Hangers. Wire hangers. Hanging from trees on campus. With pictures of babies on them. And some text that reads, “don’t let them abort the art department” or something of the sort. I literally LOLed. Well played, art peeps. Well played.
Monthly Archives: April 2010
This will make less sense structurally to anyone who doesn’t know what my house looks like or the situations going on in my family right now. That being said, I just woke up from this:
I’m sleeping in what I consider “my” room, but is actually the room my mother sleeps in (that used to be my room when I was a kid). The changes that we made to the house are still present though–there’s the back door, but instead of being in my mother’s room, it’s in the hallway between the bathroom and her room.
So I’m “sleeping” there, but for some reason, I’m not 100% asleep. I either have a dream about (yes, in my dream), or I’d had a long day of distributing something to people’s houses, talking with one of my friends’ ex-girlfriends who was just starting to date him again (or at least trying to), and getting paired up with someone at school (by Dr. Whitaker?!) to counsel. But now it’s nighttime, and I’m in bed, and for some reason Kellen is there (now it’s his house instead of mine, maybe, because I get this feeling like I definitely shouldn’t be sleeping there). Anyway, he gives me four little books, like the Alphabet books at Stony Brook Child Care, thanking me for letting him borrow them, and telling me it’s because of something with Dylan (the dog). All I can think is that he’s going to be very standoffish with me, because he doesn’t know if I’ll come back. With that, the door from the hallway to the yard creaks open (I can see this through a small slit in my closed-over door). Someone creeps very silently through the door and into the kitchen, where I start to hear rummaging. I reach for my phone, but it’s not there and I wonder, where the hell is my phone, and why didn’t I put it in bed with me (as I do every night)? while “Shh”-ing Kellen, and thinking, there’s no way he’s going to listen to me and stay quiet.
And then I wake up, with the complete understanding that my phone is not with me in bed. Apparently, I had forgotten, in my sleepy slumber at bedtime, to strap it to the battery and set the alarm (for an hour earlier, so I can get some extra work done in the morning). So was this dream a manifestation of the scary stuff my head doesn’t want to think about, or just my brain’s way of telling me, “hey, idiot–you forgot to set an alarm!” Hrm. Maybe it’s both. Yeah, it’s probably both.
But at least now my alarm’s set. Happy 4 a.m. 70-degree Friday! Catch ya’ll on the flip! (Do people still say that?)
About six years ago, a man who later became my ex-boyfriend (and even later became my ex-best-friend’s baby daddy) and his crazy friend met up with me at a bar. Said crazy friend was older, but that was something I’d always found attractive. Not only was he tall and thin (I’m so superficial!) but he was funny, charming, and a closet insecure basketcase. You could tell he had daddy issues (Is it “mommy” issues for men? I’m not quite sure how that works.) ’cause he was the most fake secure person I’d ever met. Needless to say (mental problems/instability = fixer-upper), I developed a gigantor crush in 4.2 seconds. His surname? Thorn. Anonymous Thorn. (Mr. Thorn also later became known as an ex-roommate’s best friend’s boyfriend–and later still, ex-boyfriend.) When he mock-married me by placing a hair tie around my wrist (something he claimed was a wedding ceremony in the Aleutian Islands–and the only reason I know that the Aleutian Islands exist), I mentally adopted “Thorn.”
Whether I told Mr. Thorn that I didn’t like my first name or he chose to re-name me himself (should I have been insulted?), I don’t know. All I do know is that he continued to call me Cassandra throughout our brief few months of collaborating in the same social circles. He ultimately had to let me down easy, explaining that he would later be more interested in a red-headed slut than myself (okay, he didn’t explain that and he didn’t know he’d fall for the red-head, but I know now, and I can say whatever I damn well please). He did, however, let me down, the only person who was truly honest enough in my life to plainly tell me they were just not interested. And no, he didn’t know I called myself Thorn in my head–or those few months would have been shortened to a few days, undoubtedly.
But there it was: the perfect pen name. I especially liked the idea of being a thorn–of sounding inconspicuously dangerous. And when I took my Greek Mythology course, I was sold on Cassandra as well. Cursed by Apollo (for being all, “y’know, I’m just not that interested…”), Cassandra, one’a Priam’s girls, was cursed with the ability to see the future (awesome, right? how could this be a curse?), and have absolutely no one believe her prophecies (sucks). This is much like my life, and not unlike part of my “please accept me into your amazing clinical psychology program” statement. I see so many things so very clearly, but I’ve constantly been met by defenses that lead to self-doubt. So it’s slightly different than Cassandra–she knew she was correct. I, on the other hand, know I’m correct…except for those times where I think I could be wrong (read: all of them). Regardless, if the name fits…
…but that’s my question, ultimately. Did I adapt to fit the name I had created for myself, or is the name/personality connection merely coincidental? (Self-fulfilling prophecy, or chance?)
Yes, I know I should write more often. I mean to, I really do. But, much like every attempt I’ve ever made to steady-journal, I haven’t managed to write. If anything, I have much many mucho reasons to — I’ve been to the podiatrist(s) three times in three weeks, have been on antibiotics for a month and a half straight, turned 28, got into a PsyD program, work in a disorganized and unable to function properly office, deal with a friend in a very emotionally abusive relationship, have gotten to the end of my rope with another friend that is slowly slipping from my realm of “friends,” have to figure out how to tell a 6 year old I can only come over once a month, am being stalked by a mental patient (which is entirely my fault)… the list is, quite possibly, endless. But where has my motivation gone? Every day I say I’ll write the next day, because I’m “just too tired.” And in truth, I am. But how am I not too tired to read 100 pages of a book or spend four hours on WoW?
I feel like I’m spending a lot of time distracting myself, and I’m not as actually happy as I want to be. I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that i don’t go out anymore. I mean, great, I’m not blowing every single dollar on booze and late-night food (when, do you think, is the best time to try the shrimp taco at Taco Bell, as recommended by a co-worker?), but instead I’m “blowing” it on prescriptions and surgeries. So, yeah, I guess I could see why life has me edging towards the negative side, when all I ever do is struggle to stay on the positive side.
The good news? Regardless of how broke it might make me, I will officially be able to walk (read: hike! bike! rollerblade! Wii!!) without pain or discomfort after about four months in just a few short weeks (possibly even just one!). This is quite fantastic for me. I have taken the ability to walk completely and totally for granted, and I can now appreciate the art of … the toe(s).
More totally awesome good news? I’m leaving. Yes, there are down sides to this (especially if my friends thought I already didn’t see them enough…), but getting out of New York seems like it might do me some good. Oddly enough, some people spend their entire lives trying to make it in New York, and here I am trying to escape it. But, really, aside from my friends (whom I love dearly, all…6 of you, contrary to popular (Facebook) belief), my momz0rs, and my darling, precious, LOML little-man brother, what do I have? I work in a job I can’t stand but won’t leave because of the salary (common story, folks?), I live at home with my mother (great financially and for the familial relationship; bad for privacy and independence), I refuse to date (though I haven’t yet worked out the details on this one), and school ends in t-minus six weeks (HOLY SHIT!). That…is my life. I’m okay with re-inventing myself in the outskirts and/or ‘burbs and/or city of Philadelphia. Plus, having a base of friends (Brenden, Elliot, Huntley, Matt, the Ellis clan) sure makes the whole idea less scary. Which is great, ’cause the financial side makes the whole idea really fucking scary.
I’d love to go on about the usual life-stuff, but I’m, as per the usual, quite exhausted (a two hour nap followed by four hours of warcraft will do that to ya). Here’s to hopin’ I get back in the game. (Oh yeah–and tee-ball starts next week! Huzzah!)