Funnily enough, not much has changed since the last entry. Different girl. Similar frustration. I will say though that she has said she would/wanted to attend two separate events–one of them planned specifically around her schedule–that I’ve orchestrated, but hasn’t yet followed through. She’s quite difficult to reach via phone or e-mail, or perhaps she’s just reluctant to return my calls. This last event that I scheduled around her was last Thursday. I called her that day to confirm that she was coming with me and my friends (including at least one mutual friend of ours). She called back to say that actually she wouldn’t be able to go, but to call her Saturday. I called Saturday, once at 3pm, then around 7:30pm–no answer either time. I’m think of planning another outing this weekend and I’ll see if she can attend. I put a lot of faith in people that’s so rarely returned. I’d like to see my reaching out to someone actually succeed this time. It’s difficult for me not to attach a lot of importance to a potential partner and I’ve been rather morose lately because I can’t seem to make this work how I think it should.

The first time I talked to her was at a friend’s party maybe a month ago. I saw her as she was stepping out for a minute and smiled at her reflexively, recognizing her from somewhere. She noticed me and said “we’ll be back in a little bit.” When I found her again, she was looking for her sweater in a mountain of jackets. I went over to her to compliment her outfit (black dress pants, untucked light blue Oxford shirt, rectangular glasses–very professional) and asked her name. When she said her name, I realized I had met her recently, and she said that she thought we had met before. I complimented her sense of style and she said I MADE HER NIGHT. She gave me a hug, I told her I would find her on Facebook (oh, college), and she left with her friend. Of course I found her the next day on Facebook and soon began the attempts at being in the same room as her again and actually getting to know her, attempts which continue to this day! It seems like she has a very similar sense of humor, which means a lot to me, and doesn’t *try* to create her identity–she just is who she is, and that means quite a lot too. And from what I can tell from our handful of messages back and forth, she appreciates the same sort of highly ironic hedonism that I do. Other than that, she’s a bit of a mystery at the moment.

I threw a little party to celebrate my 21st birthday. It was a great time. It was just me, Alice, Chloe, her boyfriend Billy, and a friend from the university. I invited Candice II (the girl I mentioned in the last entry), both by phone message and by MySpace message (which was marked “Read,” so I know she received …and read… it), but she never bothered to respond to either. I’m not entirely sure, but I may be quite finished trying to reach out to her if she doesn’t show the least bit of interest in being friends. For the record, I didn’t call her every day until I got in touch with her like I said I would. I called her once, then I think again a week or two later, then sent her a MySpace message, and that was it, so I don’t think I came across as weird. I suppose she just wasn’t interested. And, as I’ve written before, I have better things to do than waste my time on someone who’s not interested.

I just think sometimes that I might discover someone great, and each time I think I’ve discovered that person, something goes wrong. Am I doing something wrong?

Hello again kids,
I’m so sorry I haven’t been around for so long. I’ve been pretty busy, mostly with school, but fortunately also busy with recording music, which has gotten relatively popular. Unfortunately, I can’t leave you a link to my music page–must protect my anonymity so that I can say whatever the hell I please here–but people seem to still like my songs, and that makes me pretty happy and proud of myself for taking the steps I needed to get back into doing what I love.

As far as school goes, I’m still very busy, but I’m doing some more interesting stuff than I was last semester. I’m working in a research lab, mostly doing small, rather unglamorous tasks, like calling schools, doctors, and therapists looking for participants in our study. But it’s important to have this experience when it comes to applying for grad school, plus I get 3 credits for it, which is nice. Last week, when I was calling therapists, I saw that there was one therapist on my list whose degree is still a somewhat rare degree among clinical psychologists–a doctoral degree introduced in the 70s (I think) that focuses much more on clinical practice than research. Candice holds the same degree.

I still think about her sometimes, and now and then I type her name into google and see what I can find. I always hope I’ll find some information about where she is now. I knew she was going to Chicago, but that’s all she said when I asked where she was going. This name on my list reminded me of her. I looked again and found her. She’s working as a staff psychologist at the counseling center of a Christian college in Chicago. Her staff bio contained an interesting bit of new information: she did her post-doctoral residence at my school, then stayed on to become part of the staff. She started there just out of grad school.

There’s a new photo of her on the college’s webpage. She looks exactly the same. She wears the same glasses. Her hair is still highlighted the same way. She’s still beautiful. Of course.

It makes me sad to think that I will probably never see her or talk to her again. Even if I end up going to Chicago after next year for grad school, I probably will never see her again. I entertain scenarios and silly dreams, but I know that’s all they are. I’ll survive–I always do–but that hurts. Of course I don’t believe it’s possible to experience with her what I wanted to, and I don’t believe that that ever was, could have, or would have been possible. But as empty as my hopes were, it’s painful to give up your hopes, and sometimes it takes a long time.

It was actually relatively easy to give up (and discard) my hopes relating to Mary. She was a disappointment. Some of the things that attracted me to her were illusory, or overshadowed by strange flaws that make me question whether I should even consider her a good friend. After she told me that she wanted to talk about everything that happened in Decatur/during the drive back to St. Louis, she completely avoided me. After not speaking for about 2 months, she sent me an e-mail because I hadn’t replied to her text messages. I explained that my cell phone plan had changed and I wasn’t receiving them anymore, sorry, but I’m glad we can still be friends. I figured it was easier for you not to talk and just go on your way, and that’s alright. But you did say you wanted to talk–do you still? After a few e-mails back and forth, in which I repeated that she had said she wanted to talk, did she still?, it was alright if she didn’t, but I felt it was a bit strange to ignore our conversation, she still hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that she said she wanted to talk, and instead disappeared, and wasn’t even acknowledging that I was bringing it up. That tells me that for all the fortitude it took her to care for her two children, work, and as of last year, finish her bachelor’s degree, she still is not –I don’t know if this is the right word for it, but it’s close enough– mature enough to acknowledge an important issue that has some bearing on the future of our friendship. I glean from that that she’s more interested in preserving the equilibrium of her world (by ignoring the issue) than in making things right with her friend (by talking about the issue and reaching some closure). My feelings for her had definitely waned during the two months that we didn’t speak, and our e-mail exchange firmly convinced me that she was not someone with whom I should be romantically involved. Her self interest makes me question whether I even trust her around the few people I consider my friends.

That said, I did go to a party at her house a month or so ago and saw her out at an event the next week. I haven’t seen or heard from her since then. The party was fun and our interactions–and my interactions with her boyfriend–have all been fine and good, but we’ll see what role, if any, we play in each others’ lives from here on.

I recently reconnected with the girl I mentioned in the previous entry, the girl whose phone was out of service. I worked with her when I was in my last year of high school and she was in her freshman year of college. I quit working there just before I started my first year at the university, and she once dropped by my room with a friend of hers from the same university who knew where to find me, but I hadn’t seen her since. Two years later (i.e. a couple months ago), I was going through my cell phone deleting numbers and found hers. I decided I didn’t want to delete hers–>why not?–>because she seemed like a neat person and someone I would still like to be friends with–>so why don’t you call her?–>good question, I think I’ll do that. So I called her, then sent her a message online, and eventually re-established contact with her. She’s been a little evasive, maybe not intentionally, although it’s been difficult to actually do anything with her, because she’s 21, I won’t be for another week, and both times I’ve tried to figure out something to do with her, she’s made plans that involve bars. I’ve (hopefully) resolved this problem by organizing a small party to celebrate my 21st birthday. I left her a message today inviting her, but I may not hear from her very promptly, so I’ll probably call once or twice a day until I reach her.

During the time that I worked with Candice, and started to feel attracted to her, I noticed that the things I found (physically) attractive about her were quite the opposite of things that I thought were attractive before. She wasn’t “creepy,” she didn’t wear a lot of black or a lot of makeup, she didn’t dye her hair black or an unnatural color; she was classy, she was understated, she was subtle, and she had an incredible sense of style. She wasn’t even pale. One day she was wearing gray slacks, an off-white low-cut-but-not-even-cleavage-revealing tank top, and a long-sleeved purple wrap top. Her hair was in a bun and the only makeup she was wearing seemed to be a little mascara, a bit of blush (if I remember correctly), and a glossy lavender/pink lipstick I had never seen her wear before. On her chest hung the small jewel of a thin-chained necklace, and she was wearing the silver tree-like earrings I had seen her wear many times before. Her top showed her collarbones and the smooth top of her chest. She looked absolutely regal. I don’t know if she noticed or not, but when she walked into the waiting room, I was stunned. More beautiful than Lily after an hour at her make-up mirror.

(Where are you going with this, Kyle?)

I think Candice really changed what I find attractive in a woman. I’m not interested in “goth” girls anymore. What’s attractive to me is a girl who can do the “normal” look better than anyone else. Candice also convinced me that I don’t need to be attracted to a wreck of a girl. She always seemed confident and peaceful. I never looked for troubled girls, but I did find a couple, and I know that Candice couldn’t have always been serenity personified, but she set a new standard. I know now that I want to, can, and should avoid girls who can’t keep their lives in order. It’s not attractive to be the girl anachronism. It’s attractive to be self-efficacious, confident, and able to regulate your emotions to the extent that it’s appropriate, and express them effectively.

Of course, I haven’t talked much to this girl I used to work with since I reconnected with her. But I did see her about a month ago. She does “normal” quite well. She’s finishing college at the end of this semester, which says something about her self-efficacy. Guess what her name is.

Sometimes I stare out of my living room window at the highway so far below in the middle of the night, when there’s not one car on the road. The highway seems to be lit up for no one but me. Sometimes it makes me feel monumentally lonely, and sometimes it makes me feel hopeful that there’s someone out there just like me, waiting like I am.

Guess what her name is.

I feel just a bit miserable lately. My life feels empty. It’s like there’s nothing, and no one, here anymore that matters. True, I did write a handful of new songs and I’m working on recording a new EP, but it’s frustrating. Since I broke up with Lily, I’ve written probably six or seven new songs, but I only really liked three. The EP is those three songs, a cover, an instrumental, and updated versions of some songs I wrote years ago. And while I have a few new ideas for music, I can’t seem to write any lyrics lately, because I just don’t know what to say now. And that, I think, is directly related to this lack of important people in my life. I rarely feel excited about another person–what I mean is that when I meet someone, I don’t often think that person is really interesting or I would really like to get to know them and I don’t get excited about the next time I will see them. That means that there are relatively few people on whom I really want to spend the time and effort to know well. But lately, I’ve made several efforts to connect with people, whether it was to play music or to reconnect after losing touch, and my interest doesn’t seem to be reciprocated. People don’t return my online messages, no matter what they say. I figure an online message is the most unobtrusive means of communication possible–you can respond later in the day if it’s not convenient at the moment, you don’t have to spend long periods tied up on the internet like you might end up spending on the phone, a short message is perfectly acceptable, etc. so I wonder if no one’s interested in returning my e-mails, would anyone bother to return a phone call? One person’s phone is out of service, and she’s well aware of that, but with the exception of my first e-mail, she hasn’t responded to anything.

So it’s no surprise that I feel alone and convinced that no one is interested in knowing me.

New Year’s Eve included
-Indian food
-A party, which included…
- -Some very cool people
- -Lots of drinking
- -Assault (scary, but relatively minor–I was upset but I’m fine and so is the other girl)
- -Harassment (relatively major–I was upset but I’m fine and I would imagine everyone else is fine too)
- -An arrest
- -A broken heart (not mine, a friend’s)

The host of the party had asked me if I wanted to sing with his band. Up until New Year’s, I was pretty sure I would, but the circumstances leading to the broken heart are making me question whether I can work with him in good conscience. Eventually, I’m going to have to explain to him more or less specifically why I wouldn’t feel right collaborating with him, but it’s very difficult to figure out the right words. I don’t think he’s generally a bad guy; he’s just “done a woman wrong” and doesn’t realize it. But after I sat with her while she cried and told me about what he was doing, I don’t think I could just let it go and sing for his band, even though it would probably be fun and a great experience.

People are so difficult sometimes.

and my priest says “you ain’t savin’ no souls”
my father says “you ain’t makin’ any money”
my doctor says “you just took it to the limit”
and here i stand
with this sword in my hand
you can say it one more time
what you don’t like
let me hear it one more time
then have a seat while i
take to the sky
-tori amos

I’ve spent enough years defending myself to silly little boys and silly little girls who couldn’t understand. I shouldn’t have to defend myself to my mother.

I had big plans to wake up at 5:55 and call Alice at 6:00 to sing “Six A.M. Christmas morning…” and hope that she thought it was hilarious. It didn’t work out; I either slept through or ignored my alarm.

I drove to the house where my mom was staying, we drove to my dad’s house, and picked up my brother. He and my mom quickly got into a fight and he decided he didn’t want to spend the day around her. So it seemed that it was just going to be me and my mom, but he eventually showed up in a cab and they acted like nothing happened. Everything was fine thereafter.

Dinner with my father’s family degenerated into a Chuck Norris extravaganza. Neither my dad nor his wife had ever heard the Chuck Norris facts, so my half-sister and I started reciting them. I even devised a few of my own:

Chuck Norris is John Galt.
Chuck Norris needs no batteries for his digital camera. Power flows from his fists.
A new therapy has just been developed for every mental illness ever. It is called Chuck Norris Roundhouse Kick to the Face Therapy and it has been clinically proven to be 1000% effective.
The writers strike is occurring because writers will only write for Chuck Norris.
The real winner of the 2000 election was neither George W. Bush nor John Kerry. It was Chuck Norris, because he wins everything.
The Roman Empire fell because Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked it to the face.

I went out last night, to a goth-industrial-dark-80s-whatever event. I had a great time dancing to KMFDM, Sister Machine Gun, the Cure, and the Sisters of Mercy, and talking to some people I don’t see very often. I did see Lily, and waved to her as she walked toward (and past) me; she didn’t wave back, so I don’t imagine she’s interested in being on any sort of friendly terms. Oh well. When the event ended at around 3, some people were thinking of going to Denny’s and invited me to join them. So I ended up at Denny’s until about 6 in the morning, talking about chickens and spoons and listening to people talk about how much they liked to speed and then talking about chickens some more.

When I got home, rather than go to sleep, I made breakfast, applied another layer of powder, lipstick, and eyeliner, and set off for my former high school. I went to a Catholic high school, yippee. I was glad to see a handful of my old teachers–and they seemed glad to see me–but oh dear. The new principle, who had taught the ninth-grade religion class and has always been known as a fundamentalist, was a complete jerk to me. You could almost see the disapproval seeping out of his ears when he saw me, with my eyes lined red and black, dark purple lipstick and black lipliner, no eyebrows, big ol’ boots, black pants, black shirt, black jacket. It was as if he were frustrated that he couldn’t throw me out of the building for being out of dress code, like he was just waiting for me to leave his safe haven so he could reestablish order before the students got any ideas. Speaking of which, I was very sharply reminded that a lot of the girls at that school are ridiculously sheltered. When I walked by one class room, I heard someone say (rather loudly and tactlessly) “Did you see that? This girl just walked by with all this makeup on, she just looked like a freak.” The younger students just stared at me and muttered–I think I heard an “oh shit” or two, but I’m not sure it was in response to me–like they thought I was going to attack them or something.

It almost feels like I’m that school’s dirty little secret. I did outstanding academic work and graduated with a 4.0 GPA, organized concerts to raise money for charity, won the hearts of the faculty, and went on to attend a very highly respected university. But I never gave in to make the administration or the other students comfortable, I listened to the insults and inquisitions (“you’re the ugliest kid i’ve ever seen.” “why do you look the way you do?” “do you know how to build bombs?” “why do you wear your hair like that?” “why do you wear those shoes?”) but never changed to make it “easier” on myself or to make anyone else happy. So it seems that some of the more conservative parties of the administration are happy to pretend that I never existed. Maybe it still just doesn’t make sense to them, that I achieved what I did even though I didn’t fit their image of the “upstanding student.”

It felt like the principle–and the middle school principle as well, who I saw at some point–was embarrassed to see me, as if there were this sense of failure when they realized that they had never been able to change me.

Yesterday, at work (I work in a computer/technology place), two girls walked through the door. They seemed a bit confused as to where they wanted to go, to the side room or the main open area. They turned this way and that and discussed what they wanted to do. When they turned around to go wherever it was they had decided to go, they realized that I had been watching them. I smiled at them, and they smiled back. And one of those girls, in that moment, in the way that she smiled, looked just like Candice, and I thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. And when she walked with her friend to the back of the room, I watched her, noticing what she was wearing. Was that what Candice looked like when she was younger? Was that what she wore? When the girl returned to the front of the room to print her work, then to the front desk to put her work and belongings in order, I just wanted to stare at her. I half wanted her to notice that I was staring at her, but I tried to just read my book and ignore her, if only so she didn’t feel uncomfortable.

And yesterday, I finally bought the new Tori Amos album, “American Doll Posse.” I had been a little bit hesitant to buy it because it seemed like she was taking a new direction that I didn’t really enjoy as much as most of her earlier music. But the new album has some really good music on it. I listened to it while lying in bed. First I bounced around listening to “Big Wheel,” which is a fantastic, dirty rock song. Following that is one of Tori’s most beautiful songs “Bouncing Off Clouds.” I was bouncing my feet and smiling like I was insane and crying, and it was great! I just wanted to call up Tori Amos and say “Thank you for this song! This is incredible!”

One day, I want someone to tell me that one of my songs made them feel something intensely good.

Tomorrow, Alice and I are buying our Marilyn Manson tickets, eating at CBR (that’s Crazy Bowls and Wraps, but thanks to a friend’s misspeaking and a VERY long-running inside joke/philosophy/metaphysical principle involving corn, we call it CBR, because there is no “W” in “corn”), and seeing (appropriately) “KING CORN,” a film all about how corn is taking over America. “King Corn–where CORN is KING.”

I feel alone.
I don’t know anyone else and no one knows me.
There is no connection.
I look forward to seeing only few of the people I know.
I rarely feel like I even want to get to know other people, and I don’t feel they want to know me.
I miss talking to someone for a long time and feeling some mutual understanding.
I miss being in love.

Now and then, when I was seeing my therapist Candice (that is, in therapy), I would notice that she had eaten half of a banana and laid the remaining half on her desk behind her (I’m incredibly fascinated by the idiosyncracies of people I think are perfect, especially if I’m attracted to them). I remembered that when I was particularly anorexic, I would eat half of a banana for breakfast each day, and put the remaining half in a plastic bag, hidden behind the toaster oven so that my family wouldn’t realize I had only eaten half. So I wondered: what does it mean to Candice to eat only half of a banana at a time? Does she only have time to take a bite or two between sessions? Does she get ravenously hungry on some days if she doesn’t take a lunch break? I seem to recall that when I first started seeing her, she was more full-figured (that’s not a euphemism for “plump,” she was just curvy medium weight), but by the last few sessions, she seemed somehow smaller, and I wonder now if she had been wanting to lose weight that year. Was eating half of a banana at a time a way to stretch out her lunch? And what did it feel like for her to eat a banana? Did a banana taste the same way to Candice that it tasted to me? Did a banana feel the same way between Candice’ teeth as between mine? Did she have a ripeness preference? Was her experience of a banana my experience of a banana?

I miss knowing the idiosyncracies of someone I care about.
I miss the awareness of shared experience.
I miss what it feels like to kiss someone and mean it.