also, i seem to have lost time.

I don't know what time it is. My computer thinks it is in March 2001 every time the battery dies (at about 35 minutes these days, it is getting old).

And then? and then? It thinks it lives in Quebec City or Montreal. This is my fault. I was trying to graduate. I NEEDED THOSE FUCKING ACCENTS. fucking keyboards that aren't universally qwerty. argh!

It is used to being on NYc_EST or Chicago/TwinCities_CST. or, y'know, WHATEVER IT PICKS ON ANY GIVEN DAY.I have some bad news. It's too late to apologize. Too late. It's too late to apologize. Too late.

You all used to call me for apologizing for everything I did and everything everyone else did; anything that went wrong I would wince, like a beaten dog, and say, "I'm sorry" as quickly and profusely as possible. Like Dede, if you want to shrivel me you just honestly have to tell me that I'm a hypocrital horrible human and that you, you personally are disappointed in me, and so, so is Barack Obama. That would make me cry; actually it has. Yes, someone has told me that.

I am afraid of e-mail. I am afraid of voicemail. I am afraid of text messages. I am afraid of comments left on blogs.

You can't see the bruises of decades of careful emotional abuse. But when your family tells you that you will fail at everything you love and that no one will pay you money to follow your dreams?

For 24 years?

That you should forget journalism, theater, French, cooking, art? That you should just forget? Because the daughters of engineers and accountants DON'T GO TO ART SCHOOL. just like the daughters of Persian expats don't work for not profits and they don't work the Clinique counter and they're not actors and they don't sing and they don't paint and they don't live. I loved Emil because we shared the same prison bars; hello family, I fail you every day I still breathe air.

Thanks, I love you too.

and you had the gall, matriarch mine, to ask me what had happened. you asked where I had gone, what "someone" had done to me how "someone" had hurt me.

i love you too. i love you too. i love you too. You also don't have this blog URL and anyone dumb enough to know who I am and to know who my blood-relatives are that don't have this URL? If you think for one fucking instant that I will regret them seeing any or all of this? NO NO NO But I am trying to win some inheritance money to pay the bills, so IF YOU WOULD BE SO KIND AND NOT MAKE MY GRANDFATHER STOP LOVING HIS PERFECT SCHOLARSHIP WINNING - COLLEGE GRADUATING - PUBLISHING INDUSTRY WORKING GRANDdAUGHTER? oh god plz. and if you really want to fuck up the church's money -- BECAUSE, GIVEN THE RECENT UNIVERSE AND ITS FATE AND MY KARMA -------- call him up and tell him I'm gay. yep. go for it. tell him you used to screw me and my girlfriend. yep.

honestly, i would, 20 years from now thank you for it. but i don't get a housewarming and i don't get an engagement ring and i haven't made great grand children and i don't seem to be getting married any time soon, because they are all taken or gay or crazy or abusive or ... so, give me all I have left, which is that we're fooling grandpa. He was born in 1923. He won't understand. I don't get free housewares because I live in SIN and because of that I can't wear a white wedding dress? or a veil DID YOU KNOW THAT? that it would upset them if my dress was really white or if I wore a veil.

sometimes, i wonder that I am not crazier than I already am.

all i want is GINGER ALE. st. louis, fuck, you. ALL I WANT IS GINGER ALE.

also, i can't get orsino until 9 a.m.

dear monday morning.

GET HERE YESTERDAY.

I need to call banks! I need bank accounts! I need to call credit card companies! THESE ARE ALL THINGS MY BANK WILL NOT LET ME DO ON THE WEBTERNETZ BECAUSE THEY ARE MADE OF FAIL.

yes, that was the sound of a gun with a silencer. *sigh* and to think I was scared in SUBURBIA? at least in the city there's someone to hear you scream, and if you're really really really lucky, a neighborhood gossip will call the police.

Also, renting the Casa Arcana from the resident block owner and dedicated next-door hedgewitch? and living with a healer right next door? and then a crazy sanfrancisco uprooted military brat? who has been alive since eternity?

and that sound? is a rat or a mouse or a raccoon or a squirrel or a thief. great. now I'm paranoid to boot. Dear Mary, mother of Jesus, guide this country mouse in this city. kthxbye.