll never get to work there. They'll never know what it's like to get screamed at for 15 straight minutes because you don't know what that one song was in that movie that was on tv last week, you know? And they'll also never know what it's like to have more responsibility than you deserve, and to not screw it up. While listening to something obnoxious really loudly at 1 AM.
I'll miss you, Tahwiz.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got
Valentine's Day.
Sigh.
Today I did my little tirade about how it's a corporation-created holiday and why should we have to mandate a holiday to tell people we love them and greed and laziness and blah blah blah. And I realized just how much it sounded like sour grapes. And it is, a little. It would be nice to have someone. Someone to share this exciting stuff with. Someone to snuggle with (I'm a big snuggler. I miss it.) Someone who knows me, can anticipate my needs, can surprise me.
But I also think life gives you what you're supposed to have when you're supposed to have it. I haven't been single, ever, really. It's been a continuous stream of boys with J names who thought they got it, but didn't. It's been my own insecurities pushing away the ones who did get it while I chased the ones who would never, ever, come close to deserving it. And this year or so of real singlehood (at least, being as single as one can be while still legally married, but that's beside the point) has brought a lot to light. About what I really want. What I really believe that I deserve. About how much importance I place on relationship status, and how much I've compromised myself to achieve that status in the past. I think I might not do that again.
So I trust that life will continue to bring to me the things that I need, and that eventually one of those things will be... well, love, I guess. Which is not to say that I'm short on love these days, either. Some amazing people are in my life, and I am lucky to get to love them and be loved by them. But it will be quite wonderful when the other kind of love shows up on its own, without me having to chase it down and beat it into submission, as has been my wont.
In the meantime I just want Spring to spring so I can go for a walk. Maybe get a tomato plant.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
got a full tank and some chips
Dear You,
It's your birthday today. I know, you wouldn't think I'd remember since we haven't seen each other in so long. 14 years, give or take. But I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I've been doing some stuff that has made me take a deeper look at what happened with us. What you did to me. What I allowed to happen. You raped me. I was 15, you were 20. I was chubby, wore glasses, knew nothing about boys. I wanted to keep you, so I didn't complain loud enough. Didn't fight you hard enough. Didn't tell my parents, or my friends, or myself, because I didn't want to make trouble. I didn't think anyone would believe me. So I swallowed it all. Didn't tell anyone for years, until the breakdowns made it impossible to hide. And I thought I was doing okay for a while. I wasn't afraid of running into you on the street anymore, didn't even think of you at all. But now all this stuff is coming up about trust, and I'm realizing that I don't trust anyone. No one. Because of you.
But continuing to do so after recognizing the problem is my own fault. I'm the one keeping the wound open. Using it as an excuse. Hiding from people because of something you did to me when I was a different person. And hopefully, you're different now too. I know you have a son. I pray you recognize the sins of your past and teach him a better way to be. I hope that you feel sorrow for what you did to me, and doubtlessly to other girls. I hope that you are working to fix your karma before it catches up to you.
I'm never going to be completely "over it". But I'm working on being okay with it. Admitting it publicly is a step in that. So today, I give to you the gift of letting go. Today, I will stop letting you hurt me. I have good friends, a good life, and a million reasons to be happy. I will now stop letting you shit on that.
Happy Birthday.
Sincerely,
Rachel
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Thunder! Lightning!
The way you love me is frightening! I better knock... on wood!
Ah, disco. Is there anything you *can't* do?
Anyway. There were crazy thunderstorms last night around midnight. I was pretty scared, which is unusual, because I love thunderstorms. Usually, they're a sign of relief from humidity. A harbinger of change. But last night they were... different. Hardly any rain. Spectacularly bright lightning, several strikes in a row, with disproportionately quiet thunder. And then, thunder loud and sudden enough to shake my bed. It was an angry, scary, sharp storm, unlike the soft, wet, "okay, move it along" storms I would watch with my father on the front porch when I was little. First sign of a storm, he'd grab his coffee and disappear outside to watch. I'd usually follow him, to make sure he was safe, and to watch the lightning and feel a little bit safer about it because I was with him.
In the mid-80's, I think, Hurricane Gloria swept through New England. I was around 10, and had never seen one before. I had visions of Wizard of Oz in my mind, and so was pretty scared leading up to it. We lost power; the wind was fierce. A state of emergency was declared. My great-grandmother lived a few blocks away by herself, and my dad went to check on her. Alone. On foot. I was convinced that he would be swept away and killed. He wasn't, of course, and everyone was fine. I thought my father was the bravest, and maybe dumbest, man in the world.
Since then, though, I think I've looked at the men in my life and tried to tell if they were the type of men to go out and brave the storm to protect those they love. So far, no one has been.
However. I did have a blog over there, and while I had deleted most of it a while ago, there are some entries I want to keep. So I'm sticking them here for now, until I think of something better.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
You get what you need.
It's Thanksgiving, and I have an awful lot to be thankful for.
I am thankful that I live in a city with the best doctors in the world. I've never needed them before, but I'm thankful that they're here now. I'm having surgery next month to remove some stubborn pre-cancerous endocervical cells. They found them back in August and I've had 2 procedures already to remove them, but the little fuckers are holding on. My official diagnosis is adenocarcinoma in situ. The in situ part is really important, because it means I don't have cancer. The cells are on the surface layers of skin, so they can be removed. They haven't progressed into deeper tissue, or my blood, or my organs because it was caught in time. I don't need radiation, or chemotherapy. Just surgery, and even then I'll still be home that same day. I see the women in the waiting room who are bald, who get called in before me and have their entire families with them, bracing for bad news. That's not going to be me, and I am thankful.
I have amazing friends and family. I am overwhelmed by the love and concern they have extended to me. It's embarassing, really. They check up on me, volunteer to go with me to appointments, bring me wine and movies. They understand when I don't feel like talking about it, and when it's all I want to talk about. They let me be scared, and they pretend to believe my brave front. I am thankful.
Things could be a lot worse. It's terrifying enough as it is, but it's going to be okay. You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need. I've got more than I need. I am thankful.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
When there's wolves knocking at your door, and there's danger for sure...
Ode to a Record Store
I haven't worked at Tower for 9 years. But I remember my time there like it was yesterday.
The interview - "So, do you like music?"
"Hi, I'm Elaina. I don't sweep."
Classical Andy making me green tea and telling me about his girl problems.
Joe SatrianiDifranco
Ted dashing through the back room in spandex pants and a wig.
Pissing off Jeff O forever by telling him he looked like Gavin Rossdale.
Tony. He always wore fuzzy shirts.
Kevin K. Good Lord, was he hot. We were sitting in back one night, talking with some creepy guy who liked me. I was, as usual, defending Tori Amos, and was about to share something personal. Kevin knew what it was, and stopped me. I continue to be grateful for that.
Geoff. I miss him a lot. I have one of his poems on my bedroom wall.
Playing "Southern Harmony and Musical Companion" every morning, and driving Dennis nuts.
The drive home after Jim gave me the tape with the only song ever written for me on it.
Dance School Debbie. She'd tell me she "didn't need this job" at least three times a week.
"Ice blue eyes" and a "stupid little nose".
Bad math.
The word "Chit".
The L-Dogs. Flat out.
That dude who never wore a coat, ever.
The confrontation with Jim in the parking lot. "Are we going or not?" "Yeah, let's go."
The consequent 2 month cross country road trip. I miss the Tempo.
Late-night talks in the parking lot.
Geoff to me and Chris, early on, in the cage - "What are you two doing in there? Falling in love?"
Flirting over the copy machine.
Peter making me price videos my first day. I was so mad at him.
Jim showing up on my doorstep after getting sent home. I went in and read the boss the riot act. Seriously, who does that?? A ballsy, ballsy girl, that's who.
Peter slamming the door in my face while he consoled someone (Elaina? The Adversary?) I thought it was great that he was so protective of her.
"Would you like to come and smoke some marijuana with us, Rachel?"
That skirt I used to wear all the time with the flowers.
Sitting on the rocks by the marsh and being emo.
Feeling like a sell out for leaving for a store with better pay and better hours. It wasn't nearly as fun.
I'm so, so sad that the 191 is closing. I know the people who live there now will be okay. They're smart, and competent, and everything will be okay. I'm sadder for the kids who'll never get to work there. They'll never know what it's like to get screamed at for 15 straight minutes because you don't know what that one song was in that movie that was on tv last week, you know? And they'll also never know what it's like to have more responsibility than you deserve, and to not screw it up. While listening to something obnoxious really loudly at 1 AM.
I'll miss you, Tahwiz.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got
Valentine's Day.
Sigh.
Today I did my little tirade about how it's a corporation-created holiday and why should we have to mandate a holiday to tell people we love them and greed and laziness and blah blah blah. And I realized just how much it sounded like sour grapes. And it is, a little. It would be nice to have someone. Someone to share this exciting stuff with. Someone to snuggle with (I'm a big snuggler. I miss it.) Someone who knows me, can anticipate my needs, can surprise me.
But I also think life gives you what you're supposed to have when you're supposed to have it. I haven't been single, ever, really. It's been a continuous stream of boys with J names who thought they got it, but didn't. It's been my own insecurities pushing away the ones who did get it while I chased the ones who would never, ever, come close to deserving it. And this year or so of real singlehood (at least, being as single as one can be while still legally married, but that's beside the point) has brought a lot to light. About what I really want. What I really believe that I deserve. About how much importance I place on relationship status, and how much I've compromised myself to achieve that status in the past. I think I might not do that again.
So I trust that life will continue to bring to me the things that I need, and that eventually one of those things will be... well, love, I guess. Which is not to say that I'm short on love these days, either. Some amazing people are in my life, and I am lucky to get to love them and be loved by them. But it will be quite wonderful when the other kind of love shows up on its own, without me having to chase it down and beat it into submission, as has been my wont.
In the meantime I just want Spring to spring so I can go for a walk. Maybe get a tomato plant.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
got a full tank and some chips
Dear You,
It's your birthday today. I know, you wouldn't think I'd remember since we haven't seen each other in so long. 14 years, give or take. But I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I've been doing some stuff that has made me take a deeper look at what happened with us. What you did to me. What I allowed to happen. You raped me. I was 15, you were 20. I was chubby, wore glasses, knew nothing about boys. I wanted to keep you, so I didn't complain loud enough. Didn't fight you hard enough. Didn't tell my parents, or my friends, or myself, because I didn't want to make trouble. I didn't think anyone would believe me. So I swallowed it all. Didn't tell anyone for years, until the breakdowns made it impossible to hide. And I thought I was doing okay for a while. I wasn't afraid of running into you on the street anymore, didn't even think of you at all. But now all this stuff is coming up about trust, and I'm realizing that I don't trust anyone. No one. Because of you.
But continuing to do so after recognizing the problem is my own fault. I'm the one keeping the wound open. Using it as an excuse. Hiding from people because of something you did to me when I was a different person. And hopefully, you're different now too. I know you have a son. I pray you recognize the sins of your past and teach him a better way to be. I hope that you feel sorrow for what you did to me, and doubtlessly to other girls. I hope that you are working to fix your karma before it catches up to you.
I'm never going to be completely "over it". But I'm working on being okay with it. Admitting it publicly is a step in that. So today, I give to you the gift of letting go. Today, I will stop letting you hurt me. I have good friends, a good life, and a million reasons to be happy. I will now stop letting you shit on that.
Happy Birthday.
Sincerely,
Rachel
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Thunder! Lightning!
The way you love me is frightening! I better knock... on wood!
Ah, disco. Is there anything you *can't* do?
Anyway. There were crazy thunderstorms last night around midnight. I was pretty scared, which is unusual, because I love thunderstorms. Usually, they're a sign of relief from humidity. A harbinger of change. But last night they were... different. Hardly any rain. Spectacularly bright lightning, several strikes in a row, with disproportionately quiet thunder. And then, thunder loud and sudden enough to shake my bed. It was an angry, scary, sharp storm, unlike the soft, wet, "okay, move it along" storms I would watch with my father on the front porch when I was little. First sign of a storm, he'd grab his coffee and disappear outside to watch. I'd usually follow him, to make sure he was safe, and to watch the lightning and feel a little bit safer about it because I was with him.
In the mid-80's, I think, Hurricane Gloria swept through New England. I was around 10, and had never seen one before. I had visions of Wizard of Oz in my mind, and so was pretty scared leading up to it. We lost power; the wind was fierce. A state of emergency was declared. My great-grandmother lived a few blocks away by herself, and my dad went to check on her. Alone. On foot. I was convinced that he would be swept away and killed. He wasn't, of course, and everyone was fine. I thought my father was the bravest, and maybe dumbest, man in the world.
Since then, though, I think I've looked at the men in my life and tried to tell if they were the type of men to go out and brave the storm to protect those they love. So far, no one has been.