Sunday, November 23, 2008

You Can't Go Home Again

Today was slightly better. I need to accept that I am kinda homeless now in some purgatory until I move to Los Angeles and find a new life for myself of some sort. I watched two of my closest friends get tattooed at Four Star today, Alex got a red umbrella to finish the bottom half of his sleeve and Ryan got a tiny ghost and "boo!" on the inside of his lip. It looked painful...thinking about getting "scrappy" inside mine, but am afraid I may have stolen that from someone else. Weetzie Bat is sleeping on my butt and I'm in for the night at 10pm which is miraculous. So, um, I'm going to Albuquerque with my ex tomorrow while he auditions and I sell 60% of my closet. I know it's really stupid of me to spend time with him now that I got over him well...yesterday? But I'm hoping it won't be awful and if I'm real lucky, he'll look like shit and I'll remember that there has got to be someone out there who'll love me for reals.

I watched Superbad last night, I forgot how fucking funny it is! (Still really awkward swearer). I'm going to interview Jonah Hill some point in the next few months...pretty excited. Must seduce him into friendship. I've got like 3 friends in LA now. It sucks starting over from scratch when a lot of people are probably settling into adulthood friendships. Wait, do people do that? I don't know. I'm sure everything will be peachy keen. Clark Duke simply has to hang out with me now that we're in love and all. Even though I haven't heard from him since I texted him during Sex Drive to let him know that I was watching him get a blow job...and that it was awkward. Hope I didn't give him the impression that the movie sucked. Zack and Miri Make a Porno was probably worse...even though I adore everyone involved and would probably see both movies again. Crap. No gumption.

I got a package Sarah Morrison sent me that contained a gift and thank you note from Betsey Johnson...she sent a Vosges chocolate Dias de los Muertos skull and $300 gift certificate. It is probably the best thing that's ever happened to me, second only to the time she hugged me. I fucking love that woman. She must be the nicest person to ever live. I'm trying to figure out what I can send her...I'm thinking pinon brittle and maybe one of those little Mexican skeletons in a tutu or something? With a letter maybe begging for her to hire me. Nylon is hiring an assistant to the editor in chief...I wonder how mad Missbehave would be if I moved back for that job? JK. I can't come back to New York until I get rich...and even then I think I might prefer sunshine, good produce, and medical marijuana. It's really weird watching shows set in New York now though...I don't necessarily feel remorseful but it's kinda like watching your ex make out with a hot chick.

We Hurt the Same Black and Blue

I've been drinking too much. This is not an unique realization, but the fact that I've given myself alcohol poisoning more times in the past month than the rest of my life disturbs me. Generally, I only drink too much before a nervous life venture or when something awful has happened. It's a combo now. I'm home in Santa Fe for two months, looking at jobs and apartments in LA and letting my Missbehave responsibilities fall by the way side a bit while I wallow in a half sleep half depressive state. Kicking sand and staring into half-empty coffee mugs.

Drinking half bottles of Bourbon and spending time with my best friend Alex. I feel like I've been imprisoning him a bit. There are only a couple people here that I can stand at all. I've had a breakthrough in my quest to fall out of love with my ex-boyfriend Matt. We had one awkward sleeping-not-touching thing (where he insinuated that lovestruck me couldn't control myself around him) followed by him texting me after snorting some pills asking for help. I went to rescue him. Him, blacked out on a gallery couch. After an hour of coaxing, I managed to get him awake and angry enough to storm out where he stared at me with such drunken hatred that I told him to hit me. He didn't. BUT, and here's where my moral dilemma stems, the next day I told him he did. I told him my nose wouldn't stop bleeding for half an hour to see if it was broken. I told him next time he gets drunk and snorts painkillers to lay in his own puke and think about how awful he's been to people that love him. He had no issue believing this and told me he felt awful and loved me. Now he loves me. Only when he thinks he's beaten me, he loves me. He loves me but not in that way. It was a breakthrough on so many levels. He doesn't love me. He believes he is capable of hitting someone he "loves". I think I'm finally free! But now I think it's the loneliest place I've been in years and years. No one to love. Not even unrequited. Useless.

Now my mother is at Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. She found a lump in her breast, they found another. She refuses to label herself a cancer survivor. She's already past it and she still has lumps and radiation and scalpels in her future. I'm scared. I don't know what I would do if I lost my mother. I always imagined that I would move in with the remaining parent and take care of them if anything happened. I always imagined that happening far into the future. I cry spontaneously at bars and in grocery shops. I might not make it to LA until February if I go to Minnesota with her for her radiation. I don't even know what I'm doing. At all. I'm faking it now. The drunk keeps me in charge but irresponsible, uncontrolled. I feel like I'm falling.