Sunday, July 23, 2000

Never mind me, I’m just babbling.

I have these arguments with myself. I get terribly worked up when I find that something I consider stupid bothers or scares me. I blame this on my mother (but then, I blame everything on my parents; I figure it's just easier that way and I save myself a lot of time—just blame everything on them all at once instead of going down the list). But anyway, I have these arguments with myself in which I invariably chew myself out over caring about these things and then decide that the way to stop is to go to the other extreme. That's how this site was born, that's how I stopped wearing makeup, that's why the webcam's on. Lately though, I've been wondering if I go too far; what happens after I'm no longer terrified of not wearing makeup, or after I'm ok with not being able to hide behind my hair, or after I can blather on for months on end on here about just about anything—what then? Do I go too far and instead of conquering something, do I just fall into a different rut? Is the other extreme just the same thing wearing a different costume?

The only difference is that when I fall into the other extreme I am no longer scared to go back and visit the first one; this, however, does little or nothing to take care of this uneasy feeling.

Maybe I just like worrying; maybe I make these things up to have something to do, to pass time. To feel busy.

Monday, July 03, 2000

I was fidgety and anxious for the days following that drive. I was scared to drive anywhere near there; I was worried about being by myself; I was worried that this urge to shatter myself into a million pieces would take over me when I was feeling just fine and that I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

Friday, I asked CJ to drive back up the mountain with me. We set out Saturday morning and made our way up to the same spot. I got out of the car, a little shaky, and made my way to the edge. And nothing happened—everything was fine. I brought the camera out and took pictures; I hugged CJ and laughed.

"Screw you," I told the cliff, and felt silly, and laughed some more, and drove away.

When I Fall.

We went up to the mountain where we first kissed, one of our favorite drives. We are slowly making our way through all its twisted side roads—trying to find ways to go higher and farther while there is no snow. As we we were driving back down, we spotted a road we had yet to follow and decided to go up a ways and see if it went anywhere. It seemed to go on for a while and we needed to go home, so we stopped and got out to look around and stretch our legs. On the left side, more mountain; on the right side, a sharp drop onto a bed of rocks and then the endless sea of green. I was mesmerized by the sight and walked closer to the right. Up until then, I had been thinking of how good I felt, but at that moment, all of that was gone, and all I knew was that I should throw myself off.

I walked closer to the edge, slowly so as to not call CJ's attention to what I was getting ready to do. But I didn't want to be quiet—I wanted to lift my arms and feel the air and laugh and fly and die. I drew closer and closer to the edge, and then he grabbed my hand from behind.

"Watch yourself," he told me.

I turned around, shocked and looked at him, but his eyes pierced me and I couldn't stand it. I buried my head on his shoulder and tried to bring my frenzied thoughts to a stop. I tried not to cry, but a tear escaped me all the same.

"Are you OK?" he asked, worried, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Look at me and tell me you're OK."

"Yes," I lied, but my voice was shaking and I couldn't hold his gaze. "I'm fine."

"Let's go home, OK?" And he walked me to the car with his hand around my waist and closed the door behind me. He drove down fast and we made the trip to his place without saying a word. I looked out the window and longed to be able to jump and hated myself for doing this while he was with me.

"I should go home," I tried to say without sounding shaken up after we'd parked.

"I'd feel a lot better if you stayed here," he told me.

We went back and forth like that for a while, until I gave him my keys. I didn't know what I wanted; I thought about saying that I'd stay but sneaking out after he'd fallen asleep and going back up the mountain. But in the end, there's always more time to die, and I felt too lost to make up my mind. We made our way to the bedroom, where he sat next to me and held me tight and tried to make me feel better. I shook and cried and told him more than I intended to, but in the end we went to sleep like always, tangled up and giggling and tired, and I did feel better the next morning.

Drive

All of a sudden, I started feeling OK about the things that worried me. All of a sudden, I wasn't really concerned.

After CJ and I drove to Ellensburg though, I started feeling more andmore confused about everything--school, family, being in the US, CJ, RF, living in North Bend...you name it, I was confused about it. I finally decided to go for a drive and I let CJ and RF know that I might disappear for the weekend. I threw some clothes and a sleeping bag in the back seat and started driving west.

I drove to the coast and then south. I wanted to get away from everything and everyone; I wanted to drive and be swallowed by the landscape. Night caught up with me somewhere in Oregon, and after I was too tired to keep driving, RF called me to talk.

I felt calmer, less confused. And as we were talking, I started feeling homesick. I have always felt homesick, but I've rarely been able to point that feeling to a specific place—in the back of my head, I'm always homesick for a place that doesn't exist. This time though, I knew where I wanted to be—I wanted to go back to North Bend. I wanted to see CJ, I wanted to look out the window and see the bluebird on our grass. I wanted to be able to talk to RF in person and to play with the cat. So, much to RF's amusement, I got back on the road and drove home.