But it was a lovely ton of bricks.

Some people told me that there will come a day when I realize that I'm better off, that I don't need him.

That day started last night.  It's still that day.

Someone said something about respect.  Respect?  Yeah I used to get some of that from my boys. 

And I thought about things that they had done that made me mad and the way in which I responded and the way that they wouldn't do that thing again or anything like it because it was incorrect.

I thought about those things and they seemed trivial and small compared to what he said and did to me.  Things that used to make me feel degraded and small and sad were not even half as degrading and sad as things that he did to me but yet I said nothing.  If I said something I'd be in trouble- he would be upset.  "Why do you want to make problems all the time?"  I wasn't allowed to have a single complaint while he stripped me of my confidence, my self respect.  I've got none of that now. 
I used to have that.  Not now.  No wonder I've been feeling so awful. 

How did I get to be the Esther that doesn't care?  Why did I think that any of this was okay?  Amazing.

He found me at a time that I was very vulnerable, very confused, feeling small.  He helped me and after that I trusted him and didn't really look back.  Of course he knows and of course I should do what he tells me.  He likes it like that.  A girl with no mind to question him, to tell him he's wrong, to ask him for something different.

I became a lesser person, a more permissive person,  a person who doesn't really value herself.  I am not so much a person anymore.  How the fuck did this happen?  What was I thinking? 
"I will ruin you for all other men."  I was begining to think that he had.  That I was actually fucked up beyond repair or comprehension.  I comprehend.

I even remembered the night it started to happen.  We were walking after coffeeshop and he said something, one of those things that I wouldn't tolerate.  I questioned him about it, I told him no, he persisted and wouldn't take it back so I left.  I went to my house, my empty house that I was going to move into the next day and he followed me there.  He told me that I had to do what he said.  I was dumbfounded and I asked him if he was serious over and over.  Are you serious?  You must do what I tell you Esther.  I ended up laying my head in his lap and being quiet.

Talking about marriage, I told him that I didn't want to speak of it for a couple more years.  Two or three I said but I felt bad saying it because I know he's older and that's what he wants and kids.  He said it didn't matter, it's the age of the girl that matters.  'I can trade you in for a younger girl if this doesn't work out."  Stuffing for brains. 
When I see him I'll wish him luck.  It's going to be hard to get much younger and prettier and more interesting than me and if he does I hope he can keep it.  Maybe he's figured it out.  Maybe not.
If he has it only makes me sad that he had to go through me to get to it. 

Last night I sat in silence, complete silence- there was much happening around me I couldn't hear any of it.  I sat that way for 45 minutes just staring, putting it all together, letting it sink in.  I stood up and laughed.  A couple of tears.  I felt weightless. 

Just thinking about it makes me cry a little.

So now what?  I never thought this would happen and now it has and I said this "today I am the happiest Esther ever."

I sat there with my bowl o beans and watched terrible tv.  I looked at the bed and said no I'm sleeping on the couch.  But I couldn't.

So well after 1 am I finally fell asleep, knife under the pillow, body all tense and clutched and the wind sounded like hundreds of pairs of fists trying to break the door down or come through the windows.

Nobody is coming to get you Esther, it's okay.
Last night is the night that made me wish I had someone to sleep with.

And this morning I ignored all my alarms for a long time until I finally turned 1 off and snoozed the other.  It always goes off and comes into my dream in some way.  The voice in my dreams mocked me- "she would rather ignore her alarm and lie here and dream about her ex boyfriend."

I said out loud "how dare you!" and crawled out of bed. 

Outside it's scary.

I ended up going to bed around 9 on Thursday.  I didn't want to talk to anyone.  I had an appointment to speak with Kels oh my wonderful Kels and she sent a message "are you still up for talking?"  I asked her if we could do it another time.  She said "I am feeling like I want to be quiet too" and we were quiet together and I thought of her.  I always think of her.  She'll be back next week and I am so excited to see her and hug her and look at her perfect face and listen to her talk. 
Friday at work, Cleo: "Esther I don't know what we'd do without you; we never want you to leave."  So I wonder if they found out that I'm looking for another job?  Maybe they found my myspace page or something?  I don't know.  She said that sales aren't really up compared to last year however gross profit is.  We're more efficient and "you will be getting a big bonus."  Really?  I can fix my car!  "You could buy a new car."  Really?  Wooohoooo.  Maybe TCP will shape up?  I don't know.

I feel like I should start going to other places, meeting new people, people that are interesting and good to befriend.  I've been working at that.  The coffeeshop usually has those people. 
I tried to make plans with Miss Melissa for saturday and she was in and excited and I really look forward to spending time with her.  Then Erin invited her to go skiing saturday-sunday.  "You remember Erin Lynn right?"  Of course I do!  She said that I should come along and she wasn't going to break plans with me to go with them.  I told her that I'd rather go skiing and hang out next weekend if I was her.  "Are you sure you won't come?"  Yes thank you though, you're supersweet.  She is too sweet. 
To the dancing.  Stupid drunk mind you.  Mind me. 
I was really upset and told Carey about it.  She told me that I didn't look like a slut at the club and that the way I acted didn't make me seem that way short skirt or no short skirt.  I trust her. 
Dancing dancing dancing Miss Laura was there and she and I have things to talk about I guess.  I was in no state to actually talk so that will be tomorrow.  Coffeeshop Miss Laura time.  I really like talking to her, I feel like she knows, she knows all about being a young girl of course she does.
Saturday I felt like I might die.  Actually fall over and die and the stabbing pain in my stomach didn't go away until about 8oclock and then it was back to it. 
Nothing noteworthy.

Today I lied on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while and tears slid down past my hair and into my ears.  Teary ears.  Q-tips.  I once knew the man who used to run the machine that put the cotton on the ends of the Q-tips.  It was interesting to me and I tried to talk to him about it but I think he just thought it was a dumb job.  Doing that all day?  The Q-tips?  Nobody sticks one of those in their ears and thinks about the man that stood by the machine all day every day and put the tips on.  I do.
I feel like I should go away.  I feel like I know something now- I know something now, someone showed me that thing and now I just feel unfinished.  Sometimes I'm unfinished optimistic.  Sometimes I'm unfinished and displeased with myself.  Sometimes I'm unfinished and lonely.  It would probably be better if in learning that I was unfinished and had work to do I didn't also have my confidence and self-esteem destroyed.  Helpful helpful and then smashed in the face and left here.
But going away?  To a place where nobody knows me?  A place where everything doesn't mean something?  A place where the places aren't used and a label isn't stuck to them in my head?  A place with no memories?  I think I ought to go to that place.
I spoke with my Aunt Josie- she's not really my aunt, she's my mom's longest friend.  She's from France, her family is there.  She said she'd look into it and help me.  I need a work visa.  I doubt it will happen but sometimes I'm convinced that this is the way. 
Also watching movies with Natalie Portman in them doesn't help but I always want to watch the movie that she is in, always.  Her face is perfect.

Work was rather turbulent yesterday.

Mr. D thinks that the reason I missed work on tuesday was because I didn't want to decorate the christmas tree.

Conversation from monday:

Mr. D: So tomorrow I'm going to round up all the ladies and you girl and you'll decorate the tree.

Me: I'm okay with being a girl.  Will you help?

Mr. D: No, the men are going to supervise.

Me: Supervise?!

Mr. D: of course.

Me: well I'm not decorating the tree

Mr. D: yes you are.

Me: you can't make me participate in a religious holiday's tradition if I don't want to.

Mr. D started getting mad, he was already in a bad mood.  I've got no problem with decorating a tree- it's a little fun, but I can't stand the way he talks.  Yes you will do this!

Sometimes he threatens to cane me.  That just sounds wrong.

Conversation from wednesday:

Mr. D: so you weaseled your way out of decorating the tree with the rest of the ladies yesterday moonbeam.

Me: oh did I miss that?  Phooey.

Mr. D: It's okay, I saved you an ornament to hang. 

And what does he produce from behind his hunched and crippled back but a shiny silver ball ornament.

Me: Oh thank you.

And I hung it from his glasses.

And I sat down and typed.

Easy for you to say, you're on vacation this week!  I really really like it when they're there.

I stumbled home and into bed and, just as I predicted, was unaffected by the various alarms that I had set for myself. 

I am still so dizzy.

But perky!

I've thought thoughts and the thoughts I've thought were good to think and they've helped me.

I've thought thoughts and they weren't convoluted- they were the truth and the facts and the reality and I'm elated.

I was happy, optimistic, excited.  This is okay this is okay.

It doesn't stay that way, it doesn't stick.

One day I will wake up and have my day and go to bed and sleep and I will not think a single thought about Jeremiah, not even once.

I want that day.

I'm trying.  I've got stuff to occupy me- a pattern to knit a pair of mittens, matching mittens!  Adorable.

New books to read from the library.

A new sketch for a painting.

Applications out for new jobs.

I feel like there isn't enough outside stuff going on and I need to get those things going.

Research- things to do.

I walk around work and recite in my head: I'm over him I'm over him I'm over him I'm over him, I don't want it I don't want it I don't want it.

Why can't it be easy?  It was for him.

I'm hurt and I have theories.  Awful theories.

Yarnclub tonight!  A new and peaceful and enjoyable thing...cancelled.  Frowny face.

This is how my dream went last night, the one that I remember most:

I woke up and walked into the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror.  I was shocked.  I moved closer and closer until I could see every detail of my face- it was perfect.  I touched it and rubbed my hand across it and stretched it and made different faces.  My face was perfect.  Every thing about my face was perfect- there was not a single blemish, not a scar, not a pore too large, not a speck of dirt, not a misshapen eyebrow, no dark spots under my eyes, perfect.

I laughed to myself and walked out of the bathroom to get my phone- I was going to call my mother.

I noticed my belly as I bent over to pick up the phone, it ached, a muscle ache.  I pulled up my shirt and looked.  It too was perfect.  The perfect color, the perfect size, not a single ounce of fat not a single squishy spot, not one hair, not one dry patch. 

I pulled my pants down- it was the same sort of perfect all the way down to my painted toenails.

When I actually woke up I went into the bathroom and looked at my face in the mirror.  It wasn't so.  I was not displeased by it but it wasn't like the dream.

My stomach muscles do hurt awfully bad- achy. 

I did paint my toenails the other day.

Today has been a shitty day and I fully intend to go home and cry in private.

Fuck it all- there is no reason for any of this, it is all stupid.

Honestly, honestly, I can't say that sometimes I don't hope I slide my car off the ice on the road and die.

Honestly, that's cool.

KJK HSDAG;OERUIGHIPRHG'KLE RGJ'EPI HIOREHAGIKLDFAHGLDFKGNLKHGFDA'GHJ

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The shoot went well, I think?

I don't know.  He was awfully kind and he was really creative- having interesting backdrops and compelling lighting and angles. 
It was fun. 
I think at times he was at a little bit of a loss because he had to tell me how to stand and arrange myself.  I told him that I'd practice and he said that would be good because next year he wants to do them outside and I have to be able to do it quickly so he can snap them off and I don't freeze.

He said I'll have a cd of pictures next week.

He said I ought to be more confident- that there's no reason why I should not be very confident.  I told him that everyone says that.

Along those lines...
These are things that people tell me:

You are intelligent, you are insightful, you are interesting, you are unique, you are open-minded, you think in a way that is different from everyone else, it is comforting and easy to talk to you, you are beautiful, you have a nice body...etc.
These are people though, not random bar boys whose comments make me cringe and feel dirty.  No these are not strangers but people who know me at least a little bit.

This is what I think when people say things like that:

I don't believe or consider those things that you say because your opinion is insignificant to me.  If you think I am those things it is because you have inadequate standards and if I embodied or possessed those qualities to the degree that is sufficient or even exceptional then I could be and would be with Jeremiah- he would want me.  I am not those things enough.  Not intelligent enough, not pretty enough, not cool enough, not unique enough.  You are wrong and you shouldn't say those things and it doesn't do me any good to hear them- I automatically dismiss what you have to say because you've said it and you are not the best person. 
Also, probably this is rather insulting to the person who might think a really positive thing about me.  I won't say this to them, it would be mean. 

I am "modest" when people say things like that.  They mistake my reluctance to believe them and my dismissal of their opinions for modesty.  I told someone that this is how I thought.  They were upset with me, this person who knows me rather well.  I told them that I was trying to think differently.  I told them that it wasn't working.

It was brought to my attention a bit ago that a girl, a girl that I thought was pretty cool and who acted as if she liked me, she said this in describing me, word for word: the antiboobs with the snaggletooth.
I shouldn't care.  She's not a concern at all, I hardly even see her, she lives in another state!  But still.  It bugged me.
And it made me sad because that is very harsh.  And it made me sad because any time I've ever spoken with her or spent time with her she was always kind and had only good things to say to/ about me.  It made me sad because I was never anything less than kind and considerate to her.  It made me sad because I don't often encounter that.
I wish people wouldn't tell me these things. 
I don't want to know.

Zombies!
I thought that they'd just have some people with some facepaint but there were airbrush boys and blood specialists.
He said it was chocolate syrup and red jello.

Out of Sampyfood and at the grocery (I love buying him food) the man in line behind us asked how long I'd had my hair "that way."  I assumed he meant shaved.
"Since August."
"What?  Are you trying to look like Eminem or something?"
"Oh, no."
And James: "oh my goodness he's right."
Photoshoot:

I really don't see it.  I think any skinnyish person with blond short hair could be him.
I promised the man that if I put on some makeup then I didn't look like a boy.  He told me never to wear makeup.
 

I haven't been doing that lately.  Maybe twice?  Maybe twice but I didn’t really want to touch myself.  Well, it was her, I didn’t want to touch her.  At first I didn't want to, not even a little bit.  Then last week I wanted to but I was too distracted.

Oh but I figured it out.  And I think maybe it's gross but at the same time I'm a little proud of myself for being a little gross.  Good job Esther- you're low.

So the ovular vibrating ball is wonderful and all I have to do is touch it on the outside for a bit and it's numby and tingly and squirty and done.  But there's a point, an instant, a little bit before when it feels like there is something inside of me that wants to be touched, that needs to be touched, that would be so amazing to touch but it's not touchable.  Maybe that lasts for a minute and then it's all done.  Satisfying nevertheless.

That time came and I wished a terrible thing that I don't want to wish.  I don't want that and I don't want to want that, I want to want something else and I want that to be an aside.   

Okay Esther, maybe it wouldn't be so dirty if you found something to put in there.  Yeah that would be an okay thing to do- you're all alone, nobody can see you, you can do whatever you want.

I lied there and thought about it.  Something phallic something phallic.... but what? 

I don't want a penis shaped toy.  Angie at Pricilla's says I ought to move up to one of those but no, not that, penises are strange enough even when you know the person to whom they are attached.  It takes me a long time to come to love it and look at it without making some sort of face.  A penis is a penis and it looks strange but it's not bad when it's a part of a man as a whole. 

No fake penises.

I didn't want to look around my house for something.  I wanted to lie there and think of something before I got out of bed- it would seem less desperate; I was not desperate.  Just curious. 

A spoon!  In the kitchen I looked at my big serving spoon, the handle was a rubbery sort of plastic and I decided against that.  It probably had dishwater and food particles stuck in the cracks in the plastic that would be impossible to remove. 

An eggbeater?  Stainless steel (bacteria cannot live on stainless steel) and the handle was cylindrical with no bulges and it gradually tapered off. 

In the bathroom I washed the Johnson stand-in with antibacterial soap and warm water.  I ran the hot water over it until it was warm. 

I did it.  I did well.  I found the place you have to curve up to touch.  Afterwards I felt pretty good but I couldn't stop thinking about how embarrassing that really is.  I felt gross.

In retrospect- that is fucked up.  Really really fucked up. 

I fucked an eggbeater.  Maybe it seems awful but it's no different from buying a fake penis and fucking that.  It is more resourceful and less creepy.  Oh the progression though.  What's next?  I think it's perfect now.

I won't use the eggbeater to cook.  Maybe if I'm making something for someone that I don't like but I don't see myself doing that. 

It's in the underwear drawer now.

I didn't remember what happened on Friday night until I woke up and felt the bump on my head.  My mom was calling me.

"Were you planning on being here at 8?  We'll probably leave closer to 8:30."

It was 7:13 and I noticed the bucket next to my bed (empty) and a glass of water.  What?  What's going on?  I stumbled out of the bed managing, thank goodness, to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling and in the bathroom I looked at her in the mirror.  All made up lipstick and everything.  I saw the greenish bruise on my head.  Oh!  Now I remember but by "remember" I mean I can recollect what led up to the point at which I stopped being able to remember anything and the rest is filled in by eyewitness accounts. 

There were guests for prechamber white russians, something that I had looked forward to.  Okay.  One white russian, two white russians, then “Esther it's time to go, go and change your clothes.” Yes okay.  And in the bathroom I wondered: how much alcohol was in those two white russians?!  I feel so disoriented.  That mystery was never solved.  I banged my head on the sink.  It didn't hurt too badly, no of course it didn't because I was terribly drunk.  I thought I ought to tell them but apparently I was unable to speak or even keep my eyes open before I got the chance.  So what they thought was Esther being horribly intoxicated was, in actuality, Esther probably has a concussion from banging her head.  And when they thought it was a good idea for Esther to go to bed and they'll come back periodically to check on her was actually going to sleep is maybe the worst plan.  Oh haha.  I've still got a bump. 

Saturday with the family- very nice.  I knitted a lot and we took good pictures.

Showtime.  I didn't really feel up to it, what with having been concussed and unconscious and all the night before but it was a good time.  The Missile Command shows are amazing because it's comfy and everyone is friends.  Dancing dancing shouting dancing and I talked to Miss Laura and that made me feel better and I talked to Mr. Android and he is hilarious and I talked to Carey and she cracks me up.  We're going to be Jim's fan girls, James included, with signs "WE LOVE YOU JIM!"  She's got a rock star husband and she knows it- awesome.

Sleeping sleeping.

And Sunday...

And today.

I had forgotten that monday was comedynight and myspace reminded me and I felt excited and happy.  I'm happy to go there and sit and I have just enough change to scrape together for a christmas ale (finally) and if she remembered I'm supposed to teach a girl, Jen, to knit. 

I go places and sit there or dance there or stand there or talk there and usually in the back of my mind I wish that I was someplace else entirely.  I don't know if it's because I haven't been to that place in a while or if it's always been that way.  It hasn't always been that way.  It's just missing.

3 weeks down, only 3 weeks?  It feels like months or maybe even years.

Today I feel pretty.  Which is pretty nice.  Lately I've only felt pretty shitty and inadequate with the self-loathing mixed in. 

Self-loathing- it's a funny thing to me: I loathe myself.  It's a fucked up thing though.  I imagine other people that I loathe, if such people even exist (maybe a couple).  I loathe so and so. 

What would be really very unfortunate would be if I had to be around that person.  Work with them, hang out with them, talk to them, touch them, see them naked, sleep with them...bathe them?  But when you loathe yourself you lose and lose some more because you still have to do all those things. 

I feel like I'm taking care of another person. 

"I hate you but I don't want you to stink so I'll soap you up and scrub you down." 

"I can't stand the sight of you but I'll look at you so I can get your wig on straight and manage to put on some lipstick."

"I want you to die but I'll make you some rice for dinner."

"The sound of your voice is horrifying to me but if I don't hear it then maybe I won't hear anything at all."

That's the way.  I've been taking care of the Other person that I hate. 

Presumably nothing has changed, nothing of consequence has happened between yesterday morning when I bathed her and this morning when I bathed me. 

But this morning I was happy to do it and soap myself and even to feel my skin.  I even shaved my cunt.  It's been awhile and I forgot how much nicer it is when it's shaven.  The lips seem to be smaller and tighter and it feels soft.  I tried to make an interesting shape- a diamond or something.  I failed.  I think I ought to get some shaving cream for that. 

Maybe I'll stop loathing myself.  Maybe no more of the constant and consuming anger and malice and towards a person that I can never escape.  We're always together, her and I, I want it to be I and I again though.  She's no good. 

Last night I did everything that I wanted.

Took care of Sampy- he was in desperate need of a bath and also some grooming as we are going to visit the family this weekend.  He will be festive and clad in his OSU sweater, very fitting, very perfect (it is wonderful to watch the game in Columbus every year).

Mr. Bob put in a new dryer!  So I was able to dry the mountain of washed clothes that I had collected.  Wonderful.  Lisa knocked on the door, returning the favor of me knocking on her door last night- "Lisa did you see?  Bob brought a new dryer but it's just hanging out on the landing because it won't fit down the stairs.  He told me to tell you that he'd be back tomorrow to get it down there."

Then last night, knock knock and people rarely knock knock on my door so I became a bit nervous.  I stood at the top of the stairs, "yeah?" 

"It's Lisa."  Oh wonderful.  We had a dryerparty and the people from downstairs came up and we all chatted.  I love it when everyone is at the house.  I like to hear them.  It makes me feel less lonely and more safe.

I then bathed myself, for a long time.  Morningshowers are rushed and sometimes if I've nothing to rush off to do I like to take a while in the shower after work, get all the spots I might have missed, put on some lotion.  I haven't shaved my legs in a while.  It started off with "there's no reason to do it!" and now it's "it's okay that I don't."

I made my rice.  I ate my rice.

I read the book by the angry lady who thinks the following things (from what I can gather, I haven't finished it yet):

- She contradicts herself a lot.  In one chapter she says that feminists try to trick us into believing that they don't make a lot of progress so we'll pity them when in reality they have changed many things.  She says they've accomplished what they want but they can't pack it in and go home because they have no home so this gives them incentive to complain about other things.   

Then in the next chapter she says that the biggest reforms that they've made is to make sure that hurricanes are also named after boys and also one other trivial thing.  It escapes me and I'll find it later.  She did use the word "trivial" though.

 
-She cited the incident in which the little old lady was guarding the prisoner who overtook her, busted out, and killed 4 people.  I don't know, I think the fact that she was little and old had more of an effect on the situation than the fact that she was a girl.  Maybe a younger stronger girl could have contained the situation.  That is a bad example and I hate it when people bring it up.

-I'm coming up on the part where she discusses how girls have ruined the military.  I'm curious about that.  There's not a lot of things for girls to do in the US military.  They are excluded from submarines, special forces programs, infantry, artillery, armour, and forward air defense.  Wikipedia tells me that the closest they can come to combat is being the machine gunner on top of the tanks.

I looked into it some more.  During WW2 the Soviet Union had more than one million girls serving as snipers, machine gunners, and tank crew. 

During WW2 the U.S. only allowed girls to serve as nurses until 1943 when the WAC was remodelled a bit.  Even then there were only 350,000 who served.

So I wonder, is it the rules?  Is it the girls?  What would this lady have to say about Russia or Finland or France, who all seem to have less restrictions about what girls can and cannot do in the military. 

I'll finish it this weekend and see what she has to say. 

I stopped reading that for a bit, painted my nails, I like doing that, went to bed early.
Tonight it's white russians! and dancing.  I haven't had a drop of alcohol since Saturday night and I am so happy- the previous two weeks I had drank every single night.  That worried me.
Then it's the dreadful ride to C-bus with my familily.  It's akward and my mom says that my brothers don't talk when I'm around.
Then thanksgiving dinner.  The Harshe thanksgiving dinner is very superior to the Booth thanksgiving dinner.
I have distractions.
I have distractions.