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Monday, February 22nd, 2010

Subject:It has been a while, hasn't it?
Time:2:46 am.
Mood: thoughtful.
Dear Mr. Henshaw,

I haven't written in a long time so I thought I'd drop a line. I just re-read all my entries and it made me sad in parts.

I felt sad for the 23 year old Emily, who was obviously in a lot of pain because her mother had recently died.
I feel like this immense feeling of relief too, that I got through all that somehow and have come through - relatively well-adjusted and still a good, caring person. At least I hope I am. I am 30 now and I don't feel that sense of crushing depression anymore, I don't know how or why, maybe when you are older, things just automatically get put into perspective in your mind?

I also feel really happy that the friends I had then, at 23, are still my friends now.

I feel sad that I don't spend time daydreaming anymore. I must make more time for this.
Wow, I'm 30. Imagine when I'm 40, rereading all my journal entries from when I was 30 (although, I never write in a journal now, instead I write probably too-long and too-informative e-mails to close friends). Will I marvel at how naive I was? How much more have I got to learn? I hope a lot, but also not too much.

Mr. Henshaw, I do try to live in the moment and I often have to stop myself from "can't waiting" for some future thing to happen that will apparently fulfill me, but I can't help but wonder what these next ten years will hold for me.

And as a journal entry really would not be complete with some mention of food. I could really sink my teeth into a good burger and a mass of thick, crinkly salty fried potatoes right now.


Wednesday, March 22nd, 2006

Time:8:59 pm.
I don't care what Tyler says, my livejournal is awesome.

But seriously, folks, it gets worse everyday, my affliction, my boredom.

BUT - Today I went into Popeye's chicken and was ordering my food and the guy, whilst he was ringing me up and between repeating my order and stuff, was beatboxing. It was like, "A chicken breast and red beans and rice, (boochie boosha boocha*) that'll be (boochie boosha boocha) 4.80. (boochie boosha boocha) 20 cents is your change..." Well you get the idea. It was bizarre, but heartwarming. He was so blasé about it, like it was completely normal.

That made my day.

(*whatever the way you spell the sound of beatboxing)

Tuesday, February 21st, 2006

Subject:How can a piece of salmon be lovely?
Time:10:49 pm.
It's a piece of meat. How is that lovely?

Granted, I like to eat salmon. It is yummy. And often, I have bit into a piece that was good, and I was like, "damn, thassa mighty good piece of salmon," because I was hungry, and it was cooked and juicy and good.

But it is never lovely. It is not beautiful. I am not in love with a piece of meat.

Oh whatever. Here's to you, lovely piece of salmon...

Oh but you're lovely,
with a butter sauce,
and a chardonnay
there is nothing for me
but to love you,
and the way you taste tonight.
2 conscientious objectors|Post

Subject:I am just a spinster and my story's seldom told...
Time:8:37 pm.
Dear Miss Marple,

You are the quintessential spinster, but I don't really feel like I relate to you because I am 26 and rarely solve mysteries except for the occasional ones, like Case # 893933 "Where the Hell Did My Chips Go" and Case # 893934 - "Oh Yeah, I Ate Them".

But you must've been young once.

This is from a journal entry dated 1-21-2004, actually it is a response to a response to a journal entry dated 1-15-2004. From my youth, when I was a bright-eyed, fresh-faced 24 years young, full of dreams and vigor...and I quote-

"I totally want a chocolate chip cookie but G___ is calling me in 20 minutes and I don't have time to go to the store." (NB: G___ was the youth I was dating at the time.)

Oh my God. Miss Marple, do you SEE, DO you SEE? Eff that ess, fo' reals. I forsook a chocolate chip cookie just to get a call from some dude. What a joke, what a gas, what a tragedy, what a waste of my youth. These chocolate chip cookies, they were double chocolate, from Sainsy's, and they were like SO GOOD. Now, if faced with the choice between a chocolate chip cookie and 20 minutes twiddling my thumbs so I can talk on the phone for like a half hour, long-distance, going "eh? eh? speak up!", well, I hope you don't even have to ask what my choice would be.

Long-distance relationships are for the birds. And so is spinsterdom. And so is spinsterdom when it's self-proclaimed at 26 for no real good reason except used up favorites like "all the good ones are taken" and "I don't want to watch dvds on the couch every weekend."*


Miss Marple, please solve the mystery that is life.

*That is what couples do. They watch dvds on the couch on Saturday night and cook dinner together. And on Sunday mornings they get the paper and go out for lunch. It's true. I used to do this. It sucked my will to live.

Wednesday, February 15th, 2006

Subject:It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care
Time:9:42 pm.
Mood: contemplative.
My life has gotten so weird, now that I think about it.

Over the weekend, I went up to Hokkaido with H__, my Aussie friend, and B__, who everyone we met kept calling the "mad Irish girl". We went to this ski resort town and it was full of vacationing Aussies. But also, we ran into about eight other folks we know from playing gaelic football in Tokyo. We drank a lot (this part of my life is not a deviation from the norm).

So like, gaelic football has taken over my life. I spent many weekends for a few months training last year, went to Taiwan, went to Shanghai, and now, since the season is over, but about to begin again, I have been in discussion about it. Mind you, I'm not talking about the spectacular play of the Cork v. Kerry match of '68*. We're just talking about like, how to make it more fun this year and how to get more girls to join. And I end up seeing all these folks at the pub who I met through football.

But I often wonder to myself, "what does gaelic football have to with me?"

It's like how I always thought to myself, "I will never take a job that has to do with kids." And now I work with kids. Little ones, to boot.

What's next, will I take a hip-hop dance class and will I go on a hot air balloon ride?

*This one and only time I really remember watching a game, the only memorable part was when a little doggie ran out onto the field and one of the players picked it up and soberly walked it over to the sidelines, like it was a regular occurrence.

Tuesday, October 25th, 2005

Subject:I don't mind me sitting here, wasting all my time...
Time:11:30 am.
Mood: okay.
I just spent 1.30 hours reading some livejournals and farting around on the Internet, which is something I don't usually do but also usually do. I miss having a job where I am on the computer a lot and can spend hours reading useless things and getting paid for it.

If I were somebody who posted on my livejournal regularly, I wouldn't have much to say, mostly because I don't think it'd be really relevant. I mean, I could talk about the bars I went to over the weekend, and what mischief I got into, but then I'd be saying the same thing over and over. I could tell you about my job, but even I don't like to hear about it. I could tell you about the various assbuckets in my life, but they are probably the same sort of assbuckets in your life, if you are perhaps a 20-something year old girl living (kinda) in the city. And if you live in Tokyo, then we might be sharing that same assbucket.

Wednesday, April 20th, 2005

Time:11:06 am.
It's 4-20.

Don't forget to bring a towel.

Tuesday, March 15th, 2005

Subject:I would have a knitting blog too, if I were a LAME-O!
Time:3:46 pm.
Mood: mellow.
Dear Tooth Fairy,

The big man upstairs seems to be ignoring my pleas for help, so I was thinking I'd write to you and maybe you could put in a good word for me.

I am obsessed with knitting things because I missed the feeling of picking up something and knowing I made it with my own hands. Oh TF, if I could turn back time...

There's this girl in the preschool class I teach and she has black eyes and is really quiet and I sometimes catch her staring at me, and I thought she looked familiar and then I came home and looked at my cat and realized that's where I'd seen those eyes with their never-ending black depths, bordering upon an un-knowing and knowing all. Except my cat will play with plastic bags until he gets too old and the preschool girl may someday build giant monuments or practice medicine.

TF, life is a funny place, ain't it?

2 conscientious objectors|Post

Sunday, February 13th, 2005

Subject:You down with G-O-D? Yeah, you know me!
Time:6:14 am.
Mood: restless.
Dear God,

I am not giving anything up for Lent, but mostly that's cos I'm not Catholic. Also, you are going to have to pry this pint of Guinness out of my cold dead hands. The cigarettes I will try to give up eventually, after I am diagnosed with lung cancer.

It completely smells like ramen up in here, but I don't know why. Hey God, remember last night, when I ate that delicious ramen at 4am with my new fave friend? That was good.

I think that Tokyo is going to be my demise.

Your humble servant,

Friday, January 28th, 2005

Subject:If this is only a test, I hope that I'm passing, cos I'm losing steam.
Time:2:58 am.
Man, life is tough.

Tuesday, December 21st, 2004

Time:2:28 pm.
If we have to call them "gingerbread people" nowadays, then the terrorists have won.

Subject:please please please let me let me let me let me get what i want this time
Time:6:31 am.
Dear livejournal,

I am not sure what you want from me. I post randomly and I don't even know why. I have spent hours reading other people's livejournals, wondering if their lives were better than mine, and why, and how, but then, not wanting to write stuff like they wrote, because it seems lame.

Honestly, it seems lame to write something along the lines of:
the red light radiates from the half empty wine bottle. drew circles in the steam on the mirror. cold night outside, tears dripping down my cheeks, remembering those words he said when he broke my heart for the last time. pain, sobbing stabbing, pain. i am the porch light that is turned off on halloween.

Lame, because like, that is the sappy stuff you write in your personal diary that only you read, right? Because if you post that sort of thing on here, it's like you think that you are writing something pretty and poetic, because what happens is that your lame livejournal friends post back and say something like, "that was beautiful". And maybe if you are joe freaking longfellow, you can get away with it, but I thought teenage angst poetry only works ironically these days.

I understand, livejournal, that maybe people can write things on here, like "i feel like drowning, i'm going under, pain cutting searing unhealing pain," and then they might go to someone else's livejournal and see that the other person wrote the same thing, and they'll be like, wow, I'm not alone, and then they won't go actually drown themselves, right? I totally understand that. But I'm 25 years old now, I am completely armed with the knowledge that I am not alone in this world and my problems are not unique although they are perhaps specific to my life, when it boils down to it, sadness, loneliness, happiness, jealousy, joy, etc, are all basic human emotions, right?

Livejournal, I feel like that the sooner you realize that although you are special, you are not that special, the better off you'll be. And you might as well just have fun instead of trying your whole damned life to connect to someone, you know? With all this friendster and myspace dot com and whatever else they are coming out with that the hipsters seem to love (because hipsters were often not that popular in school and now can feel and actually see that they are connected through a chain of friends). I mean, god, livejournal, what is this obsession with connection? And this always having to be with someone. I mean, I know that love is wonderful and it's wonderful to be in love, but I just can't see the point anymore of this lifelong obsession we are meant to have, trying to connect with a certain someone. Don't we have enough on our plate by ourselves?

I don't know, livejournal, I just haven't any idea what to write on here.
1 conscientious objector|Post

Wednesday, December 15th, 2004

Subject:Sometimes I just lie in bed....
Time:5:56 am.
and think about how soon, God will strike down all hipsters and the meek inherit the Earth. And I clap with glee.

Sunday, October 24th, 2004

Time:4:27 pm.
Dear Fortuna,

Please go eff yourself.

Yours sincerely,

Thursday, October 14th, 2004

Subject:no one wants to hear what you dreamt about unless you dreamt about them
Time:3:15 am.
Ever since the truth of that lyric rang like Big Ben in the mind of my eye, I have really hated it whenever someone tries to tell me their dreams. Really really really. I can listen if it's like, directly about me, or really gruesome, or like clairvoyant, or if they can sum it up really well, like, "everyone had a hand sticking out the top of their head, and each hand held a Pay Day chocolate bar. The End."
Most times, I don't care if I'm in the dream, cos it's usually like, "you were there, but you looked like George from Seinfeld, but it was you, and we walked around and you kept shooting rubber bands, and I told you to stop so you flew away laughing."

I am super bored and am eating everything in sight. I can't remember sometimes, like, what I used to do.
I think normally I read and watch movies, but I'm all out. Maybe what I do is watch Everybody Loves Raymond and eat every leftover in the fridge. That's what a real spinster would do. I'm not going to be a spinster anymore though, I've decided. It's really exciting news, actually. I'm stoked.

P.S. Did you hear the real news? I am at peace with myself. Goodbye Miss Fury, Hello Miss Totally Cool as a Cucumber
3 conscientious objectors|Post

Monday, August 30th, 2004

Subject:O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.
Time:1:05 pm.
Mood: envious.
Dear Reader,

I don't feel so bad anymore, I guess, even though I only have about two weeks to finish my dissertation. You want to know why, Michelle? Well, you see, I've been reading from time to time, this girl's livejournal, and I've always felt slightly jealous. Her life sounds exciting, like shes dated a few different guys and writes with a bit of an existential undertone, and she has a pair of Seven jeans (i think). So I read her journal for the first time in ages recently, and found that she is engaged and her fiance seems like a good egg (he gives her presents). And Michelle, it depressed me a lot, cos you know, I met her once, and she was nice, but I've always been like, "why is her life more interesting than mine?" Also she seems a lot artsier in her journal entries than she was when I met her. She was probably the least "arts-conscious" person at the table, but then the table was full of geeks. But then she talks about J.D. Salinger stories in her journal.
But Michelle, I was wrong. Cos when I really read the entries, it turns out that she always seems to be sick for some reason, like this pain or that pain, and she's got an ulcer AND she's on anti-depressants. The anti-depressants thing is what gave me that wake up call. I mean, granted, half of America is on antidepressants, it don't mean much anymore. But I realized that although she may have a fiance and I don't, it doesn't mean her life is anything to really envy.
Basically, Michelle, I think I made the mistake of evaluating my life based on superficial standards. Too many women's magazines, I think. I'll change, Michelle. I won't worry about fiances and jeans and dumb stuff like that anymore.

Thanks for bein' lasses wi' me.
1 conscientious objector|Post

Saturday, July 17th, 2004

Subject:When I come back to bed, someone's taken my place
Time:7:12 pm.
Mood: high.
I saw Simon & Garfunkel at Hyde Park on Thursday. Art Garfunkel still had his blond afro and was wearing a black vest over a white long sleeved shirt. Bless. Their closing words: "Thank you all for being here, we'll see you when we're 80!"

Thursday, July 1st, 2004

Subject:I bet Richie Valens would still be alive today if he sang in English.
Time:8:07 pm.
These are the lyrics to La Bamba, in English:

in order to dance the bamba
in order to dance the bamba
a little grace is needed
a little grace for me and for you
higher and higher
and higher and higher
for you I'll be, for you I'll be, for you'll I'll be
I am not a sailor
I am not a sailor
I am a captain
I am a captain, I am a captain
bamba bamba (repeat)

Monday, May 24th, 2004

Subject:"He wants you back!" he screams into the night like a fireman going to a window that has no fire.
Time:6:21 pm.
Mood: lonely.
So like, I finished my paper.

I want to go out and get drunk now, although I do feel a little drunked out, but too bad so sad, I ain't got no main man.

It's just me, Dirty Sanchez, and some Sainsy's chicken on the green mile.

She walked into my life two weeks ago and turned everything topsy turvy, and then walked right back out, leaving nothing but half a bottle of strawberry orange juice and a lint brush. And my broken heart.

I'm gonna go catch up on Daily Show clips.

Monday, May 17th, 2004

Subject:I'm glad I don't have ringworm.
Time:12:06 pm.
Mood: aggravated.
But I do have an infected ear piercing. Today I turned in one of my essays, but I have not even started on the other one, which is a contrast/comparison between the use of the city in Pasolini's Accatone and Fellini's La Dolce Vita. I feel completely unenthused. I am Jack's wasted life.

Saturday night, right? I was on the bus with some of my roommates, right? And we were drunk cos it was one of them's birthday, and maybe we were being a bit obnoxious but I doubt it. So then we get to our stop and we get off the bus and these girls get off too, but one of them (an American) says to her friend (a Brit), "I'm ashamed to get off a bus with those Americans," or something cos she didn't want to be associated with us, cos I think one of my roommates (a Canadian) was talking drunkenly to the third friend (a Canadian) of the ashamed girl. So then I had to regulate and told her (in strong words) that it is silly to diss your own country or countrymen. It turned out she lives in our building and so I hurled insults at her and told her to stop and put her dukes up, as she and her friend walked ahead of us. She was all, "you don't want me to stop," and I was like, "no I do." And then my pièce de resistance, I said, "take your 19 year old asses back home!" And they were all "try 21." I am Jack's raging bile duct.

If I am to be disliked or slagged off at all, I want it to be because of my personality, not simply because of my citizenship. Also if you're gonna diss my friends or me, you must be ready to put your dukes up.

Alternatively, I wish I could have peace and love and harmony in my heart instead of all this rage.
1 conscientious objector|Post

LiveJournal for superhip.

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