Do you ever get the feeling you're Being Watched?

I love attention. Mostly. But there are a few things I reserve for no one else but me. Not that my secrets are so special and the only one special enough to be revealed them is me, it's just that I was raised in a secretive environment and this how I respond to insecurities.

You'll learn eventually everything there is to know about me. Chances are, you probably know it all by now.

Pseudo-Poetic

Somebody wrote this on my web community this morning:

"Alright alright so I'm passive, big deal?"
except for when I'm
heavy-weight active
so much as to annoy myself... [annoy, because I was sober; there's this old Russian saying: "I'm not sad, I'm just sober" - thought you guys should know]
and then morning-after...
right now I'm...
shy...
passive..
passive...
shy..
contemplative...
stupid...
chickenshit.

so yeah
don't worry I hate me too
I'm not really saying much am I.
Jeeeeez sometimes you just know that it could be beautiful - or if not beautiful then loads of fun...
but I could get hurt... or worse, embarrassed, stuttery, stuff.

So
today I have done the following:
woken up confused
chatted
walked around like a zombie contemplating
cooked something
walked around like a zombie listening to me'shell
called a friend (and apparently caught her with her boyfriend)
... read people's livejournals.

You?!

My response to them was:

Me? I- well, Iiiiiiiii
I've been super unproductive, too.
Perhaps unproductive's not fair;
I awoke to find a less-than-thrilled friend in need of my laughter
I bumbled around the house, wavering between calling a friend
or calling a friend-
you tell me how to make that choice-
and then decided to be be selfless.

I just ate crappy crème du pommes des terres soupe
(mixed with water, not milk, as was suggested)
and now I'm looking for a reason to stay
in a town I have no further use for,
however much I love it,
and which has never wanted me here.

An Observation, If You Will

I often think about the Internet and how it affects our whole life. I find, as a member of a web community, that I am quite eager to trust others and feel like I know more about the world (even though I know very little). I get to learn about life experiences that I may never know otherwise; it opens up doors of so many possibilities. But maybe my character was always destined to be this way. Maybe, even if I hadn't discovered the Internet, I would still display the same character.

I sometimes wonder if it makes us feel more distant from each other or closer together. I know it brings me into people's lives I'd never know about any other way, and in this regard I think it brings us closer together. Also, there's this liberating feeling gotten from telling our lives to complete strangers, someone we've never been in the same room with; we open up to them without punishment (and even then some people are very withdrawn personally, to the extent that they create alter-egos or exaggerrate their ugliest traits because there is no responsibility).

I digress. I am thinking about this tonight because I reached out and "touched" someone new last night and I am responding to their response to me. It's very interesting to me how this person reacted to me- she warmed up to it almost completely, without telling me her inner-most feelings (but I'll get there eventually). It always surpises me when people don't respond to my friendliness in like fashion. Not that I mind, mind you; this is just a curiousity to me, something I like to spend my time considering.

I'm making this one quick tonight because, as I was finishing up the previous paragraph, I got off on a phililosophical tangent and had to record it. One of these days, I'll link you to my blog. Not that it's anything special to be linked to my blog, it just makes me kinda nervous to let people read. Eventually, though, I hope to be okay with myself (and my writing) to hand it out indiscriminately*. :D

~e.g.

*Not that you're so unimportant to me that you fit under the 'indiscriminate' catergory, it's just that, well, you're new and I'm new to you and, let's be honest, you don't show all your cards to everyone all at once, right? We keep our cards tucked close to our chest until we're ready. We're human! That's how we work!

Sans Anonymity, Responsibility is Punishing

I have practically every OHOer's OHO Time schedule memorised (or, at least the ones whose posts I look forward to reading and your's happen to be a part of this grouping) except yours.

This is disappointing because, I guess, I wish I knew you better.*

I'll start the ball rolling: I'm moving to NYC in three weeks, to hang out with OHOers-turned-real-life-friends until September, when I move to NYC, where I will live with an amazing woman I met while I lived in Utah for 9 months (a complete rebirth of self) 18 months ago. When I graduate in December*, my now-long-distance girlfriend, fellow OHOstonian, will move in with me after her graduation in the same month. Ideally, I have a job with the NGO I will have interned for since September. And then, within a year, we hope to move to London, the West Coast, or Canada (or maybe even Africa or Japan). After a few years of travelling, nous aurions adopté des enfants and living West Coast, in Northern California, not far from other OHOer alumni we both want to spend time with.


My point? I've made quite a community for myself from OHO. Don't be shy.

Oh, right. And I really enjoy French.

Aloha~erin


PS Disclaimer: I'm high right now; "irresponsible american," I can hear you grumbling it already. Bear with and don't hold it against me. [puts on best charming, innocent grin]



*you understand, of course, that my interest is based solely on your OHO presence and that I want nothing more from you than interesting dialog/conversation. Point? I'm not a stalker. Just friendly and curious. :D

**I had a nightmare the other night that I wouldn't be able to put on a good bachelorette party for my best friend because I would be decidedly short on money or time- a dream that stemmed from uncertainty about her wedding in October that I have to come back down from NY to attend.

Eternally Grateful

you think you're not worthy
i'd have to say i agree
i'm not worthy of you
you're not worthy of me
i'm not worthy of you
you not worthy of me...
~ani d.

Maybe you know me really well and you think of all the grateful people you know, I'm not the most grateful person you know. This very well may be true. And perhaps I don't always express the gratitude I feel for others, but I walk through my days grateful for almost everyone I encounter; I admire each and everyone of them for bringing something into my life I wouldn't have had without them. My pen name- EG? "Eternally Grateful" Creative, huh?

What's my point this evening? Bobdammit, I'm grateful. So grateful, in fact, that there are no words for my gratitude. I'm leaving my current residence in a few weeks, headed for another state very far away. I will miss it here. Now is the time for me to remember how much I will be missing when I'm gone.

I love you beyond our comprehension of love. I'm not worthy of you.

~eg

Revealing Secrets

So, I've started giving out this blog addy. Do you know what this means? Well, initially I thought I wouldn't give it out to anyone, that way, I could write whatever I want and never suffer the consequences of honesty. My blog represented absolute freedom; freedom from every desire I had to lie to protect myself and others. I thought, This will be how I maintain my true identity; this is how I will keep from being consumed by my love for others.

But I never capitalised on my freedom. You're reading this now because I never once journaled something I didn't want you to read, something I would be ashamed to show you, something I would suffer the consequences of sharing with you. Never once have I written here what I wouldn't tell you over the phone.

Does this mean I'm dishonest with my blog (i.e. myself) or because I'm completely honest with everyone, including myself and you?
To tell you the truth, I don't know the answer to that question.

I can tell you only a select few know of this site. And for those of you who are reading the archives now and didn't know about my blog until months post this post, please do not take offense. It's not that I didn't trust you; it's that I didn't trust myself. I still worried about how you would judge me.

On Being Normal

Commiserating with mon amie tonight, she calls me 'crazy' and then laughs gleefully. I laughed, too, but when I stopped I subconsciously asked if she was serious. Still smiling, she nods her head and says "Yes." I ask again, this time with a not-so-joyful smile; again she responds "Yes" while smiling.

So I call her on it, in shock that she actually thinks I'm crazy, I ask her to define it. She looks it up and rattles off a list of synonyms. They are:

1 a: full of cracks or flaws : UNSOUND b: CROOKED, ASKEW
2 a: MAD, INSANE b (1): IMPRACTICAL (2): ERRATIC c : being out of the ordinary: UNUSUAL < a taste for crazy hats >
3 a: distracted with desire or excitement < a thrill-crazy mob > b: absurdly fond : INFATUATED c: passionately preoccupied : OBSESSED

She looks up, satisfied, like she's just answered my request. I stare at her, waiting for her to give me a proper definition. I ask, "So, what's the definition? Which of those am I? Give me some synonyms." She stumbles over her thoughts for a minute, searching for her reply. Eventually, she responds with, "Well, I think everybody is crazy."

"Everybody, huh?" I question, fiercely, waiting for the kill.

"Yeah, all of us," she returns. Oh, I got her now.

"Then, if I'm crazy and everyone else is, too, then that makes me normal, not crazy." I'm so sure I'm right in this moment, I've never felt more sure in my life.

She tried to fight back, but I just repeated the statement over and over, varying my tone of voice to avoid the monotony.

She couldn't prove we were all crazy, but I understood her point. She just couldn't articulate it.

I am the Laughing Buddha. Long live.

In Other News...

I found Illegal-Art dot com this evening while downloading DJ Danger Mouse's Grey Album. After snooping around the site and learning that they are based out of Brooklyn, I thought it might be worth it to see if they do internships. So I looked around a little more and found out they do have internship positions! I'm planning on submitting a resume and cover letter this weekend (or whenever I get around to writing all that out).

Groovy.

Different Name, Same Game

If anything is game on the battlefield, why do the rules change the moment you step off the field?

Who gets to draw that arbitrary line in the sand and why does anyone listen to him?

The world is amoral. If we value life, we value life, and not just for our own purposes. If we allow for the disregard of life as determined by the majority (and not the entirety) of the population, then our morals are inconsistent and, therefore, not morals but conveniences.

In an ungoverned society (Abu Ghraib prison during these incidents), convenience is the operative excuse. Soldiers enact their revenge on prisoners, doctors and nurses conveniently forget their oaths, superiors conveniently look the other way. A battlefield by a different name.

What's the difference between what the guards did to the prisoners and what the freedom defenders did to the freedom fighters (and vice-versa)? Why are "killed in action" soldiers different from "killed in death camps" victims? None of them were strong enough to survive. This is how the natural world works.

On a side note, Times columnist, Jonathan D. Tepperman, penned this in Thursday's edition. I think it ties in quite nicely to my point.

Administration officials have argued that they themselves are not liable, since the incidents were the work of a few bad actors.

This may or may not be true. Under the doctrine of command responsibility, officials can be held accountable for war crimes committed by their subordinates even if they did not order them — so long as they had control over the perpetrators, had reason to know about the crimes, and did not stop them or punish the criminals.

This doctrine is the product of an American initiative. Devised by Allied judges and prosecutors at the Nuremberg tribunals, it was a means to impute responsibility for wartime atrocities to Nazi leaders, who often communicated indirectly and avoided leaving a paper trail.

We all know high-ranking Coalition Force officials will never feel the heat for this.* I mean, if I were a high-ranking official, would I let myself get caught? Hell, no. That would ruin my chances of re-election which would seriously hamper my financial prospects. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there and I'm not about to lose. A battlefield by a different name.

Now the opposition is gunning for the government so they can control, no, liberate the world their way. Oh, look- a different name.

Peace, ya'll.


*but did anybody happen to notice that CIA Director George Tenet stepped down last week, taking responsibility for the faulty information and a scandal about an undercover CIA agent's name released to the public in a scandal about nuclear weapons information? Interesting how nobody (around here, leastways) took note of that.

A post with no resolution (i.e. i got bored)

If one were to create a blog, clearly, they've done it to communicate something to their audience. What that something is or who the audience is matters not for my purposes this afternoon; I'm trying to get at why they started a blog in the first place. I mean, obviously we're talking about me here, but I like to compare myself to others when evaluating my behaviour (a sometimes self-destructive task, but mostly it serves to provide self-reflection). What is my point? To illustrate this, I give you a story... the (Unofficial) History of My Blog...

Friends said I should start blogging. Then, people who just met me and had conversation with me one night told me I should blog. And I thought, "yeah, I could do that. I spend enough freakin' time in front of the keyboard, I might as well be someone productive." So I wrote a journal entry Memorial Day weekend and a few days later created a blog and posted it. Then, after a virus had (and is in the process of) eaten up my computer, I downloaded a new browser and changed my homepage to my blogspot. But since then, I mostly avoid the site, except to write those two posts prior this one. This afternoon, I stared at the online journal, completely intimidated by it, hating it, wishing it didn't make so much fucking noise, begging me to address it. But it got me wondering: what am I avoiding?

Avoiding a journal about myself tells me I'm probably avoiding myself. Hmmm... this feels like a recurring pattern lately. Since my heart split in two janvier this year, I've done a whole bunch of that. Friends ask, "what's up, EG?" and I start telling them a story and lose interest three sentences into it. I don't hate myself. I don't feel particularly self-defeating. But I can say that the ego that floated my enthusiasm for most of last year must have sprung a leak somewhere down the line, 'cos my usual charisma is seriously waning.

Decision-making processes

Last time I moved a thousand plus miles away I was in dire need of a change. Don't get me wrong, I'm a firm believer that people never change (they only become more fully what they are) and I've become a product of my own self-prophesy. I wandered 2000+ miles from home two years ago, in search of familiarity beyond my physical and emotional boundaries, seeking my own reflection instead of seeing the mirror image of everyone BUT me. I found her and loved her. I came back different, renewed somehow, glowing (my mother asked me, "Did you get laid out there?"). And I promised myself I would stay that way, that my life while finishing up school would be portable and mobile and emotional attachment-free.

Two years later, I am taking stock of what I've gathered here. I finally took off my wall the 30+ postcards I'd accumulated from friends since my arrival here. Tonight I began packing the bits and bobs given me while here. I have made a note to myself to pick up a forwarding address notice at the post office next time I'm there in case I miss anything during the move. The next two months I'll (hopefully) be all over the place, my parents volunteering themselves as the net for catching any of my fan mail slipped past my gaze.

Ani croons: "i don't keep much stuff around/ i value my portability" and I echo her priorities. Stuff is sort of a metaphor, really, for all kinds of stuff that isn't necessary, emotional attachment/baggage included. I'm no stoic and I really don't want to be. I just want to love and be loved in return, but sometimes it's so hard to do that and maintain a safe distance. Getting lost in other people has always been my self-defeating method of choice, but I remember that it is, still, a choice and I made it each and every time. So maybe my "self-defeatism" is really just my way of being happy. I did, after all, choose this path.

Don't fuck up, eg.

I've had that statement penned on my hand since 1300 hrs today. The Puss and my flatmate both asked what it was in reference to. I told them that it was a person note to myself and they should M-Y-O-B. Each responded the same way, Well, you shouldn't have put it there, kid. Oh, right.

I'm supposed to be designing my life maintenant. But I'll be honest with you: I don't feel like doing any work. No, I'd much rather chill out for a bit, eat some good food, imbibe and catch up with friends. Life is to precious to spoil it with...life.

You know, sometimes I don't even like the people I spend time with. I catch myself bored or annoyed with them and wonder why the fuck I waste my time being bored with them. Why don't you come, come away, come away from it? But then, I guess it's better than being bored or annoyed alone.

I was watching Chutney Popcorn the other day and the mother character in the movie told her daughter suffering from depression that it was impossible to be depressed standing up. So, here I slouch in front of my computer, mulling over this statement, agreeing with it and not feeling motivated enough to get up and do anything but run to the fridge, loo, or drive to get a frosty down the street.

Another day gone by unproductively. Another day with 1500+ calories. Another day slips by without counting carbs. And my back aches. I need to get laid. But, hey. At least I got the sticky stuff off my wall tonight.

i got a sadness that grows up around like a weed
and i'm not hurting anyone
i'm just spiraling in
and then she closes her eyes
and hears the song begin again ~ani d.

Cette danse est le mien.

Debut

Very few things in life scare me. Actually, that is a lie, but as I am writing (as opposed to speaking) this, I get to utilise literary license (and tell as many lies as I want and call them 'exaggerations'). Where was I? Oh, right. I was telling you that I don't do scared. The only thing tough enough to frighten me is loneliness. But loneliness comes in all shapes and sizes and, contrary to popular belief, it breeds in large crowds, which is where I find myself this evening: on a plane surrounded by travellers headed for the arrivals' gate.

I used to love to fly; these days, though, my palms start sweating at the thought of take-off. Used to be that leaving the Earth was a reason to celebrate. Now I have to liquor up before going through security. (Speaking of whom, they had a few concerns this evening about my $12 in rolled coins; my mini-Streamline made them nervous, too.) Not that I mind drinking... any excuse, far as I'm concerned.

But what does being an alcoholic who carries school supplies around everywhere she goes have to do with loneliness, you ask? Pause. Silence. Sarcasm. Where was I? Oh, right- loneliness in crowds. Typically, I'm okay by myself (a good thing, considering how often I am), but travelling amongst hundreds of people I feel like an outcast. What concerns me most about feeling like an outcast is that I feel like an outcast. What has happened in the last année et demie to make me concerned about not fitting in? Two years ago I was living with hard-core, disapproving, but loving, Mormons when I shaved my head. Bald. I felt sympathy for my Aunt as she cried at first sight of me, but I never regretted it once. I'm playing the game now, but why so safe? And why even at all?

My parents were hippies. My mother brags (read: exaggerates) about the time she got arrested for protesting. My dad's claim to hippiedom is that he did a shitload of drugs. In 2000, they both voted for George Bush and this year they will vote for him again. What the hell happened? When (and why) did they start playing the game? And does my concern about feeling like a social outcast mean that I, too, am headed for the stadium?

I'm fairly certain my fear of flying is directly related to my fear of dying, but why so goddamn a-skeered of death? I usually fly solo, so why do I feel so lame for not having a friend to sit next to? And let me tell you: if it was normal for everyone to fly solo, this neurosis of mine would cease to exist; I would fit in. Ech. It's been since high school that I felt this compulsive need to belong. But needing to belong is what breeds this loneliness... or is it the other way around?

We're beginning our final descent now. I know this because the pen in hand is getting slippery again. If this entry makes it to publication, it means I survived another flight. It also means that you have just met me, eg muddy.