they know your mom fucked you up

today i feel: uncomfortable
today i'm hearing: old mix tapes strewn across itunes
today i'm thinking: i want it to be tuesday

It's almost my birthday. That's...exciting, I guess. My birthday is one of those things that I feel rather uncomfortable about it. You see (and many of you have already heard this, so feel free to tune out), my birthday is a rather cursed day and has, in fact, been so since I was, oh, about six. We should've known this birthday thing was a bad call right after I was born. It was, I believe, the hottest August on the record and upon leaving the hospital, we had to go live at my grandparents' house because our house didn't have air conditioning and I would've, quite literally, died. But the Palm Family is not renowned for understanding divine clues, so we proceeded.

Thus, as earlier stated, the tragedy of my birthday officially started when I was six. When I was first born, we had two cats: Monkey and Kahlua. They were sisters and both pretty cool, though Monkey was mentally retarded due to an accident following her birth (getting kicked off of a water bed by your own mother does something to your ego). Kahlua disappeared for a while and we ended up getting another cat, Morgan (also quite awesome), but then she showed back up. So I basically grew up with these three cats and my very favourite of the three was Kahlua. Well...Kahlua got sick around the time I was six. And we had to put her to sleep. ...On my birthday. Well, instead of being honest, my da didn't tell me what happened to Kahlua. I think he said something stupid like, 'Oh, she went on a trip,' but I knew. Oh, did I know. Dead cat. Birthday. Gee, thanks, Mum and Da. That's awesome.

Ever since then, tragedy has seemed to follow my birthday much like hobos follow freight trains. Most often, this is realised through people going into, being in, or leaving the hospital (my grandpa had a heart attack scare, my mother had surgery, my other grandpa had a bipass or something, my da had surgery, etc). This has made for some extra-awkward birthday parties where we're all sitting at the table eating cake and no one is talking because Mum's got a giant cone around her throat. Yeah... Awkward.

I had a two-year streak of good birthdays: sixteen and seventeen. Those were awesome. My sixteenth birthday was just really pleasant and fun; my seventeenth birthday I was in England (how can you fuck that up??). But if last year was any indication, my birthdays are back and badder than ever. So this year I decided to leave. Just don't be home on your birthday. Be anywhere else. Don't even tell anyone. Just go somewhere with people you like, hang out, drink copiously, and go to bed. It'll be great. So that's what I intend to do FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

But there is, of course, a catch. And I didn't even realise there could be a catch. The catch is this: what about the people who actually want to spend your birthday with you?

Now I'm not talking about my family; oh no. Grandpa can't remember my birthday anymore, Grandma doesn't remember what we're doing while we're doing it, Mum is crazy, and Da just doesn't care. No, I'm talking about my friends. I didn't realise there was any sort of interest in my birthday until last year. Now there seems to be this underground campaign to make my birthday un-sucky. I respect the effort, I really do. But there seems to be this whole thing where all the people who want to make my birthday un-sucky are of such an eclectic assortment that I cannot for the life of me fathom them all being in the same room at the same time. I can hardly believe they're all living on the same planet.

But now I feel obligated. Because they're all so dedicated to The Cause. And I don't want to upset that, you know? Especially since it's all for my benefit and stuff.

So I'm vaguely thinking about having some sort of 'thing'. Not a party; I hate parties. Just a...thing. You know? But the more I think about this Birthday Thing the more I feel that this would be the most awkward occasion in the history of mankind. What would everyone talk about? What would we do? I don't know how to do any sort of group activity; I'm a hermit. And they don't like the same kinds of movies or restaurants or music or anything. How could this be at all successful??

The moral of this story: Kiri's birthday should stop existing simply so that she can avoid all tragedy and awkward parties. Now if the universe could just arrange that, that would be super-good. It could be my birthday gift!

Jesus. I feel like Garfield. Go do your homework, Kiri.

well, shit

today i feel: voluptuous
today i'm hearing: my mum talking
today i'm thinking: my brain is fried from too much physiology

Under the heading of 'Interesting Facts' in my Physiology notes:

'Uterine cancer is associated with early intercourse (before age 18).'

I guess you gotta go somehow. But...can I get a different somehow, please?

In other news.

I have become a certifiable snack platter for Central Illinois's mosquito population. I have: three bites on my right shoulder; one bite on my right elbow; one massive bite on my left ankle; one almost-healed bite on my right calf; one bite on my lower back; and one bite on my ass. I...really don't know how that one got there. And those are just the ones I've found so far. What's with these bastards??

It's raspberry season! I'm out picking every other day and they're looking pretty great. And on the days I'm not out picking, I'm usually out eating. Heh. Yes, I am from the cornfields. Yes, I am mildly ashamed.

I might start writing Fordo again, for those of you who know who that is. I haven't decided yet. I keep getting him stuck in my head and then I have to sit down and think it through and see what he does. I pulled off all of the old chapters last night and I've got 131 pages of material. Weird spacing, of course, but that's still quite a bit more than I thought there was. Seems kind of wasteful not to do anything with it. I think I'm going to have to start more or less from scratch, though, considering the fact that it's been, what? Six years? Goodness. I hope my writing has improved in all that time. I don't know, though. Thoughts?

I've been working on physiology the majority of the day, with small interludes to talk to Randy and buy a new planner (yes, I really did; don't make fun). It is a BEAR. I ran out of space in my notebook and I'm not even through the first section yet. I'm seriously considering dropping out, taking the incomplete, and taking it again with a real teacher and an overall easier lecture series. Mum, however, is very much against this as she and Da have shelled out the ridiculous fees necessary for taking an online class. Oy.

Lem is being a crazy little dude today. I wonder if Mum is indulging him in his 'nip habit again.

And...Sammy is humping my mother's leg. Yep. Time to move out.

tits sounds like a nickname

today i feel: happy
today i'm hearing: george carlin stand up
today i'm thinking: i'm okay with believing in g-d

Just a few thoughts before I go to bed.

Say hi to Neal, everybody! He's a new (-ish?) reader. You can check out his blog; there's a link to your right.

I've spent the past three days almost exclusively with my family. It's been tough, but I'm starting to feel better for some reason.

I've been talking to Randy a lot this week. It makes me happy inside.

I get to see Liesl this week, I think. That's pretty cool.

We watched Spaceballs tonight. It was all kinds of wonderful.

George Carlin is swiftly becoming my hero. I know I jumped on the bandwagon a little late, but I think he'd be okay with that.

I'm going to have fun this next semester. I'm going to. Fuck you, world, I'm gonna do it.


I just found this on my desktop a couple minutes ago. And I'm going to share it here, because I think it has a great deal to do with why I'm feeling so suddenly okay:

So it’s Friday night again--
weekend before finals of my second year of college--
and my roommate’s on the phone with her boyfriend.
Again.
And they’re having a fight.
Again.
And I’m pondering what it is
about this whole ‘college experience’
that I’m doing wrong.
And I’m wondering why tuna fish is a topic that
causes so much anger and frustration.
And once again
I’m feeling incredibly lucky to be single.
Because while I may be alone
and lonely
and depressed
and arguably suicidal,
I’m not having fights about tuna fish.
And that feels nice.


I've read six books so far this summer. I'm about to start my seventh. And that's better than passing physiology. Have a good night, guys.

fighting the bear: need some advice

today i feel: stuffy
today i'm hearing: mum and da upstairs
today i'm thinking: this isn't all my fault, is it?

So today my da cornered me with a conversation that began with, 'So you and your mother'.

I did not stop him as I had only moments later caused some possible irreparable damage to his car under the guise of learning to drive stick. I did however allow myself a single, 'Aw Shit'.

This gist of what he said was that life with my mother and I has become more or less unbearable. Whenever the two of us are in the room, the demons of ancestral darkness begin knocking at the floorboards. The sky turns gray and ominous. The lights flicker. The wind howls. In short, every dinner we have had together this past week has been incredibly awkward.

Now from what he said to me, he does not feel like this is my fault. The man has lived with my mother for thirty years. He should be canonized. He also is well-versed in just why living with my mother can be the single most frustrating experience in a person's life. For me, it's only the second most frustrating experience of my life, but that's still quite high on the list. So this isn't my fault. However, in true Da fashion, he did inform me that I needed to remedy the situation.

...He gave me no ideas on how to remedy the situation.

...But he did say I needed to be the one to remedy the situation.

Which puts me in an awkward place.

I love my mother. I really, really do. She's a good person and I know that she cares about me a lot. But I see in my mother everything that I dislike about myself (because that's where I got it from!). She's lazy, messy, self-absorbed, depressed, moody, hypocritical, uncommitted, misguided, and a poor dresser. (I know it shouldn't matter, but for some reason it does.) And she tries really, really hard. She wants desperately to be a good mother, and I really think that's where her downfall lies. She's good at certain things--certain things that make her a good mother--but my da has always, always been the primary caretaker and house-maker and everyone's quite comfortable with that; don't mess it up. If something's wrong with me, I'm going to tell Da. If I need help cooking, I'm going to ask Da. If the garage is mysteriously on fire, I'm going to run and call Da from a distance of at least fifty miles. That's how this family works and it's been working just fine like that for twenty-odd years.

But that's not really the point here.

The point is that my mother has recently developed this need to be patronizing towards everyone in the family. She criticises everything anyone does. Da can't put up shelving right; Justin can't sing this scale; Kiri can't pick up her room correctly; it's infuriating! We are, all of us, highly intelligent people. We know what we're doing and if we don't know or if we screw up, we have the mental prowess to take responsibility for our failings. Sometimes, we even have the grace to ask for help! ...Sometimes. But regardless, we'll admit that we're wrong and we'll fix it or we'll try to fix it and we'll all go to sleep with a relatively clean conscience or at least a few drinks in our system. And that's perfectly wonderful and perfectly adult.

But Mum just doesn't let us be to do things ourselves and make mistakes and BE ALIVE. She just can't have it. And I think it's because she doesn't want us to fail. I really think that's why she does it: it's some sort of cracked-out protective requirement that comes from having kids of your own and parents that are dying rapidly. But that doesn't excuse her behaviour, and it sure as hell doesn't make living with her any easier. And that is why I didn't want to come and stay here for the summer. Because if Da's giving me this talk on the second day of July? That means we're going to have a very, very long rest of summer.

But anyway.

I don't know what to do. And I'm looking for some advice. I've tried talking to Mum about stuff like this, but (and this is going to sound defeatist) talking to my mother is slightly less effective than talking to my mother's dog. My mother is an interrupter: she doesn't let anyone else say anything if she doesn't like the way it's going. There's no conversation with my mother: only lecturing. And I go to school for that, so I really don't handle it well here. I've tried just ignoring it, but I'm not so good at sitting idly by while someone calls me an idiot to my face. I'm not even good at sitting by myself in the room and talking about this is an unbiased way, as can be witnessed by the former sentence.

So, long story short: something needs to change and I don't know how to do it. What do y'all think?

by morning i'll be gone

today i feel: frustrated
today i'm hearing: nickel creek -- this side
today i'm thinking: still looking for that change...

I went to Chicago this past weekend. That was pretty cool. Parts of it were really frustrating and enough to make my brother do an 'I told you so' dance, but the rest of it was really, really good. I got to hang out a lot with Marina, which was pretty awesome. She's a cool person: incredibly funny, down to earth, highly intelligent. I don't know. She's neat. I even got to hang out with Jordan for a while, which was unexpected and delightful. She's a riot. And Randy was good, too. I think he's really distracted right now, though, what with going to the O'Neill Conference so soon and wanting it to go well. I can't wait to hear about it when he gets back. I hope he's not too nervous.

Since getting back in town Saturday night, though, I've been in kind of weird, hermit-like moods. So to anyone whose phone calls I haven't returned (and to those who I haven't called despite saying I would), I apologise. Things are kind of...shitty here. Right now. And I'm kind of worried that whomever I hang out with will get the brunt of my irritated rants, which no one wants.

I don't know. Going to Chicago kind of reminded me of the things I'm frustrated with and sick of in my life right now. Chicago is a safe-haven: a place full of friends and interesting places and constant adventure. It's my favourite place to be and I find myself happier there than I am anywhere else. And yet, it's a place I shouldn't go to for a while, at least on a permanent basis. But I want to, you know? I'm sick of everything else and I want to get out.

I realised (a little more fully) this weekend that I desperately do not want to go back to school come August. Yes, there are some pretty cool things at school waiting for me (like, you know, NO TUITION), but there are a great many more things that will be frustrating and painful. Most of my friends have graduated or transfered, and while I realise this is a basic part of college, it's also really irritating. Despite what anyone may tell you, I'm not good at making friends. Friendly acquaintances, yes. I can be quite friendly and welcoming and all that. But there are very few people I let in and they have earned their spots and are well aware of where they sit. Thus, every time I hear from my mother or my godmother or my teachers or my estranged therapist that it's not a big deal; I'll make new friends, I get frustrated. I don't want to make new friends. I like the friends I have. I don't like other people. Merr.

School has classes and Denny's coffee and $5 movies and that's really, really cool. But it also has a lot of conflict and a lot of stress and a lot of decisions and conversations that I don't really think I'm equipped for right at the moment. And whatever conflict, stress, drama, etc. I have already been introduced to, I'm tired of. I'm done. Thanks, but I've gone through this too many times; it's old shit. Let the new shit begin.

Then there's home. Fuck. Home.

I find myself in constant conflict with my mother. It's like high school all over again! She's a lazy slob and yet she accuses me of being sloppy and careless, which only results in many a diary entry akin to those bygone days of what my long-standing friends refer to as the Rob Carroll Era: all frustration and 'fuck's and 'I hate my life I wanna die'. Wahhh! Pity Me!!

Jesus. It's so disgustingly droll.

And Grandma's getting worse. And their house is getting messier. And Grandpa's becoming more ominous and irritated and I swear there was a day that he didn't use that ridiculous looking walker, I remember it very clearly. ...It was any time before 2004.

I mean, I used to like going to visit my grandparents. I used to go out of my way to do it. But now? Now it's torture. And the more times I see my grandmother, the more I realise that the disease that's plaguing her is manifesting itself--slowly but surely--in my mother. And in just a few years, I'm going to have to start this whole stupid, painful thing all over again. And I'm not ready for that.

So I want to drop out. Or transfer. Or run away. I want to go find a shitty apartment on the wrong side of the city and start tending bar. Or stripping. Or maybe I'll lose twenty pounds and start taking pictures for no-taboo age-play magazines. Or I'll act. Or I'll write. Or I'll go work at Outback and keep Marina company. Anything to get away from this: from school, from Carbondale, from home, from anything I spent hours of studying to get to. From responsibility. From caring. I don't want to care. I don't want to work in the nursery. I don't want to clean my grandparents' house, or listen to my mother's nagging, or know anything about basic cell and organelle structure. It's all become so blasé, and I'm tired of feeling stupid and boring and sad.

...But Chicago was good.

you don't need my help anymore

today i feel: emotastic
today i'm hearing: the washing machine
today i'm thinking: there's too much bullshit

I'm feeling rather emo all of a sudden. Not sad, not melancholy, not depressed. Emo. Like writing lyrics on the myspace emo. Listening to Dashboard Confessional emo. Slitting the wrong way emo. There's no dignity at all in this emotion: I'm just being emo. And, more likely than not, this will go away in about... forty-five minutes and I'll feel like a chach for writing about it, but in the meantime, I'm going to write about it. I love creating embarrassments for my future self.

So here is what I'm thinking about today: LYING.

Lying is an interesting thing to me. I lie, you lie, we all lie. When you're a kid (as I discovered yesterday evening), lying is an automatic sign of evilness, of wrongdoings. Being called a liar (or, in the case of yesterday evening, a 'fibber') is a definite stint on your personal honour. Lying is not okay. This is probably why there are such adages as 'liar, liar, pants on fire'. Lying is a definite no-no. But as we get older, lying becomes much more acceptable. Everyone lies. Lying is how you get out of tardy slips, getting fired, or being grounded. Lying is a pretty cool deal. I don't know what this says about American society.

But I think there are some lies that just shouldn't be allowed. Lies that should always, always, always be a no-no. And one of those lies is the lie of friendship.

I feel like what I consider to be one of my best friends is lying about being my friend. (Again, it's not someone who reads this blog, so don't freak out, dear reader.) I'm feeling like all of those 'we'll always be friends's and 'let's never lose touch'es are all coming up for shit. The few moments of contact I do grab with this person are almost always distracted and rushed. And that fucking sucks. And maybe it's just a distance thing and we need to make the adjustment, I don't know. Maybe it'll get better when we're living closer together. But right now? I'm feeling very used.

Like I said: LYRICS UP ON MY MYSPACE.

My mum needs to calm the fuck down. This is very simple: if you continue to watch this movie/that episode/this rerun of Top Chef, all will be explained. Now sit down, open your eyes, and don't talk unless you're going to say something funny. Or I will stab you in the eye. Not really. I love my mother very much. She just needs to calm the fuck down.

...It's been a long day. Or, rather, a long since-four-thirty-this-afternoon. The day was fine (and pretty awesome) before that. I don't know what happened.

I'm going to pop Page France into my car stereo and go watch Wire and Alfred Hitchcock Presents with Erik. Emoness can suck it.

just a little bird floating on a hurricane

today i feel: dizzy
today i'm hearing: silence of the lambs on a&e
today i'm thinking: i had one two many drinks last night

Yesterday was kind of cool. My folks were at a wedding somewhere near Davenport and Paige was busy, so I went apartment hunting with my brother. We didn't have a lot of luck, but he might be renting a house pretty close to my folks' house. Which would be nice for me, as I could go over there whenever Mum gets insufferable without spending money on gas. Unfortunately, yesterday's hunt made my desire for a place of my own even greater than before. Blargh. After apartment hunting, I played Penny Arcade Episode One: On the Rain-Swept Precipice of Darkness, which is basically the awesomest game EVER. I have such a crush on it. And I'm getting pretty good at it, which is also awesome. We watched American Beauty at my folks' house so that Sammy wouldn't be so freaked out, and then we got drunk. Really, really drunk. I think I'm still recovering a little, but that's okay. It's not bad enough to worry about. We got Dunkin' Donuts this morning, and my two insanely fatty doughnuts definitely helped. The coffee was pretty gross, though. I'll never understand using African coffee when South American tastes so much better. Srsly.

Today, I'm hoping to drive out to see Paige and co. I haven't seen them in a while, and I miss them. It's the only time I can pretend I have a younger sibling. I'm totally jealous of all of them: Piper is such a cool kid. I enjoy spoiling her whenever I can. This is why I will be an excellent godmother/aunt. Ha ha. Y'all better start reproducing real quick.

I will never get over how my friend Fred looks like Buffalo Bill. It continues to freak me out and amuse me greatly. Though I can't quite see Fred kidnapping girls and carving them into a suit. I don't think it would be fashionable enough.

You know what I find most depressing about serial killer movies? The killers always seem to neglect the pets of their victims. For example: Buffalo Bill just kidnapped this girl, killed her, carved her up, and dumped her body in the water. She was coming home to feed her cat. So Kitty is probably still in her apartment, wondering when he's going to get fed (and rightly so). Couldn't he at least have gone in to give Kitty his Friskie's? It's only courteous.

These are the things I think about.

and we never let the bastards get us down

today i feel: awkward
today i'm hearing: hello saferide -- i thought you said summer is going to take the pain away
today i'm thinking: why is something always off?

I should go to bed. I've been tired and headachey more or less all day and I know that this can be fixed by (omg) sleeping. But I'm restless (as usual) and crampy (fuckin' female body) and sleep isn't really gonna happen and Palahniuk is looking kind of unappetizing.

I've decided that Chuck Palahniuk is an acquired taste. I'm not sure if I've acquired him yet or not. Maybe his novels are different. I mean, I'm enjoying his essays, but I'm just not...psyched about them? I don't know. I'm an idiot.

There's an empty space. I don't know what it is and I don't know why it's here, but I can't get over the feeling that there's an empty space. Right in my gut. And it's driving me crazy. Something's got to fill it, right? I just haven't found (or re-found, which is always possible) whatever is supposed to go there. Day at a time, day at a time.

I've been listening to The Decemberists a lot recently, in particular Eli, the Barrow Boy. This probably accounts for a good amount of my recent restlessness. I want to learn it on mandolin and play it at the Renn Faire.

And we watched our separate lives in backwards motion, so we ended up connected at the sides.

I miss Paige. I'm glad I get to see her soon.

I've been hanging out a lot with Mo and Paul, my godparents (the ones I see about twice a year despite the fact that they only live a mile away from my house). They're really cool people: laid back, relaxed about life. Again: they have a better idea of what's going on than I do. I like hanging out with people who know more about the universe than I do, especially when the things they know are good things. Sometimes (most times? All times?) I feel like I know too much about the universe, especially the bad, scary parts. I don't like that. I wish I didn't. I wish that I was like other kids my age. Sometimes.

Well. Looks like my filter is turned off tonight. That's groovy.

BTown is so fucking stagnant. I can't breathe here. I think part of it is living in my parents' house and being limited by the rules that entails. Maybe if I had my own place (a sanctuary), it wouldn't be so bad. But this just isn't a place to live when you're too old for the miniature golf and Children's Discovery Museum and too young to get into the bars and the places where good music is performed. Not that I can actually think of where that happens. But you get the general idea.

I love Mo and Paul's house. I think if I did end up in BTown, that's where I would want to live. That, or Neal's apartment. Which is cool. And I have an apartment crush on. I need someplace with nooks and rounded doorways. I need balance. Where the fuck did all of my balance go??

I can't wait for Jubilee. For Chicago. For school to start. I'm living in transition. Do you know how frustrating that is?

I'll be twenty in less than two months. When is this whole 'life' thing supposed to start? Did I miss my exit? Did it show up already, somewhere in the awkward years of my childhood, somewhere between my brother's madness, my uncle's death, losing my religion? Have I been in the middle of it this whole time and completely unaware of the fact?

There are angels in your ankles. There's a low moon caught in your tangles. Homer Wells, twenty-one, breathing in the steam from the hot tea, sat waiting for his life to begin.

I think my shrink lied to me about the depression. Fuckin' A.

here is what i've been trying to say for forever

today i feel: lonesome
today i'm hearing: counting crows -- hard candy
today i'm thinking: someone actually might understand me. ...but i'm pretty sure they're dead.

When we're incomplete, we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on--series polygamy--until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter.
--Tom Robbins

THANK YOU! JESUS!

caring is creepy

today i feel: sick to my stomach
today i'm hearing: the fan above my head
today i'm thinking: long weekends are going to be the death of me

Kickapoo's over now. It was pretty cool. I met some really interesting Natives and learned quite a bit about their culture. They're cool people. I think they've got a much better idea of what's going on than we do. They've discovered a balance that most European-Americans seem to lack. They're in touch with whatever's going on up there. Wish I had that going for me.

On that note, I'm going to make a slightly hypocritical switch. Super-sorry.

I'm getting really tired of resentment. I've discovered recently that jealousy isn't so much my downfall (as I had suspected it), but resentment is. For example, if someone manages to do something that I've always wanted to do or obtain something I always considered to be 'rightfully' mine, I find myself a slightly jealous, yes. But I resent them for their success. Maybe it's the same thing; I don't know. But it feels different to me. Jealousy to me means pouting. Resentment means violence and cruelty. Honestly, I'd much rather have the jealousy.

There's someone I know (and if you're reading this, don't worry; it's not you) who found a way to get into a part of my life that I feel is sacred. It wasn't something they meant to do or probably realised they were doing, but they did it. They snuck in. And I saw it all happen and I was so scared of it while I was watching. And I was incredibly trepidatious and I told others of my trepidation to no avail. It's not going to happen, they assured me. You're imagining things. But it did happen. Just as I said it would. And that was heartbreaking. And now, whenever I see this person, I feel a loathing for them that they probably don't deserve. I've tried to stop this feeling and calm down and let it go, but I can't. Because, as much as I say I don't, I do hold grudges. And I hate that about myself.

This person brings back all sorts of horrible feelings that I want to get rid of. I feel my insides start to shake. It kind of freaks me out. I'm sick of resenting people. I'm sick of resenting them. I just don't know how to stop.

I wish someone would decide to quit lying to me and just tell me that I'm right. Maybe then this anger will subside. Or maybe not. Maybe I should take a leaf out of the Natives' book and go find somewhere where I can get in touch with the Creator and come to terms with my anger: use it, wield it, find someplace for it to go. It'll consume me if I don't, you know?

It's just hard to find direction for things when the things that need directing supposedly don't exist. But if they don't exist, why do they burn me so much?