kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We All Need the Eggs Friday� Nicorette gives you a stomachache if you don�t fallow the instruction booklet in the box. I have never, ever followed any instruction booklet in any box. This explains my inability to answer the other line on my cell phone when it rings, why my hair always has an orangey/black cherry hue after I color it at home, and why the little dehydrated cups o� soup always have crunchy noodles when I prepare them. I�ve been away for a while. Let me explain� Nah. Feck it. On second thought I really don�t want to explain. Which is part of the reason I�ve been away for a while. It�s Friday and I am counting the hours until I can leave the office. Three hours, ten minutes left in case you�re interested� Ooh. Brief interruption involving actual need to do some work. And then interruption involving need to make dinner reservations at 3pm on a Friday afternoon for Friday night dinner (easy task if one wants to eat between the hours of 5:30 to 6:30pm or after 11pm). Five restaurants later I managed to find a kind soul who didn�t laugh hysterically in my ear when I said I wanted a table for four at 9:30pm. Now there are only 2 and a half hours left in my day. I really should be writing a press release right now but I can�t bring myself to do it. If Big Brother is watching, I�m truly screwed. Sunday� It was a perfect New York spring weekend. Absolutely glorious. Wonderful dinner at Bistro Le Jardin on Friday. Not so wonderful dinner at Hudson Cafeteria last night (but good cocktails). Spent yesterday lazing on The Great Lawn in the park getting sunburns. Today I wandered around the flea market, did laundry, went to the gym. I felt a sort of peacefulness settle in. Of course this is sure not to last, but for now it�s nice. I got the photos back from our trip to St. Maarten today. A particularly disturbing series of photos�kind of like those little books where you flip the pages and it looks like the images are moving. In this series C. and I get into a fight (which I remember quite clearly � although there were many fights in St. Maarten, softened by moments of bliss). Looking at these photos was like watching a bad movie. Like when the heroine hears a noise in the basement and the whole audience screams, �Don�t go down there!� - yet of course she does and then she�s hacked into a million tiny pieces (while wearing only a gauzy camisole and a pair of panties). While neither C. nor I ended up in a million tiny pieces after this fight our trip left me feeling bruised and unsure of everything. It wasn�t an easy time. And it�s tough to swallow the idea that two people can�t manage to be blissfully happy when on a Caribbean island. I mean, if you can�t get along in paradise then how are you ever supposed to make it work in real life? But the truth is, as hard as things were, it was a breaking point and I think we are moving forward. As easy as it is to blame everything on C., I know that I am far from perfect. And we are both making an effort. I know we wouldn�t be the first two people on earth to truly love one another and not be able to make things work. But I guess it�s better to know you tried than to just run away. I honestly don�t think we�ll end up apart, I think we�ll make it�but ask me another time and I might tell you otherwise. What is that quote from Annie Hall? About how we all need the eggs? As difficult as relationships are, they are somehow worth it. At least you can make a great omelet in the end. Geez, will you look at that? Here I start out saying I don�t care to talk about my absence from writing and I go and blurt it out anyway. The truth is, it�s hard to admit failure. It�s hard to admit imperfection. And it�s really hard to make life sound funny and witty when you see nothing amusing about it. I�m usually very good at doing this. In fact, it�s a running joke between my best friend and I. When life is really going down the toilet I�m a fecking riot. The worse it is, the more hysterical (as in funny ha, ha, not as in insane) I am. Nothing like a little self-deprecating humor to turn things around. But the thing is, when you make the choice to vomit up your whole life onto the web you have to edit somewhat. Consciously or subconsciously you are aware that you are putting yourself out there for anyone to judge. We won�t get into the psychology of why one might want to do this. That�s a whole different ball of wax. And I�ll be the first to admit that I do care what people think, even complete strangers. Now how�s that for insecurity? Plus, if you write it down, you have to admit it to yourself and sometimes that�s an even tougher pill to swallow. Gulp. So, now that I�m feeling stronger, it�s easier to write again. And I don�t need to be told that it�s when you�re feeling the weakest that is probably the most important time to write. I do write when I�m feeling especially crappy. Only I do it with a pen and papers in coffee shops and on subway platforms, I then collect all these little scraps of misery and put them in a notebook. Trust me, no one wants to read this garbage after I write it�least of all me. So, another weekend gone. Its finally spring. I even contemplated buying a plant today for around ten seconds until my mother confirmed via the phone that yes, I would in all probability kill the poor thing in a matter of days. At least I can dream. La di da. La di da. 8:00 p.m. - 2002-05-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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