tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-191947092011-12-05T00:01:15.285-05:00And you are the challengerVickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.comBlogger691100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-36613819064748057012011-12-04T23:57:00.002-05:002011-12-05T00:01:15.298-05:00

Dear email, dear instant messages, why won't you save me? He says that "starting is half the battle." He says that that is a "whole thing" but all I've ever heard is the G.I. Joe version. As I hack through with an ever-dulling machete, a thicker and thicker jungle of obligation, why won't distractions save me? I hear the world beyond what I can't see. It's harder to ignore and I can no longer

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-30026136956764915352009-10-10T04:28:00.001-04:002009-10-10T06:41:13.981-04:00

Only 21 minutes until the time of day I started my last entry, 19 months ago. Middle of the night, beginning of the morning. All is quiet. No emails, no IMs, no text messages and even homework seems irrelevant. This is so very rare. I miss writing, I miss contemplation. But that's just residual romanticism or predictable human dissatisfaction. Where am I headed? What am I now? Is this what I want

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-44082450407752184952009-06-27T22:04:00.001-04:002009-06-27T22:04:48.341-04:00

It all seems so pointless.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-47787030102683785152009-06-23T11:49:00.004-04:002009-06-23T11:53:20.941-04:00

I worked so hard just to have a choice, and now it's sinking in that choice was just an illusion, a desert oasis. 'Round and 'round I spin my hamster wheel along with everyone else, complaining about the greener grass in the distance, waking up this morning and realizing that I really am 30 years old. And NO one actually much better off than me, not really. How do I get off this thing?!? I CAN'T

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-23346247930190606882009-05-11T13:45:00.003-04:002009-05-11T14:00:55.552-04:00

We all have paths that make us. Sometimes I get all congratulatory because it feels like I am right on mine. But it seems like most of the time I waste contemplating the paths of others, how they got on it, what it must be like, why it's their path. Wish, wish, wish. I busy myself with pain to gain. Ingrained is the idea that I don't get what I don't deserve...I must be too indulgent still. When

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-27853139155699255882009-04-17T10:52:00.000-04:002009-04-17T10:53:04.746-04:00

On Tuesday driving home from school, I had this fantastic concept for an art project/show whereby I make super realistic sculptures of objects and.... YEA! Because today is only FRIDAY AFTERNOON and I ALREADY FORGOT THE REST OF THE BRILLIANT CONCEPT! Obviously, I was never going to execute it (specially now) but I am so extremely disheartened by the incredible lack of permanence in my brain. If I

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-8884324902601133832008-08-15T14:05:00.003-04:002008-08-15T14:41:35.858-04:00

Apparently I am a mean bitch. As hard as I've worked and constantly work on being self-aware, a small pattern has been made apparent to me that I am "mean." I have to comment that those who, by my judgement, since we're openly passing it, are chauvinistic, brute and uncultured at best. I admit I secretly never cared for them, or felt at odds with them from the start, and perhaps those kept

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-80535133127555498322008-03-06T05:13:00.001-05:002008-03-06T05:13:50.975-05:00

I'm not as excited as I once (very recently) was. For an unmeasurable, seemingly infinite moment, I was gifted a cloud of wondrous optimism. I existed always with a deep satisfaction, confident that my own endurance had earned me contentment, certain of the future's potential. Strangers literally and constantly stopped to ask me exactly why I was so happy. No joke.I was warned not to overstay in

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-71684764959306952342007-11-19T11:29:00.000-05:002007-11-19T14:30:35.967-05:00

I was a "graphic designer" for like 8 years. What I mean is that I went to OCC and got an AA and was able to get an entry-level job putting together ads and crap on the buzzword software, if you will, that allows you to put "graphic designer" on your resume and business cards. It paid decently and I was lucky they liked me so much during the long dark tunnel I was working my way through during

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-41703749529644100892007-09-24T10:38:00.000-04:002007-09-24T10:44:03.637-04:00

I would like to take a break from keeping it together, but not get that oversleeping headache feeling. I would like to spend the entire day re-ordering my Netflix Queue, and veg out on independent films.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-73909666429732997162007-09-21T01:53:00.000-04:002007-09-21T01:54:09.058-04:00

I've written well, and I've written in the manner which inspires regret. Almost all of the time that I'm not writing at all, I feel secretly guilty for being too chicken to open myself to the criticism I need to be better at it. I think of myself as eloquent enough to keep likewise articulate friends, yet I mostly feel like a tourist in a world of competitors much more intelligent than me. For

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-15510386000904848412007-08-15T00:56:00.000-04:002007-08-15T00:58:56.317-04:00

I just need to stay home sometimes. I can't keep up with everything I want to do. I feel trapped by restrictions of the invalid kind; i.e. money, "time." There is so much life to experience...I am at once excited and disappointed. How can I possibly make everything happen? I don't want to deny myself of anything.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-12978535040372789042007-07-30T15:34:00.000-04:002007-07-30T15:53:18.968-04:00

Finally, I've broken through. Weight loss efforts are at 8.5 lbs down in week 6. Today we shall see if I've come ever further. I was getting really discouraged there. This encouragement is just in time.Went to Muskegon last Saturday. We made an excuse out of our DIA reciprocal membership to go to the Muskegon art museum. There was a fantastic glass artist named Dante Marioni

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-78233828429305769712007-07-19T16:57:00.003-04:002007-07-19T17:50:58.006-04:00

The last thing I can remember is that damn "holiday week." With July 4th in the middle, it really screwed up my flow. I know I wrote here on the 6th, but I was still amidst the week and so had no concept of what impact it would have. It was a catalyst for being very lazy, and I have been unproductive and feeling guilty since.But let me try and retrace my steps, maybe it will help me get back on

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-35608911161951413172007-07-09T10:40:00.001-04:002007-07-09T10:51:40.499-04:00

Another hour and a half of my life bites the dust at the hands (yes, webpages have hands) of YouTube.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-56451993708172875442007-07-06T18:09:00.000-04:002007-07-06T19:09:21.791-04:00

OK, here's the thing: I went to my WW meeting that day and was totally bummed out because I only lost 1.2 lbs. If I had a proper attitude (like the one I was faking) about my weight, I would've rejoiced that my efforts resulted in this reasonable loss like my supportive friends told me I should. Instead, I fixated on how *last* time, I sometimes lost 5 or 7 lbs. in a week and that 1.2 lbs. was a

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-41010339112673485052007-06-25T10:36:00.000-04:002007-06-25T11:40:02.128-04:00

I went back to Weight Watchers this week. I have been thinking of buckling down on a weight loss/fitness effort for a long while, had promised myself I would do something focused once the stress died down, so I am making good on that. I decided on Weight Watchers because it worked really well for me about 4 years ago. I lost 20 lbs. but then I didn't stick around to learn how to keep it up, which

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-11577590682922058322007-06-20T01:25:00.000-04:002007-06-20T02:00:02.225-04:00

Hi. I do a lot of stuff and I'm having quite a time. I find, however, that I lose track of those good times quite quickly, so I am committing to logging those events here. It may be tedious reading sometimes but this is twofold: So when you want to ask, "Hey Vicki, what have you been up to?" 1.) There will be this chronicle/reference 2.) I might actually remember, through the exercise of writing

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-44889021506544769972007-06-06T18:57:00.000-04:002007-06-06T19:12:09.702-04:00

Good God. Am I REALLY going to let one person suck me into a vortex of utter pettiness? Since I have been accused of being esoteric, I am going to write this blog as if explaining to the accuser. I have a friend who is socially awkward and embarrassing. The only reason they are remaining anonymous is because this is a public blog and I am not a complete asshole. (Of course, the fact that I'm

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-48428428943913846672007-02-27T11:49:00.001-05:002007-02-27T11:49:51.877-05:00

We are oft reminded by the wise and/or philosophical set not to become attached to material things, that belongings are transient, that time is an illusion. Why does it feel so good to be "productive?" Am I measuring "productivity" with the wrong gauge? Is measuring an unwise exercise?How much of what I do is just conditioning? Is it possible to exist in the modern world and be content...I mean

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1171343951317218712007-02-13T00:08:00.000-05:002007-02-13T00:19:11.330-05:00

Weezer's Make Believe album is incredibly sad. Hmph. I hate to admit it, but for a second there I think I missed Tim. Ok, I rethunk it. Actually I'm sad about that time in my life. I don' think I'll ever get past being a nostaligic sucker.In current news, aside from a recent (short) bout of escapism, I am happily busy with meaningful endeavors. In lazy list form, these are the things keeping me

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1169702465225502072007-01-24T23:47:00.000-05:002007-01-25T00:21:05.240-05:00

Just for the sake of one, which is unprecedented.May have broken the New Year's Eve curse. Threw caution to the wind and took position of control. Wind changed almost immediately. Took that wind right into the city of wind. Stayed at Atif's gorgeous place in Wicker Park. Ate the best late-night, fast-but-real flautas ever. Drank matching beers with Lisa while engrossed in eardrum-damaging

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1167245069408197602006-12-27T13:35:00.000-05:002006-12-27T13:44:29.443-05:00

Here is anxiety of New Year's Eve again. I had been feeling fine up until this point, even had plans to drive to Chicago for Atif's storefront party. Then Barry's work pissed on everything, his car (our slated mode of trasportation) shortly after. Now I'm worrying that not only will I have the usual feeling of pointlessness to keep me company, but also the absence of my dear husband. Whatever the

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1159592700496400212006-09-30T01:04:00.000-04:002006-09-30T01:05:00.516-04:00

Today, as I was messing with my broken fuel door so that I could pump some gas, a 9 or 10 year oldish boy approached me. He was a clean kid, dressed in a tan button-down shirt and jeans. He said, "Excuse me, ma'am...I don't mean to bother you. My name is Devon and I wondered if you could spare anything so I can buy my own school supplies and clothing?" I looked at him, this endearing kid, and

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1158765891150350992006-09-20T11:24:00.000-04:002006-09-20T11:24:51.173-04:00

The future is on my mind today. I don't know how I'm going to make it happen. I know I am extremely busy right now, but it's hard for me to figure out why. What do I have to show for it?I've got an opportunity to make a lateral-ish job move. The monthly magazine I've been "freelancing" for for three years wants me to get on board. It will still be part time, but the need is to have me spread the

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1157672528646930562006-09-07T19:39:00.000-04:002006-09-07T19:50:54.790-04:00

1.) Love*2.) Food*3.) Air** At times difficult to distinguish between them.Also, after the very surreal funeral, I came home to many wonderful items in my mail.1.) my netflix DVD of The Graduate2.) a big paycheck for my last freelance gig, long awaited3.) overnight Fed Ex package from Lucasfilms in Cali (really a 5 page personal letter from my best friend of 15+ years who works there)4.) Detroit

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1157427833434153642006-09-04T23:36:00.001-04:002006-09-04T23:43:53.436-04:00

This morning I found out that a peer is dead. He wasn't someone I knew consistently well, though his proximity to me in life was closer than is comfortable. At this point I'm not sure what to say about it, except that it's almost impossible to fathom. I'm having a lot of trouble speaking about him in past tense. The funeral is on Thursday.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1157123651227547562006-09-01T11:11:00.000-04:002006-09-01T13:25:20.293-04:00

Summer went too fast. I took it for granted. Here in Michigan, we complain about the cold all Winter, Fall and yes, a lot of times Spring, and then Summer comes and we curse the wretched heat.**Sidenote: We don't refer to weather as if it is a stranger here, a mere adjective ("Jane ponders the cold weather"). We give temperature its due respect. Weather is a properish noun in Michigan ("I curse

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1157085302434973782006-09-01T00:34:00.000-04:002006-09-01T00:35:02.466-04:00

People had fun without me.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1157081159439792412006-08-31T22:58:00.000-04:002006-08-31T23:25:59.456-04:00

I feel fat and shitty and sorry for myself. I feel like I'm struggling harder than I've ever struggled, and that in that fever I've become disconnected. Therefore I'm way out someplace no one can even sense. Maybe I'd do the same if I were someone else, but I'm just hurt to find out what sell-outs people can be. I wanted to have more faith in them, in me, in our bonds. But more than any of that,

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1156910973494312002006-08-29T23:58:00.000-04:002006-08-30T00:09:33.506-04:00

No proof we were ever happy. I've stolen that line repeatedly, because it's so true. I've resolved, or rather -- found resolution -- on lots of the aforementioned oppressors at play. And so, on a wave of relief, I have been riding...at least my version anyway. I mean to say that there is still painful harshness going on, but it's just one wound instead of multiple internal injuries, so I've taken

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1155875109911820612006-08-18T00:22:00.000-04:002006-08-18T00:25:09.923-04:00

Face to face with The Man on Monday the 21st at 11:15 a.m. AAAAHHHHH!!!!

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1154629352519903382006-08-03T12:50:00.000-04:002006-08-03T14:27:11.050-04:00

It's been a veritable shitstorm of indiscernible trauma lately. What I mean is that I have either been numb, shocked, angry, stupefied or...man, I don't even know...about a great assemblage of confounding events, thoughts and existential crises of varying degrees. So it is with great satisfaction that I announce that I am uncharacteristically well today. At about 10 p.m. yesterday evening, just

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1153973342878909632006-07-26T23:57:00.000-04:002006-07-27T00:09:02.890-04:00

I did this to myself, but I have to make a comment. I had envisioned a nice soul-clearing entry tonight what with all of the contemplation as of late, instead I'm back in the black. This is what I have to say: If you wanna be a child, go play with other children. I find a particular piece of recent history SO much more pathetic and lame than I ever gave him, er...IT, credit to be, and the only

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1153459165687739712006-07-21T01:16:00.000-04:002006-07-21T11:35:05.703-04:00

I ended the last three conversations I had with an exchange of I-love-you's. I realize I'm not as alone as I convince myself I am, and I shouldn't let lacking quantity overshadow such unquestionable quality.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1153452871171512552006-07-20T23:29:00.000-04:002006-07-20T23:34:31.186-04:00

This is the brilliant song I had on when the shite went down:Momentum, Aimee MannOh, for the sake of momentumIve allowed my fears to get larger than lifeAnd its brought me to my current agendumWhereupon I deny fulfillment has yet to arriveChorus:And I know life is getting shorterI cant bring myself to set the sceneEven when its approaching tortureIve got my routineVerse 2:Oh, for the sake of

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1153323083508053952006-07-19T11:29:00.000-04:002006-07-19T11:32:24.836-04:00

Yesterday, I freed myself from the chains of pettiness by deleting MJ from my online awareness. Whether or not he cares or notices is moot. Mainly, knowing anything at all about him, which wasn’t much and quite possibly just a proximity of reality, was feeding a major negativity in me. I feel the action is wholly appropriate since he has seemingly erased me from his recognition, and I no longer

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1153150411362517162006-07-17T11:26:00.000-04:002006-07-17T11:33:31.376-04:00

I think it was on Thursday night that I picked at the scab, which I wholly apologized for. Since then it's "healed over" again, if that is what you'd call it. Maybe I should resign this God complex of mine and take the silence as a gift. I don't have any more control than the next guy, and less of a clue what I'm shooting for. It's complicated, control. I need to relinquish the idea, take my own

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1152647433373322872006-07-11T15:49:00.000-04:002006-07-11T15:50:33.413-04:00

I never expected to feel this way. I didn't expect to have to excuse myself at my workplace to go bawl in the bathroom. I can't wait to go home and crawl in bed and stop holding back.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1152633422013663942006-07-11T11:55:00.000-04:002006-07-11T12:14:25.620-04:00

I've been better, I've been worse. It's over – again. I can't help the unfortunate feeling that wells up when I think of the never-be’s. All the little stupid shit you plan and take for granted, it's null.I wish for a fantasy. I doubt the impossible, and in my heart make it possible. I work hard to remember all of the things that I'm glad to be rid of, but mostly I linger for a miracle, and I

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1152328451734879272006-07-07T23:13:00.000-04:002006-07-07T23:14:11.746-04:00

I shouldn't leave the impression that my life is all woes. I'm lucky as all get out.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1151521129220243252006-06-28T14:42:00.000-04:002006-06-28T15:03:38.733-04:00

I've cleared the day of tempting fruit and I can do what I want. Behind my eyes are 8 ton weights and contemplation is a must. I've considered cigarettes several times but not for the usual reasons. I'm staying here and doing without for now.The truth, for me, is invinsibility. I have no fear of telling it, but I regret the news sometimes.*Should* things be one way or another? I can't ever

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1150820543014671472006-06-20T12:16:00.000-04:002006-06-20T12:22:23.103-04:00

I'm seriously bored. I mean that serious part quite literally. Don't pass over that word "bored" lightly, either. It's not pain, or lonliness or sadness or anything like that. The cigarettes are not helping. This long and painful chapter needs to be concluded, but I keep skimming over that final clause, keeping purposefully in limbo. Beginning another chapter...damn, it's been a long haul since

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1149546793257221222006-06-05T12:16:00.000-04:002006-06-05T18:33:13.396-04:00

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1148260432527147342006-05-21T21:12:00.000-04:002006-05-21T21:15:54.210-04:00

So here I am, ahead of the game, right? I've been through the hellfire, and what's coming to me is earned...right? Wait... what's this? Wierd feelings. Strange, displaced fucking feelings. Tell me how I've spent even the most painful hours being honest, staying open, secretly rooting for goodness and integrity, and still end up feeling so alienated and alone?I've been through it. I've been

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1147893846187361802006-05-17T15:23:00.000-04:002006-05-17T15:28:18.970-04:00

Fixation indeed. I can’t stop myself. The further away, the closer I am. Always pining for the unrealistic. Can’t be swept away unless on a speeding cloud. Probability is immaterial. Once I’ve chosen it, it is so. Not a victim to anyone but myself. I run away with my favorite volition. The honest truth is that I need to be by myself, but I'm such an indulgent fuck.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1146536285225252632006-05-01T22:15:00.000-04:002006-05-01T22:25:23.186-04:00

fick·le adj. Characterized by erratic changeableness or instability, especially with regard to affections or attachments; capricious.Some people are apparently content not to have standards, any willpower, character, identity, integrity, sincerity or any semblance of personality. Good riddance.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1146066956233138512006-04-26T11:53:00.000-04:002006-04-26T11:55:56.246-04:00

Ok, I've said it a bunch of times but now I am COMPLETELY convinced. Whoever is writing horoscopes for Yahoo is spying on me. I wrote that damn "Squeaky Wheel" entry this morning and now, a few moments ago, I checked my horoscope. It says – and I quote – "...today's a good day to start insisting on change. It's the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, you know."Holy Mother of God, Amen.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1146062107550212842006-04-26T10:33:00.000-04:002006-04-27T00:47:54.180-04:00

I do not wish to feel insecure today. I would like, however, to get SOME f-in validation on a current fixation I have. Validation seems to be the word of choice lately. Why am I the only one as busy as I am, with time for the important people in my life? Yeah, that’s right, I’m scolding people’s lame, skewed priorities. That’s what happens when my ego gets bruised. I get all irrational and

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145942904509092332006-04-25T01:27:00.000-04:002006-04-25T01:33:58.440-04:00

It's been a hectic few weeks. I've been on a reconnection high, meeting up with people I haven't seen in months or years, making appointments and keeping them, learning to make for recreation. It's been fun, as well as productive. Now, a break.I'm staring at my progress, but beginning to be haunted by my non-progress. How short-lived is contentment. How mythical is permanence.Next, I found a very

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145349131952321942006-04-18T04:29:00.000-04:002006-04-18T04:36:48.016-04:00

I fear I'm guilty of over-estimation, as usual. I won't say there isn't anything to learn here. I'm like a damn antiques restorer with my laboring away at grime build-up of ages before me. I'm sure I'm more obsessed with the truth than Fox ever was (but less sexy). But enough is enough... isn't it? Curse my soft heart, and it's ability to overpower my contemptuous (but no more rational) side.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145254671185222972006-04-17T02:17:00.000-04:002006-04-17T02:17:51.196-04:00

Just when I think I've got things handled, just when I start to f-in congratulate myself on what an intricately gorgeous map I've drawn out of the once emotional enigma before me...a new blur. It isn't that I feel confused or stressed exactly, not sad or even angry. I feel... mostly that love is an unpredictable animal. I'll admit I think I'm better at it than most. I've been willing to be burned

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145252943244412402006-04-17T01:48:00.000-04:002006-04-17T01:49:03.256-04:00

I've realized that I've been incredibly impersonal in this "journal" of mine. I am publishing some past drafts I had, at the time of composing them, chosen not to publish. More may come, over time, in case you care...whoever "you" may be. Who the hell am I talking to? At the time that I chose to click "Save as Draft" rather than "Publish Post," I was in the thick of whatever that feeling was, and

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1142995981437245342006-03-21T21:30:00.000-05:002006-03-21T22:07:48.390-05:00

Sweet solitude, the truly quiet kind, the one which actually connects me to everyone and everything in the universe instead of alienating me: I beg you to reach me. I'm closing my eyes as I type, trying to find you. You're there somewhere, right in my reach, I can smell you.But even as I beg, I have to remind myself to turn my instant messenger off. I keep my cell phone within arms reach. I perk

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145253182712366052006-02-21T19:06:00.000-05:002006-04-17T01:53:02.713-04:00

It all goes back to the same questions. How's my life going? Am I where I want to be? What the hell do I want anyway? Before I met you, I was unhappy. At least I've figured that much out. It isn't anyone's fault, not even mine. In fact, I think I was stuck because I was blaming all the wrong things, including myself. Meeting you was like a whirlwind. When the dust was finally settling, I heard

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145251975645755002006-02-09T10:49:00.000-05:002006-04-17T01:32:55.646-04:00

It's Thursday night. Barry is at work all night. I am anxious as hell. Last Thursday, I had the luxury of talking to Mitchell all night and then slipping off into the comfy oblivion of exhaustion. This Thursday, I am at once stressed by my omnipresent life challenges and missing you, wondering about you SO much. I've got your clothes on, the uniform of the evening. You were my warm protector on

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1145253388234044742006-02-07T21:01:00.000-05:002006-04-17T01:56:28.233-04:00

Dormant lines of communicationWaiting, denying, delaying commitmentFeelings swept neatly away for the momentHoping, praying for something to make a noiseBlinking, breathing, beating against timeHanging, consoling, and sleeping it offNot wanting to waste a moment of lifetimeBut holding, despite me, impatient for youAccepting, adjusting, and mellowing outCreative, I'm thinking, of ways to be with

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1139243566653338872006-02-06T11:32:00.000-05:002006-02-06T11:32:46.680-05:00

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/integrity/

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1138595589498663142006-01-29T23:28:00.000-05:002006-01-29T23:33:09.536-05:00

And just like that, my old life restored. Timothy is sound asleep, and will hopefully (for him) sleep through the night until it is time to get on the bus that takes him to the plane that takes him to boot camp.Preceeding bricks notwithstanding, this shall undoubtedly hit me like a ton of bricks, over and over, in the next several [insert incremental moments in time]. I will do my best to feel

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1136791799224585872006-01-09T02:28:00.000-05:002006-01-09T02:30:22.983-05:00

Sad, but whatever. Am doing my best to pretend not to have any feelings at all. Just wanted to get on here and make the statement is all, keep myself from slipping away.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1136237127861161152006-01-02T15:45:00.000-05:002006-01-02T16:28:10.273-05:00

I'm growing probably more insane as I write with more frequency. Therapy and writing have always been signs that I am traversing the outer reaches of acceptable functionality, some might even call it the fringes. It sucks to the utmost, since I'd like to make a killing with the writing, but can't due to the Capulet-Montague-esque relationship I have with it. For most of the time that I have been

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1135807271381787952005-12-28T13:24:00.000-05:002005-12-30T10:38:15.643-05:00

There was a time when one of my dear friends, in lending sympathy to my then plight, asked, "Couldn't you just tell B that you want to mess around with other people, but you don't want him to do the same?" At the time, I thought that impossible. I thought, who am I to have my cake and eat it too? Who, in their right mind, would agree to such skewed conditions? I have been struggling with the

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1135709791444417852005-12-27T13:55:00.000-05:002005-12-27T15:55:23.556-05:00

Being a fan of both the preface and the annotation, here is one of the two:***I refuse to lock my entries. If you don't want to know, don't read this, I implore you. You have a choice. I do not write to be cruel or to simply entertain, I write because it keeps me sane. I won't compromise that.***To say things have gone sour is an understatement. Most sentiments surrounding my experiment are of

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1135266890801507922005-12-22T10:52:00.000-05:002005-12-23T19:37:44.380-05:00

I am currently bored and out of juice with this new frontier of mine. Passion, shmashion. I am pretty sure it's real now, but I am totally faking it if it seems like I give a shit. In fact, all new frontiers seem rather useless right now. The thought of revisiting the tried and true are very appealing today.On that note, the bond I have with B never runs out. We seem to have forged something

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1134588857629335232005-12-14T14:33:00.000-05:002005-12-18T16:45:57.026-05:00

"Clarity of thought isn't as important as fullness of feeling. The mystery of this other person in your life is endlessly thrilling."I don't want to place too much stock in could-be superstition, but I also don't want to miss the forest full of trees. Besides, what am I if not ruled by passion?P.S. So what if I'm cryptic? Nah-nah nah-nah nah.

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1134253663265940332005-12-10T17:11:00.000-05:002005-12-22T10:51:39.200-05:00

Help. I've made validation my vice. Yikes. Today, I enjoyed copious amounts of attention, and now...oh wait, here's a phonecall...

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1134591003102207402005-12-01T01:54:00.000-05:002005-12-18T16:45:23.193-05:00

Even when you're here, your not. Losing faith in you takes the sweetness out of you actually coming through. I'm a prime advocate of forgetting expectation for the cause of forgoing disappointment. Inadvertedly, I guess I started expecting disappointment.* Annotation (Dec. 14, 2005): It's pointless to write this, but I'm writing it anyway. I hate to present myself as being defined by my

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1135454715499014472005-11-29T18:03:00.000-05:002005-12-24T15:05:15.563-05:00

You always make me uneasy.Wishing for you is like wishing for nothing.I thought I was in love, but now I'm just trying too hard.You're pathetic and misdirected.Numb and relaxed, the theme of my day. I've been looking for something where the territory seemed uncharted, and now it seems it's just an awkward comfort zone. Let this, as all things, be a lesson.I find myself unable to commit to a

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19194709.post-1132640766211178512005-11-22T04:25:00.000-05:002005-12-15T14:49:27.053-05:00

This is rejection. I haven't been made to feel this particular variety in years, probably, but surely this is that sting. There are so many rational ways to explain why someone neglects to call you. None of these reasons provide a strong enough tug when you need it most, at the slippery threshold of the downward spiral eliminating self-worth.Ever see that Mel Gibson chick flick where the

Vickihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07346707005477297308noreply@blogger.com1