Flooded With Feeelings of Writing

Butterflies are free to fly

2007-12-06T20:42:11Z

I got my slippers wet this morning. I should stop walking outside in them. Especially when its raining. I'm not one for common sense, eh?

I've been sleeping later and later. After my most recent fall down the stairs my body keeps aching in the worst places, and the impending doom of Misery (MO) is starting to get to my head. I really hope this is the last trip I make out there for a long time. Until I have other means of going out there, like buying that time share I've been thinking about recently. That'll have to wait for another ten years or so, however, until I get my writing off the ground.

All the stories are based in Kansas City, until the characters make a move westward, when they'll go somewhere north of here. No way could I see a vampire in silicon valley. Maybe a new one, but definitely not an old one. They would be overwhelmed by the stupidity and consumerism surrounding them. San Francisco has been done to death. I need to look north, hopefully there's something that way. No way in hell there's something south, in the land of plastic and agricultural work. North, north, north. Perhaps Portland, or Seattle. I don't know.

My cat is sleeping at my feet again. Ever since he was nearly attacked by a cat twice his size (a rare thing indeed, my cat weighs about fifteen pounds) he's been attached to my ankles. I can't shake him, except when I'm out on my walks. Sometimes he follows me part way, but never past some of the busier streets. I like it, but I have the feeling the cat will calm down soon enough and go back to his usual schedule of ignoring me until it suits him. I've been calling him "Your Majesty" recently, especially as he wants me to hold the door open for him when he needs it. In and out, in and out. It's not like I can rush him, he wouldn't have any of that.

Bleh. I'm just not in a good mood right now. The rain is beginning to get to me. I can't run as well as I've needed to or wanted to. Read something in my Prevention magazine this morning that I'm supposed to replace my athletic shoes every 200 hours of exercise. I looked at it and grunted a laugh. It took me two months before I'd saved enough for my shoes--do you think I'll replace them that quickly? These fuckers better last a year at least.

Everything I read and watch seems to think people are made of money, or credit. What dumbasses.

*sigh*

I'll be going now. Toodles.

-Della Drago-

Screams and blurs.

2007-12-04T06:05:12Z

I just had a conversation with my dad. I realized that I'm under a great deal of stress with the impending trip to Missouri. I do not look forward to seeing my mother, and I know I will have to. I really, really don't want to.

So I've found myself taking this time to give a great distraction to my mind. Earlier today when talking to the neighbor, she asked me about the love life. She said, "You're young and pretty, you must have a boyfriend." I explained to her my whole vow of not dating until after I publish a story or settle this raging "Who am I?" feeling that has come over me in the last year and a half. I have not dated anyone since the break-up with E. Except a re-bound guy. That lasted three days, and there was... literally... nothing to it. I realized after that disastrous emotional wreck that I'm just not in the right space to handle another human being, with all their complexities and mannerisms.

Anyway, I wanted to focus on the story.

But tonight I've allowed myself to break open the sealed box with all of E's things. The photograph, the tigers eye, the pedals of the dried roses he gave me for my eighteenth, the necklace with the little moon pendant and book locket with his photo in it. The little piece of burnt wood he found on the beach and gave to me so sweetly before running off to stand posed, wearing a vintage ghost busters T-shirt. All of these things had such strong memories attached to them that I could not help but be swept away in them. It helped me forget Missouri, and all the anxiety of these recent months.

I do not think I could ever get back together with E. I think that it was doomed to start. I also think that it has been, hands down, the best relationship I have ever been in. But I am young, and there are many years in front of me to fall in love all over again.

It's just frightening, loving someone so much. I'm scared of it now, when I have the story to think about. The story consumes me already, and love consumes just as swiftly, just as wholly as this world that I am half a part of. In many ways, I hate love.

Remembering love is nice. It feels good. It's safe in a way current love can never be safe.

Listening to Snow Patrol. All their songs remind me of E. Just the lead singers voice reminds me of him, even though their voices are not the same. After all, my dad has always said that E sounds like Elvis. We never heard the resemblance.

I am no longer the girl that E fell in love with, and he is no longer the boy that I fell in love with. When you are young and in love, you take such a gamble. You figure you will love the person forever, when the person does not even know who they are, when there is still so much growing to do between the two of you. I fear that I left him behind, that so much in the way of events affected me in ways that he knows only in theory. I am glad he only knows them in theory. I would never wish my events on anyone, including myself. They have allowed me to grow, however, and for that I am eternally thankful. For that, I am even glad that E and I are no more.

For my own growth. For the stories. It is for the stories that I now live... as damned cliche as that sounds... and it is for myself. The two are quite intertwined. My lovers are the lovers of my dreams, and the ones that I write in the pages for my characters pleasures. My drama, my love, my hate and my feelings are as closely intertwined with the stories as though we shared a heart.

I miss E. I miss feeling like I have someone, something, that is eternal. I realized again with him that there is no relying on someone else, that the only one in the world you can trust is yourself. To believe in others is a folly, is a fools game.

I do miss him. I miss waking up beside someone, warm and content. I miss the spontaneous sex. I miss the long times of silence that are interrupted perfectly by a phone call or a visit. Most of all I miss seeing him walk towards me, just watching him. Every time I saw him I would take in his physicality as though I knew it was the last time I would see him. I remember not being able to stop crying the last time I saw him in person. As though I knew, intuitively, that this would be the last time his hands would be on me.

What a romantic sod I am. What useless, teenage prattle this is. What crap.

I should go off and do this more in private, eh?

-Della Drago-

Our dreams are made up of real things

2007-12-04T03:33:56Z

I bought a recent Courtney Crumrin book at my comic book store, despite telling myself I would buy nothing 'cause the money is tight and all. Damn my impulsiveness. It's "The Fire Thief". Of course, as soon as I finished reading it all I wanted to do was pick up pencil and paper and sketch a bunch. I know I don't have the greatest talent, but there's something quite wonderfully simplistic about just letting yourself get into sketching and let all other thoughts leave the head. It's not as strong as the writing is with me, but it is pretty up there.

The author of Courtney Crumrin went to school with my mom and her latest husband. I find that factoid a little strange sometimes. I haven't told my sister even though she adores the work, because she'd likely get too excited, and I wouldn't want to tell her "I haven't even seen the dude..."

Anywho...

I fell down the stairs again today. That would be the forth time in three weeks. I think I hurt my butt-bone. Ha ha. I also hung out with the neighbor who has the huge rotweiler because I haven't been around a dog in too long. I love dogs. I hated sitting on the grass because my back was hurting so much, but I managed. My cat was also having a hay-day, rubbing up against the puppy (all dogs are puppies) and rolling on his back, batting playfully at her floppy ears. I love dogs, but my cats adores them. Wants to dominate them and be king of the dog kingdom. I've promised him a puppy when I get the financial schematics from publishing (If I ever do... cross your fingers).

Speaking of the writing, or thinking of it, I've figured out that I rushed the ending. I went from writing in that nice leather journal to writing on the computer. Something about the glare of computer light is far too artificial, a little too harsh on my eyes. Plus I type like a super-hero... if a super-hero's power was typing (blatant Angel reference). It does not allow me the time to step back (mentally) from my work, breathe, and figure out the last bit of the story. So after finals week I'll be sitting back down on the porch outside, lighting those numerous candles (hopeing the wind isn't up) and get back to the hand-writing as I should have done in the first place. I'm a bad person.

I know I've said (and thought) this so many times, and it's getting tedious, but I really think that I have something this time. I feel right about it. Not nervous or jittery or scared as I've always been before. I realize I made a mistake with the ending but I'm still not stressing about it. I know what needs to be done and I'll do whatever I have to in order to finish it.

Speaking of finals week.... I really need to get studying. I'm on here spewing because I've already talked my fathers ear off today. I think I'm just putting things off a little too much. I feel weird and off-center. My uncle has re-appeared from his time in "the cave" and he was hanging out here for about four days straight. After weeks of solitude, and so close to finals, all I wanted was some alone time, and yet there he was. Day after day, night after night. I told my dad about it and he likened to his own experience. He said, "Whenever someone is around me when I'm working, I'm immanently aware that I may be interrupted at any moment."

That is EXACTLY the problem I have. I don't even want to start on something, give my full attention to it, because I'm worried about 'playing host'. All I wanted was to scream at my uncle to go away. I didn't, of course, because I'm a nice person. But he should be working on the house boat and getting it ready to sell. If he calls me again tonight to come over, I'll have a problem. Have you ever just needed to recover from someone's stay over at your house? That's what I've been doing the last few hours. I read the Courtney Crumrin comic, I ate lunch, I had an hours draw and watched that show "Scrubs". I walked my cat, ran into the neighbor with the rotweiler, and managed to alleviate some of my general burden onto her. I've also polished and cleaned my kitchen to a bright shine, including the floors--something I've been avoiding for about three or four weeks. Now I'm finally settling down in my head and the worst thing would be to get off the phone here (dialup still, I'm such a dinosaur) and have someone call, wanting to talk or hang out.

Ah, and I've also popped open a bottle of Sierra Nevada. That's also helping.

....

I've also come to a conclusion with J. I know that she is mad at me for many reasons. I can understand some of them, but I will not take the blame for all of her life problems. I'm tired of being the fall guy--take responsibility for your own actions, you know? I've figured that even if I want her back in my life, it's going to be a slow process... I don't want to jump into anything. Most of all I want to push off this responsibility that she has given me for things that I had no say in. She says she went to parties, got very wasted and fucked up by people because I left for California. I want to ask her, "What was I supposed to do? Missouri... I'd still be flipping burgers." At least here I have my own place, and school, and now a novel that I hope to publish. I'm getting in on the ground floor of my fathers company, I'm beginning to make websites for my use, my employers use and my fathers use. Life is beginning to pan out after a long, downward spiral kind of journey. She was there the day I got kicked out, she saw what had happened, yet all she could think of was "you left". Of course I did. What did Missouri have that California does not have? And more.

OK... so I'll save that whole bit for later. I hate relationship issues. They're so bloody ridiculous, and they make you seem immature no matter what your age. I think it's the only situation that, in unison, people act like they are children.

So, that's all. Toodles,

-Della Drago-

Making sense of the senseless

2007-11-26T08:03:16Z

Well, I know I have been gone for a while, that there has been a silence here. A gap. A chasm. A hole. I have felt it much in my own life as is evident here on this digital... thing.

The most important part of what I did while I have been gone is up to the reader, I suppose. A few hours ago I wrote the last line on the last page of the recent version of Dark Wings (Under the Edge of Night). It is eighty-nine pages long and approxmiatley 83,500 words. It is the longest story I have ever written.

I have also bought my plane ticket to visit Missouri. I have put myself another $450 in debt to do that. I don't mind entirely, but I realize I should have bought the tickets sooner then I did, when they were only $200 for a round trip. That would be my folly.

But the story, ah...

Whenever I actually write I am enveloped in this web, this blanket of warmth and safety. Nothing can harm me, the real world seems fake, and I am living something that may not be real, but to me is worth everything in my life. I would go without so much simply for that feeling. It is addicting as any drug, it is as aggravating as life itself, and it is well worth every trouble I have ever gone through.

I found myself fingering the ring today. The ring that I almost gave J about two years ago and I told myself... you're being a stupid. A real stupid for thinking such a thing at your age, at her age. I found myself fingering it about half an hour after printing the story. I found myself wishing for her in a way that has haunted the edges of my mind throughout the last year. How my thoughts flit to her, flicker about like the candles of flames.

If I were given the choice.... many people have asked me and I will here answer it for all to know... if I were given the choice, I would choose this created world of mine over the real world. Why would I wish to live anywhere else? At least there I know where I stand, what my place in the scheme of things are, and who my real friends are. It is as strange and unpredictable but in a darkly glorious kind of way. I see that world in my dreams. I feel it brush against my skin under layers of clothes as the leaves turn their fall colors and drop to the ground. I feel it like a wave up my spine when the new growth springs from the death and darkness of winter to begin again.

My writing cycles are well tuned to the flow of nature. Fall and Spring. It gives me a well enough break in between, and enough time to think and be in this world as I should be. To experience, live, grow and be able to put those things within my stories.

In this moment, in these moments that have come in the last few hours, I have felt that sinking... depression. Wondering if I will ever truly be good enough to find a place on the bookshelves. Wondering if I will spend my entire life wanting something I can never have.

I have two papers to write, important papers, for both of my classes. One is due in approximatley forty hours, and another due in six days. I have not typed a word, or written a word, for either of them. I have formed half-thoughts in my head, but committed nothing to paper, all because the story demanded my attention. The damned story.

And I love the story. Love it despite the fact that it tears me away from these things that I sometimes wished I never had. My father and my sister are my anchors to this world. Without them, perhaps I would simply wander, perhaps I would try and find a wilderness, and just sit and think and waste away a little. Perhaps then I would find the art, the true art, as I was always meant to carry it.

Yet these real-world needs distract me. "Hello, I'm Della from Smog Supply. I'm calling to see if you need anything for your smog machines today". That is distracting. It takes hours out of my day for merely the purpose of putting food on the table when my body and my soul craves more then simple calories. I want to live, and breath, and eat and feel these stories, every day of my life. Not just this Fall and Spring shift, but always, eternally.

In these times, I sometimes wish I had had the courage to slit my own wrists and fade into death. I no longer feel that need in any incling, but sometimes I feel so... I feel like tearing my hair out. Wondering why everyone and everything seems to be working against me all the time.

And yet, if it is for the sake of the stories, I would not wish a better life. I would simply wish that the stories be satisfied on their way through me, and that I continue to spin the tale and weave the tapestry as I always have. I miss this feeling already. It has fled, it is gone. The stories have deserted me once more and I feel...

I feel empty.

-Della Drago-

Call me pathetic, call me what you will...

2007-11-07T21:12:45Z

Well, I've spent the last few days rather interestingly.

On Friday I managed to get done with my chores earlier then expected. Given that I was out of the house by eight thirty in the morning, I came home sometime around six thirty. I love that the sun is setting earlier now, because I got to walk home in the dark instead of when the sun is all crazily in your eyes. I hate that time of day.

Anywho, I only picked up my check, cashed it, went to my counselors appointment and then went grocery shopping. If I had a car this would have all taken three hours, three and a half tops. As it was, it was ten. Sigh. Love and hate the bus system, really.

Well, the next day (Saturday) was my History class. I decided not to go, extremely unlike me since I ADORE my History teacher (not in any sexual way, I just think he's a kickass professor) and the material we're working on works into my story. But I was TIRED from Friday and I just wanted to stay asleep, not wake up at five in the damn morning to catch the bloody buses. So I slept in until nine o' clock--actually when my class starts, ha ha--and then woke up, made myself a breakfast of egg and toast and banana, then went outside on the porch to enjoy it.

Then this idea struck me...

The porch is a pretty private area. It's all fenced in, so that the neighbors can't peak in. Most of the condos they can, but since I'm on a corner near a non-traffic area, my little slats do not provide for peeping toms. Yippy. So I brought the leather journal I'm writing my story in, and set to work.

Now, normally I write only three to five pages a day.

So wanna hear the grand total?

Saturday and Sunday combined, I wrote more then 57 pages in my story.

HOLY SHIT!

The only downside to this (there's a downside?) is that I'm now really deeply involved in my world. I get so damned reckless during these times. I shirked my work duties on Monday morning and again this morning to get more work done. My page count has gone over the eighty-five now. I'm almost half-way through the story, the total page count being something around 167 or so... I can't remember.

Now these are hand-written pages, but I have small handwriting, so for the sake of consistency I will say the 167 total pages amounts to about fifty or fifty-five typed up, ten point times new roman. I don't want to say any more, but I'm crossing my fingers.

Very good stuff. Trying not to think about it too much, because the more you think of the actual story the worse it gets. I'm also being extremely closed-lipped about the content. Don't want to spoil the writing mood, you know. Won't even write about the goings-on here, because SOMEONE, somewhere may read it. That would be a taboo.

The only bad thing about all this writing... again... is that I've TEMPORARILY picked up my smoking habit again. There is something ridiculously soothing about writing a few pages and then sitting back and enjoying a cigarette, watching the smoke pour out of you and float about. My cat hates it. But in the candlelight (I write by candles when it gets dark, nine of them) it looks particularly beautiful.

Another bad thing is it's getting colder. Not nearly as cold as it would be in THE LAND OF HELL (aka, Missouri) but my fingers will sometimes seize up, especially at night. I'll hold them over the flames at that point to try and coax some heat into them. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.

I also sprained my ankle last night. I fell down the stairs. You should have seen the position I was in. It would have been comical if I were not so freaked out. My ankle has been throbbing all day, but I don't mind. I just keep it elevated. This is the second time since I've been in California that I've sprained the same damned ankle. I've never sprained an ankle before moving out here--NEVER!

Oh, well. This place is worth it.

Toodles...

-Della Drago-

Turn off the lights and try to be quiet my dear

2007-10-23T01:21:16Z

I re-did my Annie portrait. Tried to make it more art-deco, more... graphic art. I had another name but now I cannot remember it, and it described it so much better. Anywho, it now looks like this:

Facial skin tone looks a little darker in person. Blame thecamera's flash.

That... she... is my baby. When I originally started writing my vampire stories, I placed myself or characters almost exactly like me as the main human character. Annie was born in early 2005. She embodies everything I admire about a woman. She has some of my personal habits, ways of expressing herself, ways she feels, but she also contains what I admire in the women I see around me. Part biographies of late 30's to early 60's screen starlets, part my friends, grandmother, mother...

Annie is tragically flawed but gloriously beautiful. She is everything human about a woman, especially a young woman.

And, yes, if I saw her... I'd shag her.

....

So I came to post an entry so that I can digest after eating a too-large serving of ginger snaps and a small glass of milk... right after my lunch of spaghetti and red sauce with mushrooms. I'm a bad person. I've been scrubbing the walls of the condo with Spic n' Span to get rid of all that nicotine stains left over from Uncle Dave's mother. Scrubbing the cabinets, walls... ceiling. Nasty stuff. Reinforces my good feelings on quitting that nasty habit. Well, California is a great place to quit smoking, ya' know.  All the residents go kind of "grr" whenever you light up around them. Unless its a joint, then some of them just... sidle away.

Quite that one too. Found out I'm allergic to THC. Who knew.

This is Midterms week and I've got to get my studying done for Anthropology, which is tomorrow. I'm way behind because I lost my bus pass in the bottom of my kitchen trash last week. Of course, I did not know it was in the bottom of the kitchen trash when I lost it. I found it on Wednesday morning (much to my relief). So I did not go to Anthro last week, which I'm freaked about, because we were going to review what was going to be on the midterm. Still my teacher e-mailed me and let me know the basics. I'm most of the way through the last chapter I have to read and am about to type up a study guide.

I've been walking four to five miles a night these days. My legs always burn by the end of the walk. I'm trying to slim down some more before my trip out to Missouri... that is, if I can ever save the damned money.  I'm horrible with money. Truly horrible.

Here's an update: My uncle has crawled into his "cave" and refused to come out again. No contact with anyone... including me... and the only sign that he is still alive being that his sister called his work and confirmed that he is indeed alive and well. We (his sister, my dad and I) suspect that he's in a state of deep depression over recent divorce AND recent break-up with new fling Marina. Poor Uncle D. He gets way over his head in things. That being said, I will be yelling at him come the next time I talk to him. See, if anything ever goes wrong around here... like, for instance, me loosing my bus pass and stuck without transport... he was the first person I would call. And I did. Left many messages. Told him "I LOST MY BUS PASS! please come get me..." Hours before class and all, hoping to still make it. I should have walked, but I was holding out for him. Anyway, no answer back.

He's supposed to be my contact in time of crises and he's effed up. He has been moved to the bottom of the list. Plus his damn procrastination on the house boat is starting to irk me really, really bad. I have ten people--TEN!--that wish to see the houseboat, potentially buy it, but he won't get the paperwork in order, or finish cleaning out. The damned slacker. I'm twenty-five years younger then him and I'm much better at putting my priorities in order.

Says the girl that's typing on her BLOG when she should be studying...

*le sigh*... if you live in a glass house, etc.

Ugh. I feel ill. Too many ginger snaps. I keep belching nice hot belches. Not good feeling, at all. Must walk off later.

I've put several restrictions of myself recently.

One: No more then two hours of television a day. Frasier, That 70's Show, Family Guy or King of the Hill, but not all three (each show runs twice, for a total of one hour each). It is cutting way too much into study time. And if there's nothing left to study, then I should be reading.

Two: No eating food after nine o' clock. That's the worst time for me because I have the nighttime munchies. Very bad for trying to loose weight since what you eat right before bed is what sits on your tummy... which is my major issue. Damned stomach. Much flatter then ever before but... growl!

Three: Write at least two to five pages in story a day. I want to finish by Thanksgiving break so that I can type it up onto my computer, which will the the filling-out of the story into actual novelly form. Not that it is not already--it's going swimingly--just that it'll be much better when I type it up. I want to give it to some people just to skim over while I'm in Missouri if I can. So I must finish it! It's already been a month!

That's all...

I've finally found out where they hide all the books at my thrift store. Back in the mens section... crafty little fuckers. I have been expanding my collection again. Am currently reading "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" and "The Five Ways of Thinking", some book on classifying perception and how to communicate with other perceptions and yatta yatta yatta...

DSYYS is the one that I'm consuming with a greedy passion. I also bought "Guilty Pleasures" by LKH and "Nightseer" by LKH. I squeed when I found them both. Nightseer is Laurell's first book, one I have not read. I skimmed the first page and thought haughtily, "I write better then this". Prove it, DD, prove it... <--my rational side talking.

I broke off a corner of my big toe-nail on my left foot today, a nice little chunk that bled for several minutes. I was cleaning the upstairs of all my clutter (I'm on a cleaning streak today) and had to remove the large T.V. that I found downstairs and tried to replace my 12" screen with. Found out the large T.V. had its screen busted a while back, after I lugged the large thing upstairs. Wouldn't even play DVD's. Damn thing. I've had it sitting in the corner of my room as a makeshift table for about three weeks, and finally decided I'd bring the combination circle table/lamp from the downstairs upstairs into the spot the that T.V. occupies. My room is now mostly filled with stuff, all furniture I would have scoffed at years ago. A card table for my television (and where I drop my dishes, mail and keys often enough), a little envelope sorting tower for my schoolbooks, a plastic wicker bookshelf (two shelves) for my journals, DVD's lamp and alarm clock. Spindly easel in the corner with one of those T.V. dinner tables that people set by their couch for my paintbrushes, paint and pallet. Futon bed.

It's all very trailer-chique.  Or... poor college student / starving bohemian.

Not nearly as starving as I used to be! =-)

I've been writing and it's all very nice. The writing is what inspired these new nightly 4-5 mile walks. I like to walk and get my body nice and tired, my mind worked up and energized, before I get to work on the story. I don't get as much darkness in these parts as I did back in MO, but there's still plenty enough to ruffle the back of my neck and make me stroke my ankh with the same brooding look as old men stroking graying beards. I always think on the story a little while I'm walking--at a fast pace generally--but most of the time I think on those things that I try to banish from my mind while I'm actually writing. Think about my mother, about J, about E, about my father, my uncle, my sister, finances, recipes, cleaning and organizing. Think on my life and the general shittiness of it. Think on my blessings. Pray to my mother goddess and all the gifts she has bestowed upon me. Look up to the moon and get that nice tingling feeling up my spine and down my arms and legs. To feel distant and apart from humanity, but so close to the evolution of man and their ideas, dreams, desires.

I brood, and I brood well.

When I look into the mirror these days, I see the person I always wanted to become. I see loneliness, yes, but I also see a great well of strength and courage, of passion and desire, of dreams and destiny. Of hope. Of love. Of many things that are like a darkened rainbow in my eyes. I see that 'California girl'--as I always secretly thought--finally emerging. Physically, mentally. I see it in my eyes and how I gaze through my eyes. The clockwork of my brain. What a wonderful thing.

So many years I lived a farce. I pretended to be someone I was not in hopes of becoming perfect in others eyes. I kept my own desires to myself. I hid them away in little boxes which became large trunks and files in the back of my mind. But then I realized, quite slowly (because in my heart of hearts I do not think of myself as that clever) at first, that no matter how much I tried to be perfect for someone else, I never would be. I, myself, would always creep through somehow and destroy the image. Then I found out that I really didn't care. That it was more important to be DD then to be someone else's version of DD. So I changed. Worked from my inside and into my outside. Along the way my relationship with many people deteriorated, but I was honestly unconcerned. I thought, "Let them know me when I am actually born into this world. Let them know me then and love me if they will, until then I do not care." So I destroyed things along the way, yes, but now I am who I've always wanted to be--always been--and realize that even if I'm alone, at least I'm true to myself above all things.

At least I no longer live a lie.

Sometimes I wish that the abuse my mother had given me left more then just the one physical scar. The abuse she gave me ran deeper then that. People don't realize the absolute psychological power a mother has over her daughter, not really, but I do. There was enough hatred and malice in her words to scar my mind, and it did. Nothing I can physically show to the world, but there nonetheless. I've managed to work over a lot of it, but things creep unbidden still into the forefront of my mind. It is unfair.

...

All my love,

-Della Drago-

P.S. - New Avatar is a paint-fiddled picture of meself. It was a fluke picture from my camera where my face came out ridiculously bright compared to usual. I just inverted the color and blacked out the background because I'm lazy. Booyah.

New painting

2007-10-16T02:10:34Z

Here we go, my newest painting, step by bloody step. Still may not be "finished". Like I said, the face has been my biggest problem, and thereby I may just wipe over it again to re-do the bloody thing. I made a lot of mistakes, so I had to re-do many things. Remember, I'm an amateur, not a professional.

I used a model for the dress and posturing from a magazine, so this is not all original. Still, the posture of the model picture captured the essence of my main character, Annie, who this portrait, erm, is...

So... step 1. Base coat, body and dress:

Step 2: Base coat, hair and rest of arm:

Step 3: Edit slope to shoulder

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+003.jpg" />

Step 4: Second coat to base coats, including primary color for dress and undercoat for hair. Paled skin tone.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+004.jpg" />

Step 5: Create base for later shading.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+005.jpg" />

Step 6: Second shading for dress, more base shading for skin tone. Third tone for hair.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+006.jpg" />

Step 7: Third color for dress, blacken hair (in person the color shifts between black and red, but it didn't capture right on camera).

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+007.jpg" />

Step 8: Darken skin tone on base coat to better blend with skin tone.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+008.jpg" />

Step 9: Add bead detail to dress and base detail to face.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+009.jpg" />

Step 10: Add increasing detail to face, add base necklace. Darken lines of arm with shading underneath.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+010.jpg" />

Step 11: Add contrast lines to face and color to necklace.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+011.jpg" />

Step 12: Add texture lines to fabric of dress and more color to the necklace.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/painting+012.jpg" />

Step 13: Decide I don't like the face, blot it out, add background color and more definition lines to arm and shoulders.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+001.jpg" />

Step 14: Add second coat to background.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+002.jpg" />

Step 15: Add highlights to hair and more definition to shoulder and collar bone area.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+003.jpg" />

Step 16: Try out second face, darken color on necklace.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+004.jpg" />

Step 17: Blot out face, add whiteness to necklace.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+005.jpg" />

Step 18: Add more texture lines to fabric of dress and shawl along with detail along the edge of the dress and hair.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+006.jpg" />

Step 19: Add darker shading to areas in the face, shoulder and chest.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+007.jpg" />

Step 20: Begin base face.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+008.jpg" />

Step 21: Finish face, bring hair to cover right eye and add redder highlights to hair.

<"http://ourworld.cs.com/CrimsonSympathy/PaintingsandDrawings/picture+009.jpg" />

There you go. That's all.

I may blot out that face or at least the overhanging hair and begin over again, so keep an eye out for updates.

Again, this is Annie Morgan from my stories, my main character. This would, of course, be when she would attend one of Ferric or another vampire's dance, or ball. All gussied up to go out on the arm of Antonio. What fun.

That's all, talk to you later,

-Della Drago-

The Atlantic was born today.

2007-10-15T21:05:16Z

Well, I've come to something of a conclusion on two separate subjects.

1. I'm going to drop my Spanish class. I simply do not understand the grammatical structure this teacher is trying to teach us. I've decided I will study out of the book at my own pace and perhaps continue to use software, possibly investing the several hundred dollars (IT'S WORTH IT!) to get the Rosetta Stone software for myself. Everyone has to be bad at something--I'm horrid at grammar. Simply do not get it, as much as it is explained. It's all Greek to me.

2. J. I spoke to Matthew late last night and asked him an open-ended question, "You were there with me that last night I was in B, right?" "Yes" "Did I call J?" "Yup." "Did I leave her a message with my number?" "Yup." "Thanks Matthew, that clears up my head a bit". See, my subconscious tries to play tricks on me sometimes, tries to make me seem like the better person. I think it's a defense mechanism. Anyway... I was wary on believing that I HAD left her a message. I felt like I had, but was not 100% sure. Now I am. I know I did. So I've come to the conclusion that; I AM sorry about the way that I treated J. She was honest with me about her parents, but I was not honest about mine. I broke up with her under false pretenses, which hurt her very badly. I never appreciated her fully while I had her. I feel very bad about that. Extremely bad about that.

But I won't feel bad about something that I did do, or did not do. I did call her to let her know that I was leaving. I did give her a contact number. I called her numerous times before that. I tried to make contact but she never contacted me back, so I presumed she was upset with me in some way--I gave her her space. No, I never e-mailed her, but I had no computer up until about four months ago, loosing all my old e-mail addresses in the process (even had to ask Matt what his was again, and his is the easiest to remember).

It's very easy to bring about the blame to someone else when you're surrounded by highly agreeable people. In short; I feel that J was able to blame me so easily because friends and loved ones around her would have wanted her to.

I know that I am not responsible, however, and that frees my mind of any guilt. This could have been avoided if she had been taking more steps to insure her own safety and protection, which was and is none of my concern. This is something that J could have easily avoided by being J. She's always been a strong person, but her very large weakness is her inability to own up to the consequences of her own actions. She would feel so damned ashamed that all those horrible things happened to her because she let them happened, that there was no other reason then herself, so she assigned the blame to me. Easy scapegoat.

This is OK. Like I've mentioned--she did this before. Other people have done this to me before. I'm used to it, and I've come to a... "enlightened" perspective in which I actually feel sorry for the people that do this, for they are inhibiting themselves more then me.

....

OK, so onto bigger and brighter things. My father and I had a prolonged discussion over the phone today on what we belief life is after death. We came up with this combined theory that perhaps, since there are billions of universes and therefore, theoretically, billions of life forms that when one is dying, their subconscious is transfered into the life of another individual of a species. This would explain what both my father and I consider the "random thoughts/consciousness pieces" that are in our head at any given time. For example; the inate ability of my stories to simply pop into my head without rhyme or reason.

FYI--he's the stoner. I'm not. Well, I was, but not any more.

This conversation started because I was gathering information from him on the private language he, V and I use when we are amongst one another. It's for my Anthropology class, a ongoing paper on a designated culture group. I chose my father, my uncle, my sister and myself. Even though the group is supposed to be one that meets two to three days in the week, all together, that... well, never happens in my life. The teacher allowed me the exception to the rule, so long as the papers followed concise points. Thank goodness for understanding persons.

Saturday bought all that wonderful new stuff...

My painting is entering its third day of work. Quite a bit more challenging then I originally thought. I will be posting the pictures of the many steps this painting has gone through. It really is a quite marvelous little thing. I have to mix my own flesh color, which has been the hardest bit so far. The face, though, is the part that is challenging me the most.

I started working on a yoga routine recently to tone my upper body as much as my lower has been. I walk a whole shit-ton, but my upper body doesn't get too much work. Yoga seems to be the best thing for me because it incorporates long postures and good breathing techniques. Very interesting stuff.

So I'm a size 8 pant, but my top is still in the L. Mostly because of my breasts, I feel. As much as I want them to shrink... they haven't. Blasted things. Double D's still. Still, I've found out my hips are ridiculously wide and my waist quite small with, again, wide ribs. I've got an hourglass, but one like I only see in movies from the fifties and sixties. Or Mr. Lobo's dancing ladies...

Mmm...

Wide shoulders, too. Damn it. As I shrink I keep thinking, "German milk maid." It's like I can see my lady ancestors hefting a cow over a river so their hooves don't get wet or something. I'm built large. Fuck.

Around here there are a bunch of these tiny, willowy Asian-Americans. Nothing makes you feel like an enormous cow then a small, petite little Asian girl. Fuckers.

God bless 'em, though, they are extremely hot.

My waist has shrunk by another inch and a half in the last month
My hips by an inch
My bust by half an inch (DAMN YOU!)

Will not give measurements. Still jealous of Playboy centerfolds.

Lovely, lovely lady... goodness, Tiffany Fallon is something else. If you have not seen that gorgeous, gorgeous thing, you must Google her right away. Such a pretty lady. I want to paint her naked... or clothed, I think that would be more original. Damn if she isn't the little bombshell package.

OK, off topic, apologize.

Bought a four-pack of Lo-Carb Monster energy drink. Just drank one. Friggen hyper. Need to calm down, go on a walk or something. I have not been out of the house in about thirty-six hours. I do that too much, hole myself up and all. My eyes are getting accustomed to the dark.

Writing, writing, writing, writing... god do I love writing. Methinks when I have the money from publishing I will stay in an apartment in Kansas City for a few months to write the second book. Simply because three months of rent out there is as much as one month out here. Would be nice to get a feel for the place, some good inspiration. Would love to go during the Spring/Summer time. Would love to smell the way that place smells come nighttime, open all the windows to it, and just pound away at the keyboard.

Mmm, what a wonderful idea.

I don't know, I figure I'll move around a lot in my life. I get bored and want to move on. California is still holding a grand luster for me, but I've craved it for so long that I do not feel the charm will wear off for a while. Give it time. It will, eventually. Just not right away.

Kansas City still holds a great deal of charm.

Hm, must get to writing again. Toodles.

-Della Drago-

Sitting all alone inside your head...

2007-10-14T06:34:36Z

Grunt.

I've had a hellishly busy day. I love hellishly busy days, they beat the fuck out of days where nothing is going on or there's nothing worth doing.

For one thing, I must come out of the closet... I AM HORRIBLE AT FINANCES. Yup, that's right. I don't know how to hold onto my money. I'm reading some books, going to some meetings, maybe it'll help... it's just that... money, you know? It's just... there. Shiny. Wants to be spent. I know it.

*sigh*. I bought an easel. And paints. And canvas. And two movies.

I'm a bad, bad person.

"The Lost Boys" and "Moulin Rouge", two movies that I've been meaning to add to my collection but have neglected to for a long time. I was at Wal-Mart today (yes, I know, evil mega-corporation, but I'm a poor person) and both the movies were in the "2 for $15" bin. Damn you, Wal-Mart.

Damn you to hell.

Anyway, my day started out around six thirty in the morning, when I hit the snooze button. Went back to sleep for seventeen minutes, then woke again to hobble downstairs, give Chrissy her canned food, grab my battery-powered radio and head back upstairs to take a shower. I wanted music to wake up to and I figured that the shower would also help in that aspect. Then I started singing along to a song that I've had stuck in my head ALL FRIGGEN DAY... "Cause I'm looking at you through the glass/don't know how much time has passed/buy you know it feels like forever/and no one understands..." blah, blah, blah. Nearly emo. Nearly. Kinda there. A little bit.

I get outta the shower, slather in the hair goop and dress in my favorite little gothy outfit, which makes me look like Kiki's Delivery Service chick. I don't make breakfast, I'm intent on buying donuts at the 7-11 when I step outside and...

WHAM--smack straight into a wall of fog. Holy crap, it was gorgeous. Walking around seven thirty in the morning through fog. I had my headphones slung around my neck and pumped up to full volume, listening to Chumbawamba, just grinning my fool head off. Last time there was fog I slept through it. Though generally there IS fog, the sun blasts it away come mid day, which was when I used to commonly wake up. Now I'm a morning bird--damn it--but this was just lovely. Kept on doing this parody song I made up along the way, something about what a horrid place for weather Missouri is and how glad I am that this is winter weather.

Anywho...

Go to 7-11, buy donuts and Monster Lo-Carb energy drink, head to bus stop, wait for bus (not very long, gods bless 'em), then get off at several stops up, get off, wait at another bus stop for my next bus (much slower then first) which takes me to the college and BOOM, in the classroom. Class lasts from nine to noon, then we're off. Generally I hang around for another hour until the Spanish lab opens up so I can get credit, but I had stuff today so I headed "straight home".

Sigh...

This is where I get a little grumbly. I have a serious love-hate relationship with the bus system. I was loving it this morning and early evening, but during the afternoon it was nothing but, "grumble, grumble, fucking bus, grumble grumble, fucking bus riders, fuck you all".

I ONLY HAD TWO PLACES TO GO!

Yet, leaving the college at noon (thirty--when the bus came), It was seven fifteen by the time I was done with all my errands. SIX HOURS AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES TO GO TWO PLACES!!!

If one has a car, which many of course do, they can accomplish a run to Wal-Mart and the grocery store in an hour, two tops. On the bus, when you factor in the frequent stops, the mile I walk to get home (and I went home twice during this excursion, so at least six miles today) and the wait between buses... it's a bloody nightmare.

Goodness am I lucky to be living close to the 22. At least that is a frequent one. Not at night, of course, but during the day.

Anyway, got food, entertainment, paints and canvas and easel. Lord, am I happy for the painting. I'd forgotten how wonderful it feels to have a brush in your hand. It's been since I did the Sandman series back in the friggen day that I picked up a paintbrush--as much as I've wanted to I simply could not.

It's funny. Reclaimed most of my possessions from my father a few days ago. Most of the ones that have come from Missouri were things J had given me. Notes, the paint brushes, the Monet cards...

Hm... I am still stuck between a rock and a hard place in my head. I'm fucking pissed, then I'm calm, then I'm pissed again. No hate, just angry.

Still, writing helps. Been writing a lot. Oh its lovely.

I'm also taking pictures of the painting in progress, to show the steps I go through now. Will be an interesting thing to see. This is an experimental way of doing things, unlike the way I have in the past. Watching "Girl With A Pearl Earring" is such an inspiration to paint.

Need to get "Quills". That was a good writing flick, though there was a god-awful amount of sex in it.

Reading again. Need to buy Sinclair's "The Jungle". My history teacher keeps recommending books and movies, and I keep hounding him after class for more recommendations. Found out that he teaches another history class, so I'm hoping to take him next semester too. He's a friggen awesome guy. Never had a teacher so passionate about history before. Very nice. Got me into Clint Eastwood again. Anyone that can do that makes an "A" grade in my book.

Also collecting comic books again. Reading the series "Preacher", which is some funky stuff. Cat in a toilet... popped into my head during class today and I couldn't help a burst of giggles.

Lordy, this is really a blessed time in my life, despite some emotional upheavals. I'm finally getting to where I've always wanted to be. It's like a bloody damned miracle. Oh, lord, I love life in all of its complexities and pain and wonderful feelings...

...yeah, I got a new toy too...

=)

Toodles,

-Della Drago-

P.S.--despite the fact that I woke up ass-early this morning, I'm making a point to stay up until 3 am. Why? Because Mr. Lobo is on Cinema Insomnia tonight, and I have not seen him in ages. Shout out--MR. LOBO YOU ROCK!!!

La de da...

2007-10-11T19:15:17Z

Having trouble waking up this morning. Three things contribute, I think.

One; my normal cycle seems to be—sleep 4-6 hours a night for two weeks straight, then recover by sleeping 8-10 hours a night for 5 days to a week.

Two; emotional duress. Behind in Spanish class, which is due mostly in part to my lack of understanding the grammatical structure of English, nonetheless Spanish. Then there’s this new J thing, which infiltrates my thoughts at the most inconsiderate of moments… like right before going to sleep.

Three; my bed sucks, and my cat hogs my favorite pillow. I have one of those curvy pillows that is supposed to help support the neck and shoulders, something I need because of my big kahunas. Maxwell seems to think it fits perfectly his big fat cat body… which it does. He is so cute I don’t want to move him. Then the photon mattress I use is about thirty years old and so I feel mostly the wooden slats under my body instead of… well, mattress stuff, I suppose.

This morning I had my alarm set for 7:43 so I could get up, dress, shower and eat before getting to work at nine o’ clock. Not that I really needed to get to work at nine o’ clock, and so my mind… big fat betraying thing that it is… said to me in my impressionable sleepy state "let’s set the alarm for 8:30… you can sleep in… it will be nice…" Of course, one cannot argue with oneself when one is so damned tired from tossing and turning and DREAMING all night long.

Really need to invest in a better mattress for my photon. The frame is just fine, the mattress sucks ass. Not going to bitch too much because I got it for free. Still want a new mattress.

So I actually ended up sleeping in until 8:50 until finally dragging my ass out of bed and going downstairs to fix breakfast and Chrissies food (Chrissie is my "new" cat [she’s 10] from my Uncle Dave… fears of turning into a crazy cat lady are becoming increasingly prevalent). Scrambled eggs and sourdough toast with some Irish breakfast tea with honey. Love my tea mug, it is awesome. About to brew another cup because I’m still ridiculously tired. Irish breakfast tea is the strongest I could find… thank goodness for Trader Joe’s, man, they let me have my tea for cheap so I don’t rip someone’s throat out.

Mmm… tea.

Took a shower, still shocked by the shortness of my hair. Was to shoulder blades, now barely passed my ears. Jeeszus, it feels strange. Love how versatile this hair style really is, now that I’ve kind of blundered my way through hair products. And makeup. My god, I’m starting to put on makeup now. What kind of crazy world is this?

My grandmother send me about ten pounds worth of makeup and I feel bad if it just sits there. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. The only makeup I have bought is my black lipstick, nail polish and eye shadow. So there.

Thinking about J again. Damn it. In a different context than usual which is to say, not fantasizing nearly as much as I was. I talked to Bunny at the bus stop, the only bisexual anyone I know in person, she and I swapped stories of past loves and losses. That was nice.

Again, I’m amazed that the more you think about a certain time in a different context, the more you tend to remember. I have an automatic safety function in my head of blocking out the events of any traumatic time in my life. Most of the time this works to my advantage, because living day to day with those events can lead to DD going absolutely bonkers. As evidence by my fourteenth year of life (anyone that knew me then can attest to my craziness). When I got kicked out it was a hellish time in my life, but now I’m remembering all the things that I was doing around the entire J thing. How many times I called.

I know cell phones, they give you a list of missed calls.

I don’t know. This is not the first time in my life people have said, "You haven’t called" when I have called, or, "you haven’t contacted me" when I did. Not that it should all be one-sided—people in ANY kind of relationship must share the load fifty-fifty. One person cannot make all the moves all the time, or it is like masturbation. You know? Ridiculous.

But what has been affecting me the most in the last 36 hours would have to be the "I hated you for such a long time" line that she gave me. What absolute bollocks. No matter how much someone has screwed me over in a relationship, no matter how much I loved them or how much they hurt me, I have never hated. Been annoyed with, yes. Never wanted to see again, yes. Hated? No. Do you know why? Because hate hurts the hater more than the hate-ee, if that makes any sense. Hate twists a persons insides and their outsides, contorts their perception to a narrow field and makes them act as though they were possessed. What a horrid, evil thing hate is.

I hate people, yes, but with damned good reason, and none of them have I dated. The reason behind this is because I know pain, in a big way, and I know that real pain is not in a relationship. Real betrayal is not from a relationship. Yes, there is pain. Yes, there is betrayal, but it is a poor shadow of what is really out in the world.

I have stared into the face of true evil. I have lived in the house of true evil. I have seen it, lived it, breathed it, and I know it as a fact and almost as a friend. That knowledge has helped me survive the streets, helped me survive my complete isolation from humanity and from my family, my friends, my loved ones.

She said she hated me, that she wished all kinds of ill on me, as though she was the most hurt. Yet she still has the love of her parents, however distant they may be, and her home, and her friends, and her school. I lost everything. It’s easy to scoff when you do not know, easy to blame and to cast aside the feelings of others, but it is not TRUE. Truth is in the fact that I was at the very lowest, below Medicare and social services, below trailers and studio apartments packed with three-children families. I was on my own. Completely alone.

So she destroyed a support structure getting over me. At least she had one to begin with. At least she could go back to her same home and her same bed.

I am not bitter, this is written with no anger or bitterness in it, it is simply fact. I realize that I am a little ahead of the game, that I understand things barely anyone knows or understands. Wants to understand. Because why would you want to understand the worst of the world? The evil of the world? Why would you when you can hide behind the insecurities and injustices of your puny and self-involved little universe?

Again, I say this with no bitterness or anger, simply stated. This is my opinion and what I believe. Whether it is yours is… well, up to you.

Now I must be going,

-Della Drago-

Everything good always would...

2007-10-10T17:23:54Z

Had a dream last night I was on the CalTrain, which is the train that goes between San Jose and San Francisco. It's an interesting line, you can watch the shift in scenery from the kinda grungy and unkept to the wonderful oldness of the Francisco territory. You're always viewing the change through the industrial part of town, but it's still fun. The train has two levels, the top the best because you can see over the hedges and walls on either side of the track and look at the little people and cars and streets and things.

The top level has usually single seater seats, one in front of the other, except at the two opposite ends. There's one seat that is two side-by-side, and one where there's another seat directly facing yours. I was on one of these seats, and J was sitting across from me, looking out the window.

It was a small part of a larger dream that had little to do with J, but that was a part I remembered when I woke up. Writing my Dark Wings story right now and, as always happens, my dreams are not staying with me when I wake up except in fragments. I remember something about pot pies and a whale in a large aquarium tank, but that's all.

When I do my little imaginings and daydreams, I always dream of the... uh, I don't know, more domestic stuff when it comes to J. Just having her around again.  Some heavy stuff, yeah, but mostly being able to walk into a room and see her there. Lovely stuff.

You don't let hope go away. And if you do, it has to be the last thing.  I'm mentally conditioning myself for the "really, I don't want to see you anymore". It's like putting little army men in reserve for times of war, except they're called out in times of emotional duress. I'm storing and storing and storing, and will soon have enough (hopefully) to face whatever happens come December.

Walking from one bus stop to another last night, sometime around ten thirty in the evening, I had another fucknut pull up to the curve and try and sweet talk me. If sweet talk is what you'd call it. "Hey, girl," is not exactly my idea of a romantic line. I was wearing my winter coat (nothing like a winter coat in MO, let me tell you), which is cream colored, and a red scarf with a black beret. I looked cute, I know, that's why I got the outfit, but it still annoys me when these assholes think that means I'm available and they can just pick me up like a package of meat at a grocery store. Completely disrespectful.

Anyway, my hand moved of its own accord. Again. Need to stop doing that. Flipping people off is gonig to get me shot one of these days. Plus a couple of guys at the bus stop would not stop staring at me until I stared them down too.

I'm just not as scary out here as I was in Missouri. I'm used to being scary to the locals. Now I'm just viewed as 'cute'. Damn it.

Took off the beret at the bus stop so I could put on my mega huge head phones, which means I had to walk home the long way on the really lighted streets. I don't walk home the short way unless I'm not listening to music, cause it's shadowed and easy for predators to lurk in the shadows. Would know, was attacked. Wearing headphones because I'm a stupid head.

Well, its not like the walk is going to hurt me at all.

I was actually paying attention really well in anthropology last night. Did not have my thoughts move back to J that much at all. Some, yes, but only when the teacher was doing one of those coughing fits she does or we were watching a video I'd already seen on the National Geographic channel (!Kung people). Not that I've seen it recently, so I watched a bit... I have not have access to cable since Missouri. Cable is overrated, especially out here. Public television is actually not that bad.

There's Mr. Lobo the B-Movie Horror host that comes on from midnight to two a.m. on Saturdays. I always try and watch that. Have not been too successful recently because it is awfully late for me... he's an awesome host, though. Lots of pretty ladies from the 50s and 60s wandering around in bikini's. Yeah...

Plus KTEH (PBS) is good for some learned programs.

I need to get to work, I'm procrastinating something horrible, just wanted to jot some stuff down. Need to stop writing so much in this journal so that I can actually write as I'm supposed to be doing right now. Sigh... it really sucks when you're half-way through a story and go, "doh! I just realized I could make it so much better if I did _______ ". Can't talk about it, though. Taboo.

Toodles,
-Della Drago-

No doubt about it

2007-10-09T20:10:46Z

I. Hate. Spanish.

I must have slept through basic grammar and English in Middle and High School. Now that I think of it... I DID!

Well, not really. I LOVE the English language. I have many mistresses, but only one true love, which is writing. I love the way one can formulate a sentence to a sense of poetic romance. But ask me to dissect this sentence? To analyze its properties as though I were a scientist looking at the molecular makeup of clay instead of an artist sculpting it? Find someone else to do that job, for it is not I.

Yet in Spanish we need to, of course, know all about GRAMMER in order to learn the structure of Spanish language. I bite my thumb at thee.

I was trying out this Rosetta Stone software in the language lab, and I finally started getting some of this stuff. In the RS, they just start talking to you. Not telling you what they're saying, just talking. Full immersion. Exactly what I need and what I want. There are enough people around the greater San Jose area that speak Spanish that I hear it on a daily basis, I just do not hear it enough as I would if I were to... go to Spain, or Ecuador or whatnot... which is how I would prefer to learn a language, by the way. Just dump me there and I'll do fine after an initial few months of crying my eyeballs out because I cannot communicate except through gestures and pointing.

Oy, but... I was so damn distracted in class last night. My thoughts kept returning to the J. I seemed to fluctuate between anger and depression quite quickly, though my (wonderful, brilliant) brain has started to formulate its way towards acceptance. I put things into little philosophical phrases that appeal mightily to my ego and my state of mind at the time and, perhaps, in the future.

There's this Snow Patrol song that I was listening to right before I gave J a call. It was what made me give her the call, I suppose. Among other things... like this journal and the countless dreams. Anyway, lyrics go as follows;

"You could be happy":

You Could Be Happy And I Won't Know
But You Weren't Happy The Day I Watched You Go

And All The Things That I Wished I Had Not Said
Are Played In Loops 'till It's Madness In My Head

Is It Too Late To Remind You How We Were
But Not Our Last Days Of Silence, Screaming, Blur

Most Of What I Remember Makes Me Sure
I Should Have Stopped You From Walking Out The Door

You Could Be Happy, I Hope You Are
You Made Me Happier Than I'd Been By Far

Somehow Everything I Own Smells Of You
And For The Tiniest Moment It's All Not True

Do The Things That You Always Wanted To
Without Me There To Hold You Back, Don't Think, Just Do

More Than Anything I Want To See You, Girl
Take A Glorious Bite Out Of The Whole World
______________________________________

Very pretty song, always makes me cry. I've been crying a lot recently, but that just comes part in parcel with the general screwiness of my life.

Isn't it a funny thing that once you start thinking about someone, all these old memories come flooding back? Memories that you thought you'd lost, but here they are... plop... right in your lap. I remember the very last day I was in Missouri and was behind the elementary school closest to J's house with Matt, swinging and looking up at the stars, sometime around two or three in the morning. I used Matt's phone to call up J and finally got up the balls to leave her a message, said, "J, its me, just wanted to tell you I'm leaving for California later today. I'd really like to see you but I know you must be sleeping. My number at my dads shop will be... xxx xxx xxxx.... please give me a call."

Yet no call, even though I was pestering my father for a few months. No word of any kind.

Why is it that technology fails us in our most needful of moments?

I was talking to my father today and he, being the good guru he is, gave me some advice about the J situation. Funny thing. I said, "Talked to J." He said, "Ah, the good one." Made me smile and laugh a little. Have not laughed much recently. Anyway, I told dad that after the whole NIK debacle I was less inclined to invite anyone to stay in California with me. NIK understood in essence what life would be like out here and had spoken many words about acceptance, but came out here was such a... log. Not saying J would be. Just saying it is a drastic change in lifestyle and living style from anything she or NIK was used to out in Missouri. I did not want J to turn into another NIK, blaming me for a situation that they got themselves into despite my warnings.

Now I actually have something to offer J, which is why I started calling her when I did. Not because I was lonely, really, just because I remember her consistent rants on that tiny town in Missouri and how much she hated it. I would have loved to offer her a change in scenery earlier, but I had to get my own life on track. Sometimes you have to go before anyone else.

Anyway, when I left Missouri J was supposedly dating someone off in St. Louis or something, and then there was that whole on-again off-again with LTIC, how was I supposed to know she'd fall to ribbons? Damn it. Hate being blamed for things I cannot prevent. Hate being hated when I've loved. Hate it all very much.

Very masculine side of my brain is saying stuff like, "I will go out to Missouri and conquer her and bring her back--ah ha!" I like that side, it's nice and comforting, but my 'reasonable' or realistic side of my brain is going, "Now, DD, you know better, you've been proved time and time again that this is not the way of the world."

Still nice to fantasize. Been doing a lot of that in the last few months and despite the phone call I've been doing increasingly more of it recently. Hell, why not? It's fun, passes the time, makes work fly by... all the good stuff.

Hell on the studying though. Found myself staring off into space for a good ten minutes with my Anthropology homework spread out in front of me. Took me almost two hours where it usually takes me only seventy minutes or so. Jeezsus.

Anyway, yeah, getting around to the "Acceptance" part of it. Gotta love my brain, well-tuned machine it is. Doing some wonderful work for me right now. Being quite narcissistic. Listening to lots of music and taking out some excess energy on the customers. Gotta love doing work by phone, you can tell them whatever you like and it's all mysterious because you're not face-to-face. Love face-to-face for some things, but not strangers. Strangers can be on the invisible telephone line all they like. Fine by me.

Well... googled a bunch of J's old screen names. Came across YWS, which I'd forgotten about entirely. Starting to become active there again... I'd been looking for a good writing site. Now I'm just trying to let it NOT take up hours of my time like it did before. Can never be as active on the interweb as I was in my youthful years. Too much stuff going on. Glad my typing rate has improved. Steady stream from my head to the keyboard to the monitor and to you, faithful reader (?). Heh. Will be going now. Toodlee-oo,

-Della Drago-

He signs his name with a capital "G"

2007-10-08T18:39:21Z

What a weird, kind of lame song...

NIN could do better.

So, where was I?

Ah, yes... anger.

Still there. Still stewing. What's my argument this morning? Well, it all comes down to a very simple device that almost everyone in the U.S. now posesses: a telephone.

What a concept! A device which can connect you instantly to people throughout the world! Whereever did we get such a thing?

I'm just saying; if you expect someone to be in contact with you, you can always contact them and ask why they have not called. What's with telling someone 'you never tried to contact me', when you've done the same?

J, you always knew who to ask for my contact. You could have, any time you wanted to, and they would have given it to you but you did not ask. How dare you expect me during that time to have constant contact with you after I called so many times? Instigated so many times? A relationship is not just about one person making all the moves, it has to be two. So this is, just as much mine, your fault.

And that's all to say for now.

-Della Drago-

Trillllll kitty kitty

2007-10-08T06:42:39Z

DENIAL
ANGER
BARGAINING
DEPRESSION
ACCEPTANCE

Five stages. Always wanted to know what they were, forgot when I was watching that Dead Like Me show. Took me watching the Bernie Mac show (ugh) yesterday to remember the... five stages of death.

A.K.A.--the five stages of any large and mentally or physically traumatizing event. In my opinion.

At the moment, I've just reached anger. Want me to walk you through it? OK. Your reading this so I suspect you do. If you do not, stop now.

NOW damnit.

How many times have I been blamed for someone elses actions? HOW MANY???! Yet here I stand, and the only person I have blamed for ANY event in my life have been the THREE people that deserve it the most--my father, my mother, and myself.

STARTS with J, then movies on the KAT-ROD, then my MOTHER, then DAVID then EDDIE, then NICKI (you made me move out to California!--BULLSHIT!!), then my DAD, to where I've alienated most everyone that may experience any sort of HUMAN LOW around me and BLAME IT on ME.

Let me make this very, very clear.

YOU and ONLY YOU are responsisble for your actions. Unless someone else is there with a gun to your head or a knife to your throat, in which you have to consider your own DIGNITY before making that choice, and then you must remember that the person may just kill you anyone.

THE ONLY ONE IN THE WORLD YOU CAN TRUST IS YOU. The only person you can BLAME IN THIS WORLD is yourself for YOUR ACTIONS. No one else.

I'm tired of this. Effing tired of this. Every single time I'm BLOODY WELL HUMAN someone comes along and blames me for infecting them with human emotions. Well, excuse me for breathing.

The only thing a person thinks of is themselves until it becomes CONVENIENT to use someone else as an excuse.

Well, fuck you. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on with that stupid yellow feather in your hat you sons of bitches. You want to blame the one person in this world that has shown you the world? Fine. Have fun with that. Have fun with your fucking life with your fucking head in the sand. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: The previous statement was a general statement, not directed at anyone in particular except THE WORLD. FuCK the world.

-Della Drago-

Serving Selfishness

2007-10-08T05:20:46Z

Well, what does one have to write about only... what? Half an hour, forty-five minutes after the last post?

Apparently... loads.

Yet words escape me.

I'm still all quivery and shakey. A week and a half ago my (new & cheap) doctor tells me that I have a weak heart... "Have you been under a lot of stress in the last year or two?" she asked me. I almost died laughing. I've still had a hard time getting mine to settle down. Should not have had so much caffeine, so much sodium, so much... stress.

Of course I should have known something like this would happen. Who the fuck am I to think everyone will be all "forgive and forget". One of the things I loved about J was her unpredictability. Shaving her arms and all that strangeness... yet, I really had not thought that she would be as she told me she was.

It was still so lovely to hear her voice, after the initial coldness wore off a bit. I hate thinking, writing, things about that especially since I gave her the name of this journal... though honestly I do not know (again... unpredictable) if she would read this anyway, given what she's said... but I need to write this somewhere and have not the energy to make ANOTHER blog after just creating this one, and the blog stalker is still out there... and he has my phone number (le gasp, I am en idiota). Last thing I want is some guy psycho-analyzing my past relationships, and current (uh) blank with them.

Jeszus, this has to be the worst bit of writing I've done in a long time.

Hm.

I like to think, now that its over, that my time homeless was a sort of pilgrimage, of the mind if not of the spirit. There was plenty of spirituality to go along with it, of course, but it was mostly fine-tuning this wonderful gray matter of an instrument I have at my disposal. Its emotions, feelings, who and what I am and what I am capable of feeling or not feeling. Sometimes I want to send other people on pilgrimages such as this. I think it does the mind(soul) real good to have the limits of ones reaches tested, the limits of oneself.

J asked about NI, and what was I to tell her about that? NI had me all wrapped up and fucked up for a while. Never have I met a mind as degenerated as that. She and I left my fathers close to the same time. She still owes me the money she used to get into a room for rent while I went to a shelter. Little biatch. Asked her back and even a year later, living in a home of her sugar daddy, she cannot scrounge up the lousy two hundred bucks. Hate, hate, though don't hate because hate is too strong and I will not hate save for one person and one person only whom I also love as much as it hurts, hurts to love.

Jeszus, my head feels like a weird and skipping record. My fingertips are frozen and the room is hot, smothered in smoky incense like I like it. Yet whenever I get emotional my hands and feet and tip of my nose gets cold while the insides boil hot. Not that I'm angry, just that I'm strangely emotional, and there are times like these that I wish I had not given up cigarettes or marijuana, because man I could use some of that right now.

Not a good thing for me to be thinking. Not a good thing at all.

My Uncle again cancelled on me tonight. Methinks he's off screwing his new person. Cruel of me to think, cruel of me to say, hope he does not read this.

I'm almost coming around to the same conclusion with J that I came to with E. It's like the entire time I've been writing this my mind has been working it out in the background like the good little computer it is. J, as much as I love and as much as she's gone through and experienced, has not been face to face with her own mortality, her own smallness and helplessness as I have in this past year. Pilgrimage. Go into the desert with the clothes on your back. No food and no water, and see what there is to see. The streets of San Jose could attest to the same as these things, for you are as isolated from human kind as you can be. What kind of sister would I be to my sister showing up in dirty clothes and reeking as I did? I was not a sister. What kind of daughter would I be except one that needs from people who have nothing to give? So I was not a daughter. What kind of friends spends their days begging for change? I was not a friend. I was none of this things. The only thing, the only definition, of who I was was my mind, my paper, my pen, my name. I was Della Drago. That was who I was. No one else, owing to no one else.

Now I am still me, but I owe to people. To my Uncle, to the mother of my sister, to my father, to some friends who gave me a place to stay and food to eat when they knew me not at all. Yet people blame me for the things that happened to me. I don't mind though, not any more. Done with feeling incredulous. Feel forgiving now. Feel fine. Thinking I sound a whole lot like Rorschach. OK, not as crazy cool.

I will write down what I've been keeping to myself, my little golden saying which brightens me up in the face of coldness and pain.

I did not act, I reacted.

Simple, isn't it? Yet so poetically beautiful for me. Anyway, I decided long ago I would no longer be a victim and since then I have not been. Pride kept me from asking for help for a long time, because I thought people would make a victim of me if I asked for their help, but I was proved wrong. Trust in the right people, but trust only a little, and never trust in anyone more then you trust in yourself. Never ever.

Never say never ever, eh? Thank you, Doctor Who.

Goodness, and that's all she wrote.

-Della Dago-

Tequila and David Bowie

2007-10-08T03:58:29Z

It's such a funny thing. Last time I was on a LJ it was because it was the journal I write in specifically for my "Intimates". BurntMoon, I think I called it. Friends Only and all that. I was always posting about E, how much I loved him and all that gooey crap. Now its been, what? Four... five months since we broke up? Since then I've had no one.

Not that the opportunity has not presented itself. It has. I just find myself... completely unwilling.

It's strange how you really don't realize what you have and how important it is to you until you loose it. This is not necessarily true in the case of E and I, but it was in the case of J and I. I did not realize what I had right there, and was stupid enough to throw it away. With E, I like to think that what happened would have happened anyway, despite the reasons he gave me. I know that he's young. I won't say stupid, because that's wrong. He's just young. We've all been there, or we're all going there. We know what its like.

There's still this very strange feeling in my head. It's like, "What's missing? Something is missing..."

Of course I know what is missing. Love. Absolute love. I just don't feel it or even a flutter of it with anyone who has presented themselves to me. Funny, in that unfunny way, that I was able to BE with so many while with E (non-monogamous relationships are not all they're cracked up to be) and now that I'm NOT with E, I don't want to be with anyone. Not even for a "fun time". It's like... why should I, if I don't love them? Why should I, if I don't have that deep connection? At least while sleeping with other guys and girls, I knew that E loved me, and I loved him, and that was enough. Getting my physical gratification elsewhere did not seem that bad. Now that I'm not with him, now that there's no love left, I just feel all kinds of empty.

It's not that the love is gone. It has just changed.

I tried to be bitter, I tried to be mad. I succeeded at both for a while, but what are those emotions? They consume the mind, the body even. Maybe the soul if we truly have one. I don't long after him or wish we could start anew, because I know that it would be WRONG somehow. He, hate to say it, betrayed me during one of THE HARDEST times in my life. Said he'd run out of patience, as though he knows what patience really is. Lets face it, until we're in the real world, we don't really know what emotions are, what hardships and graciousness is. He doesn't. I do. I'm sad, but I still love him in my way. Still care for him. Don't want to talk to him, but care about him.

I do miss him, but don't want to see him. Glad I do not.

I do miss J. She was there for me when I needed her there, just like I tried to be (not always succeeding) when she needed me.

I suppose when you look back on relationships that just sort of... ended wrong... you always make them out to be prettier then they really were. I was still struggling with my conflicting emotions of liking girls at the time of dating her, and I had such a history with her as a friend. Such a strange and sordid history. Yet I really did love her, and still do. I've had so many dreams of her in the last year, and have talked to her something awkward twice on the phone, neither of which lasted very long. I always promised I'd call back and never did. Sometimes I remember but its at the wrong time to call, and then I forget again. I'm such a fuck-up sometimes.

WANTED; The perfect person for me. Someone who will accept me for all my fuck-ups and all my strangeness and all my "I need you right now and so badly" and all my "leave me the fuck alone I have to work" and will still be everything I need. Be caring and honest and never anything but sincere and true about what you feel and what you want. Be able to check out girls/boys with me without chasing after them. Be able to hold onto me for long periods of time when I need it, be able to stay away from me when I need it. Be there, be there, be there. I'll try to be there too, but I'm... odd. I need my space. If you need yours, that's cool, we'll just have to work it out. Someone who will NEVER mention the word MARRIAGE (or any variation thereof) until I've (we've) reached the mid-twenties or later. Or KIDS. NEVER EVER EVER.

Hm...

Yeah, it'll take a while. I'll find them, I know.

My recent hypothesis has been that there is no such thing as the perfect person or the perfect love. There are GREAT LOVES. People that you fit with nearly perfectly, that you can embrace every quirk and every strangeness, every good good and every bad bad. Likely as not you'll still find something to argue over, get annoyed with, and break it off about. But you'll still LOVE each other, in a way of fondness and tenderness that never applies to those people that you keep around for a few weeks or a few months. The GREAT LOVES last a long time, burn themselves into your mind, stay with you till you die. But there is not just one, there are lots.

I've found two. E and J.

I wonder how many there honestly are? I made my way out to Cali, so my chances should be higher at scoring someone around here. If there are one person in a million that are right for you that means that... you have several thousand to choose from, eh? I'm beginning my stats are more like one in a hundred million.

Jeezus.

Nothing about Tequila and nothing about David Bowie. Just thought it was clever. Post later, work now.

-Della Drago-